CHAPTER XXII.
'Twas the doubt that thou wert false, That wrung my heart with pain; But now I know thy perfidy, I shall be well again.
--BRYANT.
Elsie submitted without a murmur to her father's requirements andrestrictions; but though there was nothing else to remind her that shehad been for one sad day in disgrace with him--his manner toward herhaving again all the old tender fondness--she did not fully recoverher spirits, but, spite of her struggles to be cheerful and hopeful,seemed often depressed, and grew pale and thin day by day.
Her father noticed it with deep concern and anxiety. "Somethingmust be done," he said one day to his wife; "the child is droopingstrangely, and I fear will lose her health. I must try what changewill do for her. What do you say to a year in Europe?"
"For all of us?"
"Yes, for you and me and our two children."
"It might be very pleasant, and Elsie has never been."
"No; I have always meant to take her, but found home so enjoyable thatI have put it off from year to year."
Elsie entered the room as he spoke.
"Come here, daughter," he said, making room for her on the sofa by hisside. "I was just saying to mamma that I think of taking you all toEurope for a year. How should you like that?"
"Oh, very much, papa!" she answered, looking up brightly; "I should soenjoy seeing all the places you have told me of,--all the scenes ofyour adventures when you travelled there before."
"Then I think we will go. Shall we not, mamma?"
"Yes; but I must pay a visit home first, and do some preparatoryshopping in Philadelphia. Can we go on in time to spend some weeksthere before sailing?"
"You might, my dear; but I shall have to stay behind to arrangematters here; which will take some time, in contemplation of solengthened an absence from the estate."
"Then I suppose we must have a temporary separation," said Rose, in ajesting tone; "I had better take the children and go home at once, sothat Elsie and I can be getting through our shopping, etc., while youare busy here."
"No, Rose; you may go, and take Horace with you, if you like; butElsie must stay with me. I cannot trust her even with you!"
"Oh, papa!" And the sweet face flushed crimson, the soft eyes filledwith tears.
"I think you misunderstand me, daughter," he said kindly; "I do notmean that I fear you would fail in obedience to my commands or mywishes; but that I must keep you under my protection. Besides, Icannot possibly spare all my treasures--wife, son, and daughter--atonce. Would you wish to go and leave me quite alone?"
"Oh no, no, indeed, you dear, dearest father!" she cried, putting herarm round his neck, and gazing in his face with eyes beaming with joyand love.
"Yours is the better plan, I believe, my dear," said Rose. "I wouldrather not have you left alone, and I think I could do what isnecessary for Elsie, in the way of shopping and ordering dresses made,if she likes to trust me."
So it was arranged; three days after this conversation Mrs. Dinsmoreleft for Philadelphia, taking little Horace with her, and a fortnightlater Mr. Dinsmore followed with Elsie.
Dearly as the young girl loved Rose and her little brother, it had yetbeen an intense pleasure to her to have her father all to herself, andbe everything to him for those two weeks; and she was almost sorry tohave them come to an end.
It was late at night when they reached the City of Brotherly Love. Mr.Allison's residence was several miles distant from the depot, but hiscarriage was there in waiting for them.
"Are the family all well, Davis?" inquired Mr. Dinsmore, addressingthe coachman, as he placed Elsie in the vehicle.
"All well, sir; Mrs. Dinsmore and the little boy too."
"Ah, I am thankful for that. You may drive on at once. My man Johnwill call a hack and follow us with Aunt Chloe and the baggage."
"Did you give John the checks, papa?" asked Elsie as he took his seatby her side, and Davis shut the carriage door.
"Yes. How weary you look, my poor child! There, lean on me," and heput his arm about her and made her lay her head on his shoulder.
They drove on rapidly, passing through several comparatively silentand deserted streets, then suddenly the horses slackened their pace,a bright light shone in at the carriage window and the hum ofmany voices and sound of many feet attracted the attention of thetravellers.
Elsie started and raised her head, asking, "What is it, papa?"
"We are passing a theatre, and it seems the play is just over, judgingby the crowds that are pouring from its doors."
Davis reined in his horses to avoid running over those who werecrossing the street, and Elsie, glancing from the window, caught sightof a face she knew only too well. Its owner was in the act of steppingfrom the door of the theatre, and staggered as he did so--would havefallen to the ground had he not been held up by his companion, agaudily dressed, brazen-faced woman, whose character there was nomistaking.
"Ha, ha, Tom!" she cried, with a loud and boisterous laugh, "I savedyou from a downfall that time; which I'll be bound is more than thatSouthern heiress of yours would have done."
"Now don't be throwing her up to me again, Bet," he answered thickly,reeling along so close to our travellers that they caught the scent ofhis breath; "I tell you again she can't hold a candle to you, and Inever cared for her; it was the money I was after."
