MARTHA FINLEY Ultimate Collection – Timeless Children Classics & Other Novels. Finley Martha
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 of the 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 heir by a rich and childless Louisiana planter, a distant relative of Mrs. Allison.
"Ah, that is an objection," returned Mr. Dinsmore; "but you will be forming new and closer ties, that will doubtless go far to compensate for the partial loss of the old. I hope you are enjoying yourself here?"
"I am indeed, thank you." This answer was true, yet Harold felt himself flush 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 so inseparable that he scarcely saw the one without the other. And Harold strongly coveted an occasional monopoly of the sweet girl's society. He had come to Viamede with a purpose entirely unsuspected by her or her apparently vigilant guardian.
He should perhaps, have confided his secret to Mr. Dinsmore first, but his heart failed him; and "what would be the use?" he asked himself, "if Elsie is not willing? Ah, if I could but be alone with her for an hour!"
The coveted opportunity offered itself at last, quite unexpectedly. Coming out upon the veranda one afternoon, he saw Elsie sitting alone under a tree far down on the lawn. He hastened towards her.
"I am glad to see you," she said, looking up with a smile and making room for him on the seat by her side. "You see I am 'lone and lorn,' Mr. Durand having carried off papa to look at some new improvement in his sugar-house machinery."
"Ah! and when will your father return?"
"In about an hour, I presume. Shall you attend Aunt Adie's wedding?" she asked.
"Yes, I think so. Don't you sometimes feel as if you'd like to stay here altogether?"
"Yes, and no; it's very lovely, and the more charming I believe, because it is my own; but—there is so much more to bind me to the Oaks, and I could never live far away from papa."
"Couldn't you? I hoped—— Oh, Elsie, couldn't you possibly love some one else 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, but while 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 by turns, and putting up her hand as if to stop the torrent of words he was pouring forth so unexpectedly that astonishment had struck her dumb for an instant; "oh! don't say any more, I—I thought you surely knew that—that I am already engaged."
"No. To whom?" he asked hoarsely, his face pale as death, and lips quivering so that he could scarcely speak.
"To Mr. Travilla. It has been only for a few weeks, though we have loved each other for years. Oh, Harold, Harold, do not look so wretched! you break my heart, for I love you as a very dear brother."
He turned away with a groan, and without another word hastened back to the house, while Elsie, covering her face with her hands, shed some very bitter tears.
Heart-broken, stunned, feeling as if every good thing in life had suddenly slipped from his grasp, Harold sought his room, mechanically gathered up his few effects, packed them into his valise, then sat down by the open window and leant his head upon his hand.
He couldn't think, he could only feel that all was lost, and that he must go away at once, if he would not have everybody know it, and make the idol of his heart miserable with the sight of his wretchedness.
Why had he not known of her engagement? Why had no one told him? Why had he been such a fool as to suppose he could win so great a prize? He was not worthy of her. How plainly he saw it now, how sorely repented of the conceit that had led him on to the avowal of his passion.
He had a vague recollection that a boat was to pass that afternoon. He would take passage in that, and he hoped Mr. Dinsmore's return might be delayed till he was gone. He would away without another word to Elsie; she should not be disturbed by any further unmanly manifestation of his bitter grief and despair.
The hour of the passing of the boat drew near, and valise in hand, he left his room and passed down the stairs. But Elsie was coming in from the lawn, and they met in the lower hall.
"Harold," she cried, "you are not going? You must not leave us so suddenly."
"I must," he said in icy tones, the stony eyes gazing into vacancy; "all places are alike to me now, and I cannot stay here to trouble you and Horace with the sight of a wretchedness I cannot hide."
Trembling so that she could scarcely stand, Elsie leaned against the wall for support, the hot tears coursing down her cheeks. "Oh, Harold!" she sobbed, "what an unhappy creature I am to have been the cause of such sorrow to you! Oh why should you ever have thought of me so?"
Dropping his valise, his whole manner changing, he turned to her with passionate vehemence. "Because I couldn't help it! Even as a boy I gave up my whole heart to you, and I cannot call it back. Oh, Elsie, why did I ever see you?" and he seized both her hands in a grasp that almost forced a cry of pain from her white, quivering lips. "Life is worthless without you. I'd rather die knowing that you loved me than live to see you in the possession of another."
"Harold, Harold, a sister's love I can, I do give you; and can you not be content with that?"
"A sister's love!" he repeated scornfully. "Offer a cup with a drop of water in it, to a man perishing, dying with thirst. Yes, I'm going away, I care not whither; all places are alike to him who has lost all interest in life."
He threw her hands from him almost with violence, half turned away, then suddenly catching her in his arms, held her close to his heart, kissing passionately, forehead, cheek, and lips. "Oh, Elsie, Elsie, light of my eyes, core of my heart, why did we ever meet to part like this? I don't blame you. I have been a fool. Good-bye, darling." And releasing her, he was gone ere she could recover breath to speak. It had all been so sudden she 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 he was about to step aboard, Mr. Dinsmore rode up, and springing from the saddle, throwing the reins to his servant, cried out in astonishment, "Harold! you are not leaving us? Come, come, what has happened to hurry you away? Must you go?"
"Yes, I must," he answered with half-averted face. "Don't call me a scoundrel for making such a return for your hospitality. I couldn't help it. 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 sight among the trees shading the bayou on either hand.
Mr. Dinsmore stood for a moment as if spellbound; then turned and walked thoughtfully towards the house. "What did it all mean?" he asked himself; "of what unkind return of his or Elsie's hospitality could the lad have been 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 a little 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 is nothing; 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 a coquette?" 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