“Miss Elinor sent it, I am sure. It is exactly like her,” said Alice, who was now entirely well, and that afternoon, when her work was done, she went up to see Miss Howland, whom she found suffering from a severe headache, and in ministering to her wants she entirely forgot to speak of the money. The next day Miss Elinor was much worse, and for many weeks was confined to her bed with a lingering fever, which left her at last so nervous and low that her physician advised a journey to the West as the surest means of restoring her health. Her only sister was living in Milwaukee, and thither Mr. Howland, who began to be seriously alarmed, tried to persuade her to go. For a time Miss Elinor hesitated, and only consented at last on condition that her brother promised not to engage himself to Adelaide Huntington during her absence.
Bursting into a laugh, Mr. Howland assured her that she need have no fears of finding her station, as mistress of his house, filled on her return, for though Adelaide might possibly some day bear the name of Howland, he could wait a while, and would do so for his sister’s sake.
With this promise Miss Elinor tried to be satisfied, and after giving him many charges not to neglect the blind man, she started for Milwaukee in company with some friends who, like herself, were westward bound.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE PARTY DRESS.
It was now the first of December. Miss Elinor had been gone from home nearly three months, and during this time Mr. Howland had spent one-half of his evenings at least with Adelaide Huntington, who marvelled that he did not ask her to be his wife. But the promise made to his sister must be kept, and so, night after night, he came and went, while Adelaide experienced fresh pangs of fear lest her deception should be discovered ere Mr. Howland was secured.
About this time there were rumors of a large party to be given by Mrs. Hayes, the most fashionable lady in Oakland, and knowing well how the beauty of her person would be enhanced by a party dress, Adelaide resolved to leave no means unspared for the procuring of such a dress.
She had always observed, she said, that Mr. Howland was unusually attentive when she looked unusually well, and there was no knowing what would happen if she eclipsed all the ladies who might be present at the party, and then, as day after day went by, she grew impatient because no letter came from one who, at the post-office, was designated as ma’s provoking agent, but who at home, with none but mother to hear, was called by a different name. Fretting, however, was of no avail—the provoking agent did not write, and her purse contained only seven dollars.
“If I could get the dress,” she said, “I might possibly manage the rest,” and then, as she remembered the dainty fabric which Alice Warren had worn upon that memorable Christmas Eve, she started to her feet exclaiming, “That’s a good idea,” and ere her mother had time to question her she was on her way to the brown house in the hollow.
For a few weeks past Mr. Warren had been seriously ill, and though Alice worked both early and late, she could not procure for him the little comforts which he needed and missed so much. Miss Elinor’s words, Do not neglect the blind man, had been forgotten, and many a weary night had the blind man’s daughter bent with aching head and tearful eyes over the piece of work which her increased cares had not permitted her to finish during the day. They were indeed drinking the bitter cup of poverty, and the sick man in his sleep was moaning sadly for wine, which he said would make him strong, when Adelaide Huntington entered the humble room. Glancing hurriedly at the scanty fire and empty wood-box, she thought: