The Old Man's Bride CHAPTER 2.
Back to The Old Man's Bride
"You're home early," said Mrs. Lee, as her daughter came in. "I did not expect you back for an hour or so yet. Are you not well?"
"O yes, I am very well," returned Helen, with forced animation. "But, Fanny Milnor's uncle said I ought not to have ventured out on a day like this, and actually made me come home. He wouldn't let me give Fanny a lesson."
"It was very thoughtful in him, certainly," said Mrs. Lee, "very thoughtful. Didn't I hear a carriage stop at the door just now?"
The color deepened in Helen's face as her mother asked this question. Mrs. Lee perceived the change, and her interest and curiosity were immediately excited. As her daughter did not answer her last inquiry, she repeated —
"Didn't I hear a carriage stop at the door?"
"I presume so," was replied. "Did you come home in it?"
Mrs. Lee's eyes were now intently fixed on her daughter's countenance. "I did," said Helen.
"Indeed! why is that? Whose carriage was it?"
"Mr. Bullfinch sent for a carriage, and insisted on my coming home in it," returned Helen, with as much self-possession as she could assume.
"That was kind in him — very kind, indeed! But why should he do this? Were you sick at his house?"
"Oh, no, mother, I was not sick, but my feet were very wet, and he seemed to think I was in danger of taking cold. It was kind in him, certainly."
"It is not often that such kindness is received from total strangers."
"Certainly it is not. But Mr. Bullfinch is a very kind-hearted man, I believe."
Saying this, Helen passed by her mother, and went up to her own room, there to ponder the new relations which things had assumed, and to endeavor to see, in a clear light, what it was her duty to do. If she had been standing alone in the world, there would have been no doubt in her mind. Her heart would have pointed the way in which to go. But others were deeply interested in the decisions she might make concerning the future. Others were dependent, even for food and clothing, upon her personal efforts. Was it not her duty to regard them, even to the sacrifice of herself? This was the momentous question she was called upon to decide.
Towards Henry Wellford, the best and tenderest affections of her heart had gone forth; and she knew that he loved her with a true devotion. She had not only read it in his eyes, but listened to the ardent confession as it fell from his lips. Formally they were not betrothed. It had been enough that they loved, and were happiest in each other's society. But, Henry Wellford was poor. He was simply a clerk, on a small salary, and had a widowed mother to support. Helen was also poor — a humble teacher, whose income was insufficient to meet the needs of those dependent upon her.
Thus it stood, when a rich old man saw the gentle, brave-hearted girl — and, won, by her graces of mind and body, conceived the idea of making her his wife. In his love, if the sentiment may be called by such a name — there was nothing with which her heart could possibly reciprocate. He was a bachelor of nearly sixty; a confirmed sensualist, whose very sphere tended to suffocate the heart of a young, pure-minded girl like Helen. For a true marital union to take place between them, was impossible; and that Helen felt the instant he approached her with the idea of marriage.
But, as her thoughts dwelt upon the hopeless indigence of her parents, and her own inability to meet their common needs — while the deep affection she felt, made her heart yearn towards them — she looked away from herself; or, rather, calculated the extent of the sacrifice it was her duty to make, in order to secure them from need and privation. Mr. Bullfinch had wealth — she had only to consent to become his wife, and a portion of that wealth came under her control. At once she could lift her parents above their humble, suffering condition, and place every comfort within their reach.
Against all this, her heart rebelled. But she laid her hand upon her heart, and called its shrinking from the ordeal proposed, mere selfishness. She kept close to her mental vision, the feeble form and pale face of her father, and said, almost aloud, in the effort to give weight to the forced conclusions of her mind —
"It is my duty to make his last days peaceful at any sacrifice."
And, as the words trembled in husky and unnatural tones on the air, a low chilling shudder ran along her nerves.
Then stood distinctly before her, the form of Adam Bullfinch, and the shudder ran deeper. She shut her eyes; but he was before her still. She bent her bead forward upon the table by which she was seated, and drew her hands over her face. It availed not.
