University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

IT is impossible, Estelle! The girl is not a fool,
and nothing less than idiocy can explain such
conduct!”

Flushed and angry, Mrs. Murray walked up
and down the floor of the sitting-room; and playing with
the jet bracelet on her rounded arm, Miss Harding replied:

“As Mrs. Inge happens to be his sister, I presume she
speaks ex cathedra, and she certainly expressed very great
delight at the failure of Gordon Leigh's suit. She told me
that he was much depressed in consequence of Edna's rejection,
and manifested more feeling than she had deemed
possible under the circumstances. Of course she is much
gratified that her family is saved from the disgrace of such
a mésalliance.”

“You will oblige me by being more choice in the selection
of your words, Estelle, as it is a poor compliment to
me to remark that any man would be disgraced by marrying
a girl whom I have raised and educated, and trained as
carefully as if she were my own daughter. Barring her
obscure birth, Edna is as worthy of Gordon as any dainty
pet of fashion who lounges in Clara Inge's parlors, and I
shall take occasion to tell her so if ever she hints at `mésalliance'
in my presence.”

“In that event she will doubtless retort by asking you
in her bland and thoroughly well-bred style, whether you
intend to give your consent to Edna's marriage with my
cousin, St. Elmo?”

Mrs. Murray stopped suddenly, and confronting her niece,
said sternly:

“What do you mean, Estelle Harding?”

“My dear aunt, the goodness of your heart has strangely
blinded you to the character of the girl you have taken into
your house, and honored with your confidence and affection.
Be patient with me while I unmask this shrewd
little intrigante. She is poor and unknown, and if she
leaves your roof, as she pretends is her purpose, she must
work for her own maintenance, which no one will do from
choice, when an alternative of luxurious ease is within
reach. Mr. Leigh is very handsome, very agreeable,
wealthy and intelligent, and is considered a fine match for
any girl; yet your protegée discards him most positively,
alleging as a reason that she does not love him, and prefers
hard labor as a teacher to securing an elegant home by
becoming his wife. That she can decline so brilliant an
offer seems to you incredible, but I knew from the beginning
that she would not accept it. My dear Aunt Ellen, she
aspires to the honor of becoming your daughter-in-law, and
can well afford to refuse Mr. Leigh's hand, when she hopes
to be mistress of Le Bocage. She is pretty and she knows
it, and her cunning handling of her cards would really
amuse and interest me, if I were not grieved at the deception
she is practising upon you. It has, I confess, greatly
surprised me that, with your extraordinary astuteness in
other matters, you should prove so obtuse concerning the
machinations which that girl carries on in your own house.
Can you not see how adroitly she flatters St. Elmo by
poring over his stupid MSS., and professing devotion to
his pet authors? Your own penetration will show you
how unnatural it is that any pretty young girl like Edna
should sympathize so intensely with my cousin's outré
studies and tastes. Before I had been in this house twenty-four
hours, I saw the game she plays so skilfully and only
wonder that you, my dear aunt, should be victimized by
the cunning of one on whom you have lavished so much
kindness. Look at the facts. She has certainly refused to

marry Mr. Leigh, and situated as she is, how can you
explain the mystery by any other solution than that which
I have given, and which I assure you is patent to every
one save yourself?”

Painful surprise kept Mrs. Murray silent for some moments,
and at last shaking her head, she exclaimed:

“I do not belive a word of it! I know her much better
that you possibly can, and so far from wishing to marry
my son, she fears and dislikes him exceedingly. Her evident
aversion to him has even caused me regret, and at
times they scarcely treat each other with ordinary courtesy
She systematically avoids him, and occasionally, when I
request her to take a message to him, I have been amused
at the expression of her face and her manœuvres to find a
substitute. No! no! she is too conscientious to wear a
mask. You must tax your ingenuity for some better solution.”

“She is shrewd enough to see that St. Elmo is satiated
with flattery and homage; she suspects that pique alone
can force an entrance to the citadel of his heart, and her
demonstrations of aversion are only a ruse de guerre. My
poor aunt! I pity the disappointment and mortification to
which you are destined, when you discover how complete
is the imposture she practises.”

“I tell you, Estelle, I am neither blind nor exactly in
my dotage, and that girl has no more intention of—”

The door opened and Mr. Murray came in. Glancing
round the room and observing the sudden silence—his
mother's flushed cheeks and angry eyes, his cousin's lurking
smile, he threw himself on the sofa, saying:

“Tantœne animis cœlestibus irœ? Pray what dire
calamity has raised a feud between you two? Has the
French Count grown importunate, and does my mother
refuse her consent to your tardy decision to follow the
dictates of your long outraged conscience, and bestow
speedily upon him that pretty hand of yours, which has so

often been surrendered to his tender clasp? If my intercession
in behalf of said Victor is considered worthy of
acceptance, pray command me, Estelle, for I swear I never
keep Punic faith with an ally.”

