Eveline Mandeville Part 25

HADLEY.

It will be remembered, that after his recovery from the wounds inflicted by Bill and d.i.c.k, as recorded in a former chapter, Hadley proceeded to Philadelphia. When he reached that city he found his mother and uncle both very sick, and in need of constant care and attention. She had no kind daughter to sit by her couch and smooth her pillow; and he had no affectionate wife to bathe his fevered brow with her soft hand, and by such gentle attentions as no one else can bestow, alleviate his pain. Hadley endeavored, to the best of his ability, to fill the place of daughter to one, and of wife to the other, in his a.s.siduous efforts to watch over, aid and comfort them; and though he did not possess all that sweet softness of manner and voice that belongs especially to woman, and though he could not perceive, with the quick intuition of the other s.e.x, yet by constant attention he was enabled to ease many a pain and throw comfort into many an otherwise sad and lonely hour.

At first his mother was in need of the most attention, and was hardly expected to live from one day to the next; but he soon had the satisfaction of seeing her disease yield to nature and treatment, and she began to grow better. But almost before he could relax anything in his attentions to her, the uncle became much worse; and he shared his time between the two, scarcely taking time to eat or sleep.

Between the uncle and nephew there had existed a coldness for some years, which was caused by the following circ.u.mstance:

In his youth the uncle was the companion of an estimable young man, between whom and himself there existed the warmest friendship and sincerest attachment. They were indebted to each other for many kind acts, and thus became mutually endeared one to the other. At length they were separated, by the uncle going to the West Indies on business, expecting to be detained a length of time, perhaps for years, which proved to be the case. While he was away the friend of his younger days met with that fate so common to mankind--fell in love and got married. The union proved to be a happy one; and when, after years of separation, the uncle returned, he found in the house of his friend a joyful wife and a beautiful, smiling daughter, a child of seven years, with a sweet disposition, and a heart to love everybody.

To this young child, Mr. Scofield--James Scofield was the uncle's name--soon became very deeply and fervently attached, as did also the child to him; He saw that the father had found a nearer and dearer friend than himself, and he was glad in his heart to witness the happiness which reigned in the peaceful home so sweetly cheered by love. Many persons would have been jealous of the wife's ascendency in her husband's affections; but instead of envying the wife, or feeling ill toward her, he came to love her as a friend, not only for her own sake, but, also, because she made his friend such a kind and amiable companion; and in the endearment of their little girl, who soon learned to be his pet, he was repaid for any exclusive companionship from her father that he might have monopolized had he remained, like himself, a bachelor.

Four years after his return from the Indies, Mr. Scofield was called to the bedside of his dying friend. In their last interviews he was charged with the guardianship and care of the young girl, conjointly with the mother, who was also recommended to his friendship, with the injunction ever to be to her as a brother and a counselor. These trusts he accepted, with a promise to be all to the dear ones he left behind that his friend could wish; and this promise he faithfully kept. No friend, brother, father, or husband could have been more attentive to the wants, or more solicitous for the welfare of those entrusted to their protection or dependent upon them than he was. He endeavored to antic.i.p.ate their desires and necessities--of advice and friendship, not of goods, for the friend was in good circ.u.mstances, and had left them with plenty of means to live well and comfortably all their lives--and in all things to be to them the kind friend they needed.

A warm attachment existed between them. Many thought--and idle gossips whispered it about--that the widow was soon to console herself for the great loss she had sustained, by taking Mr. Scofield as a second husband; but no such idea ever entered _their_ minds. Her heart was buried in the grave with her husband; and he--ah, he had a secret. A gentle being, beautiful to him as an angel, had once crossed his path; but before taking her to the altar, the angels came and took her to their homes, beyond the reach of blight or death; and since then his thoughts often wandered away to the regions of perfection; and with the memory of his loved one in heaven, he never coupled a thought of a second love on earth.

It was not long that the widow and her husband's friend remained in ignorance of each other's feelings; the secret he had kept from all others he confided to her; and in mutual explanations and confidences, they soon came to understand each other; and thenceforth their intercourse was unrestrained and cordial. What knew or cared they for the busy tongue of rumor? Nothing. Secure in each other's esteem, with a high rect.i.tude of purpose, they continued their good offices to each other, careless what the world might say, so they gave no cause for vicious tongues to speak evil of them.

We need hardly say that with such intimate a.s.sociation, Mr. Scofield learned to love little Ida as a father loves his own child. Had it not been for the judicious watchfulness and careful training of her excellent mother, she might have been spoiled by his petting. As it was, no child could be gladder to see a parent than she was to see her friend. She would bound away to meet him; and when seated, would climb upon his knee while young, and when older seat herself by him and listen to the stories he would tell her, or play in his locks with her childish fingers.

About a year after his friend's death, Mr. Scofield's only sister lost her husband; and, at his earnest solicitation, she and her little boy came to live with him.

Mrs. Hadley was not wealthy, though she could not be called poor, as her husband had left her a small property, which, by careful management, would school Charles and keep them both until he should arrive at manhood, when, by his own exertions, he could carve out a fortune for himself.

