Elsie's New Relations by Martha Finley

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"O Mamma Vi," he sobbed, "I thought I was that before, when papa showed me
what an awful sin swearing was, and I didn't think I could ever do it
again; but I got dreadfully angry with Ralph because he cheated me out of
everything--all my money and my watch that I've always thought so much of,
you know--and the wicked words slipped out before I knew it; they just
seemed to speak themselves."

"Ah, dear Max, that is one of the dreadful consequences of allowing
ourselves to fall into such wicked ways; it is the power of habit which
grows upon us till we are bound by it as with an iron chain.

"The Bible says, 'His own iniquities shall take the wicked himself, and he
shall be holden with the cords of his sins.' So the longer any one lives
in sin, the harder it is for him to break away from it--to repent and be
converted and saved. Therefore, I beseech you to come to Jesus now; God's
time is always now."

"Mamma Vi, I think I have," he said low and humbly; "I tried to do it with
my heart, when Grandma Elsie was praying for me."

"O Max, dear Max, I am very glad!" she returned with tears of joy in her
eyes. "And your father will rejoice almost as the angels do in heaven when
a sinner repents and is saved."

"It's a dreadful task to have to write down all about this afternoon for
him to read," sighed the boy.

"But you will do it, Max? will you tell him the whole truth like a brave
boy?" queried Violet anxiously.

"Yes, ma'am, I will. Oh, I wish he were here! so I could just tell him,
and have it all over in a few minutes. But now it will be so long that
I'll have to wait to hear what he has to say about it."

Violet expressed her sympathy, joining very heartily in his wish for his
father's presence, then left him to his task.

"Seems to me it's a little like marching up to the cannon's mouth," Max
said to himself, as he took out his writing materials and dipped his pen
in the ink, "but it's got to be done, and I'll have it over."

He cogitated a moment, then began. "Dear papa, I've been doing very wrong
for 'most a week--letting a fellow teach me to play cards and gamble; we
didn't play for money or anything but fun at first, but afterward we did;
and I lost all the money I had, and, worse still, the nice watch you sent
me.

"But the very worst is to come. You would never believe I could be so
terribly wicked after all you said to me, and I wouldn't have believed it
myself, and oh, I don't like to tell you, for I'm afraid it will almost
break your heart, papa, to know you have such a wicked boy for your only
son!

"But I have to tell you, because you know you said I must tell you
everything bad I did.

"Well, I was sure the fellow had cheated, and I got very mad, and called
him a cheat and a thief. Then he got mad and swore horrible oaths at me,
and called me a liar, and that made me madder than ever, and--O papa, how
can I write it for you to see? I swore at him."

The boy's tears were dropping upon the paper. He dashed them hastily away,
and went on writing.

"I am dreadfully, dreadfully sorry, papa! I think I was never so sorry for
anything in all my life, because--because it was so wicked and ungrateful
to God. I've asked Him to forgive me for Jesus' sake, and Grandma Elsie
has asked Him for me, too, and Mamma Vi told me she had been praying for
me. And I've tried to give myself to the dear Saviour, and I hope I'll be
His servant all the rest of my life.

"I think He has forgiven me, and will you forgive me, too, papa? I'm to
stay alone here in my room for a week. Mamma Vi says you said that was the
way I should be punished, if I ever did that wicked thing again, and it
isn't a bit worse than I deserve."

CHAPTER XX.

"There are that raise up strife and contention."
--_Hab._ 1:3.

"Only by pride cometh contention."
--_Prov._ 13:10.

While Zoe was at Max's door, something took Edward to their rooms. He was
there but a moment--just long enough to pick up the article he wanted--and
hurrying down the hall again, caught the sound of her voice as he reached
the head of the stairway.

For an instant he stood still, debating with himself whether to interfere
or not; then deciding in the negative, passed on down the stairs more
angry with her than ever.

She was defying riot only his authority, but also that of his grandfather
and mother, and interfering with their management of the children
committed to their care by their own father. Truly, he feared he had made
a sad mistake in putting such a child into a woman's position, where she
felt herself entitled to rights, for whose proper exercise she had not yet
sufficient judgment or self-control.

As he entered the drawing-room, Miss Deane, who was seated at a table
looking over a portfolio of drawings and engravings, called him to her
side.

"You have visited these places, Mr. Travilla," she said, "and I want the
benefit of your explanations, and your opinion whether the pictures are
true to nature. They are European views, I see."

