Dora Deane | Page 7

father's yard. It was there I had seen her for the first time, and it was there I would take my final leave. Of the particulars of that interview I remember but little, for I was terribly excited. We never met again, for ere the morrow's daylight dawned, I had left my home forever--"
Then followed a few more words concerning Dora, with a request that she should write to him, as he would thus be able to judge something of her character; and there the letter ended.
For a time there was silence, which was broken at last by Eugenia, whose active mind had already come to a decision. Dora would live with them, of course--it was best that she should, and there was no longer need for dismissing Bridget. The five hundred dollars obviated that necessity, and it was theirs, too--theirs by the way of remuneration for giving Dora a home--theirs to spend as they pleased. And she still intended to have the furs, the pearls, and the silver forks, just the same as though the money had been a special gift to her!
"Suppose Uncle Nat should happen to come home, and Dora should tell him?" suggested Alice, who did not so readily fall in with her sister's views.
"He'll never do that in the world," returned Eugenia. "And even if he should, Dora will have nothing to tell, for she is not supposed to know of the money. If we feed, clothe, and educate her, it is all we are required to do."
"But would that be exactly just?" faintly interposed Mrs. Deane, whose perceptions of right and wrong were not quite so blunted as those of her daughter, who, in answer to her question, proceeded to advance many good reasons why Dora, for a time at least, should be kept in ignorance of the fact that her uncle supported her, and not her aunt.
"We can manage her better if she thinks she is dependent upon us. And then, as she grows older, she will not be continually asking what has become of the money, which, as I understand the matter, is really ours, and not hers."
Still, Mrs. Deane was not quite convinced, but she knew how useless it would be to argue the point; so she said nothing, except to ask how Dora was to get there, as she could not come alone.
"I have it," answered Eugenia. "I have long wished to spend a few days in New York, but that bane of my life, poverty, has always prevented. Now, however, as old Uncle Nat has kindly furnished us with the means, I propose that Alice and I start day after to- morrow, and return on Saturday. That will give us ample time to see the lions and get the city fashions."
"It will cost a great deal for yon both to stay at those large hotels," said Mrs. Deane; and Eugenia replied--
"One hundred dollars will cover all the expense, and pay Dora's fare besides. What is the use of money, if we can't use it? I shall get my furs, and jewelry, and forks while I'm there, so I'd better take along three hundred and fifty dollars, for fear of any accident. We are not obliged to spend it all, of course;" she added, as she saw the look of dismay on her mother's face. "And we can bring back whatever there is left."
For nineteen years Eugenia Deane had been suffered to have her way, and her mother did not like to thwart her now, for her temper was violent, and she dreaded an outbreak; so she merely sighed in reply, and when, on Monday morning, Eugenia started for New York, her purse contained the desired three hundred and fifty dollars, which, after her arrival in the city, was spent as freely as if it really belonged to her, and not to the orphan Dora, who was now staying with Mrs. Grannis, a kind-hearted woman in the same block where her mother had died. The furs were bought, the pearls examined, the forks priced, and then Alice ventured to ask when they were going to find Dora.
"I shall leave that for the last thing," answered Eugenia. "She can't run away, and nobody wants to be bothered with a child to look after."
So for three more days little Dora looked out of the dingy window upon the dirty court below, wishing her aunt would come, and wondering if she should like her. At last, towards the close of Friday afternoon, there was a knock at the door and a haughty- looking, elegantly dressed young lady inquired if a little orphan girl lived there.
"That's her--Aunt Sarah," exclaimed Dora, springing joyfully forward; but she paused and started back, as she met the cold, scrutinizing glance of Eugenia's large black eyes.
"Are you the child