Book: Honor Edgeworth

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It was a great relief to Honor when she recognized Fitts at the depot
awaiting their arrival with Mr. Rayne's own comfortable sleigh. After
all, even in the little events of a life-time, we can learn how prone we
are to cling to old familiar things, that fill our memories with fondest
associations and nestle the closest to our heart's core, and we say with
Walter Scott: "The eye may wish a change, but the heart never."

Honor strove hard to conceal her emotion, almost as much from her own
self as from those around her. Here was one of those little deceptions,
which make up the human life. How can we complain if we are led astray
by others when we are so ready to lead ourselves astray?

The meeting between Honor and Mr. Rayne was such as amused Jean d'Alberg
considerably. It was "no wonder," she said, "that some people had to
give up all their sentiment when there was so much wasted by others." As
for herself, she was quite content to thrust three of her gloved fingers
into her male cousin's broad palm, greeting him with the coolest "How
d'ye do," after a separation of years.

Honor looked the perfect embodiment of happiness, but though her face
beamed with smiles and her voice laughed out its gayest accents, she was
not nearly so free from pain as one might be led to think. She had
expected to find another form among those who had welcomed her back, her
eyes hungered for a smile she could not see, and her poor heart thirsted
for a word from that voice she could not hear. Only to nestle her hand
lovingly within his, only to look up into his big dreamy eyes, only to
hear him say, even in his old jesting way, "How we've missed you," and
the dull, sick feeling of disappointment that now filled her heart would
melt quickly away. Maybe he was hiding in some convenient spot waiting
to be missed. But why did not some one speak of him? She dared not trust
herself to pronounce his name, and so she went up to her room without
having solved the mystery of his non-appearance.

The reader who has not had the experience, can, without being too
imaginative, readily understand the sentiment that so completely
controlled Honor Edgeworth. All the bright, happy illusions in which she
had basked of late had rested on the doubtful, yet hopeful hypothesis
that Guy loved her. How many times she argued against herself, striving
to find occasions on which he had shown any indifference towards her,
but in the end, a sweet smile em eloped her face, and the pleasantest
conviction of a young life seemed to thrust itself upon her. She was
forced to tell herself that his eyes never turned from her, until they
had looked into hers with that deep penetrative glance that makes us
feel that a soul is looking into another soul. His hand had never been
drawn away from hers until she had detected that slight, almost
unwilling pressure that has only one meaning. When the tongue will not
be the outlet of our thought, may we not have recourse to those
inarticulate words that await utterance in the eye's fond depths, and in
the hand's warm pressure?

So Honor asked herself from day to day, and she read her little story in
the lines:

"We spoke not of our love,
But in our mutual silence it was felt
In its intense, absorbing happiness."

And after all those days when she had been building up her fairy castle,
there came the crisis of to-day, which shook the faith on which her
edifice was built, and laid it in shattered ruins at her feet. Yet, with
this new-born grief at her heart she must go down among those who cared
not, to laugh and be merry, although her voice in her own ears sounded
like a long lonely sigh.

She left her room half-an-hour afterwards to repair to the drawing-room,
but even as she walked along the corridors, now half shrouded in the
shadows of evening, she expected to be surprised at every turning by the
sudden appearance of Guy. She felt lonelier now though back among the
scenes for which she had longed with a mighty longing, when hundreds of
railroad miles had separated her from them. And then she grew impatient
with herself for giving in to appearances. She who had prided herself so
much on her courage to give up so easily now. Stirred by this new
reflection, she ran lightly down the broad oaken stairway and entered
the drawing-room, her face suffused with smiles.



CHAPTER XVII.


"It is one thing to be tempted,
Another thing to fall."
--Shakespeare.

The clock of the Parliament Tower was pealing out the last stroke of
four, and almost simultaneously there emerged from all three Buildings,
young men, old men and middle-aged men, all looking as weary and
hard-worked as civil servants ought to look.

They did not turn back once to gaze on the spot where the long, dreary
hours had been spent, outside that office door life assumed another and
an entirely different phase for the government clerk. Even the memory of
the lawyer's clerks and "duns" from various parts of the city were left
buried within these sacred precints until the next day, and one and all
with a light step wended their way down the Square towards Sparks
street.

