Lovers and Husbands CHAPTER 5.
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"I am the happiest creature alive!" Emily said to her young friend, as soon as Whitney had ridden out of sight, throwing her arms around Flora's neck and bursting into a flood of joyful tears.
Flora more than guessed the cause of this excitement of Emily's feelings, although she said, as she returned her embrace, tenderly,
"What has occurred to make you so happy?"
"Can't you tell?" asked Emily, looking into the other's face, with tears and smiles blending upon her own in rainbow beauty. "Whitney has opened up to me all his heart; he loves me. Oh, what more than this could I ask in life!" and she hid her face in her friend/s bosom, and sobbed for very joy.
Flora, while she had reason for supposing that such an engagement would sooner or later take place, was yet startled by it, now that it had come upon her. She loved her young friend like a sister; but she did not admire the character of Whitney; she did not believe that he could make her happy. She had tried to speak out on this subject to Emily several times, in order to guard her against him — but she could not make herself understood. Now the declaration had been made — now the die was nearly cast. She felt troubled, and her face showed that Emily's communication had fallen as a shadow upon her mind.
"You do not rejoice with me at this happy result," her young friend at length said, lifting herself up from Flora's bosom, as soon as she felt the coldness with which her words had been received. "Why is this?"
"Have you accepted this offer of Mr. Whitney's hand?"
"Virtually, by referring him to my parents."
"But not in word. Then you are still uncommitted, fully. I am glad of that."
"Are you beside yourself, Flora! What do you mean by such strange words?"
"Frankly, then, as a true friend should speak, I do not think you will be permanently happy as the wife of Charles Whitney."
"Your reason?" briefly returned the maiden.
"I think, for one thing, that he loves himself too well ever to make a woman happy."
"Loves himself! How strangely you talk, Flora. No man could love himself less than he does; his generous feelings are proverbial."
"And yet, I never heard him speak kindly of any man in my life. He sees defects quickly; but good points in character do not seem to meet his eye."
"You certainly must be thinking of someone else."
"No; I was several times in his company last winter, and observed him closely. He was lavish even to flattery in his praises of our gender — but censorious in regard to his own gender. This is never a good sign. But that is not all. I am satisfied that all his best points are on the surface, and easily seen. His mind does not seem to rest upon a good basis. He has personal and intellectual beauty; but what do you know of his moral qualities? High moral excellence does not shine out in every act, word, and tone, as they should beam forth, were they within; and without moral worth, no man can make a right-minded woman happy. This too many have found to their sorrow when it was too late. His constant habit, too, of complimenting — flattering, I should say — our gender, does not look well. No one flatters another who does not expect to gain some favor of which he is really unworthy. True worth — true merit — disdains all art; it is its own all-sufficient advocate."
Flora ceased, while her friend looked at her in silent astonishment.
"What I have said," she resumed, her earnest manner changing into one more quiet and subdued, "affects you, I see, with surprise. I wish it were not so. I wish your mind could view this whole subject more calmly. You cannot be happy as a married woman — unless you love your husband with a deep, true, and permanent love; nor unless he, in turn, loves you with a similar devotion?"
"Of course not! That is self-evident."
"Yes, it is self-evident to every woman's heart. Now tell me why you love Mr. Whitney."
"I love him because he is worthy of my love; for what other reason could I love him?"
"In what does this worthiness consist?" pursued Flora.
"He is high-minded, noble, intelligent," returned the blushing maiden, proudly.
"What do you mean by high-minded and noble?"
"He is above a base action," was replied, after a slight pause.
"Ah, my dear friend," Flora said, with affectionate earnestness, "I fear that in your mind there is no well-defined appreciation of his character — no whole view of it, which is the result of a distinct knowledge of the various qualities that make up his intellect and affections; and without such knowledge of a man's character — no experiment can be more hazardous than for a woman to enter the marriage relation. In the matter of wedlock, a maiden should unite the serpent's wisdom, with the harmlessness and innocence of the dove. It is impossible to know a man too thoroughly."
"I am not suspicious. A woman's heart, like the magnetic needle, points to its true pole. Reason is no guide in love," was the reply of Emily. "I cannot look into the mind of him who tells me that he loves me truly, and see all that is there. I can only question my own heart, and be guided by its answers. This I have done; and it responds joyfully to his words of tenderness."
"Have you never," said Flora, "let your mind rise into an abstract state, wherein you could imagine future circumstances and future feelings so perfectly as to make them, for a time, present?"
"Yes, often."
"Then so abstract your mind now. Think of the time when beauty shall fade — when all external attractions shall lose their power, and see if you have a distinct perception of qualities in the mind of Mr. Whitney, that will still hold your heart to him with even a firmer love than you had before experienced. If this is so, accept his offer; if not, beware how you sacrifice your heart upon that shrine."
But Emily could not really understand her friend? — could not so abstract her mind. Her eyes were dazzled by the brilliant qualities of her suitor, and her heart trembling under the first strong impulses of awakened love. Much more passed between the friends; but enough has been given to show their different characters and different views.
On the next day, Emily, who had intended to pass a week or two more in the country, left for New York. Whitney's declaration of love had stripped Rose Hill of its attractions. After her departure, Doctor Arlington continued his visits regularly — but without losing much of his awkward reserve in the presence of Flora, who, however, managed, usually, to carry on a conversation with him, that always grew more and more interesting as it progressed, and the doctor so far forgot himself as to let his thoughts act freely and naturally. Sometimes she would really admire the beauty, order, and strength of his mind; and at other times have her own sense of the chaste and elegant in manner, been sadly offended.
Thus time wore on, until towards Christmas, when Flora, after repeated urgent invitations from Emily, who had soon after her return to the city accepted Mr. Whitney's offer, left Rose Hill to spend a part of the winter in New York. Doctor Arlington was at the cottage to bid her farewell. He slightly pressed her hand, or, at least, Flora thought so, as he shook it; and his voice trembled a little as he said "Good-by;" if not, Flora's quick ear deceived her. He had never before appeared to better advantage in her eyes. She could not help glancing back frequently from the coach window, nor help feeling an emotion of strange delight, as she observed him standing in the porch of her mother's cottage, gazing after the vehicle that was bearing her away from Rose Hill.
In the city she found much to absorb her attention. Emily's marriage was to take place in February, and this afforded a topic of constant interest, especially to Emily herself, and through her, to Flora. Then there was a succession of brilliant parties, with the opera, to keep up a pleasing excitement. It is no matter of great wonder that Flora's mind should not very often turn towards Rose Hill with a strong affection, except on account of her mother. If she thought of the plain country doctor at all, it was with no particular interest. Hisunattractive exterior appeared in her mind more unattractive still, as contrasted with the polished elegance of city beaux, who thronged every drawing-room, and lavished upon herself and others the most assiduous attentions.
Among these was a young man, a member of the New York bar, named Garnett, who was really pleased with Flora. He was a personal and intimate friend of Charles Whitney, and had been chosen by him to act as one of the groomsmen at the approaching marriage ceremony. Flora was to act as bridesmaid to her friend Emily. All this was understood for many weeks before the wedding, which made the fellowship between the parties thus related, more familiar than other circumstances would have warranted. The consequence was, that Garnett had an opportunity not only of meeting Flora frequently, and without reserve — but of seeing her more in her real character than any woman is seen in society. The more intimately he knew her, the more highly did he esteem — it might be said, love her.
Nor was Flora altogether indifferent to the attractions presented by the young attorney. Almost unconsciously to herself, her thoughts would turn towards him when he was away, and her heart quicken its pulsations the moment he came into her presence. His invitations to attend the opera were never declined, nor was the offer of his hand for a waltz ever felt as obtrusive. Thus the days wore on, until winter drew towards its close, when the time came for the celebration of the marriage rites between Whitney and Emily. These passed, and also the attendant festivities, involving a series of brilliant parties, in which Flora and Garnett attracted much attention, and caused many whispered allusions to the possible result of their intimacy. To the former, no winter had passed so pleasantly; as to why, she did not venture to ask herself. The latter understood his own feelings much better; he had decided to offer Flora his hand. In this he was warmly encouraged by Whitney, who gave him the assurance that there was not a shadow of doubt as to the success of his suit, promising, at the same time, to get his young bride to sound her friend on the subject, so as to make assurance doubly sure. This delicate task, Emily readily undertook. She was alone with Flora one day, about two weeks after her marriage. The topic of conversation turned upon the bride's happy state of mind, and this naturally enough opened the way for her to express a wish to see her friend speedily enter the marriage relation.
"I'm in no hurry," Flora returned, laughing, while the color on her cheek heightened; "and, besides, I don't think I have yet seen the man into whose keeping I would be willing to trust my happiness."
"I think I know of some who would be very willing to trust their happiness into your keeping," was the smiling reply.
"Indeed! I've been making some conquests, then? I ought to feel flattered, really!" Although this was said gayly, there was something forced about her manner — an effort to seem indifferent.
"I know many a girl who would feel flattered, had she made the impression you have made — at least upon one heart that has, till now, been thought invulnerable."
"And please, what heart is that?"
Emily affected to seem embarrassed by this question. She was silent for an instant, and then said,
"Perhaps I have gone a little too far. A young wife must be careful how she betrays secrets learned from her husband."
A remark like this had a very natural effect upon Flora — that of exciting her curiosity. This was shown in her face, not by words.
"You would give a little finger to know whose heart you have broken!" Emily laughingly said, as soon as she read Flora's thoughts in her countenance.
"No, not a little finger quite," returned the friend, smiling.
"But what would you give to know?"
"Nothing."
"Then I'll tell you for nothing;" and bending over to the ear of her friend, Emily whispered the name of Garnett. Flora startled, colored, and looked confused.
"Ah, ha! I thought my calm, cold friend could not withstand his attractions!" almost screamed Emily, in a transport of delight at perceiving these evidences of Garnett's successful inroads upon her heart, at the same time throwing her arms around Flora's neck, and kissing her cheek with real affection.
Much to her own surprise, Flora found that this news, meeting her ear so unexpectedly, caused a glow of delight to fill her whole bosom. "Why is this?" she resolutely asked herself, arousing her mind up at once. The pleasure Emily's communication had given, betrayed both to herself and the fond young bride — was changed, as soon as she could begin to think, into seriousness.
"What you say," she remarked, with a sober face, as soon as she could control herself, "surprises me, and throws my mind into confusion. But perhaps you are only jesting?"
"Oh no — that I am not!" Emily said, still with animation. "Mr. Garnett has stated to Charles freely, the decided preference he has for you, a preference that I have seen all along. He is just the one for you. Charles says he doesn't know a better match among all his acquaintances; and they are such intimate friends, too! Just as intimate as you and I are. Won't it be delightful'"
"Won't what be delightful?" Flora inquired in a grave tone.
Emily was thrown aback by the manner in which this question was asked. A silence of nearly a minute followed, during which both Flora and her friend felt much embarrassed. At length the former said, in a firm voice,
"Emily, I shall leave for Rose Hill tomorrow."
"Oh no, no! You must not think of such a thing for a moment!"
"Nothing could induce me to stay here for a day longer," was Flora's resolute reply. Then rising, she asked to be permitted to retire to her own room, as she wished to be alone for a short time. Emily offered no objection, and she left the room.
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