Elsie's New Relations by Martha Finley

M >> Martha Finley >> Elsie\'s New Relations

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

"How frightened and ashamed I was, Ned!" she exclaimed, tears springing to
her eyes; "I felt that you had a right to beat me if you wanted to, and I
shouldn't have said a word if you'd done it."

"But you couldn't have feared that?" he said, with a pained look, and
coloring deeply.

"No, oh, _no, indeed_! I know you would _never_ do that, but I dreaded
what you might say, and did not at all expect you would be so kind and
forgiving and loving to me.

"But how was I brought up here? I knew nothing from the instant you were
at my side on the door-step till I saw you coming in with the lamp."

"In your husband's arms."

"What a heavy load for you to carry!" she said, looking at him with
concern.

"No, not at all; I did it with perfect ease, except for the darkness and
the fear that you might recover consciousness on the way and scream out
with affright before you discovered who your captor was."

"My husband, my dear, kind husband!" she murmured, softly stroking his
face as he bent over her to press a kiss upon her forehead.

"My darling little wife," he returned.

Then after a moment's silent exchange of caresses,

"Would you mind telling me where you were going and what you intended to
do?" he asked with a half smile.

"I have no right to refuse, if you require a full confession," she said,
half playfully, half tearfully, and blushing deeply.

"I don't require it, but should like to have it, nevertheless; for I
confess my curiosity is piqued," he said with an amused, yet tender look
and tone.

"There isn't really very much to tell," she sighed, "only that because I
was dreadfully unhappy and had worked myself up to believing that I was a
hated wife, a burden and annoyance to my husband, I thought it would be an
act of noble self-sacrifice to run away, and--O Ned, please don't laugh at
me!"

"I am not laughing, love," he said in soothing, half-tremulous tones,
taking her in his arms and holding her close, as he had done the night
before. "How could I laugh at you for being willing to sacrifice
everything for me? But that's not all?"

"Not quite. It came to me like a flash about the stage passing so near at
two o'clock in the morning, and that I could get away then without being
seen, and after I was in it make up my mind where I would get out."

"And how did you expect to support yourself?"

"There was some money in my purse--you never let it get empty, Ned--and--I
thought I wouldn't need any very long."

"Wouldn't? why not?"

"Oh, I was sure, _sure_ I couldn't live long without you," she cried,
hugging him close and ending with a burst of tears and sobs.

"You dear, dear little thing!" he said with emotion, and tightening his
clasp of her slight form; "after I had been so cruel to you, too!"

"No, you weren't, except in going away without making up and saying
good-by."

"It's very generous in you to say it, darling. But how large was this sum
of money that you expected to last as long as you needed any?"

"I don't know. I didn't stop to count it. You can do that, if you want to.
I suppose the purse is in my satchel."

He brought the satchel--still unpacked--took out the purse and examined
its contents.

"Barely ten dollars," he said. "It would have lasted but a few days, and,
my darling, what would have become of you then?"

He bent over her in grave tenderness.

"I don't know, Ned," she replied; "I suppose I'd have had to look for
employment."

"To think of you, my little, delicate, petted darling, looking for
employment by which to earn your daily bread!" he exclaimed with emotion.
"It is plain you know nothing of the hardships and difficulties you would
have had to encounter. I shudder to think of it all. But I should never
have let it come to that."

"Would you have looked for me, Ned?"

"I should have begun the search the instant I heard of your flight, nor
ever have known a moment's rest till I found you!" he exclaimed with
energy. "But as I came in the stage you purposed to take, I should have
met and brought you back, if that fortunate mishap had not taken place."

Then she told him of her thoughts, feelings, and painful anticipations
while held fast in the relentless grasp of the door, finishing with, "Oh,
I never could have dreamed that it would all end so well, so happily for
me!"

"And yet, dear one, I do not think you at all realize how painful--not to
say dreadful--would have been the consequences to you, to me, and, indeed,
to all the family, if you had succeeded in carrying out what I must call
your crazy scheme."

She looked up at him in alarmed inquiry, and he went on, "'Madame Rumor,
with her thousand tongues,' would have had many a tale to tell of the
cruel abuse to which you had been subjected by your husband and his
family--so cruel that you were compelled to run away in the night, taking
advantage of the temporary absence of your tyrannical husband; while----"

"O Ned, dear Ned, I never thought of that!" she exclaimed, interrupting
him with a burst of tears and sobs. "I wouldn't for the world have
wrought harm to you or any of them."

"No, love, I know you wouldn't. I believe your motives were altogether
kind and self-sacrificing," he said soothingly; "and you yourself would
have been the greatest sufferer; the world judges hardly--how hardly my
little girl-wife has no idea; wicked people would have found wicked
motives to which to impute your act and caused a stain upon your fair fame
that might never have been removed.

"But there, there, love, do not cry any more over it; happily, the whole
thing is a secret between us two, and we may now dismiss the disagreeable
subject forever.

"But shall we not promise each other that we will never part in anger,
even when the separation may not be for an hour? or ever lie down to sleep
at night unreconciled, if there has been the slightest misunderstanding or
coldness between us?"

"Oh, yes, yes, I promise!" she cried eagerly; "but, oh, dear Ned, I hope
we will never, never have any more coldness or quarrelling between us,
never say a cross word to each other."

"And I join you, dearest, in both wish and promise."

"I am growing very babyish," she said presently with a wistful look up
into his face; "I can hardly bear to think of being parted from you for a
day; and I suppose you'll have to be going off again to attend to that
business affair?"

"Yes, as soon as I see that my wife is quite well enough to undertake the
journey; for I'm not going again without her."

"Oh, will you take me with you, Ned?" she cried joyfully. "How very good
in you."

"Good to myself, little woman," he said, smiling down at her; "it will
turn a tiresome business trip into a pleasure excursion. I have always
found my enjoyment doubled by the companionship of my better half."

"I call that rank heresy," she said laughing, "_you're_ the better half as
well as the bigger. I wish I were worthy of such a good husband," she
added earnestly and with a look of loving admiration. "I'm very proud of
you, my dear--so good and wise and handsome as you are!"

"Oh, hush, hush! such fulsome flattery," he returned, coloring and
laughing. "Let me see; this is Friday, so near the end of the week that I
do not care to leave home till next week. We will say Tuesday morning
next, if that will suit you, love?"

"Nicely," she answered. "Oh, I'm so glad you have promised to take me with
you!"

CHAPTER XXIII.

LULU.

Before two days had passed Zoe was quite herself again, and as full of
delight at the prospect of going away for a little trip as any child could
have been. She wore so bright a face, was so merry and frolicsome, that it
was a pleasure to watch her, especially when with her husband, and not
aware that any other eye was upon her.

His face, too, beamed with happiness.

Elsie's eyes resting upon them would sometimes fill with tears--half of
joy in their felicity, half of sorrowful yet tender reminiscence. In his
present mood Edward was very like his father in looks, in speech, in
manner.

Tuesday morning came, bringing with it delightful weather; Edward had
decided to take a later train than when starting before, because he would
not have Zoe roused too soon from sleep.

They took breakfast with the family at the usual hour, an open barouche
waiting for them at the door; then with a gay good-by to all set out upon
their journey, driving to the nearest station, and there taking the cars.

"I wish I was going, too!" sighed Lulu, as she and Rosie stood looking
after the barouche.

"Mamma would have let us drive over to the station with them," said Rose;
"Edward asked if we might, but Ben had some errands to do in town, and
couldn't bring us back in time for lessons."

"Lessons! I'm sick and tired of them!" grumbled Lulu. "Other children had
holidays last week, but we had to go right on studying."

"But we are to take ours in a week or two, visiting at the Oaks and the
Laurels, perhaps two weeks at each place, and I'm sure that will be nicer
than to have had Easter holidays at home."

"There, it's out of sight," said Lulu. "I'd like to be Aunt Zoe, just
starting off on a journey. Let's take a run down the avenue, Rosie."

"I would, but I must look over my Latin lesson, or I may not be ready for
grandpa."

With the last words she turned and went into the house.

Lulu knew that she was not ready for Mr. Dinsmore either, but she was in
no mood for study, and the grounds looked so inviting that she yielded to
the temptation to take a ramble instead.

Max, from his window, saw her wandering about among the shrubs and flowers
and longed to join her. He was bearing his punishment in a very good
spirit, making no complaint, spending his time in study, reading, writing
and carving.

Mr. Dinsmore came to him to hear his recitations, and was always able to
commend them as excellent. He treated the boy in a kind, fatherly manner,
talking to him of his sin and the way to obtain forgiveness and
deliverance from it, very much as Elsie and Violet had.

Yet he did not harp continually upon that, but dwelt often upon other
themes, trying so to treat the lad that his self-respect might be
restored.

