Anna made no reply, but rang the bell a little pettishly; for no child likes to have a mother married a second time, there being much greater toleration for fathers, and asked her companion in. As the wife of a physician in full practice, the bride had already changed many of her long-cherished habits. In this respect, however, she did no more than follow the fortunes of woman, who so cheerfully makes any sacrifice in behalf of him she loves. If men were only one-half as disinterested, as self-denying, and as true as the other sex, in all that relates to the affections, what a blessed state would that of matrimony be! Still, there are erring, and selfish, and domineering, and capricious, vain, heartless and self-willed females, whom nature never intended for married life; and who are guilty of a species of profanation, when they stand up and vow to love, honour and obey their husbands. Many of these disregard their solemn pledges, made at the altar, and under the immediate invocation of the Deity, as they would disregard a promise made in jest, and think no more of the duties and offices that are so peculiarly the province of their sex, than of the passing and idle promises of vanity. But, if such women exist, and that they do our daily experience proves, they are as exceptions to the great law of female faith, which is tenderness and truth. They are not women in character, whatever they may be in appearance; but creatures in the guise of a sex that they discredit and caricature.
Mrs. McBrain was not a person of the disposition just described. She was gentle and good, and bid fair to make the evening of her second husband’s days very happy. Sooth to say, she was a good deal in love, notwithstanding her time of life, and the still more mature years of the bridegroom; and had been so much occupied with the duties and cares that belonged to her recent change of condition, as to be a little forgetful of her daughter. At no other period of their joint lives would she have permitted this beloved child to be absent from her, under such circumstances, without greater care for her safety and comforts; but there is a honey-week, as well as a honey-moon; and the intenseness of its feelings might very well disturb the ordinary round of even maternal duties. Glad enough, however, was she now to see her daughter; when Anna, blooming, and smiling, and blushing, flew into her mother’s arms.
“There she is, widow—Mrs. Updyke—I beg pardon—married woman, and Mrs. McBrain,” cried Dunscomb—“Ned is such an uneasy fellow, he keeps all his friends in a fever with his emotions, and love, and matrimony; and that just suits him, as he has only to administer a pill and set all right again. But there she is, safe and unmarried, thank heaven; which is always a sort of consolation to me. She’s back again, and you will do well to keep her, until my nephew, Jack, comes to ask permission to carry her off, for good and all.”
Anna blushed more deeply than ever, while the mother smiled and embraced her child. Then succeeded questions and answers, until Mrs. McBrain had heard the whole story of her daughter’s intercourse with Mary Monson, so far as it has been made known to the reader. Beyond that, Anna did not think herself authorized to go; or, if she made any revelation, it would be premature for us to repeat it.
“Here we are, all liable to be indicted for felony,” cried Dunscomb, as soon as the young lady had told her tale. “Timms will be hanged, in place of his client; and we three will have cells at Sing Sing, as accessories[accessories] before the act. Yes, my dear bride, you are what the law terms a “particeps criminis,” and may look out for the sheriff before you are a week older.”
“And why all this, Mr. Dunscomb?” demanded the half-amused, half-frightened Mrs. McBrain.
“For aiding and abetting a prisoner in breaking gaol. Mary Monson is off, beyond a question. She lay down in Sarah’s drawing-room, pretending to be wearied, ten minutes since; and has no doubt got through with her nap already, and is on her way to Canada, or Texas, or California, or some other out-of-the-way country; Cuba, for aught I know.”
“Is this so, think you, Anna?”
“I do not, mamma. So far from believing Mary Monson to be flying to any out-of-the-way place, I have no doubt that we shall find her fast asleep on Mr. Dunscomb’s sofa.”
“Uncle Dunscomb’s sofa, if you please, young lady.”