 | CHAPTER XVII. Elinor Wyllys, or, The young folk of Longbridge |  |
17. CHAPTER XVII.
“What say you, can you love this gentleman?”
Romeo and Juliet.
Jane's strength and spirits were gradually improving.
She had been persuaded to take a daily airing, and had consented
to see one or two of the ladies in her room. Mr.
Wyllys always passed half an hour with her, every afternoon;
and at length she came down stairs, and joined the
Mr. and Mrs. Robert Hazlehurst, who came from Philadelphia
to pass a day or two with her, found her much better
than they had expected.
Charlie Hubbard returned to the grey cottage, with his
portfolio full of sketches, intending to pass several months at
home, in finishing his pictures of Lake George; the school-room
having been converted into a painting-room for his use.
Miss Patsey's little flock were dispersed for a time; and
Charlie was even in hopes of persuading his mother and
sister to accompany him to New York, where Mary Hubbard,
the youngest sister, was now engaged in giving music-lessons.
He felt himself quite a rich man, and drew up a
plausible plan for hiring a small house in some cheap situation,
where they might all live together; but Miss Patsey
shook her head, she thought they could not afford it. Still,
it was delightful to her, to listen to plans devised by Charlie's
warm heart; she seemed to love him more than ever, since
he had even sacrificed his moustaches to his mother's prejudice
against such foreign fashions.
“Keep your money, Charles; we can make out very well
in the old cottage; more comfortably than we have ever done
before. You will want all you can make one of these days,
when you marry,” said Miss Patsey.
To her surprise, Charlie showed some emotion at this
allusion to his marrying, and remained perfectly silent for an
instant, instead of giving the playful answer that his sister
had expected to her.
Mrs. Hubbard then observed, that she should not wish to
move; she hoped to end her life in the old grey cottage.
They had lived so long in the neighbourhood of Longbridge,
that a new place would not seem like home to Patsey and
herself. Charlie must come to see them as often as he could;
perhaps he would be able to spend his summers there.
“Well, we shall see, mother; at any rate, Mary and I
together, we shall be able to make your life easy, I trust.”
Mrs. Hubbard observed, that although they had been poor
for the last seventeen years, yet they had never really seemed
to feel the weight of poverty; they had met with so much
kindness, from so many relations aud friends.
“But kindness from our own children, mother, is the most
blessed of all,” said Patsey.
Charlie did not give up his plan, however, but he forbore
to press it for the present, as he was engaged to drive his
sister, Mrs. Clapp, to her own house at Longbridge. Hubbard
had kept aloof from his brother-in-law whenever he
could, since the Stanley suit had been commenced; any allusion
to this affair was painful to him; he had never respected
Mr. Clapp, and now strongly suspected him of unfair dealing.
He pitied his sister Kate from the bottom of his heart; but
it seemed pity quite thrown away. To judge from her conversation,
as Charlie was driving her home, she had implicit
confidence in her husband; if she had at first doubted the
identity of the sailor, she had never for a second supposed,
that William himself was not firmly convinced of it. On
the other hand, she began to have some misgivings as to the
character and integrity of Mr. Wyllys, whom hitherto, all
her life long, she had been used to consider as the model of
a gentleman, and an upright man. She soon got up quite a
prejudice against Mrs. Stanley; and as for Hazlehurst, he
fell very low indeed in her estimation.
“You don't know what trouble poor William has with this
suit,” she said to her brother. “I am sometimes afraid it
will make him sick. It does seem very strange, that Mr.
Stanley's executors should be so obstinate in refusing to
acknowledge his son. At first it was natural they should
hesitate; I mistrusted this sailor at first, myself; but now
that William has made everything so clear, they cannot have
any excuse for their conduct.”
Charlie whipped the flies from his horse, without answering
this remark.
“I hope William will come home to-night. He and Mr.
very important papers; they received a letter offering these
papers, only the night before last, and William says they will
establish Mr. Stanley's claim, beyond the possibility of a
denial. Mr. Wyllys and Mr. Hazlehurst will feel very badly,
I should think, when they find that after all, they have been
keeping their friend's son from his rights.”
