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Cummins, Maria Susanna, 1827-1866 [1854], The lamplighter. (John P. Jewett & Company, Boston) [word count] [eaf532T].
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CHAPTER XXXIII.

Small slights, neglect, unmixed perhaps with hate,
Make up in number what they want in weight.
These, and a thousand griefs minute as these,
Corrode our comfort and destory our ease.
Hannah More.

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Little did Gertrude imagine, while she was striving most disinterestedly
to promote the welfare and happiness of Kitty, who
had thrown herself upon her love and care, the jealousy and ill-will
she was exciting in others. Isabel, who had never liked one
whose whole tone of action and life was a continual reproach to
her own vanity and selfishness, and who saw in her the additional
crime of being the favored friend of a youth of whose interesting
boyhood she herself retained a sentimental recollection, was
ready and eager to seize the earliest opportunity of rendering her
odious in the eyes of Mrs. Graham. She was not slow to observe
the remarkable degree of confidence that seemed to exist between
Kitty and Gertrude; she remembered that her cousin had forsaken
her own room for that of the latter the very night after
her probable quarrel and parting with Bruce; and, her resentment
and anger excited still farther by the growing friendship which
her own coldness and unkindness to Kitty served only to
strengthen and confirm, she hastened to communicate to Mrs.
Graham her suspicion that Gertrude had, for purposes of her
own, made a difficulty between Bruce and Kitty, fostered and
widened the breach, and succeeded at last in breaking off the
match.

Mrs. Graham readily adopted Belle's opinion. “Kitty,” said
she, “is weak-minded, and evidently very much under Miss Flint's
influence. I should n't be surprised if you were right, Belle!”

Thus leagued together, they endeavored to surprise or entrap

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Kitty into a confession of the means which had been taken by
Gertrude to drive away her lover, and out-wit herself. But Kitty,
while she indignantly denied Gertrude's having thus injured her,
persisted obstinately in refusing to reveal the occurrences of the
eventful evening of the wedding levee. It was the first secret
Kitty ever did keep; but her woman's pride was involved in the
affair, and she preserved it with a care which both honor and
wisdom prompted.

Mrs. Graham and Belle were now truly angry, and many were
the private discussions held by them on the subject, many the vain
conjectures which they conjured up; and as, day after day, they
became more and more incensed against Gertrude, so they gradually
began to manifest it in their demeanor.

Gertrude soon perceived the incivility to which she was constantly
subjected; for, though in a great degree independent of
their friendship, she could not live under the same roof without
their having frequent opportunities to wound her by their rudeness,
which soon became marked, and would have been unendurable
to one whose disposition was less thoroughly schooled than Gertrude's.

With wonderful patience, however, did she preserve her equanimity.
She had never looked for kindness and attention from
Mrs. Graham and Isabel. She had been from the first that
between herself and them there could be little sympathy, and
now that they manifested open dislike she struggled hard to maintain,
on her part, not only self-command and composure, but a
constant spirit of charity. It was well that she did not yield to
this comparatively light trial of her forbearance, for a new, unexpected,
and far more intense provocation was in store for her.
Her malicious persecutors, incensed and irritated by an unlooked-for
calmness and patience, which gave them no advantage in their
one-sided warfare, now made their attack in another quarter; and
Emily, the sweet, lovely, unoffending Emily, became the object
against whom they aimed many of their shafts of unkindness and
ill-will.

Gertrude could bear injury, injustice, and even hard and cruel
language, when exercised towards herself only; but her blood

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boiled in her veins when she began to perceive that her cherished
Emily was becoming the victim of mean and petty neglect and ill
usage. To address the gentle Emily in other words than those
of courtesy was next to impossible; it was equally hard to find
fault with the actions of one whose life was so good and beautiful;
and the somewhat isolated position which she occupied on account
of her blindness seemed to render her secure from interference;
but Mrs. Graham was coarse and blunt, Isabel selfish and unfeeling,
and long before the blind girl was herself aware of any unkind
intention on their part, Gertrude's spirit had chafed and rebelled
at the sight and knowledge of many a word and act, well
calculated, if perceived, to annoy and distress a sensitive and delicate
spirit. Many a stroke was warded off by Gertrude; many
a neglect atoned for, before it could be felt; many a nearly
defeated plan, which Emily was known to have had at heart,
carried through and accomplished by Gertrude's perseverance and
energy; and for some weeks Emily was kept ignorant of the fact
that many a little office formerly performed for her by a servant
was now fulfilled by Gertrude, who would not let her know that
Bridget had received from her mistress orders which were quite
inconsistent with her usual attendance upon Miss Graham's wants.

Mr. Graham was, at this time, absent from home; some difficulty
and anxiety in business matters having called him to New
York, at a season when he usually enjoyed his leisure, free from
all such cares. His presence would have been a great restraint
upon his wife, who was well aware of his devoted affection for his
daughter, and his wish that her comfort and case should always
be considered of first-rate importance. Indeed, his love and
thoughtfulness for Emily, and the enthusiastie devotion manifested
towards her by every member of the household, had early rendered
her an object of jealousy to Mrs. Graham, who was therefore
very willing to find ground of offence against her; and, in her case,
as in Isabel's, Kitty's desertion to what her aunt and cousin considered
the unfriendly party was only a secondary cause of
distrust and dislike.

The misunderstanding with Mr. Bruce, and their unworthy
suspicions of its having been fostered by Gertrude, aided and

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abetted by Emily, furnished, however, an ostensible motive for
the indulgence of their animosity, and one of which they resolved
to avail themselves to the utmost.

Shortly before Mr. Graham's return home, Mrs. Graham and
Isabel were sitting together, endeavoring to while away the tedious
hours of a sultry August afternoon by indulging themselves in an
unlimited abuse of the rest of the household, when a letter was
brought to Mrs. Graham, which proved to be from her husband.
After glancing over its contents, she remarked, with an air of
satisfaction, “Here is good news for us, Isabel, and a prospect of
some pleasure in the world:” and she read aloud the following
passage: “The troublesome affair which called me here is nearly
settled, and the result is exceedingly favorable to my wishes and
plans. I now see nothing to prevent our starting for Europe the
latter part of next month, and the girls must make their arrangements
accordingly. Tell Emily to spare nothing towards a full
and complete equipment for herself and Gertrude.”

“He speaks of Gertrude,” said Isabel, sneeringly, “as if she
were one of the family. I'm sure I don't see any very great
prospect of pleasure in travelling all through Europe with a blind
woman and her disagreeable appendages; I can't think what Mr.
Graham wants to take them for.”

“I wish he would leave them at home,” said Mrs. Graham;
“it would be a good punishment for Gertrude. But, mercy! he
would as soon think of going without his right hand as without
Emily.”

“I hope, if ever I am married,” exclaimed Isabel, “it won't be
to a man that's got a blind daughter!—Such a dreadful good
person, too, whom everybody has got to worship, and admire, and
wait upon!”

I don't have to wait upon her,” said Mrs. Graham; “that's
Gertrude's business—it's what she's going for.”

“That's the worst of it; blind girl has to have a waiting-maid,
and waiting-maid is a great lady, who does n't mind cheating your
nieces out of their lovers, and even robbing them of each other's
affection.”

“Well, what can I do, Belle? I'm sure I don't want

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Gertrude's company any more than you do; but I don't see how I can
get rid of her.”

“I should think you 'd tell Mr. Graham some of the harm she's
done already. If you have any influence over him, you might
prevent her going.”

“It would be no more than she deserves,” said Mrs. Graham,
thoughtfully, “and I am not sure but I shall give him a hint of
her behavior; he 'll be surprised enough when he hears of Bruce's
sudden flight. I know he thought it would be a match between
him and Kitty.”

At this point in the conversation, Isabel was summoned to see
visitors, and left her aunt in a mood pregnant with consequences.

As Isabel descended the front staircase, to meet with smiles and
compliments the guests whom in her heart she wished a thousand
miles away on this intensely hot afternoon, Gertrude came
up by the back way from the kitchen, and passed along a passage
leading to her own room. She carried, over one arm, a dress of
delicate white muslin, and a number of embroidered collars, sleeves
and ruffles, together with other articles evidently fresh from the
ironing-board. Her face was flushed and heated; she looked
tired, and, as she reached her room, and carefully deposited her
burden upon the bed, she drew a long breath, as if much fatigued,
seated herself by a window, brushed the hair back from her face,
and threw open a blind, to feel, if possible, a breath of cool
air. Just at this moment, Mrs. Prime put her head in at the
half-open door, and, seeing Gertrude alone, entered the room, but
stood fixed with astonishment on observing the evidences of her
recent laborious employment; then, glancing directly opposite at
the fruits of her diligence, she burst forth, indignantly, “My sakes
alive! Miss Gertrude, I do believe you've been doin' up them
muslins yourself, after all!”

Gertrude smiled, but did not reply.

“Now, if that an't too bad!” said the friendly and kind-hearted
woman, “to think you should ha' been at work down in
that 'ere hot kitchen, and all the rest on us takin' a spell o' rest in
the heat of the day! I'll warrant, if Miss Emily knew it, she'd
never put on that white gown in this 'ere world!”

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“It hardly looks fit for her to wear,” said Gertrude. “I'm
not much used to ironing, and have had a great deal of trouble
with it; one side got dry before I could smooth out the other.”

“It looks elegant, Miss Gertrude; but what should you be
doin' Bridget's work for, I want to know?”

“Bridget always has enough to do,” said Gertrude, evading a
direct answer, “and it's very well for me to have some practice;
knowledge never comes amiss, you know, Mrs. Prime.”

“'Tan't no kind of an afternoon for 'speriments o' that sort; and
you would n't ha' done it, I'll venture to say, if you had n't been
afeard Miss Emily would want her things, and find out they wan't
done. Times is changed in this house, when Mr. Graham's own
daughter, that was once to the head of everything, has to have her
clothes laid by to make room for other folks. Bridget ought to
know better than to mind these upstarters, when they tell her, as
I heard Miss Graham yesterday, to let alone that heap o' muslins,
and attend to something that was o' more consequence. Our
Katy would ha' known better; but Bridget's a new comer, like all
the rest. Thinks I to myself then, what would Miss Gertrude
say, if she suspected as how Miss Emily was bein' neglected!
But I'll tell Miss Emily, as sure as my name 's Prime, just how
things go;—you shan't get so red in the face with ironing agin,
Miss Gertrude. If the kind o' frocks she likes to wear can't be
done up at home,—and yourn too, what's more,—the washin' ought
to be put out. There's money enough, and some of it ought to be
spent for the use o' the ladies as is ladies! I wish to heart that
Isabella could have to start round a little lively; 't would do her
good; but, Lor' Miss Gertrude, it goes right to my heart to see all
the vexatious things as is happenin' now-a-days! I'll go right to
Miss Emily, this minute, and blow my blast!”

“No, you won't, Mrs. Prime,” said Gertrude, persuasively,
“when I ask you not to. You forget how unhappy it would make
her if she knew that Mrs. Graham was so wanting in consideration.
I would rather iron dresses every day, or do anything else
for our dear Miss Emily, than to let her suspect even that anybody
could willingly be unkind to her.”

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Mrs. Prime hesitated. “Miss Gertrude,” said she, “I thought
I loved our dear young lady as well as anybody could, but I believe
you love her better still, to be so thoughtful and wise-like
all for her sake; and I would n't say nothin' about it, only I think
a sight o' you, too; you 've been here ever since you was a little
gal, and we all set lots by you, and I can't see them folks ride
over your head, as I know they mean to.”

“I know you love me, Mrs. Prime, and Emily too; so, for the
sake of us both, you mustn't say a word to anybody about the
change in the family arrangements. We'll all do what we can to
keep Emily from pain, and, as to the rest, we won't care for ourselves;
if they don't pet and indulge me as much as I've been
accustomed to, the easiest way is not to notice it; and you
mustn't put on your spectacles to see trouble.”

“Lord bless yer heart, Miss Gertrude, them folks is lucky to
have you to deal with; it isn't everybody as would put up with'
em. They don't come much in my way, thank fortin'! I let
Miss Graham see, right off, that I wouldn't put up with interference;
cooks is privileged to set up for their rights, and I scared
her out o' my premises pretty quick, I tell yer! It's mighty hard
for me to see our own ladies imposed upon; but since you say
`mum,' Miss Gertrude, I'll try and hold my tongue as long as I
can. It's a shame though, I do declare!”—and Mrs. Prime
walked off, muttering to herself.

An hour after, Gertrude was at the glass, braiding up the
bands of her long hair, when Mrs. Ellis, after a slight knock at
the door, entered.

“Well, Gertrude,” said she “I didn't think it would come to
this!”

“Why, what is the matter?” inquired Gertrude, anxiously.

“It seems we are going to be turned out of our rooms!”

“Who?”

“You, and I next, for aught I know.”

Gertrude colored, but did not speak, and Mrs. Ellis went on to
relate that she had just received orders to fit up Gertrude's room
for some visitors who were expected the next day. She was
astonished to hear that Gertrude had not been consulted on the

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subject. Mrs. Graham had spoken so carelessly of her removal,
and seemed to think it so mutually agreeable for Emily to share
her apartment with her young friend, that Mrs. Ellis concluded
the matter had been preärranged.

Deeply wounded and vexed, both on her own and Emily's account,
Gertrude stood for a moment silent and irresolute. She
then asked if Mrs. Ellis had spoken to Emily on the subject. She
had not. Gertrude begged her to say nothing about it.

“I cannot bear,” said she, “to let her know that the little
sanctum she fitted up so carefully has been unceremoniously
taken from me. I sleep in her room more than half the time, as
you know; but she always likes to have me call this chamber
mine, that I may be sure of a place where I can read and study
by myself. If you will let me remove my bureau into your
room, Mrs. Ellis, and sleep on a couch there occasionally, we need
not say anything about it to Emily.”

Mrs. Ellis assented. She had grown strangely humble and compliant
within a few months, and Gertrude had completely won
her good-will; first by forbearance, and latterly by the frequent
favors and assistance she had found it in her power to render the
overburdened housekeeper. So she made no objection to receive
her into her room as an inmate, and even offered to assist in the
removal of her wardrobe, work-table and books.

But, though yielding and considerate towards Gertrude, whom,
with Emily and Mrs. Prime, she now considered members of the
oppressed and injured party to which she herself belonged, no
words could express her indiguation with regard to the late behavior
of Mrs. Graham and Isabel. “It is all of a piece,” said
she, “with the rest of their conduct! Sometimes I almost feel
thankful that Emily is blind, it would grieve her so to see the
goings on. I should have liked to box Isabella's ears for taking
your seat at the table so impudently as she did yesterday, and
then neglecting to help Emily to anything at all; and there sat dear
Emily, angel as she is, all unconscious of her shameful behavior,
and asking her for butter as sweetly as if it were by mere accident
that you had been driven from the table, and she left to
provide for herself. And all those strangers there, too! I saw it

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all from the china-closet! And then Emily's dresses and muslins!—
there they laid in the press-drawer, till I thought they would
mildew. I'm glad to see Bridget has been allowed to do them at
last, for I began to think Emily would one of these warm days
be without a clean gown in the world. But, there, it's no use
talking about it; all I wish is, that they'd all go off to Europe,
and leave us here to ourselves. You don't want to go, do you,
Gertrude?”

