Graham's Magazine, Vol. XLI, No. 5, November 1852. Various
beautiful face than was Clara’s at that moment. Joyous words seemed to tremble on her lips, and laughing fancies to peep out through the long lashes of her eyes, so roguishly! Then, when the little white hands untied the bonnet and took it off, dropping it on the carpet, and let the rich, clustering hair flow about the bright face,
“Ah, she is very charming!” thought her mother, while she said —
“You have passed a delightful evening, Clara.”
Clara started and looked up. The radiant smile instantly died away, and replying coldly —
“Very passable, I thank you,” she rose, and taking a light from the table, left the room.
Mrs. Gregory sighed deeply; and, leaning her forehead against the cold window-pane, stood lost in painful thought, till many stars were set, and the embers on the hearth grew white and cold.
She for whom she thus sorrowed, meanwhile, flew to her chamber and, wrapping her shawl about her, sat down to her writing-desk and scribbled these lines —
“A word with thee, dearest Bel, before I sleep. Oh! if you could have been with me to-night! A little select party at Mrs. Hall’s, and such a delectable evening! All our choice spirits were there, and one entirely new star. A “real, live” star, too, Bel, unquestionably the most elegant man that ever wore a mustache. Oh, you should see him! So distingué! Neither M – , nor Monsieur de V – is a circumstance to him! I cannot conceive where Mrs. Hall found him; but she is always the first to introduce strangers – the only polite woman in town, I think. I suspect, however, that he is a friend of Frank, who has just returned from his winter’s residence in the south.
“They kept me at the piano half the evening; and this exquisite ‘Don Whiskerando’ accompanied me – so sweetly! – with the flute. Under a perfect cannonade of entreaties he consented to sing, too; although he would be persuaded to nothing but a duett with your humble friend. The richest barytone.
“He will be here to-morrow, and I would give the world if my Bel might be here also! Oh! I forgot to tell you my hero’s name is Brentford – did you ever hear it before?
“Do you not think Ellen Morgan an envious thing? Good night, love – dream of your Clara!
“Oh, one word more. Don’t you think ma chére mère must have an active mind to keep her up till this time, to observe my arrival? Oh, Eve, thou art undone!
“I hope all she saw and heard was satisfactory to her. I suppose she expected that I should continue the conversation after I came in, for she kept so whist, that I was not aware of her presence till she discovered herself by the sagacious observation —
“‘You have had a charming evening, dear,’ in such an insinuating tone! Aweel!”
CHAPTER V
One morning, a few days after the evening of the last chapter, Mrs. Gregory – on entering the breakfast-room – found her husband reading a letter.
“This is from my sister, Mrs. Horland, of Cincinnati: she is suffering a great bereavement in the death of her husband. It will be difficult, but I believe I must go to her, Catharine. Poor Ellen was always a dependent creature, and I cannot leave her alone. A note from Mr. Horland’s clerk says, that his affairs were left in a very embarrassed condition, and presses urgently that I should come to save Ellen from imposition and fraud.”
“She does, indeed, need you sadly, and we ought to let you go; but, can your practice spare you?”
“There are no patients now whom it would not do to leave with young Philips, I think. I shall return as soon as possible.”
The journey and its object formed the topic of conversation at the breakfast-table, and it was decided that Doctor Gregory should start the next morning.
“Dear Catharine,” said he, at parting, “I pray you to feel that you are mistress of this house. Be sure that the children revere your authority – I am happy in intrusting them to you.”
One week from that day, in the pleasant twilight, an antique family carriage, that had been splendid in its day, drew up before the gateway, and two individuals very much of the same description emerged from its cavernous interior.
“Grandfather and Grandmother Newell, as true as I live!” cried Alice, who was looking out.
All rushed to the window and then to the door to welcome the venerable visitants. With joyous exclamations and great running to and fro, they were at last seated so comfortably that nothing more could be done without making them less comfortable. Eddie was on his grandfather’s knee, Alice leaned over her grandmother’s chair, while Clara was seated between them. Mrs. Gregory hastened to prepare a dish of tea, to refresh them after their ride.
“Well, my poor dears, how do you get along?” asked Mrs. Newell, as soon as the step-mother had disappeared.
Clara looked to Alice.
“As well as we possibly could without our own dear mother,” said Alice. “I am glad you are come to see for yourself,” and she kissed the old lady’s pale, wrinkled cheek.
“Yes, I shall see,” replied the grandmother; and accordingly that evening and the next day were spent in the closest observation.
“See what Mr. Brentford gave me!” cried Eddie, as, returning from a walk with Clara on the following afternoon, he bounded into the room, brandishing above his head an enormous paper of bon-bons.
“Mr. Brentford was very kind, was he not?” said his mother, taking a sugar-plum which the child generously extended to her. He bestowed a similar bounty on every one in the room, and then sat down to the work of feeding himself, which he performed with extraordinary celerity, bolting the sugar-coated poison by the handful.
“There, Neddie, you have had quite enough for this time,” interposed his mother. “You will make yourself sick.”
“No, no!” cried the young gourmand, grasping his precious package with great energy, and turning away, “I want them all.”
“Not all, now – Oh, no, that would not do, at all. Bring them to me, and I will keep them for you, and give them to you when it is best for you to have them.”
Emboldened to disobedience by the presence of those whom he had never failed to conquer, the child hugged his treasure still closer, and arranged his physiognomy for a cry.
“Neddie – I want you to bring me your sweetmeats,” said Mrs. G.
He took refuge by the chair of his grandmother, who began to caress him. The step-mother’s color deepened; but she said in a low, firm tone, not to be mistaken —
“Edward, my child, bring me that package.”
It was with rather slow and reluctant footsteps; but he did bring it and place it in her hands. She said simply —
“That is right,” and left the room.
As she closed the door, however, she heard tremulous tones telling how “they shouldn’t abuse grandma’s little dove – no, they shouldn’t! – who was grandma’s darling!”
This was but one instance, among many, that occurred during the visit, when the step-mother found herself forced to exercise her parental authority, and then to listen to the condolence bestowed on the victim of her despotism.
That evening Mr. Brentford spent there. He made himself very much at home, holding old Mrs. Newell’s yarn for her, listening with the most exemplary complaisance to Mr. Newell’s interminable tales, consigning to Eddie his elegant repeater for a plaything, singing with Clara, playing chess with Alice, talking with Mrs. Gregory, evidently bent on earning for himself the epithet, which the old lady was not slow in bestowing, of “a very pretty young man.”
Mrs. Gregory admired him in all but his conversation, and in this she could not persuade herself that he was not shallow, flippant, and arrogant. She sought to draw him out on many subjects, but found none on which he was thoroughly informed – none on which he expressed fine sentiments that