Cora and The Doctor Part 21

"About an hour since," was her reply. It was hard for me to conceal my joy at her unexpected departure.

About noon Frank arose and went below. Uncle and Joseph were very glad to see him; and when my husband sat down by me and put his arm about me, uncle said, "that is as husband and wife should be." He was obliged to get up and go to the window to wipe his gla.s.ses, before he could go on with his reading.

Joseph did not let the Doctor off quite so easily. "Cousin Frank," said he familiarly, "I've found out that if I don't want to be jealous of my wife, I must be so attentive to her as to exclude all others. Now if you had appeared like that all the time, why you see"--he hesitated--"I should have lost all the fun."

We all laughed at his comical manner, though I saw that Frank felt it keenly. "We'll talk of that by and by," he said gravely.

"Excuse me," resumed Joseph, "I really didn't mean anything, 'twas only a foolish way I have of turning everything into a joke."

"Yes, my son, you're very foolish," said aunt's voice; but her eyes told a different story as she looked over her gla.s.ses with the most tender affection upon her only child.

"By the way," continued the young man, coming and occupying a seat on the sofa near me, "have you plead my cause yet, Cora?"

"What cause?"

"Why in regard to the fair hand of your daughter Pauline." He then begged the Doctor's consent, saying, "if it will make any essential difference in the case, I will get on my knees before you; but if you could excuse it, as my pants are new, I shall be under the greater obligation."

Uncle and aunt laughed till they cried as he went on in the most ludicrous manner possible; sometimes standing before the mirror prinking and talking to his own image; and then practising "courting" upon his mother. Entirely forgetful of the newness of his pants he knelt before her, and in heart-rending tones besought her to be gracious to his suit; and when she nodded a.s.sent to his wishes, rapturously kissed her hands.

Then with a low bow to the company, while brus.h.i.+ng his fingers through his hair, he said in the gravest tone, "I find it necessary, ladies and gentlemen, to practise occasionally. There is nothing in this business like keeping one's hand in. Practice makes perfect."

After dinner, Frank told uncle he was desirous of seeing the family together at some convenient time, and uncle replied that he would arrange his business so that he could spend the evening at home.

Frank had told me before, that he wished to explain some things in his conduct, and thought he ought to do so before the family, as they had witnessed what had pa.s.sed. During the afternoon he was so tender and devoted to me that I more than half determined to tell him all Fidelia's story to me, and have it settled at once, but before I had really decided, we had taken tea, and having attended prayers were all seated around the social hearth waiting for Frank to say what he wished. He commenced with the remark, it was extremely painful to him to be obliged to say anything unfavorable to the character of another; but, he continued, "in order to explain, I do not say extenuate, my conduct toward my wife, I must inform you that on the very first evening of my arrival, Fidelia succeeded in planting a thorn in my heart, and from that time until yesterday, she never ceased to suggest or hint at, ideas which made me fear that the affection of my wife for me, if not her very virtue, was endangered by her intimacy with her cousin."

Joseph started upon his feet, and I covered my face; but Frank said, "sit down, Joseph; you can well afford to hear; your conscience is at rest, while mine"--he stopped, he had evidently schooled himself for the interview. "After this," he continued, "it was astonis.h.i.+ng how many trivial events occurred which appeared at the time to corroborate her story; and she failed not to make use of them. For instance, I saw you, cousin, take Cora's hand in what to my inflamed imagination seemed too familiar a manner; at another time I heard you say, you should wish a wife in all respects like her, and various other things which I should not condescend to name, were it not to show you that with her whisperings and hints, these had grown to such a magnitude in my mind, that I was prepared to believe anything."

Joseph interrupted him and began to make some explanations, but Frank would not allow a word to be said. "My dear cousin," he continued, "I know you will not insult me by offering an explanation for what existed only in my heated imagination, and which now that I have recovered my reason, I loathe myself for indulging. I thought it over in the night, and was astonished at my blindness; for you both were so perfectly open in your conduct, I do not at all wonder that my little Cora feared me as she did."

"Ah," said I, determining bravely to tell my story, "there is another side to that." They all looked at me in amazement, as I began at the beginning and related all I had felt and suffered. I confessed all my hard feelings toward Frank, and all my jealousy of Fidelia. It was now the Doctor's turn to start up in awful indignation. I told him how I had been led as in his case, to see everything through a false medium, and I had feared that the affection, she told me they had formerly felt for each other, had revived to such a degree as to make him regret that the marriage of both prevented their union.

The intensity of Joseph's feelings kept him silent. "Well," said uncle, at length, "Fidelia is rightly punished for her fiendish plot in trying to alienate your affections from each other."

"How?" I eagerly inquired.

He turned to aunt, who said, "I thought it best at the time to say nothing about it. I merely told them she was gone."

