CHAPTER VI.
O love! thou sternly dost thy power maintain, And wilt not bear a rival in thy reign.
--DRYDEN.
It was the middle of the forenoon, and Elsie in her own pretty littlesitting room was busied with her books; so deep in study indeed, thatshe never noticed a slight girlish figure as it glided in at the glassdoors opening upon the lawn, to-day set wide to admit the air comingfresh and cool with a faint odor of the far-off sea, pleasantlymingling with that of the flowers in the garden, on the other side ofthe house.
"Buried alive in her books! Dear me! what a perfect paragon ofindustry you are," cried the intruder in a lively tone. "I wish youwould imbue me with some of your love of study."
"Why, Lucy Carrington! how did you get here?" and Elsie pushed herbooks away, rose hastily and greeted her friend with an affectionateembrace.
"How? I came in through yonder door, miss; after riding my ponyfrom Ashlands to the front entrance of this mansion," replied Lucy,courtesying low in mock reverence. "I hope your ladyship will excusethe liberty I have taken in venturing uninvited into your sanctum."
"Provided your repentance is deep and sincere," returned Elsie in thesame jesting tone.
"Certainly, I solemnly pledge myself never to do it again till thenext time."
"Sit down, won't you?" and Elsie pushed forward a low rocking chair."It's so pleasant to see you. But if I had thought about it at allI should have supposed you were at home, and as busy over books andlessons as I."
"No; my respected governess, Miss Warren, not feeling very well, hastaken a week's holiday, and left me to do the same. Fancy my afflictedstate at the thought of laying aside my beloved books for seven oreight whole days."
"You poor creature! how I pity you," said Elsie, laughing; "supposeyou stay here and share the instructions of my tutor; I have no doubtI could persuade him to receive you as a pupil."
"Horrors! I'm much obliged, very much, but I should die of fright thefirst time I had to recite. There, I declare I'm growing poetical,talking in rhyme all the time."
"Let mammy take your hat and scarf," said Elsie. "You'll stay andspend the day with me, won't you?"
"Thank you, no; I came to carry you off to Ashlands to spend a week.Will you come?"
"I should like to, dearly well, if papa gives permission."
"Well, run and ask him."
"I can't; unfortunately he is out, and not expected to return tilltea-time."
"Oh, pshaw! how provoking! But can't your mamma give permission justas well?"
"If it were only for a day she might, but I know she would say thequestion of a longer visit must be referred to papa."
"Dear me! I wouldn't be you for something. Why, I never ask leave ofanybody when I want to pay a visit anywhere in the neighborhood. Itell mamma I'm going, and that's all-sufficient. I don't see how youstand being ordered about and controlled so."
"If you'll believe me," said Elsie, laughing a gay, sweet, silverylaugh, "I really enjoy being controlled by papa. It saves me a deal oftrouble and responsibility in the way of deciding for myself; and thenI love him so dearly that I almost always feel it my greatest pleasureto do whatever pleases him."
"And he always was so strict with you."
"Yes, he is strict; but oh, so kind."
"But that's just because you're so good; he'd have an awful timeruling me. I'd be in a chronic state of disgrace and punishment; andhe obliged to be so constantly improving me and frowning sternly uponmy delinquencies that he'd never be able to don a smile of approval orslip in a word of praise edgewise."
"Indeed you're not half so bad as you pretend," said Elsie, laughingagain; "nor I half so good as you seem determined to believe me."
"No, I've no doubt that you're an arch hypocrite, and we shall findout one of these days that you are really worse than any of the restof us. But now I must finish my errand and go, for I know you'relonging to be at those books. Do you get a ferruling every time youmiss a word?--and enjoy the pain because it pleases papa to inflictit?"
"Oh, Lucy, how can you be so ridiculous?" and a quick, vivid blushmounted to Elsie's very hair.
"I beg your pardon, Elsie, dear, I had no business to say such athing," cried Lucy, springing up to throw her arms round her friendand kiss her warmly; "but of course it was nothing but the merestnonsense. I know well enough your papa never does anything of thekind."
"No; if my lessons are not well prepared they have to be learned overagain, that is all; and if I see that papa is displeased with me, Iassure you it is punishment enough."
"Do you think he'll let you accept my invitation?"
"I don't know, indeed, Lucy. I think he will hardly like to have megive up my studies for that length of time, and in fact I hardly liketo do so myself."
"Oh, you must come. You can practise on my piano every day for an houror two, if you like. We'll learn some duets. And you can bring yoursketch-book and carry it along when we walk or ride, as we shallevery day. And we might read some improving books together,--you andHerbert, and I. He is worse again, poor fellow! so that some days hehardly leaves his couch even to limp across the room, and it's partlyto cheer him up that we want you to come. There's nothing puts himinto better spirits than a sight of your face."