"God help me!" she at last exclaimed, in a despairing voice, and starting up, flung herself, with a low moan of anguish, upon her bed, where she lay for a long time, as still as death.
There was something in the manner of her daughter, when she came in, which Mrs. Lee did not understand; and she was still wondering to herself what it could mean, when it occurred to her that Helen remained an unusual time in her room.
"I'm afraid she's sick. It was wrong for her to go out on a day like this," said she, and, acting from a newly awakened concern, she went up to her daughter's chamber.
Mrs. Lee came in so softly, that Helen did not observe her entrance. She was still lying upon the bed, her face deeply buried in a pillow.
"Daughter," said Mrs. Lee; and she laid her hand on Helen as she spoke.
Now first conscious of her mother's presence, the suffering girl did not move, nor reply, but commenced a strong effort to regain the control of her feelings. If she looked up, she knew that her face would betray her intense suffering; and that she wished above all things to conceal.
"Helen! Daughter! Are you sick?"
And Mrs. Lee shook her gently. The girl murmured something that did not reach, with any meaning, the ears of her mother; turned herself partly, yet still concealing her face; thus seeking to gain time, while she strove, with almost desperate energy, to regain her self-possession.
"Are you sick, Helen!" repeated Mrs. Lee, anxiously.
"Not sick, mother," said Helen, now venturing to speak, yet still keeping her face averted. Her voice was low, yet steady. What an effort it cost to give it steadiness!
"What ails you then, dear? Something is the matter."
Helen now ventured to look towards her mother. As hard as she had striven, she had not been able to call back the blood to her cheeks, and their deathly paleness frightened Mrs. Lee.
"Oh, my child!" she exclaimed, "you are ill — very ill! What is it? Speak, dear."
A feeble smile — how it mocked the shadows which lay, like a pall, on her heart — flitted over the countenance of Helen.
"I am not very well," she answered, "but I shall be better soon." And, rising from the bed, she bathed her face, and re-arranged her hair and dress; seeking, thus, to produce a mental as well as physical reaction, which would conceal, in a measure, the fearful trial through which she was passing. She did not, however, satisfy Mrs. Lee, whose anxieties were fairly aroused. But, how little dreamed the mother, of what was passing in the bosom of her child! To efforts in support of the family beyond her strength, and to cold taken from exposure that morning — she attributed the utterly exhausted condition in which she had found her. Had she known the truth, it may be doubted whether she were woman enough at heart, to sympathize fully with the deeply tried and unhappy girl.
"I feel a great deal better now," said Helen, turning upon her mother a countenance less pale than before, and lit up with a warmer smile. "I will come down soon. Don't say anything to father about my not being well. It will only make him feel more anxious, and he is troubled enough as it is."
"I wouldn't come down at all, this morning," replied Mrs. Lee. "Take as much rest, and be quiet as possible today. You will feel all the better tomorrow."
It did not take much urging on the part of Mrs. Lee to induce Helen to remain, at least for some hours, in the seclusion of her own room. A dress to alter would employ her hands, without bodily fatigue, she said. After repeating her injunction that Helen would remain quiet, at least for the morning, the mother retired, and the unhappy girl was once more alone with her distracting thoughts.
During the time that Mrs. Lee lingered in her chamber, Helen had taken from a closet the dress she proposed to alter, and was sitting with it in her lap, scissors in hand, when her mother retired. How quick a change passed over her the moment she was again alone! Her hands sunk down nerveless, the feeble flush an effort had called to her pale cheeks, faded; her body swayed weakly forward, while her dark lashes drooped until the inward-looking orbs beneath were scarcely visible. How very still she sat for a long, long time! Oh, the fearful trial through which she was passing! With what panting eagerness did she search for a way of escape from the terrible fate impending over her!
