The Old Man's Bride CHAPTER 15.
Back to The Old Man's Bride
A month had passed since Fanny Milnor went, a voluntary exile from her uncle's house. To her, the trial had not proved a light one. Much of tins time she had suffered from a depressing home-sickness; and nightly she dreamed of the old pleasant place, and of her kind uncle. Yet, had she not once repented of the step which she had taken.
She was sitting, one day, about this time, in no cheerful mood, trying, but in vain, to become interested in the pages of a book she was reading, when a servant came to her door, and said that a lady had called and wished to see her.
"Did she send up her name?" inquired Fanny.
The servant replied in the negative.
"Why didn't you ask her name?"
"I did," was answered, "but she said it made no difference, and that she would prefer seeing you in your own room."
Fanny thought for a few moments, and then said, "Tell her to walk up."
The servant retired, and Fanny awaited her return with the visitor, wondering all the while, who it could be. Soon footsteps were heard on the stairs, and along the passage leading to her room.
The door was again opened by the servant; a lady stepped in, and the servant retired.
Instantly the face of Fanny Milnor flushed to a deep crimson; her eyes gave forth an indignant light, while her lips arched scornfully.
"You here! I did, not expect this," she said, while the stain of anger rose even to her brow. Then, with a suddenly assumed, yet mocking smile, she added, "To what am I indebted to a visit from Mrs. Bullfinch?"
"Helen — for it was she — had prepared herself for this, or even a more cutting reception. The bitter scorn of the girl, therefore, did not discompose her. Though not offered a chair, she seated herself, her wonderfully calm and penetrating eyes fixed with a steady look upon Fanny, who still remained standing.
"May I pass a few sober words with you, Fanny?" she now said, in a voice so low and serious, that the indignant girl felt its influence, yet was in no way inclined to bend from the haughty, repellant attitude she had assumed towards the wife of her uncle.
"What can you have to say to me?" was her sharply uttered retort.
"Much that you ought to hear," said Helen.
"Away! Leave me! We can hold no fellowship," exclaimed Fanny, passionately.
"Fanny Milnor!"
"Go!" And turning her face aside, the niece of Mr. Bullfinch waved her visitor with an imperative gesture, to retire.
"No, Fanny," was the undisturbed answer. "I am prepared for all this, and much more. Having entered upon the present work, I am not to be turned aside from my purpose by the first difficulty that presents itself. I have come to talk with you about your uncle; the old man in whose behalf you appealed to me so earnestly."
The arched lip did not in the least unbend itself; nor was there any softening of Fanny's cold, scornful eye; neither did she answer a word.
"Your uncle is not happy," said Helen.
"Happy!" was sharply and suddenly answered. "Happy! Was he so mad as to expect it with you?"
"If so," returned Helen calmly, "he has already awakened from his delusion. But, he was forewarned."
"In truth was he!" ejaculated Fanny.
"If by you, then twice forewarned," said Helen, as she looked steadily on the proud, defiant girl — so steadily, that the eyes of the latter sunk beneath her glance, and in slight confusion of thought, she said repeating the words of her visitor:
"Twice forewarned?"
"Yes, twice."
"And by whom beside myself?"
"I forewarned him."
"You?"
"Yes, I; and repeated the warning. But, he would not hear me. That, however, is past now; and for either you or I to refer to it is fruitless. Enough that your uncle is unhappy, and will remain so until you return to him."
That I will never do!" was the positive declaration of Fanny. "When I left his house — I left it forever. What! do you think that I would share the honors thereof with you?"
Again her lip curled with ineffable scorn.
The pale cheeks of Helen now flushed; and her hitherto steady eyes, grew restless. The loss of self-possession, however, was but momentary. When she spoke again, her voice was as steady as before.
"You can take all the honor if you will. I have no ambition. Make your uncle happy if you can. Supply to him again what he hoped, but vainly hoped, to find in me. That is your duty. My position need not touch yours. Never fear that I will interfere with your old prerogatives. Glad will I be to have you resume them. If you love your uncle, Fanny, return to him."
"And did he send you to lure me back again?" said Fanny, bitterly. "Why did he not come himself? But, he knew the power of your eloquence!"
This meaning assertion, broke through the crust that protected the feelings of Helen. Her face, that had resumed its paleness, flushed again, and her eyes fell under the sharp glances of Fanny, while her form seemed to shrink into smaller dimensions. As soon as she could trust her voice with words, she said —
"Our assumptions are often far wide of the truth, Fanny. In this instance, yours are so."
Steady though the voice was, it had in it a heart-touching mournfulness, to which even the cold heart of Fanny was not altogether armored. But she repressed the rising sympathy, or pity, which ever it might be called, and said as coldly, and in as repellant a manner as at first —
"Why did not my uncle come himself? Why did he send you?"
"He did not send me," replied Helen.
"You have come at his instance, at least."
"No."
"Is he sick?"
"He is unhappy; and sickness of the soul needs medicine — quite as much as sickness of the body. For years, you have been the light of his household. All is dark since your withdrawal. Return, then, and be to him as of old; return, Fanny, and my heart will bless you. I have no power to chase the shadows from his heart and brow."
"Why, then, did you assume an office that you cannot fill?" asked Fanny, sternly.
"To err is human," was the touching, mournfully uttered reply.
"A poor excuse for premeditated wrong," said Fanny. "But it weighs nothing here. With subtlety, from base ends, you adroitly flattered my uncle, until you drew him within yourtoils!"
"It is false!" exclaimed Helen, with an emphasis and an energy that startled her auditor. "False to the utmost meaning of the word."
She had risen to her feet, and stood, with her body drawn to its full height, and her large eyes glaring upon the face of Fanny Milnor, who, in momentary surprise, retreated a pace or two.
"False, proud, harsh-judging girl!" she added, with a womanly dignity and self-possession that, for the time, completely subdued her listener. "I claim to be as pure in motive, as free from all that is base, as yourself. If I have erred, it has not been in self-seeking. Heaven knows I expected no good for myself — and I shall not be disappointed!"
"What did you expect, please?" inquired Fanny with a covert sneer.
"Silence!" was the stern, subduing answer to this. "I will bear from you no further insult. Do your own duty — before you question the right or wrong of my actions. You havedeserted the relative to whom you owe a debt of gratitude, a life-service might not pay. I have told you that this desertion has robbed him of happiness; that no one can supply your place. Thus far I have done my duty. It is left for you, so quick to censure others on insufficient grounds, to do yours. Good day!"
And, without waiting for a response, Helen left the room.
Back to [[The Old Man's Bride]