"JUST look at them young lovers," said Harry Mears, glancing fromhis companion to a young man and maiden, who, for the momentunconscious that they were in the midst of a large company, wereleaning towards each other, and looking into each other's faces inrather a remarkable manner. "Isn't it ridiculous? I thought Fisherhad more sense than to do so. As to Clara Grant, she always was alittle weak."
The friend looked at the couple an smiled. "It is ridiculous,certainly," he remarked. "Why haven't they sense enough to keep theselittle love-passages for private occasions?"
"Clara, with all her silliness used to be a right pleasantcompanion," said Mears. "But since this love affair between her andFisher, she has become intolerably dull and uninteresting. Shedoesn't care a fig for anybody but him, and really appears to thinkit a task to be even polite to an old acquaintance. I don't thinkshe has cause to be quite so elated with her conquest as this comesto; nor to feel that, in possessing the love of a man like Fisher,she is independent of the world, and may show off the indifferenceshe feels to every one. Fisher is clever enough, but he is neither aSocrates nor a saint."
"He will suit her very well, I imagine."
"Yes; they will make a passable Darby and Joan, no doubt. Still, italways vexes me to see people, who pretend to any sense, acting inthis way."
"I think it is more her fault than his."
"So do I. She has shown a disposition to bill and coo from thefirst. At Mangum's party, last week, she made me sick. I tried toget her hand for a dance, but no. Close to the side of Fisher sheadhered, like a fixture, and could hardly force her lips into asmile for any one else. The gipsy! I'd punish her for all this, if Icould just hit upon a good plan for doing it."
"Let me see," remarked the friend, dropping his head into athoughtful position, "can't we devise a scheme for worrying her alittle? She is certainly a fair subject. It would be fine sport."
"Yes, it would."
"She evidently thinks Fisher perfection."
"Oh, yes! There never was such a man before! She actually said toCaroline Lee, who was trying to jest with her a little, that Fisherwas one of the most pure-minded, honourable young men living."
"Oh, dear."
"It is a fact."
"Was she serious?"
"Yes, indeed! Serious as the grave. Caroline was laughing to meabout it. Nearly every one notices the silliness of her conduct, andthe weakness she displays in forever talking about and praisinghim."
"I would like to run him down a little when she could overhear me,just for the fun of the thing."
"So would I. Capital! That will do, exactly. We must watch anopportunity, and if we can get within earshot of her, any time thatshe is by herself, we must abuse Fisher right and left, withoutappearing to notice that she is listening to what we say, or,indeed, anywhere near us."
"Right! That's the very thing. It will be capital fun."
Thus, the thoughtless young men, meddling themselves in a matterthat did not concern them, determined upon a very questionable pieceof folly. All that they said of the lovers was exaggeration. It wastrue that they did show rather more preference for each other incompany than just accorded with good taste; but this, while itprovoked a smile from the many, irritated only the few.
Clara Grant, notwithstanding the light manner in which the two youngmen had spoken of her, was a girl of good sense, good principles,and deep feeling, She had been several times addressed by young menbefore Fisher offered his hand; but, with all their attractions,there were defects about them, which her habits of close observationenabled her to see, that caused her to repel their advances, and intwo instances to decline apparently very advantageous offers ofmarriage. In the integrity of Fisher's character, she had the mostunbounded confidence; and she really believed, as she had said toCaroline Lee and others, that he was one of the purest-minded, mosthonourable young men living.
Judge, then, with what feelings she overheard, about half an hourafter the plan to disturb her peace had been formed, the followingconversation between Mears and his companion, carried on in lowtones and in a confidential manner. She was sitting close to oneside of the folding-doors that communicated between the parlours,and they were in the adjoining room, concealed from her by thehalf-partition, yet so close that every word they uttered wasdistinctly heard. Her attention was first arrested by hearing one ofthem say--
"If she knew Fisher as well as I do."
To which the other responded--
"Yes; or as well as I do. But, poor girl! it isn't expected that sheis to know every thing about young men who visit her. It is betterthat she should not."
"Still, I am rather surprised that common report should not havegiven her more information about Fisher than she seems to possess."
"So am I. But she'll know him better one of these days."
"I'll warrant you that! Perhaps to her sorrow; though I hope thingswill turn out differently from what they now promise. Don't youthink he is pretty well done with his wild oats?"
"Possibly. But time will tell."
"Yes, time proves all things."
Some one joining the young men at this point of their conversation,the subject was changed. Greatly amused at what they had done, theylittle thought how sad the effects of their unguarded words wouldbe.
Five minutes afterwards, the young man named Mears, curious to seehow Clara had been affected by what he knew she must have heard,moved to another part of the room, in order to observe her withoutattracting her attention. But she had left the place where she wassitting. His eye ranged around the room, but she was nowhere to beseen.
