 | CHAPTER VIII.
MRS. M'GREGOR. The homestead on the hillside, and other tales |  |
8. CHAPTER VIII.
MRS. M'GREGOR.
The marriage ceremony was ended, and Josephine
Clayton, now Mrs. M'Gregor, was receiving the congratulations
of her friends. First among them came Anna,
but the gentleman who accompanied her was a stranger,
and Josephine was greatly surprised at hearing him introduced
as Mr. Granby, Delphine's brother. He had returned
from Europe sooner than he expected. On reaching
home, and learning that his sister was in the city, he
hastened thither, reaching Mr. Hubbell's just in time to
witness the ceremony. Thoughts of him, as we well
know, had occupied many of Josephine's waking dreams,
and now when she at last saw him, the knowledge that
she was not free to try upon him her powers of art, only
rendered him doubly attractive.
In personal appearance and manners he was as unlike
M'Gregor as was Josephine unlike Anna; and once during
the evening, as he and Josephine were standing side
by side near the center-table, they overheard a remark
not intended for their ears. It was, “How much better
the bride looks with Mr. Granby than she does with that
awkward M'Gregor!” To which the person addressed
replied, “Yes; and M'Gregor seems far better suited for
there by the window.”
Instantly George Granby's and Josephine's eyes met,
and then glanced across the room to the spot where
M'Gregor was making most desperate efforts to play the
agreeable to Anna Hubbell, who was smiling, and bowing,
and twirling her fan. Again their eyes met, and
this time a scarcely perceptible smile curled the corner
of Josephine's mouth, while George Granby, offering her
his arm, conducted her back to her husband, and taking
Anna, led her to the music-room, where some one was
playing the piano. But Josephine's eyes and thoughts
followed him.
As we well know, she had not married M'Gregor for
love, but because he was rich, and she knew that riches
would procure for her the position in society she so
greatly coveted. Insensibly she began to contrast her
husband with George Granby, and ere long she was blaming
the former for having hastened their marriage.
This was an uncommon mood, surely, for a young bride
to be in, but Josephine was an uncommon bride, and by
the time the last guest was gone, and they were alone,
she might safely be said to be in a fit of the sulks, whilst
poor M'Gregor, distressed beyond measure, strove to ascertain
the cause of her apparent melancholy. She saw
the necessity of making some explanation, so she told
him, for the first time, of her mother's illness, alleging
that as the cause of her sadness.
“Why did you not tell me before?” said M'Gregor.
“I would, of course, have postponed our marriage for a
few days.”
“Would to heaven I had!” said Josephine, with more
meaning in her words than M'Gregor gave her credit for.
The next morning, at an early hour, a gay livery stood
young bride, and taking a seat beside her, was driven off
in the direction of Snowdon. It was a delightful morning,
and under almost any other circumstances Josephine
would have enjoyed the ride. Now, however, she chose
to find fault with all her husband's assiduous attentions
and politeness, saying, at last, ill-naturedly, “Do, M'Gregor,
stop your fussing. I am doing well enough, and will
let you know if I am uncomfortable.”
He complied with her request, as who would not, thinking
she had changed her tone and manner very soon.
About three o'clock they reached Snowdon, and by the
side of her pale, dead mother, the ice about Josephine's
heart gave way, and in the most extravagant terms she
bewailed her loss. Uncle Isaac, overjoyed at again beholding
his daughter, and deceived by her loud show of
grief, wound his arm about her, blessing her, and calling
her his precious child. The next day they buried Mrs.
Clayton, and the day following, Josephine returned to the
city, in spite of her father's entreaties that she would stay
a while longer with him. Promising to return in the
spring, she bade him good-by, and when again in the city,
she, to all appearance, soon forgot that death had been so
near her.
Frequently she met George Granby, but the influence
she had hoped to gain over him was partially prevented
by the presence of Delphine, who, together with Mabel
Howland and Kate Lawrence, had come to the city to
pass the winter, her father, at her earnest request, having
removed there for the season.
M'Gregor took a house opposite Mr. Hubbell's, and
commenced housekeeping in great style. Nothing could
exceed the elegance of his establishment; and Josephine,
who managed to keep the house filled with a set of fashionable
though her husband was far from being so. True, he
had the best furnished house and the handsomest wife in
the city, but he found too late that beauty alone is not
the only requisite in a wife; and before the winter was
over he would have hailed the disfiguring small pox as a
blessing, had it succeeded in keeping from his house the
set of young men so frequently found there.
M'Gregor was not naturally jealous, but when, night
after night, on his return from business, he found his wife
so engrossed with company as to be wholly incapable of
paying him any attention, he grew uneasy, and once ventured
to remonstrate with her; but she merely laughed
him in the face, telling him that whatever he could say
would be of no avail — that he could n't expect one so
young and gay as she to settle down into the humdrum
Mrs. M'Gregor—that it would be time enough to do that
when she wore a wig or colored her hair.