Mr. Scofield soon learned to love Charles very dearly, for he was an amiable and affectionate boy, and always strove to be kind and dutiful to his uncle. It was one of the brother's first acts to introduce his sister to his friend's wife; and they were not long in forming a warm attachment for each other; so much so that Mr. Scofield became almost jealous of each of them for cheating him out of so much of the society of both. He might have become quite jealous had it not been for the fact that while the mothers were entertaining each other, he was left to entertain the children, who, of course, were soon almost constantly together, and were not long in becoming as familiar and affectionate as brother and sister.

It was not long until Mr. Scofield conceived the idea of a marriage between these two children when they should arrive at proper age; and this finally became the darling wish and object of his life.

It does not come within the scope of this sketch, to dwell upon particulars in regard to the affairs of these two happily situated families, and so we pa.s.s over the intervening years, until Charles, at seventeen, was sent to College. About the same time Mr. Scofield was called away to the West Indies on business, and by his advice, the two widows were to live together during his absence.

He had never breathed his intentions concerning the young people to any one, and he hoped no interference would be required, but that the constant a.s.sociation of the two would naturally result in an attachment like the one he so anxiously desired to spring up between them.

Charles made rapid progress at college, and in three years graduated with honor. During these three years he had seen his uncle but once, as his India business was much more complicated than he had expected to find it, and detained him, with the exception of a brief visit home, a little over three years in arranging it, which, was finally done by closing it up and removing his funds nearer home.

He was very proud of Charles as a student, and often prophesied great things for him; but he was sorry to be able to perceive no signs of an attachment like that of lovers existing between the young folks. Still he was hopeful. They might love and not know it themselves; if so, it would require something to awaken them to a consciousness of the fact. He resolved on trying an experiment. Meeting Ida alone, he said:

"Do you know, my dear, that I am about to send Charles away?"

"No. Where is he going?"

"Where there is a possibility we may never see him again."

"Oh, don't say so, uncle!" (She had learned to call him uncle.) "What would we do without him? Do send some one else, and let him stay!"

The uncle thought he saw the evidence of a deep affection in her evident distress, and, as this was his object, he replied:

"Oh, I had only thought of sending him to the West Indies; but if you insist so hard, I suppose I shall have to find some one else to go."

"There, that's a good, dear uncle, as you always are. Oh, I am so glad Charles will not be sent away from us!"

With secret delight--for he felt sure she loved his nephew as he wished--Mr. Scofield next sought Charles, to see if an interview with him would result as satisfactorily to his wishes as with Ida. He was disappointed; Charles evidently loved Ida, but it was only with a brotherly affection. He waited a few weeks longer, and then spoke plainly to his nephew on the subject that lay nearest his heart. He told the young man how much he desired to see him and Ida united, and hoped if he did not already love her, that he would try to do so. As Charles had formed no attachment at that time, he readily consented to converse with Ida--ascertain whether her affections were engaged to him, and if so, to reciprocate them, if possible. He did so; but he found that Ida's attachment was like his own, and then he plainly told her of his uncle's wishes.

"I had never thought of that," she said; "but if it is his desire and yours also, that we should be united, I think I could live happily with you."

This was said in a matter-of-fact way, that, more clearly than anything else, showed her want of that peculiar kind of love which sanctifies marriage. Charles saw this, and replied:

"I have no doubt, Ida, but you would make one of the best of wives; but I should fear to wed you, when neither of us loved more ardently than we do."

"Why would you _fear_?"

"That either or both of us might afterward see some one that we could love as those are expected to, who enter into the solemn obligations of the marriage covenant. The heart is not master of its own emotions; they come and go, regardless of our calls and commands, and we may not count upon being able to control them. How wretched it would cause either of us to be united to each other, while a third party was loved, I leave you to determine for yourself. I have been so accustomed to regard you as a sister, it seems strange to think of you in any other light; and I hope this little pa.s.sage between us will not mar the freedom of our intercourse."

"I am sure I do not intend that it shall; and I think in consenting to become a nearer companion to you than even a sister, I have given ample a.s.surance of my esteem and regard."

"We will then continue to be friends, and I will go at once and communicate our decision to my uncle."

When Charles related to Mr. Scofield what had transpired between himself and Ida, he saw that his uncle was deeply disappointed and dissatisfied.

"Boy!" he said, in more of a pa.s.sion than Charles had ever seen him, "Boy, you've made a fool of the matter and of yourself, too!"

"Why, uncle!" replied Charles, in utter astonishment.

"Yes, you have!" continued the old gentleman, "and I am provoked at you. I have always intended to make you my heir, but I shall not do it now, at least, not until you consent to wed Ida."

"Ida does not wish to marry me."

"She'll not object, I know she will not. I have set my heart upon the match, and you must marry her, Charles."

"I am deeply pained to say so, but I cannot."

"You _must_!"

"Nay, then, I _will not!_"

"Boy! do you wish to drive me to disinherit and disown you?"

"Disinherit me if you will, but I beg you will not disown me. I have a conscience in this matter; if it was only a whim, I would yield to your wishes."

"And you utterly refuse to accede to my desires?"

"I do."

"Well, I am sorry for you, but I am resolved, seeing you care so little for me, to subst.i.tute Ida's name for yours in my will."

Charles could bear to be treated harshly, but to be accused of want of affection and grat.i.tude toward the benefactor to whom he owed so much, called tears to his eyes.

"You know, uncle, that I love you as I would a father, and it is unjust of you to charge me with a want of affection."

Mr. Scofield was moved by the evident distress his words had caused in his nephew's mind, and relenting a very little, he said: