Sidney Elliott: a novel

Front matter

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Preface

G OOD wine/’ says the proverb, “ needs no bush.” I wish I could think the following pages needed no apology; for such this should be called, instead of a Preface. In sending my little book to try its fortune in the world, I would like to explain how it came to be written.

Begun, nearly three years ago, as a short magazine-story, it has, line by line, page by page, grown, to my own surprise, into its present dimensions. No one can be more sensible than myself of its many imperfections. It makes no pretension to fine writing, to stirring incident — it is but a picture of life as it has come under my own observation.

Its composition has filled the few busy moments of an idle life. And if it only affords the reader, in its perusal, one-half the pleasure its writing has given me, I shall be more than content.

M. D. N.

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CON TENTS.

CHAPTER I. page

MY OWN STORY 1 3

Chapter I

m

MY OWN STORY.

DARK, dreary evening, the wind wailing mournl \ fully around the house, rustling amid the bare branches of the trees which overhung the old homestead — snow falling heavily from a clouded sky; such was the night after my father’s funeral.

We sat by the fire, my mother and I, thinking of the past and planning for the future. Dreary indeed it seemed tQ us ; our past had been so cloudless, so peaceful, that we shrank from the life-struggle which lay before us.

My father was a physician of no small repute. He had amassed, in the practice of his profession, an ample fortune. We lived in comparative luxury. My father, though disclaiming ostentation, believed in solid comfort ; and our home was one which any might have envied. I was the only child ; and my life, till now, had been one of unalloyed happiness. It was not to last. My father had just determined to relinquish his practice, when the failure of the bank in which his savings were invested

STDNEY ELLIOTT.

compelled him to abandon his intentions; and, not six months later, he was brought home, dead !

His horse had taken fright at some object on the road, as he was on his way to visit a patient. He was thrown on a pile of stones, and instantly killed. John Elliott, the good physician, the kind father, the tender husband, was no more. Our grief, the grief of those who knew and loved him, can be better imagined than described.

But we had no time to indulge in the “ luxury of woe.” The poor — for among that number we now found ourselves — may not sit, weeping, with folded hands.

As yet, we had not felt the loss of means. My father’s practice, even after the loss of his fortune, had brought him more than sufficient for our wants, and he had begun again to accumulate.

I sat, silently thinking, till my mother’s voice aroused me from my revery.

“Sidney, dear, what are we to do?”

“ Do ! mother ? What can we do ? ”

My poor mother ! dependent, as she had always been, upon my father, her gentle, shrinking nature resting on his, strong and firm, she turned, now that her stay and prop was removed, to me.

But I was “in no mood to discuss our future prospects. My father’s death was a crushing blow to me, and I shrank from anything which diverted my thoughts from him, who, for the first time, slept under the sod. I shuddered at every wail of the wind; and as the snow fell, covering the earth with its pall, I thought how it also lay on his grave, and, chilled at the thought, I cowered closer by the fire.

• Alas ! I was selfish in the indulgence of my sorrow.

SIDNEY ELLIOTT.

Giving myself up to it, I wholly forgot the meek mourner who sat near me.

Her gentle voice recalled me to myself.

“My poor child ! this has been a hard day for you ! v

No thought of self, in the wish to console me! O mother-love ! pure, holy feeling, thou art, sure, a gift from God ! The soft, caressing tone, the quiet thoughtfulness, roused my better self, and I drew closer to the speaker.

“Sidney, ’t is hard — but—”

I broke forth passionately: “Hard — mother — hard, you say? So hard, that I cannot say, ‘Thy will be done!’”

The calm voice never faltered.

“Sidney, my child, your father was very dear to me, yet I can say, ‘ Thy will be done ! * ”

I looked up in amaze. I knew how those two lives had been blended; their perfect oneness — their deep affection the one for the other ; yet my mother, frail, feeble, compared to me, for I had inherited my father's nature and disposition, was the stronger of the two.

She saw the surprise in my eyes. Stooping, she kissed my brow.

“Sidney, I look above! that gives me strength. Seek you there for it, too. And now, my child, to bed, and a night’s rest will better fit us for to-morrow’s duties.”

A long, loving embrace, and we parted for the night.

I shall never forget how the next morning came upon me. I had gone to my bed, thinking sleep could not close my eyes, yet I wept myself to slumber. Completely exhausted, I slept till late. And when the bright rays of the morning sun at last aroused me, oh ! only those who have passed through the same ordeal know how I felt. I

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STDNEY ELLIOTT.

woke with the feeling that something — I could not for a moment recall what — had happened. For an instant, that blessed oblivion lasted : then all returned to me.

