Elsie's Womanhood

by Martha Finley

  CHAPTER EIGHTH.

  "A mighty pain to love it is And 'tis a pain that pain to miss; But of all pains, the greatest pain It is to love, but love in vain." --COWLEY.

  One lovely afternoon in the second week of their stay at Viamede, Mr.Dinsmore and his daughter were seated in the shade of the trees on thelawn, she busied with some fancy-work while her father read aloud to her.

  As he paused to turn a leaf, "Papa," she said, glancing off down thebayou, "there is a steamer coming, the same that brought us, I think; andsee, it is rounding to at our landing. Can it be bringing us a guest?"

  "Yes, a gentleman is stepping ashore. Why, daughter, it is HaroldAllison."

  "Harold! oh, how delightful!" And rising they hastened to meet and welcomehim with truly Southern warmth of hospitality.

  "Harold! how good of you!" cried Elsie. "Mamma wrote us that you weresomewhere in this region, and if I'd had your address, I should have sentyou an invitation to come and stay as long as possible."

  "And you have done well and kindly by us to come without waiting forthat," Mr. Dinsmore said, shaking the hand of his young brother-in-lawwith a warmth of cordiality that said more than his words.

  "Many thanks to you both," he answered gayly. "I was conceited enough tofeel sure of a welcome, and did not wait, as a more modest fellow might,to be invited. But what a lovely place! a paradise upon earth! And, Elsie,you, in those dainty white robes, look the fit presiding genius."

  Elsie laughed and shook her head. "Don't turn flatterer, Harold; though Ido not object to praise of Viamede."

  "I have not heard from Rose in a long time," he said, addressing Mr.Dinsmore. "She and the little folks are well, I hope?"

  "I had a letter this morning, and they were all in good health when it waswritten."

  The servants had come trooping down from the house, and seizing Harold'sbaggage had it all ready in the guest-chamber to which Aunt Phillisordered it. Aunt Chloe now drew near to pay her respects to "MassaHarold," and tell him that his room was ready.

  "Will you go to it at once? or sit down here and have a little chat withpapa and me first?" asked Elsie.

  "Thank you; I think I shall defer the pleasure of the chat till I havefirst made myself presentable for the evening."

  "Then let me conduct you to your room," said Mr. Dinsmore, leading the wayto the house.

  Elsie had come in the course of years to look upon the older brothers ofher stepmother as in some sort her uncles, but for Harold, who was so muchnearer her own age, she entertained a sincere sisterly regard. And he wasworthy of it and of the warm place his many noble qualities had won forhim in Mr. Dinsmore's heart.

  They did all they could to make his visit to Viamede a pleasant one; therewere daily rides and walks, moonlight and early morning excursions on thebayou, rowing parties; oftenest of the three alone, but sometimes incompany with gallant chivalrous men and refined, cultivated women andcharming young girls from the neighboring plantations.

  One of these last, a beautiful brunette, Elsie had selected in her ownmind for Harold, and she contrived to throw them together frequently.

  "Don't you admire Miss Durand?" she asked, after they had met severaltimes. "I think she is lovely; as good, too, as she is beautiful; andwould make you a charming wife."

  He flushed hotly. "She is very handsome, very fascinating and talented,"he said; "but would never suit me. Nor do I suppose I could win her if Iwished."

  "Indeed! if you are so hard to please, I fear there will be nothing foryou but old bachelorhood," laughed Elsie. "I have picked her out for you,and I believe you could win her if you tried, Harold; but I shall not tryto become a match-maker."

  "No, I must select for myself; I couldn't let even you choose for me."

  "Choose what?" asked Mr. Dinsmore, stepping out upon the veranda, whereHarold stood leaning against a vine-wreathed pillar, his blue eyes fixedwith a sort of wistful, longing look upon Elsie's graceful figure and fairface, as she sat in a half-reclining posture on a low couch but a fewfeet from him.

  "A wife," he answered, compelling himself to speak lightly.

  "Don't let her do it," said Mr. Dinsmore, taking a seat by his daughter'sside; "I've warned her more than once not to meddle with match-making."And he shook his head at her with mock gravity.

  "I won't any more, papa; I'll leave him to his own devices, since he showshimself so ungrateful for my interest in his welfare," Elsie said, lookingfirst at her father and then at Harold with a merry twinkle in her eye.

  "I don't think I've asked how you like your new home and prospects,Harold," said Mr. Dinsmore, changing the subject.

  "Very much, thank you; except that they take me so far from the rest ofthe family."

  A few months before this Harold had met with a piece of rare good fortune,looked at from a worldly point of view, in being adopted as his sole heirby a rich and childless Louisiana planter, a distant relative of Mrs.Allison.

