CHAPTER VI.
LOVE AND PRIDE.
Two years have glided away since the opening of our story. During that time the characters of Eveline and Eunice have developed themselves, more and more, toward a fixed maturity. While the former is still as gay and fond of dress and company as before, the latter has retired more and more, apparently, within herself, but really into the exercise of those purer thoughts and affections, that look to the good of others. All who come into close contact with her, love her for the sweetness of her temper, and the gentle spirit that utters itself in the tones of her voice, and the mild light of her calm blue eyes.
Neither Eveline nor Eunice have yet wedded. Henry Pascal has been home from his long European tour about six months, and, since his return, has been constant in his attentions to Eveline, with whom he corresponded, regularly, during the whole period of his absence. Eveline is deeply attached to him, and, although no formal offer of marriage has taken place, considers herself, as well as is considered by others, his affianced bride. Twice has the hand of Eunice been sought—once, all approved the offer but herself; and once, though her own heart approved, the objections of her parent and friends were so strong she yielded passively to their opposition. Passively, so far as act was concerned, but her heart remained the same, and turned faithfully toward the sun of its love.
The young man who had thus won the pure regard of Eunice, had recently been elevated from the position of clerk to that of limited partner, in a respectable mercantile house, and had, since this elevation, been introduced into a higher social grade than the one he had been used to. Here he met Eunice Townsend. The first time his eyes rested upon her, and before he had heard her name, or knew her connections, her image impressed itself upon his heart, and remained there ever after. He could not have effaced it, even if he had made the effort. This young man’s name was Rufus Albertson. His mother, a poor widow, had obtained for him, when he was quite a lad, a situation in a store, and dying shortly afterward, he was left without any relative. The owner of the store finding him active, intelligent, and honest, took him into his house; and raised and educated him. By his industry and devotion to business, from his fifteenth to his twenty-first year, the young man fully repaid the kindness he had received.
When Albertson learned to what family the sweet young creature, toward whom his heart had instantly warmed, belonged, he felt, for a time, unhappy. Townsend was known to be proud and aristocratic in his feelings, and would not, he felt satisfied, countenance, for an instant, any advances he might make toward his daughter. But, she filled his thoughts by day, and was even present with him in his dreams by night. At his first meeting with Eunice, he looked upon her and worshipped in the distance. A few weeks afterward, he met her again, and sought an introduction. The genuine simplicity of her manners charmed him more than the beauty of her face; and when he entered into conversation with her, spontaneously their thoughts flowed along in the same channel; and the sentiments they uttered found in each bosom a reciprocal response. After their third meeting, Albertson noticed that the eyes of Eunice were frequently turned toward him, while he moved in distant parts of the room, and drooped slowly beneath his gaze, when he looked at her steadily. All this was food for his passion.
Thus the tender flower of love, once having taken root, fixed itself more firmly in the ground, spread leaf after leaf, and put forth branch after branch, until bud and blossom became distinctly visible.
Albertson felt the difficulties of his position, but his was not a mind to be discouraged by difficulties. He loved Eunice, and it was plain that she returned his affection. This was the most important point gained, an advantage that would count against many disadvantages. Manly and straight-forward in his character, he could not, for a moment, entertain the thought of any clandestine action. So soon, therefore, as he was satisfied of the state of the maiden’s feelings, he determined to visit her at her father’s house, boldly, and he did so. His first call was made about one month after the suit of a previous lover had been declined. No notice was taken of it except by Eveline, who made it the occasion of some sportive remarks, at the expense of the young man. The seriousness with which this was received, first made her aware that her sister was very far from feeling indifferent toward him, and she herself became at once serious. She said nothing at the time, but closely observed Eunice, and marked her conduct, particularly when they happened to be in any company where Albertson was present. After the young man had made his second call, she said to her sister, in order to bring her out—
“I don’t like the familiarity with which this young man visits here.”
“Why not?” asked Eunice. “Is his right to call any less than that of other young men who visit us?”
“I rather think it is,” replied Eveline.
“I do not know why,” returned the sister. “Is he less virtuous?”
“I know nothing of his virtues or vices; but I believe he has been only a poor clerk until recently; and now is only the junior partner, with a limited interest, in some obscure business house.”
“Does all that take from his worth as a man, Evie? Certainly not in my eyes!”
“Why Eunie! You surprise me!”
“How so? Have I uttered a strange sentiment? Is it not true that
‘Worth makes the man; the want of it the fellow?’
I thought you understood, perfectly, my sentiments on this subject.”
“What do you know of Mr. Albertson’s worth as a man?” asked Eveline. “You have not been acquainted with him for a very long time, I believe.”
“No; but the little I have seen of him has impressed me favorably. He seems to be a man with his heart in the right place. I am free to own that, so far, I like him as a companion exceedingly well. There is nothing artificial or assumed about him. You see him as he is, a plain, frank, honest-hearted man, what I cannot help valuing in an acquaintance, for they are rare virtues among those I happen to meet.”
“I am afraid father and mother will not approve your preference in this instance, Eunie. Indeed, I am sure they will not, especially after your refusing to receive the attentions of Mr. Pelham, whose family connections are among the best in the city, and whose father is worth a million of dollars.”
A slight shade came over the maiden’s face, and there was a change in her voice as she replied to this—
“I should like to please father and mother in every thing; though I fear this will be impossible.”
“I am sure you will not please them if you encourage this young man’s attentions,” said Eveline.
Eunice sighed gently, but made no answer.
Not a very long time elapsed before Albertson called again. He happened to find Eunice alone, and took advantage of the opportunity to make advances of a nature easily understood by the maiden. These were not repulsed by Eunice. A month or two later, and a fair opportunity was offered him to tell his love, and he embraced it. The declaration was received with great frankness by Eunice, whose well-balanced mind kept her above the betrayal of any weakness. She owned that he had awakened in her a tenderer sentiment than she had ever felt for any one; but, at the same time, she informed him that it would be necessary for him to see her father, and gain his approval in the matter, without which, with her present views and feelings, she could give him no encouragement to hope for her hand.
More than this, Albertson had not expected. But he felt that the result was still very doubtful. On the next day he called to see Mr. Townsend. It happened, that the merchant had just received intelligence of a heavy loss, and was in a very unhappy state of mind.
“Well, sir?” he said, in a quick and impatient voice to Albertson, as the latter entered his counting-room, and disturbed him in the midst of a pile of letters, over which he was looking. He had seen the young man a few times before, but his youthful appearance had prevented his noticing him very particularly. He knew nothing of him, and supposed him to be a clerk, sent on the present occasion with some message from his employer.
Albertson bowed, as the merchant thus rudely interrogated him, and said, with as much composure as he could assume—the manner of Mr. Townsend chafed him—
“I wish to say a word to you, sir, on a matter that concerns us both.”
There was something in the way this was uttered, that caused the supercilious manner of the merchant to change. He turned full around from his desk, saying in a more respectful voice as he did so,
“Be seated, sir. Your face is familiar to me, although I cannot this moment call you by name.”
“My name is Rufus Albertson.”
“Albertson? Albertson?”
“I belong to the firm of Jones, Claire, & Co.”
“Ah! Yes. Very well, Mr. Albertson, what is it you wish to say to me?”
“Simply, sir, that I have come to ask the privilege of addressing your daughter Eunice.”
Instantly the whole manner of the merchant changed. A heavy frown settled upon his brow, and his eyes became angry in their expression.
“Mr. Albertson,” he said, in a firm, resolute voice, “your presumption surprises me! Who are you? And what claims have you to the hand of my daughter?”
“The claim of an honest man who loves your daughter,” replied Albertson.
“Go, sir! Go!” exclaimed Townsend, losing all patience at this cool response, “and don’t dare to think of an alliance with my child! It shall never take place! Go, sir! Go!”
And he waived his hand for the young man to retire.
Albertson attempted to urge some considerations upon the excited merchant, but an order to leave the counting-room, followed by an insulting expression, caused him instantly to depart.
An hour or two afterward, Eunice received the following brief note from her lover:
“I have seen your father, and he has met my request with an angry refusal. Have I nothing to hope? You said his consent was indispensable. Are you still of that mind? Dear Eunice! shall the will of another prevent the union of our hearts? I feel that, upon every principle of right, this ought not to be. Write to me immediately, and oh! do not extinguish every light of hope. Let one at least burn, even if its rays be feeblest.”
To this, the maiden, after taking time for reflection, replied:
“I did not hope for a favorable issue to your application. My father looks, I fear, to wealth and social standing, more than to qualities of mind. As I said before, his consent is, for the present, indispensable. The will of another may prevent an external union, although it cannot prevent an union of our hearts. If your regard for me is deeply based; if you can have patience to wait long in hope of more favoring circumstances, then the light you speak of need not go out in your mind.
‘To patient faith, the prize is sure.’
Time works many changes. Have faith in time.”
Albertson read these precious words over twice, and then pressing them to his lips, said,
“Yes! I will have faith in time. I would be unworthy of that true heart were I to give way to impatience and doubt.”
Eunice was sitting alone that evening, just after the twilight shadows had rendered all objects around her indistinct, when her father entered the room where she was sitting. She felt his presence like a weight upon her bosom.
“Eunice! Who is this Albertson?” he asked, abruptly and sternly.
Even from a child, Eunice had possessed great self-control and composure under agitating circumstances. But never, in her life, had she been so deeply disturbed as now, and it required the utmost effort of her will to keep from bursting into tears. She, however, remained externally calm, and said in a low, subdued voice:
“Do you not know him?”
“How should I know him, pray?”
“He has been here frequently. I thought you had met him.”
“And suppose I have! Does the mere meeting of one of your young whipper-snappers constitute a knowledge as to who and what he is? Do you know him?”
“Yes, sir, I believe I do.”
“And what do you know of him?”
“That he is a young man of virtuous principles.”
“And I suppose you also know that he aspires to your hand.”
“I do,” calmly replied Eunice, letting her eyes fall to the floor.
“And you favor his presumption, I plainly see.”
“For that, father, I am not to blame,” returned Eunice, in the same low, subdued voice. “I cannot help loving virtue and all manly excellencies combined, when they offer themselves for my love.”
“Girl!” ejaculated Mr. Townsend, passionately, “I forbid, positively and unequivocally, all alliance with this low born, presumptuous fellow. If you disobey me, I will discard you forever!”
“I will not disobey you, father,” answered Eunice, in a tremulous voice, “though obedience cause my heart to break.” And rising, she retired from the room, and went up into her chamber to weep.
So unexpected a reply, as well as the manner and tone in which it was made, a little surprised the father. The passion into which he had worked himself was all gone, and he stood half wondering at his loss of excitement. The even temper of Eunice, during the trying scene, and her prompt self-denial in a matter so vital to her happiness, he could not help feeling as a reproof upon his own harsh, hasty, and imperious spirit.
Alone, in her chamber, Eunice wept long and bitterly, at this frost-breath upon the tender leaves of her heart’s young hopes. But she did not weep despairingly—she had faith in time.