"You don't expect other company?"
"No, except on our birthday; but then we're going to have a littleparty, just of our own set,--we boys and girls that have grown up--orare growing up--together, as one may say. Oh, yes, I want to haveCarrie Howard, Mary Leslie, and Enna stay a day or two after theparty. Now coax your papa hard, for we must have you," she added,rising to go.
"That would be a sure way to make him say no," said Elsie, smiling;"he never allows me to coax or tease; at least, not after he has onceanswered my request."
"Then don't think of it. Good-bye. No, don't waste time in coming tosee me off, but go back to your books like a good child. I mean tohave a little chat with your mamma before I go."
Elsie returned to her lessons with redoubled energy. She was longingto become more intimately acquainted with Ellen Montgomery, butresolutely denied herself even so much as a peep at the pages of thefascinating story-book until her allotted tasks should be faithfullyperformed.
These, with her regular daily exercise in the open air, filled up themorning; there was a half hour before, and another after dinner, whichshe could call her own; then two hours for needlework, music, anddrawing, and she was free to employ herself as she would tillbed-time.
That was very apt to be in reading, and if the weather was fine sheusually carried her book to an arbor at some distance from the house.It was reached by a long shaded walk that led to it from the lawn, onwhich the glass doors of her pretty boudoir opened. It was a cool,breezy, quiet spot, on a terraced hillside, commanding a lovely viewof vale, river, and woodland, and from being so constantly frequentedby our heroine, had come to be called by her name,--"Elsie's Arbor."Arthur, well acquainted with these tastes and habits, sought, andfound her here on the afternoon of this day--found her so deeplyabsorbed in Miss Warner's sweet story that she was not aware of hisapproach--so full of sympathy for little Ellen that her tears weredropping upon the page as she read.
"What, crying, eh?" he said with a sneer, as he seated himself by herside, and rudely pulled one of her curls, very much as he had beenused to do years ago. "Well, I needn't be surprised, for you alwayswere the greatest baby I ever saw."
"Please let my hair alone, Arthur; you are not very polite in eitherspeech or action," she answered, brushing away her tears and moving alittle farther from him.
"It's not worth while to waste politeness on you. What's that you'rereading?"
"A new book Mr. Travilla gave me."
"Has no name, eh?"
"Yes, 'Wide, Wide World.'"
"Some namby-pamby girl's story, I s'pose, since you're allowed to readit; or are you doing it on the sly?"
"No, I never do such things, and hope I never shall; papa gave mepermission."
"Why?"
"Because I might turn it to good account. I know you are as afraid asdeath of Horace."
"No, I am not!" dried Elsie indignantly, rich color rushing all overher fair face and neck; "for I know that he loves me dearly and if Ihad been disobeying or deceiving him I would far sooner throw myselfon his mercy than on yours."
"You would, eh? How mad you are; your face is as red as a beet. Apretty sort of Christian you are, aren't you?"
"I am not perfect, Arthur; but you mustn't judge of religion by me."
"I shall, though. Don't you wish I'd go away?" he added teasingly,again snatching at her curls.
But she eluded his grasp, and rising, stood before him with an air ofgentle dignity. "Yes," she said, "since you ask me, I'll own that Ido. I don't know why it is that, though your manners are polished whenyou choose to make them so, you are always rude and ungentlemanly tome when you find me alone. So I shall be very glad if you'll just goaway and leave me to solitude and the enjoyment of my book."
"I'll do so when I get ready; not a minute sooner. But you can get ridof me just as soon as you like. I see you take. Yes, I want that moneyI asked you for yesterday, and I am bound to have it."
"Arthur, my answer must be just the same that it was then; I can giveyou no other."
"You're the meanest girl alive! To my certain knowledge you are worthat least a million and a half, and yet you refuse to lend me thepitiful sum of fifty dollars."
"Arthur, you know I have no choice in the matter. Papa has forbiddenme to lend you money without his knowledge and consent, and I cannotdisobey him."
"When did he forbid you?"
"A long while ago; and though he has said nothing about it lately, hehas told me again and again that his commands are always binding untilhe revokes them."
"Fifteen years old, and not allowed to do as you please even withyour pocket money!" he said contemptuously. "Do you expect to be inleading-strings all your life?"
"I shall of course have control of my own money matters on coming ofage; but I expect to obey my father as long as we both live," sheanswered, with gentle but firm decision.
"Do you have to show your balance in hand when you give in youraccount?"
"No; do you suppose papa cannot trust my word?" she answered, somewhatindignantly.
"Then you could manage it just as easily as not. There's no occasionfor him to know whether your balance in hand is at that moment in yourpossession or mine; as I told you before, I only want to borrow it fortwo weeks. Come, let me have it. If you don't, the day will come whenyou'll wish you had."
She repeated her refusal; he grew very angry and abusive, and atlength went so far as to strike her.
A quick step sounded on the gravel walk, a strong grasp was laid onArthur's arm, he felt himself suddenly jerked aside and flung uponhis knees, while a perfect rain of stinging, smarting blows descendedrapidly upon his back and shoulders.
"There, you unmitigated scoundrel, you mean, miserable caitiff; layyour hand upon her again if you dare!" cried Mr. Travilla, finishingthe castigation by applying the toe of his boot to Arthur's netherparts with a force that sent him reeling some distance down the walk,to fall with a heavy thud upon the ground.
The lad rose, white with rage, and shook his fist at his antagonist."I'll strike her when I please," he said with an oath, "and not becalled to account by you for it either; she's my niece, and nothing toyou."
"I'll defend her nevertheless, and see to it that you come to grief ifyou attempt to harm her in any way whatever. Did he hurt you much, mychild?" And Mr. Travilla's tone changed to one of tender concern as heturned and addressed Elsie, who had sunk pale and trembling upon therustic seat where Arthur had found her.
"No, sir, but I fear you have hurt him a good deal, in your kind zealfor my defence," she answered, looking after Arthur, as he limped awaydown the path.
"I have broken my cane, that is the worst of it," said her protectorcoolly, looking regretfully down at the fragment he still held in hishand.
"You must have struck very hard, and oh, Mr. Travilla, what if heshould take it into his head to challenge you?" and Elsie turned palewith terror.
"Never fear; he is too arrant a coward for that; he knows I am a goodshot, and that, as the challenged party, I would have the right tothe choice of weapons."
"But you wouldn't fight, Mr. Travilla? you do not approve ofduelling?"
"So, no indeed, Elsie; both the laws of God and of the land areagainst it, and I could not engage in it either as a good citizen or aChristian."
"Oh, I am so glad of that, and that you came to my rescue; for I wasreally growing frightened, Arthur seemed in such a fury with me."
"What was it about?"
Elsie explained, then asked how he had happened to come to her aid.
"I had learned from the servants that your father and mother were bothout, so came here in search of you," he said. "As I drew near I sawthat Arthur was with you, and not wishing to overhear your talk, Iwaited at a little distance up there on the bank, watching you throughthe trees. I perceived at once that he was in a towering passion, andfearing he would ill-treat you in some way, I held myself in readinessto come to your rescue; and when I saw him strike you, such a furysuddenly came over me that I could not possibly refrain from thrashinghim for it."
"Mr. Travilla, you will not tell papa?" she said entreatingly.
"My child, I am inclined to think he ought to hear of it."
"Oh, why need he? It would make him very angry with Arthur."
"Which Arthur richly deserves. I think your father should know, inorder that he may take measures for your protection. Still, if youpromise not to ride or walk out alone until Arthur has left theneighborhood, it shall be as you wish. But you must try to recoveryour composure, or your papa will be sure to ask the cause of youragitation. You are trembling very much, and the color has quiteforsaken your cheeks."
"I'll try," She said, making a great effort to control herself, "and Igive you the promise."
"This is a very pleasant place to sit with book or work," he remarked,"but I would advise you not even to come here alone again till Arthurhas gone."
"Thank you, sir, I think I shall follow your advice. It will be only afew weeks now till he and Walter both go North to college."
"I see you have your book with you," he said, taking it up from theseat where it lay. "How do you like it?"
"Oh, so much! How I pity poor Ellen for having such a father, sodifferent from my dear papa; and because she had to be separated fromher mamma, whom she loved so dearly. I can't read about her troubleswithout crying, Mr. Travilla."
"Shall I tell you a secret," he said, smiling; "I shed some tearsover it myself." Then he went on talking with her about the differentcharacters of the story, thus helping her to recover her composure byturning her thoughts from herself and Arthur.
When, half an hour later, a servant came to summon her to the house,with the announcement that her father had returned and was ready tohear her recitations, all signs of agitation had disappeared; she hadceased to tremble, and her fair face was as sweet, bright, and rosy asits wont.
She rose instantly on hearing the summons. "You'll excuse me, I know,Mr. Travilla. But will you not go in with me? We are always glad tohave you with us. I have no need to tell you that, I am sure."
