176CHAPTER XXIV.A SCENE ON THE WATER.
“How lovely,” exclaimed June as she stood one moonlight evening on the bank of Clear Lake. “Look! Scott, is it not beautiful?”
“Itsquiet grandeur can hardly be expressed in words,” said Scott.
“Look at that lovely island!”
“It is beautiful,” said Scott, looking out over the water.
He had taken a seat on the beach, and thought the scene was the loveliest he had ever beheld. The trees overhanging the water cast broad shadows on the silvery surface under the bright light of the moon.
“Listen,” said Carrie, who had just stepped up beside him. “Mr. Wilmer, is not that beautiful?”
Every voice was hushed to catch the sound of music which came floating over the water.
“It is a band just nearing the island,” Guy said as he stepped down to the boat which lay at the water’s edge.
June entered the boat, and calling to Carrie to come,177she sat down and dipped the clear water, throwing the bright drops high in the air.
“How lovely it is, Guy; who could fancy a scene more beautiful than this?”
Guy dropped the oar that he held, and taking June’s little hand within his own, said in a low voice:
“June, my darling.”
“Hush, Guy, Scott and Carrie will hear you.”
“Well, what if they do? It is no disgrace to call you that name, is it?”
“No, but it is foolish.”
“Haven’t you studied my character yet enough to know your own heart?” Guy asked as he pushed the boat from the shore, leaving Scott and Carrie still on the bank.
“I do not know. I have studied your ways, but really I have failed to find many faults. I do not see you using tobacco, and——”
“Oh, June, I do not care a penny for the weed, and now when I come to think of it, I do not wonder that you dislike it, for it is a filthy habit, but about my other faults, June?”
“You must have overcome them or——” she stopped speaking and looked down into the water.
“Do not be afraid to say it, June, darling, either I have improved or you are learning to love me in spite of my faults. Is not that it?”
“I guess so,” said June, without raising her eyes.
“June, my little darling,” Guy said, leaning nearer, and speaking in a low tone, “will you not say, now, that you will take me as I am?”
June’s delicate hands were folded, and her eyes were178looking far out over the water. It seemed to her that a little fairy world had opened before her, and a king, with a heart full of love had bade her enter. The lovely moonlight, the soft dip of the oar, and the strains of music which came floating over the water, falling in such melody on her ear, gave a bright halo to the little fairy world she was just entering. She could not have told why she was happy—so very happy.
“I am waiting, very impatiently,” Guy said, “just as I waited once before, and have waited ever since.”
“Guy,” she said, “it is a very grave question that you have asked. It is a question of a lifetime.”
“But you can love me, June, can you not?”
“Yes, without trying,” she said, honestly.
“God bless you, my darling; you will promise me then.”
“No, I will leave my answer with Scott. If he consents I will be your wife. His experience has been a sad one, and he will never allow me to make an unhappy marriage, if he can avoid it.”
“But, June, his wife was untrue to him. Do you think I could be untrue to you?”
“I do not know. Men tire of their wives, as well as women of their husbands.”
“I am sorry you have so little faith in me.”
“Do not think that, Guy, but Scott had faith in the woman he married, though I do not think he would have married for some years, had it not been for mama. But he married her without knowing much about her, and was deceived. His whole life was wrecked by one woman’s vanity.” Guy had rowed the boat out upon the179lake leaving Scott and Carrie far behind upon the shore. The oars were held idly in his hands, and the boat was dancing lightly up and down upon the waves.
“See, Guy,” June said, “you and I are drifting on at the mercy of the waves. The oars are at your command, to turn the boat as you will, or to allow it to drift on to whatever lies ahead of us. I am entirely at your mercy, for we are alone in the boat. You have the power to carry me to destruction, or to turn and take me safely back. If I were your wife I should be bound to you for life. Nothing but death could sever the tie, and should your hand and heart fail to perform their duty, I should be left to drift on to destruction or to be cast upon the island of despair. It was the hand of my brother’s wife that wrecked his happiness. She held the oars that carried him down the stream, and had it not been for his great strength of body and mind he would have gone down to ruin. But I am not brave like Scott; few people are. Scott is a hero.”
