Isabel Leicester
C >>
Clotilda Jennings >> Isabel Leicester
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 | 4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14
Lady Ashton had noticed that her nephew, The Honorable Arthur Barrington
was very attentive to Miss Leicester, this raised her ire, and she was
determined to prevent it--she resolved to put a stop to it, so seeing
him seated next Isabel at dinner, she asked her across the table how her
little pupils were when she left them, and if Mrs. Arlington had granted
extra holidays, as she could scarcely get back by the end of the usual
Xmas vacation."
Isabel grew scarlet as she replied "that they were quite well when she
left them, and that she did not return until the first of February."
Lady Ashton was gratified to see that she was successful so far. Isabel
was no longer the same attentive listener to all Arthur's stories of
marvellous adventures, (for she was both hurt and angry, as the question
was evidently intended to annoy--for as Emily had come to Eastwood with
the Ashtons, Lady Ashton had later intelligence from Elm Grove than she
could possibly give) and Arthur finding her pre-occupied, transferred
his attention to Mabel Ainsley, so that Isabel was left to the mercy of
a queer old gentleman who sat next her on the other side, who was
exceedingly deaf, and stuttered dreadfully. Nor did Lady Ashton's
evident satisfaction tend to make her feel more at ease, so that she was
heartily glad when this to her most tedious dinner was over. But she had
a worse attack to endure, for when the ladies reached the drawing-room,
Lady Ashton said in the most annoying tone, "I should not have mentioned
your pupils if I had had any idea that you would have been so painfully
affected by my doing so, at the same time rest assured my dear Miss
Leicester----."
"Pray don't mention it Lady Ashton," replied Isabel coldly, "any apology
is quite unnecessary."
"You mistake my meaning Miss Leicester," replied Lady Ashton stiffly,
"I am not aware of having anything to apologize for," she added with a
contemptuous little laugh, "I was about to say" she continued, "that the
sooner you overcome this feeling the better. You ought not to be ashamed
of earning an honest living----."
"Nor am I ashamed of it," replied Isabel with dignity, "at least I hope
not."
"I am glad that you qualify your denial, as your crimson cheeks both now
and during dinner are ample proof that I am right. But (as I was about
to say, when you interrupted me so rudely) from my observations,
I thought it high time that Mr. Barrington should be reminded of your
position, as I know that his father would never allow him to marry a
governess, of course it is no disgrace to be a governess, still, it is
not from that class of persons that Arthur should choose a wife."
"I'm afraid that you have taken unnecessary trouble, Lady Ashton,"
returned Isabel, "I am convinced that my position is of no consequence
to Mr. Barrington, any more than his is to me. I assure you that you
have made a great mistake."
"It is nonsense for a girl in your circumstances to pretend such
indifference, I am not deceived, I know that you would be only too glad
to make such a match, and he is just foolish enough to take a fancy to a
pretty face. But I warn you not to encourage him, as it will only end in
misery to you both, as Lord Barrington would never consent."
"Really, Lady Ashton, I do not know what right you have to insult me in
this manner, I cannot permit it," said Isabel, and then with dignified
composure she crossed the room to Ada, who was scarcely less annoyed
than herself, at Lady Ashton's unprovoked attack.
This little scene had afforded no little amusement to the party
generally, tho' all agreed that it was too bad of Lady Ashton, and very
ill-natured.
Lady Ashton, however, had miscalculated the effect of the course she had
pursued, for Arthur Barrington was annoyed at her interference, and
being really good-natured he was even more than ever attentive to
Isabel, and endeavored as much as possible to atone for his aunt's
disagreeable behaviour, while Isabel (being convinced that Lady Ashton
had nothing to warrant her conjecture, but her own surmises,) made no
alteration in her manners. She found him a very agreeable companion, and
imagined that he too found her society pleasant, as indeed he did,
beautiful, accomplished, and good-natured, how could she be otherwise
than attractive. But Lady Ashton's chagrin knew no bounds, and she told
Isabel that she should certainly let Mrs. Arlington know how very unfit
a person she was to have the care of her daughters. She had always been
surprised at her having such a very young person, but she had heard that
it was out of charity, but there was such a thing as carrying that much
abused virtue too far.
Stooping lower over her tatting, Isabel only smiled at the harmless
threat, for whatever her failings might be, Mrs. Arlington was not over
ready to believe evil of any one, and seldom did so without due cause.
Moreover, she was not easily influenced by others, and her decisions
were usually just. But the hot blood suffused her cheeks as Lady Ashton
concluded. Fortunately Lucy entered the room, and then her ladyship was
or appeared to be deeply engaged with her book, as having before been
worsted in a combat of sharp speeches with that young lady, she by no
means wished for a renewal of hostilities.