  "Ah, that is an objection," returned Mr. Dinsmore; "but you will beforming new and closer ties, that will doubtless go far to compensate forthe partial loss of the old. I hope you are enjoying yourself here?"

  "I am indeed, thank you." This answer was true, yet Harold felt himselfflush as he spoke, for there was one serious drawback upon his felicity;he could seldom get a word alone with Elsie; she and her father were soinseparable that he scarcely saw the one without the other. And Haroldstrongly coveted an occasional monopoly of the sweet girl's society. Hehad come to Viamede with a purpose entirely unsuspected by her or herapparently vigilant guardian.

  He should perhaps, have confided his secret to Mr. Dinsmore first, but hisheart failed him; and "what would be the use?" he asked himself, "if Elsieis not willing? Ah, if I could but be alone with her for an hour!"

  The coveted opportunity offered itself at last, quite unexpectedly. Comingout upon the veranda one afternoon, he saw Elsie sitting alone under atree far down on the lawn. He hastened towards her.

  "I am glad to see you," she said, looking up with a smile and making roomfor him on the seat by her side. "You see I am 'lone and lorn,' Mr. Durandhaving carried off papa to look at some new improvement in his sugar-housemachinery."

  "Ah! and when will your father return?"

  "In about an hour, I presume. Shall you attend Aunt Adie's wedding?" sheasked.

  "Yes, I think so. Don't you sometimes feel as if you'd like to stay herealtogether?"

  "Yes, and no; it's very lovely, and the more charming I believe, becauseit is my own; but--there is so much more to bind me to the Oaks, and Icould never live far away from papa."

  "Couldn't you? I hoped---- Oh, Elsie, couldn't you possibly love some oneelse better even than you love him? You're more to me than father, mother,and all the world beside. I have wanted to tell you so for years, butwhile I was comparatively poor your fortune sealed my lips. Now I am rich,and I lay all I have at your feet; myself included; and----"

  "Oh, Harold, hush!" she cried in trembling tones, flushing and paling byturns, and putting up her hand as if to stop the torrent of words he waspouring forth so unexpectedly that astonishment had struck her dumb for aninstant; "oh! don't say any more, I--I thought you surely knew that--thatI am already engaged."

  "No. To whom?" he asked hoarsely, his face pale as death, and lipsquivering so that he could scarcely speak.

  "To Mr. Travilla. It has been only for a few weeks, though we have lovedeach other for years. Oh, Harold, Harold, do not look so wretched! youbreak my heart, for I love you as a very dear brother."

  He turned away with a groan, and without another word hastened back to thehouse, while Elsie, covering her face with her hands, shed some verybitter tears.

  Heart-broken, stunned, feeling as if every good thing in life had suddenlyslipped from his grasp, Harold sought his room, mechanically gathered uphis few effects, packed them into his valise, then sat down by the openwindow and leant his head upon his hand.

  He couldn't think, he could
only feel that all was lost, and that he mustgo away at once, if he would not have everybody know it, and make the idolof his heart miserable with the sight of his wretchedness.

  Why had he not known of her engagement? Why had no one told him? Why hadhe been such a fool as to suppose he could win so great a prize? He wasnot worthy of her. How plainly he saw it now, how sorely repented of theconceit that had led him on to the avowal of his passion.

  He had a vague recollection that a boat was to pass that afternoon. Hewould take passage in that, and he hoped Mr. Dinsmore's return might bedelayed till he was gone. He would away without another word to Elsie; sheshould not be disturbed by any further unmanly manifestation of his bittergrief and despair.

  The hour of the passing of the boat drew near, and valise in hand, he lefthis room and passed down the stairs. But Elsie was coming in from thelawn, and they met in the lower hall.

  "Harold," she cried, "you are not going? You must not leave us sosuddenly."

  "I must," he said in icy tones, the stony eyes gazing into vacancy; "allplaces are alike to me now, and I cannot stay here to trouble you andHorace with the sight of a wretchedness I cannot hide."

  Trembling so that she could scarcely stand, Elsie leaned against the wallfor support, the hot tears coursing down her cheeks. "Oh, Harold!" shesobbed, "what an unhappy creature I am to have been the cause of suchsorrow to you! Oh why should you ever have thought of me so?"

  Dropping his valise, his whole manner changing, he turned to her withpassionate vehemence. "Because I couldn't help it! Even as a boy I gave upmy whole heart to you, and I cannot call it back. Oh, Elsie, why did Iever see you?" and he seized both her hands in a grasp that almost forceda cry of pain from her white, quivering lips. "Life is worthless withoutyou. I'd rather die knowing that you loved me than live to see you in thepossession of another."

  "Harold, Harold, a sister's love I can, I do give you; and can you not becontent with that?"

  "A sister's love!" he repeated scornfully. "Offer a cup with a drop ofwater in it, to a man perishing, dying with thirst. Yes, I'm going away, Icare not whither; all places are alike to him who has lost all interest inlife."

