"So did I. And the absurdity of the thing! Such a mixture of relationships as it would have been! I should never have entertained the thought for a moment. And he ought to have spoken to me first, and spared you all this. No, you needn't fret; he deserves all he suffers, for what he has inflicted upon you, my precious one."
"I hardly think that, papa; he was very generous to take all the blame to himself; but oh, you have eased my heart of half its load. What should I ever do without you, my own dear, dear father!"
The pleasure of our friends, during the rest of their stay at Viamede, was somewhat dampened by this unfortunate episode, though Elsie, for her father's sake, did her best to rally from its effect on her spirits, and to be cheerful and gay as before.
Long, bright, loving letters from home, and Ion coming the next day, were a great help. Then the next day brought a chaplain, who seemed in all respects so well suited to his place as to entirely relieve her mind in regard to the future welfare of her people. He entered into all her plans for them, and promised to carry them out to the best of his ability.
So it was with a light heart, though not without some lingering regrets for the sad ones and the loveliness left behind, that she and her father set out on their homeward way.
Mr. Dinsmore's man John, Aunt Chloe, and Uncle Joe, went with them; and it was a continual feast for master and mistress to see the happiness of the poor old couple, especially when their grandchild Dinah, their only living descendant so far as they could learn, was added to the party; Elsie purchasing her, according to promise, as they passed through New Orleans on their return trip.
Dinah was very grateful to find herself installed as assistant to her grandmother, who, Elsie said, must begin to take life more easily now in her old age. Yet that Aunt Chloe found it hard to do, for she was very jealous of having any hands but her own busied about the person of her idolized young mistress.
A glad welcome awaited them at home, where they arrived in due season for Adelaide's wedding.
Sophie and Harry Carrington had returned from their wedding trip, and were making their home with his parents, at Ashlands; Richard, Fred, and May Allison, came with their brother Edward; but Harold, who was to meet them at Roselands, was not there. He had engaged to act as second groomsman, Richard being first, and there was much wondering over his absence; many regrets were expressed, and some anxiety was felt.
But Elsie and her father kept their own counsel, and breathed no word of the episode at Viamede, which would have explained all.
Harold's coming was still hoped for by the others until the last moment, when Fred took his place, and the ceremony passed off as satisfactorily as if there had been no failure on the part of any expected, to participate in it.
It took place in the drawing-room at Roselands, in presence of a crowd of aristocratic guests, and was considered a very grand affair. A round of parties followed for the next two weeks, and then the happy pair set sail for Europe.
Chapter Ninth
"My plots fall short, like darts which rash hands throw
With an ill aim, and have too far to go."
—SIR ROBERT HOWARD.
"I'm so glad it's all over at last!"
"What, my little friend?" and Mr. Travilla looked fondly into the sweet face so bright and happy, where the beauties of rare intellect and moral worth were as conspicuous as the lesser ones of exquisite contour and coloring.
"The wedding and all the accompanying round of dissipation. Now I hope we can settle down to quiet home pleasures for the rest of the winter."
"So do I, and that I shall see twice as much of you as I have of late. You can have no idea how I missed you while you were absent. And I am more than half envious of our bride and groom. Shall our trip be to Europe, Elsie?"
"Are we to take a trip?" she asked with an arch smile.
"That will be as you wish, dearest, of course."
"I don't wish it now, nor do you, I know; but we shall have time enough to settle all such questions."
"Plenty; I only wish we had not so much. Yet I don't mean to grumble; the months will soon slip away and bring the time when I may claim my prize."
They were riding towards the Oaks; the sun had just set, and the moon was still below the horizon.
Elsie suddenly reined in her horse, Mr. Travilla instantly doing likewise, and turned a pale, agitated face upon him. "Did you hear that?" she asked low and tremulously.
"What, dear child? I heard nothing but the sound of our horses' hoofs, the sighing of the wind in the tree-tops, and our own voices."
"I heard another; a muttered oath and the words, 'You shall never win her. I'll see to that.' The tones were not loud but deep, and the wind seemed to carry the sounds directly to my ear," she whispered, laying a trembling little hand on his arm, and glancing nervously from side to side.
"A trick of the imagination, I think, dearest; but from whence did the sounds seem to come?"
"From yonder thicket of evergreens and—I knew the voice for that of your deadly foe, the man from whom you and papa rescued me in Landsdale."
"My child, he is expiating his crime in a Pennsylvania penitentiary."
"But may he not have escaped, or have been pardoned out? Don't, oh don't, I entreat you!" she cried, as he turned his horse's head in the direction of the thicket. "You will be killed."
"I am armed, and a dead shot," he answered, taking a revolver from his breast pocket.
"But he is in ambush, and can shoot you down before you can see to aim at him."
"You are right, if there is really an enemy concealed there," he answered, returning the revolver to its former resting-place; "but I feel confident that it was either a trick of the imagination with you, or that some one is playing a practical joke upon us. So set your tears at rest, dear child, and let us hasten on our way."
Elsie yielded to his better judgment, trying to believe it nothing worse than a practical joke; but had much ado to quiet her agitated nerves and recover her composure before a brisk canter brought them to the Oaks, and she must meet her father's keen eye.
They found Arthur in the drawing-room, chatting with Rose. He rose with a bland, "Good-evening," and gallantly handed Elsie to a seat. Arthur was a good deal changed since his recall from college; and in nothing more than in his manner to Elsie; he was now always polite; often cordial even when alone with her. He was not thoroughly reformed, but had ceased to gamble and seldom drank to intoxication.
"Thank you; but indeed I must go at once and dress for tea," Elsie said, consulting her watch. "You are not going yet?"
"No, he will stay to tea," said Rose.
"But must go soon after, as I have an engagement," added Arthur.
Elsie met her father in the hall. "Ah, you are at home again," he remarked with a pleased look; "that is well; I was beginning to think you were making it very late."
"But you are not uneasy when I am in such good hands, papa?"
"No, not exactly; but like better to take care of you myself."
The clock was just striking eight as Arthur mounted and rode away from his brother's door. It was not a dark night, or yet very light; for though the moon had risen, dark clouds were scudding across the sky, allowing but an occasional glimpse of her face, and casting deep shadows over the landscape.
In the partial obscurity of one of these, and only a few rods ahead of him, when about half-way between the Oaks and Roselands, Arthur thought he discovered the figure of a man standing by the roadside, apparently waiting to