Isabel was invariably made low spirited by one of Lady Ashton's
ill-natured attacks, especially so to-day, as the insults she had
received were particularly painful, being both unfeeling and uncalled
for. However, upon retiring to her own room at night, she found upon the
dressing table a letter, the contents of which soon dispersed all gloomy
thoughts, and Lady Ashton's rudeness was quite forgotten.
Louis, her own dear Louis, wrote that he would return in the early
spring. My uncle he said, has or is about to purchase for me a practice
in H----, so that I trust dearest, the period of your teaching will not
be of long duration, as there will then be no cause to delay our union.
I already in perspective, seem to see you my own dearest, presiding over
my bright fireside in H----, the joy of my heart, and the good angel of
my home.
I trust that you have made no arrangement with Mrs. Arlington but such
as can easily terminate upon a short notice. I would not advise your
taking any steps at present, as my uncle does not say positively that
the purchase is absolutely made. But at all events you may depend upon
seeing me in the early spring, as I have his orders to return.
The darkest hour is just before dawn. She had been so truly wretched an
hour ago, and now how radiantly happy she was. Ah, with what sweet
visions of a bright unclouded future did she fall asleep, to dream of
her loved one far away, soon to be distant no longer.
When Isabel descended to the breakfast-room next morning, she looked so
bright and happy, that Lady Ashton could account for it in no other way
than that Arthur had proposed, and that she had accepted him, so she
taxed him with it accordingly. Arthur was excessively amused, and so
archly evaded giving a direct answer, that she became the more convinced
of the truth of her own surmises, and grew so wrathy that Arthur fearing
that in her anger she might annoy Miss Leicester, at length assured her
that she need be under no apprehension, as nothing was farther from his
thoughts.
CHAPTER VII.
"Oh, Isabel, mama says I may stay until the first, and then we can
return together, won't that be charming," said Emily, as she came into
Isabel's room on the following day, holding an open letter in her hand.
"You can't think how glad I am to escape the escort of that tiresome
Lady Ashton."
"I certainly should not imagine that she would make a very pleasant
travelling companion," returned Isabel, laughing. "Don't mention it
pray," exclaimed Emily, "you have no idea what I endured coming down.
Poor Charles, he must have been almost worried to death, she is such a
horrid tease, and the old gentleman too, is an awful fidget. I think
Arthur Barrington knew what he was about, when he refused to be of our
party, and went on by express. Talking of Lady Ashton, how abominably
she behaves to you. I was saying so to Harry the other day, and he
really seemed quite hurt about it. He said that he saw what she was at
the other day at dinner, and was very much annoyed. Then I told him that
was nothing to what took place afterwards, and related what she said to
you in the drawing room."
"Oh, Emily, how could you," exclaimed Isabel.
"Ah now don't be cross with me, Isabel, darling. I really couldn't
resist, it was so supremely absurd. Do you know, that that little goose,
Ada, cried her eyes out about it that night, and then in again next
morning." "I know that Ada was very much hurt at Lady Ashton's
rudeness," replied Isabel.
"I'm sure that I was as angry and annoyed as any of them, but for the
life of me I can't help laughing whenever I think of it. But confess
now, Isabel, are you not desperately in love with Arthur
Barrington--come tell the truth."
"Well, the truth is, no, most decidedly not," Isabel answered, laughing.
"Ah, now, I'm quite disappointed, for I had made up my mind to that
match, if only to aggravate Lady Ashton. She has no influence in that
quarter, as anyone may see; and he is so decidedly 'smitten."'
"What nonsense you talk, Emily."
"It is not nonsense. I assure you that I mean what I say. Ah, my dear,
you had better consider the matter. Second thoughts, you know, are
sometimes best. He is a very nice fellow, and his father is immensely
rich. You can have him if you choose: I am sharp enough to see that."
"But then you see I don't choose," returned Isabel, much amused.
"Besides, I think that you are quite mistaken."
"Oh, you silly Isabel, how can you be so provokingly stupid? By the bye,
what a little namby-pamby thing that Mabel Ainsley is. What Lucy can see
in her to like, passes my comprehension."
"I presume it must be because Lucy is so different, and then Mabel is so
pliant, which no doubt suits, as Lucy is fond of taking the lead."
"They say that likes go by contraries; but as far as my observations go,
it is seldom the case," observed Emily.
"A similarity of tastes and ideas is usually more attractive; but then,
'novelty's charming,' you know," responded Isabel.
"I do wish that we could get up a fancy ball--a private masquerade, you
know. I was speaking to Ada and Lucy about it last night. I said that I
would be night, and Lucy thought you ought to be morning."