“They believe they are doing their duty,” said Charlie,
laconically.
“It seems a strange view of duty, to act as they do.”
“Strange views of duty are very common,” said Charlie,
glad to take refuge in generalities.
“Common sense and common honesty will help us all to
do our duty,” observed Kate.
“No doubt; but both are more uncommon qualities than
one would think, among rational beings,” said Charlie.
“Well, you know, Charles, Patsey used to tell us when
we were children, that a plain, honest heart, and plain, good
sense were the best things in the world.”
“That is the reason, I suppose, why we love our sister
Patsey so much, because she has so much of those best
things in the world,” said Charlie, warmly. “I never saw
a woman like her, for downright, plain goodness. The older
I grow, the better I know her; and I love you, Kate, for the
same reason—you are straightforward and honest, too,” he
added, smiling.
“William often laughs at me, though, and says my opinion
is not good for much,” said the sister, shaking her head, but
smiling prettily at the same time.
“I am sure no one can complain of your actions, Kate,
whatever your opinions may be,” replied Charlie; and whatever
might have been his estimate of Clapp's views, he forbore
to utter a syllable on the subject; for he respected the
wife's affection, and knew that his brother-in-law had at least
one good quality—he was kind and faithful as a husband
and father, according to common-place ideas of faithfulness
to make a little money.
The conversation of the young people soon turned upon
their trifling, foolish, unfortunate cousin, Mrs. Hilson; and
this was a subject, upon which both brother and sister agreed
entirely. Before long, they drove up to Mr. Clapp's door,
and were received by the lawyer himself, who had just returned
with his client; this latter individual was also seen
lounging in the office. Mr. Clapp professed himself entirely
satisfied with the result of his journey, and declared that
they were now quite ready for Mr. Hazlehurst—sure of a
victory, beyond all doubt.
The time had not been lost by Harry and his friends, however;
they too, thought themselves ready for the trial. As
the important day was drawing near, Mr. Ellsworth was
obliged to leave Wyllys-Roof; he had done all he could at
Longbridge, and there were still various matters to be looked
after in Philadelphia. Mrs. Creighton accompanied her
brother, and they were not to return to Wyllys-Roof until
after the important question was decided. Hazlehurst was
then to come with them; whether defeated or triumphant
could not yet be known. Harry's friends, however, were
generally sanguine; and Mrs. Creighton was full of sympathy,
and in excellent spirits.
There remained another affair, which must also be finally
settled in a few weeks. When Mr. Ellsworth returned to
Wyllys-Roof, the appointed three months of probation would
have expired, and he would either remain there as the
affianced husband of Elinor, or leave Longbridge her rejected
suitor.
During the past three months, Elinor had taken an important
step in life; she had reached a point in experience,
where she had never stood before. The whole responsibility
of deciding upon a subject, highly important to herself, and
to those connected with her, had been thrown entirely upon
her alone. The fate of her whole life would be much involved
years, or in other words, since she had first discovered that
Harry loved Jane, she had intended to remain single. It
seemed very improbable to her, that any one would seek to
gain her affections, unless with the view of enjoying the
fortune which she had now the reputation of possessing; it
was only natural that she should exaggerate those personal
disadvantages, which had lost the heart of him whom she
had once loved so truly. She had been so much attached
to Hazlehurst, that she shrunk from the idea of ever becoming
the wife of another; and she considered herself as having
tacitly made choice of a single life, which her mother's letter
seemed to suggest. But as she never spoke of her views,
or alluded to them, her grandfather and aunt were ignorant
of this intention; and she soon began to observe with regret
that they wished her to marry, and were indeed anxious that
she should accept Mr. Ellsworth. This was the first occasion
of any importance, on which their wishes and her own
had been at variance; it was a new position for Elinor to be
placed in. When Mr. Ellsworth made his proposal, it was
owing to the strong, but affectionate representations of Mr.
Wyllys and Miss Agnes, that he was not immediately rejected.
Elinor was, in fact, the last person to be convinced
of his regard for her; but she had known his character and
standing too well to believe him a mere fortune-hunter; and
after he had once offered himself, could not doubt his sincerity.
She mentioned to Miss Wyllys her previous intention
of remaining single.
“Make no rash decision, my love,” was the reply at the
time. “You are too reasonable, for me to believe that you
will do so; look at your own position, Elinor; you will be
alone in the world, more so than most women. Your grandfather
is advanced in years, and my health warns me not to
expect a long life. I do not wish to distress you, but to
place the truth plainly before you, my Elinor. You have
neither brother nor sister; Jane and Harry, your intimate
and duties of their own. What will you do, my child? An
affectionate disposition like yours cannot be happy alone.
On the other hand, here is Mr. Ellsworth, who is certainly
attached to you; a man of excellent character, with every
important quality that can be desired. You say you wish to
be reasonable; judge for yourself what is the wisest course
under these circumstances.”
Elinor was silent for a moment; at length she spoke.
“It has always been one of your own lessons to me,
dearest aunt, to profit by the past, to improve the present,
and leave the future to Providence. Yet, now, you would
have me think of the future only; and you urge me to marry,
while you are single, and happy, yourself!”
“Yes, my child; but I have had your grandfather and
you, to make me happy and useful. Most single women
have near relatives, to whom they can attach themselves,
whom it is a duty and a pleasure to love and serve; but that
is not your case. Elinor, your grandfather is very anxious
you should accept Mr. Ellsworth.”
“I know it,” said Elinor; “he has told me so himself.”
“He is anxious, dear, because from what he knows of Mr.
Ellsworth and yourself, he is convinced you would eventually
be happy; he fears you hesitate from some feeling of girlish
romance. Still, we have neither of us any wish to urge you
too far. Appeal to your own good, common sense, that is
all that can be desired; do not be romantic, dear, for the first
time in your life,” continued her aunt, smiling. “I know
the wishes of your friends will have some weight with you;
do not let them control you, however. Judge for yourself,
but take time to reflect; accept Mr. Ellsworth's own proposition—wait
some time before you give a final answer; that
is all that your grandfather and myself can ask.”
And such had been the decision; three months being the
time appointed. Since then, both Mr. Wyllys and Miss
Agnes had carefully refrained from expressing any farther
Elinor to her own reflections. Such at least was their intention;
but their wishes were well known to her, and very
possibly, unconsciously influenced their conduct and manner,
in many daily trifles, in a way very evident to Elinor. In
the mean time, September had come, and the moment for
final decision was at hand. Mr. Ellsworth's conduct throughout
had been very much in his favour; he had been persevering
and marked in his attentions, without annoying by his
pertinacity. Elinor had liked him, in the common sense of
the word, from the first; and the better she knew him, the
more cause she found to respect his principles, and amiable
character. And yet, if left to her own unbiassed judgment,
she would probably have refused him at first, with no other
reluctance than that of wounding for a time the feelings of
a man she sincerely esteemed.
The morning that Mrs. Creighton and Mr. Ellsworth left
Wyllys-Roof, Elinor set out to take a stroll in the field, with
no other companion than her friend Bruno. The dog seemed
aware that his mistress was absent and thoughtful, more indifferent
than usual to his caresses and gambols; and, after
having made this observation, the sagacious animal seemed
determined not to annoy her, but walked soberly at her side,
or occasionally trotting on before, he would stop, turn towards
her, and sit in the path, looking at her as she slowly approached.
