The reigning belle

Eva did not reply to her sister’s question, for she had hurried to the door, and found not her mother, as she eagerly expected, but Mrs. Smith, with her bonnet awry, and her shawl trailing to the ground. The good woman’s face was flushed with crying, and a fresh rain of tears came to her eyes the moment she saw Eva.

“Don’t! Don’t! Order me from the door! Don’t wither me up into nothing, just with looking in my face! It wasn’t my fault; I knew no more about it than my Jerusha Maria, poor innocent darling, that never dreamed what a cruel father she’s got. I’ll never live with Smith again—never! To go and do such a thing, without telling me! I’m not a cannibal, nor a Hottentot to stand such things!”

Mrs. Smith had burst forth in this torrent of words and tears on the very doorstep. Eva entreated her to come in. Being utterly ignorant of the particular grief that possessed the good woman, she could do no more.

“You’re just one degree from a heavenly angel, Eva Laurence,” continued the good woman, wiping her eyes on the corner of her shawl, as she passed into the parlor. “Smith won’t, but I’ve come to make atonement on my bended knees. Tell me what to do for them, and I’ll do it, if Jerusha Maria and I are left without a crust.”

“My dear Mrs. Smith, what do you mean? Who has troubled you so?”

“Who? My own lawfully married husband. What? Oh, mercy upon me! don’t you know yet? Where’s your mother?”

“She went out this morning,” said Eva, “and has not returned yet. We are expecting her every minute.”

“Expecting her! Why, don’t you know? Expecting her? Oh! oh! this is hard, that I should have to tell it, and he my husband! Eva, both your mother and James are in prison.”

“In prison!”

Three voices at once uttered this one sentence. Ruth started up from her couch, white to the lips; Eva stood rooted to the floor, her eyes widening, and lips just apart. Even Mr. Ross started to his feet, and a swarthy color swept over his face.

“In prison! For what?” he demanded. “Who put them there?”

“Must I say it again? It was my own husband that did it, backed up, and led blind by that copper-headed cretur, Ja Boyce. I know as well as I live, that he’s at the bottom of it, though Smith sticks to him through thick and thin. As for that boy, he’s innocent as twenty lambs, every one of ’em with fleeces white as snow; but you can’t make Smith believe it, he’s that blinded.”

“Pray, Mrs. Smith, compose yourself, and tell us clearly what all this means? On what charge are these two persons in prison?” said Ross, who was the first to recover his presence of mind.

“Charges? Why, theft! burglary! receiving stolen property! Our store was robbed on the night we went to your sister’s party. And they are took up for doing it. I didn’t know it till just now. Oh, they were mighty sly, Kate Gorman and all, taking people up, and keeping me in the dark; but I’ve left ’em. Smith will find out what he’s done when I am gone, and his home is full of nothing but loneliness.”

“Where have they been taken to, Mrs. Smith?” inquired Ross.

“Where? The Tombs, to be sure. No other place was gloomy enough for them. Smith has gone down to appear. Yes, and a pretty appearance he’ll put in for himself. Oh, girls, it was not my fault!”

The poor woman clasped her hands, and seemed about to fall upon her knees before Eva, who flung both arms about her neck, and tenderly wiped her eyes, though her hands shook in doing it, and the dumb anguish in her face was pitiful to see.

“Whatever it is, we shall never blame you, Mrs. Smith,” gasped Ruth.

Mrs. Smith fell on her knees before the sick girl’s couch, and burst into a fresh paroxysm of tears.

“But you must blame him. Who can help it? To keep such things secret from the wife of his bosom, hard as a rock, too, against that poor honest, crusty, dear old woman. Oh, it’s too bad! too bad! But that he told me himself, I never would have believed it; but there he is, gone down to persecute like a heathen grind-stone.”

“Be tranquil, be patient, my dear young ladies. I will go at once, and see what this means,” said Ross, taking Eva’s hand, which scarcely trembled more than his own. “They will need some friend. Have no fear; I shall know how to help them.”

“I—I will go with you,” cried Eva, turning to leave the room.

“No; not yet. It would only do harm. All that can be done I will attend to. It is impossible that there should be anything serious in this. Stay quietly at home till you hear from me.”

Eva hesitated. Her first generous impulse was to brave everything for the two beings she loved so dearly. But nobility of purpose is not always prudently carried out. It requires more fortitude to stay at home and wait, than to rush out and act. The girl was brave, but she was also obedient, and when Ruth spoke, she turned from her purpose.

“Stay, Eva,” said the gentle invalid. “You can do nothing. Our good friend will help us. Stay till he comes.”

Eva sat down, and burst into tears. Forbidden to act, she could only weep and wait.

“Tell him that I have left his house! That—that he is a cruel, hard-hearted man! Tell him that there is no sort of use in his ever coming home again—for—for—— Oh, it is dreadful! Why can’t people die when they want to?”

Mrs. Smith would have added more no doubt, but half these words were smothered on Ruth’s couch; and when she looked up, Mr. Ross was passing through the garden-gate.

“Oh, girls, what shall we do?” she exclaimed, “what shall we do! Just say that I never ought to speak to Smith again, and I won’t; no, not if he takes Jerusha Maria out of my arms, and gives her—oh! oh!—to some other woman.”

“My dear friend,” murmured Ruth, “go home to your child—all will be well.”

“Yes, I will go!” sobbed the good woman; “but it shall be down there.”