“Yes,” responded Guy.
“I wish those truants would hurry back and take us to the island,” said Carrie. “I am getting tired of waiting.”
“I will row you over there,” said a soft, sweet voice, “I am going there myself.”
Carrie had noticed a boat nearing the shore, and looking down she saw a woman seated in the center.
“Will you come?” she asked in a very low voice.
“Will you go, Mr. Wilmer?” Carrie asked. “I suppose those truants will be only too glad to be rid of us.”
They entered the boat and were soon speeding over180the water at a rapid rate. “How beautifully you row!” said Carrie. The young lady made no reply. Carrie looked at her, thinking her very distant or very timid, she could hardly tell which. She thought from what she could see of the face that was almost hidden by a broad hat she must be very pretty. Her hair was decidedly red and hung in graceful curls about her neck, and over her forehead lay little shining rings of which Carrie only caught a glimpse as she turned her face toward the light. She wore a gray dress, and her hands were encased in gray gloves.
Scott tried repeatedly to get a full view of the face under the hat, but the red curls and the round fair cheeks were all he could tell of the lady’s looks, though he noticed the extremely pretty shape of the foot encased in its kid boot.
“Do you live here?” Carrie asked by way of introduction.
“No,” was answered in a low tone.
“You row beautifully, at any rate,” said Carrie.
She made no reply.
They were nearing the island.
“Oh, it was about here that we all came so near being drowned,” said Carrie.
“How?” Scott asked.
“By the sinking of a steamer. Oh, I shall never forget that time. How frightened we all were.”
“Were any lives lost?” Scott asked.
“No; but there were some very narrow escapes. But the most wonderful of all was that of Guy and a young girl my aunt had adopted. Every one had left the boat181but those two, and, of course, we had not the least idea that they could be saved, for the steamer went down before our boat reached the shore, but would you believe it, that young girl swam to shore and reached the island before Guy did.”
“She was a brave girl.”
“Indeed she was, but oh how odd she was,—that is she had a strange disposition. She used to look so angry sometimes that I almost felt afraid of her, and she could shoot like an old hunter.”
“That was quite remarkable.”
“Indeed it was. We often wondered where she learned it all, but we never dared question her for fear she would not like it. She grew terribly angry once when some one told her she looked like a gypsy, and really she did. She had the loveliest long, black hair that I ever saw, and beautiful black eyes, and how they would flash sometimes. But even if she was spunky, I did love her, and I would give almost anything to see her again. She left my aunt about as mysteriously as she came to her. They looked the city over and advertised in every paper, but they could not find her, and they thought the world of her too. Every one praised her bravery and I used to tell Guy it would not terminate like a novel unless he married her.”
Scott stepped from the boat, and offering his hand to Carrie assisted her to the steps that led up the bank, then turning, extended the same civility to the lady in the boat, but she bowed, and without a word floated out on the water, before Scott had scarce time to tender his thanks.
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“Well, that is strange,” he said; “she is so very obliging, and yet she will hardly condescend to notice one.”
“You deserve a good scolding,” said Carrie, as she looked down and saw Guy and June, who had just arrived, and were waiting for a landing place. “How did you think we would reach the island?”
“We saw you enter the boat,” said Guy, “and we knew you did not care to come with us.”
“And that you did not care to have us?” said Scott.
“We were very well satisfied,” Guy replied. “I want you to come with me a moment,” Guy said to Scott, “and the ladies may remain in the parlor until we return.”
Guy had made up his mind that he would not sleep until he had learned Scott’s answer in regard to the question he had asked June. They went to the shore where they found a rustic bench.
“Scott?”
“Well.”
Guy’s hand went nervously to his face and toyed with his silken mustache.
“Scott Wilmer.”
“What is it?” and the lips closed firmly. “Why don’t you be a man, Guy, and speak out? Take her if you want her.”
Guy did not know why it was, but he had not half the courage to speak to Scott upon the subject that he had to speak to June.
“What do you mean, Scott?”
“Why, do you think I am blind? I have seen for some time that you think more of June than of all the rest of the year.”
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“Do you really mean that I can have your sister?”
“Certainly I do. The thought came to my mind a great while ago, and it gave me a great deal of pleasure, but I did not know it then. I do not know of a man on earth that I would rather give my sister to than to you, Guy Horton.”
“God bless you, Scott Wilmer; you have made me happier than I ever dared hope to be.”
“Be good to her, Guy, as long as you both live, and Heaven grant that your lives may be happier than many others have been. Have you spoken with June?”
“I have.”
“And did she give her consent?”
“She left her answer with you.”
“Go bring her to me, Guy.”
When Guy returned accompanied by June, Scott drew her to his side, and, taking her in a close embrace, he said: “June, my little one, it is all right; but why did you leave your answer with me?”
“Because I thought you knew Guy’s nature better than I did, and you would know best.”
“If you love him, June, I am glad, for he is my choice of all the men I know. His faults are very few. Be kind to him, June, as I know you will, and, Guy, remember your great responsibility.
“Take her then, Guy, and treat her tenderly. I know you will, but if you should ever deceive her, Heaven help you, for if her life is ever wrecked as mine has been I should show you no mercy.”
He pressed Guy’s hand, kissed June tenderly, then turned and walked away.
184CHAPTER XXV.THE ELOPEMENT.
Max Brunswick had met Irene in New York, and they had decided to go west and join Rene’s father.
She had told Max that she would introduce him to her father as Mr. Wilmer. Since he had never seen him he would not know the difference.
“Of course,” she said, “I would not do anything wrong, but you know I am obliged to use a little strategy for your sake, darling.”
“Yes, dearest,” he said, “you are wise in doing so.”
“For you know,” she said, “I shall be obliged to ask papa for a full allowance.”
They were seated in their room at a fashionable hotel, Irene dressed in her most becoming attire, and looking her loveliest.
“My darling,” he said, taking her in his arms, “how beautiful you look, and how happy we shall be together. I could never have lived without you, my love, my life.”
She raised her beautiful eyes to his face, then dropping her head on his shoulder, said:
“Oh, Max, if anything should happen to separate us.”
“Nothing will, nothing can come between such love185as ours. Do not be frightened, dearest, nothing shall ever separate us but death. That man you called your husband never was your husband. He never knew how to appreciate the love of such a woman as you. Promise me, darling, that you will not think of him, but let us live in the light of our own love, and forget that he has ever caused you one heartache.”
“Dear Max,” she said, speaking softly, “how few men there are like you. If he had been like you I might have been happy.”
“Never mind, darling, you will be happy in future, for I shall do all in my power to make a paradise for you in the land where we are going. We’ll have no books that are not tales of love, and in our own fairy little palace, amidst the perfumed lights we’ll guess what star shall be our home when love becomes immortal.”
“Oh, Max, he never spoke such lovely words as those to me.”
“He did not care for you as I do, my own darling. He tired of you, and I never shall. His nature was too shallow to appreciate your true worth. But there, do not think of him; trust me, and we shall be happy.”
“My papa owns a beautiful home in San Francisco, and a lovely cottage at San Bernardino. Of course, we will be allowed to take our choice.”
“The cottage will be more suited to our taste, for you and I, darling, will live only for each other, and the cottage will be more secluded,” said he.
“It shall be as you wish,” she said.
When they reached San Bernardino, Irene sent word186to her father, who was visiting a friend a few miles distant, so the landlord said. Max thought the greeting between father and daughter was rather a strange one, as he did not seem greatly delighted to see her, but Rene told Max “it was only papa’s way.”
“Why,” said Mapleton, “didn’t you let a fellow know you was coming, and not drop down like this?”
“I thought we would come and surprise you,” she answered, smiling, “and, beside, Max thought it best not to put off coming.”
“Max? I thought his name was Scott.”
“Oh, well it is,” Rene answered quickly, framing a falsehood, “but you see his name is Scott Maxwell, and I like the name Max best, so I call him that.”
