Part 18 (1/2)

”Miggie ISN'T dead,” said Nina. ”She's here, ain't you Miggie?”

and she nestled closer to Edith, who was growing strangely interested in that old house, shaded with magnolias, and in the grave of that little child.

”I came home in the spring,” said Arthur, going on with the story Nina had interrupted, ”but I kept up a boyish correspondence with Nina, though my affection for her gradually weakened. After becoming a pupil in Geneva Academy, I was exceedingly ambitious, and to stand first in my cla.s.s occupied more of my thoughts than Nina Bernard. Still, when immediately after I entered Geneva College as a soph.o.m.ore, I learned that her father intended sending her to the seminary in that village, I was glad, and when I saw her again all my old affection for her returned with ten-fold vigor, and the ardor of my pa.s.sion was greatly increased from the fact that other youths of my age wors.h.i.+pped her too, toasting the Florida rose, and quoting her on all occasions. GRISWOLD was one of these. Dr. Griswold. How deep his feelings were, I cannot tell.

I only know that he has never married, and he is three years older than myself. We were room-mates in college, and when he saw that Nina's preference was for me, he acted the part of a n.o.ble, disinterested friend. Few know Griswold as he is.”

Arthur paused, and Edith fancied he was living over the past when Nina was not as she was now, but alas, he was thinking what to tell her next. Up to this point he had narrated the facts just as they had occurred, but he could do so no longer. He must leave out now--evade, go round the truth, and it was hard for him to do so.

”We were engaged,” he began at last. ”I was eighteen, she fifteen.

But she looked quite as old as she does now. Indeed, she was almost as far in advance of her years as she is now behind them.

Still we had no idea of marriage until I had been graduated, although Nina's confidential friend, who was quite romantic, suggested that we should run away. But from this I shrank as a most foolish act, which, if divulged, would result in my being expelled, and this disgrace I could not endure. In order, however, to make the matter sure, I wrote to her father, asking for his daughter when I became of age. Very impatiently I waited for his answer, which, when it came, was a positive refusal, yet couched in language so kind that none save a fool would have been angry.

”'Nina could not marry,' he said, 'and I must break the engagement at once. Sometime he would tell me why, but not then--not till I was older.'”

Accompanying this was a note to Nina, in which he used rather severer terms, forbidding her to think of marriage, and telling her he was coming immediately to take her to Europe, whither he had long contemplated going.

There was another pause, and a long blank was made in the story, which Arthur at last resumed, as follows:

”He came for her sooner than we antic.i.p.ated, following close upon the receipt of his letter, and in spite of Nina's tears took her with him to New York, from whence early in May they started for Europe. That was nine years ago next month, and during the vacation following I came to Shannondale and saw you, Edith, while you saw Nina's picture.”

Nina was apparently listening now, and turning to him she said, ”Tell her about the night when I stepped on your back and so got out of the window.”

Arthur's face was crimson, but he answered laughingly ”I fear Miggie will not think us very dignified, if I tell her of all our stolen interviews and the means used to procure them.”

Taking a new toy from his pocket he gave it to Nina, who, while examining it, forgot THAT NIGHT, and he went on.

”I come now to the saddest part of my story. Nina and I continued to write, for her father did not forbid that, stipulating, however, that he should see the letters which pa.s.sed between us.

He had placed her in a school at Paris, where she remained until after I was graduated and of age. Edith,” and Arthur's voice trembled, ”I was too much a boy to know the nature of my feelings toward Nina when we were engaged, and as the time wore on my love began to wane.”

Edith's heart beat more naturally now than it had before since the narrative commenced, but she could not forbear from saying to him, reproachfully, ”Oh, Arthur.”

”It was wrong, I know,” he replied, ”and I struggled against it with all my strength, particularly when I heard that she was coming home. Griswold knew everything, and he suggested that a sight of her might awaken the olden feeling, and with a feverish anxiety I waited in Boston for the steamer which I supposed was to bring her home. After many delays she came in a sailing vessel, but came alone. Her father had died upon the voyage and been buried in the sea, leaving her with no friend save a Mr. Hudson, whose acquaintance they had made in Paris.”

At the mention of Mr. Hudson the toy dropped from Nina's fingers and the blue eyes flashed up into Edith's face with a more rational expression than she had heretofore observed in them.

”What is it, darling?” she asked, as she saw there was something Nina would say.

The lip quivered like that of a grieved child, while Nina answered softly, ”I did love Charlie better than Arthur, and it was so wicked.”

”Yes,” rejoined Arthur quickly, ”Nina's love for me had died away, and centered itself upon another. Charlie Hudson had sought her for his wife, and while confessing her love for him she insisted that she could not be his, because she was bound to me. This, however, did not prevent his seeking an interview with her father, who told him frankly the terrible impediment to Nina's marriage with any one. It was a crus.h.i.+ng blow to young Hudson, but he still clung to her with all a brother's devotion, soothing her grief upon the sea, and caring for her tenderly until Boston was reached, and he placed her in my hands, together with a letter, which her father wrote a few days before he died.”

”He's married now,” interrupted Nina, ”Charlie's married, but he came to see me once, down at the old Asylum, and I saw him through the grates, for I was shut up in a TANTRUM. He cried, Miggie, just as Arthur does sometimes, and called me POOR LOST NINA. He held an angel in his arms with blue eyes like mine, and he said she was his child and Margaret's! Her name was Nina, too. Wasn't it nice?”

And she smiled upon Edith, who involuntarily groaned as she thought how dreadful it must have been for Mr. Hudson to gaze through iron bars upon the wreck of his early love.

”Poor man,” she sighed, turning to Arthur. ”Is he happy with his Margaret!”

”He seems to be,” said Arthur, ”People can outlive their first affection, you know. He resides in New York now, and is to all appearance a prosperous, happy man. The curse has fallen alone on me, who alone deserve it.”

He spoke bitterly, and for a moment sat apparently thinking; then, resuming his story, said,