Why, I thought, did the sun shine so brightly this morning? At least, its rays should not lighten my room, mocking my dark feelings. Better for me the wail of the wind, the clouded sky; and I sprang from my bed to draw the blind.

It was a most lovely morning. The sun shone from a sky of deepest blue, unflecked by a single cloud. The earth was covered with snow, brilliantly white, and every tree was outlined in feathery crystals. I heard the merry sleigh-bells, the laughing voices of the riders ; and, throwing myself once more upon my bed, I burst into bitter tears.

They were too violent to last. And when they had spent themselves, and I, startled by a light touch on my shoulder, looked up, my mother stood beside me.

“Are you not coming to breakfast, Sidney?” she asked, smoothing my hair caressingly. “It is very late,” she continued, as the town-clock at that moment struck nine; “and I have been waiting for you, not liking to sit down alone. ’ ’

I promised to join her soon, and she left me. She had spoken calmly, but I saw plainly enough that, unlike myself, she had passed a sleepless night.

Our meal was sent away almost untasted. I could scarcely control myself, but a glance at my mother’s sweet, sad face, whenever my feelings nearly overcame me, gave me strength, and I resolved that, to avoid increasing her grief, I would control my own.

• “And the evening and the morning were the first day.”

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Chapter II

mr. merton’s visit.

I DO not think that the “ straitest Pharisee of them all ” can possibly object to the quotation closing my first chapter. The Bible words, forcible as they are, and universally applicable as all find them, seemed particularly suitable here. I remember thinking of them then; and I now, after the lapse of years, see no reason to change my opinion. It was, indeed, the beginning of a new life for me — “the first day” I had realized the change that had come over my worldly prospects.

The day, bright though it was out of doors, to us passed drearily enough. And when night came, I sat, as the evening before, over the fire, silently realizing that my father was indeed gone.

So long as the form, lifeless though it be, of our loved ones is near us, we cannot realize that they are dead. We know ’t is but the clay, soulless, motionless, which, the eyes closed, the hands folded over the pulseless heart, lies shrouded for the tomb; yet we linger near it — thinking, perhaps, ’t is but slumber from which they will soon awaken. Vain hope ! the eyes are closed for ever. “ It ’ ’ is but the shadow of the departed, yet, oh ! how precious to us the sacred remains. Hallowed by the touch of death — we gaze silently upon them, checking our tod violent emotions in their presence. For while yet the cold form rests beneath our roof, we feel our beloved are still with us — something of them still lingers near us. It is not till the sods are heaped over the grave, not till the earth has 2* 17 o i8

SIDNEY ELLIOTT.

hidden from us all that is left of our lost ones, that we realize they are indeed gone; that “the place which knew them shall know them no more. ’ ’

Thoughts like these passed hurriedly through my mind as I sat on a low stool at my mother’s feet. Neither of us wept. We were both calm; but I knew well that her thoughts were but the echo of my own.

I was roused from my revery by the ringing of the door-bell. A few minutes later, the servant entered, and handed my mother a card, bearing the name of “John Merton ” and a pencilled request for admission.

My mother sighed. “I suppose we must see him.” A moment later, and he entered the parlor.

Mr. Merton was an old and tried friend of my father. He was a man of perhaps fifty years of age, hale and hearty, enjoying life to the utmost, respected and esteemed by all who knew him.

My mother rose to greet him. “ This is indeed kind, Mr. Merton.”

“ I knew you would not consider me an intruder, Mrs. Elliott,” he said cheerily, as they shook hands. “And how is my friend Sidney ? ” as I advanced to him. His eyes were moist as well as my own as I laid my hand in his.

“You have come to a lonely fireside to-night, Mr. Merton,” I said ; “yet the more welcome that you leave your own cheerful home to visit ours.”

My mother smiled sadly. “We are trying to make our friend as sad as ourselves.”

Mr. Merton looked down. “You know, without words, that I feel for you,” he said. And from that he went on to speak of my father, of the regret expressed at his death, of the universal esteem in which he was held ; ' and from that he went back to the days

SIDNEY ELLIOTT.

when they had been boys and schoolmates together, until in these reminiscences the evening quickly slipped away.

“I had no idea it was so late,” he said at last, looking at his watch. “Here it is ten o’clock, and my business not yet done. Mrs. Elliott,” to my mother, “by virtue of the long friendship which, as you know, existed between your husband and myself, will you permit me to attend to all the necessary business for you? You might, to be sure, find some one more competent, but no one more willing to settle your affairs.”