“You act more like a couple of young pigeons than you do like old married folks,” Mr. Mapleton said, as he saw Max caress Irene.
“I love my wife as well as I did the day I married her,” Max said, giving her another caress.
“Well, let’s go down and have a game of billiards,” said Mapleton.
“Thank you,” said Max, “but I will leave that to my wife to say whether I go or not.”
“Go, Max,” she said, “but do not stay long.”
“Oh, thunder,” said Mapleton, “you do not keep yourself tied to your wife’s apron string, do you?”
“I try to please my darling in every way,” said Max, stooping down and kissing her.
Mapleton uttered an oath as he started out of the door, and Rene whispered to Max as he kissed her the second time that “he must not mind papa, as he had187grown a little rough by coming in contact with mining people.”
Rene spent the entire evening alone, as Max did not return until a late hour, and though she felt very lonely, it was all made right when Max told her that he stayed away through politeness to her father, and that he really did not enjoy himself one bit staying away from her. “But,” he added, “you know we must humor him a little.”
“Papa,” Irene said, the next day, “Max and I have decided to take the Venetian cottage, and stay there a year at least. You are gone so much that it is quite useless to try to make a home for you.”
“That’s all right. I can find homes enough. A man with plenty of money don’t have to look for a home.”
So it was settled that Rene should do as she pleased, Max giving as his reason for leaving New York that Rene was growing delicate, and she needed a change of air, to which Mapleton replied he couldn’t see but that she looked as rosy as ever; but he supposed that Max, like every other love-sick husband, imagined a great deal, but he didn’t care where she lived. She was to have a pretty good allowance, and she could do as she pleased with it.
The cottage was splendidly furnished, and there with her servants, Rene began the life she called perfectly happy. Max loved his ease, and for a time he was ready to accede to her every wish, and told Irene that he had no desire to leave her even for an hour. She was quite content to live with no society but his. But as the weeks wore on Max began to think that it was quite188out of place for a man to tie himself down so closely, and he intimated that his health was becoming impaired by such close confinement, and his visits to the billiard hall, and places of like amusement became more and more frequent.
“Max, dear,” Irene said, one evening, as he was preparing to go out, “I wish you would stay home to-night.”
“I can’t, dear. I have promised some friends that I would meet them for a prize game of billiards, and I can’t stay. Some other night I will.”
“It seems to me that you go out a great deal lately. It may be as well for you to remember how we stand financially.”
“Oh, it will be all right, dearest,” he said, kissing her. “Don’t be lonely to-night, pet, and I will promise to stay with you in future.”
Rene was satisfied, for she believed Max would do as he promised, and she was really quite happy again, when the next evening he drew on his slippers, and ordered two glasses and a bottle of choice wine, and sitting back in his easy-chair, lit his cigar with an air of perfect content.
“Rene, darling,” he said after a few moments’ silence, “don’t you think it is growing a little monotonous, living as we do?”
“Perhaps it is.”
“Don’t you think we had better move to San Francisco in the Spring?”
“Perhaps we had. I am getting really anxious to189mingle once more in society. You know I have a great many acquaintances there,” said Irene.
“That is what I was thinking, and I thought, perhaps, you would begin to feel the need of society, since you were once such a society woman.”
“Oh, I have been very happy since I left New York, and do not care very much about going away, but, of course, one needs a change.”
“Certainly, my love, and you are too beautiful to be caged up like a bird.”
Irene smiled and drew her chair close to his side.
“I don’t want my wife’s beauty entirely hidden from the world. I want others to know what a lovely wife I possess. You see, Scott was selfish, and he wanted to keep you right under his eye, but I want you to be happy. By the way, do you ever think of that fellow any more?”
“Oh, dear, no, not any more than I can help. To be sure, I sometimes wonder what he is about, and if he is married again, as I am, but I don’t suppose he is, for he always had such a very old-fashioned idea of right and wrong.”
“He never knew what love was, not such love as mine; he never can know, he is not capable. But tell me truly, darling, do you never wish yourself back with him?”
Irene tried to think whether she really did, or ever had wished herself back in Scott Wilmer’s home. She tried to find if there was any reasons why she should say she wished herself back, but she looked up at the man beside her, and the charm of the serpent completely190surrounded her. How very handsome he looked, sitting there in his amber-colored dressing gown, holding a highly scented cigar between the tips of his white fingers. Really he was the handsomest man she had ever seen.
“No,” she said at length, “I shall never wish myself back with him—never—unless, of course, that you should leave me.”
“What foolish talk. As though I could leave you. But are you sure you have told the truth?”
“Why, yes. I never did love him as I love you.”
Irene may have spoken the truth, but there were times when the manly form of Scott Wilmer would cross her vision, and his fine hazel eyes look down into her very soul, reading all the deception there, and the very honesty of his gaze would cause a shiver to pass over her; but she would drive away the shadow by calling before her the handsomest face she had ever seen—that of her betrayer, and she would not have retraced her steps if she could.
“Rene, darling,” Max said, with his gaze fixed on the rich carpet, “you should talk to that papa of yours. I saw him play a game of cards last night that ran very much out of his luck. He lost five hundred dollars.”
“He did? He had better take care, or I will talk to him,” said Irene angrily.
“I guess he will do about as he pleases.”
“No, he won’t; if he knows what is good for him.”
“Have you any power over him?”
“Yes; more than he would like to own.”
“How?”
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Irene did not reply.
“How can you keep him from gambling?”
“I shall merely tell him to be careful.”
Max wondered that Rene had such a faculty of controlling her father’s actions.
“I hope you will bring him to time, for he really squanders a great deal, and you may need it.”
“Yes; we need all that is ours by right; though, of course, when you come in possession of your estates we shall be amply provided for.”
Max frowned slightly as he said: “Oh, of course, but that may be some years yet. We can’t tell just when these big fortunes do come in.”
“Certainly, a bird in hand is worth two in the bush. But you were speaking about making a change. Are you afraid to do so?”
“Afraid of what?”
“That Scott will be looking for me?”
“Oh, no,” said Max, thinking that Scott had too much sense to search for a truant wife, for he would not do so himself.
“Don’t you think he will?” she asked.
“No, no, darling, he will not follow you when he knows into whose hands you have fallen, for he must know whom you love best.”
“He knows very well, and sometimes I tremble for what he might do.”
“Do not be alarmed,” said Max with a yawn, “he will not trouble you.”
It was one evening in the month of March that Max192entered the room where Irene sat, and asked her to give him ten dollars, as he had a bill, he said, that must be paid.
“It seems to me,” said Irene, “that you are using a great deal of money lately.”
“No more than I am obliged to; a man can’t live on air.”
“I have none now,” she answered a little petulantly.
“What have you done with your last installment?”
“You have used a good share of it; I don’t know what for.”
“It is mighty little I have had lately.”
“Where are you going?” she asked, as she saw him preparing to leave the house.
“To the devil, for aught you care.”
“What ails you? I should like to know.”
“You will find that out some other time,” he said, as he walked away in an angry mood, leaving Irene alone.
“Oh, dear, I wonder what has come across him. I never knew him to be so angry before. I wonder if I must humor him to all the money he wants. I almost wish—oh, no, I don’t either; I wouldn’t go back to Scott if I could. Max will get over this little spell and be as loving as ever.”
She looked out of the window as though she expected to see him return, but instead she saw only a shadow pass the window. She looked again, but there was no one in sight.
“Mary,” she called to the servant, who was in the next room.
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“Well.”
“Come here.”
Mary stood in the doorway in an instant.
“Did you see any one about the garden?”
“No, ma’am; no one but your husband.”
“When did you see him?” she asked in a very low voice.
“A little while ago.”
“I thought he had gone.”
“He has gone now.”
“I thought I saw some one just now, Mary. You go out and look all about the garden, and see if you can see any one.”
Mary obeyed, and returning said that she could see no one, and she guessed that her mistress was nervous.
194CHAPTER XXVI.THE OLD HOUSE AT ROXBURY.
