Family Pride Or Purified by Suffering Part 27

"I'm in for it now anyhow, and if it is wrong may the good Father forgive me," she said softly to herself, just as the orchestra struck up, thrilling her with its ravis.h.i.+ng strains, and making her forget all else in her rapturous delight.

She was very fond of music and listened eagerly, beating time with both her feet, and making her bonnet go up and down until the play commenced and she saw stage dress and stage effect for the first time in her life.

This part she did not like: "they mumbled their words so n.o.body could understand more than if they spoke a heathenish tongue," she thought, and she was beginning to yawn when a nudge from Mattie and a whisper, "There they come," roused her from her stupor, and looking up she saw both Helen and Katy entering their box, and with them Mark Ray and Wilford Cameron.

Very rapidly Katy's eyes swept the house, running over the sea of heads below but failing to see the figure which, half arising from its seat, stood with clasped hands, gazing upon her, the tears running like rain over the upturned face, and the lips murmuring: "Darling Katy! blessed child! She's thinner than when I see her last, but oh! so beautiful and grand! Precious lambkin! It isn't wicked now for me to be coming here, where I can see her face again."

It was all in vain that Mattie pulled her dress, bidding her sit down as people were staring at her. Aunt Betsy did not hear, and if she had she would scarcely have cared for those who did look at her, and who, following her eyes, saw the beautiful young ladies, behind whom Wilford and Mark were standing, but never dreamed of a.s.sociating them with the "crazy thing" who sank back at last into her seat, keeping her eyes still upon the box where Helen and Katy sat, their heads uncovered and their rich cloaks falling off just enough to show the astonished woman that both their necks were uncovered, too, while Helen's arms, raised to adjust her gla.s.s, were discovered to be in the same condition.

"Ain't they splendid in full dress?" Mattie whispered, while Aunt Betsy replied:

"Call that full dress? I'd sooner say it was no dress at all! They'll catch their death of cold. What would their mother say?"

Then as the enormity of the act grew upon her, she continued more to herself than to Mattie:

"I mistrusted Catherine, but that Helen should come to this pa.s.ses me."

Still as she became more accustomed to it, and glanced at other full-dressed ladies, the first shock pa.s.sed away, and she could calmly contemplate Katy's dress, wondering what it cost, and then letting her eyes pa.s.s on to Helen, to whom Mark Ray seemed so loverlike that Aunt Betsy remembered her impressions when he stopped at Silverton, her heart swelling with pride as she thought of both the girls making out so well.

"Who is that young man talking to Helen?" Mattie asked, between the acts, and when told that it was "Mr. Ray, Wilford's partner," she drew her breath eagerly, and turned again to watch him, envying the young girl who did not seem as much gratified with the attentions as Mattie fancied she should do were she in Helen's place.

How could she, with Juno Cameron just opposite, watching her jealously, while Madam Cameron fanned herself in dignity, refusing to look upon what she so greatly disapproved.

But Mark did not care who was watching him, and continued his attentions until Helen wished herself away, and though a good deal surprised, was not sorry when Wilford abruptly declared the opera a bore, and suggested going home.

They would order an ice, he said, and have a much pleasanter time in their own private parlor.

"Please don't go; I rather like the play to-night," Katy said; but on Wilford's face there was that look which never consulted Katy's wishes, and so the two ladies tied on their cloaks, and just as the curtain rose in the last act, left their box, Juno wondering at the movement, and hoping Mark would now come around to her, while Aunt Betsy looked wistfully after them, but did not suspect she was the cause of their exit, and of Wilford's evident perturbation.

Running his eye over the house below, it had fallen upon the trio, Aunt Betsy, Mattie and Tom, the first of whom was at that moment partly standing, while she adjusted her heavy shawl, which the heat of the building had compelled her to unfasten.

There was a start, a rush of blood to the head and face, and then he reflected how impossible it was that she should be there, in New York, and at the opera, too.

The shawl arranged, Aunt Betsy took her seat and turned her face fully toward him, while Wilford seized Katy's gla.s.s and leveled it at her. He was not mistaken. It was Aunt Betsy Barlow, and Wilford felt the perspiration oozing out beneath his hair and about his lips, as he remembered the letter he had burned, wis.h.i.+ng now that he had answered it, and so, perhaps, have kept her from his door. For she was coming there, nay, possibly had come, since his departure from home, and learning his whereabouts, had followed on to the Academy of Music, leaving her baggage where he should stumble over it on entering the hall.

