And having, through a similar providence, found in Emily additional proof of the fact that the tie of kindred blood is not always needed to bind heart to heart in the closest bonds of sympathy and affection, she had hitherto, in her unusually happy experience, felt none of the evils that spring from dependence upon the bounty of strangers.
From Mr. Graham she had until now experienced only kindness. On her first coming to live with them, he had taken little notice of her, so long as she was quiet, well-mannered, and no trouble to anybody, had been indifferent about her. He observed that Emily was fond of the girl, and, though he wondered at her taste, was glad that she should be indulged. But he soon noticed in his daughter's favourite a quickness of mind and propriety of deportment which created an interest in her that soon increased to positive partiality, especially when he discovered her taste for gardening and her love of flowers. Emily formed no plan as to Gertrude's education to which she did not obtain a ready assent from her father; and Gertrude, grateful for so much bounty, spared no pains to evidence her sense of obligation and regard, by treating Mr. Graham with the greatest respect.
But, unfortunately for the continuance of these amicable relations, Mr. Graham had neither the disinterested forbearing spirit of Uncle True, nor the saintly patience and self-sacrifice of Emily. Mr. Graham was a liberal and highly respectable man; he had the reputation of being a high-minded and honourable man; and his conduct justified this report of him. But he was a selfish man, and often took one-sided views. He had supported and educated Gertrude—he liked her—she was the person whom he preferred for a travelling companion for himself and Emily—and he either could not or would not see that her duty lay in any other direction.
During a wakeful and restless night, Gertrude reviewed and considered her own circumstances. At first her only emotion was one of grief, but that gradually subsided, as other bitter thoughts rose up in her mind.
"What right," thought she, "has Mr. Graham to treat me this way—to tell me I shall go with him on his southern journey, and speak as if my other friends were ciphers in his estimation, and ought to be in my own? Does he consider my freedom is to be the price of my education, and am I no longer able to say yes or no? Emily does not think so; Emily, who loves and needs me a thousand times more than Mr. Graham, thinks I have acted rightly, and she assured me that it was my duty to carry out the plans I had formed. And my solemn promise to Willie! is that to be held for nothing? No, it would be tyranny in Mr. Graham to insist on my remaining with them, and I am glad I have resolved to break away from such thraldom. Besides, I was educated to teach, and Mr. W. says it is important to commence while my studies are fresh in my mind." So much said pride; and Gertrude's heart listened awhile to such suggestions. But not long. She had accustomed herself to view the conduct of others in that spirit of charity which she desired should be exercised towards her own, and milder thoughts took the place of these excited feelings.
"Perhaps," said she to herself, "it is, after all, pure kindness that prompted Mr. Graham's interference. He may think as Emily does, that I am undertaking too much. It is impossible for him to know how strong my motives are, how deep I consider my obligations to the Sullivans, and how much I am needed by them at this time. I had no idea, either, that I was to be one of the party to the south; for though Emily talked as if she took it for granted, Mr. Graham never asked me to go, and I could not suppose it would be any great disappointment to him to refuse; but, after planning the journey to please us both, I do not wonder at his being annoyed. He probably feels, too, as if I had been under his guardianship so long that he has almost a right to decide upon my conduct. And he has been very indulgent to me—and I a stranger with no claims! Shall I then decide to give up my teaching, to go to the south, and leave Mrs. Sullivan to suffer, perhaps die, while I am away? No, that is impossible. I will never be such a traitor to my own heart, and my sense of right; sorry as I shall be to offend Mr. Graham, I must not allow his anger to turn me from my duty."
Having thus resolved to brave the tempest, and committed her cause to Him who judgeth righteously, Gertrude tried to compose herself to sleep. Dreams of a painful nature started her back to consciousness. In some of these visions she beheld Mr. Graham angry, and threatening her with his displeasure if she dared to thwart his plans; and then she seemed to see Willie, the same boyish youth from whom she had parted five years before, beckoning her with a sad countenance to the room where his pale mother lay in a swoon, as Gertrude had a few weeks before seen her. Exhausted by such harassing images, she at length gave up the attempt to obtain any rest, and rising, seated herself at the window, where, watching the approach of dawn, she found, in quiet self-communing, the courage which she felt would be requisite to carry her calmly and firmly through the next day—a day destined to witness her sad separation from Emily, and her farewell to Mr. Graham, which would probably be more distressing. The tyrannical disposition of Mr. Graham was well understood in his family, each member of which was accustomed to respect all his wishes and whims; and though he was always indulgent and kind, none ever braved a temper which, when excited, was so violent. It cannot, then, be surprising that Gertrude's heart should have failed her when she stood, half-an-hour before breakfast-time, with the handle of the dining-room door in her hand, summoning all her energies for another meeting with the opposer of her plans. She paused but a moment, and then went in. Mr. Graham was sitting in his arm-chair, and on the breakfast-table lay the morning paper. It had been Gertrude's habit to read that paper aloud to the old gentleman at this same hour, and it was for that purpose she had now come. She advanced toward him with her usual "Good morning."
The salutation was returned in a constrained voice. She seated herself, and leaned forward to take the newspaper. But he placed his hand upon it to prevent her.
"I was going to read the news to you, sir."
"And I do not wish to have you read, or do anything else for me, until I know whether you have concluded to treat me with the respect I have a right to demand from you."