WHAT IS DUTY?
BY ELLEN ASHTON.
"MOTHER, do not ask me," sobbed a weeping girl, clasping her hands and looking up into her parent's face. "Oh ! If you knew my heart, you would see that I am not disobedient. But I cannot love Mr. Bartlettindeed; indeed, I cannot. Death would be more preferable to me than such a union."
"Really, Miss," said the step-mother, "these are fine times when a daughter thus sets at defiance the wishes of a parent. I will not, however, submit to such disobedience. I command you now to prepare for your marriage with Mr. Bartlett," and with these words, she turned to leave the room. But her daughter clung to her robe.
"Oh, mother, dear mother," she said, "retract those dreadful words. Never have I disobeyed any command of yours, but this I cannot obey. If my heart were my own, I might school it perhaps to love even Mr. Bartlett, but I love another and cannot follow your command."
"What!" exclaimed the stepmother, turning on her daughter like an angry tiger. "You dare to love another—to love without my consent!"And though her passion choked her words, she still glared at the trembling and supplicating girl at her feet, shaking her hand at her as if she would strike her. This, then, is the reason you will not have Mr. Bartlett. This is why you refuse wealth and station. Oh ! I have found you out, have I? And who may pray be this fellow? —some wandering music teacher, I suppose, whom you have met at boarding school, for no one but proper persons have I suffered you to associate with since your return."
"It is no wandering music teacher, no improper person," said Mary with a sudden spirit, "but one whose fair name is as unsullied as that of the best and brightest in the land. Nor is he wholly unknown to you. It is with Henry Alford that I have plighted my troth," and as the daughter thus spoke, her eye kindled, her form became erect with conscious pride, and there was a sudden firmness in her tone that contrasted finely with her late supplicating demeanor. For an instant, the stepmother was overawed by this transformation. But she soon recovered from her surprise.
Hoity toity, Miss," she exclaimed, "a pretty pass things have come to when daughters talk this way to their mothers. Henry Alford, indeed! - a poor, starving, unknown physician, who, I dare say, cheats his landlady and washerwoman out of their bills, and who is never heard of in good society! We'll see whether you'll plight your troth to him, a beggardly fortune-hunter who, if he could get your money, wouldn't care how soon he saw you in your grave."
He is no fortune-hunter," indignantly replied Mary, "and for his family, it is as good as our own. If he sought what you call a good society, its doors would be thrown wide open to him. If he is poor, is that a crime? I have enough for both," and then changing her tone and bursting again into tears, for her overwrought feelings would be no longer controlled, she continued, "Oh, dear mother, forgive me if I talk thus, for Henry Alford is the noblest of men, and your own heart will assure you that you wrong him. I learned to love him years ago, when we were both children, and he was yet a ward of my father. I intended to have told you all long ago, but you favored Mr. Bartlett so much that I delayed it from day to day. If you will not consent to my union with Henry," she continued, speaking so rapidly and eagerly that her mother could not interrupt her, "at least do not force me to marry Mr. Bartlett. I can never love anyone but Henry, yet I will promise not to marry him without your consent; only do not compel me to give my hand where I cannot bestow my heart."
"I have heard quite enough," said the mother, speaking in those tones of forced calmness that extreme anger affects, "and now go to your room. We will see who is to conquer. Go, I say."
Mary did not reply but silently left the room, though the hot tears rolled down her cheeks and her tottering steps could scarcely support her, for well, she knew by those calm tones and by the ominous eye of her parents that her fate was decreed and that her mother was inexorable.
While this conversation was going on in the luxurious mansion of Mrs. Swanson, two people sat in a spare but yet decently furnished physician's office in one of the principal streets of the city. The youngest speaker was one whose ample forehead and intelligent eye made him possess more than ordinary intellect. He was on the point of speaking.
"In this emergency, Penrose, I look to you for counsel. You know Mary; you also know how deeply I love her and that the dear girl has promised to be mine. But I fear we will never win the mother's consent, and Mary will never marry without it. I know that Mrs. Swanson has fixed her heart on a union between this
Mr. Bartlett and her daughter, and that everything that can be done will be done to bring about the marriage. But I know the sweet girl at this point will be firm, though her mother's entreaties should change to persecution. Mrs. Swanson, however, for I know her character will say when she learns all that I am a fortune-hunter, and nothing more will be necessary to prove the charge, in the eyes of most persons, than the mere fact that I am poor and Mary is rich. My only heritage is a godname, and shall I sacrifice it, even though innocent?"
"I scarcely know what to advise," replied Penrose, "for though we ought to pay some deference to the world's opinion, yet I should never hesitate to act whenever I thought I was right. Perhaps, in your situation,
