Elsie's Womanhood by Martha Finley

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ELSIE'S
WOMANHOOD

A sequel to
"ELSIE'S GIRLHOOD"

By
MARTHA FINLEY

Complete Authorized Edition

Published by arrangement with
Dodd, Mead and Company

_A Burt Book_
BLUE RIBBON BOOKS, Inc.

_New York_

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by

DODD & MEAD

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

1903,

BY MARTHA FINLEY

1917,

BY CHARLES B. FINLEY

Preface.

The call for a sequel to "Elsie's Girlhood" having become too loud and
importunate to be resisted, the pleasant task of writing it was
undertaken.

Dates compelled the bringing in of the late war: and it has been the
earnest desire and effort of the author to so treat the subject as to
wound the feelings of none; to be as impartial as if writing history; and,
by drawing a true, though alas, but faint picture, of the great losses and
sufferings on both sides, to make the very thought of a renewal of the
awful strife _utterly abhorrent_ to every lover of humanity, and
especially of this, our own dear native land.

Are we not one people: speaking the same language; worshipping the one
true and living God; having a common history, a common ancestry; and
united by the tenderest ties of blood? And is not this great grand,
glorious old Union--known and respected all over the world--our common
country, our joy and pride? O! let us forget all bitterness, and live
henceforth in love, harmony, and mutual helpfulness.

For all I know of the Teche country I am indebted to Mr. Edward King's
"Old and New Louisiana"; for facts and dates in regard to the war, and in
large measure for Mr. Dinsmore's views as to its causes, etc.,
principally to Headley's "History of the Great Rebellion."

The description of Andersonville, and the life led by the prisoners there,
was supplied by one who shared it for six months. An effort was made to
obtain a sketch of a Northern prison also, but without success.

Yet what need to balance accounts in respect to these matters? The
unnatural strife is over, and we are again one united people.

M.F.

CHAPTER FIRST.

"Oh! there is one affection which no stain
Of earth can ever darken;--when two find,
The softer and the manlier, that a chain
Of kindred taste has fastened mind to mind."
--PERCIVAL'S POEMS.

In one of the cool green alleys at the Oaks, Rose and Adelaide Dinsmore
were pacing slowly to and fro, each with an arm about the other's waist,
in girlish fashion, while they conversed together in low, confidential
tones.

At a little distance to one side, the young son and heir had thrown
himself prone upon the grass in the shade of a magnificent oak, story-book
in hand. Much interested he seemed in his book, yet occasionally his eye
would wander from its fascinating pages to watch, with pride and delight,
the tiny Rosebud steady herself against a tree, then run with eager,
tottering steps and a crow of delight into her nurse's outstretched arms,
to be hugged, kissed, praised, and coaxed to try it over again.

As Rose and Adelaide turned at one end of the alley, Mr. Horace Dinsmore
entered it at the other. Hurriedly approaching the little toddler, he
stooped and held out his hands, saying, in tender, half-tremulous tones,
"Come, darling, come to papa."

She ran into his arms, crying, "Papa," in her sweet baby voice, and
catching her up, he covered her face with kisses; then, holding her
clasped fondly to his breast, walked on towards his wife and sister.

"What is it, Horace?" asked Rose anxiously, as they neared each other; for
she saw that his face was pale and troubled.

"I bring you strange tidings, my Rose," he answered low and sadly, as she
laid her hand upon his arm with an affectionate look up into his face.

Hers grew pale. "Bad news from home?" she almost gasped.

"No, no; I've had no word from our absent relatives or friends, and I'm
not sure I ought to call it bad news either; though I cannot yet think of
it with equanimity, it has come upon me so suddenly."

"What?" asked both ladies in a breath; "don't keep us in suspense."

"It has been going on for years--on his part--I can see it now--but, blind
fool that I was, I never suspected it till to-day, when it came upon me
like a thunderbolt."

"What? who?"

"Travilla; after years of patient waiting he has won her at last--our
darling--and--and I've given her to him."

Both ladies stood dumb with astonishment, while young Horace, who had come
running up in time to catch the last words, cried out with vehemence,
"Papa! what! give our Elsie away? how could you? how can we ever do
without her? But she shan't go, for she belongs to me too, and I'll
_never_ give consent!"

Mr. Dinsmore and the ladies smiled faintly.

"They seemed to think mine quite sufficient, Horace," replied his father,
"and I'm afraid will hardly consider it necessary to ask yours."

"But, papa, we can't spare her--you know we can't--and why should you go
and give her away to Mr. Travilla or anybody?"