Max appreciated the kindness shown him, and was strengthened in his good
resolutions. He was privately very much troubled about his losses,
particularly that of the watch, supposing it to be in Ralph's possession,
for Mr. Dinsmore had said nothing to him on the subject.

Being very fond of his sisters, Max felt the separation from them no small
part of his punishment; he followed Lulu's movements this morning with
wistful eyes.

She looked up, and seeing his rather pale, sad face at the window, drew
nearer and called softly to him, "Max, how are you? I'm so sorry for
you."

He only shook his head and turned away.

Then Mr. Dinsmore's voice spoke sternly from a lower window, "Lulu, you
are disobeying orders. Go into the house and to the school-room
immediately. You ought to have been there fully a quarter of an hour ago."

Lulu was a little frightened, and obeyed at once.

"You are late, Lulu. You must try to be more punctual in future," Elsie
said in a tone of mild rebuke, as the little girl sat down at her desk.

"I don't care if I am," she muttered, insolently.

Rose darted at her a look of angry astonishment, Gracie looked shocked,
and little Walter said, "It's very, _very_ naughty to speak so to my
mamma."

But Elsie did not seem to have heard; her face still wore its usual sweet,
placid expression. Lulu thought she had not heard, but found out her
mistake when she went forward to recite. She was told in a gentle, quiet
tone, "You are not my pupil, to-day, Lulu," and returned to her seat
overwhelmed with embarrassment and anger.

No further notice was taken of her by any one excerpt Gracie, who now and
then stole a troubled, half-pitying look at her, until Mr Dinsmore came
to hear the Latin lessons.

Lulu had sat idly at her desk nursing her anger and discontent, her eyes
on the book open before her, but her thoughts elsewhere, so was not
prepared for him.

She was frightened, but tried to hide it, made an attempt to answer the
first question put to her, but broke down in confusion.

He asked another; she was unable to answer it; and with a frown he said,
"I perceive that you know nothing about your lesson to-day. Why have you
not learned it?"

"Because I didn't want to," muttered the delinquent.

Rosie opened her eyes wide in astonishment. She would never have dared to
answer her grandfather in that manner.

"Take your book and learn it now," he said in his sternest tone.

Lulu did not venture to disobey, for she was really very much afraid of
Mr. Dinsmore.

He heard Rosie's lesson, assigned her task for the next day, and both left
the room. The others had gone about the time Mr. Dinsmore came in, so Lulu
was left alone.

She thought it best to give her mind to the lesson, and in half an hour
felt that she was fully prepared with it.

But Mr. Dinsmore did not come back, and she dared not leave the room,
though very impatient to do so.

The dinner bell rang, and still he had not come.

Lulu was hungry and began to fear that she was to be made to fast; but at
length a servant brought her a good, substantial, though plain dinner, set
it before her, and silently withdrew.

"It's not half as good as they've got," Lulu remarked half aloud to
herself, discontentedly eying her fare, "but it's better than nothing."

With that philosophical reflection she fell to work, and speedily emptied
the dishes.

Mr. Dinsmore came to her shortly after, heard the lesson, gave her a
little serious talk and dismissed her.

Feeling that she owed an apology to Grandma Elsie, but still too stubborn
and proud to make it, Lulu was ashamed to join the others, so went off
alone into the grounds. She was not Grandma Elsie's pupil, she understood,
until the morning's impertinence had been atoned for.

It was against rules to go beyond the boundary of the grounds without
permission; yet after wandering through them for a while, she did so, and
entering a shady, pleasant road, walked on without any settled purpose,
till she reached a neighboring plantation where lived some little girls
with whom she had a slight acquaintance.

They were playing croquet on the lawn, and espying Lulu at the gate,
invited her to come in and join them.

She did so, became much interested in the sport, and forgot to go home
until the lengthening shadows warned her that it must be very near the tea
hour at Ion.

She then bade a hasty good-by and retraced her steps with great expedition
and in no tranquil state of mind. In truth, she was a good deal alarmed as
she thought of the possible consequences to herself of her bold disregard
of rules.

She arrived at Ion heated and out of breach, and, as a glance at the hall
clock told her, fully fifteen minutes late.

Hair and dress were in some disorder, but not thinking of that, in her
haste and perturbation, she went directly to the supper-room, where the
family were in the midst of their meal.

They all seemed busily engaged with it or in conversation, and she hoped
to slip unobserved into her seat.