“Well, upon my word I do think it’s perfectly awful. Jest look there! How that lookin’ glass come broke is more than I know,” and Mrs. Morris took off her spectacles and wiped away a few tears. “I’d a jest rather give five dollars than to have it done.”
“Oh, no, that would be foolish,” said Miss Elsworth, “for five dollars would buy a much nicer one.”
“But la me, it’s a bad sign, an awful bad sign.”
Miss Elsworth smiled.
“Why, yes,” she said, “so it is. It is a sure sign that I shall have to get another.”
“Miss Elsworth, I hate to leave town, for I’m afraid I’ll never find my boy.”
“Perhaps we will find him where we are going.”
“If we could I’d jump for joy. It is more than five years since I seen him, and oh, he was the prettiest boy I ever did see.”
Miss Elsworth looked at the sweet face that grew so sad every time she spoke of her son, and in her heart she pitied her. She had known sorrow herself, but she was too brave to sit down and brood over useless195troubles. She tried to bury the unpleasant past, and live for the work that was before her. She worked so vigorously that she hardly stopped to think that she had ever seen a sorrowful day, and not an idle moment did she spend. Her books and her pen were her most intimate friends, though she had a pleasant smile for all with whom she came in contact. She was very benevolent, and in her kindness of heart she had resolved to help Mrs. Morris out of her trouble if she could. She had decided to leave the city for a time, taking Mrs. Morris with her to attend to her household affairs as usual.
“Is it real pleasant where you are going?” Mrs. Morris asked.
“Yes, pleasant, but very lonely, and I am afraid you will find it too quiet, but we shall probably not stay there very long.”
“What makes you go to such an out-of-the-way place?”
“I have several reasons; one is that I wish to be entirely alone for a few months, as I have a great amount of work to do, and can work much better where it is quiet.”
“I’ll have to be pretty much alone, won’t I?” Mrs. Morris asked.
“Yes, but you will certainly have no intruders.”
“Oh, well, I ain’t no coward, anyway. How long will you stay there?”
“I really cannot tell, perhaps all winter.”
“And we must be all ready to start the day after to-morrow, must we?”
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“Yes,” said Blanche, as she left the room.
“I don’t jest like the idea of goin’,” said Mrs. Morris to herself, as the door closed after Miss Elsworth, “for breakin’ that air glass ain’t no sign o’ good luck, and I know it. It jest seems to me as though something was goin’ to happen, and I believe I’ll have the blues till another glass comes into the house.”
The house which Blanche Elsworth had chosen was one which very few having fine taste would select. It was a large old-fashioned Gothic building that looked as though it could not stand a hard rain, or a strong wind. It stood near a rocky slope, and beside its pebbly walks were the remains of quaint looking flower beds. It had once been the home of a wealthy farmer, who, as prosperity continued, built a new and more commodious residence a mile away on the hill. His home there was lovely, and nothing that wealth could purchase was lacking. The old house had not been used for a number of years. Some of the blinds were swinging loosely while others were firmly closed, and the fastenings rusted in their sockets. The well curb was covered with bright green moss, and along the half leaning porch clung masses of rose bushes, which looked as though they had never known the pruner’s knife, each branch running hither and thither at will. The house stood at the foot of a high, sloping hill, and but a few yards away in the ravine ran a clear little brook that danced down over the rocks, making music as it went.
“Well, it does beat all, Miss Elsworth, what funny taste you’ve got,” said Mrs. Morris, the day after their arrival at Roxbury, “to get such an old spooky lookin’197place as this. Why, it looks as though it was built on purpose for rats and ghosts, and I’ll bet a cent we’ll find both here afore we leave. Mercy, jest look at that air blind; it jest hangs by one hinge.”
“That will be easily remedied. I brought hinges and locks along, for repairing.”
“Yes, but who’ll do the job?”
“I will.”
“You?”
“Certainly.”
“Well, that beats me to think of you doing carpenter work.”
“That is but a few minutes’ work.”
“Yes; but just think, it’s a man’s work.”
“Never mind, it is a small job.”
