Book: Elinor Wyllys

S >> Susan Fenimore Cooper >> Elinor Wyllys




"I have no doubt the fellow will outlive half-a-dozen such fits.
I left him last night under guard of two men, to keep him from
hanging himself; and this morning, when I went to look after him,
he was off. He was so much better, that he had been persuaded by
some messmate to ship for a cruize--only a three years' whaling
voyage. Regular Jack-tar fashion--a frolic one day, a fit the
next, and off for the end of the world the third."

"He has left Longbridge, has he?" said Mr. Wyllys. "I was just
going to inquire after him, for they have a story going about,
that he used very threatening language in speaking of myself and
Hazlehurst. Did you happen to hear him, doctor?"

"He did use some wild, incoherent expressions, sir, to that
effect, when I was with him; but the threats of a raving man are
not of much consequence."

"Certainly not. But I have no idea who the man can be; I don't
know a single common seaman by sight or name--at least, the only
one I ever knew is long since dead. It is singular that this
fellow should have known my name even; they say he was a stranger
at Longbridge."

"Entirely so, I believe."

"What was his name?"

"William Thompson, they told me."

"If he is a sailor, he probably has a dozen aliases," interposed
Mr. Clapp, who had been listening very attentively.

"By-the-bye, Clapp, they say he included you in his kind wishes."

"Yes, sir, so I understand."

"William, you never mentioned it to me!" said his wife.

"No, my dear; I did not attach any importance to the story,"
replied the lawyer, pulling out his handkerchief with one hand,
and running the other through his hair--looking a little nervous
and uneasy, notwithstanding.

"He did not exactly threaten you, Mr. Clapp, while I was with
him," said the doctor; "he seemed rather to depend upon you as an
ally."

"Still more singular," said Mr. Clapp, with a glance at Mr.
Wyllys.

"That was very strange!" exclaimed his wife--"what could the man
mean?"

"It is by no means easy to explain the meaning of a drunken man,
my dear. It is just possible he may have heard my name as a man
of business. I have had several sailors for clients, and one
quite recently, staying at the same tavern."

"I dare say, if explained, it would prove to be Much ado about
Nothing," said Mr. Wyllys. "Since the fellow was drunk at the
time, and went off as soon as he grew sober, the danger does not
seem very imminent."

{"Much ado about Nothing" = an allusion to Shakespeare's play of
that name}

"Precisely my opinion, sir," said Mr. Clapp.

"Grandpapa, do you remember the sailor who was found near our
house, one night, about two years ago? It was my birth-day, and
we had a little party--have you forgotten?"

"True, my child; I have never thought of the fellow since; but
now you speak of him, I remember the fact."

"Do you not think it is probably the same person?--you know Harry
had him locked up: perhaps he owes you both a grudge for the
treatment he received at Wyllys-Roof, upon that occasion."

"That accounts for the whole affair, Miss Elinor--you have
cleared up the mystery entirely," said Mr. Clapp, looking much
relieved. He not only appeared grateful to Elinor for the
explanation given, but seemed to extend the obligation to all the
family; for he was particularly attentive to Mr. Wyllys, and Miss
Agnes, during the whole evening--and the next morning, early,
drove out to Wyllys-Roof, expressly to carry some brook-trout,
for Mr. Wyllys's breakfast. The lawyer informed several persons,
who alluded to the story, of this simple explanation, which
seemed to satisfy all who heard it. The whole affair was soon
forgotten, for a time, at least.



CHAPTER XVI.

"Weak and irresolute is man;
The purpose of to-day
Woven with pains into his plan,
To-morrow rends away."
COWPER.

{William Cowper (English poet, 1731-1800), "Human Frailty" lines
1-4}

AFTER an absence of a week, or ten days, Harry returned to
Wyllys-Roof, not at all sorry to hear that he was too late to see
the Grahams, as they were going to New York the next morning. He
was very attentive to Elinor--pointedly so. Once or twice, she
was going to jest with him upon the subject, and inquire the
cause of this studied gallantry; but observing he was still a
little out of spirits, she contented herself with thanking him
for the books he had brought her.