George Granby at first only called occasionally, but on
such occasions Josephine did her best, acting the agreeable
hostess so admirably that, insensibly, George became
attracted toward her, and ere Delphine was aware of it, he
was a regular visitor at the house of M'Gregor, who never
objected to him; for, unlike the others who came there,
George treated him with the utmost deference, always
seeming pleased to see him present.
One evening the three were together, and conversing
about ill-assorted marriages. Josephine, as one who ought
to know, discoursed eloquently on the matter, and descanted
so feelingly on the wretchedness resulting from such
unions, that two large tears actually dropped from her eyes,
and fell upon her worsted work. M'Gregor would have
given anything to have known if his wife considered their
marriage an unfortunate one, but he wisely kept silent, and
I feel an uncommon interest, about to unite himself with
one every way unsuited to him, my heart aches for him,
and I long to warn him of his danger.”
“Why not do so, then?” said George.
“Would my advice be kindly received?” asked Josephine,
at the same time giving him a searching look.
He understood her, but made no reply, and when the
conversation changed, somehow or other it turned upon
Anna, who, Josephine said, was a kind-hearted girl, but
it was such a pity she hadn't more character,—more life.
“But do you not think she has improved in the last respect?”
asked George.
Josephine faintly admitted that she had, but in the
next breath she spoke of her as possessing very little, if
any intellect, and lamented her utter incapacity to fill
the sphere for which she was intended. George Granby
needed not that she should tell him all this, for he feared
as much, though he had never once thought of breaking
his engagement with her. He had returned from Europe
intending to make her his wife, and hoping to find
her greatly improved. And she was improved, both in
personal appearance and manners. Constant intercourse
with Delphine had been of great benefit to her, and when
George came home, he was pleased to see how much she
had brightened up. Her health, too, had greatly improved,
and as she always dressed with the utmost taste,
she more than once had been called quite pretty, though
at all parties where Delphine, Kate Lawrence, Mabel,
and Mrs. M'Gregor were present, she was entirely overlooked,
or pointed out to strangers as the young lady
who was engaged to the polished Mr. Granby.
We have not yet described Kate Lawrence, and we
cannot do so better than to say, that to a style of beauty
and intelligence. She was just the one whom
Delphine would have selected for her brother, had he not
been engaged to Anna Hubbell. Now, however, she
never harbored such a thought, and she assiduously strove
to assimilate Anna more to her brother's taste, always
speaking encouragingly to her, and kindly of her.
George had as yet never directly asked Delphine's
opinion of Anna, but the morning following his conversation
with Josephine, he sought an interview with his sister,
abruptly asking her if she sincerely thought that Anna
Hubbell would make him happy as his wife.
Delphine was taken by surprise. She had that morning
accidentally discovered that Kate Lawrence had a secret
liking for her brother, and she was just wishing it
might be—wishing it could be—when George startled her
with his question.
“Why, George,” said she, “what could have put that
idea into your head? Have Kate's bright eyes dimmed
the luster of poor Anna's charms?”
“No, no; I am not thinking of Kate,” said he, somewhat
impatiently; “but tell me, honestly, your opinion.”
And Delphine did tell him her opinion. She spoke of
Anna's gentleness and kindness of heart, admitting that
on many points she was rather weak and inefficient.
“But,” said she, “you are engaged to her, you have
promised to marry her, and my brother will surely keep
his word.” Here a loud call from Mabel that Delphine
should join her in the parlor, put an end to the conversation.
Meantime, Mr. M'Gregor was about to commit a sad
blunder. Thinking George to be his sincere friend, as
indeed he was, and knowing the great influence which he
possessed over Josephine, he resolved upon asking him to
visits of so many gentlemen. Accordingly, the next time
George called, M'Gregor took the opportunity, when they
were for a few moments alone in the drawing-room. After
stammering awhile, he broached the subject, and with
much difficulty succeeded in making George understand
what he wanted.
“Silly old fool,” said Josephine, who in an adjoining
room had overheard every word. “He is meaner than I
thought him to be;” and then she listened, while George
respectfully declined any interference with M'Gregor's
family matters.
“Your wife has sufficient discretion,” said he, “to prevent
her doing anything wrong; besides, I should be
working against myself, for I come here as frequently as
any one.”
This was true; and as Josephine at that moment joined
them, M'Gregor said no more on the subject, but soon
after recollecting some business which he had down street,
he left them alone. For an hour they conversed on different
topics, and then Josephine, demurely folding her
hands, said, “When are you going to begin to lecture
me? I believe you have been requested to do so, have
you not?”
George blushed scarlet, and while he admitted the
fact, he disclaimed all intention of doing so; then, in the
tones of a deeply injured woman, Josephine detailed her
grievances, saying that each day she saw more and more
her mistake, and that though she did not exactly regret
her marriage, she yet many times wished she had not
been quite so hasty. George Granby was perfectly intoxicated
with her beauty, while the tones of her voice
and the glance of her eye thrilled every nerve. Snatching
her hand to his lips, he exclaimed, “Josephine, Josephine!
if regretting what he had said, he hastily rose, and saying
that he had another engagement, bade her good night,
and hurried away, almost cursing himself for the words
and manner which he had used toward a married woman.