“Yes, if Emily goes.”

“Well, you're better than I am; I couldn't make such a
martyr of myself, even for her sake.”

It is needless to detail the many petty annoyances to which
Gertrude was daily subjected; especially after the arrival of the
expected visitors, a gay and thoughtless party of fashionables, who
were taught to look upon her as an unwarrantable intruder, and
upon Emily as a troublesome incumbrance. Nor, with all the
pains taken to prevent it, could Emily be long kept in ignorance
of the light estimation in which both herself and Gertrude were
regarded. Kitty, incensed at the incivility of her aunt and Isabel,
and indifferent towards the visitors, to whose folly and levity
of character her eyes were now partially opened, hesitated not to
express both to Emily and Gertrude her sense of the injuries
they sustained, and her own desire to act in their defence. But
Kitty was no formidable antagonist to Mrs. Graham and Belle,
for, her spirits greatly subdued, and her fears constantly excited
by her cousin's sarcastic looks and speeches, she had become a
sad coward, and no longer dared, as she would once have done, to
thwart their schemes, and stand between her friends and the
indignities to which they were exposed.

But Mrs. Graham, thoughtless woman, went too far, and became
at last entangled in difficulties of her own weaving. Her
husband returned, and it now became necessary to set bounds to
her own insolence, and, what was far more difficult, to that of
Isabel. Mrs. Graham was a woman of tact; she knew just how
far her husband's forbearance would extend,—just the point to
which his perceptions might be blinded; and had also sufficient
self-control to check herself in any course which would be likely

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to prove obnoxious to his imperious will. In his absence, however,
she acted without restraint, permitted Belle to fill the house
with her lively young acquaintances, and winked at the many
open and flagrant violations of the law of politeness, manifested
by the young people towards the daughter of their absent host,
and her youthful friend and attendant. Now, however, a check
must be put to all indecorous proceedings; and, unfortunately for
the execution of the wife's wise precautions, the head of the
family returned unexpectedly, and under circumstances which
forestalled any preparation or warning. He arrived just at dusk,
having come from town in an omnibus, which was quite contrary
to his usual custom.

It was a cool evening; the windows and doors of the house
were closed, and the parlor was so brilliantly lighted that he at
once suspected the truth that a large company was being entertained
there. He felt vexed, for it was Saturday night, and, in
accordance with old New England customs, Mr. Graham loved
to see his household quiet on that evening. He was, moreover,
suffering from a violent headache, and, avoiding the parlor, he
passed on to the library, and then to the dining-room; both were
chilly and deserted. He then made his way up stairs, walked
through several rooms, glanced indignantly at their disordered
and slovenly appearance,—for he was excessively neat,—and
finally gained Emily's chamber. He opened the door noiselessly,
and looked in.

A bright wood-fire burned upon the hearth; a couch was drawn
up beside it, on which Emily was sitting; and Gertrude's little
rocking-chair occupied the opposite corner. The fire-light reflected
upon the white curtains, the fragrant perfume which proceeded
from a basket of flowers upon the table, the perfect neatness
and order of the apartment, the placid, peaceful face of
Emily, and the radiant expression of Gertrude's countenance, as
she looked up and saw the father and protector of her blind
friend looking pleasantly in upon them, proved such a charming
contrast to the scenes presented in other parts of the house, that
the old gentleman, warmed to more than usual satisfaction with
both of the inmates, greeted his surprised daughter with a hearty

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paternal embrace, and, bestowing upon Gertrude an equally affectionate
greeting, exclaimed, as he took the arm-chair which the
latter wheeled in front of the fire for his accommodation, “Now,
girls, this looks pleasant and homelike! What in the world is
going on down stairs? What is everything up in arms about?”

