The Old Man's Bride CHAPTER 11.
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Since the exciting interview between Adam Bullfinch and his niece, occasioned by his avowal of his purpose to marry Helen Lee, no word on the subject had passed between them, further than the simple announcement of the former as to the time when the marriage would take place, and his desire to have certain preparations made for the bride's reception.
It by no means escaped the uncle's observation, that Fanny was altogether changed from her former self. She was as kind in manner to him as before, and as much devoted to his wants and comfort; but her cheerfulness was gone, and she spent much of her time alone. More frequently than of old, did she decline entering into public and social amusements; and even when strongly urged by Mr. Bullfinch to go out with him, persisted in remaining at home.
Mr. Bullfinch had completed his dressing, after more than two hours of time devoted to his person. The carriage stood at the door, waiting to convey him to the residence of his bride elect, and now he descended to the drawing-rooms, where he expected to find his niece. She was not there, however. He sent to her room, and she returned for answer, that she was engaged, and wished to be excused.
"Tell her that I wish to see her particularly," he returned to this message. In a few minutes, Fanny came down. Her face wore a troubled expression.
"Fanny," said Mr. Bullfinch, taking her hand, "have I not always been kind to you?"
"Oh, yes, dear uncle! As kind as a father could have been," quickly replied his niece, speaking with concealed agitation.
"I could not have loved my own child better than I have loved you," said Mr. Bullfinch, tightening his grasp upon her hand that remained in his.
Fanny leaned her face against him, and sobbed.
"Dear child!" said Mr. Bullfinch, affectionately laying his hand upon her head. "You are wrong," he added, after a few moments, "to fret yourself about this matter — very wrong. I will love you none the less. Do not let your mind be warped by a false judgment of Miss Lee. Believe me, she is as pure as an angel. You will soon be as tenderly united sisters."
Mr. Bullfinch could feel the quiver that ran through the frame of his niece. But she answered not to his words.
"A few friends will be here," he continued. "Be cheerful with them. Do not, for my sake, let anyone see that you are opposed to what I am doing. By eight o'clock we will be here. Let Helen find you in our chamber; and, Fanny, my love, I beg of you to receive her frankly, kindly — with affection."
But Fanny made no reply, nor did she lift her head.
"I will trust you to do what is right," said Mr. Bullfinch, after waiting some time for a response. "I know that you will not disregard my wishes. Good-bye for a little while."
And as he spoke, he lifted her concealed face, and left, on her wet cheek, an earnest kiss.
"Mr. Bullfinch passed from the house, and Fanny returned slowly to her chamber. Here she did not long remain passive. Two large trunks were in the middle of the floor, both nearly filled with clothing; and to the work of packing these, which her summons to the parlor had interrupted, she again applied herself. Not much remained to be done. Drawers and wardrobe were nearly empty. Soon this work, indicating a hurried departure, was over. Then a note was penned, sealed, and directed — to "Helen Lee." This she placed in the bridal chamber.
Twilight was falling; and now another carriage stood before the dwelling of Adam Bullfinch. Upon this was placed the two trunks that Fanny had packed with her clothing. A brief time was spent in giving needful directions for the reception of company; and then, entering the carriage, Fanny Milnor departed from the home of her childhood and youth, and, with a troubled heart, went forth into the world, alone.
An hour afterwards, the old man brought home his bride.
"Fanny! Fanny, my love!" he called, as, on entering the rooms above, to make preparation for joining the already assembled friends, he missed the expected presence of his niece.
Even as he spoke, the pale bride saw the note inscribed with her name. Taking it hurriedly, and with a foreshadowing of its meaning, she broke the light seal, and read:
"Helen Lee! or, must I write, Mrs. Bullfinch! One word, on your entering this, my old and happy home, to become its mistress. I need not tell you, who must know the truth too well, that you do not and cannot love and honor my uncle as a true wife must ever love and honor her husband. I need not tell you, that unworthy motives have influenced you in the step you have taken. That some mere worldly and external good has prompted the act — for all this you must know but too well. If your pillow does not prove one ofthorns — then are your maidenly instincts dead. If the fruit you have plucked, turns not to ashes in your mouth — then happy are you, thrice happy! Budding youth and blighted old age! Spring and Autumn! Unnatural Union! It cannot find favor in the sight of Heaven. But my feelings are carrying me away. As you enter, to become the mistress of this house, I go forth into the world, alone. We cannot live beneath the same roof — for I despise you! And, yet, for the old man you have consented to wed, let me ask something. I have loved him as a child, and as a child have ever sought his comfort. The duty was one full of pleasure, for love makes labor light. With you, all will be cold task-work. You do not love him as a wife — you cannot. Oh, Helen! Helen! why did you do this? I thought you wiser and better. He is old, with habits as fixed as iron; and if you not bend to these — if you do not live in daily self-denial — then you will both be wretched. I tremble as I think of this. Shall I write more? In vain! in vain! Fanny."
The whole of this letter Helen seemed to take in at one eagle glance. Then it was crumpled in her hands and thrust, with a passionate gesture, into her bosom. Encased as she had thought her heart to be in a rocky-crust, these sentences, like heavy strokes, broke through to the sealed fountain, and there was a wild gush of feeling.
"What is it? What does it mean? Where is Fanny?" asked Mr. Bullfinch, greatly disturbed.
But Fanny did not appear, and Helen made no response, beyond her sobs and tears. The bell was rung violently by Mr. Bullfinch.
"Where is Fanny?" he asked of the servant who soon after entered.
"She went away, in a carriage, nearly an hour ago," was answered to this inquiry.
"Gone away! Where did she go! Speak!"
But the servant could give no information.
"Was that note from her?" inquired the excited uncle, turning to Helen, as he spoke. His tones were sharp and imperative.
"It was," sobbed Helen.
"Let me see it!"
Helen placed her hand on her bosom, and felt the crumpled letter beneath her dress, but did not comply with the demand.
"Quick! Let me see the letter!" said the old man, passionately.
"It is addressed to me," replied Helen, now gaining a little self-possession, and speaking with some firmness.
"I don't care who it is addressed to, let me see it!" exclaimed Mr. Bullfinch, in the excitement of the moment, forgetting even a decent regard for his young bride, or her parents, who, in the adjoining room, were appalled witnesses of the scene.
Not from hurried thoughts, but from a woman's quick instincts, Helen decided her course of action. Already there was an unwarrantable assertion of authority over her, to which she could not yield. As she would act in the future — so she acted now. Passive and silent she sat, her tears suddenly dried up, and lifted her eyes till they rested upon the red and almost distorted face of her husband. Under his angry glare, they did quail a moment.
"The note is addressed to me, Mr. Bullfinch," she said at length, "and I cannot show it. No doubt, Fanny has made, or will make, a communication for you also. She has left your house, because I am about to come into it. Of where she has gone, or what she will do — she says nothing to me. Beyond this, you have no interest in her letter."
The calm dignity and self-possession of his young wife, instantly subdued the over-excited old man. He saw that he was wrong, and that he had made an exhibition of himself ever to be regretted. Still, he was deeply disturbed by the unexpected departure of his niece; so much so, that he found it almost impossible to assume anything like a composed exterior. A confused, but not over hearty, apology was made, both to Helen and her parents. Soon after, all descended, and received, from the few friends of Mr. Bullfinch, who had come to honor the occasion, their wordy congratulations.
How that embarrassing evening was passed — embarrassing to all parties — we will not describe. At an early hour, the guests retired, feeling a sense of relief as they gained the open air, and talking ominously of the young bride's future, as they moved away.
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