Ethelyn's Mistake

In happy ignorance of her real feelings, so well did she dissemble

them, and so proper and ladylike was her deportment, Richard bade her

good-by early in May, and went back to his Western home, writing to her

often, but not such letters, it must be confessed, as were calculated to

win a maiden's heart, or keep it after it was won. If he was awkward at

love-making, and only allowed himself to be occasionally surprised into

flashes of tenderness, he was still more awkward in letter-writing; and

Ethelyn always indulged in a headache, or a fit of blues, after

receiving one of his short, practical letters, which gave but little

sign of the strong, deep affection he cherished for her. Those were hard

days for Ethelyn--the days which intervened between her lover's bidding

her adieu and his return to claim her hand--and only her deeply wounded

pride, and her great desire for a change of scene and a winter in

Washington, kept her from asking a release from the engagement she knew

never ought to have been. Aside, however, from all this, there was some

gratification in knowing that she was an object of envy to Susie Graham,

and Anna Thorn, and Carrie Bell, either of whom would gladly have taken

her place as bride-elect of an M.C., while proud old Captain Markham's

frequent mention of "my nephew in Congress, ahem!" and Mrs. Dr. Van

Buren's constant exultation over the "splendid match," helped to keep up

the glamour of excitement, so that her promise had never been revoked,

and now he was there to claim it. He had not gone at once to Miss

Bigelow's on his arrival in Chicopee, for the day was hot and sultry,

and he was very tired with his forty-eight hours' constant travel, and

so he had rested a while in his chamber, which looked toward Ethelyn's,

and then sat upon the piazza with his uncle till the heat of the day was

past, and the round red moon was showing itself above the eastern hills

as the sun disappeared in the west. Then, in his new linen coat, cut and

made by Mrs. Jones, mother to Abigail, deceased, he had started for the

dwelling of his betrothed. Ethelyn had seen him as he came from the

depot in Captain Markham's carriage, and her cheek had crimsoned, and

then grown pale at sight of the ancient-looking hair trunk swinging

behind the carriage, all unconscious of the indignation it was exciting,

or of the vast difference between itself and the two huge Saratoga

trunks standing in Aunt Barbara Bigelow's upper hall, and looking so

clean and nice in their fresh coverings. Poor Ethelyn! That hair trunk,

which had done its owner such good service in his journeys to and from

Washington, and which the mother had packed with so much care, never

dreaming how very, very far it was behind the times, brought the hot

blood in torrents to her face, and made the white hands clasp each other

spasmodically, as she thought "Had I known of that hair trunk, I would

certainly have told him no."