Of course he could not, without great rudeness, refuse to take a seat by
her side and give her the information she requested.

So it happened that when Zoe came in presently after, her anger was
intensely aroused by seeing her husband and Miss Deane seated at a distant
table, apart from the rest of the occupants of the room, laughing and
talking with their heads very close together over an engraving.

Edward lifted his just in time to catch her look of mingled amazement,
scorn, and indignation. He flushed hotly, and remembering what he had just
overheard up-stairs, and what had passed between them in the
apple-orchard, gave her an angry glance in return.

She drew her slight, girlish figure up to its full height, and turning
away, crossed the room toward a sofa where Mrs. Dinsmore and a bachelor
gentleman of the neighborhood sat conversing together.

A sudden impulse seized her as Mr. Larned rose and took her hand in
greeting, Mrs. Dinsmore being called from the room at the same moment by a
servant, who said that some one was waiting in the hall to speak to her.

"I'll pay Edward back in his own coin," Zoe said to herself, and Mr.
Larned was surprised at the great cordiality and winning sweetness of her
manner as she took the vacated seat by his side, then at the spirit and
vivacity with which she rattled away to him, now on this theme, now on
that.

Excitement lent an unwonted glow to her cheek and brilliancy and sparkle
to her always beautiful eyes.

Edward, watching her furtively, with darkening brow, thought he had never
seen her so pretty and fascinating, and never had her low soft laugh, as
now and again it reached his ear, sounded so silvery sweet and musical,
yet it jarred on his nerves, and he would fain have stopped it.

He hoped momentarily that Mr. Larned would go, but he sat on and on the
whole evening, Zoe entertaining him all the while.

Other members of the family came in, but though he rose to greet them, he
immediately resumed his seat, and she kept hers, even in spite of the
frowning looks her husband gave her from time to time, but which she
feigned not to see.

At length, his mother perceiving with pain what was going on, managed to
release him from Miss Deane, and he at once took a seat on his wife's
other side, and joined in the talk.

Zoe had but little to say after that, and Mr. Larned presently took his
departure.

That was a signal for the good-nights, and all scattered to their rooms.

Zoe's heart quaked as the door of her boudoir closed upon her, shutting
her in alone with her irate husband.

She knew that he was angry, more angry with her than he had ever been
before, and though in her thoughts she tried to put all the blame on him,
conscience told her that she was by no means blameless.

He locked the door, then turned toward her. She glanced up at him half
defiantly, half timidly. His look was very stern and cold.

She turned away with a pout and a slight shrug of her pretty shoulders.

"It seems your smiles are for Miss Deane, while your black looks are
reserved for your wife," she said.

"I have no interest in Miss Deane," he replied; "it is nothing to me how
she behaves, but my wife's conduct is a matter of vital importance; and
let me tell you, Zoe, I will have no more such exhibitions as you made of
yourself to-night with either Mr. Larned or any other man. I won't allow
it. There are some things a man won't put up with. You must and shall show
some respect to my wishes in regard to this."

"Orders, you'd better say," she muttered.

"Well, then, orders, if you prefer it."

She was very angry, and withal a good deal frightened.

"Exhibitions indeed!" she cried, sinking into a chair, for she was
trembling from head to foot. "What did I do? Why had you any more right to
laugh and talk with another woman than I with another man?"

"Laughing and talking may be well enough; but it was more than that; you
were actually flirting."

"You call it that just because you are jealous. And if I was, it was your
fault--setting me the example by flirting with Miss Deane."

"I did nothing of the kind," he returned haughtily. "I sat beside her
against my will, simply because she requested me to go over those sketches
and engravings with her. I couldn't in common politeness refuse."

"Well, I didn't know that; and you needn't scold me for following your
example."

"I tell you I did not set you the example; and I advise you to beware how
you behave so again. Also how you interfere in the discipline grandpa and
mamma see proper to use toward Max and his sisters, as you did to-night."

"So you have been acting the spy upon your wife!" she interrupted in
scornful indignation.

"No; I overheard you quite accidentally. It is the second time you have
done that thing, and I warn you to let it be the last."

"Indeed! Why don't you say at once that you'll beat me if I don't obey all
your tyrannical orders?"

"Because it wouldn't be true; should I ever so far forget myself as to
lift my hand against my wife, I could never again lay claim to the name of
gentleman."

