Elsie's Womanhood

by Martha Finley

  CHAPTER THIRTEENTH.

  "My bride, My wife, my life. O we will walk this world Yok'd in all exercise of noble aim And so through those dark gates across the wild That no man knows." --TENNYSON'S PRINCESS.

  Elsie's tears were falling fast, but an arm as strong and kind as herfather's stole quietly about her, a hand as gentle and tender as a woman'sdrew the weary head to a resting-place on her husband's shoulder, smoothedback the hair from the heated brow, and wiped away the falling drops.

  "My wife! my own precious little wife!"

  How the word, the tone, thrilled her! her very heart leaped for joythrough all the pain of parting from one scarcely less dear. "My husband,"she murmured, low and shyly--it seemed so strange to call him that, soalmost bold and forward--"my dear, kind friend, to be neither hurt norangry at my foolish weeping."

  "Not foolish, dear one, but perfectly natural and right. I understand it;I who know so well what your father has been to you these many years."

  "Father and mother both."

  "Yes; tutor, friend, companion, confidant, everything. I know, dear littlewife, that you are sacrificing much for me, even though the separationwill be but partial. And how I love you for it, and for all you are tome, God only knows."

  The tears had ceased to flow; love, joy, and thankfulness were regainingtheir ascendancy in the heart of the youthful bride; she became againcalmly, serenely happy.

  The journey was accomplished without accident. They were favored withwarm, bright days, clear, starlit nights; and on as lovely an afternoon aswas ever known in that delicious clime, reached Viamede.

  Great preparations had been made for their reception; banners werestreaming, and flags flying from balconies and tree-tops. Mr. Mason metthem at the pier with a face beaming with delight; Spriggs with a stiffbow. A gun was fired and a drum began to beat as they stepped ashore; twopretty mulatto girls scattered flowers in their path, and passing under agrand triumphal arch they presently found themselves between two long rowsof smiling, bowing negroes, whose fervent ejaculations: "God bless ourdear young missus an' her husband!" "God bless you, massa an' missus!""Welcome home!" "Welcome to Viamede!" "We've not forgot you, Miss Elsie;you's as welcome as de daylight!" affected our tender-hearted heroinealmost to tears.

  She had a kind word for each, remembering all their names, and inquiringafter their "miseries"; every one was permitted to take her small whitehand, many of them kissing it with fervent affection. They were introducedto their "new master," too (that was what she called him), and shakenhands with by him in a cordial interested way that won their hearts atonce.

  Aunt Phillis was in her glory, serving up a feast the preparation of whichhad exhausted the united skill of both Aunt Sally and herself. Theirefforts were duly appreciated and praised, the viands evidently greatlyenjoyed, all to their intense delight.

  Mr. Mason was invited to partake with the bride and groom, and assignedthe seat of honor at Mr. Travilla's right hand. Elsie presided over thetea-urn with the same gentle dignity and grace as when her father occupiedthe chair at the opposite end of the table, now filled by her husband. Hertraveling dress had been exchanged for one of simple white, and there werewhite flowers in her hair and at her throat. Very sweet and charming shelooked, not only in the eyes of her husband, who seemed to find her fairface a perpetual feast, but in those of all others who saw her.

  On leaving the table they repaired to the library, where Mr. Mason gave areport of the condition of the people and his work among them, alsoassuring Mrs. Travilla that Spriggs had carefully carried out her wishes,that the prospect for the crops was fine, and everything on the estate inexcellent order.

  She expressed her gratification, appealing to Mr. Travilla for hisapproval, which was cordially given; said she had brought a little giftfor each of the people, and desired they should be sent up to the houseabout sunset the next evening to receive it.

  The chaplain promised that her order should be attended to, then retired,leaving husband and wife alone together.

  "All very satisfactory, my little friend, was it not?" said Mr. Travilla.

  "Yes, sir, very. I'm so glad to have secured such a man as Mr. Mason tolook after the welfare of these poor helpless creatures. And you like thehouse, Mr. Travilla, do you not?"

  "Very much, so far as I have seen it. This is a beautiful room, and thedining-room pleased me equally well."

  "Ah, I am eager to show you all!" she cried, rising quickly and laying herhand on the bell-rope.

  "Stay, little wife, not to-night," he said, "you are too much fatigued."

  She glided to the back of the easy chair in which he sat, and leaning overhim, said laughingly, "I'm not conscious of being fatigued, but I havepromised to obey and----"

  "Hush, hush!" he said flushing, "I meant to have that left out; and did Inot tell you you were to have your own way that night and ever after?You've already done enough of obeying to last you a lifetime. But pleasecome round where I can see you better." Then, as she stepped to his side,he threw an arm about her and drew her to his knee.

  "But it wasn't left out," she said, shyly returning his fond caress; "Ipromised and must keep my word."

  "Ah, but if you can't, you can't; how will you obey when you get noorders?"

  "So you don't mean to give me any?"

  "No, indeed; I'm your husband, your friend, your protector, your lover,but not your master."

  "Now, Mr. Travilla----"

  "I asked you to call me Edward."

  "But it seems so disrespectful."

  "More so than to remind me of the disparity of our years? or than todisregard my earnest wish? Then I think I'll have to require the keepingof the promise in this one thing. Say Edward, little wife, and never againcall me Mr. Travilla when we are alone."

  "Well, Edward, I will try to obey; and if I use the wrong word throughforgetfulness you must please excuse it. But ah, I remember papa would saythat was no excuse."