"I hope they will give up the idea, as I really could not take part in
it," interrupted Isabel.
"Why not--what harm could there be? What makes you so fastidious,
Isabel?"
"It is not that, dear Emily;" but I have very painful associations
connected with a private masquerade, the only one that I ever went to.
That night poor papa received the sad news of his failure; and in the
midst of that gay scene, I received a summons to return, as my papa was
alarmingly ill, and scarcely expected to live through the night. He
never recovered, though he lingered for some weeks afterwards. Can you
wonder then, dear Emily, that even the idea of such a thing is painful
in the extreme?"
"I'm very sorry that I proposed it," returned Emily, much concerned.
"I will tell Ada what you say, and we will get up some other amusement:
so don't think any more about it, dear;" and giving Isabel a hasty kiss,
she left her.
The sixth was a bright, cloudless day--the dazzling whiteness of the
frozen snow, and the deep blue of the sky, forming a beautiful contrast.
The weather was cold, not intensely so, and the trees looked splendid,
as their ice-covered boughs glistened and sparkled in the sunlight; and
the merry jingle of the sleigh-bells was quite enlivening. The wedding
was quite a grand affair, and passed off with great _eclat_.
Charles and Ada were to travel for three weeks, and then join the
Ashtons and Morningtons at Boston, and proceed to the old country
together.
The Ashtons left Eastwood shortly after the wedding, to prepare for a
long absence from the Park; and from the time of Lady Ashton's
departure, Isabel's visit was one of uninterrupted enjoyment. She became
so cheerful and animated, that Emily declared they positively wouldn't
know her again at Elm Grove.
Harry was to remain at W----, to read up for the examination. He had
tried very hard to prevail upon his father to let him enter Mr.
Arlington's office, as in that way he could get on much better, he said,
as he would see a great deal of law business, and he could easily read
up in the evenings.
But his father only laughed. "Love-making would play the dickens with
the studies. You would be poring over your book, without knowing that it
was upside down. No, no. After you have 'passed,' you shall travel for a
year; and then I believe that I shall be able to get you a partnership
in H---- with my old school-fellow, Harding, who is a very clever
lawyer, and stands very high in his profession."
"But will you allow me sufficient to enable me to marry and take my wife
with me?" asked Harry.
"Upon my word! that is a modest request," replied his father.
Harry laughed.
"When I was young, young men expected to make their way in the world a
little before they talked of marrying," continued Mr. Mornington; but
you ask me as coolly as possible to give you enough to enable you and
your wife to travel, before you go into business at all, which I think
is pretty brassy. I wonder what my father would have thought if I had
made such a request. I honestly believe he would have thrashed me. But
as I said, things are different now-a-days." Harry grew very red during
this harangue, but wisely kept silent.
"Now, I'll tell you what my father did. He called me into his study one
morning. 'How old are you?' he asked. 'Fifteen, sir,' I replied proudly.
'Old enough to be better,' he retorted. 'Well, sir, as you are fifteen,
I consider that you are old enough to earn your own living. I have
procured you a situation in a wholesale grocery, where you will get a
hundred dollars a year. Now, as you will be away from home (for the firm
is in Washington), I will pay your board for the first year. After that,
you will get a rise in your salary; and from that time, you will have to
depend upon your own exertions, as I shall not help you any more. If you
are honest and steady, you get on. But if you will get into scrapes,
don't expect me to help you out." "Yes, sir," resumed Mr. Mornington,
"that was the way I began the world; and by the time I was twenty-three
(your age, Harry), I had acquired a good position in the firm, and a
promise of a future partnership. What do you think of that?"
"I think that if you had started me in the same manner, when I was
fifteen, that I should have done the same," replied Harry, with spirit.
"Then you think that you can't be blamed justly?"
"No, sir," returned Harry, respectfully.
"Well, I suppose that it has been all my own doing," resumed Mr.
Mornington. "But seriously, Harry, do you wish to give up law and become
one of the firm? Speak out, boy, there is no good in taking up a thing
if you have no heart for it."
"You mistake me altogether," interposed Harry, hastily. "I have not the
least wish to give up the law."
"So let it be then. And I agree to your request--provided that you
'pass' within a year."
"All right--thanks," returned Harry, thinking that he had made a capital
arrangement.
"I suppose," added his father, "that you will have to take the girls to
Elm Grove."
"Unless it interferes with the bargain," Harry began--
"Ha, ha!" laughed Mr. Mornington. "You will make a good lawyer yet,
I believe."
"I hope so," responded Harry, lighting his cigar.