"I'm afraid we've hurt Clara more than we intended," he said,rejoining his friend. "She has vanished."
"Ah! Where's Fisher?"
"He's at the other end of the room."
"We didn't say any thing against the young man."
"Not in particular. We made no specifications. There was nothingthat she could take hold of."
"No, of course not. But I wonder what is going to be the upshot ofthe matter?"
"Nothing very serious, I apprehend."
"No. I suppose she will go home and cry her eyes half out, and thenconclude that, whatever Fisher may have been, he's perfection now.It's a first-rate joke, isn't it?"
Clara Grant had not only left the parlours, but soon after quietlyleft the house, and alone returned to her home. When her lover,shortly afterwards, searched through the rooms for her, she wasnowhere to be seen.
"Where is Clara?" he asked of one and another. The answer was--
"I saw her here a moment since."
But it was soon very apparent that she was nowhere in the rooms now.Fisher moved about uneasy for half an hour. Still, not seeing her,he became anxious lest a sudden illness had caused her to retirefrom the company. More particular inquiries were made of the ladywho had given the entertainment. She immediately ascertained for himthat Clara was not in the house. One of the servants reported that alady had gone away alone half an hour before. Fisher did not remaina single moment after receiving this intelligence, but went directto the house of Clara's aunt, with whom she lived, and thereascertained that she had come home and retired to her room withoutseeing any of the family.
His inquiry whether she were ill, the servant could not answer.
"Have you seen anything of Clara yet?" asked the friend of Mears,with a smile, as they met about an hour after they had disturbed thepeace of a trusting, innocent-minded girl, "just for the fun of it."
"I have not," replied Mears.
"Where's Fisher?"
"He is gone also."
"Ah, indeed! I'm sorry the matter was taken so seriously by theyoung lady. It was only a joke."
"Yes. That was all; and she ought to have known it."
On the next day, Fisher, who had spent a restless night, called toask for Clara as early as he could do so with propriety.
"She wishes you to excuse her," said the servant, who had taken uphis name to the young lady.
"Is she not well?" asked Fisher.
"She has not been out of her room this morning. I don't think she isvery well."
The young man retired with a troubled feeling at his heart. In theevening he called again; but Clara sent him word, as she had done inthe morning, that she wished to be excused.
In the mean time, the young lady was a prey to the most distressingdoubts. What she had heard, vague as it was, fell like ice upon herheart. She had no reason to question what had been said, for it was,as far as appeared to her, the mere expression of a fact made inconfidence by friend to friend without there being an object inview. If any one had come to her and talked to her after thatmanner, she would have rejected the allegations indignantly, andconfidently pronounced them false. But they had met her in a shapeso unexpected, and with so much seeming truth, that she was left noalternative but to believe.
Fisher called a third time; but still Clara declined seeing him. Onthe day after this last attempt, he received a note from her inthese, to him, strange words:--
"DEAR SIR:--Since I last met you, I have become satisfied that amarriage between us cannot prove a happy one. This conclusion is farmore painful to me than it can possibly be to you. You, I trust,will soon be able to feel coldly towards her whose fickleness, asyou will call it, so soon led her to change her mind; but alife-shadow is upon my heart. If you can forget me, do so, injustice to yourself. As for me, I feel that--but why should saythis? Charles, do not seek to change the resolution I have taken,for you cannot; do not ask for explanations, for I can give none.May you be happier than I can ever be! Farewell.
"CLARA."
"Madness!" exclaimed Charles Fisher, as he crumpled this letter inhis hand. "Is there no faith in woman?"
He sought no explanation; he made no effort to change herresolution; he merely returned this brief answer--
"Clara, you are free."
It was quickly known among the circle of their friends that theengagement between Fisher and Clara had been broken off. Mears andhis friend, it may be supposed, did not feel very comfortable whenthey heard this.
"I didn't think the silly girl would take it so seriously," remarkedone to the other.
"No; it was a mere joke."
"But has turned out a very serious one."
"I guess they'll make it up again before long."
"I hope so. Who would have believed it was in her to take the matterso much at heart, or to act with so much decision and firmness? Ireally think better of the girl than I did before, although I pityher from my heart."
"Hadn't we better make an effort to undo the wrong we have done?"
"And expose ourselves? Oh, no! We must be as still as death on thesubject. It is too serious an affair. We might get ourselves intotrouble."
"True. But I cannot bear to think that others are suffering from anact of mine."
"It is not a pleasant consciousness, certainly. But still, toconfess what we have done would place us in a very awkward position.In fact, not for the world would I have an exposure of this littleact of folly take place. It would affect me in a certainquarter--where, I need not mention to you--in a way that might beexceedingly disagreeable."
"I didn't think of that. Yes, I agree with you that we had best keepquiet about it. I'm sorry; but it can't be helped now."
