TROUBLES OVERTAKE THE BEST OF MEN.
"He is miserable once who feels it,
But twice who fears it before it comes."
—Eastern Proverb.
"Well, Edward, what in the world are you going to do? Why, I never heard of such actions in all my forty years of life. A man of your honorable principles to be in league with such men as you have just described; why it just takes my breath away with astonishment, it certainly does."
Aunt Adeline gives the white head-dress on top of her head such an excited rap that its position lent to her face a peculiarly fierce expression quite foreign to her general air of amiability.
"Perhaps some means may present itself that will tide us over safely, but it is very dark looking just now, very dark indeed."
"Well, they cannot do anything with you, can they?" aunt Adeline inquires excitedly.
"No, my dear sister; only to have an old firm like ours go down seems a pity. And, Adeline, I hope you will not be very much displeased at what I did to-day." Mr. Litchfield speaks nervously.
"Now Edward, what have you been about again? You know how many imprudent actions you commit. Tell me what is the thing now you think I won't approve of?"
"This morning young Fanchon asked me to sign his note for three months." Aunt Adeline stiffens visibly in her chair.
"What was the amount?" she asks coldly.
"Only three hundred dollars; and he said it would oblige him, as at the end of three months he would get some money owing him. Of course it will be all right you know," replied her brother in an off-hand tone, which he is far from feeling, for the man Fanchon has long been losing ground in public favor; and rumor said, if it were not for the senior partner, Litchfield, the business would be done.
Miss Litchfield looks out the window, as she says slowly:
"You may be sorry, some day, that you did not take my advice. You know I warned you about your marriage; you scorned my advice then; you know now how it has turned out. All I can say is, it will be your own fault either way, good or otherwise."
Mr. Litchfield gets up from his seat at the table.
"Adeline,"—his face is very pale as he stands before his sister—"let what has passed rest. You have been a most faithful, affectionate sister to me, and aunt to my girls, but from you, nor no one else living, shall I take a word of disrespect about my wife." Then Miss Adeline hears the door close, and she is alone.
"Well," she says, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle in her apron, "I am terribly afraid Edward is getting a softness in the head; any man that could feel no reproach against a woman who has wronged any one, as Estelle Litchfield has wronged my poor brother, beats me more than words can express."
The white curtains flap idly in and out at the windows; a white and yellow butterfly comes in to light among the pink roses and white lilies in the glass dish on the table. Zoe's voice comes from somewhere in the garden, scolding her pet kitten for disgracing himself by persisting in chasing imaginary flies over the flower beds. Jet Glen is whistling "The girl I left behind me," somewhere near. Aunt Adeline hears the happy young voices and sighs. Her brother's business has not gone altogether straight lately; she does her best to keep his spirits up, but sometimes her own heart nearly fails with anxious forebodings for the future.
"Edward seems to lose the use of all his faculties," Miss Litchfield soliloquises. "There was that wealthy Mrs.—I won't say her name—but any one could see with half an eye—was only waiting to change her name to ours. Her money would have done wonders for Edward, but no one knew what had become of Estelle, and so for the sake of her my poor brother must needs lose all the chances that appear, and lose his health worrying over his business affairs, seems too bad entirely."
An enquiring fly lights on the tip of Miss Litchfield's aristocratic Roman nose. Now this is something appalling; never does she allow a single poor stray fly to remain in those cool, shady rooms. The next half hour is spent in ousting the enemy, and after that length of time the viper is finally vanquished.
"Auntie, do you notice how very pale father looks?"
The dim shadows lie in long dark lines across the quaint old room. Zoe, curled up by the window, is trying to catch the last faint rays of daylight; but the dim light grows dimmer, and the words on the page are no longer discernable.
"Yes, child, of course I've noticed it; who would not? and what the end of it will be is more than my knowledge of the future can penetrate; I have not the least idea."
Dolores' pretty grey kitten jumps up in Miss Adeline's lap.
"Get down, you nuisance," she says crossly.
"Come here, Moody, you dear, pretty thing, to Zoe."
Moody obediently goes sedately, with a look of injured dignity; she rubs her glossy head against Zoe's arm, and plays with the tassels on the window curtains.
"I will have to marry old Mr. Vacine after all, and his money bags will restore the house of Litchfield to its former glory."
Miss Adeline is quick to take offence when one of her old friends are being spoken lightly of.
"Mr. Vacine is too old for a child like you to jest about. Youth should always respect old age," she says severely.
"Well, I never could see any sense in him living up there all alone in that great gloomy mansion, when other people—any quantity of them—would be willing to share the goods the gods have given him."
The little silver and marble clock on the bracket ticks the minutes hastily away.
"I am glad to hear that; would you, my dear little friend, be 'one' of the 'any quantity' you just spoke of?"
Both Zoe and Aunt Adeline are startled by the grave voice behind them. Mr. Blois Vacine, past sixty years of age, and owner of the finest properties in the town, seldom leaves his home of gloomy grandeur; and Zoe mentally calculates, as Miss Litchfield goes forward to greet the visitor, that something more wonderful than usual is about to take place after this.
"Father home?" Mr. Vacine inquires, coming over to the window where Zoe is standing. Evidently the power of speech has deserted the ever ready-tongued young lady.
"No sir; yes—that is—I don't know," she stammers. She feels horribly ashamed of herself for having spoken as she had done; and yet it was in her own house, and if people can't say what they wish in their own house, pray where would they? and another thing, it was decidedly mean to come into a house without first ringing the bell to announce one's coming.
"Oh well, probably he will not be gone long, and meanwhile you and I can have a little friendly chat," Mr. Vacine says cheerfully.
Zoe politely asks if he will not take the easy chair aunt Adeline has just vacated.
"And so you don't believe in people being mean and stingy with their worldly gifts. But even wealth, after a time, grows monotonous; we very seldom find the pleasure we expect, even in the success of our highest ambitions. I am a lonely old man, my dear; once I had a dear nephew, of whom I was too fond; I said something passionate; he took offence at his old uncle, and left me. But never mind, I would be only too glad if you would look upon my house and grounds as your own, to come and go in at your pleasure."
Zoe's eyes dance, and her heart beats with delightful anticipation. The dream of her life has been to be allowed to pass beyond the heavy iron gates, with their fantastic guardians of lions' heads, and wander at will in the dim, unknown depths of the paradise of flowers beyond; and the house, the dear old rambling castle of which she has heard so much. Poor Zoe, for some minutes she is unable to speak.
"Ah, you have thought differently since you first spoke. Well, it is all right; there is not so much to interest one, perhaps, as I imagine." There is a ring of disappointment in the old man's voice, and Zoe hastens to say,
"My dear Mr. Vacine, believe me, I am not ungrateful to you for your goodness, and will take much pleasure in your kind offer," the girl says, with a choking in her throat.
Aunt Adeline comes in with lights, saying Mr. Litchfield was feeling so unwell, that he had retired. So Zoe accompanies Mr. Vacine to the door, watches him walk down the little path to the gate with a step as firm and elastic as a boy of twenty.
"Well little one, is this the latest victim your charming self has brought down?" Jet Glen's tall figure stands before her, and Jet's brown eyes are full of lazy laughter, as he stands and watches Zoe straighten her slim figure in virtuous indignation.
"You are like a toad, Mr. Glen, always cropping up when least expected," she says, with what is intended to be withering sarcasm.
"Allow me to offer a thousand thanks for your kind sentiments on my appearance, Miss Litchfield." The young man doffs his white straw hat gallantly.
"No need for thanks; it is the simple, unvarnished truth; it is nothing to me if you get offended." The little foot, clad in its dainty wigwam slipper, taps the door step impatiently.
"Never mind, dear, don't get angry; you and I should understand each other by now. You are such a little wildfire, I like to see you get excited. But come, tell me what the old gentleman said."
Zoe's anger is never very long lived; now, under Jet's conciliatory tones, it vanishes and fades like the mist in the morn.
"Of course I'll tell you, you old goose," Zoe exclaims, coming down toward him.
"Well, let us walk around the paths, and we can talk better," suggests the 'old goose,' persuasively.
"He asked me over so nicely, to come and go in his beautiful house and grounds, and make myself at home there. Ah, I felt like hugging the old dear." Mr. Glen pokes the grass thoughtfully with his cane.
"Indeed," he says drily. "It is a pity you could not expend your surplus affection on a younger man."
Zoe stops short in her walk. "You are very impolite, to say the very least; in fact I am rather surprised at you," the youngest Miss Litchfield says loftily. The wind blows in chilly gusts, suggestive of rain; it is very cold for a night in August.
"Shall I run in and fetch a shawl for you?" Jet asks in a protective sort of way.
"No thanks, I shall never accept any service from your hands sir, or in fact from any one who would dare speak disrespectfully of my friends."
But Zoe forgot the old but true proverb about "pride having a fall." Suddenly the young lady seems to be seized with a panic of despair.
"Oh! oh! oh!" she cries, in frantic tones.
"What in the name of the stars is the matter now?" inquires the young man, looking about him to the right and left.
"Oh, kill it; kill it, quick." White dresses are a great magnetiser for June bugs; caught in the lace of her sleeve is an immense—as Zoe calls it—'horny bug.'
"He's dead; come look at him," Jet adds; but Zoe retreats to the front door in haste.
"Come in, come in, quick, till I shut the door; surely the wretches won't chase us in the house."
The door shuts to with a defiant bang, while the agitated young lady once more recovers her tranquility of mind.