She had left the house, in order to avoid any
intrusion on her thoughts, at a moment which was an important
one to her; for she had determined, that after one
more thorough examination of her own feelings, her own
views, and the circumstances in which she was placed, the
question should be irrevocably settled—whether she were to
become the wife of Mr. Ellsworth, or to remain single. Many
persons may fancy this a very insignificant matter to decide,
and one that required no such serious attention. But to every
individual, that is a highly important point, which must necessarily
affect the whole future course of life; the choice
every interest in life is identical with one's own, is surely no
trifling concern. It may well be doubted, indeed, if even
with men it be not a matter of higher importance than is
commonly believed; observation, we think, would lead to
the opinion, that a wife's character and conduct have a
deeper and more general effect on the husband's career, for
good or for evil, through his opinions and actions, than the
world is aware of. This choice certainly appeared a much
more formidable step to Elinor, when Mr. Ellsworth was the
individual to be accepted or rejected, than it had when Harry
stood in the same position. In one case she had to reflect,
and ponder, and weigh all the different circumstances; in the
other, the natural bent of her affections had decided the question
before it was asked. But Elinor had, quite lately, settled
half-a-dozen similar affairs, with very little reflection indeed,
and without a moment's anxiety or regret; she had just refused,
with polite indifference, several proposals, from persons
whom she had every reason to believe, cared a great
deal for her fortune, and very little for herself. If thought
were more active than feeling, in behalf of Mr. Ellsworth,
still, thought said a great deal in his favour. She had always
liked and respected him; she believed him attached to her;
her nearest friends were anxious she should give a favourable
answer; there could not be a doubt that he possessed
many excellent and desirable qualities. She would not be
romantic, neither would she be unjust to Mr. Ellsworth and
herself; she would not accept him, unless she could do so
frankly, and without reluctance. This, then, was the question
to be decided—could she love Mr. Ellsworth? The
free, spontaneous love, natural to early youth, she had once
given to Hazlehurst; could she now offer to Mr. Ellsworth
sincere affection of another kind, less engrossing at first, less
mingled with the charms of fancy, but often, perhaps on that
account, more valuable, more enduring? Sincere affection
of any sort, is that only which improves with age, gaining
this question clearly, that Elinor had desired three months'
delay. These three months had nearly passed; when she
again met Mr. Ellsworth, in what character should she receive
him?
The precise train of thought pursued by Elinor, during
this morning stroll, we shall not attempt to follow; but that
she was fully aware of the importance of the decision was
evident, by the unusual absence of manner, which seemed
to have struck even her four-footed friend, Bruno. She had,
indeed, made an important discovery lately, one which was
startling, and even painful to her. She found that there are
moments in life, when each individual is called upon to think
and to act alone. It is a truth which most of us are forced
to feel, as we go through this world; though, happily, it is
but seldom that such hours occur. In general, the sympathy,
the counsel of friends, is of the very highest value; and yet,
there are moments when neither can avail. At such times,
we are forced to look higher, to acknowledge that human
wisdom does not reach far enough to guide us, that our
wounds need a purer balm than any offered by human sympathy.
Until recently, Elinor had always been soothed and
supported by the affection and guidance of her aunt, but she
must now depend upon herself alone. To a young person,
called upon for the first time to take an important step, with
no other guide than individual judgment and conscience, the
responsibility of action may well be startling; even a wise
and experienced man will often pause at such moments,
doubtful of the course he shall pursue. It is an easy matter
to settle a question, when passion, feeling, interest, or prejudice
gives the bias; but where these are all silent, and cool
judgment is left alone to decide, the greatest men feel, to a
painful degree, how limited are their powers; the high responsibility
which is attached to free-will rises before them,
and they shrink from the idea of trusting their own welfare
to their own short-sighted reason alone. Most men, at such
until urged in this or that direction by the press of outward
circumstances; or they rush blindly forward, under impatience
of suspense, preferring risk to inaction.
The occasion of our young friend's anxiety and thoughtfulness
was, no doubt, a trifling one to all but herself; the cause
of her hesitation, however, was honourable; the opinions,
feelings, and motives under which she eventually acted, were
alike natural and creditable.
| CHAPTER XVII. Elinor Wyllys, or, The young folk of Longbridge | |