 | VI.
THE LOVES OF ELPHAZ PELT AND
ABNER ROANE. Lucy Arlyn |  |
6. VI.
THE LOVES OF ELPHAZ PELT AND
ABNER ROANE.
IN the law-office of Squire Elphaz Pelt sits the
young man Abner, leaning on his elbows, and
running his freckled fingers through his red hair,
as if to warm them.
There are letters on the desk before him, which have come
by the afternoon's mail; in one of which — a heavy package
covered with stamps, and looking as if it contained gold-dust
— he manifests a grinning interest.
“That's from Californy, sure! Ben Arlyn's writing, I
bet! I wish” — He glances at the door, and listens; then
turns the letter over, shakes it at his ear, and tries to peep.
“If I was only one of them mediums that can see into letters
without opening 'em! Hang so many wafers!”
He pushes the package aside, so as not to be tempted by it;
and, to divert his mind, takes up a thin straw-colored envelope,
bearing the imprint of a well-known express-company.
Here is something, now, that might possibly be penetrated
by an ingenious young man like Abner Roane. That little
defend the Californian document. Just the moist edge of a
paper-folder pressed in there carefully, and —
“Bless my soul!” says Abner; and with a start, as if his
fingers were agued, he thrusts them back into his warm top-knot.
The envelope has actually shown a tendency to come open.
Its lips, curling a little with the strain he has given it,
grins at him. Abner grins at it. Nobody is coming. He
takes up the letter again, just touches the adhesive part, and
lo! —
“What a way to seal a letter that was!” says Abner
nervously; and he listens with a wild expression, holding his
tongue out, and the gluten ready to be licked and stuck again
in case of footsteps.
“I may as well just take a peep!” he concludes. But
how the freckled fingers shake! and how pale the sandy
visage suddenly grows, forgetting for the moment to grin!
The letter is hurriedly read, and restored to the envelope; and
Abner sits trembling with the excitement of what he has done,
and with fear lest Elphaz may come in before the freshly licked
gluten is dry.
One would imagine it none of Abner's business that the
express-company writes to say that a large sum of money has
been forwarded from California by Mr. Benjamin Arlyn,
consigned to his agent, Mr. Elphaz Pelt.
“Seven thousand dollars!” murmurs Abner. An independent
with whom he would have fallen in love long ago, could he
have seen that such a step was for his interest. But who
would ever have supposed that old Ben Arlyn, ruined by his
lawsuits with Colonel Bannington, and flying in disgrace after
his last fatal collision with that ireful man, would in two years
turn up a millionnaire? From a plodding law-student, Abner
is suddenly transformed into the most agitated of lovers. To
offer himself, and get accepted, before Lucy learns that she is
an heiress, is of the utmost importance. He takes a pen, and
commences a letter, which he dates yesterday, — the sagacious
Abner! Then in prolix and verbose diction, as if he were
drawing up a legal document, he declares his passion. The
letter is scarcely sealed and pocketed, when Elphaz enters.
Abner's red head is suddenly plunged into a law-book, which
fascinates him like a romance.
“Go to the post-office?” inquires Elphaz, his face all
gristle and no smiles, which he can't afford to lavish on his
apprentice.
Abner jumps. “Oh, yes!” He gives the letters with
servile alacrity, and returns to his romance.
Elphaz glances at the letters with one eye, while he seems
to be suspiciously watching the absorbed youth with the other;
breaks a seal or two; and laughs a hard, metallic laugh.
“Ha, ha! got a letter from — thought he was dead —
didn't we hear Joe Prince was dead, Abner?”
“He died in San Francisco last winter, didn't he?”
“I thought so. But here's a big letter from him. Can't
stop to read it now. I was in hopes 'twas from Arlyn:
strange we don't hear from him! Keep shop, Abner, till I
come back.” And Elphaz, full of business, departs with the
letters.
The red head emerges from the law-book, and is scratched
assiduously for a wondering minute or two. “Joe Prince?
Well, maybe 'tis; but I don't believe it.” Honest Abner
grows suspicious of his senior's integrity. “He won't dare
to steal that seven thousand dollars, though! Any way, I'll
give Lucy my letter, and resk it.”
Impatient to leave the office for that purpose, he sits waiting
for Pelt's return. At length, somebody comes. Luck
favors him. Instead of the lawyer, it is Lucy herself.
Pale and anxious, she inquires for Elphaz, and sinks upon
a seat.
“You have no letters for me yet?”
Red-head struggles with embarrassment, simpering sweetly.
“There is a letter for you, Miss Arlyn.”
“O Abner!” cries Lucy eagerly, hope and joy flashing
up in her weary face; and, with both hands extended, she
starts forward.