  He threw her hands from him almost with violence, half turned away, thensuddenly catching her in his arms, held her close to his heart, kissingpassionately, forehead, cheek, and lips. "Oh, Elsie, Elsie, light of myeyes, core of my heart, why did we ever meet to part like this? I don'tblame you. I have been a fool. Good-bye, darling." And releasing her, hewas gone ere she could recover breath to speak. It had all been so suddenshe had had no power, perhaps no will, to resist, so sore was the tender,loving heart for him.

  He was barely in time to hail the boat as it passed, and at the instant hewas about to step aboard, Mr. Dinsmore rode up, and springing from thesaddle, throwing the reins to his servant, cried out in astonishment,"Harold! you are not leaving us? Come, come, what has happened to hurryyou away? Must you go?"

  "Yes, I must," he answered with half-averted face. "Don't call me ascoundrel for making such a return for your hospitality. I couldn't helpit. Good-bye. Try to forget that I've been here at all; for Rose's sake,you know."

  He sprang into the boat; it pushed off, and was presently lost to sightamong the trees shading the bayou on either hand.

  Mr. Dinsmore stood for a moment as if spellbound; then turned and walkedthoughtfully towards the house. "What did it all mean?" he asked himself;"of what unkind return of his or Elsie's hospitality could the lad havebeen guilty? Elsie! ha! can it be possible?" and quickened his pace,glancing from side to side in search of her as he hurried on.

  Entering the hall, the sound of a half-smothered sob guided him to alittle parlor or reception-room seldom used. Softly he opened the door.She was there half-reclining upon a sofa, her face buried in the cushions.In a moment he had her in his arms, the weary, aching head on his breast,while he tenderly wiped away the fast-falling tears.

  "My poor darling, my poor little pet, don't take it so to heart. It isnothing; he will probably get over it before he is a month older."

  "Papa, is it my fault? did I give him undue encouragement? am I acoquette?" she sobbed.

  "Far from it! did he dare to call you that?"

  "No, no, oh, no; he said he did not blame me; it was all his own folly."

  "Ah! I think the better of him for that; though 'twas no more than just."

  "I thought he knew of my engagement."

  "So did I. And the absurdity of the thing! Such a mixture of relationshipsas it would have been! I should never have entertained the thought for amoment. And he ought to have spoken to me first, and spared you all this.No, you needn't fret; he deserves all he suffers, for what he hasinflicted upon you, my precious one."

  "I hardly think that, papa; he was very generous to take all the blame tohimself; but oh, you have eased my heart of half its load. What should Iever do without you, my own dear, dear father!"

  The pleasure of our friends, during the rest of their stay at Viamede, wassomewhat dampened by this unfortunate episode, though Elsie, for herfather's sake, did her best to rally from its effect on her spirits, andto be cheerful and gay as before.

  Long, bright, loving letters from home, and Ion coming the next day, werea great help. Then the next day brought a chaplain, who seemed in allrespects so well suited to his place as to entirely relieve her mind inregard to the future welfare of her people. He entered into all her plansfor them, and promised to carry them out to the best of his ability.

  So it was with a light heart, though not without some lingering regretsfor the sad ones and the loveliness left behind, that she and her fatherset out on their homeward way.

  Mr. Dinsmore's man John, Aunt Chloe, and Uncle Joe, went with them; and itwas a continual feast for master and mistress to see the happiness of thepoor old couple, especially when their grandchild Dinah, their only livingdescendant so far as they could learn, was added to the party; Elsiepurchasing her, according to promise, as they passed through New Orleanson their return trip.

  Dinah was very grateful to find herself installed as assistant to hergrandmother, who, Elsie said, must begin to take life more easily now inher old age. Yet that Aunt Chloe found it hard to do, for she was veryjealous of having any hands but her own busied about the person of heridolized young mistress.

  A glad welcome awaited them at home, where they arrived in due season forAdelaide's wedding.

  Sophie and Harry Carrington had returned from their wedding trip, and weremaking their home with his parents, at Ashlands; Richard, Fred, and MayAllison, came with their brother Edward; but Harold, who was to meet themat Roselands, was not there. He had engaged to act as second groomsman,Richard being first, and there was much wondering over his absence; manyregrets were expressed, and some anxiety was felt.

  But Elsie and her father kept their own counsel, and breathed no word ofthe episode at Viamede, which would have explained all.

  Harold's coming was still hoped for by the others until the last moment,when Fred took his place, and the ceremony passed off as satisfactorily asif there had been no failure on the part of any expected, to participatein it.

  It took place in the drawing-room at Roselands, in presence of a crowd ofaristocratic guests, and was considered a very grand affair. A round ofparties followed for the next two weeks, and then the happy pair set sailfor Europe.