"Perhaps, then, you will lock me up?" she sneered.

"Possibly I may, if you make it necessary," he said coldly.

"Lock me up, indeed! I'd like to see you try it!" she cried, starting up
with flashing eyes, and stamping her foot in a sort of fury of
indignation.

Then rushing into the adjoining room, she tore off her ornaments and
dress, pulled down her hair, her cheeks burning, her eyes hot and dry.

But by the time she had assumed her night-dress the first fury of passion
had spent itself, and scalding tears were raining down her cheeks.

She threw herself on the bed, sobbing convulsively. "Oh, I never, never
thought he would treat me so! and he wouldn't dare if papa was alive; but
he knows I've nobody to defend me--nobody in the wide world, and he can
abuse me as much as he pleases. But I think it's very mean for a big
strong man to be cruel to a little weak woman."

Then as her anger cooled still more, "But I have done and said provoking
things to-day as well as he," she acknowledged to herself. "I suppose if
I'd been in his place I'd have got mad, too, and scolded and threatened my
wife. Well, if he'd only come and kiss me and coax me a little, I'd say I
was sorry and didn't intend to vex him, so any more."

She hushed her sobs and listened. She could hear him moving about in the
dressing-room.

"Edward!" she called in soft, tremulous tones.

No answer.

She waited a moment, then called a little louder, "Ned!"

There was no reply, and she turned over on her pillow, and cried herself
to sleep.

When she woke all was darkness and silence.

She felt half frightened.

"Edward," she said softly, and put out her hand to feel for him.

He was not there. She sprang from the bed and groped her way into the
dressing-room.

There the moon shone in, and by its light she perceived the form of her
husband stretched upon a couch, while the sound of his breathing told her
that he slept.

She crept back to her bed, and lay down upon it with such a sense of utter
loneliness as she had never known before.

"Oh," she moaned to herself, "he hates me, he hates me! he wouldn't even
lie down beside me! he will never love me any more."

She wept a long while, but at last fell into a profound sleep.

When she next awoke day had dawned, but it was earlier than their usual
hour for rising.

The first object that met her gaze was Edward's untouched pillow, and the
sight instantly brought back the events of the previous day and night.

Her first emotion was resentment toward her husband, but better thoughts
succeeded. She loved him dearly, and for the sake of peace she would
humble herself a little. She would go and wake him with a kiss, and say
she was sorry to have vexed him, and if he'd only be kind and not order
her, she wouldn't do so any more.

She slipped out of bed, stole noiselessly to the door of the
dressing-room, and looked in.

He was not there, and the room was in great disorder, closet and wardrobe
doors and bureau drawers open and things scattered here and there, as if
he had made a hasty selection of garments, tossing aside such as he did
not want.

As Zoe gazed about in wonder and surprise, the sound of wheels caught her
ear.

She ran to a window overlooking a side entrance, and dropped on her knees
before it to look and listen without danger of being seen.

There stood the family carriage. Edward was in the act of handing Miss
Fleming into it; Miss Deane followed, and he stepped in after her, only
pausing a moment with his foot upon the step to turn and answer a question
from his mother.

"How long do you expect to be gone, Edward?" Elsie asked.

"Probably a week or ten days, mother," he replied. "Good-by," and in
another instant the carriage rolled away.

Zoe felt stunned, bewildered, as she knelt there leaning her head against
the window frame and watched it till it was out of sight.

"Gone!" she said aloud; "gone without one word of good-by to me, without
telling me he was going, without saying he was sorry for his cruel words
last night, and with Miss Deane. Oh, I know now that he hates me and will
never, never love me again!"

Bitter, scalding tears streamed from her eyes. She rose presently and
began mechanically picking up and putting away his clothes, then made her
usual neat toilet, stopping every now and then to wipe away her tears, for
she was crying all the time.

The breakfast bell rang at the accustomed hour, but she could not bear the
thought of going down and showing her tear-swollen eyes at the table.
Besides, she did not feel hungry; she thought she would never want to eat
again.

After a little, opening the door in answer to a rap, she found Agnes
standing there with a delightful breakfast on a silver waiter--hot coffee,
delicate rolls and muffins, tender beefsteak, and omelet.

"Good-mornin', Miss Zoe," said the girl, walking in and setting her burden
down on a stand. "Miss Elsie she tole me for to fotch up dis yere. She
tink, Miss Elsie do, dat p'raps you'd rather eat yo' breakfus up yere dis
mornin'."