On the first of February, they all set out for Boston, according to the
previous arrangement. On their arrival in that city, they found that
Charles and Ada had been there some days. Charles had received a
telegram, saying that the elder Ashtons would only get there an hour or
so before the steamer left.
The girls were delighted at this intelligence, as now there was nothing
to mar the happiness of the party during the few days that they would
spend together. Ada and Isabel were inseparable, and it was astonishing
how much Lucy and Emily had to say. Charles and Harry discussed their
future plans. Mr. Mornington had a great many people to see, and a great
deal of business to attend to, so that he was closely occupied, and had
scarcely a word for any one during meals, which was the only time he was
with them. And Mrs. Mornington's happiness seemed to consist in seeing
the young people enjoy themselves.
After the arrival of Sir John and Lady Ashton, with Miss Crosse and
Louisa, they all went on board the steamer; and when they had seen them
comfortably settled, Emily, Harry and Isabel, returned to the hotel, and
the next morning continued their journey to Elm Grove, where Mr.
Mornington had stipulated that Harry should stay no more than three
weeks--or it would interfere with the bargain.
CHAPTER VIII.
The Arlingtons had a grand ball in honor of Miss Arlington's
twenty-first birthday, which Rose said wasn't fair, as Everard didn't
have one on his. Mrs. Arlington, always celebrated for the taste and
elegance displayed at her parties, has almost surpassed all former
occasions in the magnificent arrangement of everything.
Isabel wore a plain white dress, and jet ornaments. A single flower
adorned her hair; and the usual, rather sad expression of her
countenance, was exchanged for one of greater animation. The excitement
of the occasion had given an unwonted glow to her cheeks. She did,
indeed, look lovely, as she stood engaged in lively conversation with
Emily, while they were waiting in the drawing-room to receive the
guests; and so Everard thought, who stood talking with his father, while
his eyes rested admiringly upon Isabel's sweet face.
After the greater part of the guests had arrived, and the dancing fairly
commenced, Isabel, who had been waltzing, returned to the drawing-room.
She was scarcely seated, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Louis
Taschereau enter. Oh, how her heart throbbed at the unexpected meeting!
Here was Louis, her own Louis, actually in the room. It was annoying,
that after being parted so long, they should first meet in a crowded
ball-room.--Never mind; she was only too glad to have him there. He
looked so well, so bright and happy, as he made his way through the
crowd, with the proud bearing and haughty mien in which she delighted.
How long would it be before he reached her?--Oh, that the room were
smaller, or that she had been nearer the door. It seemed an age while he
was shaking hands with Mrs. Arlington. But who is that pretty girl on
his arm? Could it be his cousin Marie? He has taken her to a seat, and
is moving down the room. The hot blood rushed to her cheeks. Someone
asked her to dance. "Oh, not yet," she replied, scarcely heeding who it
was that asked her. Louis sees her, and is coming towards her. How her
heart bounded, her joy and happiness was so great. She hid her glowing
face behind her fan, to conceal her confusion. Another moment and he was
by her side, greeting her cordially. "Oh, Louis," and she smiled upon
him, O so sweetly. "You did not expect to see me to-night," he said,
looking very contented and triumphant. But there was something in the
expression of his face which she did not like--something that seemed to
freeze up all the warmth of her feelings in an instant. Was it that he
thought she was too ready to show what she felt, with so many present
who might observe any unusual degree of pleasure on her part. Oh, surely
not, for she had been so careful--as careful as it was in human nature
to be.
"Was that your cousin," she asked, "that you brought with you?"
"No! that--is--my wife--" he said, with a look of triumph.
"Your wife! Why, what do you mean?" she inquired, thinking he was
jesting.
"Just what I say," he replied. Then, with insufferable insolence, he
hissed in her ear, "Louis Taschereau never forgives."
"Indeed," she answered, assuming an air of indifference that surprised
even herself; for she had felt the hot, indignant blood, coursing
through her veins.
"Really," he said, with cool effrontery, "that assumption of
indifference is sublime. But I am not deceived," he continued, with a
scornful laugh; "my revenge is most complete, my plans have been
entirely successful," and making her a low bow, he retired. And Isabel
was left to her own thoughts. But this would not do; she must not--dare
not--think; she must have excitement until she could be quite alone.
Fortunately, Harry now claimed her as his partner. "Oh, Harry," she
said, "I am so tired of sitting here."
"Why, I asked you for the last dance, and you wouldn't come," answered
Harry, laughing.
"I didn't think it would have lasted so long," she returned.
"Do you know that Louis is here?" he inquired.
"Yes."
"Don't you think his wife pretty?"
"Very."
