 
Transcriber's Note:
THE IMPENDING SWORD.
LONDON: | ||||||||||||||||||||||||
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.Book the First.THE EMPIRE CITY. | |
| CHAP. | |
| I. | THE CURTAIN RISES. |
| II. | THE LETTER OF INSTRUCTIONS. |
| III. | THE SHADOW OF PARTING. |
| IV. | HELEN'S DIARY. |
| V. | AN EXPLANATION. |
| VI. | A MYSTERIOUS COMMISSION. |
| VII. | CONJUGAL CONFIDENCE. |
| VIII. | A WANDERING STAR. |
| IX. | A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. |
| X. | NO NONSENSE ABOUT HER. |
Book the First.
THE EMPIRE CITY.
CHAPTER I.
THE CURTAIN RISES.
'And you really insist upon my going?'
'Insist is not the word. Stay here if you like it better, and amuse yourself by drinking brandy-and-soda-water, which, since your visit to Europe, it seems you cannot do without. All I say is, that I shall go, and if you want to see some pretty women you had better come with me.'
'What did you say the man's name was? and where does he live?'
'His name is Griswold--Alston E. Griswold--and he lives in Fifth-avenue, just above Thirty-sixth-street. He runs a bank, and is all day long in Wall-street, and makes a pile of money, they say. He ought to, for he lives in elegant style.'
'And his wife--he has a wife, I suppose--what is she like? Does she come from New England and sing through her nose, or from out West and drawl like--'
'What stuff you are talking, Redmond! Since you have come back from Europe there is no bearing with you. Why don't you go back to the other side and get yourself made a prince, or a duke, or something?'
'Ay, why don't I? Why, because--however, that is none of your business. Is Mrs. Griswold pretty?'
'Very pretty and excellent style, and always has the nicest people in New York in her house. Let us go and see them;' and the speaker rose from the chair which he was occupying in front of one of the fireplaces of the reading-room of the Union Club, pitching away the butt-end of his cigar and pulling himself together as though preparing for a start.
'Wait a minute,' said his friend, yawning lazily; 'I don't like leaving this fire, it is so confoundedly cold outside.'
'Cold, nonsense; you have got that hideous Ulster coat which you brought from England, and there are plenty of robes in the coupÉ. We shall not be five minutes spinning up to Griswold's, and once there, you will be very glad you came.'
So the two young men, Redmond Dillon and Charles Vanderlip, went out into the hall of the club and wrapped themselves up in their overcoats, and were whirled away up Fifth-avenue as hard as Vanderlip's wiry little horses could lay their feet to the ground.
Charles Vanderlip was right in saying that his friend Alston Griswold was very rich, for there were evidences of his wealth and of the lavish manner in which he spent it before his door was reached. Although it was early spring, traces of the severe winter yet remained in huge masses of snow piled up into a high dirty frozen heap, which extended along either side of the avenue, with interstices cut here and there to allow of access to the house; but within twenty yards of either side of Mr. Griswold's house these icy barriers had been levelled and carted away, a broad canvas-covered passage had been made from the inner door to the outer edge of the side-walk, and no sooner was the outside barrier passed than you immediately merged from cold and dreary darkness into warmth and light, into an atmosphere heavy with perfume from the innumerable flowering shrubs with which the rooms, the passages, and the staircases were decorated; into a species of fairyland, where the ears were greeted with the sound of enlivening dance-music exquisitely performed, and the eyes were delighted with the sight of the prettiest women in the world in such perfect toilettes as the most lavish expenditure could procure.
'This man really does the thing very well indeed,' said Dillon to Vanderlip, as they made their way down the staircase towards the parlour where the reception was being held.
'Does he, indeed? How very kind of you to patronise him!' said his friend with a laugh. 'Why don't you pull your moustache, Redmond, and say "Haw" to every word, after the true English swell fashion? Wait until I have presented you to Griswold and you have talked to him, and then you will find out what a true gentleman and thoroughly good fellow he is.'
They had gained the door now, and were being carried on with the tide of humanity that was surging through the room; the crowd was great and almost constantly in motion, but as the host and hostess stopped every one to say a few kindly words of recognition as they passed the mantelpiece, which might in military language be called the saluting point, Redmond Dillon had plenty of time to take a good look at Mr. and Mrs. Alston Griswold before his presentation to them.
A man of about six-and-thirty years of age was Alston Griswold, of middle height, with a thick dark moustache and a small imperial, bright, frank, honest dark eyes, and a gentlemanly, intelligent, good-looking face. A few lines here and there round his eyes tell of business cares, and his shoulders are slightly rounded from frequent stooping over his desk. For this night, however, he had temporarily abandoned all thought of business care or worry. You would have thought him the least preoccupied man in the world, if you had noticed the gay courtesy with which he addressed each of his guests as they passed by; you would have thought him the best man in the world, had you chanced to mark the glance of mingled pride, love, and admiration which from time to time he threw upon his wife, standing by his side.
Nor could he have bestowed upon her any amount of admiration or affection which would not have been richly deserved, for Helen Griswold was a woman among a thousand. Rather under than over the ordinary height of women, with a figure which, though light and lithe, was rounded and shapely, with perfect little hands and feet, and with a gliding walk, such as is rarely seen save among Spanish women, for one of whom she might have passed. Her eyes were large, soft, and dark, her complexion creamy, her hair the very darkest shade of brown, shot here and there with a tinge of deep dull red. Add to this a small straight nose and a rather large fresh mouth, and you have Helen Griswold's portrait complete.
By this time the two club men were abreast of their host and hostess, to whom Vanderlip presented his friend as just returned after a long absence in Europe. Helen merely bowed and smiled, but her husband shook hands with Dillon, and laughingly congratulated him on safely accomplishing a voyage which he himself was about to undertake.
'What did he mean by that?' asked Dillon of his friend when they had passed through the crowd and were standing in the further room, where dancing was going on. 'You don't mean to say he is going to Europe?'
'I imagine so by what he said; indeed, I recollect now hearing at the club he sails in the Calabria to-morrow, and that this is a kind of farewell-fÊte.'
'Of course he takes his wife with him?'
'I think not. She would give the world to go, but is encumbered by the ties of maternity. Her little baby is delicate, and the mother could neither take her nor go away from her.'
'Isn't Griswold fond of his wife?' asked Dillon, looking through the arched opening between the rooms at the host and hostess, who, having finished their reception, were now approaching the dancers.
'Fond of her! He worships the ground she treads; you have only to look at them to tell that.'
'What makes him leave her, then?'
'Business, my dear fellow, to which, as you appear to have forgotten, all the men in New York are slaves. Griswold is deeply interested, amongst other matters, in the establishment of some new telegraphic line which is to compete with the Western Union, and rumour reports that his present mission is in search of English capitalists and English engineers to aid him.'
