one bright morning about the middle of january, herbert announced his intention of going to worcester with anna, who, he said, wished to visit the lunatic asylum, and as a young physician of his acquaintance had just commenced practising there, it would be a good opportunity for them to go over the building. to this my aunt made no objection, merely proposing that ada, too, should go. afterwards i remembered the peculiar look in herbert’s eye, as he replied “oh fie! mother, ada’s nerves are not strong enough to endure it. she can go with me some other time.”
accordingly, when breakfast was over, anna went up to her room to make the necessary preparations for her ride, while i stood by and gave her whatever assistance she needed. i observed that every article which belonged to her was put in its proper place, but i gave it no further heed, though i did wonder why she kissed me so often, turning back even after she had reached the door to bid me another good-bye. slowly the day passed away and night came on, dark, cold, and stormy. even now, as i write, i can recall to mind the gloom which pervaded my spirits, as i listened to the sound of the sleet and hail, which drove past the window, where i had watched so long for their return. seven, eight, nine, ten, was rung from more than one church dome, and then 150we gave them up, for the shrill whistle of the last train on which they would be likely to come, had long since sounded in our ears.
“they must have stayed somewhere; don’t you think so?” said my aunt, addressing her husband, who, manlike, was not in the least alarmed, but sat conning his evening paper, nearer asleep than awake.
“of course they have,” said he, looking up at his wife’s inquiry. “i wouldn’t come in this storm, if i were in their places.”
that night i watered my pillow with tears, scarcely knowing why i wept, save that i felt oppressed with a sense of desolation, as if anna was gone from me forever. the next day came and went, but it brought no tidings of the missing pair, and half unconscious of what she was doing, my aunt went from room to room, sometimes weeping and again brightening up, as she enumerated the many things which might have prevented their return. at evening, ada came in, and my aunt immediately began urging her to spend the night. this she did willingly, seeming very anxious concerning the absence of herbert, and feeling, i was sure, a little suspicious that i might know more of his whereabouts than i chose to tell, for once, when we were alone, she turned towards me and very haughtily asked, if “i had any idea where they were?”
“none, whatever,” said i, and she continued—
“has it never occurred to you that this anna lee manifested altogether too marked a preference for a gentleman whom she knew to be engaged?”
“the preference was mutual,” i replied. “herbert liked anna, and anna liked herbert.”
“and they have gone off to consummate that liking by a marriage,” interrupted ada.
151“i do not know that they have,” i returned; “but such a termination of affairs would not surprise me.”
she was very pale, and there were tears in her eyes, but i thought they arose more from a sense of mortification than from any real love which she bore for herbert langley, and so i did not pity her as i should otherwise have done. the next morning at breakfast both she and my aunt (particularly the latter) looked weary and worn, as if neither had slept at all during the night. my uncle, on the contrary, seemed to be unmoved. he probably had an opinion of his own, but whatever it was he kept it to himself, merely saying that if the eastern mail brought no letter he would go in quest of them himself. i knew i could not study in my present excitement, and so i asked permission to remain at home. stationing myself at the window, i watched anxiously for the return of herod, who, as usual, had been sent to the office. he came at last, bringing his pocket full of letters, two of which were for me, one postmarked meadow brook, and the other albany! with a trembling hand i tore open the latter, which was in my sister’s handwriting. glancing at the signature, my fears were confirmed, for there stood the name of “anna langley” in herbert’s bold dashing hand!
“she had refused to write it thus,” he said, in a postscript, “and so he had done it for her.”
the letter contained no apology from either for what they had done, but merely informed me of the fact that instead of stopping in worcester, they had gone straight on to albany, which they reached about six o’clock, going to the delevan house, where in less than an hour they were husband and wife; herbert’s old comrade, tom wilson, accompanying them, and being a witness of the ceremony. what affected me more unpleasantly than all 152the rest, was the derisive manner in which herbert spoke of ada.
“give her my love,” he said, “and tell her not to feel too badly. i’d like well enough to marry her, too, but under the present laws a man can’t have two wives, unless he joins the mormons. maybe i shall do that sometime, and then i’ll remember her!”
of his mother he wrote differently, and though there was no cringing, no acknowledgment of wrong, he spoke of her kindly and respectfully, saying, “he hoped she would love his anna for his sake.”
of course i could not tell ada what he said of her, neither was it necessary, for guessing the truth from my face, she came up softly behind me, and looking over my shoulder, read every word until she came to the message intended for her. then stamping her little foot, she exclaimed passionately, “the villain, to insult me thus! as if i, sprung from the best blood in georgia, would stoop to become a rival of that low-born country girl. no! by this act herbert langley has shown that he is all unworthy of me, and i rejoice in my escape, while i give him much joy with his highly refined and polished bride.”
all my lee temper, which is considerable, was roused, and turning towards the lady, i exclaimed, “my sister, miss montrose, is as good as you, aye, or as herbert langley either, and the news of her marriage with him will carry sorrow to our home at meadow brook, where they will say she has literally thrown herself away.”