But to her consternation she perceived, as she drew near, that neither
plate nor chair seemed to have been set for her; every place was
occupied.

At the same instant Mr. Dinsmore, turning a stern look upon her, remarked,
"We have no place here for the rebellious and insubordinate, therefore I
have ordered your plate removed; and while you continue to belong to that
class, you will take your meals in your own room."

He dismissed her with a wave of the hand as he spoke, and, filled with
anger and chagrin, she turned and flew from the room, never stopping till
she had gained her own and slammed the door behind her.

"Before Mr. Lilburn and everybody!" she exclaimed aloud, stamping her foot
in impotent rage.

Then catching sight of her figure in the glass, she stood still and gazed,
her cheeks reddening more and more with mortification. Hair and dress were
tumbled, the latter slightly soiled with the dust of the road, as were her
boots also, and the frill about her neck was crushed and partly tucked in.

She set to work with energy to make herself neat, and had scarcely
completed the task when her supper was brought in. It consisted of
abundance of rich sweet milk, fruit, and the nicest of bread and butter.

She ate heartily; then as Agnes carried away the tray, seated herself by
the window with her elbows on the sill, her chin in her hands, and half
involuntarily took a mental review of the day.

The retrospect was not agreeable.

"And I'll have to tell papa all about it in my diary," she groaned to
herself. "No, I sha'n't; what's the use? it'll just make him feel badly.
But he said I must, and he trusted me, he _trusted_ me to tell the truth
and the whole truth, and I can't deceive him; I can't hide anything after
that."

With a heavy sigh she took her writing-desk, set it on the sill to catch
the fading light, and wrote:

"It has been a bad day with me. I didn't look over my lessons before
school, as I ought to have done, but went out in the grounds instead.
While I was there, I broke a rule. Grandpa Dinsmore reproved me and called
me in. I went up to the school-room. Grandma Elsie said I was late and
must be more punctual, and I gave her a saucy answer. She wouldn't hear my
lessons, and I was cross and wouldn't study, and wasn't ready for Grandpa
Dinsmore, and was saucy to him. So I had to stay up there in the
school-room and learn my lesson over and eat my dinner there by myself.

"After that, when he let me out, I took a long walk and played croquet
with some other girls--all without leave.

"They were eating supper when I got back, and I went in without making
myself neat, and my plate and chair had been taken away, and I was sent up
here to take my supper and stay till I'm ready to behave better."

She read over what she had written.

"Oh, what a bad report! How sad it will make papa feel when he reads it!"
she thought, tears springing to her eyes.

She pushed the desk aside and leaned on the sill again, her face hidden in
her hands. Her father's words about the kindness and generosity of Mr.
Dinsmore and his daughter in offering to share their home with his
children, came to her recollection, and all the favors received at the
hands of these kindest of friends passed in review before her. Could her
own mother have been kinder than Grandma Elsie? and she had repaid her
this day with ingratitude, disobedience and impertinence. How despicably
mean!

Tears of shame and penitence began to fall from her eyes, and soon she was
sobbing aloud.

Violet heard her from the next room, and came to her side.

"What is it, Lulu, dear? are you sorry for your misconduct?" she asked in
gentle, affectionate tones, smoothing the child's hair with her soft white
hand as she spoke.

"Yes, Mamma Vi," sobbed the little girl. "Won't you please tell Grandma
Elsie I'm sorry I was saucy and disobedient to her this morning?"

"Yes, dear, I will. And--have you not a message for grandpa also?"

"Yes; I'm sorry I was naughty and impertinent to him, and for breaking his
rules, too. Do you think they'll forgive me, Mamma Vi, and try me again?"

"I am sure they will," Violet said. "And will you not ask God's
forgiveness, also, dear child?"

"I do mean to," Lulu said. "And I've told papa all about it. I wish he
didn't have to know, because it will make him very sorry."

"Yes," sighed Violet, "it grieves him very much when his dear children do
wrong. I hope, dear Lulu, that thought will help you to be good in future.
Still more, that you will learn to hate and forsake sin because it is
dishonoring and displeasing to God, because it grieves the dear Saviour
who loves you and died to redeem you."

Forgiveness was readily accorded by both Mr. Dinsmore and his daughter,
and Lulu went to bed comparatively happy after a short visit and kind
motherly talk from Grandma Elsie.

Two days later Max was released from his imprisonment. He more than half
dreaded to make his appearance below stairs, thinking every one would
view him askance, but was agreeably surprised by being greeted on every
hand with the utmost kindness and cordiality.