Emily explained that there was company staying in the house.

“Ugh! company!” grunted Mr. Graham, in a dissatisfied tone.
“I should think so! Been emptying rag-bags about the chambers,
I should say, from the looks!”

Gertrude asked if he had been to tea.

He had not, and should be thankful for some;—he was tired.
So she went down stairs to see about it.

“Don't tell anybody that I've got home, Gerty,” called he, as
she left the room; “I want to be left in peace to-night, at least.”

While Gertrude was gone, Mr. Graham questioned Emily as to
her preparations for the European tour; to his surprise, he learned
that she had never received his message communicated in the
letter to Mrs. Graham, and knew nothing of his plans. Equally
astonished and angry, he nevertheless restrained his temper for
the present;—he did not like to acknowledge to himself, far less
to his daughter, that his commands had been disregarded by his
wife. It put him upon thinking, however.

After he had enjoyed a comfortable repast, at which Gertrude
presided, they both returned to Emily's room; and now Mr. Graham's
first inquiry was for the Evening Transcript.

“I will go for it,” said Gertrude, rising.

“Ring!” said Mr. Graham, imperatively. He had observed
at the tea-table that Gertrude's ring was disregarded, and wished
to know the cause of so strange a piece of neglect. Gertrude rang
several times, but obtained no answer to the bell. At last she
heard Bridget's step in the entry, and, opening the door, said to
her, “Bridget, won't you find the Transcript, and bring it to Miss
Emily's room.” Bridget soon returned, with the announcement
that Miss Isabella was reading it, and declined to give it up.

A storm gathered on Mr. Graham's brow. “Such a message to
my daughter!” he exclaimed. “Gertrude, go yourself, and tell

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the impertinent girl that I want the paper! What sort of behavior
is this?” muttered he.

Gertrude entered the parlor with great composure, and, amid
the stares and wonder of the company, spoke in a low tone to
Belle, who immediately yielded up the paper, blushing and looking
much confused as she did so. Belle was afraid of Mr. Graham;
and, on her informing her aunt of his return, it was that
lady's turn, also, to look disconcerted. She had fully calculated
upon seeing her husband before he had access to Emily; she
knew the importance of giving the desired bias to a man of his
strong prejudices.

But it was too late now. She would not go to seek him; she
must take her chance, and trust to fortune to befriend her. She
used all her tact, however, to disperse her friends at an early
hour, and then found Mr. Graham smoking in the dining-room.

He was in an unpleasant mood (as she told her niece afterwards,
cross as a bear); but she contrived to conciliate rather than irritate
him, avoided all discordant subjects, and was able the next morning
to introduce to her friends an apparently affable and obliging
host.

This serenity was disturbed, however, long before the Sabbath
drew to a close. As he walked up the church-aisle, before morning
service, with Emily, according to invariable custom, leaning
upon his arm, his brow darkened at seeing Isabel complacently
seated in that corner of the old-fashioned square pew which all the
family were well aware had for years been sacred to his blind
daughter. Mrs. Graham, who accompanied them, winked at her
niece; but Isabel was mentally rather obtuse, and was, consequently,
subjected to the mortification of having Mr. Graham
deliberately take her hand and remove her from the seat, in which
he immediately placed Emily, while the displaced occupant, who
had been so mean as for the last three Sundays to purposely deprive
Miss Graham of this old established right, was compelled to
sit during the service in the only vacant place, beside Mr. Graham,
with her back to the pulpit. And very angry was she at
observing the smiles visible upon many countenances in the

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neighboring pews; and especially chagrined when Fanny Bruce, who
was close to her in the next pew, giggled outright.

Emily would have been grieved if she had been in the least
aware of the triumph she had unconsciously achieved. But her
heart and thoughts were turned upward, and, as she had felt no
pang of provocation at Isabel's past encroachment, so had she no
consciousness of present satisfaction, except as the force of habit
made her feel more at ease in her old seat.