“My son, did it ever occur to you that your eloquence
might be more successfully and agreeably exercised in your
own behalf?”

Mrs. Murray looked keenly at her niece as she spoke.

“My profound and proverbial humility never permitted
the ghost of such a suggestion to affright my soul! Judging
from the confusion which greeted my entrance, I am
forced to conclude that it was mal apropos! But prudent
regard for the reputation of the household, urged me to venture
near enough to the line of battle to inform you that
the noise of the conflict proclaims it to the servants, and
the unmistakable tones arrested my attention even in the
yard. Family feuds become really respectable if only
waged sotto voce.”

He rose as if to leave the room, but his mother motioned
him to remain.

“I am very much annoyed at a matter which surprises
me beyond expression. Do you know that Gordon Leigh
has made Edna an offer of marriage, and she has been insane
enough to refuse him? Was ever a girl so stupidly
blind to her true interest? She can not hope to make half
so brilliant a match, for he is certainly one of the most promising
young men in the State, and would give her a position
in the world that otherwise she can never attain.”

“Refused him! Refused affluence, fashionable social
status! diamonds, laces, rose-curtained boudoir, and hothouses!
Refused the glorious privilege of calling Mrs. Inge
`sister,' and the opportunity of snubbing le beau monde
who persistently snub her! Impossible! you are growing
old and oblivious of the strategy you indulged in when
throwing your toils around your devoted admirer, whom I,
ultimately, had the honor of calling my father. Your pet

vagrant, Edna, is no simpleton; she can take care of her
own interests, and, accept my word for it, intends to do so.
She is only practising a little harmless coquetry—toying
with her victim, as fish circle round and round the bait
which they fully intend to swallow. Were she Aphæa
herself, I should say Gordon's success is as fixed as any
other decree—
Be not cast down, O my mother! Your protegée is a true
daughter of Eve, and she eyes Leigh's fortune as hungrily
as the aforesaid venerable mother of mankind did the tempting
apple.”

“St. Elmo, it is neither respectful nor courteous to be
eternally sneering at women in the presence of your own
mother. As for Edna, I am intensely provoked at her deplorable
decision, for I know that when she once decides on
a course of conduct neither persuasion nor argument will
move her one iota. She is incapable of the contemptible
coquetry you imputed to her, and Gordon may as well look
elsewhere for a bride.”

“You are quite right, Aunt Ellen; her refusal was most
positive.”

“Did she inform you of the fact?” asked Mr. Murray.

“No, but Mr. Leigh told his sister that she gave him no
hope whatever.”

“Then, for the first time in my life, I have succeeded in
slandering human nature! which, hitherto, I deemed quite
impossible. Peccavi, peccavi! O my race! And she absolutely,
positively declines to sell herself? I am unpleasantly
startled in my pet theories concerning the cunning,
lynx selfishness of women, by this feminine phenomenon!
Why, I would have bet half my estate on Gordon's chances,
for his handsome face, aided by such incomparable coädjutors

as my mother here and the infallible sage and oracle of
the parsonage, constituted a `triple alliance' more formidable,
more invincible, than those that threatened Louis XIV.
or Alberoni! I imagined the girl was clay in the experienced
hands of matrimonial potters, and that Hebrew strategy
would prove triumphant! Accept, my dear mother,
my most heartfelt sympathy in your ignominious defeat.
You will not doubt the sincerity of my condolence when I
confess that it springs from the mortifying consciousness of
having found that all women are not so entirely unscrupulous
as I prefer to believe them. Permit me to comfort you
with the assurance that the campaign has been conducted
with distinguished ability on your part. You have displayed
topographical accuracy, wariness, and an insight into
the character of your antagonist, which entitle you to an
exalted place among modern tacticians; and you have the
consolation of knowing that you have been defeated most
unscientifically, and in direct opposition to every well-established
maxim and rule of strategy, by this rash, incomprehensible,
feminine Napoleon! Believe me—”

“Hush, St. Elmo! I don't wish to hear any thing more
about the miserable affair. Edna is very obstinate and exceedingly
ungrateful after all the interest I have manifested
in her welfare, and henceforth I shall not concern myself
about her future. If she prefers to drudge through life as a
teacher, I shall certainly advise her to commence as soon as
possible; for if she can so entirely dispense with my counsel,
she no longer needs my protection.”

“Have you reasoned with her concerning this singular
obliquity of her mental vision?”

“No. She knows my wishes, and since she defies them, I
certainly shall not condescend to open my lips to her on
this subject.”

“Women arrogate such marvellous astuteness in reading
each other's motives, that I should imagine Estelle's ingenuity
would furnish an open sesame to the locked chamber of

this girl's heart, and supply some satisfactory explanation
of her incomprehensible course.”

Mr. Murray took his cousin's hand and drew her to a
seat beside him on the sofa.

“The solution is very easy, my dear cynic. Edna can
well afford to decline Gordon Leigh's offer when she expects
and manœuvres to sell herself for a much higher sum, than
he can command.”

As Miss Harding uttered these words, Mrs. Murray turned
quickly to observe their effect.

The cousins looked steadily at each other, and St. Elmo
laughed bitterly, and patted Estelle's cheek, saying:

“Bravo! `Set a thief to catch a thief!' I knew you
would hit the nail on the head! But who the d—l is this
fellow who is writing to her from New-York? This is the
second letter I have taken out of the office, and there is no
telling how often they come; for, on both occasions, when I
troubled myself to ride to the post-office, I have found
letters directed to her in this same handwriting.”

He drew a letter from his pocket and laid it on his knee,
and as Estelle looked at it, and then glanced with a puzzled
expression toward her aunt's equally curious face, Mr.
Murray passed his hand across his eyes, to hide their malicious
twinkle.

“Give me the letter, St. Elmo; it is my duty to examine
it; for as long as she is under my protection she has no right
to carry on a clandestine correspondence with strangers.”

“Pardon me if I presume to dispute your prerogative to
open her letters. It is neither your business nor mine to dictate
with whom she shall or shall not correspond, now that
she is no longer a child. Doubtless you remember that I
warned you against her from the first day I ever set my
eyes upon her, and predicted that you would repent in sackcloth
and ashes your charitable credulity? I swore then
she would prove a thief; you vowed she was a saint! But,
nevertheless, I have no intention of turning spy at this late

day, and assisting you in the eminently honorable work of
waylaying letters from her distant swain.”

Very coolly he put the letter back in his pocket.

Mrs. Murray bit her lip, and held out her hand, saying
peremptorily:

“I insist upon having the letter. Since you are so spasmodically
and exceedingly scrupulous, I will carry it immediately
to her and demand a perusal of the contents. St.
Elmo, I am in no mood for jesting.”

He only shook his head, and laughed.

“The dictates of filial respect forbid that I should subject
my mother's curiosity to so severe an ordeal. Moreover,
were the letter once in your hands, your conscience would
persuade you that it is your imperative duty to a `poor, inexperienced,
motherless' girl, to inspect it ere her eager
fingers have seized it. Besides, she is coming, and will save
you the trouble of seeking her. I heard her run up the steps
a moment ago.”

Before Mrs. Murray could frame her indignation in suitable
words, Edna entered, holding in one hand her straw
hat, in the other a basket, lined with grape-leaves, and filled
with remarkably large and fine strawberries. Exercise had
deepened the color in her fair, sweet face, which had never
looked more lovely than now, as she approached her benefactress,
holding up the fragrant, tempting fruit.

“Mrs. Murray, here is a present from Mr. Hammond, who
desired me to tell you that these berries are the first he has
gathered from the new bed, next to the row of lilacs. It is
the variety he ordered from New-York last fall, and some
roots of which he says he sent to you. Are they not the
most perfect specimens you ever saw? We measured them
at the parsonage and six filled a saucer.”

She was selecting a cluster to hold up for inspection, and
had not remarked the cloud on Mrs. Murray's brow.

“The strawberries are very fine. I am much obliged to
Mr. Hammond.”

The severity of the tone astonished Edna, who looked
up quickly, saw the stern displeasure written on her face,
and glanced inquiringly at the cousins. There was an awkward
silence, and feeling the eyes of all fixed upon her, the
orphan picked up her hat, which had fallen on the floor, and
asked:

“Shall I carry the basket to the dining-room, or leave it
here?”

“You need not trouble yourself to carry it anywhere.”

Mrs. Murray laid her hand on the bell-cord and rang
sharply. Edna placed the fruit on the centre-table, and
suspecting that she must be de trop, moved toward the
door, but Mr. Murray rose and stood before her.

“Here is a letter which arrived yesterday.”

