Extravagant Living CHAPTER 3.
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The silence which followed the withdrawal of Mrs. Sly, was broken by sobs, that Ellen was, just then, too weak, both in mind and body to restrain. These were followed by a flood of tears. No word was spoken by the young man, until the agitation of his companion had subsided; yet as she wept, he held her hand in a tightening grasp.
"Dear Ellen," he at length said, "what does all this mean? how dare that old wretch — "
"Oh, Archie! Archie! Don't speak so," exclaimed Ellen, interrupting him. "Don't — don't. She was disappointed; and you know — you know — "
"Disappointed about what, Ellen?' asked Lofton, seeing that she hesitated, and looked slightly confused, as if nearly betrayed into the utterance of something about which she did not wish to speak.
"Disappointed about what?" he repeated, after pausing for an answer.
But there was no reply, and her partly averted face prevented all attempts to read her thoughts in her countenance.
"What did she mean by that allusion to the poor-house?" said Lofton. "Surely I must have misunderstood its application to yourself. Can it be possible that she referred to you and your recent illness!" Light was breaking in upon the young man's mind. "Ellen! Dear Ellen! You must have no concealments with me in any matters that affect your comfort or happiness; these are already in my keeping, and I trust to have them in faithful guardianship so long as life shall last."
The young man spoke low, his voice eloquent with true feeling.
"Say, Ellen, is my inference correct?"
"It is," was the reluctant answer.
"Why, Ellen! Ellen! I am confounded!"
There was strong indignation in his voice. "Such language to you! What can it mean? How dare she speak so! You say she was disappointed. About what?"
Yet, even as he asked the question, the truth was suggested. Ellen did not reply; but he needed no confirming words from her lips. He knew, as certainly as if she had told him, that the poor girl was in debt for her room and board during the time of her prolonged illness — and that this was the cause of Mrs. Sly's abusive language. How hot with anger, grew the blood in his veins. To think that this tender and beloved flower, whom he would have protected from even the summer's changes, had been so cruelly assailed; had beenblown on by the sharp breath of cold-hearted selfishness!
"Ellen! You must not remain here for another hour!" said he, passionately.
"Archie — Archie!" said Ellen, who had regained her self-possession, and now spoke with a calm and gentle earnestness — "Do not give way to anger. We have many lessons ofpatience and forbearance to learn in this life; and the more thoroughly we learn them — the wiser we will be, and the better able to act right in the time to come. Have I not heard almost these very words from your own lips, Archie? Strength, many, many times — have they given me in trial. I have numerous kindnesses to acknowledge at the hands of Mrs. Sly, and her conduct now cannot make me forget them."
"She is wicked and cruel!" persisted Lofton. "Her conduct is an outrage and cannot be excused on any ground."
"It was wrong, I know," said Ellen; "but she cannot see with our eyes — cannot feel as we do. All her inclinations are sordid, and all her motives are base and selfish. We must think of her as she is."
"But you will not remain here, surely, after what has occurred?" replied Lofton.
"I shall stay for a few weeks longer. My mind was already made up to change rooms, after that time."
"But why not go from here at once? Why remain for two or three weeks?"
"I am not prepared to leave, now, Archie. It does not just suit me. Mrs. Sly is over her fretted state by this time. These tempers don't last long. She's sorry for what she said, I'm sure. Don't think of it any more. In three or four weeks, if I am well, I intend looking out for a pleasanter home."
"If you are well, Ellen?"
Lofton looked earnestly into her thin face, as his voice lingered on the words, "If you are well."
"Your hand is too hot for health now," he added. "You have been at work, today?"
"Yes."
"Too soon — too soon." The young man's tones were troubled. "You will never recover your former health if you go on in this way. You haven't the strength, Ellen, for this."
"I'm getting stronger," she answered. But her own consciousness that such was not the case, betrayed itself in her tones.
"Weaker, you mean," said Lofton. "Ellen," he added, with emphatic earnestness, "this must not be. My own happiness is too intimately bound up with yours, to look on indifferently and see you destroying your own life. This season of all others, will not permit over effort, in a weakened condition of the body. To the exhausted frame, spring often comes with new life and vigor; but there must be gentle exercise in the fresh and fragrant air, with freedom from anxious thought — or its health-giving influence will be exercised in vain."