Among the crowd might be noticed a group of young men that are loitering
down the broad steps of the Eastern Block, most of them carry light
canes and all of them are smoking good cigars. As I have said they are
young men every one of them, and they are fast young men every one of
them, and they are likewise inconveniently short of money are these
good-looking fast young men. In fact they are a great many things that
are too numerous and too uninteresting to mention.

But to Miss Dash and her friend Miss McArgent, who are walking up
Wellington street at this moment, they are the most important group of
individuals in the whole human menagerie.

Emily McArgent wants to pretend she does not see them, but Miss Dash
would not willingly sacrifice all those bows for worlds, and so she
gives her plush bonnet a graceful toss upwards and brings it back to its
place as her face becomes wreathed with smiles.

"I had to bow, Emily," Bella Dash says, persuasively, "for they saw us,
but if I meet Walter Burnett alone I'll cut him sure. The idea of asking
me for the fourth dance last night, and then spooning it off with that
made-up thing that's stopping at the Bramwell's!"

"You mean Miss Elliott," says Emily a little spitefully, "why I find her
rather a pretty girl, and it certainly looks as if Mr Burnett meant to
deposit all his wealth at her feet."

"Well, I'm sure," rejoined Miss Bella, in genuine indignation, "she'll
soon find out whether he's in earnest or not. It isn't the first nor the
fiftieth time that Walter Burnett has made girls believe he was in love
with them, but anyway," continued Bella, in supreme disgust, "it is just
killing, the way the fellows act in Ottawa, they must always fall in
love with strange girls that visit here, and when the scrape up enough
pluck and money to venture on a proposal they go right off to Montreal
or Toronto or somewhere, just as if there were not good enough for them
here."

"Well, my dear, you can't force a man's taste," Emily says in a
satisfied tone, and no wonder that it affects her so little, because
there are proposals on all sides of a girl who has money, is
good-looking, and the daughter of an Hon. gentlemen besides.

Miss Dash is beginning to grow a little cynical. She has walked Sparks
Street for the last eight or ten years, not missed a ball or party, or
other entertainment during that period, that could bring her under
public notice. She has played Lawn Tennis times and again, and has even
won a Governor-General's prize, she has gone on expeditions of pleasure
with Canada's most distinguished aristocrats and somehow, she is still
in "maiden meditation, fancy free."

Occasionally her indignation rises to the surface, and at such times she
reveals her sentiments rather recklessly. She is in this complaining
mood to-day, but she half suspects that Miss McArgent, is inwardly
enjoying her discomfiture, and so quickly changes the subject.

"I wonder what has become of Guy Elersley; Emily. do you know?" she asks
in a puzzled tone. "He was not at any of the parties these three weeks.
Perhaps he is ill or out of town."

"Couldn't tell you," Emily answers, "but they say he is particularly
interested in that young girl that lives at his uncle's. I daresay she
knows something about his non-appearance among other young ladies. They
say she is exceedingly pretty, Bella have you seen her?"

"Yes, I saw her face in church under the ugliest bonnet you ever saw,
and I met her on the Richmond Road the other day, driving Mr Rayne's
ponies. She looked reserved, but perhaps she is a nice girl. Hardly the
kind that Guy Elersley would like though, he's such a flirt, he flirted
with me once till mamma thought--"

"How d'ye do," here the talkative young lady interrupted herself to
smile on Bob Apley and Jack Fairmay who were sauntering past them, and
for awhile the subject of her interesting flirtation fell through.

They had walked on as far as the Montreal Bank during this conversation,
and here they met Willie Airey who was talking to a handsome young
stranger in military uniform.

The two ladies bowed and passed on.

"Did you see the new arrival," asked Miss Dash, looking questioningly at
her friend, "who is he, I wonder?"

"He looks like some of the Military College fellows," said Emily
McArgent, a little more composedly, "I wish Willie Airey would bring him
along."

"Let's pass them again," Bella suggested, "and perhaps he will."

Both young ladies deliberately stood, looked for a minute into the
nearest shop window, and then retraced their steps to pass the handsome
stranger again. As soon as they were within view, Bella cast such
admiring eyes on the face that had attracted her so, that the owner of
it, drawing his well scented cigar from his lips, asked his friend.

"I say, Airey, who are those young ladies just passed?"

"Those two, right here," said Airey, following his friend's glance, "are
Miss McArgent and Miss Dash."

"Aw they pretty girls?" pursued Vivian Standish, replacing his Havana in
his handsome mouth.

