Making Haste to Be Rich! CHAPTER 5.
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For weeks, and even months, Riddell had misgivings as to consequences arising from what he had done — consequences to himself. But nothing farther than a cold stern glance from the eye of Mr. Bradford, whom he occasionally met, and a few smarting words from his old friend Jordan, came to trouble him, and these he did not think matters of very serious consequence.
Free, now, to push his claims for favor in the eyes of the lovely Blanche Ackland, Riddell made the best of all opportunities for doing so that occurred, and was soon happily favored with evidences of success, not to be mistaken. At length he ventured to visit her at her father's house. He had many doubts as to the result of this. But it was favorably received, both by the maiden and her parents, as far as he could judge from appearances. On the day after, he met Mr. Ackland, who was particularly polite to him.
"So far, so good," said the young man to himself. "Ackland is rich, and no mistake. Let me once get into his family, and I will not long be troubled with Alexander, nor be forced to carry on a large business for a third of the profits."
Mr. Ackland, the father of Blanche, was a man of wealth. He had started with nothing but his own industry and energy of character, and these had carried him on to fortune. In like means of success, he had great faith, and had settled it in his mind, and so expressed it in his family, that he would rather see his daughters married to young men of the right stamp, who had their fortunes to make, than become the wives of rich men's sons, who were far more likely to spend what was left to them, and beggar their families before they died, than they were to add to or even retain their wealth. He had long observed Riddell and set him down as one who would make his way in the world, in spite of all opposition; and when he found that he was looking, evidently with partial eyes, upon Blanche, he was far from being displeased.
This being the case, it was all plain-sailing for the young man. Blanche, he found an easy prize, and when he applied to the father for her hand, it was yielded with a frank assurance that he would be proud to own him as a son-in-law. With Mr. Ackland, thrift was a cardinal virtue in a man's character. This being the case, it is no wonder that he saw no defect in Riddell.
There were few lovelier girls than Blanche Ackland. Young, beautiful, highly accomplished, and of a sweet temper — she was the favorite of all who knew her. Many a better man than Riddell had looked upon her, with eyes of love; but approached not, hopeless of winning so high a prize. The boldest, not the best — usually gain the loveliest and most beautiful. It is sad to think so; but, alas, too true. Could Blanche have really known the baseness of her lover, she would have shrunk from him in horror. Oh! if some pure spirit could have whispered in her ear the outrage upon, and desertion of, Anne Bradford — how would she have turned from him with loathing! But this was not to be. For some inscrutable cause, she was allowed to become his companion; to lie in his bosom; to be his second-self. No, no, not that! never his second-self! That would be impossible. Only the image of this; for true conjunction of souls never takes place between the evil and the good. There is only the external of marriage, never the true internal.
It was, in due time, known that Riddell was to lead Blanche Ackland to the altar. The young man was congratulated on one side, and the father on the other.
"I think your future son-in-law a man with the right kind of stuff in him," said a friend to Mr. Ackland, a short time before the marriage of Riddell with Blanche took place.
"So do I," was replied. "Give me, after all, a man who has energy and enterprise enough to make his own way in the world, and in the face of all sorts of disabilities and opposition. Even if misfortunes should at any time meet him, they cannot long hold him down. He will rise again in spite of everything. It is different with your rich-born man. Throw him into the river of misfortune, and he sinks to the bottom like lead, and never can rise again by virtue of any inherent buoyancy."
"Very true. Inabilities of character, and those that merely adjoin themselves to a man by virtue of circumstance — are very different."
"And, strangely enough, too few make this important discrimination. If a man has money — that is considered merit enough. The question whether he have the ability to make money, should he lose what he has — is not asked. And yet the last consideration is, after all, of the most importance."
"Certainly it is. That virtue the young man Riddell possesses in a high degree. Look with what energy he is conducting business, even with the weight of his good-for-nothing partner upon him."