'And he leaves his wife behind!' said Dillon, shaking his head. 'Poor child! I thought by the expression of her face that there was something clouding her happiness even to-night.'
'Yes; in these days, when conjugal fidelity is somewhat at a discount, their devotion to each other is extraordinary. I never--'
'Say, quick, who is this man leaning against the wall with his arms folded and looking so intently at Mrs. Griswold?'
Vanderlip looked round in the direction pointed out. His eyes rested on a tall man, of slim but wiry build, about twenty-eight years of age, with a long, thin, close-shaved face, small deeply-set eyes, and thin bloodless lips. His evening dress was scrupulously plain and neat, and as he leant back against the wall with his legs crossed, one hand was hidden in his bosom, while with the other, long and lean, he slowly stroked his chin. His gaze was fixed, and never varied; its object, as Dillon had remarked, was Mrs. Griswold.
'That,' said Vanderlip, after looking at him, 'is a man of some importance in this household. His name is Trenton Warren, and he is perhaps Griswold's most intimate friend. He is a clear-headed 'cute fellow, versed in all the mysteries of "bulling" and "bearing," and is supposed to be Griswold's adviser in all matters of business, and the real mainspring and contriver of these lucky hits by which his fortune has been made. Trenton Warren is supposed to be quite necessary to Griswold's existence.'
'And from the way in which he looks at her apparently seems to think the contemplation of Mrs. Griswold necessary to his own,' said Dillon. 'He hasn't moved his eyes from her since she came into the room.'
'You never were more mistaken in your life, my good friend,' said Vanderlip, with a smile. 'Perhaps the sole fault of Warren in Griswold's eyes is that he cannot be brought to admire Mrs. Griswold sufficiently; that he does not give her credit for the rare qualities which her husband and his other friends believe her to possess.'
'Do you mean to tell me, then,' asked Dillon, 'that that man is not reckoned among Mrs. Griswold's admirers--I mean of course admirers in the proper sense, of whom you may be considered one?'
'Certainly not! It is said that he was averse to his friend's marriage with the lady, and that he has always entertained somewhat of a dislike for her since.'
'Didn't approve of the marriage? Ah, perhaps he wanted her for himself?'
'Bah! Trenton Warren is the last man in the world to whom such an insinuation could apply. He thinks of business and nothing else, and is so singularly apathetic about Mrs. Griswold's grace, beauty, and good qualities, as really to rile and vex her husband, who wishes all the world to be as cognisant of them as he is himself.'
'What a large-hearted man!' said Dillon, with a cynical smile. 'And so I am entirely wrong about Mr. Trenton Warren, am I?' he added to himself, as Vanderlip moved off to speak to some ladies. 'And he has no admiration for Mrs. Griswold? Well, I am not usually wrong in such matters, and as I have nothing else to do until Vanderlip is ready to go, I may as well amuse myself by watching what is going on around me.'
Let us take advantage of this opportunity to sketch a little of the previous history, and to describe the relations then existing between Helen and Alston Griswold and Trenton Warren, three personages who are to play most important parts in our drama. And first let us see that Redmond Dillon, clever by nature and sharpened by experience, was not very far wrong in his judgment of the actual position of affairs. All that he had heard from Vanderlip about Trenton Warren was correct. The one annoyance of Alston Griswold's life (out of his business career, which, as is usually the case, was full of annoyances) was, that his friend, could never be prevailed upon to speak, as her husband thought, sufficiently warmly of Helen.
And yet if all had only been known, Warren's appreciation of the woman at whom he was then gazing, with all his soul glowing in his eyes, was really greater than that bestowed upon her by her husband. Alston Griswold thought his wife the prettiest, dearest little creature in the world--one on whom it was impossible to bestow too great an amount of petting and affection, one whom it would have been impossible for him to deceive or betray--far beyond any other woman in the world, but still a woman, and as such inferior to man; something to be caressed and petted and spoiled, a pretty plaything, a charming solace for one's leisure hours, but nothing more. Alston Griswold would have scouted the idea of talking over any affairs of vital importance with his wife, of making her the confidante of his business schemes, of asking her advice in regard to any detail of the great struggles in which he was constantly engaged; she would not have understood them, he thought, and why should she be bored with them?
Trenton Warren knows her better than this. His sense is far finer, his insight far keener, than his friend's, and while he has apparently stood aloof from any attempt at intimate acquaintance with Helen, and has been sufficiently sparing of her praises in her husband's ears, he has brought all his sense and keenness to bear upon the dissection of her character, and has arrived at a far different estimate of her mental power. Constant secret study of her tells him that, if she is not exactly clever, she has an immense fund of common sense, determination, and patience--tells him also another thing, the thought of which sends the blood into his pale cheeks, and causes his heart to throb with exultation. Helen Griswold, this pattern wife, so decorous, so much respected, so universally looked up to, holds her husband in highest esteem, in most affectionate appreciation, but of love for him.--of love, be it understood, in the sense of passion--she has, according to Warren's idea, not one whit. Such love the placid easy-going absorbed man of business--so much her elder too, with his petting parental way--was not one to kindle; and yet such love, if Warren were any judge, was as necessary to her as air to light or heat to flame. He had watched her carefully, and he read the necessity for it in the occasional wearied expression which came across the lustrous depths of her dark eyes, in a certain unsatisfied restlessness which from time to time she betrayed; he imagined he had discovered her craving for love of a distinct kind from that which her husband bestowed on her, and in this discovery he found hopes for his own future success.
For this man, outwardly cold, self-possessed, and reticent, so far as Helen Griswold was concerned, was the slave of a passion, violent, unreasonable, unconquerable. He struggled against it for a time, fearing the probable trouble, the danger it would cause him; and when finally he found resistance to it impossible he determined that by her alone should its existence be known. All his apparent insensibility to Helen's charms, all his studied depreciation of Griswold's enthusiasm about his wife, were caused by what he felt to be the imperative necessity of keeping his passion hidden until the time should arrive for declaring it to its object, and to her alone.
And Helen--what was the state of her feelings towards Trenton Warren? She could scarcely have told you if you had asked her. But in her secret self she knew that she regarded him with dislike, almost approaching to loathing, without being able to account to herself for the detestation he inspired. She was afraid of him without any definite cause for her fear, suspicious without being able to explain to herself the reason for her suspicions. That he has any tender feeling, any of the animal passion which men of his stamp dignify by the name of love, she does not dream for a moment. Had such an idea crossed her mind, her dislike of him would have been intensified. It was on her husband's account that she first conceived this distrust of Warren, who, she felt certain, was exercising an evil influence, over Griswold, and worming himself for a bad purpose into her husband's confidence.
Helen had this conviction so strongly that it would have been impossible to dispossess her mind of it; and yet, feeling as she did the difficulty of reasoning it out to herself, she saw clearly the utter impossibility of making her husband understand it. Even if she could have explained herself, she doubted very much whether she could have carried conviction to Alston's mind; for Helen's keen and accurate judgment had long since taught her to comprehend the exact manner in which her husband appreciated her, and to know that, though most kind and loving and admiring, he regarded her merely as a sweet solace for his hours of relaxation, and would have certainly misunderstood anything she might have said to him in regard to Trenton Warren, and imputed it to a womanish jealousy of his male friends.
What was it that filled Helen's mind with these reflections at a time when she ought to have been thinking either of the gay scene around her, or of the loneliness which would fall upon her on the morrow, when her husband should be gone? What was it that set her speculating upon the motives which could possibly prompt Trenton Warren to be so assiduous in his attention to her husband, so desirous to conciliate him and to secure his intimacy and confidence? What was it? She was answered at once, as she raised her eyes and saw the man who had occupied her thoughts standing immediately opposite, his gaze bent full upon her!
Was Trenton Warren taken off his guard? Had the sight of the woman for whom he had entertained so fierce a passion--sitting there radiant in youth and beauty, her full evening toilette contrasting somewhat strangely with her air of preoccupation, almost of sadness--caused him for an instant to drop the mask? Or did he think the time had come when the revelation of that passion might in safety be made? Certainly, there was an expression in his eyes such as Helen had never seen there before--an expression which caused her to drop her own instantly in amazement and indignation.
The next moment he was by her side.
'It is strange to see you sitting here alone, Mrs. Griswold,' he said, with a slight tremor in his voice, which, however, he immediately got the better of; 'and you are generally so surrounded as to make approach to you impossible.'
Helen did not look up at him, but there was nothing in his tone or his words to which she could take exception; so she merely said:
'It is surely not from experience that you say that, Mr. Warren. Your appreciation of my society has, I imagine, never been so great as to induce you to take any trouble to enjoy it.'
She was looking straight before her, and the expression of her face was deadly cold; but the words spoken in her musical voice fell deliciously on Warren's ear.
'But it is never too late to mend,' he said, 'we are told by our schoolbooks and by Mr. Charles Reade. If my shortcoming has been so great I will hasten at once to repair it. They have just started a waltz, you are not engaged, will you give it to me?'
He bent over her so closely that she felt his warm breath on her hair. Drawing back hurriedly, she again saw the expression she had already noticed in his eyes.
'Thank you,' she said, with great coldness; 'I have no intention of dancing.'
Her frigid decided tone must have struck him, for he looked at her with surprise, and said,
'You cannot be tired, Mrs. Griswold?'
'Since you say so, of course I cannot,' she replied, looking him full in the face; 'for what you say, at least in this house, Mr. Warren, is not to be contradicted; nevertheless, I will take upon myself the risk of declining to dance and of holding to my word.'
Trenton Warren looked as though he would have spoken, but Helen, by a slight bow and by an almost imperceptible movement of her hand, gave him to understand that the interview was at an end.
'The horror with which that man inspires me increases daily,' she said to herself, as he moved slowly away; 'but never have I seen him so odious, so offensive as just now. I dread his intimacy with Alston, not merely on account of the influence which it may have on our fortune, but from some undefined dread that he will work mischief between my husband and myself. See him now even at this instant. He makes his way to Alston's side, and by the expression of Alston's face, and the way in which he looks towards me, I can tell as certainly as though I were at his elbow what he is saying. He is speaking of me kindly, and lovingly too, I am sure; in the confidence of his friendship he is commenting on my appearance to Trenton Warren. How blind he is! Can he not detect the contemptuous sneer with which his friend is listening to him? The very look which I saw in his face the other day when he complimented me on the possession of that rare treasure, "a husband who admires his wife and is not ashamed to say so." No, Alston sees nothing of that and still continues to-- Mr. Warren takes his leave. Ah, thank Heaven, there is a general move! I am tired and out of spirits, and shall be only too delighted to get rid of all these people.'
Trenton Warren accepted one of the numerous offers to him of conveyance to his house; but although it was sufficiently late when he reached home, and he knew that the next morning he must be up betimes, having much important business on hand, he did not think of going to bed, but throwing himself on a couch, lit a cigar, and became absorbed in contemplation.
'She hates me,' he muttered, after a pause, slowly expelling a cloud of smoke; 'and after her treatment of me to-night, I declare I almost hate her. I hate her for her coldness; the way in which she constantly avoids me, and for her calm insolence when compelled to acknowledge my presence. What makes her shun me so, I wonder? Is her avoidance of me caused by fear, arising from dislike, or is it the vague sense of displeasure with which a woman regards a man who has found out--while she meant to keep him at the greatest distance--that her feeling for her husband, though very pure and very gentle, is but a milk-and-water feeling after all, without a trace of passion in it? No matter much which it may be, I shall soon find out. I read somewhere recently that the first thing to be done by a man who is courting a woman is to make her think about him, even though it be unpleasantly. So far, I imagine I have succeeded with Helen Griswold; she cannot keep me out of her thoughts just now, even though she think of me with dislike and fear.'
Having arrived at which satisfactory conclusion, Mr. Trenton Warren pitched away his cigar and went to bed.
CHAPTER II.
THE LETTER OF INSTRUCTIONS.
'Good-night' and 'good-bye.' These words, uttered by Alston Griswold to certain departing guests as he stood on the top of what is called in New York the stoop (equivalent to our steps) outside his open door, gave a fresh turn to the last proceedings of the evening. Good-bye? Why, of course, he was going to Europe the next day; most of them had forgotten that, and many of them thought it a favourable opportunity for cracking another bottle of champagne to wish their host health, happiness, and a safe voyage. Those wishes for the prosperity of others, which always increase in fervour with the advance of the night and the circulation of the wine, were mingled with the expression of hopes from some that Griswold would not remain away long; that he was a representative New Yorker, one of their merchant princes, and a thoroughly good fellow, and of fears from others lest when he did come back he should be spoiled and Europeanised, as was the case with too many of them; but none of these expressions of doubt were whispered above the speaker's breath, while all the good-byes and God-speeds were loud and protracted, so that a man of less genial and kindly impulses than Alston Griswold might have been excused in indulging in a little self-gratification at the esteem in which he was held, and the regrets of losing him which were so loudly manifested.
The last guest had gone, and Griswold, after waving his farewell to them from the door, had turned back into the hall, when it suddenly struck him that his wife had not been present at these final joyous ceremonies. To stand well in her eyes, to have her as the mute witness of the honours paid him in acknowledgment of his social and commercial position, was his greatest pride, and he was vexed and angry to think that the warm compliments of which he had just been the recipient had been unheard by her.
