CHAPTER VI. HOW ELLIE WAS FORCED TO HEAR A VERY SINGULAR CONVERSATION.
He was a man of about twenty-five, of tall stature and
fine appearance—though his face wore an expression of
gravity amounting almost to melancholy. He was clad
handsomely but plainly, and seemed to be familiar with
the apartment which he entered.
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“Good morning, Silvia,” he said, gravely. “You will
excuse this early call, but I had something to say to you
in confidence, and I knew you would be here, and alone.”
The young lady had already lost her careless air, and
met the new comer with ill-disguised distaste, with which
was mingled no little disquiet.
“I am not alone this morning, however,” she now said,
pointing to Ellie.
“Ah!” said the gentleman, with a kindly smile toward
the child, whose gentle expression seemed at once to
attract his attention, “you have an early visitor.”
The young lady played with the ribbon of her sash, and
was silent.
“I wished to talk with you this morning, Silvia,” continued
the gentleman; “will you permit me?”
“Certainly,” was the reply, but in a tone so cold, that
it was obvious in what mood the conversation would proceed.
Indeed Miss Incledon seemed to be bracing her
nerves for a struggle, and to know the strength of her
adversary.
The gentleman pointed to Ellie.
“We can speak alone, can we not?” he said.
“That child is nobody,” she replied.
“Have you business with her?”
“Yes, some collars I wish made.”
The gentleman sat down.
“I will wait,” he said.
Miss Incledon flirted the ribbon she was playing
with.
“I don't know when I shall get through,” she said.
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“But I am pressed for time.”
“I am sorry.”
“And have something I wish to say.”
“I will hear it,” she said, bracing her nerves and
coloring.
The gentleman placed his hat upon the sofa, and drawing
his chair near the young lady said, as Ellie fearfully
retreated toward the fire:
“You probably know, Silvia, the object of this visit,
for it is not the first time I have been driven to the
miserable task of fulfilling what I promised my uncle,
your father. Hitherto we have spoken on this disagreeable
subject alone. You compel me to do what is
repugnant to me—speak before another person, though
that person is a child. I cannot help it.”
Another flirt of the ribbon, but no reply.
“I was at the ball last night, Silvia,” continued the
gentleman.
“Were you, sir!”
“Yes: and I saw Mr. Fantish there.”
A gush of crimson blood covered the young lady's
face, and her eyes flashed.
“This was the subject then—”
“Which I wished to speak with you about? Yes,”
said her companion, curbing a fire in his own eye which
seemed to reply to that in her own.
“The subject is distasteful, and I have told you so,
sir,” said the young lady almost rudely, and for the first
time addressing the gentleman formally as “sir.”
“You have told me so—that is true,” he said,
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repressing his feelings, which seemed to be bitterly wounded
by the lady's tone; “but you have not shown me it is
not my duty as an honorable gentleman, and as your
relation, to return to the subject.”
“I am not aware that because you are my cousin, you
have the right to annoy me.”
“I do not wish to annoy you.”
“But I am annoyed, sir—greatly annoyed.”
“I regret it: but you cannot have forgotten the ground
upon which I base my right to speak upon this subject.
I certainly have mentioned it in former interviews.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the young lady, giving way to her
irritation: “I have heard it until I am sick of it.”
“Then you do not forget that I promised your father
to perform as well as I was able a brother's part while
you were here in the city without other male relatives?”
“No, sir!”
“That he requested me to do so in the first place himself?”
“No sir! I have not forgotten it. You made but one
slight mistake.”
“A mistake?”
“Yes, sir. You forgot your `brother's part,' and
assumed that of `lover.”'
The bitterly poisoned arrow struck the mark at which
it was directed, and a deep flush covered the brow of the
gentleman, and his eyes flashed. It was some moments
before he could master his feelings, but when he spoke the
mastery was complete.
“It is true, Silvia,” he said, gravely, “that I was led
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into the indiscretion of admiring you more than any one
else of my acquaintance, and I do not know that even the
unkind speech you have just uttered is not true. But
surely I was therein guilty of no breach of trust in what
I had promised your father. I do not think that this
requires any argument, and I only regret that your evident
irritation should have led you to utter a taunt, which is
also an injustice. If I experienced such feelings as you
charge me with—and I can scarcely deny it—there was
surely nothing improper in them. You soon gave me to
understand that your affections were engaged—that was
frank and honest—and I succeeded in suppressing what
was a very wayward and foolish feeling in my own bosom.
I am true enough gentleman, I think, and strong enough
in will, to bend my feelings to my sense of right; and I
most honestly assure you that I did not conceive the idea
of struggling with the unknown person whom you had
spoken of.”
“And since, sir,” she said, unmoved by the clear, fine
voice and noble look, “since then!—what have you done
since?”
“I certainly have not endeavored to make a place in
your heart for myself by turning out a rival, as you may
suppose him.”
“I know nothing of your intentions, sir,” replied the
young lady, whose flashing eyes betrayed a temper completely
aroused.
“You will pardon me for saying that I do, however,”
he replied, “and what I have said before—what I now
wish to say—is strictly in pursuance of my trust.”
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“Wish to say! Well, sir, speak on,” she said, with cold
dignity but evident disquiet.
“I stated that I was at the ball last night.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Fantish was there.”
“Yes, sir.”
Her eyes flashed whenever that name was uttered.
“My wish,” continued the gentleman, “is to tell you as
accurately as possible, what occurred in a corner of the
room—in a very few words.”
“Well, sir, said the lady, with a nervous shudder.
“Mr. Fantish was standing in the midst of a party of
young men,” her companion continued, calmly, “with
whom, I believe, he is very popular. The reputation of a
“fast man” is very taking with a certain class of persons,
and Mr. Fantish is said to be of that description. I was
standing within a few feet of him, and I heard one of his
friends ask him why he was not waltzing. `Because I am
sick of embracing,' he replied. `I have no idea of being
smothered.' `Do you mean waltzing?' asked Mr. Fantish's
friend. `Yes, I mean waltzing,' he replied, `but I
have been through something even stronger than that.
There 's a little girl over yonder who is desperately in love
with me—poor thing!—and, if I would only let her, she
would smother me'—”
“It is not true!—he did not say it!” Miss Incledon
broke out.
“Exactly those words,” replied the gentleman, as pale
as death, but speaking quite calmly, “and he added that
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he had left his glove behind—a straw colored glove, I observed.
Have you seen it, Silvia?”
It was visible through the net-work of the reticule.
She covered her face with her hands, and cried with
anger and agitation.
“Is my word sufficient for you?” he said, “but I see
you do not doubt me. If you had seen me when I left
the ball, you would have believed me.”
She made no reply.
“Is it necessary for me to say again, Silvia,” he added,
“that a man who thus bandies your affection, if not your
name, from mouth to mouth—who throws only this thin
veil over a base and dishonorable charge—who, despising
all women, and deriding their purity, cannot even spare
the pure young girl who has given him her affection—I
say, is it necessary for me to add, that this man is unworthy
of your regard, that you are running into an enormous
danger by receiving him, and that you cannot too soon
dissolve all connection with him?”
The young lady made no reply, but overwhelmed with
a thousand conflicting emotions, was completely silent.
Whether she was finding excuses for the offender, or
embittering her heart slowly against him, could not be
discovered from her face. She certainly, however, did
not doubt the relation—that was evident.
“My last word, Silvia,” said the gentleman, rising, “is
beware! You do not know the falseness of this man—
you cannot know to what depths of vice his passions have
dragged an originally good nature—for I knew him. As
your relative, as the representative of your good father,
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as your best friend—and not for an instant as your lover—
I beseech you to be cautious. I do not suggest your
course; you are old enough to follow your own views.
For the last time, take care of this man, or you will suffer
lifelong remorse.”
Having uttered these words with the same steadfast
calmness, the gentleman bowed and went out. The young
lady remained for a moment overcome by her feelings;
then seeing Ellie, she thrust a piece of money into her
hand which was more than the value of her work, pointed
to the door, and again covered her face.
Ellie, full of astonishment and agitation, obeyed, and
was again in the street.
Cooke, John Esten, 1830-1886 [1855], Ellie, or, The human comedy. With illustrations after designs by Strother. (A. Morris, Richmond) [word count] [eaf506T].