Had the peace of her own heart alone been at stake, the trial would have been a lighter one for Helen Lee — the decision more easily made. But, she loved Henry Wellford truly, deeply, and unselfishly. All the purest and tenderest affections of her maiden heart had gone out towards him; and to make him happy, would have been the joy of her life. His looks, his tones, and his whole manner, during the last brief interview, were photographed in her mind; and the question of her duty to him, came up and arrayed itself against the questions of duty to her parents. On the side of her lover, her heart sustained the argument; yet filial self-devotion stood firmly up, and with the spirit of a martyr, held its painful position.
"Have I a right thus to dispose of myself? Is it not sinful? Will God smile on such a sacrifice?"
These words were spoken aloud, as, in the anguish of strong trial, she was searching for a way of escape. Their very utterance brought light into the mind, and imparted a measure of strength.
"No — no," she added, as the light shone more clearly, "I dare not do this. God will not smile on the deed. He asks not so fearful a sacrifice of any heart. Death! Death!" she added in a quicker voice, "Oh! it would be a sweet alternative — a welcome visitant."
Her pulses beat with a freer motion. A ray of hope had dawned. Alas! how quickly did it fade away into darkness! There came, at this moment to her ears, the sound of a strange voice from below. It was the voice of a man, and its sudden loudness startled her. Going quickly to the door of her room, she partly opened it, and stood listening. The words that came to her ears left her in no doubt. The voice was strange, but it demanded the payment of money.
"It is impossible today," she heard her mother answer in a distressed voice.
"Impossible, sir! we have not the money," said her father, in tones feeble and tremulous.
"And when will you have it, please?" the man asked, with rude impertinence.
To hear her father spoken to thus — her father, so feeble in health, that his physician had warned him against the danger of any excitement — her father, so tenderly loved, so highly honored and regarded — was more than Helen could bear. At once the balance trembling, so nicely equipoised in her mind, yielded. Filial self-devotion gained the preponderance. Springing, with a sudden impulse down the stairs, she confronted the rude collector, and said, with a decision of manner that surprised her parents —
"You shall be paid tomorrow, sir. Call at this hour, and the money shall be ready."
The man, almost as much surprised as Mr. and Mrs. Lee, looked upon the flushed and indignant face of Helen for a moment or two, and then recovering himself, said —
"A promise is all very well, my young lady, but I have had, in the last two or three months, more than enough of these. What surety have I that your promise will be kept?"
"I have just said," replied Helen, drawing her form up proudly, "that you would be paid tomorrow — let that suffice."
"The bill is sixty-four dollars," said the man, still lingering.
"If it were a thousand, I have told you that it would be paid tomorrow," returned Helen, sharply, while her eyes, which were fixed upon the man, flashed with a fiery indignation, that caused him to retreat a pace or two involuntarily.
Never before had the parents of Helen seen her so moved; and they looked upon her with a feeling of wonder. She had made her decision, and now, a feeling akin to desperation was in her heart.
"Tomorrow at this hour?" said the collector, now speaking in a respectful voice, and slightly bowing with a deferential air.
"I have said it," was briefly answered.
A moment or two the man's eyes fixed curiously upon the maiden's excited face, and then left the room. As he did so, Helen turned and fled to her chamber. There Mrs. Lee soon followed her, but she found the door locked. Half an hour later, she came again, but the lock was still turned; and it was so at the end of an hour.
"Helen!" she now called; for anxiety had overcome the instinctive reluctance at first felt to intrude herself forcibly upon her child. There was no answer, nor any movement heard within.
"Helen, dear! Helen!" repeated Mrs. Lee.
Still, all remained silent.
She called again, louder than before, and rattled the lock. There came, now, a feeble, half-smothered reply, as of one awaking from sleep.
"Helen, dear?"
"Yes, mother, I will be down in a little while," answered Helen.