Abner draws his declaration from his pocket, like a dagger,
and stabs her to the heart.
“You can write your answer if you'd ruther,” he simpers;
hastily pushes some paper towards her on the table; then goes
and looks out of the window, rubbing his hands excitedly,
while she is considering the delicate subject.
Having waited a proper length of time, he peeps over his
shoulder to see what the prospects are. There she sits, not
yet recovered from her cruel disappointment; regarding the
letter with a countenance in which he sees written disgust,
heart-sickness, and his own unhappy fate.
“May I hope for a favorable response?” is the elegant
speech he has been studying up; but it sticks in his throat
as he crawls obsequiously towards her.
She throws the letter on the table with a contempt she cannot
conceal, but forbears to speak, feeling that the addresses
of the most loathed suitor should not be met with scorn.
“My prospects are good,” whines Abner. “You'll be
able to live a lady: you never'll need to sile this delicate
white hand,” — which he attempts to squeeze.
“Abner Roane!” cries Lucy, “burn that foolish letter!”
And she snatches back the unsqueezed hand.
“No hopes?” murmured the wretch.
“Not a hope!” says Lucy.
“O Miss Arlyn!” — he is getting down on his knees:
but fortunately there are footsteps on the stairs; and he has
barely time to crumple the rejected addresses into his pocket,
and get seated, when Elphaz enters.
“Ah, Miss Lucy again!” cries the affable lawyer.
“Sorry I can't do any thing for you yet. But don't be discouraged.
California letters don't always get along as soon
as they should.”
“And you have no news whatever from my father?”
a steady, inquiring look.
The twinkling grayish eyes glance sharply at Abner, then
appear to consult each other across the nasal bridge.
“Nothing yet, Miss Lucy. But there's time enough.
Perhaps to-morrow. — Abner!” — Red-head looks up from
his law-book, — “I want you to carry a copy of that deed over
to the colonel right away.”
Abner puts on his extinguisher, and goes.
“Sit still, Miss Lucy,” — the gristly face shining with
suavity. “You look tired. Any thing I can do for you?”
Yes; she wishes to have a few words with him: and Elphaz,
listening with polite attention opposite her, and Abner with
unpolite curiosity at the key-hole, hear how, sick of her present
mode of life, she has resolved to go to a noted manufacturing
town, and find employment in the cotton-mills. What
she desires of Elphaz is to forward letters to her if any are
received from her father.
“But you must never think of taking any such step, my
dear young lady!” remonstrates the lawyer, leaning affectionately
towards her.
Lucy shakes her sorrowful head. “'Tis impossible for me
to live where I do any longer; and, if I am to go out to work,
I prefer to be among strangers.”
“My dearest young lady!” expostulates Elphaz with increasing
affectionateness of manner, “you need never leave
this town; you need never soil those beautiful hands with
vulgar toil!”
Abner, sweating at the key-hole, thinks Elphaz must have
listened before, and stolen some of his thunder. Pelt proceeds:
—
“I have a hand, a fortune, and a” — he seems to hesitate
about making the unimportant addition — “a heart,
dearest Lucy, which I humbly offer you!”
Abner groans dreadfully in spirit; for, when Pelt wooes,
what chance is there for Roane?
But what does he hear? She rejects even the great lawyer!
She declines to become Mrs. Elphaz! What balm to
Abner's wounds! He has heard enough. He slips away.
Chuckle, red-head! and run also; for danger cometh.
Pelt, hearing a noise, opens the door, and glances down
the stairs in time to see a vanishing trousers-leg; insufficient
evidence, however, to convict of eaves-dropping. Closing the
door again, he locks it.
“Let me go, Mr. Pelt!” commands Lucy.
“My dearest young lady!” says Elphaz, who has great
confidence in his power to plead a cause, only give him a
chance, “don't be alarmed, but hear me!”
And with one hand under his coat-tail, gesticulating with
the other, and bending persuasively forward, he proceeds with
a speech, as if he were addressing gentlemen of the jury, and
looking at several of them at once. He makes an elaborate
statement of the advantages she will reap by marrying him,
and having servants to bring her water to wash her hands;
and of the folly she will commit, and misery she will incur,
a woman, and logic never convinced a woman yet.
“You have forced me to listen to you,” she replies, as the
advocate folds his gesticulating hand with its fellow under his
coat-tails, and smilingly waits for a triumphant verdict in his
favor. “My answer is the same as before. Now let me go;
for I am tired and sick!”
The legal countenance changes, and grows grim with the
thought of starving the jury into rendering a different verdict.
But he thinks better of it, and concludes to give a specimen
of the indulgent husband Nature designed him to be; offers
to advance her money, which she refuses; and finally, with
theatrical fondness of manner, opens the door to her.