The engagement of which he had spoken was with
Anna Hubbell, and going to her father's, he asked to see
her. She had long been expecting him, but was not prepared
for the vehemence with which he insisted upon her
naming an early day for their marriage.
“Why such haste?” asked Anna.
“Ask me no questions,” said he, “but if you would
save me from evil, become my wife, and that soon.”
In an instant Anna thought of Kate, and looking him
fully in the face, she said, “Answer me truthfully, George,
do you love Kate Lawrence?”
“No, no,” said he, “it would not be sinful to love her
—she is free; but that other one—”
Anna knew that he was in the habit of frequenting
M'Gregor's house, and suddenly a light flashed upon her
mind, and she said, “It cannot be Josephine, my friend
Josephine.”
“Your friend!” he answered, bitterly; “call her not
your friend, she does not deserve it. But you have
guessed right; I blindly put myself in the way of temptation,
seeing no danger, and believing there was none.”
The color receded from Anna's cheeks, and when
George looked at her for an answer, he was surprised at
the changed expression of her face. Something between
a sob and a groan came from her white lips, but he succeeded
in soothing her, and ere he left the house he had
gained her consent that the marriage should take place in
one week from that day, and that he might speak to her
father.
Mr. Hubbell was n the library. On learning the nature
of George's errand, he gave vent to a few impatient
“umphs” and “pshaws,” but ended by giving his consent,
on condition that Anna remained with him a year
after her marriage.
Scarcely had the street door closed upon George, ere
Anna was told that her father wished to see her. “Well,
now, what's the mighty hurry?” were his first words, as
she entered his room, but anything further was prevented
by the sight of her unusually white face and swollen eyes.
“Why, Anna, child,” said he, “what's the matter?
Don't you love George? Don't you want to married?”
“Yes, yes, father,” said she, “but don't ask me anything
more, for I am very unhappy;” and bursting into
tears, she sat down on a stool at her father's feet, and
laying her face in his lap, sobbed until wholly exhausted,
and then fell asleep, while Mr. Hubbard gently stroked
her soft, brown hair, wondering what ailed her, and if his
Anna cried so a week before they were married.
The remembrance of his own darling wife caused two
tears to drop from his eyes and fall upon Anna's face.
This roused her, and rising up, she said, “Forget my
foolishness, father. To-morrow I shall be myself again.”
Then bidding him good-night, she repaired to her own
room. For several days she had been suffering with a
severe pain in the head, and when she awoke next morning,
it had increased so rapidly that she could scarcely
rise from her pillow without fainting. Her father, instantly
alarmed, sent for a physician, who expressed a
fear that her disease might terminate in brain fever. On
learning of her friend's illness, Delphine immediately hastened
to her. During the afternoon a servant girl entered
the sick-room, saying that Mrs. M'Gregor was in
the parlor, and wished to see Miss Hubbell.
“I cannot see her,” said Anna; then calling Delphine
to her, she said, “Will you stay with me while I am
sick?”
“Certainly, if you wish it,” was the answer, and Anna
continued, “And, Dell, if I should get crazy, and Josephine
comes again, you won't let her in, will you?”
Delphine promised that she would not, wondering
what could have produced this change in Anna, in regard
to Josephine. Next day Anna was much worse, and, as
had been feared, she grew delirious. Constantly she
talked of Josephine, who, she said, “had stolen away the
only heart she ever coveted.” Delphine was greatly puzzled,
and when that night she for a few moments returned
home, she mentioned the circumstance to George,
who, with his usual frankness, immediately told her all.
Delphine heard him through, and then repeated to him
all which she knew concerning Josephine's character for
intrigue and deceit, blaming herself for not having warned
him before. The scales dropped from George's eyes;
Josephine's power over him was gone, and he saw her in
her real character. The next day, at his earnest request,
he was allowed to enter Anna's room; but she did not
know him, though her eyes, intensely bright with the fire
of delirium, glared wildly upon him as she motioned him
away. Approaching, and bending over her, he said,
“Anna, don't you know me? I am George, and next
Thursday will be our bridal day.”
For a moment she was silent, and then with a satisfied
smile she answered, “Yes, that's it; that 's what I 've
tried so hard to remember and couldn't.” Then as the
physician entered the room, she said to him, “Next
Thursday is to be my bridal day, and you will come, for
it will be a novel sight. Everybody will cry but George,
and I, the bride, will be in my coffin.”
Poor Anna! Her words proved true, for the sunlight
of Wednesday morning fell upon her gray-haired, stricken
father, weeping over his dead, and the next day at the same
hour at which the wedding was to have taken place, the
black hearse stood before Mr. Hubbell's door. In it a narrow
coffin was placed, and then, followed by a long train of
carriages, it proceeded slowly toward the home of the
dead, while each note of the tolling bell fell like a crushing
weight on the heart of Mr. Hubbell, as by the side
of her, long since laid to rest, he buried his only child.
| CHAPTER VIII.
MRS. M'GREGOR. The homestead on the hillside, and other tales | |