Mr. Dinsmore saw a deadly pallor suddenly overspread his daughter'sface; for a single instant her eyes sought his with an expression ofmute despairing agony that wrung his heart; then all was darkness asagain the carriage rolled rapidly onward.
"My poor, poor darling!" he murmured, drawing her close to him andfolding his arms about her as if he would shield her from every dangerand evil, while hers crept around his neck and her head dropped uponhis breast.
The carriage rattled on over the rough stones. Elsie clung withdeath-like grasp to her father, shudder after shudder shaking herwhole frame, in utter silence at first, but at length, as they cameupon a smoother road and moved with less noise and jolting, "Papa,"she whispered, "oh, what a fearful, fearful fate you have saved mefrom! Thank God for a father's protecting love and care!"
"Thank Him that I have my darling safe." he responded in a deeplymoved tone, and caressing her with exceeding tenderness.
In another moment they had stopped before Mr. Allison's door, whichwas thrown wide open almost on the instant; for Rose and Edward wereup, waiting and listening for their coming.
"Come at last! glad to see you!" cried the latter, springing downthe steps to greet his brother-in-law as he alighted. Then, as Mr.Dinsmore turned, lifted his daughter from the carriage, and halfcarried her into the house, "But what's the matter? Elsie ill? hurt?have you had an accident?"
Rose stood waiting in the hall. "My dear husband!" she exclaimed in atone of mingled affection, surprise, and alarm. "What is it? what iswrong with our darling? Come this way, into the sitting-room, and layher on the sofa."
"She has received a heavy blow, Rose, but I think--I hope it will turnout for her good in the end," he said low and tremulously, as he laidher down.
She seemed in a half-fainting condition, and Edward rushed away insearch of restoratives.
Rose asked no more questions at the time, nor did her husband give anyfurther information, but in silence, broken only now and then bya subdued whisper, they both devoted their energies to Elsie'srestoration.
"Shall I go for a doctor?" asked Edward.
"No, thank you. I think she will be better presently," answered Mr.Dinsmore.
"I am better now," murmured Elsie feebly. "Papa, if you will help meup to bed, I shall do very well."
"Can't you eat something first?" asked Rose, "I have a nice littlesupper set out in the next room for papa and you."
Elsie shook her head, and sighed, "I don't think I could, mamma; I amnot at all hungry."
"I want you to try, though," said her father; "it is some hours nowsince you tasted food, and I think you need it," and lifting hertende
rly in his arms he carried her into the supper-room, where heseated her at the table in an easy-chair which Edward hastily wheeledup for her use.
To please her father she made a determined effort, and succeeded inswallowing a few mouthfuls. After that he helped her to her room andleft her in the care of Rose and Chloe.
Having seen with her own eyes, and heard with her own ears, Elsiecould no longer doubt the utter unworthiness of Egerton, or hisidentity with Tom Jackson; of whose vices and crimes she had heardfrom both her father and Walter, with whom she still kept up acorrespondence. She loved him no longer; nay, she had never loved him;her affection had been bestowed upon the man she believed him to be,not the man that he was. But now the scales had fallen from her eyes,she saw him in all his hideous moral deformity, and shrank with horrorand loathing from the recollection that his arm had once encircledher waist, his lip touched her cheek. She could now appreciate herfather's feelings of anger and indignation on learning that she hadpermitted such liberties, and felt more deeply humbled and penitent onaccount of it than ever before.
She slept little that night, and did not leave her room for severaldays. The sudden shock had quite unnerved her; but the cause of herillness remained a secret between herself and her parents, who watchedover her with the tenderest solicitude, and spared no effort tocheer and comfort her. She seemed at this time to shrink from allcompanionship but theirs, although she and her mamma's youngerbrothers and sisters had always entertained a warm friendship for eachother.
On the fourth day after their arrival her father took her out fora drive, and returning left her resting on the sofa in herdressing-room, while he and Rose went for a short walk.
The door-bell rang, and presently Chloe came up with a very smilingface to ask if "Marse Walter" might come in.
"Walter?" cried Elsie, starting up. "Yes, indeed!"
She had scarcely spoken the words before he was there beside her,shaking hands, and kissing her, saying with a gay boyish laugh, "Isuppose your uncle has a right?"
"Yes, certainly; though I don't know when, he ever claimed it before.But oh, how glad I am to gee you! and how you've grown and improved.Sit down, do. There's an easy-chair.
"Excuse my not getting up; papa bade me lie and rest for an hour."
"Thanks, yes; and I know you always obey orders. And so you're on thesick list? what's the matter?"
