LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 2048, 16 September 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A FKEAK OF FATE. Such a delightful place as it was—Mrs Sylvester’s drawing-room, with its ruddy glow from the grate fire, sending warm lances of light all over the cream and crimson carpet; the raw silk furniture of cream and pale blue and crimson ; the velvet and satined drapery at the four French windows; and all the numberless objects of elegance and luxury that went to make it such a charming place. It was six o’c'ock of a march night, bleak and blustering outside, with streets filled with flying dust, and Mrs Sylvester leaned back in her chair, with a sigh of selfish comfort, as she held the Japanese screen between her delicate face and the ardent fire. She was a handsome woman, who wore diamonds and velvet as a queen wears her royal robes ; a wealthy woman need to command and control; haughty and dogmatic in her positiveness. And this evening she was in her most positive. Imperious mood, as she sat there, making her decision about Theo Vincent. Then she rang for lights, and by the servant sent a message for Miss Vincent to wait upon her as soon as Master Gamier and Miss Giralda could dispense with her services. It was ten minutes later when Theo obeyed the summons, and came into Mrs Sylvester's presence—a slender, pale-faced girl of sixteen or seventeen, with lovely brown eyes, soft as velvet, and a great mass of brown hair on her small, graceful head—a delicate, refined, thoughtful looking girl, who bore the indisputable traces of having worked almost beyond her strength. She came quietly near to Mrs Sylvester, and stood awaiting that lady’s pleasure. • I sent to have a word with you on a subject very distasteful to me, indeed. Miss Vincent,’Mrs Sylvester began, coldly. ‘I refer to a display of forwardness and boldness on your part towards certain gentlemen I might name, which has been called to my attention more than once. I desire to say that I shall not tolerate any further attempts on yonr part, Miss Vincent, to flirt with gentlemen visiting at the house—notably with Dr. Pennington—Ah, do not interrupt me, and I am indignantly sorry to say, my son also !’ * Mrs Sylvester, you—’

Theo attempted to grasp har protest; but the cold relentless voice resolutely hushed her.

* Denials are more than useless, Miss Vincent. It is a notorious fact that you, a mere servant, a common nursery governess and seamstress, boldly attempted to engross Doctor Bennington's attention last night, and on one or two evenings last week, when you were ordered to attend the children in the drawing-room. Again, upon more than one occasion, you have inveigled my son into conversation with you—you, whom his mother hires as a servant! Mias Vincent, I have— ’

Theo was standing there white and shivering, her eyes full of a. horrified mortification and insulted pride. ‘ Mrs Sylvester,’ she interrupted hotly, 1 1 cannot permit you to launch such a torrent of abuse at me. It is not true that I have tried to flirt with your guest or your son. Doctor Fennington spoke to me, and I answered, as anyone would have done. As to your son— ’ And her lips curled involuntarily—a gesture which did not escape Mrs Sylvester’s eyes. * We will not discuss the subject further. Yon have acted disgracefully, and, in justice to my little, innocent children, I have decided to remove you from your care over them. You are discharged from to-night, and, in place of a month’s notice, yon can have a month’s wages—as is my custom with all my servants. As to a character,’ and the cold eyes took a malicious look at the pale, trembling girl, ‘of course that is out of the question. XT on are excused, Miss Vincent.’ She pushed a roll of bills towards her, but Theo did not touch it. Instead, her face grew suddenly cold and haughty, and she walked out without a syllable of further protest. And, somehow, Mrs Sylvester realised that she had done something more than simply discharge a servant. * # #

‘ It’s a shame—a burning shame !’ Aunt Ibby said, indignantly. ‘lt seems to me that nowadays the rich do nothing but grind the poor. You poor child you—don't cry any more about it. That Sylvester woman isn't any very great shakes herself you take my word for it, or she’d not be thinking such things about you. Don’t cry, Theo. Chirk ud. and we’ll go out for a walk to Central Park this afternoon, eh ?’ But Theo did not ‘ chirk’ up, nor did she go with dear old aunt Ibby for a wa’k to Central Park. Instead, she had cried and worried herself into a hot fever that defied all home remedies—a fever that ran higher and hotter, until even Aunt Ibby thought it was best to send for a doctor ; and a doctor was sent for by little Tim Maguliin, next floor above.

‘ And bo quick about it, too,’ she said, slipping a penny' in his grimy little paw, ‘You can run around to Doctor Perry’s office in a few minutes, I know, and tell him to come rivht around.’ But Doctor Perry wasn’t home—out of town for several days—and Tim’s wits were puzzled to know whether, so long as Miss Theo was so awfully sick, one doctor wasn’t just as good as another ; and, in that full belief, he rushed off for hia mother’s family physician, to find Doctor Callender also not available.

And then, to stand disconsolately on a

street comer, wondering what on earth would become of Miss Theo, just as a doctor’s carriage passed him—evidently a doctor’s, and a well-to-do one, too, as witness the colored man with folded arms, the prondstepping horse, the handsome rube. And ragged little Tim, all unaware ho wag an instrument of unalterable fates, succeeded in attracting Doctor Pennington’s a’tention.

Say, you! you’re wanted down to Miss Theo Vincent’s—No. SO, Pollard street—sharp, too ! Coin’ ?”

Theo Vincent' Clyde Pennington wts surprised, and, conscious cf a pleasurablesensation along with it. ‘ All r.ght, my bey • I’ll be there beforeyon are. ’

And sure enough, when Tim reached home stood the doctor’s carriage at the door, an object of envious admiration for a score urchins ; wniie Doctor Pennington was sitting in Aunt Ibby’s snug little parlor, explaining the cause of his appearance, and listening to her account of Theo’s illness. ‘And now, if yon’ll allow ms to see my patient,’ he said. And then he went in, to find Theo delirious and talkative, and entirely unconscious.

‘Of coarse it is not true, ’ she slid, ss he sat down beside the pure white cot. • ' I never flirted with Mr Marry Sy'vester or Doctor Pennington either. It wasn’t fair of her to turn me off without a character, was It? And Aunt Ibby and I are sj poor!’

And although he knew there was no recognition in her bright eyes, still his face flushed.

‘She is very sick,’ he said, gravely. ‘I will see her again this afternoon, Mrs Bley. ’

That was the beginning of their friendship, and when, three months later, Theo was sufficiently recovered to accept a situation as travelling companion to a society lady, she knew that her most valued friend in all the world was Doctor Pennington.

* * * * « A perfect afternoon, even for la belle Paris, and Mrs Sylvester, leaning back in her chair beside the window of her grande salon, thought that life in the gay city was the one thing desirable, and would be the one thing most glorious, were it not for her son Harry. Bor her son, her darling, her chief pride, for whom nothing in all the world was too good, for whom marriageable maidens and shrewd mothers had angled visibly and invisibly, who never yet had been disappointed or thwarted in all his life, was in a state of desperation and distress that made Mrs Sylvester wonder, in agitation and dismay, what would be the result of it all.

And “it all” meant that Harry Sylvester was in love with Mis Van Eenaeller’s charming young friend and companion—onr own Theo Vincent, whom two years before Mrs Sylvester had turned out of doors, ‘Sho will not listen to me,’ Harry had s»id to hia mother before he went out that afternoon. ‘ I tell you I must have her answer—her favorable answer too—before another twenty-four hours goes over my head, mother. Unless I get her for my wife I’ll shoot myself just as sure as fate. I love her—by George ! I never cared so much for anything or anybody before, and it’s only the memory of your cruel treatment of her, the feeling that she thinks you would not sanction an engagement that keeps ns apart. ‘ You think that V she said, tremblingly—a little dismayed!/. • I know it,’ he answered hotly. * She is gracious and kind, but beyond that, I tell you her just pride restrains her. See her, mother, if yon want to do me a favor—if you don’t want to have me brought in dead some time—you will go and tell her yon want her for yonr daughter. ’ And Mrs Sylvester knew as she looked upon her son’s handsome, haggard face, that even if It killed her to so humble herself, she must do it for his sake

‘lt is awfully cruel of you!’ she said, piteously, and he had interrupted her, firmly : • Yon can take your choice—Theo Vincent for your daughter, or—get along without me !’

