Elsie Marley, Honey

by Joslyn Gray

But there was no blinking the fact that Cousin Julia's heart was so bound up in her that the discovery of her duplicity would wound her cruelly; indeed, Elsie couldn't bear to contemplate what it would mean to her. As for Elsie Marley—she was apparently, for her part, equally bound up in the Middletons, and the shock and change would be terribly painful to her. Moreover, she was, in a way, almost as innocent as Cousin Julia herself. Her masquerading was only masquerading. She had only accepted, in her sweet, docile manner, her part in the plan that Elsie had made to further her own interests. The wrong was all her own, truly; but any attempt to undo it would hurt the innocent Elsie at least equally.

What could she do? Was she really, as it seemed, bound hand and foot? The girl wrung her hands, and there was no thought of the dramatic in the gesture. Must her punishment be to keep on and on with her wrong-doing, with the consciousness, increasingly more painful, of deceiving Cousin Julia, of being, not only not the person she believed her to be, but exactly the sort of person she most despised? Could that be her fate?

Looking ahead, Elsie said to herself she couldn't stand it—not now. Before, she had had her uncomfortable moments; but since that talk with Mr. Graham she had had no moment that wasn't agony. He had roused her out of her dream of making things right by calling them so. And yet, less than ever since that knowledge had come to her, was she ready to hurt Cousin Julia, as confession or discovery would hurt her. Could it be that it was impossible for her to straighten out her own conscience without wounding the hearts of others? Was there no way whereby she could make things right without involving Elsie Marley and Cousin Julia in misery?

Staring wretchedly into the fire, the girl was unaware that she was grappling with a big moral problem: that her personal perplexity was a part of the old problem of evil: that what daunted her was the old paradox that has confronted mankind since before the time of Job. She understood dimly that the lines between good and ill do not converge any more than unmoral geometrical parallels; but she still felt that it must be possible to limit the consequences of wrong-doing to the evil-doer so that the innocent should wholly escape.

But what, short of her own death, would bring that about? In that event, indeed, Cousin Julia's natural grief would not be bitterly painful; and Elsie Marley would simply go on as she was. But she wasn't likely to die, and besides, wretched as she was, she didn't want to. And even if she did, she wouldn't be so wicked or so cowardly as to do anything to hasten her end.

But her consideration of that solution of her problem made way for another. On a sudden a substitute solution presented itself to her mind. Having gone so far, it was but natural that the girl's dramatic instinct and her familiarity with romance and melodrama should suggest something that would answer the purpose of death without occasioning the same measure of pain—namely, her own disappearance. And the suggestion no sooner appeared than it was accepted. Before Miss Pritchard returned the idea was already so familiar as to seem to be of long standing.

Her mind was quick and her invention fertile, and before she slept that night her plans were well along. She was to lose herself utterly—where and how she would determine later. She would, at the proper moment, disappear absolutely and mysteriously, yet not without leaving behind her satisfactory and reassuring explanation for the two persons to whom it would mean most—nay, three—she mustn't forget her stepmother. She would write to Elsie Marley that she had felt obliged to take the step for the sake of her own future, and would entreat her to go on as she was and never to let any one know what had happened. And she would leave a long letter for Cousin Julia to discover on her return from the office the day of her departure. She would tell her how she loved her—better than any one else she had ever known except her mother—and how she had never been so happy in her life as with her. Then she would make the same enigmatical but satisfactory reference to her future and how it made the step imperative, adding that if Cousin Julia could understand, she would agree that she couldn't have done otherwise.

When she had reached this point, Elsie's heart sank. Disappearance might be preferable to death, but it seemed as if it were going to be quite as painful. But only for her, and after all, that was where the pain belonged. The girl cried herself to sleep that night, but she woke next morning with a sense of relief so active and positive that it seemed like refreshment and almost like joy. She realized why it was: her mind hadn't been wholly at ease before since the day in the summer when she had first seen Mr. Graham, and for the past days she had lived in torture. The removal of the burden was almost like unsnapping the cover of a Jack-in-the-box. She was going to be good and straight and honest again. She was going to make amends, so far as in her lay, for the wrong she had done. She was going—away!

Here Elsie faltered. But she sprang from bed before depression could swoop down upon her. And while she was dressing a suggestion came to her that sent her to the breakfast-table with a serene and even joyful face. It had come to her that she would better not attempt to carry out her resolve until after Christmas, lest she mar Cousin Julia's or Elsie Marley's enjoyment of the day. She would act immediately after Christmas, beginning the New Year with a clean slate. And meantime she would devote herself to making every one she knew as happy as possible, particularly Cousin Julia.

And she would be happy herself. There would be sufficient unhappiness coming to her later to pay her in full for all the mischief she had done; and she saw no harm in putting the matter from her thoughts for the interim, and making the most of the eighteen days. Then, Christmas being over, one day, or two at most, would suffice her to decide where to go and to make her preparations. Another day would give her time to write the letters with due deliberation, and on the third she would be off.