An expression of pain crossed her features and the color faded fromher cheek. "I have been ailing a little," she said, "but am betternow. How is Arthur?"
"H'm! well enough physically, but--in horrible disgrace with papa.You've no idea, Elsie, to what an extent that Tom Jackson has fleecedhim. He's over head and ears in debt, and my father's furious. He hasput the whole matter into Horace's hands for settlement. Did he tellyou about it?"
"No, he only said he expected to go to Princeton to-morrow to attendto some business. He would have gone sooner, but didn't like to leaveme."
"Careful of you as ever! that's right. I say, Elsie, I think Horacehas very sensible ideas about matters and things."
"Do you? I own I think so myself," she answered with a quiet smile.
"Yes; you see Arthur is in debt some thousands, a good share of itwhat they call debts of honor. Papa had some doubt as to whether theyought to be paid, and asked Horace what was his opinion. Adelaidewrote me the whole story, you see. Here, I'll give it to you in hisexact words, as she reports them," he added, taking a letter from hispocket and reading aloud, "'Father, don't think of such a thing! Why,surely it would be encouraging gambling, which is a ruinous vice; andpaying a man for robbing and cheating. I would, if necessary, partwith the last cent to pay an honest debt; but a so-called debt ofhonor (of dishonor would be more correct) I would not pay if I hadmore money than I could find other uses for.' And I think he wasright. Don't you?" concluded Walter.
"I think papa is always right."
"Yes? Well, I was afraid you didn't think he was in regard tothat--fellow you met out in Lansdale; I've been wanting to see you totell you what I know of the scoundrelism of Tom Jackson, and the proofthat they are one and the same."
"Yes, I know, I--I believe it now, Walter, and--But don't let us speakof it again," she faltered, turning deathly pale and almost gaspingfor breath.
"I won't; I didn't know you'd mind; I--I'm very sorry," he stammered,looking anxious, and vexed with himself.
"Never mind; I shall soon learn not to care. Now tell me about Arthur.Will he stay and finish his course?"
"No; papa says his patience is worn out, and his purse can stand nomore such drains as Arthur has put upon it two or three times already.So he is to leave and go home as soon as Horace has settled up hisaffairs."
"And you?"
"I hope to go on and to graduate in another year."
"Oh, Wal, I'm so glad! so thankful you have'nt followed in poorArthur's footsteps."
"He wouldn't let me, Elsie; he actually wouldn't. I know I'm lackingin self-reliance and firmness, and if Art had chosen to lead me wrong,I'm afraid he'd have succeeded. But he says, poor fellow! that it'senough for one to be a disgrace to the family, and has tried to keepme out of temptation. And you can't think how much my correspondencewith you has helped to keep me straight. Your letters always did me somuch good."
"Oh, thank you for telling me that!" she cried, with bright, gladtears glistening in her eyes.
"No, 'tis I that owe thanks to you," he said, looking downmeditatively at the carpet and twirling his watch-key between hisfinger and thumb.
"Poor Art! this ought to have been his last year, and doubtless wouldif he had only kept out of bad company."
"Ah, Wal, I hope that you will never forget that 'evil communicationscorrupt good manners.'"
"I hope not, Elsie. I wish you could stay and attend our commencement.What do you say? Can't you? It comes off in about a fortnight."
"No, Wal. I'm longing to get away, and papa has engaged our passagein the next steamer. But perhaps we may return in time to see yougraduate next year."
"What, in such haste to leave America! I'm afraid you're losing yourpatriotism," he said playfully.
"Ah, it is no want of love for my dear native land that makes meimpatient to be gone!" she answered half sadly.
"And are you really to be gone a year?"
"So papa intends, but of course everything in this world isuncertain."
"I shall look anxiously for my European letters, and expect them to bevery interesting."
"I'll do my best, Wal," she said languidly, "but I don't feel, justnow, as if I could ever write anything worth reading."
"I think I never saw you so blue," he said in a lively, jesting tone."I must tell you of the fun we fellows have, and if it doesn't makeyou wish yourself one of us--Well," and he launched out into ananimated description of various practical jokes played off by thestudents upon their professors or on each other.
He succeeded at length in coaxing some of the old brightness into thesweet face, and Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore, mounting the stairs on theirreturn from their walk, exchanged glances of delighted surprise at thesound of a silvery laugh which had not greeted their ears for days.
Walter received a hearty welcome from both. His visit, thoughnecessarily short, was of real service to Elsie, doing much to rouseher out of herself and her grief; thus beginning the cure whichtime and change of scene--dulling the keen edge of sorrow anddisappointment, and giving pleasant occupation to her thoughts--wouldat length carry on to completion.
Elsie's Girlhood Page 22