The Old Man's Bride CHAPTER 1.
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It was on a dark, cold, rainy morning, late in November, that Helen Lee came down from her room, with a thin shawl drawn around her shoulders. She had nearly reached the street door, when her steps were arrested by her mother's voice.
"You're not going out on such a morning as this, Helen, surely!" said Mrs. Lee.
"Oh yes" replied the young girl, in cheerful tones. "I must give my lessons, you know."
"But you will not be expected, Helen. And even if you were, a regard for health should keep you at home on a day like this."
"I have on my thick shoes, mother," returned Helen, in the same cheerful tones with which she had at first spoken. "And you know I am warmly clothed. I shall not feel the cold."
Warmly clothed! Her garments were more fitting the month of June! Thick shoes? A wafer might be called thick as well!
"Don't go, Helen," said Mrs. Lee in an almost pleading voice. She was not deceived by her daughter's words.
"I must go, mother," returned Helen, now speaking more seriously. "I cannot afford to miss giving a single lesson. But don't feel worried about me. Good by — I will be home by twelve o'clock."
And, saying this, the brave-hearted girl turned quickly away, and went forth on her errand.
As she closed the door, and stepped upon the pavement, the rushing wind swept against her, and penetrated, almost in an instant, her thin garments, causing a chill to run through her slender frame; and almost as quickly did she feel the dampness reach her feet from the wet pavement.
But she shrank not in the cold blast, for the earnest and high purpose that was in her heart, lifted her above the consciousness of physical suffering like this.
Helen Lee, an only child, was now in her twenty-second year. Her parents were in reduced circumstances. But they had once been moderately well off.
There had been no withholding of means, on their part, so far as the education of their child was concerned; and in the dark days of their adversity she was repaying them for all their care and affection. Ills of life too rarely come alone. This was the experience of Mr. and Mrs. Lee. Very soon after the former failed in business, his health became so bad that even the smallest mental or bodily exertion was attended with dangerous consequences; and the physician enjoined the most perfect quiet, as absolutely necessary.
In this unhappy extremity, Mrs. Lee found herself almost helpless. What could she do to support the family? In vain did she ask this question. She had no resources in herself.
But now it was, that the seed sown in their daughter's mind, began to germinate. The true affection which Helen had for her parents, led her thoughts to the projection of means whereby to serve them. She had been well educated in most of the branches taught in schools, and her first effort was to endeavor to get a situation as an assistant in some established female academy. But, this she found no easy matter. She next endeavored to get music scholars, and was successful in procuring a few, the instruction of which was immediately commenced. From these, the income was not large; yet it was something, and helped to eke out their slender resources, which were fast melting away.
Months went by, and then one sacrifice after another having been made, the family found itself reduced to an entire dependence on Helen's income, which was now swelled by the addition of scholars, to about four hundred dollars a year.
Such was the state of affairs at the time we introduce Helen Lee to the reader. Four hundred dollars were not sufficient to meet the expenses of the family. The small house, into which they had moved, was obtained at a rent of one hundred and twenty dollars a year, leaving two hundred and eighty dollars with which to buy food and clothing for three people. Accustomed to a different style of living, Mrs. Lee found it impossible to shrink into the dimensions required by outward circumstances, and was, therefore, unable, by any modes of economy understood by herself, to supply the needs of the family with so small a sum. A gradual accumulation of debt to the baker, butcher, and milkman, was the natural consequence, which debt soon became a source of annoyance and trouble.
If Helen had felt no other motive impelling her to attend to the lessons that were to be given on that stormy morning, the fact of two people having made imperative demands for the settlement of bills, since breakfast time, would have been all sufficient.
The brave-hearted girl had gone but two or three blocks when she was met by a young man, who turned and walked along by her side.
"A very bad morning, this, for you to be out, Helen," said he, seriously. "Aren't you afraid of taking cold!"
"Oh, no," she replied, but not with a great deal of warmth in her manner, and partly averting her face as she spoke.
The young man seemed surprised at the character of his reception by Helen, and bending towards her, looked earnestly upon her countenance. As he did so, she turned still farther from him; while from the quick rising and falling of her bosom, it was evident that her mind was much disturbed.
