Imatges de pàgina
PDF
EPUB

"My dear," Mrs. Granger said, very sweetly, but very decidedly, "I quite understand how difficult your position is. Of course it is proper for members of a family such as ours to stand by each other, and resent any outside affront; but there are times when such a course does us more harm than good. In this case we must positively put it aside. In the first place, nobody here knows of the trouble but ourselves, so no remarks can be made. I own, if we lived in New Orleans, we could not receive Mr. Burkmar without awkwardness. In the second place, he was undoubtedly in the right. My brother-in-law was a very irascible man, and he had the faculty of assuming a manner of unparalleled insolence. Of course I know and respect his virtues. I was very much attached to poor Moulton. Then he had an idea on first meeting Mr. Burkmar that he was a mechanic, and an abolitionist, two things which inflamed him beyond all self-control. Mr. Burkmar is not a mechanic, though his talents are for the physical sciences, and his invention is one of common use. At their first meeting, Moulton, without inquiring if his impressions were correct, spoke in the most insulting manner. It was not in human nature to endure it. Mr. Burkmar retorted, and with a good deal of spirit. He has said to me that he regrets he had not been more forbearing, and made no reply at all. But in that case, Moulton would have felt himself insulted by what he would have interpreted as a contemptuous silence. It all took its rise there. When your uncle found out his mistake, he still hated the gentleman for what he called his insolence. At the end, Mr. Burkmar deserved his gratitude, and received only abuse. He had held Moulton's notes for some time after they were due, notes which he had taken from another man who owed him. says it seemed a fatality that Mr. Granger's papers should fall into his hands. He did not want them, and knew that they would lead him into trouble; but men holding them and owing him were failing, and of course no one could expect him to lose a fortune for a scruple like that. He kept the papers some time, then intimated as gently as he could that they were in his possession. He would not even remind your uncle that his notes were due, and that it was time to foreclose his mortgages. Moulton had not known where his papers were, and when he learned he was frantic. He instantly accused Mr. Burkmar of buying them up out of revenge,

He

and with the intention of ruining him. Of course Mr. Burkinar resented this indignantly. Poor Moulton was ruined already, and so far from his having any chance with another creditor, he would not have found another so lenient. Mr. Burkmar offered to extend his time, and was accused of trying to humble his debtor; he wrote, explaining himself, and his letter was returned unopened; he went to the house, as a last resort, and was turned away from the door. He had done enough, and more than another would have done. He had but one more step to take. He put the business into his lawyer's hands. You will perceive, dear, that your poor uncle was quite in the wrong from first to last. You should know how unforgiving he is."

Cora well knew that Mr. Granger had disowned his own sister, Cora's mother, when she married a man he hated; and it was not till her husband had been dead for years, and she herself just about to die, that he forgave her and offered her child a home. Cora remembered that her blood had risen more than once at his allusions to her father.

She sat with downcast eyes, pained, almost convinced, yet still with a feeling of resentment toward the man who, if he had not wronged, had humbled them. A proud nature would rather suffer a wrong than be convicted of committing one.

"If Mr. Burkmar were less generous," Mrs. Granger pursued, “I should really feel very unpleasantly to see him. But I know he would wish to dismiss the subject entirely from his mind, if he were allowed, and I hope that you will be able to overcome this feeling. I do not in the least wonder at your having it, and I do not expect you to be at once cordial with him. I only hope that Albert will be reasonable."

"Poor Albert!" sighed Cora. She was fond of her cousin, and could understand what a blow his change of circumstances and his father's death would be to him. “I wish I could be there to comfort him."

Verifying the saying that a certain person is always near when you are speaking of him, the servant here announced Mr. Burkmar.

Mrs. Granger met him with smiling cordiality, her niece with quiet civility; but a deep red burned in Cora's cheeks as she returned his salutation. She withdrew a little, and watched the two talking together.

We have not described Mrs. Granger, but she is well worth it. Picture her to yourself as she sits in her stately drawing-room, en

throned in a blue satin fauteuil, against which the soft gray of her many-flounced dress, and the rose-colored ribbons of her breast-knot and headdress, make a delicate but lively contrast. Hair of soft, pale brown, as yet scarcely touched with gray, and only showing those faint touches on a close examination, shows in a shining coil at the back of her head, and a light fleece of ringlets hangs and tosses at each side of her handsome face. Mrs. Granger's face and form are full, her features regular and soft in outline, her complexion as delicate and her flesh as tender as an infant's, her eyes a clear, pleasant gray, her forehead low and beautifully-shaped. She has a sweet, smooth voice, a gentle manner, and a very winning smile. Indeed, she is a thoroughly amiable woman, as the name goes. I doubt if she ever inspired or experienced any deep or devoted attachment; those universally smiling women seldom do; but she was liked, and that suited her.

glanced from

Cora sat a little apart, and one to the other of these two. As much as she loved her aunt, and as grateful as she felt toward her, she could not help comparing her face to a smiling mask. There was something superficial in her sweetness, her compliments sounded hollow, her desire to please seemed to the critical eyes of her niece to be too evident. The other was by far the finer character, she could not help owning. No one could doubt the sincerity of George Burkmar's face. If anything, it was a trifle too sincere for the lady who was trying to please and flatter him. He received her smiles with scanty return, and though he evidently liked and respected her, there was no appearance of any marked feeling of complacency toward her.

