The Old Man's Bride CHAPTER 3.
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The day closed as it had begun, cold and stormy, adding its gloom to the already too sad hearts of Mr. Lee and his family. Soon after tea, Helen bade her parents good night, and retired to her own room. Here she strove, once more, to collect her thoughts, to ponder the way before her, and to search again for the means of escape. Her promises to Mr. Bullfinch, and to the collector, had narrowed the chances against her. The one was to have an answer to his suit in the morning, and the other to receive the large sum of sixty-four dollars. Unless the answer to Mr. Bullfinch were favorable, she saw no way by which the demand of the latter could be satisfied.
During the wretched night that followed, the unhappy girl remained awake, now pondering, with shrinking heart, the fearful abyss down which she was about to plunge, and now eagerly renewing the search for a path leading to a place of safety. It was long after midnight, when she, at length, found temporary relief in sleep. When she awoke, the sun was shining brightly into her window. The storm had passed away, and the face of nature smiled again. Alas! her heart gave back no answering smile. Dark and portentous clouds were yet above and around it.
The time for a decision had come. Before mid-day, the unfeeling collector would be there, and his demand must be satisfied. Was there no other resource for the poor girl but Mr. Bullfinch? In ten families she gave music lessons, and six out of the ten families were wealthy. Among these, was there no true woman to whom she could go and find wise counsel and aid in her great extremity? Was there not a single heart of sympathy among all these? Was there no one able and willing to stand forth and forbid the fearful sacrifice about to be offered up? We know not. But, doubtless, there was. Yet, even where there exists a humane regard for others, how rarely does it allow itself to become fully interested! How quick are we to turn away with indifference, when the needy and the seeker present themselves!
As the time of decision drew nearer and nearer, a feeling of desperation came over the maiden's heart.
"This must not be!" she said, with a sudden energy of feeling, as she stood thoughtful in her chamber, prepared, at a much earlier hour than usual, to go out. "This must not be! I will make one effort, at least, to gain time, even if all is lost in the end. Mrs. Barker has been very kind; has always shown great interest in me. To her I am indebted for many scholars. She cannot, she will not refuse to help me in this great extremity. I will go to her, and tell her everything."
With this resolution, Helen left her home that morning.
Mrs. Barker was a widow, with two daughters. She had a large income, and was regarded in society as a humane and liberal woman. In many of the public charities, she took an active part, and contributed of her money freely to their support. Her style of living was expensive, but not beyond what her ample means would justify. In her fellowship with others, no matter what their condition, she was generally kind and lady-like. In part, this flowed from natural goodness, and in part from a desire to be thought well of by everyone.
Mrs. Barker sat reading. The book was one of imaginary pictures; yet the groupings were from characters in real life. Against the wrong now visible, the heart of the reader was indignant; and now she sympathized deeply with suffering innocence. Those who knew of this suffering, and yet relieved it not, and those who remained in ignorance thereof, from lack of thought — she blamed alike. "I would not have done so!" she said to herself, with a feeling of self-complacent virtue. As she thus thought within herself, a servant came to say that Miss Lee was in the parlor, and would like to speak with her.
"This is not the day for your Spanish lesson, Clara?" said Mrs. Barker, speaking in a slight tone of surprise to her eldest daughter, a young lady in her eighteenth year.
"I don't take my Spanish lesson until tomorrow," replied Clara.
"I wonder what she can want? Perhaps she has mistaken the day. You had better go down and see her, Clara."
Clara went down to the parlor, while Mrs. Barker re-opened her book. She was in the midst of a scene that drew strongly on her sympathies, and the interruption had not been altogether agreeable. She had just caught up the broken thread of the narrative, when Clara returned, and said that it was her mother, whom Helen wished to see.
"What does she want?" asked Mrs. Barker, in a disappointed tone.
"I don't know, mother. She didn't say."
"Well, I suppose I must see her." And Mrs. Barker, with a reluctance that she did not seek to conceal, laid aside her book, and arose to leave the room.
"I don't think she is very well," remarked Clara. "I never saw her look so badly. There isn't a dab of color in her cheeks."
Scarcely heeding this, Mrs. Barker withdrew, and descended to the parlors, in one of which she found the young teacher.
"Well, Helen," she said, rather coldly, as Miss Lee arose on her entrance.
This coldness was perceived by the poor girl, and it dashed the hope of support she had permitted herself to cherish. She stood, her eyes upon the floor, and without the courage to make known tin purpose of her visit.
"Sit down, Helen," said Mrs. Barker, noticing her embarrassment. Helen sunk back into the chair from which she had just arisen. She had not yet uttered a single word.
"You wished to see me, Clara said." If there had been, in the voice of Mrs. Barker, anything of sympathy, Helen would, in the abandonment of a heart appalled by the approach of utter ruin, have thrown herself upon her, and cried, "Oh! save me! save me!" As it was, she hurriedly sought to compose herself, and, as soon as she was composed enough to speak, said —
"I am not very well, Mrs. Barker, and if you do not object, would like to omit Clara's lesson tomorrow."
"Object, Helen!" replied Mrs. Barker, with manifest surprise, at so singular an application. "Why should I object? Sickness is a sufficient excuse under all circumstances."
Helen cast her eyes to the floor, and remained silent for a few moments, in hurried conference with herself, as to whether she should make known the real object of her visit. But the repulsive sphere of the lady was so strong, that she felt her case to be hopeless.
"Good morning, ma'am," she said, as she arose up, and slightly inclined her body.
There was something in the tones of Helen's voice, and in her manner, as she said this, and then turned away, and almost ran from the house — that Mrs. Barker did not, for a long time, forget. Scarcely had the jar of the closing door ceased to vibrate in the ears of the lady, before she repented of her coldness, and wished that she had received the visitor in a different spirit. But it was now too late to remedy the evil.
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