My daughter Elinor. A novel

Chapter I. Where They Met

Clive Farnsworth walked up and down the long stone terrace which lay in the afternoon shadow, witli no companion but liis own thoughts, and society more dreary and dissatisfied lie could not easily have found.

It was a pretty scene that spread before his eyes, if lie had been in a mood to appreciate its charms. The flower-garden swept below the terrace, basking in the June sun ; the green lawn sloped toward the avenue which made a pleasant drive to the road ; the house standing on an eminence gave a fine view of the picturesque valley beyond, dotted with villages and country scats, a beautiful lake in the midst, and the blue mountains shutting in the landscape miles and miles away.

But the desert of Sahara would have presentid as many attractions for him then ; he was j thinking his own dismal thoughts, and refused obstinately to see any thing pleasant even in Nature.

Perhaps you know the mood— Heaven help us, it comes upon most men soon enough after twenty-five. lie was thinking what a poor J wasted thing his life was, how the hopes of his youth had shrunk to nothing in his hands, and how he had lied to his own soul in not having remained true to the dreams and aspirations of that season, lie was twenty-eight years old ; he had lived through the experience of a man double that age, and there was nothing to show ; the sins of earlier years, which like other men he had called follies, pricked now and made the retrospect and the present still more barren.

Not that he was weak or given to crying out at each adverse blow of fate that the world had come to an end, but he was in one of those moods of discouragement and misanthrophy which the strongest must at times endure, uncertain whether to blame himself or life the most.

His new book had been frightfully belabored and picked to pieces in two hemispheres ; he had been insane enough to become a candidate for Congress, and had gone through the disgusting details of an election, and the result had not been agreeable. He took his seat, and to his unbounded wrath and astonishment it was contested, and the case dragged nearly through the long session. He found himself ousted on the ground of his election having been illegal, and heard himself charged with more enormities than ten experienced rogues could commit in as many years, after the pleasant fashion in which political aspirants' characters are treated by our wise statesmen and magnanimous press.

These things of themselves could not have given him a sense of discouragement. He might have been roused to anger and defiance, but he had a strong will and could have found a certain enjoyment in braving the storm and by obstinate effort forcing public opinion to shift again in his favor, hut he was dissatisfied witii his life and at enmity with himself; hence those smarts made their edge felt with a keenness they could not otherwise have possessed.

So he walked up and down the stone terrace, and chafed under his dreary reflections after the manner in which he had spent a goodly portion of the weeks since he returned to his country place.

The people in the neighborhood decided that he was disappointed and misanthropic, and he had the weakness of caring when such things were said; therefore every now and then he forced himself to go out among them and endure the weariness of dinners and picnics and sailing -parties, and similar atrocities which ranked among summer enjoyments, as unfortunately the neighborhood of the lake was a favorite resort during the warm months.

Farnsworth saw one of the grooms leading hisdiorse round to the front entrance, and felt savage with the poor man because he whistled cheerfully and talked kindly to Tempest, magnificently oblivious of the fact that the ignorant fellow's own troubles were certain to be as hard for him to bear as a poet's could be. A gallop along the shadowy roads in the late afternoon would be pleasant at all events, so Farnsworth went out and mounted his horse and rode away down the avenue. Clive endeavored to outstrip his tiresome fancies, and at a sudden turn in the lonely road he had taken, came face to face with two equestrians who had halted where two ways met, apparently uncertain which would lead them least astray in the world.

Farnsworth felt so delightfully uncivil that, though he comprehended their situation at a

MY DAUGHTER ELINOR.

glance, I think his first impulse would have been to spur on and leave them to their own devices, although one of the riders was a lady and the other an elderly gentleman. But the elderly voice exclaimed — s

' ' Why, it's Mr. Farnsworth ! I say, my dear fellow, don't ride us down, but be Quixotic enough to halt a moment."

