Trial and Triumph CHAPTER 2.
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A few weeks have passed. Mary, in whose beautiful eyes the light has grown dim, and from whose cheeks the bloom has faded, is sitting alone, with a sad, dreamy countenance. The door opens, and her mother enters.
"Mary, Mr. Emerson is in the parlor, and desires to see you."
"Tell him," was the firmly spoken reply, "that I wish to be excused. I cannot see him."
"You must see him, Mary!" the mother answered.
"Why does he importune me in this way?" said Mary, drawing up her slender person, while a flash of indignant feeling went over her countenance.
"He wishes, in justice to himself, to explain away circumstances that have placed him in an unfavorable light in your eyes. An interview for this purpose, you cannot deny him."
"How does he know the reasons which influenced me in declining his offer?" asked Mary, in a tone of surprise.
"I informed him."
"You! mother?"
"He asked of me a reason for your conduct, and I gave it."
"Let him explain to you, then!"
"He has done so, and to my entire satisfaction."
"What has he to say about his poor old nurse in the almshouse?"
"There was a mistake in the whole matter. He never meant to withhold a support from her while she lived. She is no longer in the alms-house."
"Why did he withhold the support, then?" asked Mary.
"Haven't I just said that there had been a mistake in the matter?"
"He didn't say this to Mrs. Glover, when she called on him."
"Mrs. Glover! Don't speak of her! She's a woman who meddles in things that don't belong to her. Philip wouldn't stoop to explanations when she called to interrogate him."
"She asked for no explanations. She simply called upon him with a petition in behalf of the old woman, and he met her with a repulsive coldness that was almost insulting."
"That is her story."
"And I believe it, mother."
"Believe it if you will; but see Philip, and, in justice to both yourself and him, hear his personal explanation."
"I do not wish to see him, mother!" returned Mary. "It can do no good, and will only add to the pain I already feel. If he is innocent of what has been alleged, so much the better for him; let conscious innocence be his sustainer. As for him and myself, we can never bear to each other a different relation from the present. To this resolution, my mind came weeks ago; and all subsequent things have but confirmed the resolution."
"Girl! Girl! Will you sacrifice everything to this perverse and stubborn spirit?" exclaimed Mrs. Lynn, unable to control her angry disappointment. "Can you forget the peril of our present position? The fortune left by your father — a breath may sweep away. It is already reduced two-thirds, and, tomorrow's sun may rise and see us beggars! Philip is not, I am persuaded, aware that all our property is in these stocks. Accept his offer, then, before this knowledge reaches him, and save yourself and family from ruin and disgrace."
Mary arose, while her mother was speaking; and there was a look of sincere surprise in her flushing countenance.
"Would you have me deceive him, mother?" she asked, with a calm dignity, before the expression of which Mrs. Lynn felt rebuked. "Surely you are not in earnest!"
"Philip is waiting below," said the mother, after a pause, speaking less arrogantly. "He asks to see you. Do not the relations that have existed between you for so long a time, give him a right to ask this?"
"I will see him, mother, on one condition," was Mary's answer to this.
"Name it."
"That you first inform him of our altered circumstances."
"Are you beside yourself, girl!" exclaimed Mrs. Lynn.
"No, mother, I am in my right mind. Not for a moment did it occur to me that Philip was ignorant of the great reverse with which we are threatened; and I, therefore, gave him credit for an attachment uninfluenced by sordid feelings. Now, you not only raise a doubt in my mind, but place me in a new relation to him."
"Oh, Mary! you do vex me beyond measure," said Mrs. Lynn. "Everything will be ruined by this perverseness of temper. What have you to do with all these disturbing considerations? Why will you go out of your way, to mar your best prospects in life?"
Mary did not answer to this, and her mother continued her importunities for some time longer. At length, seeming to change her purpose suddenly, Mary said —
"I will see him, but it must be alone."
"As you like," was replied; "but remember that your happiness for life, hangs upon the result of this interview."
"I will remember it," said Mary, in a low, solemn voice, as if speaking to herself. Without a word more, she left her room and descended to the parlor, where Emerson awaited an interview. The young man, who was walking the floor as she entered, came quickly towards her, with his hand extended, saying,
"Mary! At last I see you!"
He tried to smile as he grasped the hand she could not, in courtesy, refuse to give, and fixed a look of the most earnest inquiry upon her face. Mary looked at him for a moment only, and then her eyes were cast upon the floor. Seeing that she made no answer to his salutation, Emerson led her to a seat, and placed himself beside her.
"You look pale, Mary," said he. "Very pale and changed. Have you been ill?"
"No," was faintly murmured.
By this time, she had succeeded in withdrawing the hand Emerson had sought to retain. There was now an embarrassing pause, which the young man broke by saying,
"It seems, Mary, that some enemies of mine have been busy, and with too good success, in the work of poisoning your mind against me."
"Oh, no, Philip," quickly answered Mary. "No one has been busy in this work."
"Then I have been wrongly informed," said he, in a tone of surprise. "Your mother certainly gave me to understand this as the reason for your suddenly manifested aversion. And I have asked an interview in order to hear the charges from your own lips, and to answer them."
"I have no charges to make, Philip," replied Mary.
"Then why this change in your feelings?"
"Philip," said the young girl, "I have changed, because a better knowledge of your character, has satisfied me that we could not be happy together. Will not this reason suffice?"
"What point in my character? Upon what acts, or supposed acts of mine do you base your decision?"
"Philip Emerson!" Mary arose from her place by his side, and stood before him. "It is not just to me, this importunity for a reason in a matter of so trying and delicate a nature. I have been sincere to you from the beginning; I am sincere with you now. At our last painful interview, I told you that I was in earnest; and I can but repeat the words on this occasion. Go, and forget me! But you need not think of me unkindly, for I have no unkind thoughts toward you. My present action is the result of a deliberate conviction that I should not accept the flattering offer you have made — not of angry or offended feeling — and be assured that I cannot change my well-formed resolution. That I am a sufferer, your own eyes have already informed you. I shall still be a sufferer; yet will I not change. Spare me then, further pain. Let me plead for this; even by the pleasant memories of the past."
There was a tremor of emotion in the voice of Mary as she thus spoke, which deeply affected her auditor; and, in spite of her words, he ventured yet to plead his cause. But, before he had uttered a sentence, tears gushed over her face, and she turned from him, and left the room.
For Emerson to have remained longer, would have been as hopeless as indelicate; and so he retired, before Mrs. Lynn, who had been anxiously awaiting the termination of the interview, had time to intercept him.
Scarcely had the noise made by the closing door ceased to reverberate through the house, before the bell was rung, and Mrs. Lynn, who was already on her way to her daughter's room, paused on the stairs to listen. As the servant opened the street door, she heard a man's voice; then a man's step sounded in the entry.
"Mr. Williams wishes to see you," said the servant, coming up to where she still remained on the stairway.
The name caused the heart of Mrs. Lynn to give a sudden throb. The visit was untimely, and boded either good or bad news — bad she had great reason to fear. Hurriedly descending, she entered the parlor, and found Mr. Williams standing in the floor with a troubled countenance.
"Dear madam," said he, in an agitated voice, "our worst fears are at last realized! There has been a sudden collapse in the stock market. Shares fell today as low as fifteen!"
"Oh, Mr. Williams!" exclaimed the distressed widow, clasping her hands together, and growing suddenly pale. "Then am I indeed a beggar!"
"Thousands are involved in a like ruin! How little did I dream of this?"
"Oh, why did you not let me sell, months ago, when I was so anxious to save a portion of my own, and my children's property? Now all is hopeless ruin!"
And the distressed women wrung her hands and wept.
"I advised you for the best," said the rebuked agent, in a deprecating voice. "I never dreamed that this stock was worthless. So entire was my confidence in its ultimate value, that I as steadily refused to part with a single share held on my own account. I am, therefore, a loser with others, and to a large amount."
"But I wanted to sell, Mr. Williams. I felt that all was insecure from the first. At seventy cents, I would still have saved a handsome competence. At fifty, I would still have had twenty-five thousand dollars. Even at forty, I would have retained a remnant, and I begged you to save even that. But, no, no! And now, all is ruined!"
"Still I acted for the best," said Mr. Williams. "It was your interest, not my own, that I regarded. If I have erred in judgment — thousands have erred with me. No one believed that the affairs of the bank had become so desperate. All looked upon the panic as momentary, and the pressure upon the stock certain to be removed. It was for this reason, that I have steadily opposed your sacrificing your property; and I acted by you as I would have acted by my own sister. It now appears that I fatally erred in judgment. But say what you wish done now, and I will act promptly. Shall I sell your stock at fifteen?"
"At fifteen! Oh, ruin! ruin! ruin! Fifty thousand dollars shrunk down suddenly to seven thousand! No! better throw all into the sea! It cannot get worse!"
"It is a terrible sacrifice!" said Mr. Williams. "Terrible! Fifteen dollars for what cost a hundred and twelve! Who could have dreamed of this? I would have risked a dozen fortunes here. But this great depression can only be the effect of a panic. Prices must advance again, Mrs. Lynn. The bank owns a vast amount of property, and, I still think it will ultimately redeem a large proportion of her stock. The temptation to sell at fifteen cents is so small, that it seems like folly to throw away the prospect of ultimately realizing from forty to fifty thousand dollars — for the paltry consideration of six or seven thousand."
"What is to become of me!" exclaimed Mrs. Lynn, still wringing her hands, and now beginning to move about the room with every exhibition of distress.
"Calm yourself, my dear madam," said Mr. Williams. "The best way to meet an evil, is to look it steadily in the face."
"Don't speak to me of calmness," replied the widow, impatiently. "Ask a man on the wheel to be calm!"
"What will you do? Save what may now be saved — or await the outcome of this business?"
"Sell at fifteen! What will that avail? To lose everything can be little worse. It will be ruin at best. No, Mr. Williams, I cannot consent to such a sacrifice."
"I will not advise you further," said the agent.
"What had I best do?" now asked Mrs. Lynn. The moment she felt that upon herself rested the responsibility of further action, distrust and doubt arose.
"I cannot advise you," repeated the agent.
"Do you think prices will advance?"
"I cannot tell, madam."
"Do you think they will get lower?"
"This it is equally out of my power to say."
"Oh, dear! What shall I do! I wish you would advise me, Mr. Williams. I am at my wit's ends. Even seven thousand dollars are better than nothing!"
"True."
"It will keep the gaunt wolf 'poverty' from our door a little while."
"Yes. Better that than nothing."
"Go and sell out, then, Mr. Williams! Go quickly, while there is a chance of saving this poor remnant."
The agent bowed in acquiescence, and was moving from the door, when Mrs. Lynn said eagerly,
"Stop! This is too great a sacrifice. Oh, sir! advise me! You understand these matters better than I do. I do not like to take the responsibility of throwing away my children's property in this way. My husband said that I must confide in your judgement. What had I better do?"
"Thus far your confidence in me has proved utterly vain," replied Mr. Williams. "You must now decide for yourself. If you direct me to sell your stock at present prices, I will sell. But the responsibility must be yours."
Again Mrs. Lynn commenced wringing her hands and weeping, while she sobbed,
"Oh, what shall I do! What shall I do!"
"Compose yourself and think calmly over the matter during the day," said Mr. Williams. "In the morning I will call again, and then act upon your decision."
"But, won't you say what I had best do? What are you going to do in your own case?"
"I'm going to wait longer," was the unhesitating answer. "I've made up my mind to run the risk of losing all — rather than sell at present rates. But you must not be guided by my action. You cannot afford to lose all."
"If you were in my place — what would you do?"
"Don't ask me that question. I am not in your place. But, do as I have suggested. Compose your mind, and think calmly over the matter. Sleep on the question. Tomorrow morning I will hear your decision."
"Do you think there is any hope of an advance in price, Mr. Williams?" asked Mrs. Lynn, in a voice that implored an answer to the question.
"I am totally in the dark, madam," replied the agent.
"Surely, you have some opinion! Pity me, and advise me!"
"I can say nothing now, Mrs. Lynn. Tomorrow I will see you. Perhaps I can advise you then, more understandingly than now."
The agent departed, and Mrs. Lynn sunk upon a chair, where she remained lost in painful abstraction; until the thought of Mary and her late interview with Philip Emerson, caused her to start quickly to her feet, and pass from the room to seek her daughter's chamber.
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