He looked into the supper-room, but she was not there; into the ball-room, and there he found her on a seat at the far end, listless and dejected.
'Helen, what ails you?'
And all his anger vanished in an instant as she lifted up her eyes, and he saw they were filled with tears.
'Helen, my darling, what is the matter? Has anything happened?'
'Nothing, dear,' she said, in a low flat voice. 'Tell me, are the people all gone? every one, I mean? O, I am so glad!'
'You are over-fatigued, child, that is all,' said he, bending tenderly down to her.
'I wish it were all,' said Helen, rising and throwing herself into her husband's arms. 'I am so horribly wretched!'
'Wretched!' he repeated, with infinite tenderness. 'What makes you wretched, dear?'
'You do, and no one else. You are going to leave me, and it seems cruel and unkind of you.'
'My sweet Helen, those are very hard words, and--'
'I don't mean them harshly, Alston; but you have no idea how I dread your absence. If I have any influence with you, you will give up these plans and stay with me.'
'Put off my voyage now, on the very eve of my departure, with all my plans arranged? It would be impossible, Helen.'
'Nothing is impossible to you in business if you choose, Alston,' she replied; 'but you don't choose. You are carried away by the inordinate ambition to be rich. That contemptible money-worship, which is everywhere sapping the foundations of New York society, has you for one of its high-priests, and my comfort and my happiness are nothing in comparison with your desire for the accumulation of money.'
Griswold was silent for a moment, regarding her earnestly; then he pushed his hair from off his forehead, and with the faintest sigh and a grave smile, more in his eyes than on his lips, said,
'You are speaking hurriedly and like a woman, Helen, and do not, I am sure, mean half you say; but even if I have this wild desire for the accumulation of money, for whose sake is it indulged in, to whom is the acquired wealth devoted? Not, I think--' and a grave smile now broke on to his lips--'not, I think, to myself entirely. I go down town in the morning in the stage for ten cents, and I return on foot; my clothes are the standing topic for my friends' abuse and--'
'I know, Alston--I know it all. You are the least selfish of men; and it is for me and for my sake alone that you are condemning yourself to a life of slavery, and making both of us wretched. But this is precisely the reason why I am the person to enjoin you to give it up. We are quite rich enough for my ambition, dear. Stay with me, and let us enjoy together what we have. But for Heaven's sake do not leave me.'
'I love to hear you talk like this,' said he, putting his arm around her as she pillowed her head on his broad chest and looked up with soft entreaty into his face. 'It shows you to me as what I have always known you to be, the most affectionate and most trusting of God's creatures. But though I would give my life to save you a pang, what you now ask me is an impossibility. If I had had any idea that you would have taken my going away so much to heart, I would have endeavoured, though it would have been difficult, to send some one else in my place. At this late hour, however, it is impossible to make any such substitution, and it is imperative that I should go in person; not merely to look after my own business, but after very large interests of others, which have been staked on a guarantee that I would attend to them. Helen, darling, when you say that my inordinate ambition to be rich and my worship of money are greater than my love for you, you talk foolishly, and you know it. To part from you will half break my heart. I would willingly surrender all the profits, large though we expect them to be, of this projected undertaking, if by so doing I could remain with you; but I could not do so without a sacrifice of honour and credit; and, utterly unbusinesslike as you are, you know the meaning of those two words and the value which is necessarily attached to them. Do you understand me, child?'
'Yes,' she said, wiping the traces of tears from her face and looking up at him almost calmly, 'I understand all you say, and I see there is nothing for me to do but to acquiesce in the arrangement. Only understand one thing, Alston; this protest of mine against your leaving me is not the mere pettish fancy of a woman who hates to be alone, or who is possessed by any absurd jealousy as to what may be her husband's proceedings during his absence--you and I understand each other too well for any nonsense of that sort; but I hate you going away on this voyage, Alston. I have had a presentiment about it which nothing can dispel, though which I should find impossible to explain. However, it is useless saying any more about it; only promise me one thing, that you will never undertake such a voyage again.'
'I promise; that is to say, I promise never to sail again for Europe unless you go with me. O, you need not purse your little mouth up in that manner! Charley Vanderlip tells me that his friend Dillon, who has just returned from the other side, vows that Europe is the only place in the world fit to live in.'
'Then Mr. Dillon is a--never mind; I will say not a good American citizen,' said Helen, tossing her head. 'Do you know what o'clock it is, Alston?'
'Late enough,' said Alston, looking at his watch; 'but I have some work to do in the library before I can think of rest.'
'I will join you there, then,' said Helen, rising. 'I am not in the least sleepy, only I must first get rid of this stiff silk dress, and these bracelets and jewels. I can then send that wretched Hortense to bed, and I will be down again in five minutes.'
Alston Griswold leaned back in his chair, and looked long and lovingly at his wife as she glided away, and at the spot which she had occupied after she had passed out of his sight. Then his brow darkened, and he thrust his hands deeply into his pockets as he slowly rose from his seat.
Did he share the presentiment as to his departure which his wife had confessed? Not the least in the world. He was by far too practical a man of business to have given way to any such folly. But the word--and yet-- No, it would be madness. He would be the laughing-stock of Wall-street and the butt of his clubs if he allowed a woman's weakness to influence him in a matter where three or four millions were involved, and in the conduct of which his reputation and his fortune would be made or marred. He would close up his preparations at once, and the first thing to be attended to was that letter of instructions.
Acting at once upon this determination, he crossed the hall and entered the library--an old room furnished with black oak, and entirely surrounded with antique bookcases filled with a choice collection, which, indeed, their owner never opened, but which were Helen's greatest resource and delight. On the other side of the large open folding-doors were the supper-rooms, the lights in which were still burning, though the tables had been cleared ere the servants retired to rest. Griswold looked somewhat surprised when he saw the room still lighted, and was on the point of ringing the bell; but remembering there was no one to answer it, he turned back into the library, lit a cigar, and seating himself at the writing-table, took from one of the drawers a sheet of paper, two sides of which were already covered.
By the shaded light of the kerosene lamp, which stood upon the writing-table, Griswold read this paper carefully through; then laying it down before him, fell into a train of thought. 'It looks innocent enough,' he said; 'it might be what I shall tell her it is, when I put into her hand--a mere paper on business, to be read at a future time--and yet to think how all-powerful it will be, or ought to be, in the event of anything happening to me. To be read at some future time, eh! I think I can see the scene which will occur at that future time plainly enough; what a commotion there would be in Wall-street, what an anxiety amongst a certain set to know whether I had carried out the commission with which I had been intrusted, before I died. The commission with which I have been intrusted, that is what they would be anxious about--not me, their agent; only poor Helen would think of me. What she said just now about her little regard for wealth was true enough. If the enterprise succeeded, she would be rich as an empress; if it failed, she would have comparatively little to live upon; but in neither case would she care much, I flatter myself, if I were gone. The joys or the woes of life would affect her equally little if I were not there to share them with her. What a wretchedly gloomy train of thought I have fallen into!' he muttered, half aloud, striking his hand upon the desk. 'Hundreds of men go to and return from Europe every week; it is the boast of the Cunard Company that they have never lost a passenger, and yet here am I, in rude health and strength, picturing to myself what is to happen after my immediately approaching death. Helen must have innoculated me with a touch of her presentiment; however, I will shake it off at once. I will finish this letter of instructions, for it is better for her in any contingency to know exactly how she stands, and then I will get some rest, of which I fancy I am more than usually in need.'
He drew the paper towards him again, and bending over the desk commenced writing earnestly. From time to time he paused in his occupation and stared earnestly before him, as though weighing certain matters in his mind before committing his thoughts to paper. At length, after about ten minutes' work, he came to the end of his task; and, having folded the letter, placed it into an envelope, and was about to return it to the drawer, when he suddenly stopped.
'No,' he muttered; 'in her present state of mind it is best to be prudent over such a matter as this. I will not leave it behind for her and tell her where it is; I will not give it to her myself, for she is but a woman, and her woman's curiosity might impel her to open it at once, and that would certainly impose a scene between us; I will send it to her to-morrow by Warren. Helen will not come down to the wharf; Warren is sure to be there to see me off, and I will send the letter to her by him. I have only him to trust to for seeing after her while I am away, and this little commission will break the ice between them, and show her to him--though he has never properly valued her--in colours that must compel him to acknowledge her the perfect wife she is.'
So saying, he sealed the letter and deposited it in his pocket-book, after restoring which to his breast he continued his musing.
'What a wonderful stroke of luck for me, situated as I am, to have made such a friend as Trenton Warren! He will be indispensable to Helen, and to me as the means of communication with her. I must get all her letters through him, for I could never make her simple heart and unbusiness-like head comprehend the necessity for my taking a false name in England. She would be frightened at the mere idea, and she must never know it. This necessity alone would oblige me to endeavour to establish thoroughly good relations between Helen and Trenton Warren before I sail to-morrow.'
'Before I sail to-morrow.' The words turned his mind into a new train of thought. Absorbed, he let his chin recline upon his breast, and did not notice Helen's entrance at the other end of the supper-room. She was clad in a loose dressing-gown and looked lovely, with her hair hanging around her shoulders.
When she had progressed halfway up the room, her eyes were attracted by something shining on the ground just in front of her. Stooping and picking the object up, she found it to be a portion of a sleeve-link, an engraved cameo in a gold setting; the gold work had been twisted and broken under the feet of the throng. All this Helen saw at a glance; but placing it in the pocket of her dressing-gown, she thought no more of it, and entered the library to join her husband.
CHAPTER III.
THE SHADOW OF PARTING.
So absorbed was Alston in his rumination, that it was not until he felt Helen's gentle touch upon his shoulder that he was aware of her presence.
'Has my melancholy been infectious?' said she, bending tenderly over him, and bringing her face close to his. 'Is it possible that what I said about your going could have turned your thoughts in the same direction?'
'Not at all,' said he, with a half smile; 'my thoughts were of quite another kind. I was thinking--'
'Hush!' she said, laying her little hand softly on his lips. 'Don't say you were thinking of business; that hated rival displaces me in your mind far too much as it is, but to give up to it such moments as these would be sacrilege. I will be your sole consideration now, until--until--'
'Until the end of my life,' said Alston, passing his arm tenderly round her; 'and your jealousy of my absence and all those connected with it is a mere pretence, a playful pastime, as you very well know.'
'Let us settle it so,' said Helen, 'and quit the subject. Meanwhile,' she said, taking from her pocket a morocco case, 'I have a present for you, Alston, and one,' placing it in his hand, 'which I think you will like.'
He opened it, and saw gleaming on the blue velvet a plain but costly gold hunting-watch.
'Thanks, dearest one,' he said, taking it in his hand and looking tenderly up at her. 'I shall like it, because, by its aid, I shall check off every hour that brings me nearer to my home and to you.'
'Why, Alston,' said Helen, laying her hand tenderly on his, 'do you know that is quite a poetical sentence? I fear your reputation as a practical man would be lost for ever if it were known in Wall-street that you had given utterance to such a remark. But,' she added, taking the watch from him, 'it will have, I trust, a still stronger value in your eyes.'
She touched a spring, and the back flying open revealed an admirably executed coloured photograph, a likeness of herself; underneath was engraved the date, 'February 20th, 1871.'
'O, how glorious!' said Alston Griswold, with surprise. 'It is a wonderful likeness,' said he, after a little pause, during which he had been looking fondly at the picture; 'somewhat too sad and serious, perhaps, for my Helen.'
'It reflects the shadow of parting which hung over your Helen at the time it was taken, as the engraved date underneath will never cease to remind you; you see it, Alston, the one dark day in our married life.'
'You shall regard it in a very different light, dear one,' said her husband; 'you shall learn to look upon it as the day on which your husband entered into an undertaking by which his fortune was perfected, and he was left freed from the cares of business to devote the remainder of his existence to his wife and his home.'
'God grant it!' said Helen fervently. 'Each time that you look upon that picture, Alston, think upon what you have said just now, and come what may, make up your mind not to leave me alone again.'
'You speak of being alone, dear, as though you were on a desolate island, instead of in New York, surrounded by troops of friends.'
'I am always alone when I am without you; and as to friends, I am not sanguine as to their taking much interest in our affairs, or helping me to smooth any difficulties which may arise in my path.'
'There is one, at least, among them of whom you must not speak so lightly,' said Alston in a grave voice; 'one who has already been tried and proved himself in the highest degree trustworthy, and in whom my confidence is such that I am about to ask him for further proof of his friendship.'
Helen's glance shifted instantly from her husband's face and dropped upon the ground. She knew instinctively to whom he was alluding. Should she in that last moment give utterance to her detestation and distrust? Should she implore Alston to authorise her to deny herself to Mr. Warren, and entreat him to select some other friend as his agent in the transaction of any business which might be necessary between them? She paused for an instant in reflection. What reason could she give for such a course of action? What real and tangible ground of complaint had she against this man? None at all. A vague dislike, an undefined suspicion, were all she could bring forward; and these her husband's practical common sense would induce him, with all his love for her, to reject at once.
'I am glad that we possess such a friend, Alston,' said Helen, after a pause. 'I say "we," because, allied as we are, not merely formally but in heart, without the smallest shade of division between us, this mysterious unknown could not be your friend without, as it seems to me, being mine.'