"Well," Airey answered, laughing, "_entre nous_, you know, Standish,
when girls are well off and help to keep up the whole sport of the
season, it is no harm to swear they are lovely, when you're sure they'll
hear it again."

"Oh, of course not! That's a serious duty sometimes. And are those two
of your hospitable entertainers?"

"Yes, by Jove they don't let the fun run down. They are jolly to kill
time with, but upon my word, I find the greater number of girls in
society here are very insipid. If you can't talk nonsense to them, they
can't talk anything else to you. And though we fellows knock a good deal
of fun out of their parties, etc., still, we've earned it by the time
we've talked over all the little gossip of the day with them, flirted a
little, escorted them to some opera or other, and minded ourselves to
say nothing but what was most flattering, when speaking of them."

"Well I should think you had," answered his friend, with a low laugh,
"you can get something more than that, with less trouble, elsewhere."

"Yes, but half a loaf is better than none," rejoined Airey, "and these
young ladies are not so bad when one is in the humor to be amused."

Just as he finished speaking, he noticed a familiar form walking
steadily on in front. He clapped his hand heavily down on the shoulder
of him he recognized, and shouted.

"Hallo, Elersley," in genuine surprise.

Guy started and looked around. Poor fellow! Already the traits of
sadness were visible in his handsome face. He only parted his lips
slightly as he turned to greet his friend.

"What, in the name of all that's nice, have you been doing with
yourself, Guy? We've missed you awfully."

"I dare say, I have been a little quiet lately," Guy answered. "I am
busy at present, but I don't think I need complain of it. I am feeling
better than if I were living more on the streets."

Vivian Standish laughed the laziest sort of drawl.

"Now Elersley, don't take to moralizing--you were never made for it,
your face would get so deuced eloquent looking, that the rest of us
would lose all our present chances."

But Guy neither smiled nor spoke, and this set his friends wondering.

On reaching the corner, Will Airey took an arm of each of his
companions, and said:

"Come along boys to see the tumblers. Come Elersley."

"Thank you, no," said Guy, releasing his arm, "I am very busy and must
get back to my room. _Au plaisir!_ Good afternoon!" and he was gone.

Willie Airey looked after him and then at Vivian Standish, and gave a
long, low whistle.

"There's something up there, by Jove," he said, tossing his head in the
direction Guy had taken. "If Elersley has started a reform, it is time
for the retail dealers in 'gratifications' to close up, for it is a sure
sign we must all follow him."

Vivian Standish looked thoughtful for a moment, saying, as he drew a
long breath, "I wish to Heaven we could, for upon my word I'm sick of my
own life. Anything would be better than the existence we fellows try to
drag out. I think we are all fools who do not do as Elersley has done
to-night, and I for another refuse the treat with thanks."

So instead of repairing to the familiar marble counter inside a familiar
glass door, these two spoilt darlings of sensuality joined Miss Bella
Dash and her friend, and escorted them home, much to the intense
gratification of the first-named young lady.

Without complimenting himself at all on the moral victory he had
achieved, Guy Elersley walked along, sunk in deep reflection. His long
strides brought him over many crossings and round many corners, till at
length he stopped before a demure, respectable looking hall door.
Thrusting a key into the lock, he opened it and stepped into the hall,
from which place he admitted himself into a small and silent apartment.
Guy's room presented a strange spectacle. Suits of clothes, shirt boxes,
silk handkerchiefs, slippers, boots, ties, books, cigars and a host of
other male appendages, were lying around on the bed, and chairs, and
floor, in fact, every available resting place had been taken advantage
of. In the midst of this confusion stood a large Saratoga, wide open.
Guy was evidently "packing up" this time, not because he had been
"dunned" for half-a-year's board, though that would have been no new
item in his well-patched-up experience. He was going away, and I doubt
if ever a man felt half so sorry for being "naughty" as Guy Elersley
felt on this particular evening.

One by one he folded away all his possessions into the depths of his
trunk, and when at last the chaotic mass of belongings had crept into a
tidy space, he looked around--that last surveying glance one gives to
see that nothing has been left out. Nothing had been left out, so he
took down his overcoat, that was hanging on a peg behind the door, and
he began to turn out the pockets.

As he did so the most melancholy of smiles crept over his sad face, and
drawing out his hand, his eyes fell on a small, narrow band of chestnut
hair, fastened with a gold clasp, on which were engraved in large
characters the initials, "H. E."