And so the matter was dismissed.
No one saw Clara Grant in company for the space of twelve months.When she did appear, all her old friends were struck with the greatchange in her appearance. As for Fisher, he had left the city somemonths before, and gone off to a Southern town, where, it was said,he was in good business.
The cause of estrangement between the lovers remained a mystery toevery one. To all questions on the subject, Clara was silent. Butthat she was a sufferer every one could see.
"I wish that girl would fall in love with somebody and get married,"Mears remarked to his friend, about two years after they had passedoff upon Clara their good joke. "Her pale, quiet, suffering facehaunts me wherever I go."
"So do I. Who could have believed that a mere joke would turn out soseriously?"
"I wonder if he is married yet?"
"It's doubtful. He appeared to take the matter quite as hard as shedoes."
"Well, it's a lesson to me."
"And to me, also."
And, with this not very satisfactory conclusion, the two friendsdropped the subject. Both, since destroying, by a few words spokenin jest, the happiness of a loving couple, had wooed and won themaidens of their choice, and were now married. Both, up to thistime, had carefully concealed from their wives the act of which theyhad been guilty.
After returning home from a pleasant company, one evening, at whichClara was present, the wife of Mears said to him--
"You did not seem to enjoy yourself to-night. Are you not well?"
"Oh, yes; I feel quite well," returned Mears.
"Why, then, did you look so sober?"
"I was not aware that I looked more so than usual."
"You did, then. And you look sober now. There must be some cause forthis. What is it, dear?"
Mears was by no means ignorant of the fact that he felt sober. Thepresence of Clara distressed him more, instead of less, the oftenerhe met her. The question of his wife made him feel half inclined totell her the truth. After thinking for a moment, he said--
"I have felt rather graver than usual to-night. Something brought tomy recollection, too vividly, a little act of folly that has beenattended with serious consequences."
His wife looked slightly alarmed.
"It was only a joke--just done for the fun of the thing; but it wastaken, much to my surprise, seriously. I was innocent of any desireto wound; but a few light words have made two hearts wretched."
Mrs. Mears looked at her husband with surprise. He continued--
"You remember the strange misunderstanding that took place betweenClara Grant and young Fisher, about two years ago?"
"Very well. Poor Clara has never been like herself since that time."
"I was the cause of it."
"You!" said the wife, in astonishment.
"Yes. Clara used to make herself quite conspicuous by the way sheacted towards Fisher, with whom she was under an engagement ofmarriage. She hardly saw anybody in company but him. And, besides,she made bold to declare that he was about as near to perfection asit was possible for a young man to come. She was always talkingabout him to her young female friends, and praising him to theskies. Her silly speeches were every now and then reported, much tothe amusement of young men to whose ears they happened to find theirway. One evening, at a large party, she was, as usual, anchored bythe side of her lover, and showing off her fondness for him inrather a ridiculous manner. A young friend and myself, who wererather amused at this, determined, in a thoughtless moment, that wewould, just for the fun of the thing, run Fisher down in aconfidential undertone to each other, yet loud enough for her tohear us, if a good opportunity for doing so offered. Before long, wenoticed her sitting alone in a corner near one of the folding-doors.We managed to get near, yet so as not to appear to notice her, andthen indulged in some light remarks about her lover, mainly to theeffect that if his sweetheart knew him as well as we did, she mightnot think him quite so near perfection as she appeared to do.Shortly afterwards, I searched through the rooms for her in vain.From that night, the lovers never again met. Clara refused to seeFisher when he called on her the next day, and shortly afterwardsrequested him, in writing, to release her from hermarriage-contract, without giving any reason for her change ofmind."
"Henry," exclaimed Mrs. Mears, her voice and countenance expressingthe painful surprise she felt, "why did you not immediately repairthe wrong you had done?"
"How could I, without exposing myself, and causing perhaps a seriouscollision between me and Fisher?"
"You should have braved every consequence," replied Mrs. Mears,firmly, "rather than permitted two loving hearts to remain severed,when a word from you would have reunited them. How could you havehesitated a moment as to what was right to do? But it may not be toolate yet. Clara must know the truth."
"Think what may be the consequence," said Nears.
"Think, rather, what have been the consequences," was the wife'sreply.
It was in vain that Mears argued with his wife about the policy ofletting the matter rest where it was. She was a woman, and couldonly feel how deeply Clara had been wronged, as well as thenecessity for an immediate reparation of that wrong. For more thanan hour, she argued the matter with her husband who finallyconsented that she should see Clara, and correct the serious errorunder which she had been labouring. Early on the next day, Mrs.Mears called upon the unhappy girl. A closer observation of her facethan she had before made revealed deep marks of suffering.
"And all this 'for the fun of it!'" she could not help saying toherself with a feeling of sorrow. After conversing a short time withClara, Mrs. Mears said--
"I heard something, last night, so nearly affecting your peace, thatI have lost no time in seeing you."