"He is grand looking," thought Cora, then felt vexed with herself the next minute for the admission.

Mr. Burkmar's manner was unusually constrained that day. He was not a man to be delighted with Mrs. Granger's style of conversation, and at any time he found it not easy to reply to her compliments. Now it was more than ever difficult, with that pale and haughty creature sitting opposite, with her cool, bright eyes scanning him, and her ears taking in every word he spoke. Miss Cora was rather surprised and disconcerted presently, to see the gentleman suddenly turn his eyes on her with a frowning look. She was not aware how intent her gaze had been.

Mrs. Granger looked at the clock at the

same moment, with an exclamation of dismay. "Bless me!" I shall have to leave you to Cora, Mr. Burkmar. I am so sorry, but I know that you will excuse me. We have a meeting of the committee of our church charitable society, and I am the chair-woman, I suppose I must call it. We have a great many poor in the city. They call on me so seldom, that I feel it my duty to go. Perhaps I shall find you here on my return. Wont you stay and have dinner?"

The gentleman gravely excused himself, being already engaged elsewhere, and seemed about to take his leave then, but changed his mind. Half way to the door, and after having bowed to Cora with freezing coldness, he deliberately returned to his seat.

She looked at him in surprise, and waited for him to speak.

"I am glad to have the opportunity to speak to you alone," he said, coldly, but with some embarrassment. "I am aware that I am trespassing in taking advantage of that opportunity, since your dismissal of me from your presence was so explicit, at the time we were on our journey. Have I your permission to speak? or shall I go without saying any more ?"

"If you have anything to say to me, you are at liberty to say it," Cora said, loftily. "My aunt's visitors have every claim on my courtesy."

Seeing that she moved uneasily to avoid the sunlight from the window, he rose and lowered the curtain so as to shade her face, but leave the golden light on her bosom and on the fair hands that were folded on her lap. Instead of resuming his seat again then, he came nearer and leaned on the high back of a chair opposite her, his lofty form showing to full advantage in that position. His manner changed, too. The greater freedom and superiority he felt when standing, banished his momentary embarrassment. He smiled slightly, and did not try to conceal the invol untary expression of admiration with which he saw how lovely and picturesque she was in that light. She wore black, and the monotony of color allowed the eye to dwell more entirely on the perfection of her shape. But, plain as her dress was, every detail was exquisite; he saw that. From the smooth braids of her hair, to the tiny puff of white crape at the wrists, and the jet buckle of her shoe, everything was dainty and harmonious. The pallor which her face wore when we first saw her, is there no longer, though Miss Ware

cannot be called rosy. But there is a faint bloom over her cheeks, which tells of health, and full, swift-flowing pulses. She has evidently a rich vitality, and a sound and healthy frame. The idea she gives is of one sweet and sound, as a woman should be. She quite justified Mr. Burkmar's admiring gaze, and he did not spare it. He seemed, indeed, willing to cause her a momentary embarrassment, since she had so often disconcerted him.

"Miss Ware," he began, quietly, but with an air of superiority that nettled her, "have you any objection to my visiting here?"

She hesitated and colored slightly at this very plain putting of the question.

"I have no right to forbid your coming," she said, then, with a not very successful effort to be quite at ease.

"I am not asking what you have a right to do, but what you desire," he went on. "I wish that you would be frank with me, and tell me how you feel in the matter. I know that you don't like me, but I do not quite understand the extent of your aversion. I would never come to the house, if I thought that my coming caused you serious annoyance. I might think you unreasonable and unjust, but I should remain away. Of course I should find reasons enough for doing so, without complaining that you had banished me. I like Mrs. Granger. She is a pleasant acquaintance, and hers is an agreeable house to visit; but it would not break my heart to lose both. So you need not fear doing me a great injury in that way. Shall I remain away in future ?"

He had spoken gently and quite as a matter of course at first, but the last question was put almost angrily; and glancing up at him, Cora saw his form proudly erect, and a flash in the eyes that dwelt on her.

