Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

HEARTS OF OAK.

IN TWO PARTS: PART SECOND.

VII.

NEARLY a year from the time of Willis Percy's going passed, ere he returned to Wells. On the sudden death of his mother, letters were forwarded to him, but they were months in finding their way to him; and when they were at last received, his departure for home was not delayed one day.

And gladly was he welcomed on his return, he came so full of life and health and vigor, by Florence and the little Rose. For his part, nothing could so much have rejoiced the heart of the mourning son, as did the finding his child-sister under the guardianship of the woman of his love; nothing, at least, but the recital Florence made of his mother's last triumphs, and of the blessing wherewith she, dying, had blessed her. And when he saw how tender and entire an affection existed between Florence and Rose, and thought of his mother's words, he fancied that all difficulty was now removed in the way to the fruition of his best hope: he looked, but did not speak the expectation, for even as he looked it, she said, 'I cannot tell you how happy I was, even at such a moment, though Rose was sobbing so bitterly, for I could only think, 'A mother has blessed me!' If GOD shall bless us in the way we most hope before we die, Willis, think of it! I have had a mother's blessing too. thankful I should be! I am thankful.'

Oh, how

It would have been no less vain than unmanly to struggle for conquest with Florence in a matter which had become so essentially one of conscience; and as he now prepared to apply himself with fresh ardor to study, he was greatly enabled to do so; and the conviction became an abiding one, that in no other way could he so well grow in grace and strength, as by trusting patiently to GOD, to time, and to her, for the future's brightness.

He did not often visit at the cottage school-house after his return. It was not necessary that he should, in order that the mutual confidence between himself and Florence should be kept alive; and both felt that frequent intercourse during the continuance of their present relations would distract their thoughts too much, when they needed to be kept in calmness for the successful pursuit of daily labors. But Willis had taken for his motto, Hope on,' and its actings were revealed in his cheerfulness and true piety; and so, whenever he and Florence were together, by reason of their resolves, and the discipline to which they subjected themselves, each felt as they parted again that it had been good for them to be together their hearts had grown stronger meanwhile, their souls had caught another note of the jubilant hymn of Cheerfulness.

But there was a day that came at last when they met in sorrow, and conferred in sorrow, and parted with heavy grief. Since the time when he heard of the relations existing between Clara and Giles Gerard, of

Clara's illness and its shocking effects, there had been a fear and a doubt in Percy's mind to which he longed, yet hesitated, to give utterance. For days he struggled between a sense of urgent duty, and a fear of misconstruction, and a gentle dread, which those who have suffered most know the most of, the dread of giving pain. He longed to say that which might be utterly misunderstood, or altogether disbelieved; that which doubt might turn, a double-edged weapon, against himself. But at last he determined to speak with Florence, come what might, of what she herself had determined to ask him; and it so happened that at the very time when he was laboring to find words for his communication, she took occasion to say:

'Am I wrong in supposing that you have some particular and pressing thought which you wish to make known to me, and don't know how?'

[ocr errors]

No; you are right,' he answered resolutely. 'I did wish to speak with you, yet did not dare, for fear my words might be misconstrued. From the relations which you know I should be so proud to form with you, it might be suspected - I mean,' he said more solemnly, any one but you might suspect there were some other than right motives influencing me to say what I must say to you. You will, I feel convinced, understand the purity of my motives. The fact that Mr. Gerard is still betrothed to Clara, and that, as common report goes, they will shortly be married, impels me to tell you the truth, and it cannot be gainsaid. He is not a man with whom your sister can be happy if she loves truth, or cares for virtue, or if she despises loathsome sin!'

He arose as he said this, his face pale with emotion, and his eyes filled with tears. Florence also arose, and said hurriedly, 'You speak in such a way, that had you said this of another yet nearer than he, I could but believe you. I am as sure that you tell the truth as that I live. You would certainly not come here with a mere report—and such a report. But mere words would fail to convince Clara. They ought not to. it would be too awful to take this comfort from her, Percy.'

Oh!