"My son, had I refused, it would have caused her great unhappiness."

"Then she ought to be ashamed to go and love Mr. Travilla better than you
and all of us."

"I was never more astonished in my life!" cried Adelaide.

"Nor I," said Rose. "And he's a great deal too old for her."

"That is an objection," replied her husband, "but if not insuperable to
her, need not be to us."

"Think of your intimate friend addressing you as father!" laughed
Adelaide; "it's really too ridiculous."

"That need not be--is not an inevitable consequence of the match," smiled
Mr. Dinsmore, softly caressing the little one clinging about his neck.

Still conversing on the same subject, the minds of all being full of it to
the exclusion of every other, they moved on as if by common consent
towards the house.

"Do you think it can be possible that she is really and truly in love with
him?" queried Rose; "a man so much older than herself, and so intimate in
the family since her early childhood."

"Judge for yourself, my dear," said Mr. Dinsmore, as a turn in the path
brought them within a few yards of the lovers, who were moving slowly in
their direction so that the two parties must meet in another moment.

One glance at the beaming faces, the rich color coming and going in
Elsie's cheek, the soft, glad light in her sweet brown eyes, was a
sufficient reply to Rose's question. She looked at her husband with a
satisfied smile, which he returned.

But little Horace, leaving his father's side, rushed up to Elsie, and
catching her hand in his, cried, "I'll never give my consent! and you
belong to me. Mr. Travilla, you can't have her."

To the child's surprise Elsie only blushed and smiled, while Mr. Travilla,
without the slightest appearance of alarm or vexation, said, "Ah, my dear
boy, you may just as well; for she is willing to be mine and your papa has
given her to me."

But the others had come up, and inquiring looks, smiles and kindly
greetings were exchanged.

"Mr. Travilla," said Rose, half playfully but with a tear trembling in her
eye, "you have stolen a march upon us, and I can hardly forgive you just
yet."

"I regret that exceedingly, my dear madam," he answered, with a smile that
belied his words. "But Miss Adelaide, you will still stand my friend?"

"I don't know," she answered demurely; "there's only one serious objection
in my mind (if Elsie is satisfied); that I don't quite fancy having a
nephew some years older than myself."

"Ah! well, I shall be quite willing to be considered a brother-in-law."

"Company to dinner!" shouted Horace. "I see a carriage; don't you, papa?"

"It is your Uncle Edward's," said Mr. Travilla.

"Yes," said Adelaide, "Lora and her tribe are in it, no doubt; and
probably Mrs. Bowles too (Carrie Howard you know, Elsie). They have been
late in calling."

"Some good reason for it, and they are none the less welcome," remarked
Rose, quickening her pace.

The one party reached the house just as the other two had fairly alighted,
and a scene of joyous greeting ensued.

"You dear child! how good of you to come back to us again, and single
too," exclaimed Mrs. Bowles, clasping Elsie in a warm embrace; "I'd almost
given it up, and expected by every mail to hear you had become Lady or
Countess this, or Duchess that."

Elsie smiled and blushed, and meeting the eye of her betrothed fixed for
an instant upon her with an expression of unutterable content,
thankfulness, love and pride, smiled and blushed again.

Carrie caught the look and its effect upon her friend, and almost
breathless with astonishment, took the first opportunity, after all were
seated in the drawing-room, to prefer a whispered request to be taken to
Elsie's own private apartment for a moment, to see that her hair and dress
were in proper order.

They had come to spend the day, and bonnets and shawls had already been
carried away by the servants in attendance.

"Now girls, don't run off for an interminable chat by yourselves," said
Mrs. Howard, as the two rose and crossed the room together.

"No, Aunt Lora, we'll not stay long," said Elsie; "for I want to improve
every moment of your visit, in renewing my acquaintance with you and my
young cousins."

"Your family has grown, Lora," remarked her brother.

"Yes, rather faster than yours," she said, looking round with pride upon
her little group of four boys, and a girl yet in her nurse's arms. "Go and
speak to your uncle, Ned, Walter, Horace, and Arthur. You see I have given
you a namesake; and this little pet we call Rose Louise, for her two
aunties. Yours is Rose, too! and what a darling! and how little Horace has
grown!"

"Elsie, it can't be possible!" cried Carrie, the instant they found
themselves alone.

"What can't?" and Elsie's blush and smile were charming.

"That you and Mr. Travilla are lovers! I saw it in your faces; but, 'tis
too absurd! Why, he's your father's friend, and nearly as old."

