I purposely left her alone with Emily, for I thought that she might talk more freely with her, and perhaps find relief from her sympathy and affection. I had just returned from the cottage with Pauline, where mother was occupied with Ruth in preparing for their return, when Emily requested me to go into her room, to which she had invited Lucy, that they might be free from interruption.
I found Emily in a state of great excitement, and poor Lucy with her handkerchief to her face silently weeping.
"I say," exclaimed Emily passionately, "it's a disgrace to the town, for such a system of persecution to go on, as has been, and is still pursued toward her," pointing to Lucy, who had not looked up, "and not have it inquired into and prevented." Emily had, for the time, forgotten her own trials, in her indignation at the greater ones of her friend.
I sat down by the weeping girl, putting my arm around her waist. She thanked me by a press of the hand, while Emily, who sat in a rocking-chair opposite, (she was too excited to keep still a moment,) continued, "Only think, Cora, of that rascally fellow Joseph." Poor Lucy looked imploringly.
"Excuse me, poor girl; but much as I love you, I have always detested your brother. He has nothing of the gentleman about him. But I never could have believed he would have acted so cruelly."
I had been waiting in vain to hear the occasion of this ebullition of feeling; and I interrupted my indignant sister, by saying, "You forget, Emily, that I know nothing of the circumstances."
She then gave me, in substance, the following narrative:
From a child, Lucy has been attached to Allen Mansfield. In fact, they can hardly remember the time when they did not love each other. While Mrs. Lee lived, all went on well; and although a very gentle, loving woman, she exerted a considerable influence over her husband, and persuaded him to consent to their early betrothal. Allen's father, Mr. Mansfield, is a merchant in this place, carrying on a prosperous business; and, at the time of their engagement, his son was considered, in point of wealth, a suitable match for Lucy. Allen was everything her mother desired; honorable, upright and virtuous, of generous heart, and noble principles. More than all, he and his beloved were united in the most enduring tie of Christian friendship, and had together made a public profession of religion.
Since that time, however, Squire Lee, by means of his horrible traffic in ardent spirits, has added house to house and farm to farm, until he has been easily persuaded by his son, that his only daughter ought to look higher in her choice of a husband. Not that brotherly affection was so strong in Joseph. Dislike to Allen was his ruling motive. They had been schoolmates; and though from love to the gentle sister, Allen had tried to show, at least, kindness to her brother, yet he could not always conceal his displeasure at Joseph's conduct. A slight or neglect this haughty young man never forgot. He only waited his time to make sure his revenge. Since Allen's intimacy with the family, he had indeed treated him with outward politeness; yet he hated him on account of his strong, and oft expressed disapprobation of the course he was pursuing, and the character of his companions. In this way he had gradually worked his mind into such a state, that there was no calamity too great for him to visit upon Allen, had it been in his power.
Such was their relation, when it occurred to the poor drunken creature, (for no less was he a drunkard because his wines were imported from Europe at four dollars a bottle; and his Cogniac the best which could be obtained,) to revenge himself upon Allen by depriving him of Lucy. He neither thought, nor cared for the sorrow it would cause her loving heart. He went to work with a zeal worthy of a better cause. By speaking in a disparaging tone of him to his father, he gradually led him to view the young man as no longer suitable in rank or station to be allied to a daughter of their house.
Poor Lucy! At first she gently tried to defend her lover from inuendoes, and insinuations which her brother took care should be in such general terms, they could not be met and refuted. Every one is aware how much worse than an open accusation are implications like the following:—"If I were to tell what I know, Allen Mansfield would be hooted out of good society. He is called clever, but I wouldn't ensure his honor nor his virtue."
It was not strange that Squire Lee, who had long suffered himself to be guided; nay, almost governed by his son, and who was much enfeebled in mind by the free use of brandy, determined to break the match, nor that he one day, when he had drunk so much that he could hardly stand, almost broke her heart by commanding her to dismiss Allen, or he himself would do it.
The wretched girl had had many doubts and misgivings whereunto these things would grow, and had shed many bitter tears in secret; but as she had no idea of the extent of her brother's malice, nor of the strength of his determination upon revenge, she had never conceived so dreadful a result.
For a week, she was obliged to keep her bed, being almost overwhelmed with sorrow. Dear girl! the thought never entered her mind that it could be possible to resist so unjust a sentence. Allen, however, was of different temperament. Naturally gentle and kind, yet when his indignation was roused, he had the courage of a lion.
Having heard that Lucy was sick, he hastened to inquire for her. It so happened that he went to the house when Squire Lee was alone, and more than usually under the influence of reason. Though he forbid his visiting Lucy, or having anything more to say to her, as he expressed it, yet he did so in a less offensive manner than on the occasion of his interview with his daughter.
The consequence was that the young man did not feel called upon to obey him, but in a day or two called again, having waited in vain for an answer to several letters, he had written to Lucy. On this occasion, however, his visit was not so well timed. Joseph was with his father, who had not yet recovered from his heavy potations of wine and brandy at dinner, and who, therefore, was easily strengthened by his son in his cruel purpose.
A dreadful scene ensued. Allen, whose heart-interest was at stake, determined, for the sake of her whom he loved, to be respectful to her father. But he was not prepared to withstand the perfect torrent of wrath which burst upon him. When he entered and inquired for Lucy, Joseph sneeringly said, "My sister shall never marry a mean scoundrel like you."
Paying no attention to this, which, however, made his blood boil, he turned to the old gentleman, saying, "You surely cannot be in earnest in trying to separate your daughter and myself. Your deceased wife was my friend; and she as well as yourself gave a ready consent to our union." In the midst of his wrath Squire Lee was a little softened by the tone and manner of the young man, as well as by the mention of his wife, whom he had loved next to himself. He was about to speak more kindly, when Joseph, perceiving his intention, interrupted him.
"Lucy Lee will be an heiress; no wonder you are loath to give up her wealth."
Allen turned deadly pale from suppressed emotion, but controlling his feelings, said, "Squire Lee, I ask again the hand of your daughter. I will gladly take her without one farthing of your hoarded wealth."
Joseph whispered something in his father's ear, who replied, "all very fine, young man—very fine talk" (hiccough) "indeed; but you—can't have her. You see" (hiccough) "we've," with a cunning look at Joseph, "other views for her."
Allen could contain himself no longer, and in a terrible voice denounced both father and son as inhuman and brutal in their conduct. "The time will surely come," he added, "when you will bitterly regret your cruelty toward her, and your abuse of me."
Were these prophetic words?
Joseph, who was beside himself with rage, flew at Allen, and aimed a violent blow at his head, which the young man dexterously warded off.
Poor Lucy, who had been attracted by the noise below, sprang from her bed, and having thrown on a loose robe, rushed wildly into the room. All stood for one moment speechless with astonishment at her presence, and frightful pallor. She threw herself at her father's feet, begging him not to break her heart. She frantically invoked the spirit of her departed mother to intercede for her, but alas! to no effect. Squire Lee sat motionless while Joseph in a fury rang the bell, and said to the porter, "turn that rascal