A Child of the Glens; or, Elsie's Fortunes

by Edward N. Hoare

Poor Jim! his pride had indeed met with a fall. The rector's letter was soothing enough, but the winged messenger which he himself had demanded had arrived full twenty-four hours earlier. Full of the most ridiculous dreams, that he would have been ashamed to put in words even to himself, the young man tore open the brown cover. One glance at the cruelly brief, well-written announcement, and all the top-heavy aerial erection his vanity had heaped up lay shattered around him. Poor boy! shall we not pity him? From very childhood, though so silent and undemonstrative, he had fed himself with extravagant visions and wild speculations. All this had been merely an amusement, though an unhealthy one. The dreamer had scarcely entertained the idea of his dreams possibly proving true. But the train was laid for a future explosion—the imagination was diseased, and so when the watchmaker's letter came, all the shadowy fancies of the past seemed to be suddenly transformed into substantial realities. He fancied ho had always known that which hitherto he had only amused himself by fancying.

The blow was sharp and decisive, and Jim felt he had brought it on himself. Curiously enough, however, the sudden stinging pain acted as a tonic stimulant. The lad summoned up all the latent manliness and force of his character. He looked the thing in the face, and saw clearly that he had played the fool. He knew that he would be laughed at, and resolved to bear it like a man.

Next day came Mr. Smith's letter, and it was as balm to the wounded spirit. Elsie also wrote a line to say she was glad not to be a lady, and believed that he would get on all the better for not being a lord.

Thus it came to pass that when the Rev. Cooper Smith arrived at Ballymena station, the first person he met was Jim McAravey.

"I do not know how to thank you, sir, for all the trouble you have taken; I at least was not worthy of it. But I trust this piece of folly has been enough for me. I hope I am wiser, but I shall strive not to be sadder."

Mr. Smith was as much surprised as pleased at this change in the young man's character, and he the more regretted having to tell the whole of the narrative, which was sure to cause further pain to the lad. However, it had to be done, and Jim, who was no coward, took it all better than might have been expected.

"And so I am only Elsie's half-brother, at best—or shall I say at worst?" said the poor lad, with trembling voice. "I'm afraid, sir, I shall be terribly laughed at here, but I must bear it as best I can. I have brought it on myself."

Elsie was profoundly thankful for the result of the investigation. As she had said herself, she "did not feel like being a lady," and was therefore glad to be delivered from what would have been, to her, an unwelcome fate. At the same time it was a pleasure to obtain definite information as to her parentage, and also to find that in Lady Eleanor she had a friend who had known and loved her mother, and who was bound to herself by a sacred tie. That Jim had proved not to be her brother was, if the truth be told, a relief. Elsie had often reproached herself that she did not feel for him that sisterly affection which she believed it her duty to cultivate. In fact she began to like Jim better now, partly because he was decidedly improved by the "taking down" he had received, and partly because affection was no longer a duty to which the girl had to school her heart.

Lady Eleanor's letter was kind in the extreme. She told Elsie in simple language how they had all loved her mother, and enclosed for her perusal the one or two letters that had been preserved. "Although Elsie could not remember their last meeting, yet they were not strangers, since Lady Eleanor did not forget that she had held her in her arms at the baptismal font." Elsie was urged most affectionately to go over to England, if it were only for a time; and it was suggested that if she settled there Mrs. McAravey might accompany her. Elsie, however, felt at once that, even could she bear the journey, it would be a cruelty to transplant the aged woman from her native soil to a region where she would find all things alien and strange. Nor would she entertain the idea of deserting the poor old body, though Mrs. McAravey stoically offered to give her up.

"I won't stand in your way, Elsie, lass, though I can't bear to think of it; but it's not long I'll be here to trouble anyone, and I'd like to know you were well provided."