"Yes, so I would, Agnes, though I'm not very hungry. Tell mamma she's very
kind, and I'm much obliged."

"Ya'as, Miss Zoe," and Agnes courtesied and withdrew.

Zoe took a sip of the coffee, tasted the omelet, found a coming appetite,
and went on to make a tolerably hearty meal, growing more cheerful and
hopeful as she ate.

But grief overcame her again as she went about the solitary rooms; it
seemed as if her husband's presence lingered everywhere, and yet as if he
were dead and buried, and she never to see him more.

Not quite a year had elapsed since her father's death, and the scenes of
that day and night and many succeeding ones came vividly before her; the
utter forlornness of her condition, alone in a strange land with a dying
parent, with no earthly comforter at hand, no friend or helper in all the
wide world, and how Edward then flew to her assistance, how kindly he
ministered to her dying father, how tenderly he took her in his arms,
whispering words of love and sympathy, and asking her to become his wife
and give him the right to protect and care for her.

And how he had lavished favors and endearments upon her all these months;
how patiently he had borne with petulance and frequent disregard of his
known wishes, nor ever once reminded her that she owed her home and every
earthly blessing to him.

How he had sympathized with her in her bursts of grief for her father,
soothing her with tenderest caresses and assurances of the bliss of the
departed, and reminding her of the blessed hope of reunion in the better
land.

After all this, she surely might have borne a little from him--a trifling
neglect or reproof, a slight exertion of authority, especially as she
could not deny that she was very young and foolish to be left to her own
guidance.

And perhaps he had a right to claim her obedience, for she knew that she
had promised to give it.

She found she loved him with a depth and passion she had not been aware
of. But he had gone away without a good-by to her, in anger, and with Miss
Deane. He would never have done that if there had been a spark of love
left in his heart.

Where and how was he going to spend that week or ten days? At the house of
Miss Deane's parents, sitting beside her, hearing her talk and enjoying
it, though he knew his little wife at home must be breaking her heart
because of his absence?

Was he doing this instead of carrying out his half threat of locking her
up? Did he know that this was a punishment ten times worse?

But if he wasn't going to love her any more, if he was tired of her and
wanted to be rid of her, how could she ever bear to stay and be a burden
and constant annoyance to him?

Elsie, coming up a little later, found her in her boudoir crying very
bitterly.

"Dear child, my dear little daughter," she said, taking her in her kind
arms, "don't grieve so; a week or even ten days will soon roll round, and
Edward will be with you again."

"O mamma, it is a long, long while!" she sobbed. "You know we've never
been parted for a whole day since we were married, and he's all I have."

"Yes, dear, I know; and I felt sure you were crying up here and didn't
want to show your tell-tale face at the table, so I sent your breakfast
up. I hope you paid it proper attention--did not treat it with neglect?"
she added sportively.

"It tasted very good, mamma, and you were very kind," Zoe said.

She longed to ask where and on what errand Edward had gone, but did not
want to expose her ignorance of his plans.

"I did not know the ladies were going to-day," she remarked.

"It was very sudden," was the reply; "a telegram received this morning
summoned them home because of the alarming illness of Miss Deane's father,
and as Edward had business to attend to that would make it necessary for
him to take a train leaving only an hour later than theirs, he thought it
best to see them on their way as far as our city. He could not do more, as
their destination and his lie in exactly opposite directions."

Though Edward had kept his own counsel, the kind mother had her
suspicions, and was anxious to relieve Zoe's mind as far as lay in her
power.

Zoe's brightening countenance and sigh of relief showed her that her
efforts were not altogether in vain.

"I think Edward was sorry to leave his little wife for so long," she went
on. "He committed her to my care. What will you do with yourself this
morning, dear, while I am busy with the children in the school-room?"

"I don't know, mamma; perhaps learn some lessons. Edward would wish me to
attend to my studies while he is away, and I want to please him."

"I haven't a doubt of that, dear. I know there is very strong love between
you, and the knowledge makes me very happy."

"Mamma," said Zoe, "may I ask you a question?"

"Certainly, dear, as many as you please."

"Did you obey your husband?"

Elsie looked surprise, almost startled; the query seemed to throw new
light on the state of affairs between Edward and his young wife; but she
answered promptly in her own sweet, gentle tones. "My dear, I often wished
he would only give me the opportunity; it would have been so great a
pleasure to give up my wishes for one I loved so dearly."

