Then Kate came down to spend a week with the Travillas.
She looked fagged and worn, complained of ennui, was already wearied of the life she had been leading, and had lost all taste for simple pleasures.
Her faded cheek and languid air, presented a strange contrast to the fresh, bright beauty and animation of Elsie and Violet, a contrast that pained the kind, motherly heart of Mrs. Travilla, who would have been glad to make all the world as happy as she and her children were.
Elsie and Vi felt a lively interest in Gertrude's prospects, and had many questions to ask about her betrothed; – "Was he young? was he handsome? was he a good man? But, oh that was of course."
"No, not of course at all," Kate answered, almost with impatience. "She supposed he was not a bad man; but he wasn't good in their sense of the word – not in the least religious – and he was neither young nor handsome."
A moment of disappointed silence followed this communication, then Elsie said, a little doubtfully, "Well, I suppose Gerty loves him, and is happy in the prospect of becoming his wife?"
"Happy?" returned Kate, with a contemptuous sniff. "Well, I suppose she ought to be; she is getting what she wanted – plenty of money and a splendid establishment; but as to loving Mr. Victor Larrabee – I could about as soon love a – snake; and so could she. He always makes me think of one."
"Oh, Kate! and will she marry him?" both exclaimed in horror.
"She's promised to and doesn't seem inclined to draw back," replied Kate with indifference. Then bursting into a laugh, "Girls," she said, "I've had an offer too, and mamma would have had me accept it, but it didn't suit my ideas. The man himself is well enough, I don't really dislike him; but such a name! Hogg! only think of it! I told mamma that I didn't want to live in a sty, if it was lined with gold."
"No, I don't believe I could feel willing to wear that name," said Violet laughing. "But if his name suited, would you marry him without loving him?"
"I suppose so; I like riches, and mamma says such wealthy men as Mr. Hogg and Mr. Larrabee are not to be picked up every day."
"But, oh, it wouldn't be right, Kate! because you have to promise to love."
"Oh, that's a mere form!" returned Kate with a yawn. "Gerty says she's marrying for love – not of the man but his money," and Kate laughed as if it was an excellent joke.
The other two looked grave and distressed, their mother had taught them that to give the hand without the heart was folly and sin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH
"There's many a slip
Twixt the cup and the lip."
The Travillas were all invited to Gertrude's wedding; but as it was to be a very grand affair, the invitation was declined because of their recent bereavement.
Mr. Ross had not seen his intended son-in-law, nor did he know how mercenary were Gertrude's motives. He took it for granted that she would not, of her own free will, consent to marry a man who was not at least agreeable to her, though he certainly thought it odd that she should fancy one over forty years older than herself.
He made some inquiries relative to the man's character and circumstances, and learning that he was really very wealthy, and bore a respectable reputation, as the world goes, gave his consent to the match.
The preparations went on; dresses and jewels were ordered from Paris, invitations issued to several hundred guests, and the reception rooms of their city residence refurnished for the occasion; money was poured out without stint to provide the wedding feasts and flowers, rich and rare, for the adornment of the house, and the persons of the girls.
Gertrude did not seem unhappy, but was in a constant state of excitement, and would not allow herself a moment to think.
Ten days before that appointed for the ceremony, the bridegroom arrived in the city, and called upon the family.
Mr. Ross did not like his countenance, and wondered more than ever at his daughter's choice.
He waited till Mr. Larrabee was gone, then sent for her to come to him in the library.
She came, looking surprised and annoyed. "What is it, papa?" she said impatiently. "Please be as brief as you can; because I've a world of things to attend to."
"So many that you have not a moment to spare for the father you are going to leave so soon?" he said a little sadly.
"Oh, don't remind me of that!" she cried, a sudden change coming over her manner. "I can't bear to think of it!" and creeping up to him, she put her arms around his neck, while a tear trembled in her eye.
"Nor I," he said, caressing her; "not even if I knew you were going to be very happy so far away from me; and I fear you are not. Gertrude, do you love that man?"
"Why what a question coming from my practical father!" she said, forcing a laugh. "I am choosing for myself, marrying of my own free will; is not that sufficient?"
"I tell you candidly, Gertrude," he answered, "I do not like Mr. Larrabee's looks. I cannot think it possible that you can love him, and I beg of you if you do not, to draw back even now at this late hour."
"It is too late, papa," she returned, growing cold and hard; "and I do not wish it. Is this all you wanted to say to me?"
"Yes," he said, releasing her with a sigh.
She glided from the room and he spent the next half hour in pacing slowly back and forth with his head bowed upon his breast.
The door bell rang and the servant came in with a card.
Mr. Ross glanced at it, read the name with a look of pleased surprise, and said, "Show the gentleman in here."
The next moment the two were shaking hands and greeting each other as old and valued friends.
"I'm very glad to see you, Gordon!" exclaimed Mr. Ross; "but what happy chance brought you here? Are you not residing somewhere in the West?"
"Yes; in St. Louis; and it is not a happy chance, but a painful duty that has brought me to you to-night."
He spoke hurriedly, as if to be done with an unpleasant task, and Mr. Ross's pulses throbbed at the sudden recollection that Larrabee also was a resident of St. Louis.
He turned a quick, inquiring look upon his friend. "Out with it, man! I'm in no mood to wait, whether it be good news or ill."
Gordon glanced toward the door.
Mr. Ross stepped to it and turned the key; then coming back, seated himself close to his friend with the air of one who is ready for anything.
"Phil, my old chum," said Gordon, clapping him affectionately on the shoulder, "I heard the other day in St. Louis, that Larrabee was about to marry a daughter of yours, and I took the first eastern bound train and traveled night and day to get here in time to put a stop to the thing. I hope I'm not too late."
"What do you know of the man?" asked Mr. Ross steadily and looking Gordon full in the eye, but with a paling cheek.
"Know of him? that he made all his money by gambling; that he is a murderer."
The last word was spoken low and close to the listener's ear.
Mr. Ross started back – horrified – deadly pale.
"Gordon! do you know whereof you affirm?" he asked low and huskily.
"I do; I had the account from one who was an eye-witness of the affair. He is dead now, and I do not suppose it would be possible to prove the thing in a court of justice; but nevertheless I assure you it is true.
"It was thirty years ago, on a Mississippi steamer, running between St. Louis and New Orleans, that the deed was done.
"Larrabee, then a professional black-leg, was aboard, plying his trade. My informant, a man whose veracity I could not doubt, was one of a group of bystanders, who saw him (Larrabee) fleece a young man out of several thousand dollars – all he had in the world – then, enraged by some taunting words from his victim, pull out a pistol and shoot him through the heart, just as they sat there on opposite sides of the gaming table; then with his revolver still in his hand, threatening with terrible oaths and curses, to shoot down any man who should attempt to stop him, he rushed on deck, jumped into the river, swam ashore and disappeared in the woods."
"Horrible, horrible!" groaned Mr. Ross, hiding his face in his hands. "And this murderer, this fiend in human form, would have married my daughter!" he cried, starting up in strong excitement. "Why was he suffered to escape? Where is he now?"
"The whole thing passed so quickly, my informant said, that every one seemed stunned, paralyzed with horror and fright till the scoundrel had made good his escape; beside there were several others of the same stamp on board – desperate fellows, probably belonging to the same gang – who were evidently ready to make common cause with the ruffian.
"That part of our country was, you know, in those days, infested with desperadoes and outlaws."
"Yes, yes; but what is to be done now? I shall of course send a note to Larrabee, at his hotel, telling him that all is at an end between him and Gertrude, forbidding him the house, and intimating that the sooner he leaves the vicinity the better. But – Gordon, I can never thank you sufficiently for this kindness; will you add to it by keeping the thing to yourself for the present? I wouldn't for the world have the story get into the papers."
"Certainly, Ross!" returned his friend, grasping his hand in adieu. "I understand how you feel. There is but one person beside ourselves, who knows my errand here, and I can answer for his silence."
"Who is it?"
"Mr. Hogg, a friend of your wife and daughters."
The news brought by Mr. Gordon sent both Gertrude and her mother into violent hysterics, and Mr. Ross and an old nurse who had been in the family for years, had their hands full for the rest of the night. It was a sore wound to the pride of both mother and daughter.
