University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

Habington.

Now that Harry had left the house, Mrs. Creighton's attention
was chiefly given to Mr. Wyllys; although she had as
usual, smiles, both arch and sweet, sayings, both piquant and
agreeable, for each and all of the gentlemen from Broadlawn,
who were frequent visiters at Wyllys-Roof. Mr. Stryker,
indeed, was there half the time. It was evident that the lady
was extremely interested in Hazlehurst's difficulties; she was
constant in her inquiries as to the progress of affairs, and
listened anxiously to the many different prognostics as to the
result. Miss Agnes remarked indeed, one day, when Mr.
Ellsworth thought he had succeeded in obtaining an all-important
clue, in tracing the previous career of Harry's opponent,
that his sister seemed much elated—she sent an extremely
amiable message to Hazlehurst in her brother's letter.
It afterwards appeared, however, on farther inquiry, that this
very point turned out entirely in favour of the sailor, actually
proving that nine years previously he had sailed in one of
the Hávre packets, under the name of William Stanley.
Mrs. Creighton that evening expressed her good wishes for
Harry, in a much calmer tone, before a roomfull of company.

“Ladies, have you no sympathizing message for Hazlehurst?”
inquired Mr. Ellsworth, as he folded a letter he had
been writing.

“Oh, certainly; we were sorry to hear the bad news;”
and she then turned immediately, and began an animated,
laughing conversation with Hubert de Vaux.

`What a difference in character between the brother and
sister,' thought Miss Agnes, whose good opinion of Mr. Ellsworth

had been raised higher than ever, by the earnest devotion
to his friend's interest, which appeared throughout his
whole management of the case.

The family at Wyllys-Roof were careful to show, by their
friendly attention to the Hubbards, that their respect and
regard for them had not suffered at all by the steps Mr. Clapp
had taken. Miss Agnes and Elinor visited the cottage as
frequently as ever. One morning, shortly after the wedding,
Miss Wyllys went to inquire after Mrs. Hubbard, as she was
in the habit of doing. She found Mary Hubbard, the
youngest daughter, there, and was struck on entering, by the
expression of Miss Patsey's face—very different from her
usual calm, pleasant aspect.

“Oh, Miss Wyllys!” she exclaimed, in answer to an inquiry
of Miss Agnes's—“I am just going to Longbridge!
My poor, kind uncle Joseph!—but he was always too weak
and indulgent to those girls!”

“What has happened?” asked Miss Wyllys, anxiously.

“Dreadful news, indeed; Mrs. Hilson has disgraced herself!—Her
husband has left her and applied for a divorce!
But I do not believe it is half as bad as most people think;
Julianna has been shamefully imprudent, but I cannot think
her guilty!”

Miss Wyllys was grieved to hear such a bad account of
her old neighbour's daughter.

“Her husband has left her, you say; where is she now?”

“Her father brought her home with him. He went after
her to Newport, where she had gone in the same party with
this man—this Mr. de Montbrun, and a person who lives in
the same boarding-house, a Mrs. Bagman, who has done a
great deal of harm to Julianna.”

“Sad, indeed!” exclaimed Miss Agnes.

“Charles says it is heart-rending, to see my poor uncle,
who was so proud of his good name—thought so much of
his daughters! Often have I heard him say: `Let them
enjoy life, Patsey, while they are young; girls can't do much

harm; I love to see them look pretty and merry.' They
never received any solid instruction, and since her marriage,
Julianna seems to have been in bad company. She had no
children to think about, and Mr. Hilson's time is always
given to his business; her head was full of nonsense from
morning till night; I was afraid no good would come of it.”

“It is at least a great point, that she should have come
back with her father.”

“Yes, indeed; I am thankful for it, from the bottom of
my heart. Oh, Miss Wyllys, what a dreadful thing it is, to
see young people going on, from one bad way to another!”
exclaimed Miss Patsey.

“We must hope that her eyes will be opened, now.”

“If she had only taken warning from what Charles told
her about this Mr. de Montbrun; he had seen him at Rome,
and though he had no positive proofs, knew he was a bad
man, and told Mrs. Hilson so. It is surely wrong, Miss
Wyllys, to let all kinds of strangers from foreign countries
into our families, without knowing anything about them.”

“I have often thought it very wrong,” said Miss Agnes,
earnestly.

“But Mrs. Hilson wouldn't believe a word Charles said.
She talked a great deal about aristocratic fashions; said she
wouldn't be a slave to prudish notions—just as she always
talks.”

“Where was her husband, all this time?”

“He was in New York. They had not agreed well for
some time, on account of her spending so much money, and
flirting with everybody. At last he heard how his wife was
behaving, and went to Saratoga. He found everybody who
knew her, was talking about Julianna and this Frenchman.
They had a violent quarrel, and he brought her back to town,
but gave her warning, if ever she spoke again to that man
he would leave her. Would you believe it!—in less than
a week, she went to the theatre with him and this Mrs. Bagman!
You know Mr. Hilson is a quiet man in general, but

when he has made up his mind to anything, he never changes
it: when he came in from his business, and found where his
wife had gone, he wrote a letter to Uncle Joseph, and left the
house.”

“But what does Mrs. Hilson say? Does she show any
feeling?”

“She cries a great deal, but talks just as usual; says she
is a victim to her husband's brutality and jealousy. It seems
impossible to make her see things in their right light. I
hope and pray that her eyes may be opened, but I am afraid
it will be a long time before they are. But it is hard, Miss
Wyllys, to open the eyes of the blind and deluded! It is
more than mortal man can do!”

“Yes; we feel at such times our miserable weakness, and
the influence of evil upon human nature, more, perhaps,
than at any other moment!”

“That is true, indeed. I have often thought, Miss Wyllys,
that those who have watched over a large family of children
and young people, have better notions about the true state of
human nature, than your great philosophers. That has been
the difficulty with Uncle Hubbard; he said girls in a respectable
family were in no danger of doing what was wrong;
that he hated preaching and scolding, and could not bear to
make young people gloomy, by talking to them about serious
subjects. My father always taught me to think very differently;
he believed that the only way to help young people
to be really happy and cheerful, was to teach them to do
their duty.”

“It would be well, if all those who have charge of young
persons thought so!” exclaimed Miss Agnes.

“But, oh, Miss Wyllys, I dread seeing my poor uncle!
Charles writes me word that he is quite changed—pale and
care-worn—so different from his usual look; he says my
uncle has grown ten years older in the last week. And
such a kind, indulgent father as he has been!”

Tears filled Miss Wyllys's eyes. “Is his daughter Emo
meline at home?” she asked.

“Yes; and Emmeline seems more sobered by this terrible
business, than Mrs. Hilson herself. She sent for me, thinking
I might be of some service to Julianna, and persuade her to stay
at home, and not return to Mrs. Bagman, as she threatens to
do.”

A wagon was waiting to carry Miss Patsey to Longbridge,
and Miss Agnes begging that she might not detain her, she
set out on her painful duty. On arriving at her uncle's house,
she almost dreaded to cross the threshold. She found Mr.
Hubbard in the dining-room; he paid no attention to her as
she opened the door, but continued walking up and down.
She scarcely knew how to address him; the common phrases
of greeting that rose to her lips seemed misplaced. He
either did not see her, or would not notice her. She then
walked quite near to him, and holding out her hand, said in
a calm tone:

“Uncle, I have come to see Julianna.”

The muscles of his face moved, but he made no answer.

“I have come to stay with her, if you wish it.”

“Thank you,” he said, in a thick voice.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“What can be done?” he said, bitterly, and almost roughly.

“Do you wish me to stay?”

“Yes; I am obliged to you for coming to see a woman of
bad reputation.”

Patsey left him for the present. She found her cousins
together; Emmeline's eyes were red, as if she had just been
weeping; Mrs. Hilson was stretched on a sofa, in a very
elegant morning-gown, reading a novel of very doubtful
morality. Patsey offered her hand, which was taken quite
cavalierly.

“Well, Patsey,” she said, “I hope you have not come to
be a spy upon me.”

“I have come to see you, because I wish to be of service
to you, Julianna.”

“Then, my dear child, you must bring his High-Mightiness,
my jealous husband to reason,” said the lady, smoothing
a fold in her dress. Patsey made no answer, and Mrs. Hilson
looked up. “If you are going to join the rest of them
against me, why I shall have nothing to do with you; all
the prim prudes in the world won't subdue me, as my goodman
might have found out already.”

“Where is your husband?” asked Miss Patsey, gravely,
but quietly.

“I am sure I don't know; he has been pleased to abandon
me, for no reason whatever, but because I chose to enjoy the
liberty of all women of fortune in aristocratic circles. I
would not submit to be made a slave, like most ladies in this
country, as Mrs. Bagman says. I choose to associate with
whom I please, gentlemen or ladies. What is it makes the
patrician orders so delightful in Europe?—all those who know
anything about it, will tell you that it is because the married
women are not slaves; they have full liberty, and do just
as they fancy, and have as many admirers as they please;
this very book that I am reading says so. That is the way
things are managed in high life in Europe.”

“What sort of liberty is it you wish for, Julianna? The
liberty to do wrong? Or the liberty to trifle with your reputation?”

Mrs. Hilson pouted, but made no answer.

“I cannot think the kind of liberty you speak of is common
among good women anywhere,” continued Patsey, “and I
don't think you can know so much about what you call high
life in Europe, Julianna, for you have never been there. I
am sure at least, that in this country the sort of liberty you
seem to be talking about, is only common in very low life;
you will find enough of it even here, among the most ignerant
and worst sort of people,” said Miss Patsey, quietly.

Mrs. Hilson looked provoked. “Well, you are civil, I

must say, Miss Patsey Hubbard; of all the brutal speeches
that have been made me of late, I must say that yours is the
worst!”

“I speak the truth, though I speak plainly, Julianna.'

“Yes, plainly enough; very different from the refinement
of Mrs. Bagman, I can assure you; she would be the last
person to come and tyrannize over me, when I am a victim
to my husband's jealousy. But I have not a creature near
me to sympathize with me!”

“Do not say that; your father is down-stairs, grown old
with grief during the last week!”

Mrs. Hilson did not answer.

“You have known me all your life, from the time vou
were a child,” added Miss Patsey, taking her cousin's passive
hand in her own; “and I ask, if you have ever known me
to deceive you by an untruth?”

“I am sure I don't know,” replied her cousin, carelessly.

“Yes, you do know it, Julianna. Trust me, then; do
not shut your ears and your eyes to the truth! You are in
a very dangerous situation; look upon me as your friend;
let me stay with you; let me help you! My only motive is
your own good; even if I believed you really guilty, I should
have come to you; but I do not believe you guilty!”

“I am much obliged to you,” said her cousin, lightly.
“But I happen to know myself that I have committed no
such high crime and misdemeanour.”

“Yes, you have trifled so far with your reputation, that
the world believes you guilty, Julianna.”

“Not fashionable people. I might have gone on for years,
enjoying the friendship of an elegant lady like Mrs. Bagman,
and receiving the polite attentions of a French nobleman,
had it not been for the countrified notions of Pa and Mr.
Hilson; and now, I am torn from my friends, I am calumniated,
and the Baron accused of being an impostor! But
the fact is, as Mrs. Bagman says, Mr. Hilson never has understood
me!”

Patsey closed her eyes that night with a heavy heart. She
did not seem to have produced the least impression on Mrs.
Hilson.

How few people are aware of the great dangers of that
common foible, vanity! And yet it is the light feather that
wings many a poisoned dart; it is the harlequin leader of a
vile crew of evils. Generally, vanity is looked upon as
merely a harmless weakness, whose only penalty is ridicule;
but examine its true character, and you will find it to be one
of the most dangerous, and at the same time one of the most
contemptible failings of humanity. There is not a vice with
which it has not been, time and again, connected; there is
not a virtue that has not been tainted by its touch. Men are
vain of their vices, vain of their virtues; and although pride
and vanity have been declared incompatible, probably there
never lived a proud man, who was not vain of his very pride.
A generous aspect is, however, sometimes assumed by pride;
but vanity is inalterably contemptible in its selfish littleness,
its restless greediness. Who shall tell its victims?—who
shall set bounds to its triumphs? Reason is more easily
blinded by vanity than by sophistry; time and again has
vanity misdirected feeling; often has vanity roused the most
violent passions. Many have been enticed on to ruin, step
by step, with the restless lure of vanity, until they became
actually guilty of crimes, attributed to some more sudden,
and stronger impulse. How many people run into extravagance,
and waste their means, merely from vanity! How
many young men commence a career of folly and wickedness,
impelled by the miserable vanity of daring what others
dare! How many women have trifled with their own peace,
their own reputation, merely because vanity led them to receive
the first treacherous homage of criminal admiration,
when whispered in the tones of false sentiment and flattery!
The triumphs of vanity would form a melancholy picture,
indeed, but it is one the world will never pause to look at.

The eldest daughter of Mr. Hubbard, the worthy Longbridge
merchant, without strong passions, without strong
temptations, was completely the victim of puerile vanity.
The details of her folly are too unpleasant to dwell on; but
the silly ambition of playing the fine lady, after the pattern
of certain European novels, themselves chiefly representing
the worst members of the class they claim to depict, was
the cause of her ruin. She had so recklessly trifled with
her reputation, that although her immediate friends did not
believe the worst, yet with the world her character was irretrievably
lost. At five-and-twenty she had already sacrificed
her own peace; she had brought shame on her husband's
name, and had filled with the bitterest grief, the heart of an
indulgent father. Happily, her mother was in the grave,
and she had no children to injure by her misconduct.

Patsey Hubbard continued unwearied in her kind endeavours
to be of service to her kinswoman; anxious to awaken
her to a sense of her folly, and to withdraw her from the
influence of bad associates.

“It is right that society should discountenance a woman
who behaves as Julianna has done,” said she one day, to
Mrs. Hubbard, on returning home; “but, oh, mother, her
own family surely, should never give her up while there is
breath in her body!”