“ I do not like to trouble you,” she began.

“ Hush, my dear madam, hush ! Trouble ! Do you think John Elliott would have called it trouble to have looked over a few papers for an old friend’s widow? Not he. And you will let me do for you what your husband would, under similar circumstances, have done for my Mary.”

She still hesitated. “Would it not take too much time from your own business ? ”

“Not a word more, Mrs. Elliott. I am then to consider myself your lawyer, and you may send everybody to me who comes to worry you.”

“ Then, Mr. Merton, I can only say this : that there is no one in whom I can have more confidence than in yourself. I know that you will do the best you can for us.”

“ I will deal with you as I would with my own wife and children,” he said. “ I fear there is but little left for you, from my knowledge of my friend’s affairs; but — ” “Let us know the worst at once,” my mother said, calmly. “ It will be a change, I know; but Sidney and I would rather know at once what we are to expect. ’ ’

“I will not keep you in suspense. You shall see me again in a few days.”

So the conversation ended.

Chapter III. Plans For The Future

I HAD scarcely recognized my mother for the past few days. She was one of those gentle, clinging characters who seem to need some stronger mind to rest upon ; but of late she had roused herself to think and speak for us both. It increased greatly my admiration for her.

I had always loved my mother ; but I fairly idolized my father. My disposition was like his, as were my traits, which may have been partly the reason. But how common a thing it is that the daughters best love the father, while the sons’ warmest affection is lavished on the mother ! She is proud of her sons ; he most loves his daughters. She sees in the boys their father’s youth renewed ; in- the girls he finds again the charm by which their mother won him.

In the next few days, however, I found that, as I began to regain my usual tranquillity, my mother more and more leant upon me. Her stay being removed, I was now to take its place. It was only her love for me, her wish to spare me at first, that had urged her to exertions so much at variance with her character; and, in my full appreciation of this, I vowed silently that I would henceforth, so far as lay in my power, render her future path smooth.

Mr. Merton came at last. We had both feared to see him ; for on his words depended our future. He did not keep us long in suspense.

“I have only a few minutes to spare this morning,”

SIDNEY ELLIOTT . .

he said; “but I thought you would like to know the state of your affairs.”

And, in words as gentle as the truth would allow, he told us.

There was very little left for us — a thousand dollars in the bank, the house we lived in, and a small cottage in the suburbs, the rent of which was perhaps sixty dollars a year. That was all.

“Fortunately, Mrs. Elliott, there are no debts — not a penny owing to anybody in the world.”

“And we are alone in the world ! ”

I could not help the remark.

“ Have you no relatives? ”

“None at all,” my mother replied. “My husband was an only child, and. I was an orphan.”

“I scarcely know what to advise you to do,” he resumed, after a pause. “There is John’s library, to be sure. ’ ’

My father’s medical library, to which he alktded, was a large and valuable one, collected at great expense.

“ I will not part with that,” my mother said, coolly.

“I beg your pardon,” Mr. Merton replied. “Of course I only spoke in a business point of view ; and, perhaps, you had best keep it. Sidney may follow her mother’s example.”

“ I don’t intend to marry,” I said.

“Nonsense, my dear. I hope you will marry, and that right soon. You’ll find it infinitely more agreeable to have somebody to work for you than to have to work for yourself.”

There was a pause. He turned to my mother. “ Let me know your plans, and I will further them to the best of my ability.” And before we could thank him he was gone.

SIDNEY ELLIOTT.

“So we are dependent on our own exertions,” I said, at last. “ It is a pleasant prospect for us.”

“ It might have been worse, Sidney.”

“I don’t care for myself, mother,” I said; “but it will be so hard for you. ’ ’

“ My dear, I know all about it.”

For in her youth she had passed through that living slavery — the business of a governess — overworked and underpaid, till my father, meeting her in the sick-room of one of her pupils, fell in love with, and married her.

“ There is one thing certain,” I said, at last; “that is, we have not enough to live upon, and we must do something for our support. ’ ’

“Whatever we do,” my mother said, thoughtfully, “I don’t want to sell this house. We will keep it, if we can.”

“Sell our home!” I replied, hastily. “Mother, I would 'work my fingers to the bone sooner than see it pass into the hands of strangers.”

“It would be very painful to me,” she answered. “Here I came a bride, here my children were, born, and here my married life was spent. ’ ’

“And my whole life,” I added. “Mother, have we no one to look to now ? ’ ’

“No one in the world,” she replied. “Your father was an only child, and my only brother ran away to sea when only fifteen, and has never been heard of since. ’ ’

“ If he would only come home with a fortune, as uncles always do in books, it would end all our difficulties. But as it is — ”

“We must find ways to live.”

So we came back to our starting point. What we were to do, and what we could do, were to be considered. I

SIDNEY ELLIOTT.

J 3 would not listen to my mother’s plan of taking boarders. “ You are not fit for it, mother dear ; and we would have no privacy in our home.”

Neither would she agree to my wish to become a daily governess. “ Not with my consent, Sidney. I know too well what that life is, to expose my only child to it. ’ ’

“ We would starve at sewing. Stay ! ” as my eye fell on my piano, silent of late ; “the mystery is solved; I will give music lessons.”

It was my one talent. My taste for music had early displayed itself, and I had cultivated it with the advantages of the best instruction. Even as a child, I could have no dearer reward than to be allowed to sit and listen to my mother’s playing. She was but a passable performer. But so soon as my hands were strong enough to touch the piano, almost before I could read, I had insisted upon learning ; and from that time every moment I could, I spent at the piano. Love of the art, ambition, and the assistance of good teachers, are strong incentives, and the consequence was, that by the time I was eighteen, I was a very fair performer, and my teachers gave me every encouragement to proceed, telling me that, with practice, I would, in time, /equal the best amateurs in the country.)

“You will find it a hard life, Sidney.”

“It is the only opening I see before me, mother.”

And the more I thought of it, the more determined I became to carry out my intentions. My duty it seemed to be, and though I shrank from the drudgery — from the torture to which I knew my musical ear would be exposed — I felt I could earn my living by it.

“So, mother,” I said, after a long discussion on the subject, “we need say no more. My path is plain be-

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fore me, and you will see what a nice little income we shall soon have.”

“Provided you find the pupils, Sidney.”

“ Pupils, mother! I expect to be overrun with them! I’ll get a recommendation from my old teacher, Mr. Powers; and then, armed with that, I’ll go round among our friends. Sidney Elliott against the wprld, and you ’ll see if I don’t succeed.”

“I hope you may, my child.”

“Of course I will, mother. I have youth, health, and strength, three powerful adjuncts; and, as you know, I pretend to no beauty. No careful mother need object to employing me, lest her sons might, by some mishap, fall in love with their sister’s music-teacher.”

I glanced at the mirror over the mantel as I spoke. My words were true enough; I had no claim to. beauty. I saw a figure reflected there, about the middle height, slight, yet healthful, a low brow, crowned with heavy braids of black hair, a pale complexion, and irregular features, only redeemed from positive homeliness by a pair of large black eyes and a good set of teeth. . My heavy black draperies were singularly unbecoming, for I needed bright colors, and till now had always worn them ; and I turned, with a half sigh, from the reflection before me.

But my mother, I thankfully perceived, had mot seen my look, nor heard the sigh. She sat, wearily leaning in her chair, gazing into the fire. But I noticed, for the first time, how frail and delicate she looked.

With the resolution that in the future she should know no care I could keep from her, I pressed a kiss on her brow, and, drawing a chair to the table, sat down to my desk to write my letter to Mr. Powers.

Chapter IV. A Beginning

I HAD not long to wait for Mr. Powers’ answer. It came almost immediately. After expressing astonishment at my plans, and giving me the recommendation I desired, he went on to say :

“I am sorry indeed to hear that circumstances have • rendered this necessary ; but I have no doubt of your success. Were you here, I could procure you, through my own business connection, as many pupils as you could desire ; and it probably would be the very best thing you could feo to remove to our city. I judge, however, from your letter, that you wish to remain where you are ; and if so, I give you full permission to make use of my name in any way you may consider most advantageous to yourself. And if at any time you desire to change your location, come here, and I will do what I can for you.”

“ Good for you, Mr. Powers ! ” was my rather unladylike exclamation, as I replaced the letter in its envelope. And so soon as breakfast was over — the postman always came before that meal — I equipped myself in bonnet and cloak, and departed, as I told my mother, to seek my fortunes.

Cheerfully though I had spoken, I was sad enough at heart. If it be only “the first step which is hard,” our 4 ‘ first-step ’ ’ was already taken. All our servants, with one solitary exception, had been dismissed. The one we retained, though strong and willing, was young and inexperienced ; but the difference between the wages paid her 3 2 5

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and those demanded by an older and better domestic, was a serious consideration to us in the reduced condition of our finances.