On the following Monday he and the other children were sent to the Oaks to
make the promised visit.

Gracie alone needed some persuasion to induce her to go of her own free
will, and that only because mamma was not going. Gracie was not at all
sure that she could live two whole weeks without her dear mamma.

Just before they started, Mr. Dinsmore made Max very happy by the
restoration of his money and watch. He added an admonition against
gambling, and Max replied with an earnest promise never to touch a card
again.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A CHAPTER OF SURPRISES.

Edward and Zoe decided upon a little pleasure trip in addition to the
business one, and, in consequence, were absent from home for over a
fortnight. On their return, Elsie met them on the threshold with the
warmest and most loving of welcomes.

"How well and happy you both look, my dear children!" she said, glancing
from one to the other, her face full of proud, fond, motherly affection.

"As we are, mother dear," Edward responded. "Glad to see you so, also. How
is Vi?"

"Doing nicely."

"Vi! Is she sick?" asked Zoe, her tone expressing both surprise and
concern.

"Yes," Elsie said, leading the way down the hall and up the stairs. Then
as they reached the upper hall, "Come this way, my dears, I have something
to show you."

She led them to the nursery; to the side of a dainty crib; and pushing
aside its curtains of lace, brought to view a little downy head and pink
face nestling cosily upon the soft pillow within.

Zoe uttered an exclamation of astonishment and delight. "Why, mamma, where
did you get it? Oh, the little lovely darling!" and down she went on her
knees by the side of the crib, to make a closer inspection. "O Ned, just
look! did you ever see anything half so dear and sweet?"

"Yes," he said, with a meaning, laughing look into her sparkling face. "I
see something at this moment that to my eyes is dearer and sweeter still.
What does Vi think of it, mamma?" turning to his mother.

"She is very proud and happy," Elsie answered with a smile. "I believe Zoe
has expressed her views exactly."

"It's Vi's, is it?" said Zoe. "Come, Ned, do look at it. You ought to care
a little about your----"

She broke off with an inquiring glance up into her mother's face.

"Niece," supplied Elsie, "my first granddaughter."

"Another Elsie, I suppose," Edward remarked, bending down to examine the
little creature with an air of increasing interest.

"Her father must be heard from before the name can be decided upon," his
mother answered. "Vi wishes it named for me, but I should prefer to have
another Violet."

"I incline to think Captain Raymond will agree with her," said Edward.

"I never saw so young a baby," remarked Zoe. "How old is she, mamma?"

"A week to-day."

"I'm tempted to break the tenth commandment," said Zoe, leaning over the
babe and touching her lips to its velvet cheek. "I used to be very fond of
dolls, and a live one would be so nice. I almost wish it was mine."

"Don't forget that you would be only half owner if it was," said Edward
laughing. "But come now, my dear, it is time we were attending to the
duties of the toilet. The tea-bell will ring directly."

"Well, I'll always want to share everything I have with you," she said.
"Mamma," rising and putting her hand into her husband's, "we've had _such_
a nice time! Ned has been _so_ good and kind to me!"

"And she has been the best and dearest of little wives," he said,
returning the look of fond affection she had bent upon him, "so we could
not fail to enjoy ourselves hugely."

"I am rejoiced to hear it," Elsie said, looking after them with glad tears
in her eyes as they left the room together.

* * * * *

The children were enjoying themselves greatly at the Oaks. Horace
Dinsmore, Jr., and his young wife made a very pleasant host and hostess.
Horace's reminiscences of his own childhood and his sister Elsie's
girlhood in this, her old home, were very interesting, not to Rosie and
Walter only, but to the others.

They were shown her suite of rooms, the exact spot in the drawing-room
where she stood during the ceremony that united her to Mr. Travilla, and
the arbor--still called Elsie's arbor--where he offered himself and was
accepted.

They had an equally pleasant visit at the Laurels, whither they went
directly from the Oaks, Gracie wondering why she was not permitted to go
to see mamma first for a while, and grieving over it for a time.

They were not told what had taken place in their absence, until the day of
their return to Ion.

Mrs. Dinsmore had driven over for them, and after an hour's chat with her
daughter, Mrs. Lacey, sent for the children, who were amusing themselves
in the grounds.

"O grandma, good-morning! Did you come to take us home?" cried Rosie, as
she came running in, put her arms about Mrs. Dinsmore's neck, and held up
her face for a kiss.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15