Huberts Wife | Page 6

him. We will assert, however, that had we
been Madam Jerusha Thornton Rush, our first business would have
been to engage him a black suit at the tailor's; but not a bottle of hair
dye. We believe in adhering to nature, though insisting that nature can
be much assisted, particularly in the matter of dress.
Duncan Lisle had naught for which to reproach himself. He had never
made love to Miss Thornton, or given her reason for believing himself
otherwise than indifferent. It had, however, been to him a source of
uneasiness, this very knowledge of her unmistakable partiality for him.
Of this he was quite relieved at news of her marriage, which news he
received, with a bountiful supply of bridal cake, as soon as possible
after the ceremony. He chewed his cake and sweet fancies of Ellice
together. A week later, Mrs. Rush threw his wedding cake to the dogs,

her own bitter fancies being sufficient for her to consume.
Faithful memory is on a race to-night, and she hurries Duncan Lisle
from the beautiful picture of Ellice, his bride, over ground of a year or
two, to that other picture, no less dear, that of Ellice, the mother of his
child. The rose has paled a little in her cheek, but the love-light is in her
eye; and can he ever, ever forget how, though he never called himself a
Christian, his heart almost burst with thanksgiving to God when he
clasped in his arms his world, his all--wife and child!
Three years from the other wedding, and another takes place at
Kennons. Philip St. Leger has finished his course at Princeton, and
come to take away his long-promised bride. The first wedding had been
altogether joyous; this second was saddened and sorrowful. Della had
become the wife of a missionary, and was to go at once to New York,
taking ship thence to Turkey.
The cruel separation had come then at length to the tried and true
friends; it might, nay, probably would, be forever in this world.
In the light of memory, Duncan beholds his sister for the last time. She
is very dear to him, one only more dear. He turns to comfort Ellice; but
Ellice, brave, heroic, crushes down her grief to comfort him.
With Della gone, the wife appears alone in the succeeding years. Alone,
but ever bright and shining, whether amid her ebony domestics, or
enthroned as wife and mother. Patient, cheerful, wise, and kind.
O, Ellice Lisle! model of all womanly virtues! Shall a Cady Stanton
preach to such as thou? How wide with wonder and dismay would open
those frank blue eyes at windy declamations about woman's rights,
woman's freedom, and man's tyranny.
Woman voluntarily assumes the chains of matrimony. Be they of iron
or of silk, the good wife discovereth not; for it is only in an unholy
struggle that they bind and fetter.
Memory was hurrying Duncan Lisle apace to-night; scenes in the last

few years shifted with surprising rapidity; everywhere Ellice was the
centre-piece, her fair, pleasant face beaming from its framework of
brown curls, that were almost ever in perpetual motion from the
frequent toss of the busy little head.
But memory, though faithful, was pitiful, and kept presenting, one after
another, undarkened pictures, full of glow and sunshine; she had not
come down to the last three days of suspense and pain, of agony and
desolation. Ere that cruel curtain of gloom should shut from the
dreamer's eye his pleasant fancies, and with them the dying flames, the
loud barking of dogs, soon succeeded by hurried steps and voices,
aroused the half-conscious master of Kennons to the stern reality of the
present moment.
CHAPTER IV.
PHILIP ST. LEGER.
Duncan Lisle, at once thoroughly aroused, laid his sleeping child upon
the lounge, and then hastily opening the door, which led upon the
veranda, encountered the bronzed face and flashing eyes of his
brother-inlaw, Philip St. Leger. Now this gentleman from Turkey was
not a ghost, nor had he rained down. A staunch ship had brought him
from Constantinople to New York; a week he had spent with his friends
at Troy; the lightning express, then so-called, from the latter city to
Richmond; thence a stage had set him down at Flat-Rock; here, public
conveyance went no farther. The best and only means of transportation
was on horseback. The roads were in too wretched a condition for the
"Bald Eagle's" one rickety carriage to attempt to plough through.
The returned missionary, almost distracted with care and fatigue, made
a virtue of necessity. With black Sam as guide, he set off amid the rain
and darkness for Kennons.
"It were better," he said, mentally, "that I should myself remain until
the morning; but having come so far, so near,