"Have I offended you in anything?" said the young man, after a brief silence.
"No, Henry, I am not offended with you. Why should I be?" Helen spoke in a softer tone, in which tenderness and sadness were both blended. But still she kept her face partly averted.
"Why this change, then Helen?"
"What change!"
"You are cold to me; and reserved beyond anything that I have known since we were acquainted."
Helen was silent.
"You are unhappy about something, Helen," said the young man. "Tell me what it is."
"How can I help feeling unhappy?" was returned with some bitterness of tone. "You know the circumstances of our family."
"I do, and Heaven knows how gladly I would relieve them. Oh, Helen! how often I have desired riches for your sake."
"I know the goodness of your heart, Henry," replied the young girl, with visible emotion. "But your hands are tied. You have claims as sacred and imperative as those which are binding upon me."
A deep sigh was the young man's only answer. Yes, there were claims equally binding upon him. He was a widowed mother's sole dependence.
"Henry," said Helen, breaking the silence, and speaking in a low, firm voice "we had better be to each other as strangers."
"Helen!" the young man started, as if he had been stung.
"I am in earnest," was continued in the same low, steady voice. "Each of us has indulged an idle dream. We must bend to the iron stroke of circumstance."
"Helen! Helen! Why do you speak thus?" exclaimed her auditor, in a distressed voice. "You cannot mean what you say?"
"I mean it, Henry."
"Then you do not love me," was replied in a voice that evidently hurt the young girl, for she answered in still sadder tones.
"You have never looked into my heart. But, no matter. Think so, if you will, Henry. It is better, perhaps, that you should have something to make the trial easier, I shall not have even this to sustain me."
By this time they were in front of a large house, and Helen, with a hurried "good-by," sprung up the steps, and after ringing the bell, stepped into the vestibule. Not once did she glance back towards her companion, who stood for a few moments gazing after her, and then walked slowly on.
"We hardly expected you this morning, Miss Lee," said a lady, who met Helen as she entered one of the parlors, where a young lady was practicing at the piano. "It is wet and cold outside!"
"I don't mind the weather," replied Helen, forcing a smile.
"But in weather like this, you should put on warmer clothing," said the lady seriously. "You are no more thickly clad today, than you were at your last visit, and then the air was as soft as in May. It will not do, my young friend. Health is a thing too valuable to be risked after this fashion. Are your feet wet?"
"Only a little damp," replied Helen.
"A little may be too much. There's a fire in the dining room grate. Go up and get dry and warm before you begin Mary's lesson. She can go on with her practicing in the meantime."
Helen, who really felt chilled, did as she was directed, and sat before the glowing fire until a genial warmth pervaded her body. Then she gave her music lesson of an hour, and again went forth in the wet and chilling atmosphere.
After a walk of nearly half an hour, by which time her shoes and stockings were saturated with water, Helen came to the residence of a man far past the middle period of life; the only female inmate of whose family, besides domestics, was a young niece whom he was educating. His name was Bullfinch. Helen had been engaged to give this niece instruction in French and Spanish, both of which languages she spoke with fluency. As Helen was raising her hand to pull the bell, some sudden thought passing through her mind, caused her to stop, and then slowly to turn away and walk on. For nearly half a block, she moved along slowly, with her eyes cast to the ground. Pausing, at length, she retraced her steps, and again stopping at the house of Mr. Bullfinch, rang the bell. On being admitted, she passed into the parlor.
"Why, Miss Lee! My dear young lady! What has induced you to come out on a day like this?"
Such was the unexpected salutation received by Helen, as she entered the parlors, in one of which a bright fire was burning. Before this fire, sat Mr. Bullfinch and his niece. The former, quite an old man, rose up quickly, and extending his hand took that of his visitor, and pressed it warmly.
"Your hand is like ice," said he, with much kindness of manner, which was blended with interest and sympathy. "It is wrong for you to risk your health in this way. Look at the girl's feet. Completely soaked in water! Fanny, dear, take Miss Lee right up into your room, and get her a pair of dry stockings and shoes. She may take her death with a cold."