Clive looked and saw that it was the Honorable Mr. Grey, and wished him in Flanders, uttering words of pleasure at the meeting in the most approved and orthodox manner. He suddenly grew conscious that a pair of large gray eyes were turned upon him with a careless, absent glance, and it became apparent to him that a very stately young woman, who sat her horse like Diana herself, was the owner of those orbs. By this time Mr. Grey had said— "I knew you had a den somewhere near — they were speaking of you at breakfast. We are visiting in the neighborhood." Then recalling his elaborate courtesy— "My daughter Elinor, Mr. Farnsworth."

And Clive bowed, and the eyes, which after that first slow glance of indifference had wandered away to the pretty view, came back and gave him another look not much more interested, and "my daughter Elinor" returned his salutation with grave civility.

"We were uncertain which road to take," Mr. Grey continued. "Knowing the selfishness of human nature, you can imagine how welcome you are."

"Are you. stopping in the village?" Clive asked.

" No, we came last night to visit the Thorntons."

And Clive remembered that he had heard they were coming, and that he was invited to dine at the Thorntons this very day. He said something pretty and proper about his pleasure in welcoming them to the neighborhood, and with the usual brilliancy of masculine natures on such occasions, insinuated a hope that Miss Grey was condescending enough to admire the scenery. The large eyes looked at him again, and the expression had not altered. Clive Farnsworth was not accustomed to such glances from female eyes, certainly not three in succession, and to add to his annoyance, a voice considerably more indifferent than his own answered —

"It is very pretty. I should like it better without the houses and people at every turn."

"My daughter Elinor has a fancy for wild mountain scenery," Mr. Grey said suavely, perhaps to soften her words a little, which might have been susceptible of a double signification.

" A few miles up the valley one finds that," Clive said. " You will think it worth admiring, I am sure, Miss Grey."

"I have no doubt," she replied. "Mrs. Thornton has told me a great deal about her beautiful valley."

"Yes ; she was born here, and so has a right to be enthusiastic."

" Naturally," replied she. "Papa, it is getting late."

"Yes— I forgot it in the pleasure of the meeting. Farnsworth, we shall see you soon ? Oh, by the bye, you are of the dinner-party !" Clive said he should have the pleasure of meeting them at that decorous festivity, and they rode away. As she bowed, Elinor Grey did vouchsafe him one smile, which lighted her face into such beauty that Clive turned his horse homeward with his judgment somewhat mollified. "Upon my word," he thought, c "my daughter Elinor' looks as if nothing mortal were worth a second glance— but she has a beautiful smile."

Even when he reached home Farnsworth remembered that smile, and went up stairs to dress with the accompaniment of an unusual pleasure— an anticipation ; and it is something in this latter half of the nineteenth century to have such a sensation.

It was seven o'clock when he set out, and there being a path through the fields which brought Alban Wood within reasonable distance, Farnsworth bethought him that he could walk instead of getting out his trap. He took the precaution to put on a loose travelling-coat, that he need not make a spectacle of himself for the crows to laugh at by walking through the green lanes in full dress. It was a pretty ramble too, through his own woods, across a broad meadow where the sheep were feeding, and down toward the grove which made the boundary line of the Thorntons' place on that side. Farnsworth found himself the last arrival, and had to endure the glare of all eyes — I speak advisedly, dinner being at hand — as he marched toward his hostess.

" I was in hopes you would be late," said she gayly, "for I should have had an opportunity of scolding you. That does you so much good I would not have cared for the dinner spoiling." "Only some of the guests would have eaten me," returned Farnsworth. "Look at Mrs. Ilackett ! — this is an hour after her usual feeding-time — I am sure she would have devoured me."

" The consequences would have been most fatal to her, you cynic," said Mrs. Thornton.

Farnsworth did his duty by speaking to such people as could not be avoided from their propinquity, and looking about saw Elinor Grey at a distant window pretending to listen to what some man was saying, but in reality looking out through the twilight. She had on a black dress of a thin gauzy material that floated about her like a cloud, with a knot of silver flowers twisted in her auburn hair. She looked so different from any of the other women — Clive concluded that must be the charm. lie had no opportunity to find out, however, for dinner was announced and he saw her led away by their good-natured host, while Mrs. Thornton whispered to him —

" Mrs. Hackett made a special request that you should take her in, so Tom has the pleasure

MY DAUGHTER ELINOR.

of Queen Elinor's company ; be grateful and be agreeable." And with the usual perversity of human nature, Farnsworth straightway felt indisposed to either effort.

At table he found himself nearly opposite Miss Grey, and she acknowledged his presence with another of those regal bows which were enough to annihilate any man ; all the more exasperating because it was evident that indifference rather than pride was the cause. Every body devoured and remained stupid except Mr. Grey, who was the most captivating companion imaginable, and Clive sat fenced in by a heavy girl on one hand and Mrs. Hackett on the other. They both talked to him at once, having a weakness for celebrities. Through the din Clive looked over at Elinor Grey sitting like a fair statue of silence, and thought she seemed placidly amused at his plight. Mrs. Hackett was a golden idol — I mean she was so rich that she might have had a palace like Aladdin's if she had chosen— yet people said that once she had been a milliner's girl and carried a bonnet-box down the Bowery. She was a great woman now, and a determined lion-hunter, and read books— yes, and talked about them. I dare say that her opinions were as valuable as those of her neighbors, only her English was at times original; and though she had learned any quantity of long words, she occasionally twisted them in a marvellous manner both as to pronunciation and meaning.

"Do you admire Miss Grey ?" she whispered. " Of course you do ! Why," they say the Emperor raved over her in Paris, and that Eugenie was quite vexed."

" Oh, of course I admire her," replied Clive, for she had announced the imperial admiration as if that settled the matter for all persons in possession of their senses.

"She is what I call an accidental beauty," pursued Mrs. Hackett.

"Accidental?" quoth Clive, inquiringly. "Yes," replied she, seeming to push her words out like bullets, as she always did when she used long ones. " I say accidental as opposed to oriental, you know."

Clive was delighted, and he hoped that her whisper had been audible to Miss Grey even through the noise, for the champagne had begun to foam, and every body was talking at once ; but the fair face gave no sign.

"The father is charming," continued Mrs. Hackett ; "such manners— a second Richaloo. " Clive was dying to ask if that was any thing like Waterloo, but held his peace. ^ " He adorns his position," said Mrs. Hackett. " I was in Paris while he was ambassador, and it was worth while seeing him there ; his daughter too."

Now the child of Pluto on Clive's other side —I mean the term to apply to her wealth, not her character— claimed his attention and chattered as young women will in all countries, upon every imaginable subject, and Mrs. Hackett joined in till Clive's head was dizzy with the avalanche of remarkable opinions and information concerning every thing under heaven from a description of Noah's ark down to modern spiritualism.

Clive saw Elinor Grey talking pleasantly with Mr. Thornton and the gentleman at her right — smiling at Thornton every now and then, and showing how the proud, still face could flash into beauty, the more desirable because it was not constant, but came rather from the soul than perfection of feature.

Occasionally the talk blended, and it happened that several times Farnsworth and Miss Grey exchanged words and even found an opportunity to differ upon some subject which could not be pursued because Mrs. Hackett grasped the various threads of conversation in her own hands and her voice rode triumphant over all other tones. But a brief difference of opinion is an approach to acquaintance between two persons of the opposite sex, and when the ladies rose from the table Farnsworth watched Miss Grey pass out of the room, and decided that she was not a statue but a woman worth studying, with heart and soul and warm womanly feelings, in spite of the abstracted glances the dreamy eyes gave ordinary mortals, and the firm repose which settled over her mouth when silent.

Mr. Grey moved his chair near, and Farnsworth was glad, because the ex-ambassador was as charming in his after-dinner talk as a human beingcanbe, and besides, " my daughter Elinor " (he never spoke of and seldom to her in any other way) was frequently on his lips. Clive wanted to hear all he could about her, being given to odd conclusions, and having already a feeling that in the diplomatic triumphs of the past years her wit might count for as much as her father's shrewdness.

