Democratic Sentinel, Volume 9, Number 28, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 August 1885 — HE WASN'T ENGAGED. [ARTICLE]

HE WASN'T ENGAGED.

I went to live with Aunt Edmonton when poor papa died. That was half a dozen years ago, yet my trouble seems as fresh to-day, my loss as irreparable as on that terrible morning when I left him lying in his lonely grave under the willows. Poor papa! how fond we were of each other. He had no one in the world but me. Mamma died when I was a wee baby, not quite two summers old —died away off in Southern France, and she sleeps there now under the shadows of the purple hills. I have seen many fair women, but Dever a face half so lovely as hers, Her portrait used to hang in the old gallery at Edmonton Hall, but it is gone now. Aunt Edmonton had something to do with its disappearance; for she never liked my mother. The Edmontons are a proud race, with a pedigree running back to the old Cavaliers, and an ancient crest on their massive old silver, and the bluest of blue blood in their aristocratic veins. At least, Aunt Edmonton says so. Papa always laughed at her high fancies, and held that one honest soul was as good as another, no matter whether its owner , wore royal purple or hodden gray; and when he met my pretty mamma, and loved her, he did not hesitate about making her his wife, though she was penniless and a daughter of the people. Aunt Edmonton was terribly angered, and when the pretty bride came home to Edmonton Hall, she met her with scowling brows, and led her such a life that papa soon took her abroad, and there she died and was buried a few short months after I was born. Papa never outlived his grief at her loss; he loved her dead as tenderly as he had loved her living, and cherished me as no other child was ever cherished. I grew up in his bosom; he Was my teacher, companion, and friend. We were never separated. What a blissful life we led, Bohemians though we were! Whither our fancy led us, there we pitched our tent; under sunny skies, in the solemn shadow of time-famed rains, by the margin of storied rivers. I was cradled on the deep, and reared amid the classic wealth of foreign lands. But as time crept by papa’s health grew feeble, and we came back to Edmonton Hall; there he died. I left the dear old home and his grave under the drooping willows, and went to live with Aunt Edmonton.

As I have said, Aunt Edmonton was a proud woman. She was more —a worldly one. Wealth was her Moloch, and she held no heart treasure too precious to be given as an offering to his fiery embrace. I was an Edmonton as well as herself, and, despite the disgrace of my mother’s alien blood, could not be put to household drudgery. Hence I was installed as a sort of companion, to read Balzac and George Sand, while my aunt and Marguerite sipped their noon chocolate, and to keep the point lace in order and the family jewels well burnished. Not a laborious task, and it brought me bread and butter; and bread and butter we must have in this common-place world, even though our hearts break and our souls starve. Aunt Edmonton did not like the old hall. She declared that the old house was better suited for bats and owls than for human beings, and it was shut up, and we lived first in one gay city and then another, and finally crossed the sea and went to Paris. Dear me, how my aunt and Marguerite did enjoy the life the life they led there, and how I pined and longed for home! It is a marvel how differently constituted people are, with the same blood in their veins, too. “Bell,” said my aunt, one autumn night, when preparations were going on for some famous ball, ‘‘will you have the kindness to go to the greenhouse and cut the flowers for Marguerite’s hair? She wears natural flowers tonight, and I can’t trust to Felice. Look at her dress, please.. and select what you think will suit—your taste is perfect”

Marguerite threw away her novel, ' and shook down her black tresses as I was leaving the room. “Bell, don’t fail to cut some helio- ! trope, please. Captain Carruthers is , here, and he dotes on heliotrope. By | the by, you remember Captain Carruthers, don’t you?” My foolish heart gave a sudden thump, and the tell-tale blood rushed 1 to my cheeks. How well I remembered 1 him. Papa’s best friend—the friend ' who stood beside his dying pillow. I remembered his parting words, too, • when he left me standing beside the ) new-made grave under the old willows. ■ “No words of mine can give you any i comfort now, Bell, but time heals the j sorest wounds. I regret to leave you, j but my regiment goes abroad to-mor-row. Good-by. One day I hope to meet you again!” But in all the dreary years that followed I had heard no word from him. “You remember him, of course,” continued my handsome cousin; “he used to be at the Hall a great deal in your father s time. Well, we met him last night. He’s been here a week; and he’s a millionaire, Bell. You know old Carruthers, of Carruthers Place ? Well, he is dead, and the Captain inherits the fortune, you see. So don’t forget the heliotrope. 1 know it is not becoming —purple suits my creole complexion least—but I remember what a fancy Carruthers always had for heliotrope, and he’s worth pleasing, you know. ” Aunt Edmonton laughed as she lose and shook out her lace flounces. “Wear the heliotrope by all means; but you need not feel a bit anxious. You secured the Captain and his fortune last night; that rose silk and the diamonds did the business. I never saw a man more infatuated. Well, he’s a good match. Pve not a word to say against it; no better family than he comes of, and Carruthers Place is a grand old home. Ah, there is his carriage below now; Pll go down until you are ready. Do make haste,Bell. And I wish you would be obliging enough to do up Bite’s hair this evening; you are so much more skilful than Felice. And look over her jewels, please; I think that pearl and opal set will match her dress perfectly. ” I hurried down to the greenhouse. Heartache was no new sensation, but somehow my pain seemed intolerable as I made my way down the dim aisle, the gorgeous tropical blossoms stifling me with their rank odors. I forgot Rite’s flowers, forgot her waiting toilet, forgot everything but my own suffering. An aloe tree in full blossom, standing alone like some weird necromancer, caught my eye, and I sank down at its roots, and burst into tears. I seemed to see papa’s grave, covered with yellow autumn leaves. I heard the wash of the waves, the murmur of the pine trees. The bustle of the gaslit streets drove me to frenzy. “This life is killing me; I must go home to the old hall and papa’s grave.” A hand touched my arm as the words broke from my bps. “I beg your pardon, madam; you seem in distress. Can I help good heaven, Bell! is it you?” “Captain Carruthers!” I leaped to my feet, and we stood face to face. He was bronzed and bearded, but the frank, kind eyes were unchanged. A wild impulse seized me to clasp his hands and tell him how lonely and friendless I was; but woman’s pride, stronger even than her love, stifled the desire at its very birth. I bowed coldly. “Why, Bell, you haven’t changed; only you look wan and sad. I am so glad to meet you. I have written again and again, until I fancied you were dead. How is it that 1 find you in Paris ?” “No matter; I bid you good evening, Captain Carruthers.” The glad, kind, handsome eyes widened with wonder as I darted away. ♦ * * * *

“Dear me, Bell, I thought you’d never come. I didn’t like to keep Carruthers waiting. Gracious goodness! where are the flowers?” “I didn’t get them, and I can’t dress you,. Marguerite. I am going to my room.” “Why, what is the matter? Are you | ill?” I did not pause to answer. At noon on the following day my aunt summoned me to her presence. “You need not read to-day, Bell; I want to talk to you. You met Captain Carruthers in the green-house last night?” “Yes, by accident.” Aunt Edmonton toyed with the tassels of her morning robe, and for the first time, to my knowledge, showed signs of embarrassment. “By accident, of course. I didn’t suppose you mistook my meaning, my dear. He’s a fine, handsome fellow, and he and Rite are well matched; don’t you think so? Well, my dear, his coming changes our plans in a measure. We may remain here for the winter; and your health seems to be failing, and you don’t like Paris, Bell, and I thought perhaps——”

“You thought you would send me home, Aunt Edmonton. Pray do; I meant to ask permission to go this very day—l’m dreadfully homesick.” She laughed genially, and, crossing the room, kissed me with more kindness than she had ever shown. “Then you shall have permission, my dear. Mrs. Montague, an old friend of mine, leaves Paris to-night, and you shall go under her charge.” I went, leaving giddy Paris behind me with a feeling of relief. But when I reached the old home, how desolate it was. Winter came, and the white snow filled the hollows and crowned the hills. Letters from Aunt Edmonton informed me that they were in Borne, with Captain Carruthers as escort, and hinted at a great wedding

when spring came. Did I care? What was Captain Carruthers to me? My father’s friend, and I must always regard him with gratitude; and Mai' guerite would make him a stately, beau tiful bride. I wished them much joy. Yet through all the winter days and nights my heartache never ceased or abated. Spring came, and the skies grew soft and tender. The snows melted, leaving the hills green and the sunny hollows sweet with violets. One March morning I went out to rake the flower-l>eds. The hyacinths and buttercups were already above the mold, and here and there a green tulip leaf could be seen. The winds blew warm from the south, the sunshine glimmered like gold, and in one of the willows over papa’s grave a blackbird sang. I threw aside my rake and sat down to cry, not in hopeless sorrow, but in new-born faith. A step crunched on the gravel of the walk, a tall shadow fell athwart the glimmering sunshine. I started to my feet. “Captain Carruthers!” “Good morning, Miss Edmonton.” “Has my aunt come?” “No; I left her in Venice.” “And you—why are you here?” The kind eyes smiled down upon me full of sad reproach. “To say good-by at once, Bell, if my company is not wanted. My regiment is ordered off again, but I could not go without having one last look at your face. ” The blood in my heart seemed to burn into my cheeks. “Captain Carruthers!” “Well, Bell?’’ “Miss Edmonton, if you please.” “Very well; Miss Edmonton, then, if you admire it more. We were friends once; why should we not be now ?” “Oh, we are friends; we shall be something nearer soon; when you marry my cousin Marguerite.” “I shall never marry your cousin Marguerite. ” “What! has she refused you?” “I have never asked her—have never wanted her. Oh, my darling, your eyes tell me something that gives my heart hope. But I never forgot you. I wrote dozens of letters, but not one of them reached you. I only guessed at the truth a few weeks ago, and I am here. I loved you years ago, I love you now—shall always love you. Tell me the truth. If they hadn’t intercepted my letters and made you think me false, would you have cared for me as ever?” I could not for my life say no. “I thought you were engaged to Marguerite. I was sure- — “Y'ou thought wr r ng. Marguerite is a fine woman, and marries a title this summer. My darling I have loved no woman but you. ” How the March sunshine glittered, what notes of delight the birds sang, swinging in the old tree! The whole universe seemed to have undergone a sudden transformation, and my heartache became a thing of the past.