"It isn't at all necessary, Mr. Bullfinch," returned Helen, blushing with confusion. "I shall not take cold."
"But I say it is necessary," persisted the old gentleman. "What strange, inconsistent creatures you young girls are! Go right upstairs with Fanny and get dry stockings.
And he put his hand upon her and almost forced her from the room.
Helen was trembling all over when she entered the chamber of Fanny; so much so, that it attracted the young lady's attention.
"What ails you?" said the latter. "I do believe you are chilled through, and are shaking in a fever. What could have possessed you to come out this morning? I never thought of expecting you. As for lessons in French, I'm in no humor for that. I gave you up immediately after breakfast, and set myself down to a new novel. Being at a deeply interesting spot of the book, a French lesson is out of the question. So, you may run back home again, and take your comfort for the rest of the day."
Helen smiled faintly at the animation of the young girl, as she replied —
"I've two more engagements yet to meet, before I can go home and take my comfort."
"You'll kill yourself," said Fanny, seriously.
"Oh no. I can bear a good deal." Helen spoke partly to herself, yet in a voice that was sad in spite of her effort to seem cheerful.
"I've sent for a carriage," said Mr. Bullfinch, when Helen returned again to the parlor; "and as soon as it arrives, you must go directly home. It was very bad for you to come out on such a day."
"I have two more engagements yet this morning," replied Helen.
"No matter if you nave a dozen," said the old gentleman, as he gazed earnestly and admiringly upon the fair and innocent face of the young teacher. "You've got to go home. Health and life are first to be considered."
"But, Mr. Bullfinch!"
"I'll hear no argument!" he interrupted her, smiling, with an air of self-satisfaction as he spoke. "I've sent for a carriage, and shall take it upon myself to send you back to your father's house; or, rather take you back — for I will not trust you to go alone, lest you jump out, and run off to give some of your confounded music lessons."
"Oh! you needn't fear that," quickly replied Helen; her face flushing, and then becoming extremely pale.
"I do fear it," persisted the old gentleman; "and shall not trust you. You are now my prisoner, and I will not lose sight of you until I have returned you safety to the place from which you escaped this morning."
"Uncle is exceedingly gallant," said Fanny, laughing. "He's a gentleman of the old school."
Just then the carriage which a servant had been sent to order, drove up to the door.
"Don't think of going home with me, Mr. Bullfinch!" said Helen, in a very earnest way. "It's very stormy out."
"Tut, child! I'm not afraid of the weather; if it isn't too stormy for a delicate young girl — then it certainly is not for a hale, hearty man like myself."
And as Mr. Bullfinch said this, he glanced involuntarily at his face and figure in a large mirror, opposite to which he was standing.
In spite of all the remonstrances of Helen, the old gentleman persisted in his purpose of accompanying her home, and, to this end, entered the carriage with her. The moment the vehicle moved away, his whole manner changed, and he attempted to take the young girl's hand. This she at first resisted, but at length permitted him to hold it passively within his grasp.
"My dear Miss Lee," said Mr. Bullfinch, with all the ardor of a young lover, leaning close to his auditor as he spoke, "I need not repeat to you what I have already said. You fully comprehend my feelings. From the first moment I saw you, I have been deeply interested in all that concerns you. Sympathy has quickly given place to a warmer and purer sentiment. I am older than you are, it is true; but my heart is still young — as young I trust as yours. Have you well considered the proposition I made? Are you ready to become my wife?"
A quick shudder ran through the frame of Helen as the last sentence reached her ear; a shudder perceived by Mr. Bullfinch in the hand he was holding.
"At once you will be elevated above your present condition — above the necessity for this wearing toil, which is sapping the very foundations of your life!"
But there was no reply from the old man's statue-like companion, whose face was still in part averted; nor did a word pass her lips, until the carriage drew up before the humble abode of her parents. Then, as she was about stepping out — he remaining behind, and shrinking back, as if to avoid observation — she said, in a husky whisper —
"Tomorrow you shall hear from me." A moment or two more, and Helen Lee had passed from his sight.
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