The next day proved so mild, so hazy, and Indian-summer-like,
that Hazlehurst proposed to take advantage of it, to give the
ladies a row on the river. They were out for a couple of hours,
landed on the opposite bank, and paid a visit to their friends,
the Bernards, who lived a mile or two below them. The air was
delightful, the country looked beautiful--fresher, perhaps, than
at midsummer; for the heat was no longer parching, and the
September showers had washed away the dust, and brought out the
green grass again. Harry had become interested in the
conversation, and was particularly agreeable; Miss Agnes was
pleased with his remarks, and Elinor thought she had never passed
a pleasanter morning; she was little aware that it was to be
followed by many anxious, painful days.

They landed, as usual, at the boat-house; and the ladies prepared
to walk slowly across the lawn, while Harry secured the boat and
oars. As they approached the house, they were surprised to see
several of the servants collected on the piazza, listening so
intently to a lad that they did not see the ladies. Old Hetty, a
superannuated negro cook, who had lived all her life in the
family, was wringing her hands and wiping her eyes with her
apron; while Mammy Sarah, Elinor's former nurse, a respectable
white woman, was talking to the boy.

Elinor quickened her pace, and hastened before her aunt, to
inquire into the cause of this distress.

"What is it, Mammy?" she asked, on reaching the piazza. "What is
the matter?"

"Oh, dearie me; Miss Elly, Miss Elly!" exclaimed old Hetty; with
a fresh burst of tears.

"Tell us--Hetty--Mammy--what has happened?" said Miss Wyllys, as
she approached.

"Oh, Miss Aggess, Miss Aggess--dreadful news!" said the old negro
woman, burying her face in her apron.

"My father?" asked Miss Agnes, faintly, and trembling with alarm.

"No, ma'am," said Mammy Sarah, looking very sad, however; "Mr.
Wyllys is very well, and we were hoping he would come in before
you, so that we could get at the truth."

"Let us hear what you have to say, at once, Mammy," continued
Miss Agnes, anxiously.

"Billy, here, has brought bad news from Longbridge."

"Dreadful news!" interposed old Hetty. "Oh, Miss Aggess! Billy
say Miss Jane--"

"What is it?--Speak plainly!" cried Miss Wyllys.

"There's an accident happened to the steamboat," added Mammy.

"B'iler bust--dearie me--Miss Jane's scall to death!" exclaimed
Hetty.

A cry of horror burst from Elinor and her aunt, and they turned
towards Mammy Sarah.

"I hope it isn't quite so bad, ma'am," said Mammy; "but Billy
says the steamboat boiler did really burst after she had got only
half a mile from the wharf."

A second sufficed for Miss Agnes and Elinor to remember Hetty's
fondness for marvels and disasters, and they hoped ardently that
the present account might be exaggerated. They turned to the boy:
"What had he heard?" "Whom had he seen?" Billy reported that he
had seen the boat himself; that he had heard the cries from her
decks, which the people in the street thought had come from some
horses on board, that must have been scalded; that another boat
had gone out to the Longbridge steamer, and had towed her to a
wharf a few rods from the spot where the accident happened; that
he had seen, himself, a man on horseback, coming for the doctor;
and the people told him five horses had been killed, two men
badly hurt, and Mr. Graham's eldest daughter was scalded so badly
that she was not expected to live.

Miss Wyllys's anxiety increased on hearing the boy's story; she
ordered the carriage instantly, determined that under any
circumstances, it would be best to go to Longbridge at once,
either to discover the truth, or to assist Mrs. Graham in nursing
Jane, if she were really badly injured. At this moment, Harry
returned from the boat-house.

"What is the matter?" he exclaimed, springing up the piazza
steps, and looking round upon the sad and anxious faces.

"We have heard bad news from Longbridge," said Miss Wyllys; but
before she could explain herself, old Hetty burst into tears
again, and turning to Hazlehurst, exclaimed:

"Oh, Massa Harry!--dreadful news!--Miss Jane scall to death in
steamboat!"

Miss Wyllys was so much struck with the effect of these words on
Harry, that for an instant she forgot to say "she trusted the
story had been exaggerated." Hazlehurst lost all colour--stood
speechless and motionless for a moment. Elinor was too much
agitated herself to speak. Suddenly, Harry met Miss Agnes' eye;
he turned from her, rushed through the house, and continued
walking rapidly up and down the avenue, apparently forgetful of
everything but his own feelings. Amid all her anxiety for Jane,
Miss Wyllys could not but remark Hazlehurst's manner--he seemed
entirely overcome, by his emotion; and yet he had not asked one
question, nor made one offer to do anything for Elinor, or
herself; and one would have thought it more natural that at such
a moment he should have remained with them, pained and distressed
as they were. Elinor only thought that Hazlehurst's feelings did
credit to his heart; her own was full of grief for the suffering
of her playfellow and companion, whom she had loved almost as a
sister.

Some twenty minutes were passed in this manner by the aunt and
niece, with feelings better understood than described. They were
waiting for the carriage, and nothing could be done in the mean
time; it seemed an age to Elinor before the coachman could be
found, and the horses harnessed. While her aunt and herself were
in tears, pacing the piazza together, they were surprised by the
appearance, on the Longbridge road, of the old-fashioned chair in
which Mr. Wyllys usually drove about his farm. Miss Agnes
distinctly saw her father driving, with a lady at his side. They
were approaching at a very steady, quiet pace. As they entered
the gate, Miss Agnes and Elinor hastened to meet them; they saw
Harry stopping to speak to Mr. Wyllys, and then Miss Wyllys heard
her father's voice calling to herself.

{"chair" = a light, one-horse carriage}

"All safe!" he cried. "It was a misunderstanding; Jane is quite
well; though a poor young woman, bearing the same name, has been
scalded."

"We were in hopes the news had not reached you yet," said Mrs.
George Wyllys, who accompanied her father-in-law. "We were all
dreadfully alarmed, at first, for the accident was very much
exaggerated."

Miss Wyllys and Elinor were too thankful for Jane's escape, to
express anything but the relief they felt on hearing of her
safety.

"No one killed," continued Mr. Wyllys. "They lost a couple of
horses; two of the men were hurt, but not dangerously; and the
new chambermaid, whose name is Jane Graham, had her feet badly
scalded. But there is so little harm done, considering what might
have happened, that we have reason to be very thankful for every
one on board."

"You may imagine how much alarmed I was," continued Mrs. Wyllys;
"for I happened to be sitting at my own window, which overlooks
the river, you know, and I heard the noise and cries from the
boat, and knew the Grahams were on board."

Long explanations followed: Mr. Wyllys had had his fright too. He
had heard at the saddler's, that half Mr. Graham's family were
killed. Now, however, it only remained for them to be thankful
that their friends had all escaped, and to hope Jane's namesake
would soon recover.

"But how long is it since you heard the story? why did you not
send Harry off at once, to get at the truth?" asked Mr. Wyllys.

"We were going ourselves," replied Miss Agnes.

"What has become of Harry?--Where is he?" asked her father.

But Harry had disappeared.

"He was much distressed at the news," said Elinor.

"No wonder; it was a horrible idea. But he should have jumped on
horseback, and rode over to Longbridge to find out the truth."

Elinor looked round once more for Hazlehurst, as they entered the
house; but he was certainly not there.

"And what are the Grahams going to do?" asked Miss Wyllys.

"They are off again this afternoon," replied her father, taking a
seat on the sofa.

Hazlehurst was not seen again all the morning. Dinner came, and
he had not joined the family.

"He is in his room," said Elinor; "I heard him walking as I
passed his door. I am afraid he is not well."

The servant who was sent to let him know that dinner was on
table, returned with the answer, that Mr. Hazlehurst had a bad
head-ache, and begged Miss Wyllys would excuse him.

"That long row in the sun must have given Harry a head-ache, Aunt
Agnes," said Elinor; "I am sorry we went so far."

"Perhaps so," said Miss Agnes; although she did not seem wholly
to be of Elinor's opinion.

"Hazlehurst is no such tender chicken, Nelly; you must not spoil
him, child--do you hear?" said her grandfather, smiling in a way
that made Elinor colour. Miss Agnes was silent during dinner; but
as the whole family had scarcely recovered from the alarm of the
morning, the shade of anxiety on her face was not remarked.

Harry remained in his room. As he had requested not to be
disturbed, he was left alone. Once, however, in the course of the
evening, a knock was heard at his door, and a servant appeared.

"Miss Elinor sends you a cup of tea, sir, and hopes your head is
better," said Thomas.

"Miss Elinor is very good--I am much obliged to her," was Harry's
answer, in a low, thick voice; but the cup of tea remained
untasted, while Hazlehurst resumed his walk across the room.
When, shortly after, Elinor's voice was heard singing her
grandfather's favourite air of Robin Adair in lower tones than
usual, Harry again started from the table, where he had laid pen
and paper preparatory to writing, and striking his hand against
his forehead, he exclaimed:

{"Robin Adair" = Irish folksong, though often identified with
Scotland, with words ca. 1750 by Lady Caroline Keppel; it is the
only specific tune Elinor is ever heard to sing}

"Ungrateful wretch, that I am!"

The next morning Elinor was up early, and taking the garden
basket, she went out to gather all the late flowers she could
find, to fill a jar for the drawing-room--singing gaily, as she
went from bush to bush, and gathering here a sprig of
honeysuckle, there violets or a late rose, blooming out of
season, and a few other straggling blossoms. After loitering
about the garden for half an hour, she returned to the house. She
was surprised to see the coachman, at that early hour, driving up
the avenue in the little wagon used for errands about the
country.

"Where have you been, Williams?" she asked, as he drove past her
towards the stable.

"To carry Mr. Hazlehurst over to Upper Lewiston, in time for the
six o'clock boat, Miss."

Elinor could scarcely believe what she had heard. At the same
moment, Mr. Wyllys stepped out on the piazza.

"What is this, Elinor?" he asked. "They tell me Harry is off; did
you see him this morning?"

Elinor was obliged to say she had not.

"What can it mean! did he get any letters by last night's mail?"

"Not that I know of," said Elinor, much surprised, and a little
alarmed.

They found Miss Agnes in the drawing-room; she, it seemed,
already knew of Hazlehurst's departure. She said little on the
subject, but looked anxious and absent. Elinor scarcely knew what
to think; she was afraid to trust herself to make any inquiries,
preferring to wait until alone with her aunt after breakfast. The
meal passed over in silence. Mr. Wyllys looked uneasy; Elinor was
at a loss to know what to think; neither of the ladies paid much
attention to the morning meal that day.

Miss Agnes rose from table, and went to her own room; Elinor,
neglecting her usual task as housekeeper, hastened to follow her
aunt, her mind filled with indistinct fears and anxieties. Miss
Agnes was walking about her room, looking pained and distressed.
Several letters were lying on a table near her; two were
unopened; one she had been reading.

"Letters!--my dear Aunt, from whom? Tell me, I conjure you, what
you know! Has anything happened to Louisa--to Jane? Did Harry
leave no message for me?" cried Elinor, hurrying towards her
aunt, whose face she watched for an answer to each question, as
she asked it. Miss Wyllys made an effort to compose herself, and
held out her hand to Elinor.

"My dearest Aunt!--pray tell me what distresses you--Ha! Harry's
handwriting!" she exclaimed, as her eye fell on the open letter
by Miss Wyllys--"I know that letter is from Harry; do not conceal
anything; is it for me?"