'There is no mystery about me, dear one,' said Alston, 'for I am speaking of Trenton Warren; and as to his being your friend, he would only too gladly prove himself if you would give him greater opportunity of so doing.'
'Greater opportunity, Alston!' she cried. 'Have I then been remiss in--'
'Remiss in nothing which concerns the duties of a wife,' said he tenderly; 'only I thought I had noticed--it may have been imagination--that there was a certain coldness and avoidance in your manner towards Warren. He is himself somewhat of my temperament, Helen, engrossed in business, unaccustomed to make the polite advances common in society, and liable to take flight immediately if he did not find his attentions appreciated.'
The bitter word rose in Helen's mouth as she listened. 'I am sorry that Mr. Warren,' she commenced, and then better reflection came to her aid, and she broke off that sentence. 'I will not have you compare Mr. Warren to yourself,' she resumed, 'for there is no one like you in the world; but I have no doubt that Mr. Warren means very well, and I certainly had no intention of snubbing him, as you seem to fancy I have done.'
'That is spoken like my own true little wife,' said Alston. 'Then depend upon it,' he added, assuming an important air, which, under other circumstances, Helen would have found amusing, 'depend upon it that the knowledge of human nature which I possess would prevent my forming an intimate alliance with one who was not worthy of it, and I want you and Trenton Warren to be the best of friends. It will be the greatest comfort to me during my absence to know that I have left you in the charge of one who is worthy of the thorough confidence which we both equally place in him.'
'You--you are going to leave me in Mr. Warren's charge, Alston?'
'Why, Helen,' replied her husband, with a laugh, 'you speak as though you were a trembling captive and he a terrific gaoler into whose custody I was about to deliver you. When I say take charge, I mean simply this. During my absence it will be necessary that there should be some one to whom you can refer in any ordinary matters of your daily life, whom you can call into your council, and by whose decision you shall abide at any special crisis which that dear, unbusiness-like little brain might find itself unable to grapple with. For this confidential position there is no one so fitted as Trenton Warren. He knows both my private and my business affairs, has a cool clear head, and on more than one occasion has shown his devotion to my service. I have told him what is wanted of him, and he will accept the charge.'
Should she speak then? Should she seize what might be the last opportunity of declaring to him the dread, strong yet undefinable, which lay so heavy on her soul? Should she brave the chances of his raillery, his annoyance, even of his anger, by imploring him not to leave her in this man's power, not to give him any control whatsoever over her actions, avowing at the same time frankly that, while she suspected Trenton Warren of deceit and double dealing, she could give no reason but that internal consciousness which, however powerful in its operations, had no practical value.
No, she would not do this; she would not send him forth on that desolate journey amongst strangers with any doubt or distrust at his heart. Better for her to bear whatever unpleasantness there might be in her relations with this man rather than perplex her husband during his absence with an additional source of anxiety. So she looked at him with a soft smile and said:
'It will doubtless be all right, Alston; and Mr. Warren and I shall get on very well together. I suppose I have formed an exaggerated idea of the horrors of this absence of yours. Mrs. Hotchkins, whose husband is so frequently called over to the other side, says that the time slips away without one's noticing it; and that she is quite surprised when she hears the vessel bringing him is telegraphed at Sandy Hook. I don't think surprise is exactly the phrase which will express my feelings when I get that welcome news.'
'No, my love; but, then, you are not Mrs. Hotchkins. Nor have I, I hope, much in common with the eminent dry-goods man. But she is right, I daresay, as regards the quick passing of the time.'
'I suppose I shall hear from you constantly, Alston?'
'Certainly, dearest; by every mail.
'And I suppose,' she said, glancing up at him with a demure look, 'that you will wish me to write to you occasionally?'
'Occasionally!' he cried. 'You must let me hear from you equally constantly. And, by the way, I have something to say to you about that--'
He checked himself just in time. He was on the point of explaining to her the arrangement he had made that all her letters to him should be sent under cover to Warren, but he thought it better to keep silence. Her simple nature never would understand the business necessity which induced him to adopt another name during his stay in England, in order that the nature and extent of his operations might not become known in Wall-street, and thus influence the position of certain transactions in which he was already known to be deeply engaged. Her trust in him he flattered himself, was beyond question; but as he had never suffered her to have the slightest knowledge of business matters (with which indeed she had shown no inclination to meddle), she could not be supposed to comprehend that what he intended to do was what was constantly done for the purpose of preventing one's rivals from getting a trade advantage, but would look upon it as a deception which no honourable man ought, under any circumstances, to permit himself to practise.
Alston Griswold then made up his mind that he would not intrust his wife with this part of his intentions on the spot, but would send her word of it only by the letter of instructions which he had already written, and which, on the eve of his departure and well on board the ship, he would give to Warren to take to her. Warren was aware of and approved of his project of taking a false name; and Warren's judgment was, in Alston's eyes, indisputable. He would defer letting Helen know about it until he was safely out of reach of objection.
'You said you had something to say to me about that,' said Helen, recalling him to the conversation; 'you seem to have fallen into a reverie.'
'It was but a temporary one, dearest, and is immediately dispelled by the sound of your voice,' said Alston Griswold, rousing himself. 'We were talking about your letters to me, and what I want to say to you is this, that you must write every day.'
'Every day!' cried Helen, in astonishment. 'There is not a mail every day, Alston; you would receive several by the same post, and find quite a jumble of news.'
'Nevertheless, you must write every day,' he said with a smile, 'though what you write need not be posted; and as to letters, I do not intend you to send me letters at all; I intend you to keep a diary.'
'A diary!' she echoed; 'I never did such a thing in my life. I have begun a dozen, kept them up bravely for the first day or two, forgotten them for a week, and then descended into a series of entries "nothing particular."'
Griswold laughed. 'That was because you had other things to engross your mind; now I hope your diary will be your one absorbing topic. It will be the sole record I shall ever see of your daily life, which, though absent, I hope and know I shall in a certain sense fill, and it therefore must be all-interesting and all-important to me.'
'You have thoroughly studied my weak points, Alston,' said Helen, with a smile, 'and know that that is an argument that I cannot withstand--the journal shall be kept.'
'Kept from day to day, copiously and full of detail,' said her husband; 'do not omit anything because you may think it trivial or uninteresting; the trivialities are probably what will interest me most. Let me be able to follow your life from day to day through all the familiar hours of it, and thus endeavour to cheat myself out of the sense of separation.'
As he spoke these last words, he bent down, and encircling her with his arms, pressed her to his heart. 'Now let us go and see the child,' he said--'my little unconscious rival. If she had not existed, you would have accompanied me on this trip to the old country, and I consider myself exceedingly generous in still retaining my affection for her.'
