Dora Deane; Or, The East India Uncle

by Mary Jane Holmes

"Your child!" was her only answer, and in another moment he, too, was cut in the storm with Dora Deane, whose hand he involuntarily took in his, as if to shield her from the darkness.

In a few words she told him how she had been aroused from her sleep by her aunt, who said the baby was dying with the croup; that the servant was timid and refused to go either for him or the physician, and so she had come herself.

"And were you not afraid?" he asked; and the heroic girl answered, "No;
I fancied Ella was with me, cheering me on, and I felt no fear."

Mr. Hastings made no reply, but, when lie reached the house, and saw the white, waxen lace of the child, he felt that Ella had indeed been near to him that night; that she had come for her little one, who, with a faint, moaning cry, stretched its hands towards Dora, as she entered the room. And Dora took it in her arms, holding it lovingly there, until the last, painful struggle was over, and the father, standing near, knew that wife and child had met together in heaven.

At the foot of the garden, beneath the evergreens, where he had wished to lay his other Ella, they buried the little girl, and then Howard Hastings was, indeed, alone in the world—alone in his great house, which seemed doubly desolate now that all were gone. For many weeks he did not go to Locust Grove, but remained in his quiet rooms, brooding over his grief, and going often to the little grave beneath the evergreens. There, once, al the hour of sunset, he found Eugenia Deane planting flowers above his sleeping child! She had marveled much that he stayed so long away, and learning that the sunset hour was always spent in the garden, she had devised a plan for meeting him. It succeeded, and with well-feigned embarrassment she was hurrying away, when he detained her, bidding her tarry while he told her how much he thanked her for her kindness to his child.

"I have wished to come to Locust Grove," he said, "and thank you all, but I could not, for there is now no baby face to greet me."

"But there are those there still who would welcome you with pleasure," softly answered Eugenia; and then with her dark eyes sometimes on the ground and sometimes looking very pityingly on him, she acted the art of a consoler, telling him how much better it was for the child to be at rest with its mother.

And while she talked, darkness fell upon them, so that Howard Hastings could not see the look of triumph which the dark eyes wore when he said, "You must not go home alone, Miss Deane. Let me accompany you."

So the two went together very slowly down the long avenue, and when over an imaginary stone the fair Eugenia stumbled, the arm of Howard Hastings was offered for her support, and then more slowly still they continued on their way. From that time Mr. Hastings was often at Eugenia's side, and before the autumn was gone, he had more than once been told she was to be his wife. And each time that he heard it, it affected him less painfully, until at last he himself began to wonder how it were possible for him ever to have disliked and distrusted a person so amiable, so intelligent and so agreeable as Eugenia Deane! Still he could never quite satisfy himself that he loved her, for there was something which always came up before him whenever he seriously thought of making her his wife. This something he could not define, but when, as he sometimes did, he fancied Eugenia the mistress of his house, there was always in the background the form of Dora Deane, gliding noiselessly about him, as she did that night when first she came to Rose Hill. He saw but little of her now, for whenever he called, Eugenia managed to keep from the room both mother, sister and cousin, choosing to be alone with the handsome widower, who lingered late and lingered long dreading a return to his lonely home.

Eugenia was now daily expecting an answer to her letter and feeling sure that it would bring the money, she began to talk to Mr. Hastings of her new piano, playfully remarking, that as he was a connoisseur in such matters, she believed she should call on him to aid in her selection; and this he promised to do, thinking the while of the unused instrument in his deserted parlor, and feeling strongly tempted to offer her its use. Thus the weeks passed on, while Eugenia became more and more impatient for the letter.