"A weight that he has already intimated to me his ardent desire to throw off. But that between ourselves. He shall have the opportunity before long."
"Can he get rid of Alexander easily?"
"He must get rid of him. The only thing that holds them together, is the young man's capital of twenty-five thousand dollars."
"You can easily put him above the need of that."
"Yes — and I mean to do so. In a month his marriage with Blanche is to take place. After the celebration of that event, I will see that he has a clearer way before him than he has yet had."
"For which determination, I give you credit," said the friend.
The month soon rolled round, and the time for celebrating the nuptials of Riddell and Blanche Ackland arrived.
The parents gave their daughter a grand wedding party, at which the young and the beautiful assembled in crowds to offer the lovely bride their warm congratulations on the most happy event of her life.
Of all in the mirthful company, perhaps Riddell felt least at ease. The thought of Anne Bradford, whom a month or two before he met in the street, looking a very shadow of what she had been, kept forcing itself into his mind, and resting darkly upon his spirit. It was in vain, that he turned from this intruding thought. The rebuking face of the maiden he had so deeply wronged, was ever before him, and there were many times during that evening when he saw nothing else, even though crowds were around him.
"Why so serious, my young friend?" said an elderly lady to the absent-minded groom, breaking in upon thoughts of Anne.
"Marriage is a serious thing," replied Riddell, rallying himself, and affecting a sentiment. "Few, I think, can take upon them sacred vows like those I have assumed, without at least a few sober thoughts."
"You are right," returned the lady, giving the young man credit for impressions that he did not feel. "Marriage is a matter of serious import, and involves far more than is generally imagined. What relates to mere external things — is of small consequence, in comparison to what relates to the things of the heart. The union of two minds, in such perfect harmony as to make almost one mind — is the highest end of marriage, and those who look below this, who regard mere external things, as beauty, wealth, worldly connections, or anything merely external — can never be truly married. They may be adjoined, but never conjoined. I have seen many marriages of this kind, in which, on either one side or the other — mere self-interest was the bond; and I have never yet seen one of them turn out what I would call happily. The world has thought the parties well suited to each other, and living together with as much of marital felicity as the heart need ask — but I knew better, for I saw deeper than the many. In most cases, the disappointed wife has been the deepest sufferer.
"Ah, my young friend, it is a cruel thing for a man to take a young, fond, confiding creature, like your Blanche, for instance, without loving her truly and for herself alone. She may have wealth — but riches often take to themselves wings and fly away; she may have beauty — but beauty lasts not for many years; and if she is loved for only one or both of these — love will not survive their loss. You, I trust, have looked deeper than these. Indeed, I am sure you have, and that the sweet girl you have taken to be your bride — will lie nearest your heart through life, as a priceless treasure. And such she is. I know her well; and know her worth. No matter what may be life's changes — she will cling to you and love you to the last."
Riddell tried to respond accordantly with this; but the words so deeply rebuked him, that he could not find language to say what he wished to express. He was conscious that his cheek burned, and he could not look steadily into the face of the lady who had spoken to him with such warmth and freedom. It was a great relief, when a third person joined them, and enabled him to change the subject of conversation. During the rest of the evening, he was careful not to give the lady who had so kindly expressed to him her opinion of marriage, another opportunity of rebuking him with words, which were rather meant as a compliment. But what she had already said, did not tend to give a more cheerful tone to his feelings, nor lay the troubled spirit of Anne, that pale, drooping, and sad image was haunting him even in that mirthful assemblage, where the sound of music mingled with glad voices, and all around him were bright eyes and happy faces.
In another part of the city, in a humbler abode, and a room where but few had gathered, was passing another scene, different — far different — from this, yet one in which Riddell, had he known of it, could not but have felt a deep interest. The maiden whose confiding heart he had basely wronged, insulted, and, it might be said, broken — had filled up the measure of her days, and was about rising into a newer, truer, and better life. The bitterness of earthly suffering was over with her. The pangs of injured love were no more felt. The wearisome hours of a troubled life, lingered not in their slow passage.
