Retiring from Business CHAPTER 13.
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TROUBLE IN EARNEST.
With a far less buoyant and hopeful spirit than that in which he had left the city, did Mr. Franklin return to it. On his way to the hotel where rooms had been taken, he passed his old manufactory, and as his eye fell upon it, he sighed involuntarily. Nothing had gone right since his retirement from business; and there was a sad presentiment at his heart, that the worst was yet to come. He felt, it is true, of much more consequence in the world, than he did while in the daily pursuit of a useful calling. (It is a little singular that a feeling of self-importance is strongest in men who are of the least importance to the social well-being), and rather looked down upon those who, either from choice or necessity, were still bending at the oar.
Mrs. Franklin sat almost crowding in a corner of the carriage, dreamily pondering the future, but seeing little light in the sky that hung over the path she was treading. Her greatest anxiety was for Edwin. She did not know all the evil of his life. Indeed, she knew but little of what he did, or where he went when away from her presence; but she had seen enough in his face and in his whole appearance, when at home, to leave no doubt upon her mind, that, as young as he was, he had wandered far astray from the path of safety. As for Florence, she noted a change in her during the past few months. She had ceased to be so restless in the country, and did not make so many frivolous excuses, in order to get to the city, as she did during the summer and early part of the fall. Still, she spent at least a day and a night in New York every week; and appeared to have some purpose in her mind for doing so, beyond any public amusement, or social pleasure. This Mrs. Franklin remarked, and it produced a vague state of uneasiness that entirely destroyed her peace.
Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Franklin, felt very happy in taking possession of their temporary home in the city. All day long the mother waited in expectation of being joined by Florence, and as hour after hour went by, their constant looking for her appearance, changed into something like anxiety. When night came, a vague fear mingled with the concern she felt.
"Strange, that Florence does not come," she said, for almost the hundredth time. "Can it be possible that she has mistaken the hotel in which we took rooms?"
This was scarcely probable, Mr. Franklin thought.
"What, then, can keep her away. I told her, particularly, to be here by mid-day, as we would certainly be in by that time."
Neither could make any satisfactory suggestions, in regard to her absence. After nightfall, they remained in momentary expectation of her arrival, but the hour for retiring came, and she was still gone. It was then too late to make inquiries for her, and the parents went to bed with troubled feelings. The non-appearance of Edwin, was also a disappointment and caused them uneasiness.
Early on the next day, Mrs. Franklin called on the lady with whom she knew Florence spent a large portion of her time when in the city. But to her surprise and pain, learned that her daughter had not been there.
"She came in day before yesterday," said Mrs. Franklin, "to attend Mrs. Blake's party, and said that she was going to your house to dress."
"I have seen nothing of her for a week," returned the lady, with much apparent concern in her manner.
"You have not?"
"No, ma'am."
"Were you at Mrs. Blake's, the evening before last?"
"I was."
"And was not my daughter there?"
"I believe not."
"You did not see her?"
"No ma'am."
Mrs. Franklin was so stunned by this news, that it was some time before she could collect her mind sufficiently to make further inquiries of the lady. Then, in answer to many questions, she gleaned enough to satisfy her that Florence had been frequently in company with a young man, the description of whom left her mind in no doubt touching his identity. And she was also satisfied, that the lady, notwithstanding her apparent ignorance on the subject, had been a party to the meeting.
With a sick heart, the mother went back to the hotel where they had taken up a temporary residence. She found her husband, who had gone out at the time she did, to see about Edwin, walking the floor of their parlor rapidly, and in a state of deep distress. Their pale faces grew paler, as they looked at each other.
"Where is Florence?" asked Mr. Franklin, with much anxiety in his voice.
"I do not know," replied Mrs. Franklin. "Where is Edwin?"
"Gone."
"Gone! Where?"
"I cannot tell. But Florence?"
"She has not been at Mrs. Koster's."
"No?"
"Nor at Mrs. Blake's party. But Edwin?" And the mother's face was ashy pale, while her lips quivered.
"He has not been at Darwin's or Lacy's, for a month."