When they joined the ladies in the drawing-room Farnsworth took possession of an unoccupied seat by Miss Grey, and wisely went back at once to the subject on which they had politely differed at dinner, thereby avoiding the ice of commonplace questions and answers about things of which neither cared a jot, with which newly-introduced people, be they ever so brilliant, are wont to torment themselves and the sharer in the dialogue. And Elinor Grey could talk — when she thought it worth while to take the trouble. She demolished Mr. Farnsworth 's theory with an energy which charmed him, because she flashed into beauty the instant she became excited. It happened that at some sentiment he enunciated she replied —

"Ah, you said that better in your last book ; but it was not true there."

She had read his books — that was something, though as a general thing with the women he met it would have been a relief if they had not read them.

" But you need not belabor that unfortunate offspring," he said, smiling; "it has suffered enough at the hands of the reviewers." . "And so it ought," she replied coolly; "it was not true to yourself."

MY DAUGHTER ELINOR.

His eyes lighted so that she remembered if his "yourself" was as easily flattered as that of most "of the literary men she had known, he would straightway be thinking that here was another devotee at his shrine, another romantic creature who had been making a hero of him. "I believe that was uncivil," said she. "I meant — "

" But it is so pleasant to say what one really thinks, and get a little olV from conventionalities, " returned Olive, suavely.

But she paid no attention. Straightway her eyes looked over him or through him into some dreamy world in which he had no place. That was unendurable! Olive vowed that before many days she should at least stay within reach when he talked.

"Will you tell mc what you meant?" he asked humbly. _

"And so make an enemy of you for life?' returned she, with her beautiful calm smile.

" Oh no! show that you think me worthy of your acquaintance by telling mc the truth." ^

" That would be going back to Arcadian simplicity. But you would only defend yourself, and prove positively that whatever other censures might bo pronounced against your work, mine certainly were unfounded." " It was hastily written—"

" Just what I complain of," said she. "If a story be worth writing at all it is worth writing well ; if not, why begin it ?"

"I think I hardly know whether I consider literature my profession," he said.

" Oh ! then I should write no more books till I was certain it must or ought to be. I don't believe in amateur authors any more than I do in amateur lawyers or physicians."

And one word led to another, till she told him roundly that his book was misanthropic, and that it was weak and youthful to be misanthropic. Finally she softened her strictures with a sweet smile, assured him that he wrote delightfully, and iloatcd away from the subject, rather astonished at herself for the pains she had taken. They talked of all sorts of pleasant things— of Italy, and pictures, and Olive's last visit to Europe, where he ought to have seen Miss Grey, but did not, because she had gone to Rome when he reached Paris. People came and went about her, but Olive kept his seat, and was devoutly thankful when she refused to sing. lie was sure that she had a charming voice, but it was one of his idiosyncrasies to hate women who did opera at parties.

Altogether the evening was the plcasantest Farnsworth had spent in a long time, and he felt that Elinor Grey was a new revelation in the way of womanhood ; bearing with a flutter unsuited to his years Mrs. Thornton's announcement that having once captured her, she would not release her under two months. He learned another thing too— Miss Grey's exact age— and according to our cousins oyer the water, it is a national failing to have a curiosity concerning the length of time every body of our acquaint?

j ancc has trodden this mortal vale. In one of her flittings about them Mrs. Thornton chanced to say that something happened when Elinor | was sixteen. "It was just before you went to Europe," she added. Now Olive knew that Mr. Grey had been ambassador two years at the ! court of St. James, and had gone immediately to France to serve his country for four more. So he did a sum in mental arithmetic, although as a general rule not much better at figures than I myself am, and discovered, since figures can not lie, that " my daughter Elinor " was twentytwo years old.

Mrs. Thornton was very anxious that her favorites should know and like each other ; consequently, with the usual fate of those trying to help people be agreeable, she managed to do the very thing that was wrong, and spoiled the evening for Farnsworth as completely as only a friend attempting to serve you can do.

She had glided up again to see that all was going well, and to refresh herself a moment after the oppressiveness of Mrs. Hackctt. She sat down on a footstool at Elinor's feet, and being young still, and very small and graceful to boot, it was the kind of thing she did well and not too frequently— having that tact without which the prettier the woman the more like a fool she is doomed to act.

They were talking about the Marble Faun, and halted at the Falls of Terni for Mrs. Thornton to recall a pilgrimage she and Elinor had made to them when they were at Rome together. "And here is a sketch of hers," said Mrs. Thornton. " I made her bring a lot of things down stairs to show me this morning— she sketches like an angel. Where is the portfolio, Queen Elinor?"

"I hid it," said Miss Grey, quietly. I didn't choose it to lie here on exhibition."

"And I watched you and brought it back,' returned Mrs. Thornton, laughing merrily. " I did it for vour special benefit, Mr. Farnsworth." " I am your debtor forever," said he. " May I profit, Miss Grey?"

"Just one peep," pleaded Mrs. Thornton.

" He really has eyes."

The matter was too trifling to be teased about, so Elinor allowed Mrs. Thornton to produce the portfolio in triumph from under an ottoman where she had concealed it. " There are only three or four here," said she, ' ' but some day we will make her show you all she has."

Mrs. Thornton turned the sketches over to find the one of which she had spoken, and placed it in Farnsworth's hands. As she drew it out of the portfolio a water-color drawing came with it and fluttered into Elinor's lap. Mrs. Thornton seized it, exclaiming— . . „ " What a lovelv head ! Oh, who is it i "A peasant girl in the south of France,'

Miss Grey answered. , „ • , at,-*

"It looks like an American face, said Mis.

Thornton. , , ,

"Yes," said Miss Grey, "I made the stud) because 'she was the living image of a pretty

MY DAUGHTER ELINOR.

American girl I found once up near the Green Mountains."

Clive Farnsworth was holding the other sketch in his hand, and staring at Miss Grey like a man stupid from the effect of a sudden blow.

" Do look at this," cried Mrs. Thornton, giving him the portrait. "Did you ever sec such a lovely face?"

"My American girl was prettier," said Elinor ; "I wonder what has become of her."

Clive Farnsworth took the drawing Mrs. Thornton offered him. He only gave one glance— the paper fluttered out of his hand and fell again in Miss Grey's lap as if seeking protection.

"How careless you arc!" exclaimed Mrs. Thornton in her pretty, brusque way.

Defending himself from the charge made a diversion, but Farnsworth saw Miss Grey looking at him, and wondered if she had noticed his trembling hand. He felt that his face must be pallid from that sudden sick feeling at his heart. Fortunately Mrs. Ilackett came up at the instant and pounced on the portfolio, so there was no opportunity for any body to notice or think.

But the evening had turned suddenly black to Clive Farnsworth. Mrs. Thornton had sprung the mine in her effort to be agreeable. He remembered that he could not be ridiculous, and rush away like a second Lara with dishevelled hair, so he stood still for a few moments and managed to talk and appear to listen, till Mrs. Hackett's exclamations brought the whole party up to admire Miss Grey's wonderful productions. Then he made his adieus and departed, seeing, as in a dream, Elinor Grey's calm eyes, while through the hurry and blackness of his thoughts Mrs. Hackett's enthusiastic but slightly inappropriate exclamation came up — "Isn't she a second St. Cecilia?" — making him laugh a brief, bitter laugh.

His trap not having arrived, he started off through the fields again, and the quiet silvery night was a new pang, so that altogether he reached home a more miserable man than he had been during the gloom of the past weeks.

Chapter II

mrs. Thornton's generalship.

The next morning the sun came out glorious, and the young day was so beautiful through its veil of golden mist that Clive Farnsworth left a portion of his weary thoughts in his bed-chamber, and took up life with more serenity than had seemed possible during the long watches of that sleepless night.

At breakfast came a message from Mrs. Thornton — he was to allow nothing short of an earthquake to prevent his joining their ridingparty that afternoon. She wanted to show Miss Grey the glen at the head of the valley, and relied upon him to prove his claims to being a genius by aiding her in the pleasant duty, or ever after to hide his diminished head and regard himself in the light of an exposed impostor. This command helped Farnsworth a long way on toward the reaction of spirits which the brightness of the morning had begun. Straightway the regal face rose before him, softened by its rare smile, and Clive again fastened the doors between him and the past.

