Elsie's New Relations Part 41

Edward exerted himself for the entertainment of his little wife during their drive, and was very tender and careful of her.

On their return, he bade her lie down on the sofa in her boudoir and rest, averring that she looked languid and unlike herself.

"To please you," she said, obeying the mandate with a smiling glance up into his face.

"That's a good child!" he responded, sitting down beside her and smoothing her hair with fond, caressing hand. "Now, what shall I do to please you?"

"Stay here, close beside me, and hold my hand, and talk to me."

"Very well," he answered, closing his fingers over the hand she put into his, then lifting it to his lips. "How your face has changed, love, since that frightened look you gave me when I came in with the lamp last night."

"How frightened and ashamed I was, Ned!" she exclaimed, tears springing to her eyes; "I felt that you had a right to beat me if you wanted to, and I shouldn't have said a word if you'd done it."

"But you couldn't have feared that?" he said, with a pained look, and coloring deeply.

"No, oh, _no, indeed_! I know you would _never_ do that, but I dreaded what you might say, and did not at all expect you would be so kind and forgiving and loving to me.

"But how was I brought up here? I knew nothing from the instant you were at my side on the door-step till I saw you coming in with the lamp."

"In your husband's arms."

"What a heavy load for you to carry!" she said, looking at him with concern.

"No, not at all; I did it with perfect ease, except for the darkness and the fear that you might recover consciousness on the way and scream out with affright before you discovered who your captor was."

"My husband, my dear, kind husband!" she murmured, softly stroking his face as he bent over her to press a kiss upon her forehead.

"My darling little wife," he returned.

Then after a moment's silent exchange of caresses,

"Would you mind telling me where you were going and what you intended to do?" he asked with a half smile.

"I have no right to refuse, if you require a full confession," she said, half playfully, half tearfully, and blus.h.i.+ng deeply.

"I don't require it, but should like to have it, nevertheless; for I confess my curiosity is piqued," he said with an amused, yet tender look and tone.

"There isn't really very much to tell," she sighed, "only that because I was dreadfully unhappy and had worked myself up to believing that I was a hated wife, a burden and annoyance to my husband, I thought it would be an act of n.o.ble self-sacrifice to run away, and--O Ned, please don't laugh at me!"

"I am not laughing, love," he said in soothing, half-tremulous tones, taking her in his arms and holding her close, as he had done the night before. "How could I laugh at you for being willing to sacrifice everything for me? But that's not all?"

"Not quite. It came to me like a flash about the stage pa.s.sing so near at two o'clock in the morning, and that I could get away then without being seen, and after I was in it make up my mind where I would get out."

"And how did you expect to support yourself?"

"There was some money in my purse--you never let it get empty, Ned--and--I thought I wouldn't need any very long."

"Wouldn't? why not?"

"Oh, I was sure, _sure_ I couldn't live long without you," she cried, hugging him close and ending with a burst of tears and sobs.

"You dear, dear little thing!" he said with emotion, and tightening his clasp of her slight form; "after I had been so cruel to you, too!"

"No, you weren't, except in going away without making up and saying good-by."

"It's very generous in you to say it, darling. But how large was this sum of money that you expected to last as long as you needed any?"

"I don't know. I didn't stop to count it. You can do that, if you want to.

I suppose the purse is in my satchel."

He brought the satchel--still unpacked--took out the purse and examined its contents.

"Barely ten dollars," he said. "It would have lasted but a few days, and, my darling, what would have become of you then?"

He bent over her in grave tenderness.

"I don't know, Ned," she replied; "I suppose I'd have had to look for employment."

"To think of you, my little, delicate, petted darling, looking for employment by which to earn your daily bread!" he exclaimed with emotion.

"It is plain you know nothing of the hards.h.i.+ps and difficulties you would have had to encounter. I shudder to think of it all. But I should never have let it come to that."

"Would you have looked for me, Ned?"

"I should have begun the search the instant I heard of your flight, nor ever have known a moment's rest till I found you!" he exclaimed with energy. "But as I came in the stage you purposed to take, I should have met and brought you back, if that fortunate mishap had not taken place."

Then she told him of her thoughts, feelings, and painful antic.i.p.ations while held fast in the relentless grasp of the door, finis.h.i.+ng with, "Oh, I never could have dreamed that it would all end so well, so happily for me!"

"And yet, dear one, I do not think you at all realize how painful--not to say dreadful--would have been the consequences to you, to me, and, indeed, to all the family, if you had succeeded in carrying out what I must call your crazy scheme."

She looked up at him in alarmed inquiry, and he went on, "'Madame Rumor, with her thousand tongues,' would have had many a tale to tell of the cruel abuse to which you had been subjected by your husband and his family--so cruel that you were compelled to run away in the night, taking advantage of the temporary absence of your tyrannical husband; while----"

"O Ned, dear Ned, I never thought of that!" she exclaimed, interrupting him with a burst of tears and sobs. "I wouldn't for the world have wrought harm to you or any of them."

"No, love, I know you wouldn't. I believe your motives were altogether kind and self-sacrificing," he said soothingly; "and you yourself would have been the greatest sufferer; the world judges hardly--how hardly my little girl-wife has no idea; wicked people would have found wicked motives to which to impute your act and caused a stain upon your fair fame that might never have been removed.

"But there, there, love, do not cry any more over it; happily, the whole thing is a secret between us two, and we may now dismiss the disagreeable subject forever.

"But shall we not promise each other that we will never part in anger, even when the separation may not be for an hour? or ever lie down to sleep at night unreconciled, if there has been the slightest misunderstanding or coldness between us?"

"Oh, yes, yes, I promise!" she cried eagerly; "but, oh, dear Ned, I hope we will never, never have any more coldness or quarrelling between us, never say a cross word to each other."

"And I join you, dearest, in both wish and promise."

"I am growing very babyish," she said presently with a wistful look up into his face; "I can hardly bear to think of being parted from you for a day; and I suppose you'll have to be going off again to attend to that business affair?"

"Yes, as soon as I see that my wife is quite well enough to undertake the journey; for I'm not going again without her."

"Oh, will you take me with you, Ned?" she cried joyfully. "How very good in you."