Mrs. Lee retired, but with a troubled, restless feeling in her heart. What did Helen mean by the promise to pay so large a sum on the following day? Over and over a hundred times had she asked herself that question, but no satisfactory reply came. Where was she to get sixty-four dollars? All her resources she knew perfectly well. There would not be a single quarter-bill due for a month. It was in vain, that she continued to puzzle her thoughts. No satisfactory answer came.
At dinner time Helen joined her parents. She was very pale, and the expression of her countenance strangely altered. But she was more cheerful in manner than she had been for many days. She made no reference to the exciting scene of the morning, until her father said, with much concern of manner —
"I'm afraid, Helen, that you were wrong to promise that payment tomorrow. Where are you to get so much money? The collector will certainly be here at the time, and, if disappointed, will be more uncivil than he was today, and more inclined to give us trouble."
Helen smiled, as she answered in a composed voice —
"I did not promise lightly, father. I knew where I could get the money by simply asking for it."
"Where, my child?" inquired Mr. Lee, looking at his daughter very earnestly.
"More than one of those by whom I am engaged to give lessons, would, I know, advance, if applied to, what I need."
"I am not so sure of that, Helen," said Mr. Lee. "Most people object to advances of money. Indeed, with some, such an application might end in the loss of scholars. People don't like to be annoyed in this way."
"I know at least one person who will neither object nor be annoyed," said Helen, in a low, yet firm voice. But she did not look into her father's face as she said this.
"Of whom do you speak?" inquired Mr. Lee.
"Of Mr. Bullfinch," replied Helen. Her voice was still lower, yet it did not in the least falter. Its firmness was preserved by its depression.
"Of Mr. Bullfinch!" Mr. Lee spoke with some surprise, yet with no manifestation of pleasure. "Why will you apply to him?"
"He has always treated me with great kindness," said Helen.
"He was certainly very kind to you today," remarked Mrs. Lee, "and we are greatly indebted to him for sending you home, instead of letting you go from house to house, in wet garments, for the purpose of giving your lessons. I have often heard him spoken of as a good-hearted man."
"Good-hearted only where some selfish end is to be gained," said Mr. Lee. "That is my estimation of his character."
Helen bent her head to conceal her face, the expression of which she feared was passing from her control.
"Have you not looked at him through the glass of prejudice?" asked Mrs. Lee. "I believe not," was firmly answered. "I believe not," repeated Mr. Lee. After a pause, he added: "I met Mr. Bullfinch occasionally, while in business, but never was much drawn towards him. The sphere of every man's quality of mind is around him, as certainly as the quality of a rose is diffused in the atmosphere, and perceived by its odor, and this quality may be, and is perceived by all who came in contact with him. In Mr. Bullfinch, I always had a repulsive perception of something extremely sensual and selfish."
"It is hardly safe," replied Mrs. Lee, "to decide upon a man's character on such slight and altogether intangible evidence."
"Yet," said Mr. Lee, "it is always safe to let such evidence place you upon your guard; and, believe me, that opportunities for personal observation will, in most cases, confirm theinstinctive repugnance."
Helen listened to this brief conversation with an eagerness that would have betrayed itself, had not the observation of her parents been, for the time, withdrawn from her. How fully did her own perceptions of Mr. Bullfinch's quality, accord with those of her father! The thought of becoming his wife, when it was distinctly presented, caused her heart to cease, for the moment, its beating, and produced a feeling of suffocation.
The convention between her father and mother was continued for some time, but she took no part in it whatever. To conceal, as far as possible, the painful state of mind from which she was suffering, Helen tried to partake of food. A few mouthfuls were received and swallowed — though producing on the palate no sensation of taste — and then the forced effort was abandoned. As soon as she could, with propriety, leave the table, she did so, and retiring once more to her chamber, abandoned her feelings to any current in which they might be inclined to flow. She did not again join her parents until tea-time, when she met them with a cheerfulness which they did not look for and which she had scarcely hoped to assume. The father, however, saw much below the false exterior. He saw that Helen was acting a part; but what the part, and why assumed — he could not clearly understand.
Back to [[The Old Man's Bride]