Still this, though a decided acknowledgment of our poverty — how I hated the word! — did not concern the public, as did my present resolution. My pride, and I had my fair share of that quality, was up in arms against letting the world know we were no longer independent of it. I had never before cared for public opinion, never made any special effort to please or to conciliate. My home and my parents had been all-sufficient to me ; their praise, their approbation, all I cared for; and knowing, as I did, that my name was rarely mentioned without the addition of the epithet “proud,” and that many — such is the unkindness of the human heart — would rejoice in what they would call my humiliation, for so I myself felt it, it is not surprising that I started on my expedition, necessary though I knew it to be, most reluctantly.

It was the first time I had been out. I had not even been to church ; for I had shrunk from meeting the many glances which I knew would be cast upon me. A morbid feeling had kept me from meeting any of the friends who had visited us, save Mr. Merton, and it was to his house I was now bound.

Before I had walked two squares, the bracing, cold air, for it was a calm winter day, late in December, had its usual exhilarating effect on me. I trod with a lighter step over the crisp snow, and held myself more erect as I drank in the pure air, stimulating and strengthening me, sending the blood tingling through every vein; so that when I reached Mr. Merton’s door, after my half-hour’s brisk walk, I felt like a different being from the dispirited, cheerless girl who had left her own home not many moments before.

SIDNEY ELLIOTT .

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My spirits had always been singularly dependent on atmospheric influences. The warm, sultry days of summer oppressed me;, the rain of that season irritated me. But with the first breath of autumn all languor vanished — life was strong within me ; I braved all weathers, and no day was too cold, no snow sufficient to detain me indoors. If I could not enjoy my usual promenade, from which the pouring winter rains, common in our latitude, at times debarred me, I would throw a shawl round me, and walk up and down the porch of our house rapidly, until I was all aglow with the exercise.

So it was well for me that this day, my day of first bending my shoulders to the yoke of labor, should be clear and bright; for had it been otherwise, I fear that, like the ancient Romans, I might have deemed it an evil augury, and been superstitious enough, like them, to await a more fitting season.

I met with a warm welcome from Mr. and Mrs. Merton. I have already described him. She was a sweet, motherly woman, not her husband’s equal in intellect ; for, though gifted with that rare thing, practical common sense, she was not clever ; but in all kind thoughts, all sweet, womanly kindnesses, a fitting mate for him.

“You are a brave girl, Sidney,” Mr. Merton said, approvingly, as I rapidly detailed my plans to him, ending by showing him Mr. Powers’ letter and an advertisement I had hastily written before leaving home. “Under the circumstances, it is the best thing you can do — ”

“We need a good teacher in town,” Mrs. Merton interrupted. “Sidney will soon have her choice of scholars, and first on her list I will put our Carrie.”

I thanked her warmly.

SIDNEY ELLIOTT.

“ How are you to get your other pupils?” Mr. Merton asked.

“I thought of going among our friends.”

“You will do nothing of the kind. Don’t begin by making yourself cheap, Sidney. Let people think you are doing them a favor; in short, show you feel your own value ; and, my word for it, you will have more pupils than you can manage.”

“ Then I need only attend to my advertisement? ”

“I’ll see to that for you. A newspaper office is not a very pleasant place for a young lady to visit.”

“And my advice is this, Sidney,” Mrs. Merton interposed; “ ask a fair price at once for your lessons. You had better have ten pupils at a fair rate than twenty at a lower. ’ ’

I laughed. “ My reputation is yet to be made.”

“ But, my dear girl, you are fully competent, and why should you slave yourself to death ? ’ ’

“ My wife is right, Sidney,” Mr. Merton said to me. “You want a reasonable income, and there is no reason in the world why you should not have it. ’ ’

“ I hope I am not unreasonable,” I said; “ but I want to earn enough for my mother and myself. She is too delicate to work; and you know,” I continued, trying to smile, “ I must take my father’s place with her.”

“True,” Mr. Merton said, thoughtfully; “yours is the stronger nature.”

We talked the matter over thoroughly. At last I got up to leave. Mrs. Merton insisted on my remaining to dinner.

“ Impossible ! My mother is alone.”

“I had forgotten that. Go, Sidney; I will not detain you.”

I lingered a few moments to settle the hours for Carrie’s lessons, and then started for home.

SIDNEY ELLIOTT.

My walk home was more cheerful than the walk an hour or two before had proved. It was a great relief to my mind to find that our friends approved' of my intentions, and Mr. Merton’s advice, soothing as it did my own proud feelings, was decidedly satisfactory.

“Mother,” I said, when the evening paper was brought in, “I ’m afraid I shall shock some of our good people.”