"This letter is to me, my child," replied her aunt, taking up the
one she had been reading; wishing to give Elinor all the
preparation in her power, for a blow which she knew must fall
heavily, since it was so entirely unexpected.

"But there are two other letters," cried Elinor, "one of them is
for me, I am sure. Let me see it at once, Aunt; you cannot deny
that it is for me--and if it contain bad news, you know that I
can command myself when necessary."

Miss Agnes's hand trembled as she took the letters.

"My child! My beloved Elinor!" she said.

"Dearest Aunt, you torture me! Tell me, I beseech you, what we
have to fear!"

"You shall know all," Miss Agnes replied, seating herself; and
endeavouring to be calm. "You will be much distressed, my child;
but I know that you will be now, what you always have been,
reasonable, and true to yourself--to your grandfather--to me,"
added Miss Wyllys, in a voice almost inarticulate.

A thousand indistinct ideas passed through Elinor's mind with the
rapidity of lightning, while her aunt was speaking; illness of
some absent friend suggested itself--yet who could it be? Not
Harry, surely, for he had gone over to Upper Lewiston that
morning--yet her fears instinctively centred upon Hazlehurst.

"It is something relating to Harry, I am sure," she said. "Is he
ill?--is he in trouble?" she asked in a faint voice, while a
prayer for resignation sprang from her heart, with the words.

"You are right," replied Miss Wyllys, in a faltering voice; and
seating herself by her niece, she continued, "He is well. If he
is in trouble, it is from his own choice. Have you no suspicions,
my dearest child, of what has happened?"

"Suspicions!"--exclaimed Elinor, in astonishment, "what is there
for me to suspect? My dearest Aunt, I am more and more
perplexed--explain it all yourself--who is it you are concerned
for?"

"My only concern is for you, dearest; my only regret, that
trouble should have been brought on you by those dear to you--by
your grandfather, by myself, by your cousins."

"By you!--by my cousins--what cousins?"

"Harry--Jane--Have you remarked nothing?"

"Harry! what can he have done?"

"You must forget him," said Miss Wyllys; and as Elinor looked
eagerly in her aunt's eyes, she read there all that Miss Agnes
had not courage to tell in words.

Half starting from her seat, she exclaimed, "Harry!--and Jane
too!" and as a deadly paleness came over her face, she fell back,
unconscious, on the sofa. Her faintness lasted but a moment; too
short a time, indeed, to allow the impression of what she had
heard to pass from her mind. She burst into tears. "Oh, Aunt
Agnes!--Is it really true?--Can Harry have changed? can he have
been so unkind to me?--And Jane, too!" she exclaimed at
intervals.

Her aunt answered only by her caresses, silently pressing her
lips upon Elinor's forehead.

Elinor threw her arms about Miss Agnes's neck, weeping bitterly.

"But is it really true? Is there not some mistake? Is it possible
he felt so little for me? Oh, dearest Aunt!--and Jane, too!"

Miss Wyllys said that she knew nothing of Jane's feelings; but
that the manner of both Jane and Harry had struck her several
times as singular; though now but too easily accounted for.
During the last ten days, she had begun to fear something wrong.

"Never, for one second, had I a doubt of either!" cried Elinor.
She now dreaded to receive the letter, she had before asked for
so eagerly.

A package had been given by Harry to the chambermaid, that
morning, requesting her to place it in Miss Agnes's hands as soon
as she left her room. It contained three letters. That to Miss
Agnes herself, was full and explicit. He now wrote, he said,
because he felt concealment to be no longer possible, after the
manner in which he had betrayed himself on hearing of the
steamboat accident. He felt convinced that his emotion had been
observed by Miss Wyllys, and he almost hoped the suspicions of
Elinor had been aroused. He hoped it, for he felt that longer
concealment would be unworthy of Elinor, and of himself, since he
had not been able to control his feelings. He acknowledged that a
frank confession was now due to her.