•Harry!’ • I mean it. She won't refuse me, if yon ask her. By Jove 1 she is the only woman in the world I shall ever ask. She shall accept me!’ ‘ 1 think there is no danger of her refusing such an offer,’she said, a little of the old scornfulness in her voice.

‘Of course you will go,’ he answered, decidedly. ‘When I come back at seven to dinner, I will hear what yon Lave to say from her, ’

Then he had gone, and Mrs Sylvester had sat in trouble and dismay, thinking it all out, wondering how she could accomplish, her errand, and yet not sacrifice her pride ; how she could conciliate Theo Vincent, and yet give her to understand it was an honor she had come to offer her.

She ordered her carriage, and dressed in a most elaborate toilet, was driven to Mrs Van Renaeller’a, where, surrounded by wealth and refinement, Theo Vincent had won her way to her heart, and been made not only the confidential friend, but the beloved daughter and choice companion. As Mrs Van Ren seller’s friend, society opened its most exclusive doors, and cur little Theo had found herself, almost unconsciously, a pet and favorite in pleasant sccial circles, where her personal attractiveness, her sweet winsomeness, her refined intelligence, held the position given her. And Harold Sylvester had renewed his acquaintance with his mother’s discharged governess, and— This was the result—Mrs Sylvester waiting Mrs Van Renseller’s parlor for Xheo Vincent to come, wiAh. whom she was to plead in her son’s behalf.

It seemed like some Impossible burlesque, as she waited, and there was a sharp struggle within her between pride and love for her son—that idol and darling who never had been denied, and who ruled her with a rod of iron.

For his sake. Only, sorely for his sake. And then Theo Vincent came in, a vision cf elegance, and loveliness, and sweetness, in her soft white dress.

She greeted Mrs Sylvester in a eonrtsens way and then waited inquiringly, and, perhaps, just a trifle haughtily. And Mrs Sylvester rushed at once into her errand.

‘No doubt you will be quite surprised to receive messages that are delivered personally, Miss Vincent. But, as lam willing to remove any' obstacle from the way to my son’s happiness, I determined that in no batter way could the accomplishment of his wishes be decided than by my coming in a perfectly friendly way to yon.’ She certainly had not sacrificed her dignity, and certainly had spoken very well. And Theo, her face expressive of surprise, listened.

‘ I think I do not at all understand yen, Mrs Sylvester. You have certainly undertaken some commission for yoar con, but what, might I inquire V This from the girl she disgraced ! But she put the curb on herself, and went blandly on for her boy’s sake.

‘ Your delicacy certainly does yon credit. I cannot express how delightfully charming I find it, my dear Miss Vincent. Yes, lam comtni=sioned by my son to make you an. offer of his hand, his name, his position, hia affections. And, ilisa Vincent, if you will charitably permit me, I cordia’ly endorse whatever will conduce to Harold's happiness.’

And, for the first time in her life, Mrs Sylvester realised that she had eaten humblepie. A curious little look swept over Tnco s face.

‘ Prill you tell Mr Sylvester, for me, please, that in the socitty in which I move, it is not customary for gentlemen to do their proposals of marriage by proxy ? Will you a!s,o be kind enough to tell him that under any circumstances I could not possibly consider his offer ? And will you inform him that I have been engaged to Doctor Clyde Pennington for the past three months ? And, as Mra Van Penseller’a carriage is waiting, and I have an engagement at half-past five, bo so good as to excuse me, Mrs Sylvester.’ And sc Theo’s turn came, and like a young duchess she bowed to the woman who had, all unconsciously, been her fate. While M.-c Sylvester went back to her son.

But as, a year afterward. Mrs Doctor Pennington, sitting in her luxurious parlcr on Fifth Avenue, read aloud to Aunt Ibby the notice of Harold Sylvester’s marriage, it was self-evident ho did not commit the. suicide he threatened —unless rushing into marriage with a pretty girl, after a month’s acquaintance, be considered as such.