Chapter XV: Lies of Convenience

THE composition next in order was scarcely finished when Miss Salsbury requested the young lady who was reading to pass the copy to her.

Glancing at it with a look of serious displeasure, she took a small book from her desk, compared the signature with one marked there, directed the reading to proceed, and then sat more than usually erect, while attending to the composition which followed.

"Of all lies," commenced the young lady, "those which relate to
the character of others are the most to be dreaded. These lies are
in direct violation of the ninth command: 'Thou shalt not bear
false witness against thy neighbor.' How often, for the sake of
telling news, we are tempted to repeat stories to the disadvantage
of others, even though we know they are untrue.

"There is a fault of this nature, not quite so common, of which I
will give an instance.

"A lady in rather high life was in the habit of underrating her
own beauty, talents, and taste in order to have others praise
her. One evening she attended a religious meeting appointed for
conversation with the pastor. After confessing her own sinfulness,
she said,—

"'I scarcely think there can be mercy for such a wicked creature
as I am.'

"She expected that these words, wholly insincere on her part,
would lead the clergyman to express his admiration of her lovely
moral character; but the good man, either wholly deceived by her
apparent distress, or wishing to give her a deserved rebuke, said,—

"'Madam, you are far more sinful than you have described. You have
offended God's holy laws; you—'

"'I should like to know what I've done!' she exclaimed, in great
wrath, rising and standing defiantly before him."

Many of the young ladies laughed on hearing this story, and then Amelia Gleason responded to the call, and rose with such blushing cheeks to read a composition, that her companions conjectured it was her own.

"A young lady, fair and beautiful, sat in a luxuriantly furnished
parlor. Statues of the rarest art filled the niches, while
paintings from the old masters adorned the walls. The house was
evidently the abode of wealth and refinement.

"The young lady, whose name was Isabel Montgomery, sat, or rather
reclined, against one of the large cushions of the divan, with an
elegantly bound volume open before her.

"Suddenly the outer door was heard to open. Isabel started, her
cheeks flushing, and her eyes beaming with pleasure. The servant
entered, bearing a beautifully embossed card on a silver salver.

"The lady's breast heaved. It was evident a crisis in her young
life was approaching; but suddenly the scene changed.

"'Pshaw!' she exclaimed, angrily. 'It's that tiresome old maid.
Why didn't you tell her I was out? You're a stupid piece not
to know I didn't wish to be disturbed! But I wont see her. Go,
directly, and tell her I'm not at home, and don't expect to be for
a month. How provoking!' she said petulantly, when the servant had
retired. 'I was sure it was Mr. Clayton.' Then, glancing at her
jewelled watch, she added, with a pout on her red lips, 'He prides
himself on his punctuality; but it is already one minute past the
time.'

"The moments lagged wearily, now, until they lengthened themselves
into hours; but the expected one did not make his appearance, and
at last, disgusted with her lover, with herself, and with life in
general, she retired to her own chamber where she indulged in a
flood of tears.

"Indignation at last gave way to anxiety. Some accident must have
happened to the loved one. This was the morning which was to
decide her fate for life. Frederic Clayton, the most elegant as
well as the most wealthy young man in the city had sued for her
hand. An appointment was made for him to meet her hither at his
counting room at an early hour; and then he begged leave to come
and receive his answer from her own sweet lips. No doubt what that
answer would be. Something awful must have occurred, or he would
have flown on the wings of love to her presence.

"At last, the thought flashed through her mind that not one
visitor had called during the entire morning with the exception of
the tiresome old maid, as she invidiously termed her; and this was
so unusual a circumstance that she rang the bell furiously to ask
the servant whether any callers had presented themselves.

"The servant-girl entered, a glance of low cunning gleaming from
her half-closed eye. Before her mistress could speak, she advanced
rapidly with the salver upon which lay several cards.

"Isabel eagerly clutched at one bearing the name, 'Frederic
Clayton,' and screamed, in a voice of passion—

"'How came this here? Why wasn't he admitted? How long since he
went away?'

"'He was in the ante-room, ma'am,' said the girl, 'when I went
back with the message to the old lady. He looked very much
disappointed, and asked me two or three times if I was sure you
were not at home; that he had an appointment with you, and it was
very important he should see you this morning. I told him you went
off all of a sudden, almost as soon as it was light, and said you
shouldn't be back for a month.'

"Isabel put out her hand and tried to speak, but her passion
choked her voice; then she flew at Bridget and tried to scratch
her face.

"'You old wretch,' she screamed, 'you shall be punished for this!
You did it on purpose. I know you did!'

"'I haven't told you all,' said the girl, in a triumphant tone.
'The old lady was Mr. Clayton's aunt, and he came with her in her
carriage. If she had gone, I should have given him a hint that you
were in the parlor expecting of him; but as you bid me say you
were away, I valued my character too much to take back my words
while she was there. They talked mighty earnest together for a
time. Once I thought he'd faint, he looked so pale; and he kept
repeating, "I can't believe it! The blow is too sudden! Only a
half an hour ago, and I was so happy!"

"'His aunt pitied him a sight; but it didn't do him a mite of good
till she said, "Be a man, Frederic. I acknowledge your future
looks dark now; but the day will come when perhaps you will thank
the Lord for this." Then they looked around and saw me still
standing there, and went away.'

"Isabel had stood like a statue; but when Bridget stopped talking,
she sank back in the divan, and with one shriek of agony buried
her face in her hands. The hour which followed was the darkest her
life had ever known; but darker moments still were yet before her.
At six o'clock, her father returned to dinner, and sent Bridget to
her room to say that he wished to see her immediately.

"'What does this mean?' he asked, angrily, when, noticing the
dreadful pallor of her countenance, his wrath changed to pity.

"'Where is he—Frederic?' she gasped, trembling in every limb.

"'On his way to Smyrna with his sick brother. I found him waiting
at my office when I reached it, impatient to gain my consent
not only to your engagement, but to an immediate marriage, in
order that you might accompany him abroad. They would wait, in
that case, until the next vessel, which sails in a fortnight. I
mentioned the trousseau, but he said all that could be attended
to in Paris before your return. I found out, too, that Elise
Bosworth, your mother's old friend, is Clayton's aunt, and was
waiting to bring him here to use all the influence she possessed,
through her love for your mother, to induce you to forego all
the ceremony so natural to the occasion, be married at once, and
accompany him abroad. She brought a casket of diamonds which were
her sister's for her wedding gift. After some hesitation, I gave
my consent, and expected, on reaching home, to find the house in
an uproar of preparation, when, just before I left my office, I
received this letter from poor Clayton, together with an enclosed
note directed to you.'

"Isabel, who had sank back almost fainting, mechanically stretched
out her hand for the letter. The one to herself was as follows:

"'Isabel, farewell. Hope whispered a different result to my
wooing; but I have deceived myself. I am not yet calm enough to
write; the shock was too sudden. Your father will explain. You are
to be absent a month. Before your return, I shall be thousands
of miles away. Perhaps I shall never return. May God bless you
and give you a worthier, though you can never have a more loving,
friend!

"'FREDERIC CLAYTON.'"

"As my composition has already extended far beyond the
contemplated limits, I will only add that a long and dangerous
illness followed Isabel's lie of convenience. Near the close of
the year, she persuaded her father to accompany her abroad, where,
in a gay party in Paris, she met Mr. Clayton and his beautiful
young wife. Having heard, through friends in his native city, the
story which Bridget, dismissed in disgrace, had so diligently
circulated, he had learned to thank God for preventing his union
with one who could thus trample on the commands of his holy word
which says, 'Lie not one to another.'"