Uncle resumed his seat, and sitting very erect in his chair, said, "Mr.

Schuyler went out soon after you were taken sick, and has not yet returned. His wife insisted that we should take no pains to bring him back. She said she wasn't going to have him think, she would run after him. But I could see, as hour after hour pa.s.sed away, she grew anxious and impatient for his return. This morning, when we were seated at breakfast, a boy brought a note from him directed to me, in which he said that before that letter reached us he should be on his way to Germany, where he intended to pa.s.s the rest of his life. He enclosed fifty dollars for his wife, which he said was all she should ever have from him, and closed by saying it was her own fault that she had not a happy home and a devoted husband; and that if she had been willing to accede to his wishes, she would at least have been the owner of a handsome estate. That was true," added uncle, "he wished to buy a beautiful place on the Hudson which he offered to settle upon her, but she would not consent to live in so retired a situation. I used all my influence with her to no purpose."

"Where is she now?" I asked.

"When she received the note, or rather when I read it to her, and gave her the money, she was at first very angry, and thought he only wrote it to frighten her; but I soon convinced her that I thought otherwise, when she suddenly started for New York, where they had been boarding since their marriage, in the hope of detaining him."

Frank looked very thoughtful, but said nothing; and we all sat for a few moments thinking of the probabilities of her overtaking him, and of her success in obtaining his forgiveness. I who knew more of his feelings than any one present, doubted it, but I wisely concluded to keep my knowledge to myself.

At length Joseph jumped up, saying, "I should think we were in a Quaker meeting; let's play 'b.u.t.ton, b.u.t.ton, who's got the b.u.t.ton?'"

"Wouldn't it be more pleasant," asked Frank, smiling, "to have Cora give you an account of a Quaker wedding we attended on our way here?"

"Yes, _yes_, that's just the thing; come let's act it out! Here, Cora, take my arm, tell me what to say, and I'll repeat it off just like a book. I believe they always kiss their lady first, don't they? Come, why don't you stand up and begin. It's placing a bashful young fellow, like me, in a very embarra.s.sing situation, when his wife that is to be won't stand with him at the altar."

Though I could not help laughing, yet I would not consent to "act it out," as he said, unless Frank would officiate as bridegroom, but as uncle and aunt both joined in the request to see the ceremony, I persuaded my husband to gratify them. When we were through, Joseph said, we were so solemn about it, he felt just as thirsty as if he had been to a real wedding, and asked if there were not some wine in the house. Aunt shook her head, but he went out and soon brought in a waiter of wine gla.s.ses, filled however, with lemonade, after which the conversation pa.s.sed naturally to other themes.

The remainder of the week pa.s.sed delightfully; I gained every day in health; and the Doctor took me with him to many places of interest in the vicinity. Fidelia's name had not been mentioned in the week which had intervened since her departure, except in one remark Frank made to me on the Monday evening previous. He said, "You probably noticed that I gave no explanation of many of her statements; and though I deny ever having felt any affection for her, such as she describes, and hardly what the relations.h.i.+p warranted, yet I wish to defer any farther conversation upon the subject until we arrive home."

I told him, I should be glad to do so, but that I wanted him to promise me one thing; I was proceeding to tell him what, when he said "Anything, _everything_; I have the most entire confidence in you, my love." So we promised each other, that the past should only be remembered as a warning; we felt that our only security for happiness in the married relation was, next to our G.o.d, in entire confidence in each other, and we resolved never to lie down at night with one unkind thought treasured up, which each had not given the other an opportunity to explain.

On the day before we left aunt Morgan, a letter was received from Mrs.

Schuyler, in which she said, she found on her arrival in New York city, that her husband had indeed taken pa.s.sage for Europe, and that on the whole she considered it the most fortunate thing which could have happened for her, as his jealous disposition had always prevented her having any enjoyment. In a postscript she added, that she had been invited to go to the South and pa.s.s the winter with some delightful acquaintances, she had formed, and that she antic.i.p.ated great pleasure in their society. She said, she now considered herself in every respect as a widow, and hoped her friends would never mortify her by any allusion to the man, she had called her husband. In a second postscript she requested that her trunks should be sent to the care of William Arnold, Esq.

When aunt had finished reading, Frank and I exchanged glances. That was the name of Lucy Lee's suitor, and we knew too much of him to expect she would profit much by his society.

We left our dear friends early on Tuesday morning, having obtained a promise from Joseph to make us an early visit. A day or two after we reached home, I noticed Frank in earnest conversation with mother; after which he requested me to go to her in the library. I went reluctantly, for indeed I was now so happy, I cared for no farther explanation. But as I saw Frank attributed my unwillingness to a wrong cause, I took Emily's arm and went at once to the library, where mother gave me the following account.