Such was the fearful picture conjured up by Wilford's imagination, as he stood watching poor Aunt Betsy, a dark cloud on his brow and fierce anger at his heart, that she should thus presume to worry and annoy him.

"If she spies us she will be finding her way up here; there's no piece of effrontery of which that cla.s.s is not capable," he thought, wondering next who the vulgar-looking girl and _gauche_ youth were who were with her.

"Country cousins, of whom I have never heard, no doubt," and he ground his teeth together as with his next breath he suggested going home, carrying out his suggestion and hurrying both Helen and Katy to the carriage as if some horrible dragon had been on their track.

There was no baggage in the hall, there had been no woman there, and Wilford's fears for a time subsided, but growing strong again about the time he knew the opera was out, while the sound of wheels coming toward his door was sufficient to make his heart stop beating and every hair p.r.i.c.kle at its roots.

But Aunt Betsy did not come except in Wilford's dreams, which she haunted the entire night, so that the morning found him tired, moody, and cross. That day they entertained a select dinner party, and as this was something in which Katy rather excelled, while Helen's presence, instead of detracting from, would add greatly to the _eclat_ of the affair, Wilford had antic.i.p.ated it with no small degree of complacency.

But now, alas! there was a phantom at his side--a skeleton of horror, wearing Aunt Betsy's guise; and if it had been possible he would have given the dinner up. But it was too late for that; the guests were bidden, the arrangements made, and there was nothing now for him but to abide the consequences.

"She shall at least stay in her room, if I have to lock her in," he thought, as he went down to his office without even kissing Katy or bidding her good-by.

But business that day had no interest for him, and in a listless, absent way he sat watching the pa.s.sers-by and glancing at his door as if he expected the first a.s.sault to be made there. Then as the day wore on, and he felt sure that what he so much dreaded had really come to pa.s.s, that the baggage expected last night had certainly arrived by this time and spread itself over his house, he could endure the suspense no longer, and startled Mark with the announcement that he was going home, and should not return again that day.

"Going home, when Leavitt is to call at three!" Mark said, in much surprise, and feeling that it would be a relief to unburden himself to some one, the story came out how Wilford had seen Aunt Betsy at the opera, and expected to find her at Madison Square.

"I wish I had answered her letter about that confounded sheep pasture,"

he said, "for I would rather give a thousand dollars--yes, ten thousand--than have her with us to-day. I did not marry my wife's relations," he continued, excitedly, adding, as Mark looked quickly up, "Of course I don't mean Helen. She is right; and though she rasps me a little, I'd rather have her than not. Neither do I mean that doctor, for he is a gentleman. But this Barlow woman--oh! Mark, I am all of dripping sweat just to think of it."

He did not say what he intended doing, but with Mark Ray's ringing laugh in his ears, pa.s.sed into the street, and hailing a stage was driven toward home, just as a downtown stage deposited on the walk in front of his office "that Barlow woman" and Mattie Tubbs!

CHAPTER XXVIII.

AUNT BETSY CONSULTS A LAWYER.

Aunt Betsy did not rest well after her return from the opera. Novelty and excitement always kept her awake, while her mind was not wholly at ease with regard to what she had done. Not that she really felt she had committed a sin, except so far as the example might be bad, but she feared the result, should it ever reach the orthodox church at Silverton.

"There's no telling what Deacon Bannister would do--send a subpoena after me, for what I know," she thought, as she laid her tired head upon her pillow and went off into that weary state halfway between sleep and wakefulness, a state in which operas, play actors, Katy in full dress, Helen and Mark Ray, choruses, music by the orchestra, to which she had been guilty of beating her foot, Deacon Bannister and the whole offended brotherhood, with constable and subpoenas, were pretty equally blended together--the music which she liked, and the subpoena which she feared taking the precedence of the others.

But with the daylight her fears subsided, and at the breakfast table she was hardly less enthusiastic over the opera than Mattie herself, averring, however; that "once would do her and she had no wish to go again."

The sight of Katy looking so frail and delicate, but so beautiful withal, had awakened all the olden intense love she had felt for her darling, and she could not wait much longer without seeing her "in her own home and hearing her blessed voice."