The Cuba was advertised to sail at three P.M., but early the next morning the house in Fifth-avenue was astir, and with all the bustle and confusion occasioned by its master's impending departure. Huge boxes, packages of coats and rugs and piles of clothing, removed from drawers and submitted to inspection before being packed, lumbered up the passage; heterogeneous articles, from paper parcels up to portmanteaus, were continually arriving, their bearers bringing with them little notes, the writers of which expressed their hope that they were not giving their friend too much trouble in asking him 'just to take this across with him;' friends who lived in the neighbourhood, and did not care to take the trouble of going down to the ship, dropped in to say good-bye, and were found wandering all over the house in search of its owner.
And in the midst of all this confusion and all this crowd, Helen drifted purposelessly about, spoken to by everybody, but scarcely comprehending what was said to her, and when replies were desired, answered them vaguely, her eyes filled with tears, her heart sinking more and more within her as she watched the hand creeping round the dial, and bringing nearer and nearer the hour at which her husband was to start.
It had been originally intended that she should accompany Alston to the ship and take leave of him on board, but she had abandoned that idea. It would have been impossible for her, she felt, to have maintained her calmness at such a moment, and for his sake, as well as for her own, she determined on not making the attempt.
And now the time had come! She saw it in his face as he slowly made his way up the stairs to where she stood in the doorway of her boudoir--her own room where they had spent such happy times, and from the wall of which his portrait was even then looking at her with something of a sad expression.
Alston took her by the hand and drew her gently into the room, closing the door behind him.
'The carriage is at the door, darling,' he said in broken tones, 'and I have not given myself much more than time to get across to the Cunard wharf. For both our sakes let us make this scene of parting as short as possible. My darling, my own heart's darling, God bless and protect you! Recollect the diary; let it be begun tomorrow and write it fully and freely. Once more, my own one, farewell!'
He held her yielding form to his heart, pressed one long, long kiss upon her lips, and was gone.
When the carriage drove into the yard of the Cunard wharf in Jersey City, Alston Griswold saw at a glance that half New York had come to see him off. He had caught sight of several friends on board the ferry-boat, but had no idea of their real number until they clustered round him as he alighted. Wall-street, of course, was well represented. There was Uncle Dick, rubicund and genial, smacking his lips as though the flavour of the terrapin which he had eaten for luncheon at the corner of Chambers-street still hung about his palate; and at his elbow, of course, was bright-eyed handsome Billy Barstow, with his hand on every one's shoulder, and his rich voice proclaiming every one to be his 'dear old boy,' ready, not merely by word, but in deed, to do universal kindness. And there was Alf Macgregor, the banker, whom no amount of American citizenship could deprive of his keen honest Scottish look and sharp incisive accent, and Willersheim and SchÖnbrunn, and all the Hebraic-German clique, and scores of others, to many of whom Alston Griswold had 'done a good turn,' and all of whom wished him well.
There was to be a final drink--a parting bumper of champagne--in the saloon, and, followed by the enthusiastic crowd, Alston made his way on board. But first he took a look at the chief-steward's cabin, which had been retained for his use, and which he found literally overflowing with baskets of flowers and floral offerings in pretty and quaint devices. Some of these were anonymous tributes, others bore the owners' cards; but there was one on which his eye at once rested--a large circular basket of primroses, with, in its centre, made of the freshest and choicest violets, 'Come back.' It did not give Alston Griswold much trouble to know who was the donor of that basket, or how fervent was the prayer expressed in that gift. This thought was put to flight by the arrival of Billy Barstow, who came to inform Alston that the champagne was ready in the saloon and that he alone was waited for.
'Give him two minutes with me first,' said Trenton Warren, suddenly looking over Barstow's shoulder. 'I want to speak to him on business, Billy, and I will then hand him over safely to you convivial boys.'
'I was looking anxiously for you, Trenton,' said Griswold, when Barstow had retired; 'I want, as you know, to make you the recipient of my last words. Here,' taking it from his pocket and handing it to his friend, is the final letter of instructions for Helen, telling her, among other matters, that her letters are to come to me under cover from you. 'I count upon you to place this in her hands yourself.'
'You may rely upon my doing so,' said Warren.
'And at once, if you please,' said Griswold.
'By at once you mean to-day,' said Warren. 'Have you told Mrs. Griswold to expect a visit from me?'
'No, I have not; but that need make no difference, you know.'
'Of course not,' said Warren. 'Anything more?'
'Yes,' said Griswold, taking a slip of paper from his pocket, 'the name under which I propose to pass in England.'
Warren took the paper and glanced at it.
'All right,' he said, with a smile, 'that will do very well; not remarkable and yet not suspiciously common for a man doing big business--we consider it adopted. Now we must hurry to the saloon, the time is just up.'
The saloon was reached, the God-speed toast was drunk with all the honours, Warren and the New Yorkers returned to the shore, and the big ship noiselessly and almost invisibly headed into the stream and stood away upon her ocean voyage cheerily, cheerily.
'He had not warned her that I should come to-day,' said Trenton Warren to himself, as he landed from the ferry at Desbrosses-street, 'so that I shall not attempt to intrude upon her grief. The delivery of the letter will do very well to-morrow, and will give me a night during which to deliberate on my plan of action.'
The next day about noon Trenton Warren called at the house in Fifth-avenue, and was told by the servant that Mrs. Griswold was not well enough to receive visitors.
'Take her this card, if you please,' he said quietly, 'and tell her that I am the bearer of a message from Mr. Griswold.'
In a few minutes the servant returned.
'Walk this way, if you please,' she said; 'Mrs. Griswold will see you.' And muttering to himself, 'I thought so,' Trenton Warren marched onward to the assault.
CHAPTER IV.
HELEN'S DIARY.
'I am to write my letters to him, Alston says, in the form of a journal, so that when I send them off each week, he may be able "to follow my life from day to day through all the familiar hours of it, and so to cheat himself out of the sense of separation." These are Alston's words, not mine; I have it not in me to think these thoughts, and so the words would not come.
'And why, I wonder? Am I a heartless woman, or ungrateful, or only commonplace, and unable to understand the way in which things present themselves to Alston? At all events, it will do me no good to think about myself; I shall come to no better liking for myself, to no clearer conclusion about myself, by questions of this kind. If I cannot quite understand him, I can at least perfectly obey him, and, please God, I will do that, as I have always done it; and as he has said I am to keep a journal, I will keep a journal. So I begin it thus, in an irregular and unskilful fashion, no doubt, but with the utmost sincerity of intention to write in it everything which can interest him (according to his scale and meaning of interest, not of my own), on the very day after his departure.