"All the wiser and better for that, Carrie, dear. But he is young in
heart, and far from looking old, I think. I have grown so sick of your
silly, brainless fops, who expect women neither to talk sense nor
understand it."

"Ah, I dare say! and Mr. Travilla is the most sensible and polished of
men--always excepting my own spouse, of course. And you won't be taken
away from us; so I give my consent."

Elsie's only answer was a mirthful, amused look.

"Oh, but I am glad to see you back!" Carrie ran on. "It seems an age since
you went away."

"Thank you. And your husband? what is he like?"

"I was never good at description, but he is a fine specimen of a Kentucky
planter, and very fond of his wife. By the way, you must blame me that
Edward and Lora were so late in welcoming you home. I arrived only
yesterday morning, quite fatigued with my journey, and begged them to wait
till to-day, and bring me with them."

"That was right. We have not seen Enna yet, or Arthur. Grandpa and Mrs.
Dinsmore and Walter called yesterday. But there is the dinner-bell. Let me
conduct you to the dining-room."

They were just in time to sit down with the others.

Elsie quickly perceived by her Aunt Lora's look and manner, that she, too,
had heard the news, but no remark was make on the subject till the ladies
had retired to the drawing-room, leaving the gentlemen to the enjoyment of
their after-dinner cigars.

Then Mrs. Howard, facing round upon her niece as they entered the room,
exclaimed, "Elsie, you naughty child! are you not ashamed of yourself?"

"On account of what, auntie?"

"Such unconscious innocence!" cried Lora, throwing up the white and
jeweled hands she had rested lightly for an instant upon the young girl's
shoulder, while gazing steadily into the smiling, blushing, sparkling
face. "You haven't been planning and promising to give Adelaide and me a
nephew older than ourselves? I tell you, miss, I refuse my consent. Why,
it's absurd! the very idea! I used to think him almost an elderly
gentleman when you were a chit of eight or nine."

"I remember having had some such idea myself; but he must have been
growing young since then," returned Elsie, demurely.

"He seems to have been standing still (waiting for you, I suppose); but I
never was more astonished in my life!" said Lora, dropping into a chair.

"It has been a genuine surprise to us all," remarked Rose.

"To me as much as anyone, mamma," said Elsie. "I--had thought he was
engaged to you, Aunt Adie."

"To _me_, child!"

"Why, my dear, I surely told you about her engagement to my brother
Edward?" exclaimed Adelaide and Rose simultaneously.

"You tried, mamma, and it was all my own fault that I did not hear the
whole truth. And, Aunt Adie, I cannot understand how he could ever fancy
me, while he might have hoped there was a possibility of winning you."

"'Twould have been a much more suitable match," said Lora. "Though I'd
have preferred the one in contemplation, except that in the other case,
she would not be carried quite away from us. But suppose we proceed to
business. We should have a double wedding, I think."

"Oh, don't talk of it yet," said Rose, with a slight tremble in her voice,
and looking at Elsie's flushed, conscious face with eyes full of unshed
tears. "Adelaide's is to be within the next two months, and--we cannot
give up Elsie so suddenly."

"Of course not," said Adelaide; "and I should have serious objections to
being used as a foil to Elsie's youth and beauty."

The Howards and Mr. Travilla stayed to tea, and shortly before that meal
the party was increased by the arrival of Walter Dinsmore and Mrs. Dick
Percival.

Enna had lost flesh and color; and long indulgence of a fretful, peevish
temper had drawn down the corners of her mouth, lined her forehead, and
left its ugly pencilings here and there over the once pretty face, so that
it already began to look old and care-worn. She was very gayly dressed, in
the height of the fashion, and rather overloaded with jewelry; but powder
and rouge could not altogether conceal the ravages of discontent and
passion. She was conscious of the fact, and inwardly dwelt with
mortification and chagrin upon the contrast presented by her own faded
face to that of Elsie, so fair and blooming, so almost childish in its
sweet purity and innocence of expression.

"So you are single yet," Enna said, with a covert sneer; "and not likely
to marry either, so far as I've been able to learn. They'll soon begin to
call you an old maid."

"Will they?" said Mr. Dinsmore, with a laugh in which all present joined,
Enna herself excepted; "well, if she is a fair specimen of that
much-abused class, they are far more attractive than is generally
supposed."

"You needn't laugh," said Enna; "I was four years younger than she is now,
when I married. I wasn't going to wait till they began to call me an old
maid."