"I am ready for the change, dear mother," she said, a little while before the change came, turning her large bright eyes upon the face of her who had been her truest friend, and who sat, holding one of her thin, white hands, "I do not think of death; I cannot think of death; but of life — a new and a better life. Mother, it is not hard to die. To me it seems a blessed thing, this passing from a world of sin and sorrow and suffering — to one where all tears are wiped from the eyes of the sufferer; where sorrow and sighing forever flee away."
But the living, could not feel as the dying one. To them, the parting was full of bitterness. With her, she kept her mind in the thought, not of death, but of eternal life. But with them, were the sorrowing spirits of bereavement — no wonder that they answered her words with tears.
"Oh, do not let us part thus," she said, a heavenly smile irradiating her wan face. "Why do you look at me with tearful eyes? Be glad, rather, that I am passing from a land of illusions and mocking unrealities — to one where all is true; where the outward appearance is never false to that which is within."
But the loving friends ceased not to weep How could they staunch their tears? The dying one had endeared herself to them by her sweetness of temper, her patience in suffering, her unselfish efforts to do good even when life was failing fast, and her feeble frame could scarcely bear the summer winds to visit it too roughly.
The moments sped on silent wings, and the last sands fell noiselessly in the life-glass of the gentle girl. She slept sweetly — so sweetly, that none marked the moment when the spirit took its upward way.
Was Riddell guiltless of the death of this pure-minded girl? Alas! no! She was the victim of his base avarice; and her fall in the bloom and beauty of young womanhood, was the first corroborative evidence in the history of his eager pursuit for wealth, of the fact that he who makes haste to be rich, shall not be innocent. We hardly wonder that thoughts of Anne intruded themselves upon her faithless lover, on the evening of his marriage, and that these thoughts were sad and oppressive; nor that even on the first night of their marriage, he should be thinking strange thoughts of her who had won his first, best, and truest affections.
On the day following, while Riddell sat at a dinner-party, by the side of his young wife, someone said, in a pause of the conversation, addressing himself to the father of Blanche,
"You know Bradford, who has his manufactory near your store?"
"Oh, yes, very well," replied Mr. Ackland. "What of him?"
"I am told he lost his eldest daughter last night."
"Ah! What ailed her?"
"She was in a decline, I believe. Though it is intimated, I know not with how much truth, that she died of a broken heart."
Riddell felt the blood grow cold in his veins, at this sudden announcement of Anne Bradford's death, and intimation of the true cause.
"Of a broken heart?" said the bride in a tone of interest. "Had she been disappointed in love?"
"So it is said. I could not learn the name of the young man whose baseness, it is alleged by some, was the cause of her early death. He won her affections, and after keeping her company for two or three years, under a marriage contract — deserted her for a richer bride. Twelve months sufficed to lay her among the clods of the valley."
"Poor Bradford!" said Mr. Ackland. "He is a man whom I greatly esteem, and I do feel for him deeply. As to his daughter, she is better off than the bride of her faithless lover, for if riches are the charm that won her husband — she will never be happy with him. One so sordid and base as he — will soon show himself in his true colors, even to her."
The agitation of Riddell's mind was great. He feared to look into the face of anyone at the table, lest he should betray his feelings.
"I would not be the wife of that man for a thousand worlds," remarked Blanche, with an inward shudder at the thought, and leaning, with a trustful air, towards her husband, as she spoke.
At this moment, Riddell's eyes met those of a lady on the opposite side of the table. He bore their gaze for only an instant; that was long enough to satisfy him that she knew his secret.
Great was his relief when the subject of conversation changed. During the week of festivity which followed his marriage, he was haunted almost constantly with thoughts of Anne; and many an hour through the long nights, did he lay awake, feeling every moment as if her wronged spirit were about to appear. Bitterly was he paying the price of his first great error.
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