'I would certainly not have dared come to you with the story, had I not feared to keep it from you. I declare, as most solemn truth, in all parts of this land, among the great people who consider him an equal, he is well known as a gambler and a dissolute man. I know too that there are many very proud ladies of his acquaintance who would be glad to assume the relations your sister bears toward him. But if I know Clara Swaine and you, I am convinced you would both shrink, as from pollution, from a man like him, whatever the world might think of him.'

A momentary silence followed his words. It was broken by Florence, saying: 'I thank you for the courage you have shown in coming with this story to me. I have already persuaded them to defer the marriage for the present. I will prove my perfect faith in you by speaking of this to Clara.'

They parted immediately after.

Florence was leaning against the mantel, her head bent in deep thought. She was pondering Percy's words, and she could not hide from herself the fact that the words had only given form to the fears which in many ways had been suggested to her. As she stood thus and thought, a door

opposite to that through which her friend had gone out, opened, and Clara entered. She only stood within the door of the room, and when her sister's raised eyes fixed upon her with most earnest sorrow, she returned the glance with an almost fierce indignation, exclaiming :

'Is it possible that you have tamely listened to, and meekly promised to use the mean weapons of slander against him and me? Shame on you, Florence! Could you not defend an absent friend against calumny ?' 'You have heard it all, Clara?'

'Yes; I could not avoid listening. It is certain that listeners never hear any good of themselves.'

'Oh! do not say so. It seems a comfort to me even that I have not to tell you that. I do not see how I should ever have found strength to.' Then you believe what Percy says? I never heard any thing so utterly contemptible.'

'At least,' said Florence after a moment's and in that moment pause she had conquered a deal of indignation at least you are sufficiently sane and wise to see the necessity to wish to wait a little, before irrevocably deciding about such a matter as this. A man like Willis Percy, let me tell Clara-oh! my dear, dear Clara ! you, would not breathe such things to me, a woman, your sister, if there were not something in the story.'

'I tell you he has some secret motive; or if not that,' she added, selfrebuked by her words, he has been astonishingly credulous. O my GOD! have I not been tried enough already? You should have ordered him from the house, Florence. It was an insult to us, as well as to Mr. Gerard, that he should presume to come here with such slanderous gossip as that!'

'You are talking far more like a child than a sane woman should. I hope you will not, I fear, for you seem wofully beside yourself-but I hope you will see that it could but be my most fervent prayer that Mr. Percy has been misinformed. I only charge you, dearest Clara, do not in a blind confidence trust too far; do not, in a romantic confidence, make yourself liable to a long future of regret. I hope as devoutly as you can, that I am unjust in this. If I wrong Mr. Gerard, it is unconsciously, and you ought to know it. If you do not know it, we have lived together to little purpose.'

'Yes, I do know it!'

'Then I charge you, be patient. You can learn no lesson so important as that, Clara, in this life."'

VIII.

THE penetrative powers of Mr. Gerard told him that some unhappy influence was working in the mind of Clara, when he again visited her. And the confidence she had in him would have prevented her, in case of his clear questioning, from withholding the truth of the matter; but he did not choose to work thus, and instead, drew the secret from her almost involuntarily, till she found that he had possessed himself of it entirely.

The question he asked then was, 'What has Florence said to this, or does she not know of it?' And it was thus answered, and with as much eagerness as though Clara were defending her sister against some wronging thought: She repeats the advice which you remember she gave at

first, long before I heard this; for she says it is always better to wait and bear patiently, than do in haste what might cause the repentance of years.'

'Excellent advice! if it were needed. Tell me, does she believe this story?'

'She may not believe it, Giles, yet she advises us on each other's account to delay. She says prudence demands it.'

'We will not delay,' was the decided answer. 'Choose between her and me.'

Clara's face was bent upon her hands: she could not, she dared not answer. At last he grew impatient at her silence, and fell upon his knees before her, whispering:

'Have you not perfect faith in me? If I thought you had not, I would spurn you!' He said it with all the indignant emphasis of a wronged and virtuous man. 'You have faith,' he continued, in answer to the gentle pressure of her hand. 'Well, then, you shall prove it, and at once. I scorn my accusers, but I will show them the glorious faith of a woman. You shall be mine; and then, when we stand side by side together, one, in that world which has dared impugn my honor, you will see, Clara, how they will come fawning around us, and you will learn from what a vile, insignificant source it could be none other that voice came to distress you.' He kissed her fervently, and then asked with bewilderingly sweet voice, 'Are you afraid?'