He put it in her hand, and as she recognized the peculiar
superscription, a look of delight flashed over her features,
and raising her beaming eyes to his, she murmured,
“Thank you, sir,” and retreated to her own room.

Mr. Murray turned to his mother and said carelessly:

“I neglected to tell you that I heard from Clinton to-day.
He has invited himself to spend some days here, and
wrote to say that he might be expected next week. At
least his visit will be welcome to you, Estelle, and I congratulate
you on the prospect of adding to your list of admirers
the most fastidious exquisite it has ever been my
misfortune to encounter.”

“St. Elmo, you ought to be ashamed to mention your
father's nephew in such terms. You certainly have less respect
and affection for your relatives than any man I ever
saw.”

“Which fact is entirely attributable to my thorough
knowledge of their characters. I have generally found that
high appreciation and intimate acquaintance are in inverse
ratios. As for Clinton Allston, were he my father's son,
instead of his nephew, I imagine my flattering estimate of
him would be substantially the same. Estelle, do you know
him?”

“I have not that pleasure, but report prepares me to
find him extremely agreeable. I am rejoiced at the prospect
of meeting him. Some time ago, just before I left
Paris, I received a message from him, challenging me to a
flirtation at sight so soon as an opportunity presented itself.”

“For your sake, Estelle, I am glad Clinton is coming,
for St. Elmo is so shamefully selfish, and oblivious of his
duties as host, that I know time often hangs very heavily
on your hands.”

Mrs. Murray was too thoroughly out of humor to heed
the dangerous sparkle in her son's eyes.

“Very true, mother, his amiable and accommodating
disposition commends him strongly to your affection; and
knowing what is expected of him, he will politely declare
himself her most devoted lover before he has been thirty-six
hours in her society. Now, if she can accept him for a
husband, and you will only consent to receive him as your
son, I swear I will reserve a mere scanty annuity for my
travelling expenses; I will gladly divide the estate between
them, and transport myself permanently and joyfully beyond
the reach of animadversion on my inherited sweetness
of temper. If you, my dear coz, can only coax Clinton
into this arrangement for your own and my mother's happiness,
you will render me eternally grateful, and smooth the
way for a trip to Thibet and Siberia, which I have long
contemplated. Bear this proposition in mind, will you, especially
when the charms of Le Bocage most favorably impress
you? Remember you will become its mistress the
day that you marry Clinton, make my mother adopt him,
and release me. If my terms are not sufficiently liberal,
confer with Clinton as soon as maidenly propriety will permit,
and acquaint me with your ultimatum; for I am so
thoroughly weary and disgusted with the place that I am
anxious to get away on almost any terms. Here come the
autocrats of the neighborhood, the nouveaux enrichis!

your friends the Montgomeries and Hills, than whom I
would sooner shake hands with the Asiatic plague! I hear
Madame Montgomery asking if I am not at home, as well
as the ladies! Tell her I am in Spitzbergen or Mantchooria,
where I certainly intend to be ere long.”

As the visitors approached the sitting-room, he sprang
through the window opening on the terrace and disappeared.

The contents of the unexpected letter surprised and delighted
Edna, much more than she would willingly have
confessed. Mr. Manning wrote that upon the eve of leaving
home for a tour of some weeks' travel, he chanced to
stumble upon her letter, and in a second persual some peculiarity
of style induced him to reconsider the offer it contained,
and he determined to permit her to send the manuscript
(as far as written) for his examination. If promptly
forwarded, it would reach him before he left home, and
expedite an answer.

Drawing all happy auguries from this second letter, and
trembling with pleasure, Edna hastened to prepare her
manuscript for immediate transmission. Carefully enveloping
it in thick paper, she sealed and directed it, then fell on
her knees, and, with clasped hands resting on the package,
prayed earnestly, vehemently, that God's blessing would
accompany it, would crown her efforts with success.

Afraid to trust it to the hand of a servant, she put on
her hat and walked back to town.

The express agent gave her a receipt for the parcel, assured
her that it would be forwarded by the evening train,
and with a sigh of relief she turned her steps homeward.

Ah! it was a frail paper bark, freighted with the noblest,
purest aspirations that ever possessed a woman's soul,
launched upon the tempestuous sea of popular favor, with
ambition at the helm, hope for a compass, and the gaunt
spectre of failure grinning in the shrouds. Would it successfully
weather the gales of malice, envy, and detraction?

Would it battle valiantly and triumphantly with the piratical
hordes of critics who prowl hungrily along the track
over which it must sail? Would it become a melancholy
wreck on the mighty ocean of literature, or would it
proudly ride at anchor in the harbor of immortality, with
her name floating for ever at the masthead?