"Then he never ordered you?"

"Yes, once--very soon after our marriage--he laid his commands upon me to
cease calling him Mr. Travilla and say Edward," Elsie said, with a dreamy
smile and a far-away look in her soft brown eyes.

"He was very much older than I, and knowing him from very early childhood,
as a grown-up gentleman and my father's friend, I had been used to calling
him Mr. Travilla, and could hardly feel it respectful to drop the title.

"The only other order he ever gave me was not to exert myself to lift my
little Elsie before I had recovered my strength after her birth. He was
very tenderly careful of his little wife, as he delighted to call her."

"I wish I had known him," said Zoe. "Is my husband much like him?"

"More in looks than disposition. I sometimes think he resembles my father
more than his own in the latter regard.

"Yes," thought Zoe, "that's where he gets his disposition to domineer over
me and order me about. I always knew Grandpa Dinsmore was of that sort."

Aloud she said, with a watery smile, "And my Edward has been very tenderly
careful of me."

"And always will be, I trust," said his mother, smiling more cheerily. "If
he does not prove so, he is less like my father than I think. Mamma will
tell you, I am sure, that she has been the happiest of wives."

"I suppose it depends a good deal upon the two dispositions how a couple
get on together," remarked Zoe, sagely. "But, mamma, do you think the man
should always rule and have his way in everything?"

"I think a wife's best plan, if she desires to have her own way, is always
to be or to seem ready to give up to her husband. Don't deny or oppose
their claim to authority, and they are not likely to care to exert it."

"If I were only as wise and good as you, mamma!" murmured Zoe with a sigh.

"Ah, dear, I am not at all good; and as to the wisdom, I trust it will
come to you with years; there is an old saying that we cannot expect to
find gray heads on green shoulders."

CHAPTER XXI.

"And if division come, it soon is past,
Too sharp, too strange an agony to last.
And like some river's bright, abundant tide,
Which art or accident had forc'd aside,
The well-springs of affection gushing o'er,
Back to their natural channels flow once more."
--Mrs. Norton.

Left alone, Zoe sat meditating on her mother-in-law's advice.

"Oh," she said to herself, "if I could only know that my husband's love
isn't gone forever, I could take comfort in planning to carry it out; but
oh, if he hadn't quite left off caring for me, how could he threaten me
so, and then go away without making up, without saying good-by, even if he
didn't kiss me? I couldn't have gone away from him so for one day, and he
expects to be away for ten. Ten days! such a long, long while!" and her
tears fell like rain.

She wiped them away, after a little, opened her books and tried to study,
but she could not fix her mind upon the subject; her thoughts would wander
from it to Edward travelling farther and farther from her, and the tears
kept dropping on the page.

She gave it up and tried to sew, but could mot see to take her stitches or
thread her needle for the blinding tears.

She put on her hat and a veil to hide her tear-stained face and swollen
eyes, stole quietly down-stairs and out into the grounds, where she
wandered about solitary and sad.

Everywhere she missed Edward; she could think of nothing but him and his
displeasure, and her heart was filled with sad forebodings for the future.
Would he ever, ever love and be kind to her again?

After a while she crept back to her apartments, taking care to avoid
meeting any one.

But Elsie was there looking for her. The children's lesson hours were
over, they were going for a drive, and hoped Zoe would go along.

"Thank you, mamma, but I do not care to go to-day," Zoe answered in a
choking voice, and turned away to hide her tears.

"My dear child, my dear, foolish little girl!" Elsie said, putting her
arms around her, "why should you grieve so? Ned will soon be at home
again, if all goes well. He is not very far away, and if you should be
taken ill, or need him very much for any reason, a telegram would bring
him to you in a few hours."

"But he went away without kissing me good-by; he didn't kiss me last night
or this morning." The words were on the tip of Zoe's tongue, but she held
them back, and answered only with fresh tears and sobs.

"I'm afraid you are not well, dear," Elsie said. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing, thank you, mamma. I didn't sleep quite so well as usual last
night, and my head aches. I'll lie down and try to get a nap."

"Do, dear, and I hope it will relieve the poor head. As you are a healthy
little body, I presume the pain has been brought on merely by loss of
sleep and crying. I think Edward must not leave you for so long a time
again. Would you like mamma to stay with you, darling?" she asked, with a
motherly caress.

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