That is a work at which we spend so much time in this life: we bolt and bar, and when every thing seems secure some ghost flings wide the portals, and there are the long, dreary corridors casting their grim shadows into our banqueting hall, and the cold wind chills us to the bone, withering our garlands, putting out the lights, and making confusion generally.

Farnsworth had secured the doors, and the remembrance of Elinor Grey's smile sent the sunshine across his soul. There were some orders to be given to the gardeners which took him out among the flower-beds ; then the Farmer came and insisted upon his marching off to a field of young wheat, so that the whole morning was spent in the fresh air. By the time he got back from the inspecting tour Clive was ready to sit down on the lawn and smoke a calumet of peace with Destiny under his favorite maple-tree. That is, he thought he was smoking the sour dame into complacency, whereas he was only blotting her from sight and dreaming of new hopes and a world into which she could not possibly enter.

The party were mounting their horses as Clive rode up the avenue of Alban Wood, and he had such cordial greetings from his ally Mrs. Thornton, and a look of such growing acquaintance from Miss Grey, that his horse became a winged Bucephalus at once — such is man.

The Thorntons had several guests besides the Greys ; people whom the hostess charmed with her pretty attentions, and properly abused to Elinor in private for being there at all, after the habit of women in general.

They were all ready, the number increased by a few outsiders, and the array of fine horses and showy traps was good to sec.

Mrs. Thornton was to drive Mr. Grey in her pony-carriage, having a great weakness for his spicy gossip, and 'flirtation with her not going much beyond that in spite of what people said. Farnsworth found himself assigned to Miss Grey by command of the little general.

"You are to make her admire the scenery the whole way," said she. "I will never forgive you if she docs not cotuc back enthusiastic." " All visitors here are forced to be that at the point of the bayonet, Miss Grey," said Clive; "so be prepared."

" I am," she replied. "The garden of Eden was nothing to it— I assert that in advance."

"The worst of it is that the place is really beautiful," said Farnsworth.

"How do you mean the worst?" asked Mr.

Grey.

"Because when one is dragged to see won-

MY DAUGHTER ELINOR.

ders, one likes at least to be revenged by not admiring."

"Monster!" cried Mrs. Thornton, allowing Mr. Grey to hand her into the low carriage. " Now, good people, let us be off. Tom, dear, don't come within a mile of me," she added to her husband. "That horrid horse of yours has a spite at my ponies — he always tries to give them sly kicks."

" She says that to keep me out of her way," quoth honest Tom, who loved the little witch with all his honest soul.

" And it is certain that I shall not miss you," said Mr. Grey, lifting his hat with a bland courtesy which made every body shriek.

Away they went, past the lake, and on up the narrowing road to where the valley was suddenly closed by twin cliffs, through which a mountain brook dashed in a triumphant cascade and fled laughing toward the tranquil lake.

There was no incident. I did not mean to delude you into the belief that some scene was at hand— that Clive rescued Miss Grey from the water-fall ; or that they met face to face an old crone who prophesied impossible things, and made the past clear as a map ; or that a pallid man suddenly started up from behind the rocks, and pointed a spectral finger at Elinor, with a shriek of " 'Tis she!" or that some strange young woman, at sight of Clive, gave three perpendicular bounds into the air, like an India-rubber ball, 'and moaned with Pauline— "My husband!" I am sorry if you are disappointed, but nothing happened; and I can not pretend that there did, being as truthful as George Washington in his youthful days : Miss .Grey did not even wet the point of her balmoral boot in the water-fall ; neither the pallid man nor the mournful female made their appearance. If there were any such persons they were not up to time ; or, what is more probable, were eating a ham-sandwich and having a tranquil flirtation behind the rocks. I have chronicled the expedition because it was the beginning of a knot of such golden days to Clive Farnsworth — the first of his summer idyl— which floated away through heavenly June, and so completely entranced him that he had no space to marvel whither it might lead or to know if he Avere awake or dreaming.