An American Story of Real Life CHAPTER 7.
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"Bell, did you see this?" asked Mary, coming into Bell's chamber, and handing her the morning paper, with her finger on the paragraph which had disturbed young Ware's peace of mind so seriously.
"No--what is it?" replied the maiden, taking the paper and glancing over the article pointed out to her.
"That is a dreadful affair, truly, Mary," said Bell, as she finished reading the paragraph, in a voice of more than scarcely ordinary concern. "I wonder who the young man is, alluded to as about to marry some beautiful heiress? I hope, at least for her sake, that this notice may meet her eye, and that she may have resolution to cast him off forever."
"Most earnestly do I hope so," was Mary's answer, made in a fervent tone.
"You seem unusually serious about the matter, Mary," Bell now said, looking up with an expression of surprise. "Have you any idea to whom allusion is made?"
Mary hesitated a few minutes and then replied--
"I have my suspicions."
"Then where do they rest?"
"Pardon me, Bell. Perhaps it is the earnest love I feel for you which makes me suspicious. But I cannot help thinking that you are the maiden alluded to!"
"Me, Mary!" ejaculated Bell, in instant and profound astonishment. "In the name of wonder! what has put that into your head?"
"I know not where the suggestion came from, Bell," said Mary, calmly and seriously. "But the instant I read that notice, the thought flashed upon my mind with startling vividness."
"It is not a true thought, Mary."
"I sincerely hope not. Time, however, I trust, will tell whether it is true or false."
"You are not prepossessed in Henry Ware's favor, Mary. That accounts for this suspicion."
"I certainly am not prepossessed in his favor," replied Mary, "and never have been. You know that I have said this from the first."
"But upon what ground rests your prejudice against him?"
"I am afraid that he can never love you, Bell, as you should be loved," replied Mary, in a voice that was low, and trembled with feeling.
"Certain am I, Mary that he loves me deeply, and tenderly. Why do you doubt it?"
"To me he does not seem capable of loving anything half so well as himself. Pardon my freedom of speech on a subject of such a delicate nature. As I have said before, it is nothing but my love for you, that causes me to speak so plainly."
"You do not see him as I see him, Mary, nor hear the peculiar tones of his voice as I hear them."
"I know that. But my observation of him causes me to doubt his sincerity. I do not see him often, but when I do, I observe him with the closest scrutiny; and that tells me that he isinsincere--that he is acting a part."
"Something has blinded your mind in regard to him, Mary, so that you cannot judge him fairly."
"I think not, Bell. Until within a couple of months ago, his life has been one constant round of selfish pleasure-taking. He has kept mirthful, wild company, and been the gayest and wildest of all."
"How do you know that, Mary?"
"I have heard your father say so."
"But has he not changed? Did not my father say that likewise?"
"He did."
"Does not that, then, satisfy you?"
"Far from it. Men change not thus, so suddenly, without a sufficient motive."
"And what, do you think, is his motive?"
"To gain the hand of Bell Martin!"
"And if to gain her hand," said the maiden, while her cheek deepened its color, and her eyes sparkled, "he would forego all these, don't you think that to keep that hand, and theheart that goes with it--he would not still forego them?"
To this triumphant appeal on the part of Bell, Mary made no reply; though it did not satisfy her mind, far more acute in its perceptions of character, than the maiden's with whom she was conversing. The reader's knowledge of the facts in the case, will, of course, approve her judgment. Men do not thus suddenly change a course of life in which they have taken delight, without some strong influencing motive. And it would be well for the happiness of many a fond, confiding girl, if she would lay this axiom up in her heart.
Let every young woman beware of the suitor, especially if she has in possession or prospect, a fortune, who suddenly reforms or changes his course of life, upon making advances toward her. Previous habits, when the stronger motive of securing her hand is withdrawn, will, in nine cases out of ten, return and become as strong and as active as ever. Then will come the bitterness which nothing can allay. Then will come neglect, perhaps unkindness, and, it may be, cruelty. Who would not pause and reflect? Who would not hesitate, and ponder well the chances, before running such a risk? A neglected wife! Oh! who would be that heart-broken thing? And, worse than all, how often do early habits of dissipation become confirmed? Then comes severer anguish than even springs from neglect alone. Poverty--wretchedness--and the untold pangs of a drunkard's wife are the attendants of these! Again we say, let the maiden know well the character of the man she marries--and the more elevated her station in life, the more guarded let her be. The greater the villain--the higher his aim.
"Did you see the account of that affray last night, Henry?" asked Mr. Martin, suddenly, on the evening following the event alluded to, eyeing the young man closely as he did so.
Henry Ware was sitting upon the sofa beside Bell, at the time the question was asked.
"I did," was his prompt reply, turning around toward Mr. Martin, and looking him steadily in the face. "It seems to have been rather a desperate affair."
"It certainly does. I wonder who the young man can be, to whom allusion is made in the paper of this morning?"
"I really do not know; although I have my suspicions," was the cool reply of Ware, still looking at Mr. Martin, with an expression of unconcern upon his face.
"Upon whom do they rest, Henry?"
"I don't know that it is exactly fair to mention such suspicions; but of course they will be sacred here. It has occurred to me that the individual there alluded to is James Lawson. You know that he is engaged to Miss Eberly."
"Can it be possible!" said Mr. Martin, in surprise.
"Both possible and probable," resumed Ware. "I know that he has been in the habit of visiting that establishment for some time past. It is only a week since I remonstrated with him about it, and tried to show him that it was a certain road to ruin."
"You surprise and pain me very much, Henry. I had a very different opinion of James Lawson.
"Few suspect him of being wedded to the vice of gambling. But it is, alas! too true. Of the handsome fortune left him by his father, I doubt if there is anything over a meager remnant, left."
"It is really dreadful to think about," said Mrs. Martin, "What a sad prospect for Caroline Eberly!"
"This affair," remarked Ware, coolly, "may lead to such an exposure of him, as will open her eyes; and for her sake, I earnestly hope that it may be so."
Thus did this young but accomplished villain, to draw suspicion from himself, assail the character of an innocent young man! Mr. Martin, on whose mind the most painful doubts had rested ever since the morning, was now fully satisfied that his suddenly awakened fears had done injustice to Henry Ware. His manner and the expression of his face were to him full of innocence. He even regretted having made an effort to obtain the names of the individuals mentioned in the notice of the affray, by going to the newspaper office, where the editor declined answering his question. He was not, of course, aware that Thomas Handy had been there half an hour before him, and informed said editor that if he divulged the names of the people to whom he had alluded, he would have his ears cut off, and, perhaps, his life taken!
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