6

No,' was the instant answer: she might well have been! But Florence? Oh! dear as you are, think what she has been to me, what she has done for me! How could I act in opposition to her will, and grieve her, as the least deception on my part would, past all help? How could I even be at peace with myself? For I know how much she is in earnest when she counsels this delay.'

you

'She need not know it. Go with me alone from hence, as if we should go to-day in secret, and come back openly and in triumph to-morrow. The world, be you sure, child, for I know more of that world than you do, will glorify you for the courageous act. And how much will honor me by such confidence! You will make me doubly your slave. I cannot brook to have another directing us. I must have you by my side always. I cannot endure this parting with you day after day. I do not want, I cannot longer permit those to come between us who would postpone our union indefinitely, for the mere gratification of their own whim or selfishness.'

'But, dear Giles,' was the faltering argument put forth when the girl's soul was all a-flame with his words, 'I cannot charge Florence with selfishYou do not know her as I do. She has been all to me heretofore. I assure you it is not without reason that I look up to her as though she were more than a mere elder sister.'

ness.

'Well, then, honestly, I believe you: she is not selfish. But you acknowledge she is over-careful in this endeavor to put you on your guard against me. Dear Clara, we are not children. There is not a mortal existing to whom you are so bound as to me; or, is there another?'

'You know there is not one,' was the answer.

tell me,

'Yes, I know it, by this feeling I have for you. There is perfect sympathy between us. Then why should you listen to the suggestions of others, rather than to me? Go with me to my house: we will be married there. It will then and thus be in your power to aid Florence, to give to her entire rest and ease, should she desire it; for if she will, our home shall be hers. She shall be freed from that wearying life she leads; for she will permit you to aid her, when I could not even offer to do so. We will all go abroad: you shall learn life, and enjoy it to the full, dearest.'

That suggestion relating to Florence was well put. It made the idea of flying for a moment from her protection seem less dreadful for Clara had fancied many times how glorious and pleasant a thing it would be to give her noble sister rest, and station, and riches such as she deserved ; and since the engagement with Mr. Gerard this fancying had transformed itself into a good within her grasp. He had before this used the promise as an assurance; he produced it now, a temptation. Should she put it away for ever, in the weak fear of doing that which should make people talk and wonder for a day?

DAYS passed after this important interview before Mr. Gerard came again to see Clara. He stayed away only for the purpose of exciting her wonder and fear at his absence, that when he should again present himself her feeble will might be completely subdued to his. He had not studied the poor child in vain; he had made no miscalculation in regard to her character. By that very policy was she placed wholly at his mercy; for before he appeared again, Clara had resolved that she would go with him wherever he chose to lead her. But it was in vain that she strove to hush the voice within, by the deceiving idea that she should benefit Florence, and repay her long devotion thus; she could not satisfy herself with the sophism that the end justified the means. It was with her a struggle of thought to the last, and when the struggle ended in her resolution, Florence and Gerard were all she really thought of. Her own happiness was not at that time the grand idea. Her own? It was the last she could reason about then. A love for him that amounted to entire abnegation of self had been her heart's offering since that day during her recovery when he avowed his faithful and entire love for her. Had it not been so, she would yet-oh! in the name of human nature do not doubt it!-have hesitated, re-thought, and perhaps have prayed over that temptation.

'In a day, or at very farthest a week, they would come back. Did she dare fear or doubt him?' He asked it that bright morning when she went out from Wells and joined him, and left with him the paths of duty, peace and holiness. He asked it; and the sun shone so joyously, and the birds sang so sweetly, the flowers bloomed so purely, every thing seemed so merry and so fair, that she answered, 'No;' but the answer had less of sincerity in it than when uttered while under the care and protection of Florence.

IX

Not only that one day which Clara had appointed in her own mind for time of absence, but many days, so many that they began to be num

« AnteriorContinuar »