“And jest look, there’s three or four lights o’ glass out in the parlor, and two or three out in the settin’ room.”
“It is no great job to replace them.”
“But jest think, they ain’t a man around the house to do it.”
“We do not want a man around; I shall do the work myself.”
“There’s a piece o’ board broke out o’ the kitchen floor too.”
“A few moments’ work will repair that.”
“But you hain’t got hammer and nails, and you couldn’t do it if you had.”
“Couldn’t I? Do you think I have not sense enough to drive a nail?”
“But you’ll pound your fingers.”
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“Why, no; I shall strike the nail.”
“But you haven’t any board to fit the place.”
“A little sawing will make one fit.”
“But you hain’t any saw nor hammer nor nails.”
“Yes, I have; I brought enough of such articles to answer every purpose.”
“You don’t say! Why, how did you know you could use ’em when you got here?”
“I knew I could try.”
“But the house needs an awful lot o’ repairin’, and it needs paintin’ from top to bottom.”
“We shall not stay here long, and a few repairs will answer.”
199CHAPTER XXVII.INSANE BESSIE.
Blanche Elsworth was seated in her sanctum, as she called her room. It was neatly papered, and carpeted, and withal presented a very homelike appearance.
Her pen was flying rapidly over the white paper, and her thoughts were far away from the surrounding scenes, when she was called back to real life by a wild silvery laugh, and a shrill scream in which she recognized the voice of Mrs. Morris.
“Well, upon my soul,” said she, as she opened the door without as much as a rap, and appearing with a white, scared face; “you jest oughter come downstairs.”
“What is the matter?” Miss Elsworth asked, in alarm.
“Oh, I’ve seen a ghost, as sure as the world, and if you don’t believe it you can come down and see for yourself.”
Miss Elsworth arose and followed Mrs. Morris downstairs.
“You’ll have to go ahead, for I jest can’t get up the pluck to go myself,” said Mrs. Morris as they reached the foot of the stairs.
Miss Elsworth opened the outer door, as she stepped200into the hall. Then she went to the sitting-room, and into the kitchen, and finally the entire house was searched. Mrs. Morris following close to her at every step.
“Oh, I know I seen one,” said Mrs. Morris.
“It must have been your imagination, for there certainly is nothing to be seen.”
“Well, I know there was one.”
“How did it look, was it large or small, a man, woman or child?”
“Oh, I don’t know; I was so scared that I didn’t stop to see. I jest see the flutter of something white, and the strangest laugh that ever you heard.”
“Yes, I heard the laugh myself, but it must have been some one belonging to the farm.”
“Well, I jest don’t know what to do; it don’t seem to me that I can stay down here to cook the dinner. I shall jest shake from head to foot. Why, I never was so scared in all my life.”
Miss Elsworth smiled at Mrs. Morris’s foolishness, and after a moment’s reflection, she said:
“If you are so badly frightened I will remain downstairs until after dinner, and keep watch around while you are at work.”
“Oh, dear, I’ll be a thousand times obliged to you if you will.”
Miss Elsworth passed the morning in looking about the house, and wandering through the old garden, where the flowers and weeds grew so closely together.
One day after another passed, and nothing had been seen or heard to cause further alarm. She partially convinced201Mrs. Morris that her ghost was either the outgrowth of a vivid imagination, or that it was some person trying to frighten her.
The Misses Graves had become frequent visitors at Miss Elsworth’s. They were friendly, sociable girls, of the age of thirty-three and thirty-five respectively. Eliza, the elder of the two, was a very quiet, industrious girl, very reserved and lady-like in manner.
Eunice, although in every respect a lady, was a little more talkative, and apparently of a happier disposition.