"Hannah, and Lucy amongst 'em, advised me not to come," she said to Mrs.

Tubbs, "hinting that I might not be wanted up there; but now I'm here I shall go if I don't stay more than an hour."

"Of course I should," Mattie answered, herself anxious to stand beneath Wilford Cameron's roof and see Mrs. Wilford at home. "She don't look as proud as Helen, and you are her aunt, her blood kin, so why shouldn't you go there if you like?"

"I shall--I am going," Aunt Betsy replied, feeling that to take Mattie with her was not quite the thing, and not exactly knowing how to manage, for the girl must of course pilot the way. "I'll risk it and trust to Providence," was her final decision, and so after an early lunch she started out with Mattie as her escort, suggesting that they visit Wilford's office first and get that affair out of her mind.

At this point Aunt Betsy began to look upon herself as a most hardened wretch, wondering at the depths of iniquity to which she had fallen. The opera was the least of her offenses, for she was not harboring pride and contriving how to be rid of 'Tilda Tubbs, as clever a girl as ever lived, hoping that if she found Wilford he would see her home, and so save 'Tilda the trouble? Playhouses, pride, vanity, subterfuge and deceit--it was a long catalogue she would have to confess to Deacon Bannister, if confess she did, and with a groan the conscience-smitten woman followed her conductor along the street, and at last into the stage which took them to Wilford's office.

Broadway was literally jammed that day, and the aid of two policemen was required to extricate the bewildered countrywoman from the ma.s.s of vehicles and horses' heads, which took all her sense away. Trembling like a leaf when Mattie explained that the "two nice men" who had dragged her to the walk were police officers, and thinking again of the subpoena, the frightened woman who had escaped such peril, followed up the two flights of stairs and into Wilford's office, where she sank breathless into a chair, while Mark, not in the least surprised, greeted her cordially, and very soon succeeded in getting her quiet, bowing so graciously to Mattie when introduced that the poor girl dreamed of him for many a night, and by day built castles of what might have been had she been rich, instead of only 'Tilda Tubbs, whose home was on the Bowery. Why need Aunt Betsy in her introduction have mentioned that fact? Mattie thought, her cheeks burning scarlet; or why need she afterward speak of her as 'Tilda, who was kind enough to come with her to the office where she hoped to find Wilford? Poor Mattie, she knew some things very well, but she had never yet conceived of the immeasurable distance between herself and Mark Ray, who cared but little whether her home were on the Bowery or on Murray Hill, after the first sight which told him what she was. He was very polite to her, however, for it was not in his nature to be otherwise, while the fact that she came with Helen's aunt gave her some claim upon him.

"Mr. Cameron had just left the office and would not return that day,"

he said to Aunt Betsy, asking if he could a.s.sist her in any way, and a.s.suring her of his willingness to do so.

Aunt Betsy could talk with him better than with Wilford, and was about to give him the story of the sheep pasture in detail, when, motioning to a side door, he said, "Walk in here, please. You will not be liable to so many interruptions."

"Come, 'Tilda, it's no privacy," Aunt Betsy said; but Tilda felt intuitively that she was not wanted, and rather haughtily declined, amusing herself by the window, while Aunt Betsy in the private office told her troubles to Mark Ray; and received in return the advice to let the claimant go to law if he chose, he probably would make nothing by it, and even if he did, she would not sustain a heavy loss, according to her own statement of the value of the land.

"If I could keep the sweet apple-tree, I wouldn't care," Aunt Betsy said, "for, the rest ain't worth a lawsuit; though it's my property, and I have thought of willing it to Helen, if she ever marries."

Here was a temptation which Mark Ray could not resist. Ever since Mrs.

General Reynolds' party Helen's manner had puzzled him; but her shyness only made him more in love than ever, while the rumor of her engagement with Dr. Morris tormented him continually. Sometimes he believed it, and sometimes he did not, wis.h.i.+ng always that he knew for certain. Here then was a chance for confirming his fears or for putting them at rest, and blessing 'Tilda Tubbs for declining to enter his back office, he said in reply to Aunt Betsy's "If she ever marries," "And of course she will.

She is engaged, I believe?"

"Engaged? Who to? When? Strange she never writ, nor Katy neither," Aunt Betsy exclaimed, while Mark, raised to an ecstatic state, replied, "I refer to Dr. Grant. Haven't they been engaged for a long time past?"