“I must have some means of supporting myself and father,” she said thoughtfully to herself, “for it will not be long that he can keep at work. What shall I do? He will not let me learn a trade.” She reflected for a long time, and then, as if all had become clear to her, she clapped her hands together and murmured—“Yes—yes. That shall be it. I will devote myself to my music until I become proficient enough to teach.”
Already much money had been expended on Dora’s musical education, and she played and sang well. But she was not skilled enough to be able to give instructions. So from that time she spent many hours each day at her piano; and also practiced on the guitar. As the old man listened to her warblings, how little dreamed he that all this was but the learning of a trade, against which his mind had so revolted.
As we have said, the old man became less and less competent to perform his work well and expeditiously, and it gradually left him and went into other hands. His income thus reduced, it became necessary to abridge the expenses of his household, or fall in debt, something for which Stilling had a natural horror. The first step downward, and one that it hurt the engraver much to take, was the giving up of the neat little house in which he had lived, and taking apartments in a second story, at half the rent formerly paid. Dora urged strongly, when this change was made, to have their domestic sent away.
“I can do all the work, father. Let Ellen go, and then we will save nearly half our living.”
But the old man would not listen a moment to this, and silenced his daughter by an emphatic “No.”
Yet for all this care in keeping Dora above the sphere of usefulness, her charms had not won for her a distinguished lover. Still Dora had a lover, and this was less wonderful than it would have been had her sweet face not pictured itself on some heart. But her lover was only a humble clerk in a store where she had often been to make purchases. He was as simple and earnest in all his tastes and feelings as Dora herself. Their meetings were not frequent, for young Edwards had been told of the old engraver’s weakness, and did not, therefore, venture to call upon his sweetheart at her home.
At length so little work came that Stilling did not receive more than sufficient money to buy food, and actual privation began to creep in upon himself and daughter. Stern necessity required the dismissal of their domestic, and then the old man busied himself in household matters, in order to keep Dora as far as possible above such menial employments. As age crept on, and his intellects grew still weaker, he clasped his fond delusion more closely to his heart, and observed all of Dora’s movements with a more jealous eye.
For as long a time as a year had the faith of Dora and her lover been pledged. Their meetings were generally in the street, on a certain appointed afternoon of each week. Then they walked together and talked about the future, when there should be no barrier to their happiness. But the young man, as time wore on, grew impatient; and his pride occasionally awakened, telling him that he was as good as the old engraver, and worthy, in every respect, to claim the hand of his daughter. Sometimes this feeling showed itself to Dora, when the maiden would be so hurt that Edwards always repented of his hasty words, and resolved to be more guarded in future.
“Let me call and see you at your father’s,” said Edwards, one day as they were walking together; “perhaps I may not be so unwelcome a visiter as you think.”
“Oh, no, no! you must not think of it,” replied Dora quickly.