"I know," he said, "that you will reproach me severely for my
want of faith, and I feel that I deserve far more than you will
say. But do not think that I erred from deliberate forgetfulness
of all that I owed to Elinor. I was for a long time unconscious
of the state of my own feelings; and when at length I could no
longer deceive myself, the discovery of my weakness was deeply
painful and mortifying. You know what has been my situation since
last spring--you know to what I have been exposed. Greater
caution might no doubt have been used, had I not been misled by
blindness, or self-confidence, or vanity, call it what you
please. No one can reproach me as severely as I reproach myself.
But although my feelings had escaped my own control before I knew
it, yet I determined from the first that my actions should at
least be worthy of Elinor. I instantly became more guarded. No
human being, I believe, until to-day, suspected my folly. Do not
reproach Jane. The fault is entirely with me; Jane has been
blameless throughout."

He concluded by hoping that his letter would not for a moment be
considered by Miss Wyllys or Elinor, as an attempt to break his
engagement, which he was still anxious to fulfil. But he thought
that, now the explanation had been made, a separation for some
time would be preferable for all parties. He proposed to travel
for six months, and at the end of that time be hoped to have
conquered his own weakness, and to be forgiven by Elinor.

Bitter tears were shed by Elinor, in reading this letter.

The note to herself was short. He had not the courage to repeat
to her directly, what he had said to Miss Wyllys.

"I feel unworthy of you, Elinor, and I cannot endure longer to
deceive so generous a temper as yours. You must have remarked my
emotion this morning--Miss Wyllys now knows all; I refer you to
her. I shall never cease to reproach myself for my unpardonable
ingratitude. But painful as it is to confess it, it would have
been intolerable to play the hypocrite any longer, by continuing
to receive proofs of kindness which I no longer deserve. It is my
hope, that in time you will forgive me; though I shall never
forgive myself.

"H. H."

There are said to be young ladies with hearts so tender, as to be
capable of two or three different love affairs, and an unlimited
number of flirtations, in the course of a twelvemonth; but
Elinor's disposition was of a very different stamp. Her feelings
were all true and strong; her attachment for Harry little
resembled that mixture of caprice and vanity to which some young
people give the name of love. With something of fancy, and a
share of the weakness, no doubt, it was yet an affection to which
every better quality of her nature had contributed its share.
Hazlehurst's determination never to forgive himself for the
sorrow he had caused her, was a just one. His fickleness had
deeply wounded a heart, warm, true, and generous, as ever beat in
a woman's bosom.

Bitterly did Elinor weep, that first day of grief, humiliation,
and disappointment. She did not hesitate, however, for a moment,
as to the course to be pursued, and even felt indignant that
Harry should have believed her capable of holding him to his
engagement, with the feelings he had avowed. She answered his
note as soon as she could command herself sufficiently to write.

"I do not blame you--your conduct was but natural; one more
experienced, or more prudent than myself, would probably have
foreseen it. Had you left me in ignorance of the truth until too
late, I should then have been miserable indeed. My aunt will take
the first opportunity of letting our mutual friends know the
position in which it is best we should continue for the future.
May you be happy with Jane.

"ELINOR WYLLYS."

Elinor, at this moment, felt keenly the disadvantages of
homeliness, which she had hitherto borne so cheerfully, and had
never yet considered an evil. Beauty now appeared to her as a
blessed gift indeed.

"Had I not been so unfortunately plain," thought Elinor, "surely
Harry could not have forgotten me so soon. Oh," she exclaimed,
"had I but a small portion of that beauty which so many girls
waste upon the world, upon mere vanity; which they are so ready
to carry about to public places--through the very streets, to
catch the eye of every passing stranger, how highly should I
prize it, only for the sake of pleasing those I love! What a
happy thought it must be to those blessed with beauty, that the
eyes of their nearest and dearest friends never rest upon them
but with pleasure! How willingly would I consent to remain plain
to ugliness, plain as I am, in the eyes of the world, for the
precious power of pleasing those I love!"

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