"What is that?" asked Clara, a flush passing over her face.
"Two years ago, you were engaged in marriage to Mr. Fisher?"
Clara made no reply, but the flush faded from her face and her lipsquivered slightly for a moment.
"From hearing two persons who were conversing about him makedisparaging remarks, you were led to break off that engagement."
The face of Clara grew still paler, but she continued silent.
"By one of them, I am authorized to tell you that all they said wasin mere jest. They knew you could hear what they said, and made theremarks purposely for your ear, in order to have a little sport.They never dreamed of your taking it so seriously."
A deep groan heaved the bosom of Clara; her head fell back, and herbody drooped nervelessly. Mrs. Mears extended her hands quickly andsaved her from falling to the floor.
"This, too, 'for the fun of it!'" she said to herself, bitterly, asshe lifted the inanimate body of the poor girl in her arms, and laidit upon the sofa.
Without summoning any of the family, Mrs. Mears made use of everyeffort in her power to restore the circle of life. In this she wasat last successful. When the mind of Clara had become again active,and measurably calm, she said to her--
"It was a cruel jest, and the consequences have been most painful.But I trust it is not yet too late to repair the wrong thus done,although no compensation can be made for the suffering to which youhave been subjected."
"It is too late, Mrs. Mears--too late!" replied Clara, in a mournfulvoice.
"Say not so, my dear young friend."
But Clara shook her head.
It was in vain that Mrs. Mears strove earnestly to lift up herdrooping heart. The calmness with which she had been able to bearthe destruction of all her hopes, because there had seemed anadequate cause for the sacrifice she had made, was all gone now.There had been no adequate cause for the sacrifice. Her lover was asexcellent and honourable as she at first believed him to be, and shehad cast him off on the authority of a heartless jest. To all thather friend could say, she had but one reply to make--
"It is too late now!"
"Not too late, I trust," said Mr. Mears, a good deal disturbed byhis wife's relation of her interview with Clara. "I must ascertainwhere Fisher is, and write to him on the subject. Did she say anything that led you to believe that she recognised the voices of thepersons whom she heard conversing? Do you think she suspects me inthe matter?"
"I do not think she does."
"So much the better."
The effect upon Clara of the information she had received was veryserious. Deeply as she had been afflicted, the consciousness ofhaving done right in refusing to marry a man who was destitute, asshe had accidentally discovered, of virtuous principles, sustainedher. But now it was revealed to her that he was as excellent as shehad at first believed him, and that she had been made the victim ofa pleasant joke! There was no longer any thing to hold her up, andaccordingly her spirits completely forsook her, and in less than twoweeks she was seriously ill.
The news of this deeply disturbed Mr. Mears, who had written toFisher, and was waiting impatiently for an answer.
"I am afraid we have made the matter worse," he said to his wife,who, on returning from a visit to Clara, reported that, so far fromimproving, she was too evidently sinking, daily. "If Fisher shouldhave entered into another engagement, or, if his pride has takenfire at being thrown off on what may appear to him such slightgrounds, I really tremble for the consequences."
"Let us hope for the best," returned Mrs. Mears, "as we have actedfor the best. It was plainly our duty to do as we have done. On thatsubject I have no doubt."
Two more weeks of painful suspense and anxiety passed. Clara did notimprove in the least. Mrs. Mears called to see her every few days,but dared not venture to tell her that her husband had written toFisher. She was afraid to fill her mind with this hope, lest itshould fail, and the shock prove too severe. But, even as it was,life seemed to be rapidly ebbing away.
At length there came a change. Nature rallied, and life, flowed,though feebly still, in healthier currents through the veins ofClara Grant. In a week from the time this change took place, she wasable to leave her bed and set up for a few hours each day. But allwho looked into her young face were grieved at the sight. There wereno deep lines of distress there, but the marks of patient, yethopeless suffering.
One day, she sat alone, in a dreamy, musing state, with a book lyingupon her lap. She had been trying to read, but found it impossibleto take any interest in the pages over which her eyes passed, whileher mind scarcely apprehended the sense. Some one opened the door;but she did not look around. The person, whoever it was, remainedonly for a moment or two, and then withdrew. In a little while thedoor opened again, and some one entered and came towards her withthe tread of a man. She started to her feet, while her heart gave asudden bound. As she turned, her eyes fell upon the form of her longabsent lover. For an instant, perhaps longer, she looked into hisface to read it as the index of his heart, and then she layquivering on his bosom.
A few weeks later, Clara became the bride of Charles Fisher, andleft with him for the South. Neither of them ever knew the authorsof the wrong they had suffered. It was better, perhaps, that in thisthey should remain ignorant.
So much "for the fun of it."
THE END.
* * * * * * * * * * * *