'As I know that nothing can be regularly done which is not done at a set hour, I will begin my journal with a rule for the writing of it. It is to be for Alston; it is to be his share in the day during his absence, and it shall be done during that hour when I was always with him, just before I went up-stairs to see baby fast asleep, and to go to bed myself; after every one was gone, when we had company at home; when we had returned, if we had been out, and when we compared notes of our impressions of the place and the people. In Alston's room, at Alston's desk, my letter-journal shall be written, and it may be I shall get over the shyness and the discomfort with which the notion of writing to him inspires me now, in the custom and familiarity of the time, and be able to persuade myself that I am only talking to him.
'This, of course, is not beginning; this is only a little rehearsal, what the jockeys call "a preliminary canter;" I shall start properly by and by. It is rather odd, when I come to think of it, that I have never written to Alston in my life, beyond one or two mere notes just before we married; and he found fault with them, and said they were stiff and formal, and such as I might have written to my writing-master, to show him how I had profited by his instructions, and how attentively I looked to my downstrokes and my loops. I remember thinking that though Alston said this in jest he was very nearly right, for I had made three or four fair copies of each note before I sent it, which was only my foolish girl's notion of respect for Alston after all, for I am sure I never copied out anything I ever wrote to Thornton in my life, but just sent it as it was, dashed off anyhow. This makes it all the more difficult to write to Alston now, and in journal form too; it is commencing a new correspondence and learning a new art.
'I have never written down any of the things that have happened to me; I have just let them slip by as if they were things in a picture or in a dream, and I am a good way on in my life now--a wife and a mother, to say nothing at all of my girlhood and the story that was in it, only a simple story, but the kind of thing women, I should think, remember always, and I suppose and hope it will be a simple story now until the end, until Alston and I shall bid baby good-bye in this world.
'And I hope that day will come for me before it comes for Alston, for I cannot imagine what I should do with or for baby without him. He says I am not a helpless but a useful woman, and could stand alone as well as the avowedly "strong" ones if I had to do it; but, I don't know, I think Alston is wrong; I fancy the only bit of strength I have about me is the power of hiding my weakness--well, there's some defence in that, after all. But O, the pain of knowing oneself to be a coward! the pain of feeling as I feel this horrid presentiment of evil in Alston's journey to England, of not being able to hide it quite . and to make the going, which he feels so much, a little easier to him!
'But this talking to myself is not beginning my journal. It is really very difficult to write the everyday history of one's life in a disjointed unpremeditated way. Here have I been sitting for the last twenty minutes staring at the paper, and not writing a line. I cannot bring myself before myself, as it were--something to be described and set down in black and white.
'What have I to tell Alston, except that I am writing in my room quite early in the morning--not as I intend to write in future, when all the house is quiet, and baby is still fast asleep? I could not sleep last night for loneliness and trouble, and this haunting something, which is not presentiment, I suppose, but merely nervousness, and which I must put down with resolution if I am to be cheerful and useful. This order of Dr. Benedict, that I am to give up nursing baby, is troubling me. I feel that he is right; I am not equal to it, and I should harm the child and myself; and yet I hate the very idea of putting a strange woman in my own place--a strange woman, just picked up by an advertisement! If this is to be my journal, it will be nothing but a list of grievances. Sometimes, ungrateful woman that I am, I think life is not much more.
'A happy idea has just occurred to me. Suppose I write my journal in a retrospective sense? Suppose I bring myself before myself as I was, and thus make it easier to take up the history of myself as I am? All the earlier portion will be for myself; and when I come abreast of the present time, I will write it for Alston.
'The notion pleases me; I had almost forgotten myself as I was, and now I shall live within my own sight over again. I have bought such a pretty book, in vellum binding, with gilded leaves and lock, and in that I am going to write the story of my childhood and my girlhood, for no eyes but my own--and Thornton's when I am dead, if he lives longer than I do, as Heaven grant he may--he, too, as well as Alston. I will shut myself up; I will see no one. I will work hard, and by this day week I shall have written up to the present and done my letter so as to mail it to Europe.'
Into her pretty book, in vellum binding, with gilded leaves and lock, Mrs. Alston Griswold pasted the foregoing prefatory pages; and then settled herself seriously to her task, and wrote as follows:
'My life commenced with the greatest misfortune which can signalise the beginning of any existence: My mother died shortly after my birth. How much more I should have had to remember, how many more pleasures, how much happiness, if I had ever been to any one what baby is to me! Every one was very kind to me, and I was a happy child; but there was nothing very particular in my childhood except about my going to school, and that is particular, because it brought Thornton and me together and did away with my loneliness. For I certainly was lonely when father was away at the Mills all day, and aunt Catherine busy all day long about the house, evidently finding me very much in the way, and so glad when papa sent me to bed early, and she could have those long talks with him, which, I felt certain, made papa so depressed and melancholy next day.
'If I were writing a novel now, and had to draw a picture of home--Holland Mills was its commonplace name--I wonder could I make it all picturesque and interesting? I don't think I could; and yet the long low green and white house was pretty--and the fields, the orchards, the river, were all beautiful to me. I could describe every part of the road between the Mills and the minister's house, Thornton's home--for Thornton's father was our minister, and his mother was our school-madam; but the minister did the most of the teaching.
'My place was beside Thornton on the very first day when aunt Catherine took me to school, and he became my friend and protector, and I his plague and oppressor, from that instant. What patience he had with me! and how naughty I was! I was a pretty child, and always very trim and neat: aunt Catherine never would have tolerated any untidiness or disorderly ways, and I regarded Thornton's plain features, much too large for his narrow face, and his untidy clothes, worn anyhow and much patched and darned, with great contempt. But Thornton soon made me ashamed of such a feeling. He helped me with my tasks, he even did some of them for me; he taught me to feel a moderate degree of interest in the subjects of our studies, in which he repeatedly shot far beyond me; he got me out of scrapes, and kept me out of mischief; he defended me against my adversaries, fought and punished them; he saved the life of my little dog, when it was drowning in the millstream, at the risk of his own (poor little Taffy! she is stuffed and under a glass case in Alston's study; and that is more of Alston's kindness to me, for I am sure he does not like her, and she isn't naturally done); he stole apples for me, and he lent me his own skates in the ice-season, when aunt Catherine would not hear of my having a pair.
'I put these foolish-sounding trifling things down because I want to bring back to myself the assurance that Thornton was always like a brother to me.
'The first thing that I can remember as troubling the busy tranquillity of my school life was my coming to understand why aunt Catherine and papa always had so much to talk about, and why the talking never did them any good. I was growing up into a staid little person, as Alston says I am now, when the word "difficulties" began to be familiar to me. It never has the sad and hopeless meaning in America that it has in the old countries of Europe, I am told; but "difficulties" are not easy or pleasant anywhere, and papa was not a man to bear them well. He gave way very much, and I used to tell Thornton about it, and he and I used to consult together and discuss what could be done.