Mrs. Franklin sunk down with a groan.
"Not for a month!" she said, in a low heartbreaking voice. "My poor boy! He is lost!
He is lost! But have you learned nothing of him?"
"Not a word! I hurried home to hear from you the tidings from Florence. That LeGrand rascal was here a day or two ago."
"And she's with him, I fear," returned the mother. "From all I can learn, she has met him frequently during the last few months."
"Oh, Heavens!" exclaimed Mr. Franklin, clasping his hands across his forehead. "Has it come to this! My children! My poor, unhappy, erring children! Has it come to this? and so soon!"
Just then, a servant came to the door, and handed in a letter. Its post-mark was Philadelphia. Mr. Franklin eagerly tore off the envelope, and read.
"My Dear Parents:
At the earliest possible moment, I write to relieve your minds of the anxiety my unexpected absence cannot have failed to produce. When I left you, it was with the intention of taking a step that I could not hope you would approve; although I doubted not of its correctness. You remember Mr. LeGrand, whom we met at the Springs, and whom, at one or two visits subsequently, you treated with so much coldness. From the hour of our first meeting, we have entertained a mutual attachment, and have been ever since in regular correspondence. We only awaited my eighteenth year, for a closer union than already existed between our hearts. On leaving you, I met him by appointment, when we proceeded to this city. Yesterday, our marriage was duly solemnized, and we now offer you our dutiful and affectionate regard.
"Mr. LeGrand, as you know, is a gentleman of wealth, and connected with a family of distinction in the south. We at first thought of going on immediately to Charleston, to join his friends, but knowing how anxious you must be, we have determined not to do so at present, unless you turn from us in anger.
"Dear Parents! Forgive what seems unkind and undutiful in your child. She could not help doing what she has done. When you come to know Mr. LeGrand as well as she does, you will be the last to say that she did wrong to accept the offer of his hand and heart. Oh, let me hear from you quickly. I shall not rest an hour until I know that you forgive me. Your affectionate and dutiful
Florence."
"Dutiful!" ejaculated Mr. Franklin, as he crushed the letter in his hand.
From the mother, there burst forth a wailing cry. For some moments she writhed her body like one in agonizing pain. Then a gush of tears came to her relief, and she wept a wild tempest of feeling, into calmness.
In silence the unhappy parents sat for a long time.
"Write for her to come home," said the mother, at length arousing herself.
Mr. Franklin made no answer, but arose and began walking about the room with uneasy steps.
"Weak, foolish girl! A man of wealth and family! It is all a base lie! He is a deceiving scoundrel!" fell from the lips of the father, as he paced the floor of the room.
"It may not be so," suggested Mrs. Franklin, "he may be — "
"It is so. Men of character never steal away the daughters of wealthy and respectable citizens. If he were all that he pretends to be, he would not run off with a silly young girl! Oh! to think that we would have all this to suffer. We, of all others. We who have been so anxious and so careful of our children!"
To this the mother did not reply. She felt that they had been to blame. She had a heart-withering consciousness that the sin lay at their own door.
"Let us get the poor child home as quickly as possible," said Mrs. Franklin, after her husband had ceased speaking. "If LeGrand is all that we have reason to fear that he is, then Florence needs to be under our own protection."
"But he shall not cross my threshold!" replied Mr. Franklin, passionately.
"Can we separate them?"
"They must be separated, if Florence comes back," said Mr. Franklin, emphatically. "Take into the bosom of our family one treacherous and base enough to entice our child away, and marry her without our knowledge and consent? Oh no! we cannot do that."
"We can hardly expect Florence to return, if we refuse her husband," said the mother, with much seriousness.
"I will never accept him!" replied Mr. Franklin, passionately.
His wife said no more, and Mr. Franklin continued his restless movements. At length he stopped suddenly, saying —
"I must find Edwin."
And without further remark left the room. But his search for the young man proved unavailing. No one upon whom he called, could give any information in regard to him whatever; and he returned late in the afternoon with a still heavier weight of trouble upon his heart.
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