Harry knew that Louis had always been a favorite with Isabel, but the
remotest idea of the real state of the case never for a moment occured
to him.
When the dance was over, they went out on the glass extension room.
Presently Harry said abruptly:
"Isabel, I really thought that you would have been Mrs. Taschereau."
"Harry!"
"I did, indeed."
"Harry, don't," she said imploringly.
Just then Everard and Emily came in, and at the next dance they
exchanged partners. As they passed under the hall lamp, Everard remarked
the extreme palor of her countenance. "You are ill, Miss Leicester," he
said. You should not have remained so long in that cold place. Let me
get you a glass of wine."
"Oh no, thanks. I shall soon get warm with dancing."
"I don't think that you should attempt this galop. You look too ill;
indeed you do."
"I intend to dance it, Mr. Arlington; but if you do not wish too, I can
have another partner." Everard looked so sad and reproachful as she said
this, that she felt sorry for the hasty words. She knew they had been
harsh, and he had said nothing but what was kind--nothing to deserve
anything so severe. But then she dare not sit during a single dance; she
could not, would not, rest a moment. She was making a great effort to
'keep up,' and it was only by a continual struggle that she could
succeed. However, Everard had no more cause for uneasiness on account of
her looking ill, as they had scarcely entered the ball-room before her
brilliant color had returned. Isabel was decidedly the belle of the
evening; and for this, Grace Arlington never forgave her. Everard saw
that Isabel's gaiety was assumed, and he would have given much to know
the cause. Harry was not so keen an observer, and only thought how much
she was enjoying herself, and how much he had been mistaken in thinking
that she cared anything about Louis.
Oh the weary, weary length of that dreadful evening. Isabel thought that
it would never end. But she kept up splendidly. Once she unexpectedly
found Louis her _vis a vis_--then came the master-piece of the evening.
She looked superb, as with graceful dignity she glided through the
quadrille. She avoided touching his hand, except when it was inevitable;
but she did it so naturally, that to others it did not appear
premeditated. He spoke to her, but she passed on as though she did not
hear. Once again, before the dance was ended, he ventured to address
her; but she replied with grave dignity, "We must meet as strangers:
henceforth I shall not know you, Dr. Taschereau."
Louis foamed with rage at the cool contempt conveyed in these words.
He ground his teeth, and swore to be revenged. At last the guests all
departed, and Harry too had taken leave (for as this was his last day at
Elm Grove, he was going by the three o'clock train to keep his promise,
for Harry was very strict, and would not have remained another day on
any pretext). Then Isabel had to listen to the praises bestowed on her
by all the Arlington family, who complimented her upon the sensation
she had made, and to force herself to join in an animated conversation
regarding the events of the evening; so that she was truly glad when Mr.
Arlington dismissed the 'conclave,' saying that they could discuss the
party next day.
When Isabel gained her own room, and sat down to think of her trouble,
she began to realize the full extent of her misery. She had scarcely
known 'till now, how much his love had supported her through all her
trials; or how the thought of one day being his, had softened the ills
she had been called upon to endure since her father's death. Now she
must think of him no more--he was hers no longer. But worse than this,
was the pain and grief of knowing that he was unworthy of the love and
admiration that she had bestowed upon him. She knew that he was proud,
passionate and exacting, yet she loved him; for these very
characteristics, mingled as they were with more endearing qualities, had
a peculiar charm for her. How happy she had been to feel that he loved
her; and oh! the pain, the agony, of knowing that he did so no longer.
Why, why had he written that letter? Oh it was cruel, cruel. And then
to think that it had all been planned, premeditated, with the express
design of making her suffer more acutely, was bitter in the extreme. To
lose his love was misery; but to know that he was deceitful, cruel and
revengeful, was agony beyond endurance. She did not weep: her grief was
too stony for tears. "Oh, Louis, Louis," she moaned in her agony, "what
have I done, to deserve such cruel treatment?" She leaned her head upon
her arm, and pressed her hand upon her throbbing temples, for the tumult
of her thoughts became intolerable. She pictured to herself Louis, as
she loved to see him; old scenes recurred to her mind, and the days when
she had been so happy in his love--nor had a wish beyond. Even this very
night, how inexpressibly happy had it made her to see him in the room.
And oh, to have all her dreams of happiness crushed in a moment. Again
she thought how different it might have been had he been faithful and
true; but he was false--he did not love her, and what had she to live
for now? A sense of oppression, which almost amounted to suffocation,
distressed her, until at length a fearful sensation of choking forced
her to rise to get some water; but ere she could do so, a crimson stream
flowed from her mouth, down her white dress, and she fell upon the
floor.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 | 4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14