"At last, however, there came, furnished with letters of introduction to one of Constance's uncles, a young and wealthy cotton planter from Louisiana. His seeming indifference to money and his prodigal use of it, his pleasant speech and manner, his languid Southern movements, so different from those of the brisk Northerners to whom they were accustomed, and, above all, the very fact of his being a stranger, made him most welcome to the girlish minds so fond of change and novelty. But it was with the greatest regret that the Van Ortens began to notice his marked attentions to Constance and the increasing pleasure she took in them. It was not only that a marriage with him would separate her from them all, but her father and brothers, constantly meeting the young stranger at clubs and places where there were no ladies present, and consequently where he was off his guard, found him capricious and changeable in his opinions and actions, extremely self-indulgent, selfishly indifferent to the comfort of others, and so fond of intoxicating liquor that, on more than one occasion, he had been directly and shamefully under its influence.
"But Constance would not, perhaps could not, see him in the light in which he was portrayed to her, and, in spite of all their warnings and her mother's pleadings, she consented to become his wife. Immediately after the marriage, they went to Louisiana, and for awhile all was to Constance as her most ardent fancy had painted it. Their home was in the beautiful Claiborne Parish, which has been named "the Eden of Louisiana." Her winning ways and delicate beauty endeared her to the new acquaintances she formed, and made her the idol of the slaves on the plantation. Here two sons were born, and the mother felt her happiness complete. But presently she found her husband less attentive to her. He absented himself on long journeys, for which he scarcely had a pretext, and when at home was either sullen or irritable.
"Then the Civil War broke out and he lost much of his property, and there were almost ceaseless and taunting allusions on his part to the "plebeian Yankees" and the ruin they had brought him. After the close of the war, however, he seemed to make an effort to do the best with what property remained. He became a little more considerate, and sometimes seemed to be almost what he had been in the early years of his married life, and when Constance became the mother of a little girl, she began to feel as if, after all, life might hold some good in store for her.
"But alas! her husband's good behavior did not last long. He began to drink constantly, and at last he left one morning, without saying a word, and never returned. Then the two promising boys died of that dreadful scourge, yellow fever, and Constance was almost heartbroken.
"During the war, communication with her New York relatives had been almost impossible, and since then, as is usual in interrupted correspondence, even among those who love each other best, it had assumed a desultory character; and now that Constance felt overwhelmingly disgraced by her husband's desertion, and knowing that all this sorrow had come upon her in consequence of her opposition to the wishes of her family, she was too proud to turn to them for help or comfort. But to remain where she was was likewise almost an impossibility, for the scenes of sorrow through which she had passed made the South a hated prison from which she felt that she must escape. Besides, her husband's creditors had seized upon everything that was left, and the once lovely, petted girl, destitute, bereaved, forsaken, raised what money she could from the sale of her laces and jewelry, and, taking passage in one of the Mississippi steamers, started for Louisville. There, however, she remained but a few days, and finally came to Cincinnati, hoping here to find some way to support herself and her little daughter, without being obliged to appeal to her brothers for help.
"But for a woman reared as she had been, what was there to do? Her slender means became still more slender, and it was only after having been subjected to absolute privation, that she managed to obtain a place in a store as saleswoman, and now she and her child are able to live respectably, if not always comfortably. Her one joy and source of happiness she finds in the companionship of her daughter Ernestine, a girl of character so fine and religious principles so high that they would be a credit to one of twice her years."
"Why, that sounds like a description of Ernestine Alroy!" said Fannie.
"And it is Ernestine of whom I am speaking, although I hope it is not necessary for me to suggest that she would not like her mother's history to be made public property. In fact, I must earnestly request you not to mention it even in your own homes," said Mrs. Burton. "It was only by a mere accident that I heard this narrative yesterday afternoon. But I hear Mr. Burton and Jack in the hall, and, as supper will be served in a very few minutes, I must leave you, with an apology for telling you a sad story, and one which I would not have ventured upon had it not been an 'o'er true tale.'"
"How dreadful!" said Fannie. "And to think, girls, that her mother was as happy and well reared—"
Just then, however, supper was announced, and Fannie's sentence remained unfinished.