"To bear that reproach is not the worst calamity that can befall a woman,"
replied Mr. Dinsmore gravely; then changed the subject by a kind inquiry
in regard to Arthur.

"Slowly and steadily improving," answered Walter. "The doctors are now
satisfied that he is not permanently crippled, though he still uses a
crutch."

CHAPTER SECOND.

"Mutual love, the crown of all our bliss."
--MILTON'S PARADISE LOST.

After a half hour of waiting for her son's return, Mrs. Travilla sat down
to her lonely cup of tea. There was no lack of delicacies on the table,
and in all Edward's taste had been consulted. To make him comfortable and
happy was, next to serving her God, the great aim and object of his
mother's life; and, in a less degree, of that of every servant in the
house. They had all been born and brought up at Ion, and had all these
years known him as the kindest, most reasonable and considerate of
masters.

"Wish Massa Edard come. Dese waffles jes' prime to-night, an' he so fond
ob dem," remarked a pretty mulatto girl, handing a plate of them to her
mistress.

"Yes, Prilla, he expected to be at home, but is probably taking tea at the
Oaks or Roselands." And the old lady supped her tea and ate her waffles
with a serene, happy face, now and then lighted up by a pleased smile
which her attendant handmaiden was at a loss to interpret.

Having finished her meal, Mrs. Travilla threw a shawl about her shoulders
and stepped out upon the veranda; then, tempted by the beauty of the
night, walked down the avenue to meet her son or see if there were any
signs of his approach.

She had not gone half the distance ere the sound of horses' hoofs reached
her ear--distant at first but coming rapidly nearer, till a lady and
gentleman drew rein at the gate, while the servant who had been riding in
the rear dismounted and threw it open.

They came dashing up, but paused and drew rein again at sight of the old
lady standing there under the trees.

"Mother," cried her son, springing from the saddle, "you were not alarmed?
anxious? surely."

"No, no, Edward, but glad to see you and Elsie! my dear child, this is
very kind."

"Not at all, dear Mrs. Travilla; it is so lovely an evening for a ride; or
walk either," she added, giving her hand to her escort and springing
lightly to the ground.

Mr. Travilla put the hand into that of his mother. "Take her to your
heart, mother; she is mine--ours!" he said, in low tones tremulous with
joy.

The old lady folded the slight girlish form to her breast for a moment,
with a silence more eloquent than words.

"Thank God! thank God!" she murmured at length. "He has given me my
heart's desire;" and mingled caresses and tears fell upon Elsie's face.
"For many years I have loved you as my own child, and now I am to have
you. How bright our home will be, Edward. But we are darkening another.
Her father; can he--has he----"

"He has given her to me," answered the son quickly, "and she has--we have
given ourselves to each other. Let me give an arm to each of you and we
will go into the house."

* * * * *

The veranda at the Oaks was deserted, and the house very quiet, though
lights still shone here and there, as Mr. Travilla and Elsie rode up and
dismounted on their return from Ion.

A servant rose from the grass, where he had been lying at his ease; came
forward and led away his young mistress's pony, while the lover bade her a
tender good-night, sprang into the saddle again, and presently
disappeared, lost to view amid the trees and the windings of the road,
though the sound of horse's hoofs still came faintly to Elsie's ear as she
stood intently listening, a sweet smile irradiating every feature.

Absorbed in her own thoughts, and in the effort to catch those
fast-retreating sounds, she did not hear a step approaching from behind;
but an arm encircled her waist, and a low-breathed "My darling" woke her
from her reverie.

She looked up, her eyes beaming with affection; "Papa; I am rather late,
am I not?"

"Not very. Hark! the clock is but just striking ten. Come, let us sit down
here for a little. We have hardly had a chat together to-day." He sighed
slightly as he drew her closer to him.

"No, papa dear, there has been so much company," she answered, laying her
head on his shoulder. "And----"

"And what?" as she paused. "Your father used to know all that concerned
you one way or the other. Is he to be shut out from your confidence now?
Ah, I think he must have been for some time past."

"I could not tell you _that_, papa," she murmured, blushing visibly in the
moonlight. "Indeed, I hardly knew it myself till----"

"Till when?"

"The night of Sophie's wedding."

"Ah!" he said, musingly; "but I cannot get over my surprise; he is your
senior by so many years, and you have known him from childhood and looked
upon him as a sort of uncle. I wonder at your choice."

"But you don't object, papa?"