"I think you misunderstand me, Mr. Burkmar," she said. "I have no desire to banish you from the house. I prefer that you should come just as though I were not here. I do not deny that I feel a coldness toward you. It is natural I should. Still I am willing to own that I may have mistaken, and blamed you unjustly. But that does not alter the fact that you were the man most disliked by the one who stood in the place of father to me. It is my intention to treat you with courtesy when we meet. Have I failed in that ?"

She had been looking down while speaking, but at this question she raised her head with

something of a toss, and flashed back his own glance to him.

A faint tremor passed over him, and a deep breath that ended in a half-smothered sigh heaved his breast. Her words, and the thinly veiled coldness with which they were pronounced, showed him the vast difference between what he desired and what she accorded.

"Pardon me!" he said, "I have no right to ask of you more than justice. But, O, how generosity would become you!"

His glowing eyes rested upon hers and made them droop. She sat flushed and vexed, biting her lip, and utterly unable to reply, or even to rise when he went out. But as soon as the door closed behind him she started up and watched him walk down the street. The color was beaming richly in her cheeks, and her full lip was crimson under the teeth that angrily pressed it. She half hated, and wholly admired this man. above others in the street. took off their hats to him. noble-looking he was, and what grace was in that free and swinging step of his.

How he towered How gentlemen How lofty and

"He is the finest-looking man in the city," she whispered to herself. "And I do believe that-that he likes me. How terribly awkward it would be! I hope I may mistake. Some men have that way of looking at ladies they don't care for. What should I do? Ile is one to be in earnest in such a feeling, and I should be tormented to death. What an insolent tone he takes with me. I do wish I had not acted so much like a bashful simpleton."

Going up to her own room after she had watched her visitor out of sight, Cora found a letter on her dressing-table. "Dear Cousin Albert!" she said, tearing it open with eager hands. It was the first letter she had received from him, and from its postmark she first learned of its arrival at New Orleans. He wrote that he had started for America before learning the news from home, and on reaching New Orleans had been saluted with the story of all his misfortunes. His father was dead, his home broken up, and Cora gone. He did not tell her that this last blow had been the least hard to bear, but she knew he meant that.

"There is one subject which I can scarcely trust myself to mention," he wrote. "I am not myself when I think of that man who pursued my father with such vindictive hatred, never resting till death snatched his

prey from him. Scarcely resting then, it seems. I hear that he went North in the same steamer with you. It must have been purposely, in order to insult you by his presence. O, if I had been there! Be sure, Cora, he will rue the day he insulted a Granger, the base-born, insolent villain! He will find that there is young blood in the family, and that he has not to deal with a lady, or an old man. Next month I am coming to satisfy both love and hate. I cannot rest till I have seen you-and him."

Cora Ware's face grew pallid as she read. Albert had inherited his father's pride and his fiery temper. It was impossible to guess how far he might go. She could scarcely hope that he would listen to reason, or be influenced by any explanation she could make. It seemed more likely that if she were to defend Mr. Burkmar, it would only exasperate her cousin still more against him.

"What can I do?" she thought, in distress. "If I tell Aunt Isabel it will do no good. She would only think Albert unreasonable and violent, and he never would be able to listen to her long, cool apologies. It would seem to him that we have all turned against him. Would there be any use in warning Mr. Burkmar? In his way he is as fiery as Albert; but perhaps, for my sake—”

She started up impatiently, reddening over her pale cheeks. “What folly am I talking?”

A photograph card had dropped from her letter as she tore it open, and she now first perceived it as it fell from her lap. Even in her trouble she smiled involuntarily as her eyes fell on the pictured face. It represented a young man in blouse and slouched hat, with alpen-stock, and a knapsack strapped to his shoulders. One side of the hat brim was caught up, letting a strong light upon his face. It was an ideal face, as exquisite in shape as any creation of sculptor or painter, and possessed of a spirit such as few artists could reproduce. The large and brilliant eyes, black, you would rightly guess from the picture, had that languid yet alert expression which we see in the half-closed eyes of the lion and tiger, the small mouth under its drooping mustache was not more fine than firm in its curves, and the chin showed will and temper.

"He has grown handsomer in this last year," she thought, contemplating the face with pride; "and that jaunty air is becoming to him. This was taken in Europe. Poor Albert! fear he wears a different look

now."

"Come, honey, it's mos' time for dinner,” said Juno's voice at the door. "An' dare's Mr. Granger 'quirin' about ye, and all de folks passin' squintin' up at the parlor winders."

When Cora went down to the parlor, she found a stranger there with her aunt and cousin. Miss Helen Jameson, they named her; and Mrs. Granger added with emphasis: "A very dear friend of ours, Cora. Her mother and I were and are like sisters. Mrs. Jameson's father was my guardian."

Cora did not need her aunt's recommendation to treat this girl with cordiality. She took to her at once, with a singular feeling, too, of having met her before. There was something familiar in the face, but whether in features or expression she could not decide.

