The Old Man's Bride CHAPTER 28.
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And so the bond was severed at last — the chain, whose heavy links had galled and fretted for over twenty years, was broken. Twenty years — and every cycle was an age of misery! Twenty years! Begun in paralyzing fear, continued in disgust, and ending in horror! What a history! Yes, ending in horror — for Adam Bullfinch died the most terrible of all deaths.
We will not take you, reader, to his bedside, as he wrestled in the last agony, nor pain your ears with his cries of terror as he vainly strove to escape the haunting demons created in that wild delirium — the drunkard's madness. No — no. Over that, we must throw a veil. Enough, that, to the very dregs, Mrs. Bullfinch drank the bitter cup her own hands had placed to her lips. Faithful even to the end did she remain, as few could have remained faithful. It would be idle to say that the death of her husband caused an emotion of grief. She wept not when the earth went rattling down upon his coffin lid — she sighed not as she turned from his half-filled grave. But, oh! how sad — how unutterably sad was her heart! Compared with her frozen, desolate state of feeling — grief for the loss of an intensely loved object, would be a luxury of the mind!
Duty had sustained her. In patient obedience to what she saw to be right, she had found strength to bear the almost crushing weight which was laid upon her. And now that her husband was dead — now that there existed no longer a necessity for unremitting effort on her part, the first impulse was to fold her arms, and sink into inactivity. This, however, was but the weakness of an hour. She had not been so long in the school of obedience, without learning some lessons of duty which went beyond the narrow circle of home. Valued as a wise and judicious teacher, and aware of the important use she was performing, she was quick to see that, neither in justice to herself nor society, could she now retire from her position. And so, after the few days' seclusion that a decent respect for the memory of her husband prompted her to observe, she went forth again, and resumed her duties. But little change beyond another shadow on her quiet, sober face, was visible. No one made allusion to the death of her husband, and to none she spoke of it. Not even in the case of Mrs. Wellford, was a reason asked or given as to why the first engagement was not kept.
Until now, Mrs. Bullfinch had not seen the two little girls of Mr. Wellford, the oldest in her thirteenth year, who were to come under her immediate instruction. When presented to her, she was struck with the peculiar sweetness and innocence of their faces. They had the large, dark eyes, broad forehead and slightly receding under lip and chin of their father, with the fair complexion of the mother. As she took their hands, and gazed into their faces, she felt her heart leap towards them, and a gentle glow of love pass with its delightful warmth throughout her entire being.
"They are good children, Mrs. Bullfinch," said the mother, speaking aside, and in a voice low enough not to reach their ears. Then she added, aloud, "I'm sure they will be obedient and attentive. And I shall expect them to learn very fast. You will give them a lesson this morning?"
"I have come for that purpose," replied Mrs. Bullfinch.
"As your time is valuable, I will leave you to begin at once," said Mrs. Wellford, rising. "Now, try your best, dears," she added, in a voice blending affection and pride. A little while the mother stood looking at her children, and then left the room. Upon her retreating form, the eyes of Mrs. Bullfinch lingered, with a look of interest; and even after she had withdrawn, her gaze remained fixed, for some moments, upon the door through which she had passed. A deeper inspiration than usual marked the return of thoughts to a more direct perception of the present and its duties.
Never, perhaps, had she felt a deeper interest in pupils committed to her care; never, perhaps, imparted instruction with a purer sense of pleasure. And the children seemed conscious of something that made her more to them than a stranger. Their manner of fixing their large, soft, loving eyes, with an intense, inquiring gaze upon her face, embarrassed her at times, while it stirred her heart more deeply.
Once or twice, during the hour devoted to the first lessons, Mrs. Wellford came in to observe their progress. She, too, as well as the children, felt drawn towards Mrs. Bullfinch by an internal and irresistible attraction.
"How do you like your new teacher?" asked Mr. Wellford, when, on coming home, at dinner-time, his children crowded around him.
"Oh, she's elegant!" exclaimed little Ella, gaily. "I do like her so."
"Elegant? What do you mean by that?" said her father.
"She's good and nice; and I like her," replied the child, warmly.
"And what do you say, Maggy?"
"I like her very much," replied the elder of the two children. "She is so kind and patient. I'm sure we shall learn very fast."
"I'm sure you will," said Mr. Wellford.
"There's something very interesting about her," remarked Mrs. Wellford. "I never met a stranger who, at first, attracted me so strongly. I think her a very superior woman."
Mr. Wellford did not reply, but he gazed into his wife's face with a look of tenderness, and laying his open hand on her forehead, smoothed with a caressing motion, the glossy hair that covered her snowy temples.
In a little while, the topic of conversation was changed.
And, now, in the common course of events, Mrs. Bullfinch came to the house of Mr. Wellford as often as twice in each week; and, at each renewed visit, the children grew move and more into her affection, while her coming was ever hailed by them with pleasure. And so it went on for months — even years; yet not once, during the time, had the father of Maggy and Ella met their teacher, of whom they always had so much to say.
Frequently had Mrs. Wellford sought to draw her within the social sphere of the family: but she would only come professionally, and lingered scarcely a moment after her duties were done. In her manner, Mrs. Wellford often thought there was something strange — something that indicated a motive for not wishing to remain an instant longer than was necessary to give her lessons. Several times she had observed her startle, and listen, as if off her guard, when the street door opened. And once, in particular, she remarked that a sudden flush came into her face, as the voice of Mr. Wellford was heard in the passage. But, happily, she was in total ignorance of the fact that her husband and Mrs. Bullfinch had ever met, except casually, and as strangers.
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