“very likely,” returned ada, sarcastically. “it is quite probable that a poor laborer will object to his daughter’s marrying into one of the first families in boston.”
“he isn’t a poor laborer,” i replied, “and even if he were, he would object to his daughter’s marrying a drunkard, 153for such herbert langley has been and such he will be again.”
a deep groan came from the white lips of my aunt, and for the first time since ada’s outbreak, i remembered that she was there. she did not reprove me angrily, but in trembling tones she said, “rose, herbert is my child, my boy, and it becomes not a girl of your age to speak thus of him in the presence of his mother.”
i was humbled, and winding my arms about her neck, i asked forgiveness for the harsh words i had spoken; and she forgave me, for she meant to do right, and if sometimes she erred, it was owing more to a weakness of the flesh than an unwillingness of the spirit. in the midst of our excitement tom wilson was ushered in. he had returned in the same train which brought the letter, and had come to give us any further information which we might be desirous of knowing.
“when will herbert come home?” was my aunt’s first question, her whole manner indicating how much interest she felt in the answer.
“not very soon,” returned tom. “he is tired of the city, he says, and besides that he wishes to avoid the unpleasant remarks his elopement will necessarily occasion.”
“more like he wishes to avoid introducing his bride into society, which he knows has no wish to receive her,” muttered ada.
tom paid no attention to this spiteful speech, but continued, “he has drawn his money from the —— bank, and with it he intends purchasing a farm in the western part of new york.”
“an admirable plan,” again interrupted ada. “that lee girl is just calculated for a farmer’s wife.”
taken alone there was nothing particularly disagreeable 154in the three words “that lee girl;” but spoken by ada montrose they sounded insultingly, and every time she uttered them, i felt my blood boil, for i, too, was a lee girl, and i was sure she included me in the same contemptuous category. as herbert had said, i did not think the disappointment would break her heart. she was too angry for that, and i believe now, as i did then, that most of her feeling arose from the mortification of knowing that a “poor country girl,” as she called anna, was preferred to herself. for half an hour or more tom wilson and my aunt conversed together, she asking him at least a dozen times “if he did not think herbert could be induced to return.” at last, with quivering lips and flushed cheeks, as if it cost her pride a great effort, she said, “of course i mean anna, too, when i speak of herbert’s return. she is his wife, you say, and though i might, perhaps, wish it otherwise, it cannot now be helped, and if he only would come back to me, i should love her for his sake.”
in my heart i blessed her for these words, and mentally resolved to leave no argument untried, which might bring the fugitives back. but it could not be. herbert was decided, he said. he meant to be a farmer and live in the country, adding what he knew would silence his mother sooner than aught else he could say, “that temptations for him to drink were far greater in the city than in the country, and it was for this reason partly that he preferred living in the latter place.”
and so my aunt yielded the point; but from the day of her son’s desertion, there was in her a perceptible change. far oftener was she found in the house of prayer, and less frequently was she seen in places of amusement, while more than once i heard her in secret asking that her wayward boy might be shielded from the great temptation. alas! for 155thee, poor herbert langley, sleeping in thine early grave! there were prayers enough, methinks, to save thee; for at the old meadow brook home, thou wert remembered in the early morn, and not forgotten when at eve, my father knelt him down to pray. why, then, didst thou fall ere thy sun had reached the meridian of manhood? was it because in thine early training there was an error which no after exertions could repair? we answer, yes. the fault was there, and little know they what they do, who set before their sons the poisonous cup, and bid them, by their own example, drink and die. how many young men, from the higher walks of life, now sleeping in the dishonored grave of a drunkard, might at this moment be filling some honorable position, had it not been for the wine or beer drinking habit acquired in childhood by their own firesides, and at their father’s table? look to it, then, you around whose hearthstones promising sons are gathered, and if in the coming years you would escape the sleepless nights, the bitter tears, and the broken hearts of those whose children walk in the path, which, sooner than all others, leadeth down to death, teach them, both by precept and by practice, to “touch not, taste not, handle not,” for therein alone lieth safety.