How deeply Ellen felt the truth of these words, from the time the disease, by which she had suffered so severely, left her, up to the period when she resumed her work — there had been a daily visible improvement in her health. But, since then, the gain had been very slow indeed, while her tasks were performed under the pressure of painful weariness. Usually, when she turned her steps homeward, at night, she had scarcely the needed strength remaining to make it.
And there was another reason, beyond the ten or twelve hours' incessant needle-work, why she failed to regain the strength she so much needed; and this was an inexcusable lack of thought in the lady for whom she had been sewing for some three weeks. At seven o'clock, Ellen began her daily task, and, an hour elapsed before she was called to breakfast. By this time, she usually had a faint, sick, feeling, which nourishing food taken at an earlier hour would have prevented, but which now took away all appetite. A few mouthfuls of bread and butter, and a part of a cup of tea or coffee, almost forced upon her reluctant stomach, made up her morning meal. By twelve or one o'clock, her exhausted system began to crave for nutrition, which, if then supplied, would have been grateful and health-giving. But three o'clock was the dining hour, and to the thoughtless mistress of the family, herself in robust health, it did not once occur that the pale, toiling seamstress might need a snack to sustain her till the regular dinner hour arrived.
It was usually half-past three, and sometimes four o'clock, before Ellen was summoned from the room, where for eight or nine hours she had bent weary, often in pain and exhausted, over her work. Sometimes she came to the table with so eager an appetite, as to be induced to overload her stomach; and sometimes with such an aversion to food, that it was with difficulty she could eat at all. There was little to tempt her at the evening meal, usually taken with Mrs. Sly. And when her head pressed her pillow, she was frequently too tired and feverish to sleep, until hours had passed away, and then her slumber was so heavy, that profuse night-sweats completed the work of exhaustion.
Yes, deeply did Ellen feel the truth of Lofton's remark. To her, the fresh and fragrant airs of spring brought no health-inspiring influence. Instead of gaining strength, too sadly was she becoming conscious with each returning day, of a loss of bodily vigor. She made no reply to her lover's earnest appeal, and he added:
"You must go to the country for a few weeks, Ellen. It is little better than suicide to continue on as you are now doing."
"That is impossible, Archie," replied Ellen, half reproachfully. The suggestion seemed to the poor girl almost like mockery.
"Why is it impossible?" asked the young man.
There were reasons enough in Ellen's mind, to another, her reply would have been most conclusive. But, to him, she could not say that besides being in debt for boarding — she had no money to bear the expense. She was, therefore, silent to this last interrogation. It was easy enough for Lofton to conjecture the cause of her silence; and he did so, correctly. How gladly would he have offered her money sufficient to pay the sum for boarding, and to meet the expense of a few weeks' sojourn in the country. But true delicacy of feeling prevented an offer, which a like delicacy would have certainly declined.
"It is not impossible for you to take at least a week's relaxation. Health — nay, life itself, demands this," said Lofton, earnestly.
"It will be at least a week before I can finish what Mrs. Blain wishes me to do. She is one of the first who gave me work, and I would not like to disappoint her."
"But surely, she is human! Where the very life of another is at stake, who would put the making of a dress or two, against it?"
"You are too serious altogether, Archie," said Ellen Birch, forcing a smile, yet leaning closer to him as she spoke, and feeling an inward joy at the loving interest he manifested.
"No — no — no, Ellen," he replied. "There is too much at stake for both of us. I cannot bear to see your thin face still so pale; your eyes so languid; your whole appearance, that of one gradually sinking towards the grave, instead of rising to buoyant health."
His voice trembled with emotion.
"Don't let this trouble you," replied Ellen, touched by the words and manner of Lofton; "your fears magnify the reality. I shall do well enough. From so serious an illness, recovery is always slow. In a few weeks you will see a great improvement."
"Not if you go on as you are going. Improvement under present circumstances, is impossible."
In many ways the young man sought to lead Ellen to refer so distinctly to her own affairs, that he could offer the aid of which she stood so much in need. But her native delicacyso guarded her, that he failed entirely; and when they parted for the night, there was, on both sides, an anxious looking into the future, and a painful consciousness that its burdens, for at least one of them, were too heavy to be borne, without the risk of dangerous consequences.
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