Their brother, Rosswell, or Ross, as he was commonly called, was a fine specimen of robust manhood. His form and features were fine, and his manner prepossessing. He commanded the utmost respect, especially among the pupils of the village school, where he had taught five successive winters. Not that he was really compelled to labor unceasingly, but it was his choice to devote his leisure time to some useful occupation, so his summers were spent on the farm, and his winters in school. Mrs. Graves was a fair, little woman, with a pleasant smile, though the lines across her forehead told plainly that all had not been sunshine. She soon grew to be a favorite with Miss Elsworth, and Mrs. Morris declared “there never was such a dear little woman ever lived. She was always sending ’em down butter and eggs, and never would take a cent for any of ’em, and often she would bring her sewin’ and sit with her, and she knew it was only ’cause she was sorry for her.”
One day Miss Elsworth had seated herself in the kitchen doorway to have a little talk with Mrs. Morris while she was doing up the supper work.
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“Ha, ha, ha, ha,” burst upon the air, and the rocky hills sent back rolling waves of wild, musical laughter.
Miss Elsworth listened, looking around to see from whence came the sound. “Oh, I see you,” called out a sweet, clear voice. “You cannot see me though, for I’m too far away.”
Blanche Elsworth looked up at the ledge of rocks on the opposite side of the ravine, and there, swinging almost in mid air, up and down on a slender bough, was a fair young girl. She was dressed in a loose white wrapper, and without shoes or stockings. A mass of raven hair floated about her shoulders, and fell in a half tangled fashion to her waist. Miss Elsworth arose and regardless of the entreaties of Mrs. Morris, started toward the spot where the young girl sat.
“Oh, you need not come,” she called out, “you cannot reach me.”
“I will not harm you. Will you not come down and talk to me?”
“Oh, no, you want to catch me and shut me up.”
“Indeed, I will not; I only want to talk to you.”
“Will you promise not to touch me?”
“Yes, I will promise.”
“Well, stand away then, and I will jump.”
“Oh, please do not jump; you will hurt yourself. Climb down the rocks.”
“Will I hurt myself? I guess not. I do not think I’ll take the trouble to climb down, I can jump.”
“Go back,” said Blanche, but before she had uttered the words, the light form swayed back upon the air, and203grasping the end of the bough came floating down at her feet.
Blanche Elsworth’s heart almost stood still, for she expected to see the girl arise from the ground bruised and bleeding, but instead she stood before her quite unharmed, and stepping back she said:
“Now, remember what you promised; for if you try to catch me I’ll go right back to the tree tops. I am away from everything up there, and if you should touch me——”
“Oh, I will not catch you,” Blanche said, as the girl shrank away from her, “but will you not come to the house with me?”
“Oh, no, you will lock me up. No, I’ll never go to the house with you. I would not dare.”
“But you see I promised you I would not harm you if you would come down, and I did not, did I?”
“So you did as you promised,” she said, coming nearer to Blanche, and looking straight in her face.
Blanche noticed the strange expression in the lovely eyes, and she knew that the burning light which she saw there was that of insanity, though the face was one of childish beauty and innocence.
“Will you not come in?” Blanche asked again.
“If you will promise sure that you will not lock me up.”
“I will promise.”
“Well, then, I will come, and if you do try to lock me up I’ll take this,” she said, putting her hand in her pocket, and drawing forth a tiny pistol, which she204pointed straight at Blanche’s head. “I’ll take this and shoot anybody who tries to lock me up.”
Blanche’s face grew slightly pale, for it certainly was not a very desirable position which she held at that moment, but her presence of mind did not forsake her, and in a coaxing way she said:
“What a pretty little pistol; will you let me see it?”
“Will you promise to give it back to me?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Let me shoot the head off that little bird first.”
“Please do not, some one might hear you.”
“Oh-h-h, yes, and then they would come after me. What is your name,” she asked, looking quickly around, “isn’t it——”
“What?” asked Blanche.
“Oh, I don’t dare to say; some other time maybe I will ask you about it.”
“My name is Blanche Elsworth. You may call me Blanche.”
“Oh.”
“Come with me. I want to show you something real pretty.”
“What is it?”
“Views. Just look,” she said, giving the young girl a stereoscope, and a basket full of views. “Cover your eyes with this, and you will see the most beautiful places.”
“You can’t make me believe that; you want to cover my eyes so that you can tie me up.”
“No, truly, I will not harm you.”