Florence Athern's Trial [pp. 213-227]

Florence Athern's Trial
On pretence of letters to write, Mr.
Lee left the women alone with a
glance at his sister. No face was
flattened against the windows to night, though old Tamar refrained
from looking toward them.
Florence occupied a low seat be tween her aunt and uncle; and when
the latter left the room, Margaret laid
her head gently on the young girl's
shoulder, and drew her toward her,
saying:
"Florence, dearest, your uncle had
a letter yesterday from Arthur Hinsdale. One to you came by the same
mail; but on reading that directed to
him, your uncle decided not to give
you y),ours till he or I had told you
,something which you must know before you can answer it. Here are both
the letters, dear; you can read them in
your own room when I have finished.
You have often asked," she continued, as Florence took the letters in
silence, "to be told something about
your mother and father To-night I
will tell you." A hardness came into
her voice as she spoke that made the
girl look up in surprise. "We lived,
till your mother married, in the northern part of the State of New York,
among the mountains, where people
from the city came every summer to
spend the hot months. My father
was wealthy, but cared for no life but
that of the country, so we saw nothing of the fashionable world, beyond the glimpse caught in the summer. My mother was an invalid, and
cared for little beyond her own health;
and Anna, who was then a child ten
or twelve years old, your mother, and
I did pretty much as we pleased.
Harry was away at college at Fordham, and, when at home in the vacations, was our constant companion in
our rides and walks.
"One summer a party of gentlemen
from Philadelphia came up to the
Adirondacks to fish. Our farm and
house was not far from the spot wher
they encamped, and we met them
several times in riding. Your father
was among them." Here she paused,
as if choking back some strong feeling, and Florence, slipping on her
knees, wound her arms around her,
resting her head against her. "Your
mother was very beautiful," continued Margaret, threading her fingers through the young girl's golden
hair lingeringly, as though she saw a
resemblance that she loved to trace,
"and it is not to be wondered at that
she should have attracted attention.
After several accidental meetings, he,
your father, took advantage of some
trivial accident, the dropping of Florence's whip, or something of the
kind, to speak when, one day, we
came upon them suddenly. From
this it was easy to make an excuse to
visit the farm-house with some of his
firiends. My father was a man of
cultivation and education, though he
chose to bury himself from the world,
and liked the young men. After one
or two visits, he invited them to the
house freely. I need not tell you the
old, old story, dear. Before the time
came for the visitors to break up
their camp, Paul Athern was engaged
to my sister. Florence was but sixteen; Paul said he was nearly twentyone; and my father insisted that they
should wait two years, and there was
to be no regular engagement for one
year. This was at length agreed to
with great reluctance by, by-your
father. He also, being a Protestant,
made all the necessary promises that
your mother should be allowed the
full enjoyment of her religion.
"Well, the winter passed quietly as
usual, and toward spring a cousin of
my mother's wrote, inviting us to pay
her a visit in New York. We had
once before visited her when I was
fourteen and Florence twelve; so remembering the former pleasure, we
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