Almost weeping with vexation at these insults, Lucy hurries
away. Thank Heaven, she has heard the last of them.
But no: there stands Abner on the bridge; who, as she
approaches, removes his extinguisher, and relumes himself
redly in the sun.
“Don't stop me!” she entreats. “I am so sick of it all,
Abner!”
But Abner has a grand diplomatic stroke to try; having
resolved to sell Pelt for a villain, and himself for a traitor, if
any bid will be made.
“Miss Arlyn,” — painfully plaiting up his face, — “I
know something that will be greatly to your advantage to
hear” —
“I have already heard too many things greatly to my
advantage!” observes Lucy.
“But this is positive, — an immense advantage, pecuniarily
speaking. But I cant't afford to let you into the secret without
some consideration in my favor: that is,” says Abner, “if
you'll reverse your decision, and become” — with an embarrassed
giggle — “Mrs. Roane, I can put a fortune into your
hands.”
“And into yours?” retorts Lucy, sarcastic and incredulous.
“I don't deny but I may have been interested,” Abner
confesses; “but” —
“Not for fifty fortunes would I become Mrs. Roane!”
interrupts Lucy. “Now, if you know any secret that I ought
to be made acquainted with, tell it like a man, and I'll thank
you.”
“I — re'lly” — Abner puts on his hat, and two flames
appear to be extinguished — “I ain't so green as to give
you my secret on any such terms, Miss Arlyn. It's cost me
something, and it'll cost me a good deal more, to come out
for you against — no matter who, since you're so offish;”
and Abner is “offish” too.
At this critical moment in Lucy's fortunes, a third person,
coming to the bridge, puts an end to the conference. It is
Archy. Abner retreats: Lucy remains.
The genius has not come to urge his suit in opposition to
Elphaz and Abner, but to bring her a letter.
“From Guy!” cries Lucy, surprised.
After the long talk in the woods, and their many last words
say to her. For love is infinite; and, pour it out as we may
in the channels of language, the fountain is always full and
running over.
The letter seems to glow in Lucy's hand. She hides it,
and addresses the genius; so kindly, and yet so sadly, that
tears come into the eyes that worship her.
“Archy, I am going away, to-morrow morning, in the
early train. I want you to help me. Come to the house
at five: nobody will be up then. I am going alone, — all
alone, Archy.”
She attempts to say more, but her tears rush up; and,
giving the genius her hand, she hurries away, and leaves
him, dumb with distress, standing on the bridge.
Little cares she now for the cross looks of Sophy and her
mother. A greater trial overshadows the less. She lifts her
eyes above the petty briers that annoy her, to the drearily
sighing tree of desolation which seems to fill the sky of her
future. In the bleakness and gloom, with tremor and heart-ache,
she reads Guy's letter. Such love! — and she must put
it from her! Such happiness reaching to embrace her! — and
she must fly from it! Such tender entreaties, passionate
appeals! — and her heart must seem cruel and deaf! “I
know,” he writes, “that your deep woman's heart will keep
you true to me;” and, when next he hears from her, she
will be gone! Oh! has she not deceived him wickedly?
What despair will be his! What utter loneliness will be hers!
“Guy, Guy, I cannot leave you! God help me, I cannot!”
And she covers his letter with kisses. But, after
the wild outburst, her resolution and calm thoughts come
back to her like guardian angels, soothing and counselling.
The certainty of his disinheritance if they are openly
united; his habits and temper, that unfit him for a life of
labor and privation; the prophecy of her heart that he will
some day regret the sacrifice, if she permits him to make it;
the instinctive repugnance to a secret intercourse and a life
of deception felt by all true souls; the faith she has that
time will untie the knot of difficulty that entangles them, if
they will but wait, — all this comes up again: but, more than
all this, something within or above impels her, — a magnet,
as it were, in the very core of her will; and, stronger than
the confused counsels of reason and desire, a still small voice
whispers continually, “Fly, fly, from this temptation!”
Lost in this whirl of thoughts, she quite forgets Abner,
and the fortune she has missed; Pelt and his proposals; but
not her father. Oh, could she but go now to his bosom, —
large and rugged and strong, but tender as a mother's, —
cling to his neck, put her cheek against his dear rough beard,
and cry out her troubles in his infolding arms! Or, since
that cannot be, if she only had to console her that big, badly
spelled, tumultuously fond letter that came this day, enclosed
to Elphaz, the ashes of which are, at this moment,
crumbling in the draught of the lawyer's office stove!
| VI.
THE LOVES OF ELPHAZ PELT AND
ABNER ROANE. Lucy Arlyn | |