"The scoundrel! the wretch! the villain!" cried Gertrude. "I can never hold up my head again; everybody will be talking about me, and those envious Miss Petitts and their mother will say, 'It's just good enough for her; serves her right for being so proud of the grand match she was going to make.' Oh dear, oh dear! why couldn't that Gordon have staid away and held his tongue!"
"Gertrude!" exclaimed her father, in anger and astonishment, "is this your gratitude to him for saving you from being the wife of a gambler and murderer? You might well be thankful to him and to a Higher Power, for your happy escape."
"Yes, of course," said Lucy. "But what are we to do? the invitations are all out. Oh dear, dear, was there ever such a wretched piece of business! Phil, it's real good in you not to reproach me."
"'Twould be useless now," he sighed, "and I think the reproaches of your own conscience must be sufficient. Not that I would put all the blame on you, though. A full share of it belongs to me."
By morning both ladies had recovered some degree of calmness, but Gertrude obstinately refused to leave her room, or to see any one who might call, even her most intimate friend.
"Tell them I'm sick," she said, "it'll be true enough, for I have an awful headache."
It was to her mother who had been urging her to come down to breakfast, that she was speaking.
"Well, I shall send up a cup of tea," said Mrs. Ross. "But, what is this?" as the maid entered with a note. "It's directed to you, Gertrude."
"From him, I presume," Gertrude said, as the girl went out and closed the door. "Throw it into the fire, mother, or no; I'll send it back unopened."
"It is not his hand," said Mrs. Ross, closely scrutinizing the address.
"Then give it to me, please;" and almost snatching it from her mother's hand, Gertrude tore it open, and glanced hastily over its contents.
"Yes, I'll see him! he'll be here directly; and I must look my best!" she exclaimed, jumping up and beginning to take down her crimps.
"See him? Gertrude, are you mad? Your father will never allow it."
"Mr. Hogg, mother."
"Oh!"
They exchanged glances and smiles. Mrs. Ross hurried down to breakfast, not to keep her husband waiting, and Gertrude presently followed in handsome morning toilet, and in apparently quite gay spirits; a trifle pale, but only enough so to make her interesting, her mother said.
Mr. Ross and Philip, Jr., had already gone away to their place of business, Sophie and the younger boys to school, and only Mrs. Ross and Kate were left, the latter of whom had little to say, but regarded her sister with a sort of contemptuous pity.
Gertrude had scarcely finished her meal, when the door-bell rang, and she was summoned to the drawing-room to receive her visitor.
The wedding came off at the appointed time. There was a change of bridegrooms, that was all; and few could decide whether the invitations had been a ruse, so far as he was concerned – or if that were not so, how the change had been brought about.
In a long letter to Violet Travilla, Kate Ross gave the details of the whole affair.
A strange, sad story it seemed to Vi and her sister. They could not in the least understand how Gertrude could feel or act as she had done, and feared she would find, as Kate expressed it, "even a gold lined sty, but a hard bed to lie in, with no love to soften it."
"Still," they said to each other, "it was better, a thousand times better, than marrying that dreadful Mr. Larrabee."
For Kate had assured them Mr. Hogg was "an honest, honorable man, and not ill-tempered; only an intolerable bore – so stupid and uninteresting."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH
"Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."
– GAL. vi. 7.
Elsie and her children returned home healthful and happy, with scarce any but pleasing recollections of the months that had just passed.
Not so with Mrs. Conly and Virginia. They seemed soured and disappointed; nothing had gone right with them; their finery was all spoiled, and they were worn out – with the journey they said, but in reality far more by late hours and dissipation of one sort and another.
The flirtation with Captain Brice had not ended in anything serious – except the establishing of a character for coquetry for Virginia – nor had several others which followed in quick succession.
The girl had much ado to conceal her chagrin; she had started out with bright hopes of securing a brilliant match, and now, though not yet twenty, began to be haunted with the terrible, boding fear of old maidenhood.
She confided her trouble to Isadore one day, when a fit of extreme depression had made her unusually communicative.
Isa could scarce forbear smiling, but checked the inclination.
"It is much too soon to despair, Virgy," she said; "but indeed, I do not think the prospect of living single need make one wretched."
"Perhaps not you, who are an heiress; but it's another thing for poor, penniless me."
Isadore acknowledged that that probably did make a difference.
"But," she added, "I hope neither of us will ever be so silly as to marry for money. I think it must be dreadful to live in such close connection with a man you do not love, even if he is rolling in wealth; but suppose he loses his money directly? There you are, tied to him for life without even riches to compensate you for your loss of liberty."
"Dear me, Isa, how tiresome! Where's the use of supposing he's going to lose his money?"
"Because it's something not at all unlikely to happen; riches do take wings and fly away. I do not feel certain that Aunt Delaford's money will ever come to me, or that, if it does, I may not lose it. So I intend to prepare to support myself if it should ever become necessary."
"How?"
"I intend to take up the English branches again, also the higher mathematics, and make myself thorough in them (which I am far from being now; they do not teach them thoroughly at the convent), so that I may be able to command a good position as a teacher.
"And let me advise you to do the same."
"Indeed, I've no fancy for such hard work," sneered Virginia. "I'd rather trust to luck. I'll be pretty sure to be taken care of somehow."
"I should think if any one might feel justified in doing that it would be Cousin Elsie," said Isadore; "but Uncle Horace educated her in a way to make her quite capable of earning her own living, and she is doing the same by every one of her children."
"Such nonsense!" muttered Virginia.
"Such prudence and forethought, I should say," laughed her sister.
A few days after this Isadore was calling at Ion and in the course of conversation Mrs. Travilla remarked, with concern, "Virginia looks really unhappy of late. Is her trouble anything it would be in my power to relieve?"
"No; unless she would listen to good counsel from you. It is really nothing serious; and yet I suppose it seems so to her. I'm almost ashamed to tell you, cousin, but as far as I can learn it is nothing in the world but the fear of old-maidenhood," Isa answered, half laughing.
Elsie smiled.
"Tell her from me that there is plenty of time yet. She is two or three years younger than I was when I married, and," she added with a bright, happy look, "I have never thought I lost anything by waiting."
"I'm sure you didn't, mamma," said Violet, who was present. "But how very odd of Virgy to trouble about that! I'm glad people don't have to marry, because I shall never, never be willing to leave my dear home, and my father and mother. Especially not to live with some stranger."
"I hope it may be some years before you change your mind in regard to that," her mother responded with a loving look.
Elsie was not bringing up her daughters to consider marriage the chief end of woman; she had, indeed, said scarcely anything on the subject till her eldest was of an age to begin to mix a little in general society; then she talked quietly and seriously to them of the duties and responsibilities of the married state and the vast importance of making a wise choice in selecting a partner for life.
In their childhood she had never allowed them to be teased about beaux. She could not prevent their hearing, occasionally, something of the kind, but she did her best to counteract the evil influence, and had succeeded so well in that, and in making home a delight, that her children one and all, shunned the thought of leaving it, and her girls were as easy and free from self-consciousness in the society of gentlemen as in that of ladies; never bold or forward; there was nothing in their manner that could give the slightest encouragement to undue familiarity.
And then both she and their father had so entwined themselves about the hearts of their offspring, that all shared the feeling expressed by Violet, and truly believed that nothing less than death could ever separate them from these beloved parents.
There was a good deal to bring the subject of marriage prominently before their minds just at present, for the event of the winter was the bringing home of a wife by their Uncle Horace, and "Aunt Rosie" was to be married in the ensuing spring.
The approaching Centennial was another topic of absorbing interest.
That they might reap the full benefit of the great Exhibition, they went North earlier than usual, the middle of May finding them in quiet occupancy of a large, handsome, elegantly furnished mansion in the vicinity of the Park.
Here they kept open house, entertaining a large circle of relatives and friends drawn thither, by a desire to see this great world's fair.
The Dalys were with them, husband and wife each in the same capacity as at Ion, which left Mr. and Mrs. Travilla free to come and go as they wished, either with or without their children.
They kept their own carriages and horses and when at home drove almost daily to the Exhibition.
Going there with parents and tutor, and being able to devote so much time to it, the young people gathered a great store of general information.
Poor Molly's inability to walk, shut her out from several of the buildings, but she gave the more time and careful study to those whose contents were brought within her reach by the rolling chairs.
Her cousins gave her glowing descriptions of the treasures of the Art building, Horticultural Hall, Women's Department, etc., and sincerely sympathized with her in her deprivation of the pleasure of examining them for herself.
But Molly was learning submission and contentment with her lot, and would smilingly reply that she considered herself highly favored in being able to see so much, since there were millions of people even in our own land, who could not visit the Exhibition at all.
One morning, early in the season, when as yet the crowd was not very great, the whole family had gone in a body to Machinery Hall to see the Corliss engine.
They were standing near it, silently gazing, when a voice was heard in the rear.
"Ah, ha! ah, ha! um h'm; ah, ha! what think ye o' that now, my lads? is it worth looking at?"
"That it is, sir!" responded a younger voice in manly tones, full of admiration, while at the same instant, Elsie turned quickly round with the exclamation, "Cousin Ronald!"
"Cousin Elsie," he responded, as hand grasped hand in cordial greeting.
"I'm so glad to see you!" she said. "But why did you not let us know you were coming? Did you not receive my invitation?"
"No, I did not, cousin, and thought to give you a surprise. Ah, Travilla, the sight of your pleasant face does one good like a medicine.
"And these bonny lads and lasses; can they be the little bairns of eight years ago? How they have grown and increased in number too?" he said, glancing around the little circle.
He shook hands with each, then introduced his sons, two tall, well built, comely young men, aged respectively twenty and twenty-two, whom he had brought with him over the sea.
Malcom was the name of the eldest, the other he called Hugh.
They had arrived in Philadelphia only the day before, and were putting up at the Continental.
"That will not do at all, Cousin Ronald," Elsie said when told this. "You must all come immediately to us, and make our house your home as long as you stay."
Mr. Travilla seconded her invitation, and after some urging, it was accepted.
It proved an agreeable arrangement for all concerned. "Cousin Ronald" was the same genial companion that he had been eight years before, and the two lads were worthy of their sire, intelligent and well-informed, frank, simple hearted and true.
The young people made acquaintance very rapidly. The Exposition was a theme of great and common interest, discussed at every meal, and on the days when they stayed at home to rest; for all found it necessary to do so occasionally, while some of the ladies and little ones could scarcely endure the fatigue of attending two days in succession.
Then through the months of July and August, they made excursions to various points of interest, spending usually several days at each; sometimes a week or two.
In this way they visited Niagara Falls, Lakes Ontario, George and Champlain, the White Mountains, and different seaside resorts.
At one of these last, they met Lester Leland again. The Travillas had not seen him for nearly a year, but had heard of his welfare through the Lelands of Fairview.
All seemed pleased to renew the old familiar intercourse; an easy matter, as they were staying at the same hotel.
Lester was introduced to the Scotch cousins, as an old friend of the family.
Mr. Lilburn and he exchanged a hearty greeting and chatted together very amicably, but Malcom and Hugh were only distantly polite to the newcomer and eyed him askance, jealous of the favor shown him by their young lady cousins, whose sweet society they would have been glad to monopolize.
But this they soon found was impossible even could they have banished Leland; for Herbert Carrington, Philip Ross, Dick Percival and his friends, and several others soon appeared upon the scene.
Elsie was now an acknowledged young lady; Violet in her own estimation and that of her parents', still a mere child; but her height, her graceful carriage and unaffected ease of manner – which last was the combined result of native refinement and constant association with the highly polished and educated, united to childlike simplicity of character and utter absence of self-consciousness – often led strangers into the mistake of supposing her several years older than she really was.
Her beauty, too, and her genius for music and painting added to her attractiveness, so that altogether, the gentlemen were quite as ready to pay court to her as to her sister, and had she been disposed to receive their attentions, or to push herself forward in the least, her parents would have found it difficult to prevent her entering society earlier than was for her good.
But like her mother before her, Vi was in no haste to assume the duties and responsibilities of womanhood. Only fifteen she was
"Standing with reluctant feet
Where the brook and river meet,
Womanhood and childhood fleet."
Hugh Lilburn and Herbert Carrington both regarded her with covetous eyes, and both asked permission of her father to pay their addresses, but received the same answer; – that she was too young yet to be approached on that subject.
"Well, Mr. Travilla, if you say that to every one, as no doubt you do, I'm willing to wait," said Herbert going off tolerably contented.
But Hugh, reddening with the sudden recollection that Violet was an heiress, and his portion a very moderate one, stammered out something about hoping he was not mistaken for a fortune hunter, and that he would make no effort to win her until he was in circumstances to do so with propriety.
"My dear fellow," said Mr. Travilla, "do not for a moment imagine that has anything to do with my refusal. I do not care to find rich husbands for my daughters, and were Violet of proper age, should have but one objection to you as a suitor; that you would be likely to carry her far away from us."
"No, no, sir, I wouldn't!" exclaimed the lad warmly. "I like America, and think I shall settle here. And sir, I thank you most heartily for your kind words. But, as I've said, I won't ask again till I can do so with propriety."
Leland, too, admired Violet extremely, and loved her with brotherly affection; but it was Elsie who had won his heart.
But he had never whispered a word of this to her, or to any human creature, for he was both poor and proud, and had firmly resolved not to seek her hand until his art should bring him fame and fortune to lay at her feet.
Similar considerations alone held Malcom Lilburn back, and each was tortured with the fear that the other would prove a successful rival.
Philip Ross, too, was waiting to grow rich, but feared no rival in the meantime; so satisfied was he that no one could be so attractive to Elsie as himself.
"She's waiting for me," he said to his mother, "and she will wait. She's just friendly and kind to those other fellows, but it's plain she doesn't care a pin for any of them."
"I'm not so sure of that, Phil," returned Mrs. Ross; "some one may cut you out. Have you spoken to her yet? Is there a regular engagement between you?"
"Oh, no! but we understand each other; always have since we were mere babies."
Mrs. Ross and her daughters had accompanied Philip to the shore, and it pleased Lucy greatly that they had been able to obtain rooms in the same house with their old friends, the Travillas.
Mr. Hogg was of the party also, and Elsie and Violet had now an opportunity to judge of the happiness of Gertrude's married life.
They were not greatly impressed with it; husband and wife seemed to have few interests in common, and to be rather bored with each other's society.
Mr. Hogg had a fine equipage, and drove out a great deal, sometimes with his wife, sometimes without; both dressed handsomely and spent money lavishly; but he did not look happy, and Gertrude, when off her guard, wore a discontented, care-worn expression.
Mrs. Ross was full of cares and anxieties, and one day she unburdened her heart to her childhood's friend.
They were sitting alone together on the veranda upon which Mrs. Travilla's room opened, waiting for the summons to the tea-table.
"I have no peace of my life, Elsie," Lucy said fretfully; "one can't help sympathizing with one's children, and my girls don't seem happy like yours.
"Kate's lively and pleasant enough in company, but at home she's dull and spiritless; and though Gertrude has made what is considered an excellent match, she doesn't seem to enjoy life; she's easily fretted, and wants change and excitement all the time."
"Perhaps matters may improve with her," Elsie said, longing to comfort Lucy. "Some couples have to learn to accommodate themselves to each other."
"Well, I hope it may be so," Lucy responded, sighing as though the hope were faint indeed.
"And Kate may grow happier, too; dear Lucy, if you could only lead her to Christ, I am sure she would," Elsie went on low and tenderly.
Mrs. Ross shook her head, tears trembling in her eyes.
"How can I? I have not found him myself yet. Ah, Elsie, I wish I'd begun as you did. You have some comfort in your children; I've none in mine.
"That is," she added, hastily correcting herself, "not as much as I ought to have, except in Phil; he's doing well; yet even he's not half so thoughtful and affectionate toward his father and mother as your boys are. But then of course he's of a different disposition."
"Your younger boys seem fine lads," Elsie said; "and Sophie has a winning way."
Lucy looked pleased, then sighed, "They are nice children, but so wilful; and the boys so venturesome. I've no peace when they are out of my sight, lest they should be in some danger."