  "But I shall not be so strict--unless you forget too often. I havesometimes thought my friend too hard with his tender-hearted, sensitivelittle daughter."

  "Don't blame him--my dear, dear father!" she said, low and tremulously,her face growing grave and almost sad for the moment. "He was very strict,it is true, but none too strict in the matter of requiring prompt andimplicit obedience, and oh, so kind, so loving, so tender, sosympathizing. I could, and did go to him with every little childish joyand sorrow, every trouble, vexation, and perplexity; always sure ofsympathy, and help, too, if needed. Never once did he repulse me, or showhimself an uninterested listener.

  "He would take me on his knee, hear all I had to say, clasp me close tohis heart, caress me, call me pet names, joy, sorrow with, or counsel meas the case required, and bid me always come freely to him so, assuring methat nothing which concerned me, one way or another, was too trivial tointerest him, and he would be glad to know I had not a thought or feelingconcealed from him. I doubt if even you, my friend, have ever known allthat papa has been and is to me: father, mother, everything--buthusband," she added with a blush and smile, as her eyes met the kindly,tender look in his.

  "Ah, that is my blessed privilege," he whispered, drawing her closer tohim. "My wife, my own precious little wife! God keep me from ever beingless tender, loving, sympathizing to you than your father has been."

  "I do not fear it, my husband. Oh, was ever woman so blessed with love asI! Daughter, and wife! they are the sweetest of all names when addressedto me by papa's lips and yours."

  "I ought not to find fault with his training, seeing what credit you doit. However, you seemed to me as near perfection as possible before hebegan. Ah, my little friend, for how many years I loved you with scarcelya hope it would ever be returned in the way I wished. Indeed I can hardlyyet believe fully in my own happiness," he concluded with a joyous laugh.The next day Elsie had the pleasure of showing her husband over the housefirst, and then the estate. Their life at Viamede
, for the few weeks oftheir stay, seemed much like a repetition of her visit there the yearbefore with her father. They took the same rides, walks and drives; glidedover the clear waters of the bayou in the same boat; sought out each spotof beauty or interest he had shown her; were, if possible, even moreconstantly together, reading, writing, or engaged with music in library ordrawing-room, seated side by side on veranda or lawn enjoyingconversation, book or periodical; or, it might be, silently musing, handin hand, by the soft moonlight that lent such a witchery to the lovelylandscape. A pleasanter honeymoon could hardly have been devised.

  In one thing, however, they were disappointed: they had hoped to be leftentirely to each other; but it was impossible to conceal their presence atViamede from the hospitable neighbors, and calls and invitations had to bereceived and returned. But, both being eminently fitted to shine insociety, and each proud to display the other, this state of things didnot, after all, so greatly interfere with their enjoyment.

  In fact, so delightful did they find their life in that lovely countrythat they lingered week after week till nearly six had slipped away, andletters from home began to be urgent for their return. Mr. Dinsmore waswearying for his daughter, Mrs. Travilla for her son, and scarcely lessfor the daughter so long vainly hoped for.

  Every day a servant was despatched to the nearest post-office with theirmail, generally returning as full handed as he went. Mr. Dinsmore'sletters were, as he had promised, daily, and never left unanswered. Theold love was not, could not be forgotten in the new. Elsie was no less adaughter because she had become a wife; but Edward was always a sharer inher enjoyment, and she in his.

  They were sitting on the veranda one morning when Uncle Ben rode up andhanded the mail-box to his master. Mr. Travilla hastened to open it, gaveElsie her letters and began the perusal of his own.

  A softly breathed sigh called his attention to her.

  "What is it, little wife?" he asked; "your face is grave almost tosadness."

  "I was thinking," she answered, with her eye still upon her father'sletter open in her hand. "Papa says," and she read aloud from the sheet,"How long you are lingering in Viamede. When will you return? TellTravilla I am longing for a sight of the dear face his eyes are feastingupon, and he must remember his promise not to part us.

  "I am writing in your boudoir. I have been thinking of the time (it seemsbut yesterday) when I had you here a little girl, sitting on my kneereciting your lessons or listening with almost rapt attention to myremarks and explanations. Never before had tutor so dear, sweet, andinteresting a scholar!"

  "A fond father's partiality," she remarked, looking up with a smile andblush. "But never, I am sure, was such another tutor; his lucidexplanations, intense interest in the subject and his pupil, aptillustrations, and fund of information constantly opened up to me, made mylessons a delight."

  "He has made you wonderfully well informed and thorough," said herhusband.

  She colored with pleasure.

  "Such words are very sweet, coming from your lips. You appreciate papa."

  "Yes, indeed, and his daughter too, I hope," he answered, smiling fondlyupon her. "Yes, your father and I have been like brothers since we werelittle fellows. It seems absurd to think of him in any other relation."

  "But what about going home? isn't it time, as papa thinks?"

  "That you shall decide, _ma chere_; our life here has been very delightfulto me, and to you also, I hope."

  "Very, if we had your mother and papa and mamma and the children here, Ishould like to stay all winter. But as it is I think we ought to returnsoon." He assented, and after a little more consultation they decided togo soon--not later than the middle of the next week, but the day was notset.

  CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.

  "The low reeds bent by the streamlet's side, And hills to the thunder peal replied; The lightning burst on its fearful way While the heavens were lit in its red array." --WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK.