Part 12 (1/2)
Eighteen months later, and again Madame Duvant's rooms were crowded to overflowing, but this time Arabella Greenleaf was not there, though George Clayton was, eagerly watching each word and movement of Mildred Graham, whose uncle had insisted upon her remaining at school until she, too, should graduate, and who now, justly, received the highest honors of her cla.s.s. Very beautifully looked the young girl, and as she modestly received the compliments of her friends, George Clayton's was not the only admiring eye which rested upon her, for many now paid her homage.
That night George asked to see her alone. His request was granted, and when next she parted from him it was as his betrothed. Immediately after George's return from Europe, he had heard the story of Arabella's perfidy, and if no other circ.u.mstances had interposed to wean him from her entirely, this alone would have done it, for he could not respect a woman who would thus meanly stoop to deception. He had lingered in G-- for the purpose of renewing his former acquaintance, with Mildred, the result of which we have seen.
Mortified beyond measure, Arabella heard of her cousin's engagement, and when George came at last to claim his bride, she refused to see him, wilfully absenting herself from home that she should not witness the bridal, which took place one bright October morning, when the forest trees, as if in honor of the occasion, were dressed in their most gorgeous robes, and the birds were singing their farewell songs.
New misfortunes, however, awaited poor Arabella, for scarcely was Mildred gone to her southern home when the red flag of the auctioneer waved from the windows of Mr. Greenleaf's luxurious house, which, with its costly furniture, was sold to the highest bidder, and the family were left dependent upon their own exertions for support. When the first shock was over, Mr. Greenleaf proposed that his daughter should teach, and thus bring into use her boasted accomplishments. For a time Arabella refused, but hearing at last of a situation which she thought might please her, she applied for it by letter. But alas, the mistake she made when she abandoned the spelling-book for the piano, again stood in the way, for no one would employ a teacher so lamentably ignorant of orthography. Nor is it at all probable she will ever rise higher than her present position--that of a _plain_ sewer--until she goes back to _first_ principles, and commences again the despised column beginning with ”_baker!_”
MAGGIE LEE
The usually quiet little village of Ellerton was, one June morning, thrown into a state of great excitement by the news that the large stone building on the hill, which, for several years had been shut up, was at last to have an occupant, and that said occupant was no less a personage than its owner, Graham Thornton, who, at the early age of twenty-eight, had been chosen to fill the responsible office of judge of the county. Weary of city life, and knowing that a home in the country would not materially interfere with the discharge of his new duties, particularly as Ellerton was within half an hour's ride of the city, young Thornton had conceived the idea of fitting up the old stone house, bequeathed to him by his grandfather, in a style suited to his abundant means and luxurious taste. Accordingly, for several weeks, the people of Ellerton were kept in a constant state of anxiety, watching, wondering and guessing, especially Miss Olivia Macey, who kept a small store in the outskirts of the village, and whose fertile imagination supplied whatever her neighbors lacked in actual knowledge of the proceedings at ”Greystone Hall,” as Judge Thornton called his place of residence.
At last, every thing was completed and the day appointed for the arrival of the Judge, who, disliking confusion, had never once been near his house, but, after a few general directions, had left the entire arrangement of the building and grounds to the management of one whom he knew to be a connoisseur in such matters. As was very natural, a great deal of curiosity was felt concerning the arrival of the distinguished stranger, and as his mother, a proud, stately woman, was to accompany him, Miss Olivia Macey, who boasted of having once been a schoolmate of the haughty lady, resolved upon meeting them at the depot, thinking she should thereby show them proper respect.
”So, Maggie,” said she to her niece, a dark-haired, white-browed girl of fifteen, who, at noon, came bounding in from school, ”so Maggie, you must watch the store, for there's no knowing how long I shall be gone. Miss Thornton may ask me home with her, and it would not be polite to refuse.”
For an instant Maggie's dark brown eyes danced with mischief as she thought how improbable it was that the lofty Mrs. Thornton would seek to renew her acquaintance with one in Miss Macey's humble position, but the next moment they filled with tears, and she said, ”Oh, aunt, _must_ I stay from school again? It is the third time within a week. I never shall know anything!”
”Never mind, Mag,” shouted little Ben, tossing his cap across the room and helping himself to the largest piece of pie upon the dinner-table.
”Never mind. I'll stay with you, for I don't like to go to school any way. And we'll get our lessons at home.”
Maggie knew how useless it would be to argue the point, so with a dejected air she seated herself at the open window and silently watched her aunt until she disappeared in the distance--then taking up her book, she tired to study, but could not, for the heavy pain at her heart which kept whispering of injustice done to her, unconsciously, perhaps, by the only mother she had ever known. Very dear to Miss Macey were the orphan children of her only sister, and faithfully did she strive to fulfill her trust, but she could not conceal her partiality for fun-loving, curly-haired Ben, nor the fact that the sensitive and ambitious Maggie, who thirsted for knowledge, was wholly unappreciated and misunderstood. Learning--learning was what Maggie craved, and she sat there alone that bright June afternoon, holding upon her lap the head of her sleeping brother, and watching the summer shadows as they chased each other over the velvety gra.s.s in the meadow beyond, she wondered if it would ever be thus with her--would there never come a time when she could pursue her studies undisturbed, and then, as the thought that this day made her _fifteen_ years of age, her mind went forward to the future, and she said aloud--”Yes--three years from to-day and I shall be free--free as the air I breathe!”
But why that start, sweet Maggie Lee? Why that involuntary shudder as you think of the long three years from now? She cannot tell, but the shadows deepen on her fair, girlish face, and leaning her brow upon her hand, she thinks long and earnestly of what the three years may bring. A footstep on the floor--the first which has fallen there that afternoon--and Maggie looks up to see before her a tall, fine-looking man, who, the moment his eye fell upon her, checked the _whistle_, intended for his dog, which was trembling on his lip, and lifting his hat deferentially, he asked if ”this were Miss Macey's store?”
”Yes, sir,” answered Maggie, and laying Bennie gently down, she went round behind the counter, while the young man, gazing curiously at her, continued, ”You surely are not Miss Macey?”
There was a most comical expression in the brown eyes which met the black ones of the stranger, as Maggie answered, ”No sir, I am n.o.body but Maggie Lee.”
There must have been something attractive either in the name or the little maiden who bore it, for long after the gentleman had received the articles for which he came, he lingered, asking the young girl numberless questions and playing with little Ben, who now wide awake, met his advances more than half way, and was on perfectly familiar terms both with the stranger and the dog Ponto, who had stretched his s.h.a.ggy length before the door.
”Mag cries, she does, when Aunt Livy makes her stay home from school,”
said Ben, at last, beginning to feel neglected and wis.h.i.+ng to attract attention.
Showing his white, handsome teeth, the gentleman playfully smoothed the silken curls of little Ben, and turning to the blus.h.i.+ng Maggie, asked ”if she were fond of books?”
”Oh, I love them so much,” was the frank, impulsive answer, and ere ten minutes had pa.s.sed away, Judge Thornton, for he it was, understood Maggie's character as well as if he had known her a lifetime.
Books, poetry, music, paintings, flowers, she wors.h.i.+ped them all, and without the slightest means either of gratifying her taste.
”I have in my library many choice books, to which you are welcome at any time when you will call at Greystone Hall,” the stranger said at last.
”Greystone Hall!” gasped Maggie, the little red spots coming out all over her neck and face--”Greystone Hall!--then you must be---”
”Judge Thornton, and your friend hereafter,” answered the gentleman, offering his hand and bidding her good-by.
There are moments which leave their impress upon one's lifetime, changing instantaneously, as it were, our thoughts and feelings, and such an one had come to Maggie Lee, who was roused from a deep reverie by the shrill voice of her aunt, exclaiming, ”Well, I've been on a Tom-fool's errand once in my life. Here I've waited in that hot depot over two trains, and heard at the last minute that Mrs. Thornton and her son came up last night, and I hain't seen them after all. It's too bad.”
Very quietly Maggie told of the judge's call, repeating all the particulars of the interview; then stealing away to her chamber, she thought again, wondering _where_ and _what_ she would be three years from that day.