It was an experiment that had stranded the hopes of hundreds
and of thousands; and the pinched, starved features
of Chatterton, and the white, pleading face of Keats,
stabbed to death by reviewers' poisoned pens, rose like
friendly phantoms and whispered sepulchral warnings.

But to-day the world wore only rosy garments, unspotted
by shadows, and the silvery voice of youthful enthusiasm
sung only of victory and spoils, as hope gayly struck the
cymbals and fingered the timbrels.

When Edna returned to her room, she sat down before
her desk to reperuse the letter which had given her so much
gratification; and, as she refolded it, Mrs. Murray came
in and closed the door after her.

Her face was stern and pale; she walked up to the orphan,
looked at her suspiciously, and when she spoke her
voice was hard and cold.

“I wish to see that letter which you received to-day, as
it is very improper that you should, without my knowledge,
carry on a correspondence with a stranger. I would not
have believed that you could be guilty of such conduct.”

“I am very much pained, Mrs. Murray, that you should
even for a moment have supposed that I had forfeited your
confidence. The nature of the correspondence certainly sanctions
my engaging in it, even without consulting you. This
letter is the second I have received from Mr. Manning, the
editor of — Magazine, and was written in answer to a
request of mine, with reference to a literary matter which
concerns nobody but myself. I will show you the signature;
there it is—Douglas G. Manning. You know his literary
reputation and his high position. If you demand it, of

course I can not refuse to allow you to read it; but, dear
Mrs. Murray, I hope you will not insist upon it, as I prefer
that no one should see the contents, at least at present. As
I have never deceived you, I think you might trust me,
when I assure you that the correspondence is entirely restricted
to literary subjects.”

“Why, then, should you object to my reading it?”

“For a reason which I will explain at some future day, if
you will only have confidence in me. Still, if you are determined
to examine the letter, of course I must submit,
though it would distress me exceedingly to know that you
can not, or will not, trust me in so small a matter.”

She laid the open letter on the desk and covered her face
with her hands.

Mrs. Murray took up the sheet, glanced at the signature,
and said:

“Look at me; don't hide your face, that argues something
wrong.”

Edna raised her head, and lifted eyes full of tears to meet
the scrutiny from which there was no escape.

“Mr. Manning's signature somewhat reässures me, and
beside, I never knew you to prevaricate or attempt to deceive
me. Your habitual truthfulness encourages me to believe
you, and I will not insist on reading this letter, though
I can not imagine why you should object to it. But, Edna,
I am disappointed in you, and in return for the confidence
I have always reposed in you, I want you to answer candidly
the question I am about to ask. Why did you refuse
to marry Gordon Leigh?”

“Because I did not love him.”

“O pooh! that seems incredible, for he is handsome and
very attractive, and some young ladies show very plainly that
they love him, though they have never been requested to do
so. There is only one way in which I can account for your
refusal, and I wish you to tell me the truth. You are
unwilling to marry Gordon because you love somebody else
better. Child, whom do you love?”

“No, indeed, no! I like Mr. Leigh as well as any gentleman
I know; but I love no one except you and Mr. Hammond.”

Mrs. Murray put her hand under the girl's chin, looked
at her for some seconds, and sighed heavily.

“Child, I find it difficult to believe you.”

“Why, whom do you suppose I could love? Mr. Leigh
is certainly more agreeable than any body else I know.”

“But girls sometimes take strange whims in these matters.
Do you ever expect to receive a better offer than Mr.
Leigh's?”

“As far as fortune is concerned, I presume I never shall
have so good an opportunity again. But, Mrs. Murray, I
would rather marry a poor man, whom I really loved, and
who had to earn his daily bread than to be Mr. Leigh's
wife and own that beautiful house he is building. I know
you wish me to accept him, and that you think me very
unwise, very short-sighted; but it is a question which I
have settled after consulting my conscience and my heart.”

“And you give me your word of honor that you love no
other gentleman better than Gordon?”

“Yes, Mrs. Murray, I assure you that I do not.”

As the mistress of the house looked down into the girl's
beautiful face, and passed her hand tenderly over the thick,
glossy folds of hair that crowned the pure brow, she wondered
if it were possible that her son could ever regard the
orphan with affection; and she asked her own heart why
she could not willingly receive her as a daughter.

Mrs. Murray believed that she entertained a sincere
friendship for Mrs. Inge, and yet she had earnestly endeavored
to marry her brother to a girl whom she could not
consent to see the wife of her own son. Verily, when human
friendships are analyzed, it seems a mere poetic fiction
that—