Miss Helen Jameson could not have been much over twenty, though she was one to look younger than her years. She was rather undersized, but plump and well-formed, and there appeared at first glance something childish in her face. It was only after awhile that one would perceive how much character there was in those small and delicate features, and that the decision apparent in her ringing voice and ready speech was not contradicted by the clear glance of her blue eyes, the steadiness of her pink lips, or the rather high manner in which she carried her head. There was nothing drooping nor hesitating about Miss Helen Jameson.

"Where have I seen you before?" Cora could not help asking as the two went down together to dinner. "Your looks are SO familiar."

Helen gave a little laugh.

"It must be because I look like nine hundred and ninety-nine other people," she replied. "You have heard of the man who said 'Smith-Smith-seems to me I have heard that name before.' So with you on seeing me. I look just like all short, dubby, light-complexioned girls. Nature turns out my kind by the gross, I think. I never go into the street but I meet twenty who might sit for my portrait. I couldn't possibly distinguish myself unless I should pull out my eyebrows."

"You are not common looking," Cora said, touching the massive braid of yellow flaxen hair that almost over-weighted the small head. "Your hair is enough to distinguish you. Do you know it is of a very rare shade? And you have a transparent look. Your name should be Clara."

Mrs. Granger told her niece Helen Jameson's story after the girl had gone. It was comprised in a word, and that word was one well calculated to awaken Cora's sympathies. The Jamesons were of good family, and had been wealthy, but about five years before had met with a sudden reverse of fortune. In one of those panics which sometimes come like earthquakes in the commercial world, toppling over whoever stands highest, Mr. Jameson had come down with a crash. The ruins of his fortune buried him. He could not survive such hopeless destruction. There were friends enough who would gladly have assisted his widow and her daughter, but they were too proud to take anything without paying for it. They took rooms in a lodging-house, and supported themselves by doing fine sewing and embroidery.

"Of course they don't go to shops for it," Mrs. Granger said. "Poor Annie's friends give her their work, and pay her large prices for it. She makes and marks all our linen. We could not think of their soliciting employment; for, of course, her change of fortune makes no difference in her position in society, though they go but little into company. Mrs. Jameson's troubles have quite broken her, and Helen doesn't like to leave her mother." "Is there no other child ?" Cora asked.

"No; Mrs. Jameson had a son, but he died many years ago: I am in hopes," Mrs. Granger said, lowering her voice that Frederick might not hear her, "that Helen may

marry well. She ought to have a rich husband."

Cora lifted her eyebrows, and nodded smilingly toward her cousin.

"O no!" her aunt said, quickly, and with a slightly heightened color. "They are like brother and sister. I have not quite made up my mind who I wish her to have."

Mrs. Granger was generous and kindhearted, and no one would have resented any slight to her old friend's daughter quicker than she. But, even in devotion to one's friends one must stop somewhere, and Mrs. Granger stopped when it became a question of her son's marriage. Of these two portionless young ladies, the mother would have preferred infinitely to have Cora for a daughter-in-law, indeed, would have made no objection had such a match been proposed. Poverty in a lodging-house, sewing for its bread, is a far less imposing sight than poverty dwelling in a brown stone palace, and clad in purple and fine linen, even if somebody else has to pay for such expensive housing and draping.

GIDEON GRINDEM'S CHRISTMAS.
BY JAMES D. M'CABE, JR.

THE white-faced clock on the City Hall stared grimly out into the night, and its truthful hands informed the people in the neighborhood that it was eleven o'clock on Christmas eve. It was a genuine old-fashioned Christmas eve, at that, and the streets of New York were white with snow, and the wind was whirling the drifts about fantastically, to the evident discomfort of the old apple and hot-corn women by the Park railing, who lingered at their posts in spite of the lateness of the hour, hoping to turn another honest penny from some passer-by before midnight. The old ballad-vender had packed up his stock in trade and betaken himself homeward long ago, and most of the New Yorkers had followed his example, so that the streets were almost deserted.

One man, at least, was abroad in the storm,

and as he turned into a gate of the Park to make a short cut over to Broadway, where the stages were still running, the old apple woman, thinking she might find in him another customer, began a pitiful petition to him to buy of her wares, when he turned to her sharply, and the lamplight fell full upon his face. A glance satisfied the woman, and it needed not his cold rebuff to cause her to shrink back from him with a frightened look. The man passed over to Broadway, and pausing a moment for a stage to come up, entered the clattering vehicle, and settled himself in his seat as if totally unconscious of the presence of the other passengers. His entrance seemed to cast a chilling influence over them, for soon they grew silent, and wrapping their coats and shawls closer around them, wondered if it was not growing colder.

« AnteriorContinua »