"Thank you," he said, "but I must return to Ion now. I shall walk tothe house with you though, if you will permit me," he added, thinkingthat Arthur might be still lurking somewhere within the grounds.
She answered gayly that she would be very glad of his company. She hadlost none of her old liking for her father's friend, and was wont totreat him with the easy and affectionate familiarity she might haveused had he been her uncle.
They continued their talk till they had reached the lawn at the sideof the house on which her apartments were; then he turned to bid hergood-bye.
"I'm much obliged!
" she said, taking his offered hand, and looking upbrightly into his face.
"Welcome, fair lady; but am I to be dismissed without any reward formy poor services?"
"I have none to offer, sir knight, but you may help yourself if youchoose," she said, laughing and blushing, for she knew very well whathe meant.
He stooped and snatched a kiss from her ruby lips, then walked awaysighing softly to himself, "Ah, little Elsie, if I were but ten yearsyounger!"
She tripped across the lawn, and entering the open door of herboudoir, found herself in her father's arms. He had witnessed thelittle scene just enacted between Mr. Travilla and herself, hadnoticed something in his friend's look and manner that had neverstruck him before. He folded his child close to his heart for aninstant then held her off a little, gazing fondly into her face.
"You are mine; you belong to me; no other earthly creature has theleast shadow of a right or title in you; do you know that?"
"Yes, papa, and rejoice to know it," she murmured, putting her armsabout his neck and laying her head against his breast.
"Ah!" he said, sighing, "you will not always be able to say that, Ifear. One of these days you will--" He broke off abruptly, withoutfinishing his sentence.
She looked up inquiringly into his face.
He answered her look with a smile and a tender caress. "I had betternot put the nonsense into your head: it will get there soon enoughwithout my help. Come now, let us have the lessons. I expect to findthem well prepared, as usual."
"I hope so, papa," she answered, bringing her books and seatingherself on a stool at his feet, he having taken possession of aneasy-chair.
The recitations seemed a source of keen enjoyment to both; the oneloving to impart, and the other to receive, knowledge.
Mr. Dinsmore gave the deserved meed of warm praise for the faithfulpreparation of each allotted task, prescribed those for the comingday, and the books were laid aside.
"Come here, daughter," he said, as she closed her desk upon them, "Ihave something to say to you."
"What is it, papa?" she asked, seating herself upon his knee. "Howvery grave you look." But there was not a touch of the old fear in herface or voice, as there had been none in his of the old sternness.
"Yes, for I am about to speak of a serious matter," he answered,gently smoothing back the clustering curls from her fair brow, whilehe looked earnestly into the soft brown eyes. "You have not beenlending money to Arthur, Elsie?"
The abrupt, unexpected question startled her, and a crimson tiderushed over her face and neck; but she returned her father's gazesteadily: "No, papa; how could you think I would disobey so?"
"I did not, darling, and yet I felt that I must ask the questionand repeat my warning, my command to you--never to do so without myknowledge and consent. Your grandfather and I are much troubled aboutthe boy."
"I am so sorry, papa; I hope he has not been doing anything very bad."
"He seems to have sufficient cunning to hide many of his evil deeds,"Mr. Dinsmore said, with a sigh; "yet enough has come to light toconvince us that he is very likely to become a shame and disgrace tohis family. We know that he is profane, and to some extent, atleast, intemperate and a gambler. A sad, sad beginning for a boy ofseventeen. And to furnish him with money, Elsie, would be only toassist him in his downward course."
"Yes, papa, I see that. Poor grandpa, I'm so sorry for him! But, papa,God can change Arthur's heart, and make him all we could wish."
"Yes, daughter, and we will agree together to ask Him to do this greatwork, so impossible to any human power; shall we not?"
"Yes, papa." They were silent a moment; then she turned to him again,told of Lucy Carrington's call and its object, and asked if she mightaccept the invitation.
He considered a moment. "Yes," he said kindly, "you may if you wish.You quite deserve a holiday, and I think perhaps would really be thebetter of a week's rest from study. Go and enjoy yourself as much asyou can, my darling."
"Thank you, you dearest, kindest, and best of papas," she said, givinghim a hug and kiss. "But I think you look a little bit sorry. Youwould rather I should stay at home, if I could content myself to doso, and it would be a strange thing if I could not."
"No, my pet, I shall miss you, I know; the house always seems lonelywithout you; but I can spare you for a week, and would rather have yougo, because I think the change will do you good. Besides, I am willingto lend my treasure for a few days to our friends at Ashlands. Iwould gladly do more than that, if I could, for that poor sufferingHerbert."
Elsie's Girlhood Page 6