Fidelia Lenox was left an orphan at the age of fifteen, and was immediately received into her uncle's family, and treated in all respects as their own child. She was one year younger than Frank, and of course they were constantly in each other's society. But it was not long before mother perceived that from being willing and apparently pleased to be with his cousin, Frank avoided her as much as possible, and often refused positively to accompany her to parties of young people. Mother did not at first pay much attention to the circ.u.mstance until her son's conduct became so marked as to require a reproof, especially as she could perceive nothing in the deportment of her niece to elicit such dislike. She therefore appealed to him as a gentleman that it was in the highest degree impolite and unkind to treat his cousin otherwise than he would treat a sister.

For a long time Frank refused to give any explanation of his conduct; but at length told his mother that he would agree to treat her as a sister, if she would be content with that.

"What can she ask more?" inquired mother, in surprise.

Frank, like any boy of sixteen, blushed crimson, as he replied, impulsively: "She is altogether too sentimental for me. She can talk about nothing but love, and such nonsense. When the time comes for me to be married, I mean to do the courting myself."

Mother was silent, from amazement, and tried to recall a single circ.u.mstance to corroborate his statement. "I hardly know how to believe it of Fidelia," she at length replied.

"Mother," said Frank "if you do not believe me, enter suddenly and unexpectedly into the library or anywhere we may chance to be left alone a moment, and you will see enough."

"What?" she asked, under her breath.

"Why, she runs her fingers through my hair, and she sits by me and looks up in my face in a fawning manner. Bah!" he continued, "it's too disgusting. If she hears the least sound, she darts back to her seat, and there she sits as demure and proper as any old maid. I often wish,"

he added, half laughing, "she'd get caught at some of her fooleries."

After this, mother kept a strict surveillance of the conduct of her niece, and soon became convinced that she was a dangerous companion for her son, especially as she paid not the slightest regard to truth. She therefore sent her away to a family-school, where she was under the constant watch of her teacher. But she could not prevent Frank meeting her occasionally, as they both spent their holidays at home; and she confessed to me that she should have shuddered for the virtue of her son, had he not exhibited such a loathing for the character of his cousin. The time came when she must leave school, and her conduct had become so reprehensible that mother would not consent that Emily should be under her influence; and she has resided, until her marriage, with a distant relative in the State of New York.

It was thus that Frank had not met her for several years, and as they were both married, he had been willing to forget the past, and treat her at least with kindness. But having had reason to know her want of principle, he feels he had no excuse for giving heed to her cruel hints and falsehoods. We have tacitly agreed to let her name be forgotten, and I devoutly hope I shall never have occasion to remember it.

_Tuesday, October 27th._

My dear, _dear_ mother, now that I have told you all the sorrows, trials and follies of the past month, I will turn to other and far more pleasing themes. My dear little Pauline was almost wild with joy to see papa and mamma at home again. I found her looking very chubby and rosy, having gained in strength since the cool weather.

This season is perfectly charming. It is called the Indian summer. I can give you no just description of the gorgeousness of the forest trees with which we are surrounded. As I was riding through a thick grove yesterday, on my way to Waverley, I could almost imagine myself in fairy land. The air was mild and balmy as in June, and there was a freshness and dryness in the atmosphere which was perfectly exhilarating.

I think I remarked to you near the commencement of my journal, that Mrs.

Munroe, the wife of our clergyman, was absent from town. She returned while we were away. I called there yesterday, in company with Emily and Pauline. Mrs. Munroe is rather above the medium height, with a very intelligent, not handsome, countenance; and a splendid set of teeth. She impressed me as a very superior lady; there is a dignity, a quiet repose in her manner which I admire.

After conversing a few moments, I expressed a wish to see her infant; when she immediately went out and brought it to the parlor, accompanied by a sister who is visiting her. I don't think Pauline ever saw a baby before, and she looked at the little creature with a serious, thoughtful expression, frequently sighing from the intensity of her feelings. We all joined in a laugh at her expense. But when the baby began to cry, poor Pauline started, and grew very red. I didn't like to have her feel so, and I took the infant into my lap, and put its little soft hand in hers. When she had felt the velvety flesh, and came to the conclusion that it was really alive, she was pleased enough; and had to make a great effort to keep from crying that I did not bring it home with me.

I made early inquiries on my return as to the present situation of Squire Lee's family; and was happy to learn that in many respects Lucy's situation is far more comfortable than formerly. Her father still continues feeble in body and mind, but he has grown so dependent on his daughter, and is so pleased with her tender care, that he can hardly bear her out of his sight. She reads newspapers to him, combs his hair, and soothes him by the hour together. She hopes soon to interest him in the Bible, by reading daily, delightful selections from it. I fear the poor old gentleman has not enough sense to understand, as he often falls asleep in his chair, lulled by the sound of her sweet voice.