The Old Man's Bride CHAPTER 4.
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"I shall not have even this to sustain me." These last words of Helen Lee, as she hurriedly turned from Henry Wellford, at their last interview, kept ringing in the young man's ears; and as he pondered them, he saw, but too clearly, the painful struggle through which her heart was passing.
"Her love for me is still the same!" This was the just conclusion to which he arrived, so soon as the agitated waters of his spirit had time to run clear. "Why, then, does she propose that we be to each other hereafter as strangers? Oh, poverty! You are a curse!"
In this bitter exclamation, Wellford answered his own question. Still, the answer was far from being entirely satisfactory. There was a future for them both. He had ability, industry and energy; and he was willing to suffer, to work and to wait. Could Helen not do the same? Why this sudden, unwomanly impatience? The more he thought, the more difficult to be found seemed the clue to Helen's strange conduct. But for the words, "I shall not have even this to sustain me," he would have fallen back on the usual explanation in such cases — estranged affection. He could not do so now. He knew that she loved him. What, then could it mean? Why did she wish to break the cord entwining both of their hearts, and feeling a mutual pulsation? As he continued to think, suggestion after suggestion was presented; and among them one near the truth; yet that was quickest repelled, as bothmonstrous and impossible.
"No — no — no!" he said, with an inward shudder, "she would never make that sacrifice. There is about her too much of the true woman for that."
And he cast the thought from his mind.
"What can it mean?" Again and again the distressed young man asked himself this question. But his thoughts gave back no reliable answer. If Helen were alone in the world, how clear would have been the way before him! He would have gone to her, and asked her at once to become the sunshine of his humble dwelling. Or, if Providence had blessed him with abundance, he would have opened wide the doors of home and heart, to take in the beloved ones for whom she was toiling with such an earnest self-devotion. Alas for him! neither of these conditions existed. She was not alone — and he was poor. His slender income barely sufficed, under a system of the closest economy, to procure for himself and mother the meager necessaries and a few of the comforts of life. To have proposed anything to Helen, under such circumstances, would have been a mockery — and so the young man felt it.
The gloomy day had waned towards evening, and Wellford was about bringing his uncheered labors to a close, when the merchant in whose service he was, drew him aside and said —
"Henry, I have for some time wished to see you getting a higher salary. Your ability is worth more than you receive. And yet, in my business, only a certain sum can be paid for assistance. That sum is now paid, and cannot be increased. If there was a vacancy above you, I would at once promote you to that vacancy. But, as you know, none exists, or is likely for some time to exist. I cannot fill your place to my satisfaction as well as it is now filled; that I know too well. Still, I am not so selfish as to wish to keep you when an opportunity for rising is offered. There is such an opportunity now, Henry. Do you wish to embrace it?"
The young man's face flushed, and he became instantly excited. Is it any wonder? With as much composure as he could force himself to assume, he replied —
"I need very much an increase of salary, Mr. Vincent; but have no wish to leave your service."
"Your duty to yourself is first, Henry," said the merchant. "I can fill your place without trouble; though not so well as it is now filled, I am assured; but an opportunity like the present may not offer to you again for years."
"What is the situation to which you refer?" asked Wellford, by no means concealing the eager interest he felt.
"You are aware, I suppose, that Mr. Burton, one of Lane & Latta's book-keepers, has been in very poor health for a long time. Well, I heard this morning that his physician had positively ordered him to leave the desk, and travel for at least two or three months. His place will, in consequence, be vacant."
"Not permanently?"
"Yes. His physician says that he must, when his strength is sufficiently restored, seek other and more active employment. He has, accordingly, given notice to Lane & Latta that he will be obliged to give up his situation finally."
"He receives a thousand dollars a year?"
"Yes, that is the salary."
"Do you think it possible for me to obtain the place?" said Wellford, holding his breath as he waited for a reply.
"I do," was the assured answer.
"There will be many applicants, so soon as it is known that Burton intends to leave."
"We must be in advance of these applications," said Mr. Vincent, in a manner that showed his entire confidence in the result.
"I have no acquaintance with Messrs. Lane & Latta," said Wellford.
"But I have," replied his kind employer, "and my word with them will go a great way. In fact, Henry, to set your mind at rest, I have already spoken to them, and the place is yours if you are willing to accept it."
"Oh, sir!" exclaimed Wellford, suddenly grasping the hand of Mr. Vincent, and exhibiting strong emotion, "I will never, never forget this! You don't know the good you have done!"
Mr. Vincent smiled, and said something kind, about the just reward of faithful service, adding —
Ever be as true to the interests of your future employers as you have been to mine, Henry — and you will never lack for friends to promote your interests. Ability and honesty are ever in demand; and the higher the ability — the more ample will be the reward."
Though clouds and darkness were in the sky when Henry Wellford turned his steps homeward on that evening, the face of nature was not gloomy to him. Light seemed shining all around him, and he walked with a step so elastic, that he scarcely seemed to leave his weight upon the earth. After telling his mother of his good fortune, and taking, hurriedly, his evening meal, for which he found little appetite, he dressed himself to go out, determined at once to call upon Helen Lee, tell her of his good fortune, and offer his hand in marriage.
A few times only had Wellford visited Helen at her father's house. He did not belong to a family which, from any cause — whether from wealth, or from literary or professional standing — had gained a prominent place in the community. His father, a poor but honest man, had lived and died in obscurity, though honoring the position he held, and transmitting his virtues to a son better educated than he had been, and, therefore, better fitted for that higher place in society he was destined to gain. His visits to Helen were not smiled upon by Mrs. Lee, whose mind had become fixed in the hope of social elevation through the marriage of her accomplished child. How this was to be brought about, she did not exactly know. Extreme poverty had excluded Helen from that social contact formerly enjoyed; and now, she only entered the mansions of wealth as a humble and unregarded teacher.
We are forced to say, that the marked interest shown by Mr. Bullfinch, in sending Helen home in a carriage through the storm, had affected her with a pleasure beyond what the simple act of kindness might legitimately have awakened. Almost truant to themselves, her thoughts played with pictures drawn against the future, in which Helen, as the wife of Mr. Bullfinch, formed a prominent figure. Half ashamed of herself, the mother would sweep an obliterating hand across these pictures; but, before she was aware of it, fancy would sketch them again, while she looked on dreamily, yet with a pleased emotion. And thus it was, at times, through all that day of agony to her nearly distracted child.
Thus it was at an early hour in the evening, when there came a knock at the door. Mrs. Lee opened it, and there stood Henry Wellford.
"Is Helen at home?" he inquired.
Mrs. Lee held the door partly open; and, without asking the young man to walk in, replied —
"She is in; but not well. She has retired to her room."
Wellford expressed regret, and asked if she were seriously indisposed. Mrs. Lee answered, indifferently, that she had taken some cold.
"If not too much indisposed to come down, I would like particularly to see her this evening. Will you say this to her, Mrs. Lee?"
"I cannot permit her to be disturbed," was coldly replied.
Still the young man lingered, while the damp air swept against Mrs. Lee's thinly clad person, causing her to close the door farther; almost, in fact, shutting it in Wellford's face.
"Good evening, sir," she said, finally; and in the next moment, the generous lover of her daughter, who had come to lay his hand and opening fortune at her disposal — stood alone, repulsed rudely, on the outer threshold.
Indignant pride held, for a time, the mastery over Wellford. At first, he permitted himself to believe that Mrs. Lee had repulsed him in accordance with her daughter's wishes. But his cooler judgment made a more correct decision. This decision was strengthened by the fact that Mrs. Lee had treated him with exceeding formality on each of his previous visits.
At the house of a mutual friend, he had most frequently met Helen, and an intimacy, almost as unreserved as that between a brother and sister, had grown up between them. Freely had they spoken to each other of what was personal to themselves, their hopes, fears, trials and privations; and, without a formal avowal of love on the one side, or a looking for it in the other, they had come to regard the uncertain future as a way they were to tread side by side; and that thought was the pleasantest of all the thoughts which flowed through their minds. No wonder that the sudden interruption of this thought, produced turbulence in the minds of both.
From the residence of Helen, Wellford returned immediately home. Half the night was spent in pondering the new aspect which things had so suddenly assumed. In the morning, with a calmer mind, he was able to look at the whole subject.
"I must and will see her." This he said as he left home. He had frequently met Helen, on her way, at an early hour in the morning, to give lessons, and thus secured the brief pleasure of seeing her face, and listening to a voice the tones of which grew daily more musical to his ears. Now, he would see her with a more defined and higher purpose.
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