A struggle ensued. The memories he had buried forever, as he thought,
surged upon him now in all their force, and almost overwhelmed him. He
took the little bracelet in both his hands and looked at it tenderly,
longingly. He had not thought it possible that any woman could ever have
filled his heart with so much bitterness--the bitterness of remorse and
repentance. He who had flirted and fooled with almost every girl he had
met, now felt what it was to have met with one who was the embodiment of
goodness and purity and truth. Her sweet face haunted him through all
his misery. He knew she would be wondering about him, they had been such
good _friends_. After all, must he go away? Perhaps never to see her
again, without knowing whether she would miss him or not. Oh! at least,
pain and sorrow and suffering are not so crushing when one is loved. It
is something when the head is weary with its thoughts of anguish to
pillow it on the sympathizing bosom of one who loves us; it is in the
deep, imploring gaze of the eyes that watch us with a tender solicitude,
that one learns an easy lesson of resignation, it is in the warm
pressure of the hand whose power it is to make our pulses throb, that
one gathers the courage for action in the moment of distress, and the
who have never been loved are they who suffer indeed.

Guy felt that he loved Honor Edgeworth in a way which involved his own
future happiness, and yet how could he ascertain whether he might hope
or not? Reader, do you know that it is a dreadful thing to love in
silence and in doubt? The victim of such a cruel fate wonders at the
mysterious Providence which dooms him to spend his most violent emotions
in a fruitless combat with himself, gaining no returns for the
lavishness of his soul's affection, for if God is love, love is surely
mystery.

Still holding the precious little bracelet in his trembling hands, Guy
stood thinking and wondering. We are too prone, in our cool and
passionless moments, to judge harshly of the deeds that are done under
the influence of strong emotion, and for this reason many would condemn
Guy for his weakness on this occasion, for as he stood, the large,
round, tears rose to his eyes, and he tasted for the first time, the
over-flowing bitterness of a heart that is tried. At last he seemed to
have learned from this little talisman the proper thing to do, for going
over to the table that stood by the window, he sat down, and drawing a
sheet of paper to him, took his pen between his nervous fingers, and
began to write.

"Honor darling, there are a few little words waiting to be said that you
must be good enough to hear. If I spoke them, they would sound like
choking sobs, as I write them, know that they are written with tears.
Honor, you cannot but feel what it is that I am longing to say. You who
understand the human heart so well, will not exact that I should break
the iron bonds of a cruel discretion, to let you know that which is
often best understood unsaid. By my own folly, I have placed the barrier
of distance between us. I go from this place in a few hours more--where?
God knows. And for what? He likewise alone can tell. But there is a
determination in my heart that was never there before--a stimulant
causing it to beat in heavy throbs, and each throb echoes your name.
Maybe you call mine a worthless love, I cannot tell, I wish I could.
There is one little word, my guardian angel, that will fill me with
courage if your lips will but pronounce it. It is "Hope." Remember in
any case, that whatever I shall do of right or good will be on account
of your redeeming influence, and that the day on which I first met you
is in my memory, the day of my salvation. If you have any little word of
encouragement for me, my friend, the bearer of this message, will kindly
have it sent me. You have taught me to hope once, Honor, do not crush
the passion you have awakened, for though it be vainly--wildly--madly, I
do hope now. I hope and wait.

Anxiously and lovingly yours,

GUY."

It was done. Only a few scratches of his pen to interpret the misery of
his soul, but how stiff it sounded! He has scarcely been able to
restrain the gusts of emotions that lay in ready words on the threshold
of his lips. But first he must know whether it was all despair for him
in the doubtful future before pouring out all the fullness of his heart.
He had scarcely finished the last stroke of his letter when a tap was
heard at the door, followed by the appearance of a familiar face, the
owner of which entered the room and approached Guy without waiting for
an invitation.

"Hallo! Elersley, what in the name of all that's wonderful are you at
now?"

Guy looked suddenly up, but he could not hide the worn and pained
expression that covered his face. His voice assumed a cheerfulness, he
was far from feeling as he bade his friend be seated.

"The room is in a queer state," he said, "but you wont mind that."

"Well I mind it a good deal, if it means what it looks like--are you
off?

"Yes," answered Guy in a steady tone, "I am leaving Ottawa to-morrow,
it's a cursed hole for a fellow to live in, and I'm sorry I did not find
it out before."

"Well, upon my word," said Standish, throwing one leg over the end of
Guy's trunk, "you _are_ a queer fellow. What's going wrong that you are
so blue about matters? I thought you were an enviable sort of fellow,
with a snug little prospect before you, and here you are, as down in the
mouth as if you hadn't a hope in the world. What's up old boy?"

Guy turned his back to the window, and leaned against the writing table
with both hands.

"Oh! things have gone a little roughly that's all, and I prefer new
pastures when there are troubles in the old ones. I have been a little
foolish, I suppose, and now I am reaping my reward."

His face grew pitiably serious as he turned to Vivian saying:

"There's only one little matter I am leaving unsettled, Standish, and
will you manage it for me? I cannot do it myself."

"By all means Elersley. Who is he? The tailor or--"

"Oh nonsense!" interrupted Guy impatiently, "it is nothing of that kind.
I have a note here to be carefully delivered, and I would ask you to see
to it for me."

"A young lady eh?" Standish replied good-humoredly, as he took the
offered letter. "I thought there was surely a woman at the bottom of it.
Egad!" he continued under his moustache, "we owe them a long debt of
revenge, as the cause of all our grievous and petty wrongs. However,"
this more cheerfully, "you can trust this to me. But talking business,
Guy are you actually going away?"

"And why need it surprise you so," asked Guy, peevishly, "what are the
railroads for, if not to take us miles away from the scenes we love or
hate? I certainly am going, and I have never realized until this moment
what I owe to the kind friends I have met during my sojourn here. If I
have solved the bitter mysteries of hidden sinful life, I owe a word of
gratitude to some worthy companions."

Here the memory of all he had lost through his own recklessness, rushed
upon him and before his emotion subsided, he had cursed in bitter terms
the false deceitful friends, who had lured him from his innocence into
vice and depravity.



CHAPTER XVIII.


"With goddess-like demeanour forth she went
Not unattended, for on her as queen,
A pomp of winning graces waited still.
And from about her shot darts of desire
Into all eyes to wish her still in sight."

"Are the ladies at home?"

"Yes. Will you come inside?" said Fitts, with his politest bow, as he
extended an exquisite little card receiver towards his visitors.

Then came a few moments of great bustle and confusion, and an
accumulation of seal-skins and brocaded silks was ushered into the
drawing-room of Mr. Rayne's house.

It was reception day for Aunt Jean and Honor, and both were looking
remarkably well in their most becoming costumes, amid their rich
surroundings.

Aunt Jean advanced slightly to meet two ladies as they entered the room,
and "How d'ye do?" passed from one to another, as they deposited their
expensive habiliments and precious humanity into comfortable
"_fauteuits_." Then, while Mrs. d'Alberg tried to sustain a conversation
with the elder and more substantial of the two, the younger lady, though
not exceedingly childish, drew herself towards Honor, and addressed her
patronizingly.

Here were people who were actual exclamation points in the social
grammar. Their imposing appearance forced one to hold one's breath, and
yet Dame Rumor, who deals in wholesale whispering at Ottawa, told one,
with her hand to her mouth, that not so many years ago, Mr. Atkinson
Reid was solving the mysteries of existence, inside a scarlet shirt,
antique trousers, high boots and a conical straw hat. Only lately,
comparatively speaking, had he discarded the one-storey frame house, in
a decidedly un-aristrocratic and objectionable neighborhood, where,
nevertheless, fortune was first pleased to smile benignly on his efforts
to keep the old leathern purse well filled, and where his now precious,
airy, nervous, affected daughters first saw their porridge and potatoes.
Things went well in the unpretentious little abode, and by and by Johnny
Reid was able to indulge in sundry luxuries of life, that naturally
belonged to a more advanced stage of civilization than is assumed in the
hut of the ordinary shanty-man or wood-cutter. Years were stealing on,
and Ottawa was growing up into a respectable size, and at last one day
Johnny Reid made up his mind to abandon his rough work, since his
accumulated wealth now allowed him to employ substitutes. With these
glittering coins, that represented so many strokes of a heavy axe from a
strong arm, and so many drops of sweat from an overheated brow, he would
go into the heart of the city and buy finery and style and
accomplishments for Maria, and Nellie, and Sarah, and the old woman
herself as well, and life would bear fruit at last to him, after all his
hard toil and bitter experience.

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