"No, if I must give you away--and I've always known that would come some
time--I would rather it should be to him than any one else, for I can
never doubt that he will be tender and true to my precious one, when she
leaves her father's home for his."

"Papa, papa, don't speak of it," she cried, winding her arms about his
neck, "I can't bear to think of it; that our home will no longer be the
same, that I can't come to you every night and be folded to your heart as
I have been ever since I was a little girl."

"Well, dearest," he said, after a moment, in which he held her very close
and caressed her with exceeding tenderness, "we shall not be far apart or
miss passing some time together many days of the year. And you are not in
haste to leave me?"

"Oh, no, no! why should I be? Please keep me a little while yet."

"I intend to: it will take at least a year to get used to the thought of
doing without you, and so long Travilla must be content to wait. Nor can
we give you up wholly even then; your suite of rooms shall still be yours,
and you must come now and then and occupy them for days or weeks at a
time.

"Now, daughter, good-night. Come to me to-morrow morning in my study, soon
after breakfast, I have something more of importance to say to you."

"I shall obey, and without fear," she answered gayly, "though I remember
once being quite frightened at a similar order; but that was when I was a
silly little girl and didn't know how dearly my own papa loved me."

"And when he was strangely stern to his own little child," he answered,
with another tender caress.

CHAPTER THIRD.

"So fair that had you beauty's picture took,
It must like her, or not like beauty look."
--ALLEYN'S HENRY VII.

Elsie paused at the half-open door of her father's private room.

Mr. Dinsmore, like most men, was fond of light and air; through the wide
open windows the morning breeze stole softly in, laden with sweets from
garden and lawn, and the rich carpet of oak and green was flecked with
gold where the sunbeams came shimmering down between the fluttering leaves
of a beautiful vine that had festooned itself about the one looking to the
east.

Mr. Dinsmore was seated at his desk with a pile of papers before
him--legal documents in appearance; he would open one, glance over its
contents, lay it aside, and take up another only to treat it in like
manner.

Elsie stood but a moment watching him with loving, admiring eyes, then
gliding noiselessly across the floor, dropped gracefully at his feet and
laying her folded hands upon his knee looked up into his face with an
arch, sweet smile.

"Mon pere, I have come for my lecture, or whatever you have laid up in
store for me," she announced with mock gravity and a slight tremble of
pretended fear in her voice.

Dropping the paper he held, and passing one hand caressingly over her
shining hair, "My darling, how very, very lovely you are!" he said, the
words bursting spontaneously from his lips; "there is no flaw in your
beauty, and your face beams with happiness."

"Papa turned flatterer!" she cried, springing up and allowing him to draw
her to his knee.

"I'm waiting for the lecture," she said presently, "you know I always like
to have disagreeable things over as soon as possible."

"Who told you there was to be a lecture?"

"Nobody, sir."

"What have you been doing that you feel entitles you to one?"

"I don't remember."

"Nor I either. So let us to business. Here, take this chair beside me. Do
you know how much you are worth?"

"Not precisely, sir," she answered demurely, taking the chair and folding
her hands pensively in her lap; "but very little, I presume, since you
have given me away for nothing."

"By no means," he said, with a slight smile of amusement at her unwonted
mood. "It was for your own happiness, which is no trifle in my esteem. But
you belong to me still."

She looked at him with glistening eyes. "Thank you, dearest papa; yes, I
do belong to you and always shall. Please excuse my wilful
misunderstanding of your query. I do not know how much money and other
property I own, but have an idea it is a million more or less."

"My dear child!--it is fully three times that."

"Papa! is it indeed?"

"Yes, it was about a million at the time of your Grandfather Grayson's
death, and has increased very much during your mamma's minority and yours;
which you know has been a very long one. You own several stores and a
dwelling house in New Orleans, a fine plantation with between two and
three hundred negroes, and I have invested largely for you in stocks of
various kinds both in your own country and in England. I wish you to
examine all the papers, certificates of stock, bonds, deeds, mortgages,
and so forth."

"Oh, papa!" she cried, lifting her hands in dismay, "what a task. Please
excuse me. You know all about it, and is not that sufficient?"

"No, the property is yours; I have been only your steward, and must now
render up an account to you for the way in which I have handled your
property."

"You render an account to _me_, my own dear father," she said low and
tremulously, while her face flushed crimson; "I cannot bear to hear you
speak so. I am fully satisfied, and very, _very_ thankful for all your
kind care of it and of me."

He regarded her with a smile of mingled tenderness and amusement, while
softly patting and stroking the small white hand laid lovingly upon his.

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