Mr. Graham had not been at home a week before he understood
plainly the existing state of feeling in the mind of his wife and
Isabel, and the manner in which it was likely to act upon the
happiness of the household. He saw that Emily was superior to
complaint; he knew that she had never in her life complained;
he observed, too, Gertrude's devotion to his much-loved child, and
it stamped her in his mind as one who had a claim to his regard
which should never be disputed. It is not, then, to be wondered
at, that when, with much art and many plausible words, Mrs.
Graham made her intended insinuations against his youthful
protegée, Mr. Graham treated them with indifference and contempt.

He had known Gertrude from a child. She was high-spirited,—
he had sometimes thought her wilfal,—but never mean or false.
It was no use to tell him all that nonsense;—he was glad, for his
part, that it was all off between Kitty and Bruce; for Ben was
an idle fellow, and would never make a good husband; and, as to
Kitty, he thought her much improved of late, and if it were
owing to Gertrude's influence, the more they saw of each other
the better.

Mrs. Graham was in despair. “It is all settled,” said she to
Isabel. “It is no use to contest the point; Mr. Graham is firm
as a rock, and as sure as we go to Europe, Emily and Gertrude
will go too.

She was almost startled, therefore, by what she considered an
excess of good luck, when informed, a few days afterwards, that
the couple she had so dreaded to have of the party were in reality
to be left behind, and that, too, at Miss Graham's special request.
Emily's seruples with regard to mentioning to her father the little
prospect of pleasure the tour was likely to afford her all vanished

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when she found that Gertrude, whose interest she ever had at
heart, would be likely to prove a still greater sufferer from the
society to which she would be subjected.

Blind as she was, Emily understood and perceived almost everything
that was passing around her. Quick of perception, and
with a hearing roudered doubly intense by her want of sight, the
events of the summer were, perhaps, more familiar to her than to
any other member of the family. She more than suspected the
exact state of matters betwixt Mr. Bruce and Gertrude, though
the latter had never spoken to her on the subject. She imagined
the manner in which Kitty was involved in the affair (no very
difficult thing to be conceived by one who enjoyed the confidences
which the simple-hearted girl unconsciously, but continually, made
during her late intercourse with her).

As Mrs. Graham's and Isabel's abuse of power became more
open and decided, Mrs. Ellis and Mrs. Prime both considered the
embargo upon free speech in Miss Graham's presence wholly
removed; and any pain which the knowledge of their neglect
might have caused her was more than compensated to Emily by
the proofs it had called forth of devoted attachment and willing
service on the part of her adopted child, as she loved to consider
Gertrude.

Calmly, and without hesitation, as without excitement, did she
resolve to adopt a course which should at once free Gertrude from
her self-sacrificing service. That she encountered much opposition
from her father may well be imagined; but he knew too well the
impossibility of any pleasure to be derived to herself from a tour
in which mental pain was added to outward deprivation, to persist
in urging her to accompany the party; and, concluding at last
that it was, after all, the only way to reconcile opposing interests,
and that Emily's plan was, perhaps, the best that could be adopted
under the circumstances, decided to resign himself to the long
separation from his daughter, and permit her to be happy in her
own way. He had seen, during the previous winter at the south,
how entirely Emily's infirmity unfitted her for travelling, especially
when deprived of Gertrude's attendant eyes; he now realized
how totally contrary to her tastes and habits were the tastes and

-- 317 --

[figure description] Page 317.[end figure description]

habits of his new wife and her nieces; and, unwilling to be convinced
of the folly of his sudden choice, and the probable chance
of unhappiness arising from it, he appreciated the wisdom of
Emily's proposal, and felt a sense of relief in the adoption of a
course which would satisfy all parties.

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Cummins, Maria Susanna, 1827-1866 [1854], The lamplighter. (John P. Jewett & Company, Boston) [word count] [eaf532T].
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