The Old Chest at Wyther Grange Page #3

"The Old Chest at Wyther Grange" by Lucy Maud Montgomery is a charming short story that explores themes of nostalgia, memory, and the passage of time. Set in the picturesque setting of Wyther Grange, the tale revolves around a young girl who discovers an old chest filled with forgotten treasures. As she unravels the mysteries held within, she learns about the lives and dreams of those who came before her, prompting reflections on her own aspirations and the connections that bind generations. Montgomery's lyrical writing and rich characterizations evoke a sense of longing and wonder, making this story a delightful read for fans of her work.

• Short story

								

other Eliza Laurance, the great heiress, looking archly at Willis over
her shoulder as she spoke. It was some merry badinage about the cousin
whose namesake she was but whom she so little resembled.

"We all laughed, but I shall never forget the look that came over
Willis Starr's face. It passed quickly, but the chill fear that it
gave me remained. A few minutes later I left the room on some trifling
errand, and as I returned through the dim hall I was met by Willis
Starr. He laid his hand on my arm and bent his evil face--for it was
evil then, Amy--close to mine.

"'Tell me,' he said in a low but rude tone, 'is there another Eliza
Laurance who is an heiress?'

"'Certainly there is,' I said sharply. 'She is our cousin and the
daughter of our Uncle George. Our Eliza is not an heiress. You surely
did not suppose she was!'

"Willis stepped aside with a mocking smile.

"'I did--what wonder? I had heard much about the great heiress, Eliza
Laurance, and the great beauty, Eliza Laurance. I supposed they were
one and the same. You have all been careful not to undeceive me.'

"'You forget yourself, Mr. Starr, when you speak so to me,' I retorted
coldly. 'You have deceived yourself. We have never dreamed of allowing
anyone to think that Eliza was an heiress. She is sweet and lovely
enough to be loved for her own sake.'

"I went back to the parlour full of dismay. Willis Starr remained
gloomy and taciturn all the rest of the evening, but nobody seemed to
notice it but myself.

"The next day we were all so busy that I almost forgot the incident
of the previous evening. We girls were up in the sewing room putting
the last touches to the wedding gown. Eliza tried it and her veil on
and was standing so, in all her silken splendour, when a letter was
brought in. I guessed by her blush who was the writer. I laughed and
ran downstairs, leaving her to read it.

"When I returned she was still standing just where I had left her in
the middle of the room, holding the letter in her hand. Her face was
as white as her veil, and her wide-open eyes had a dazed, agonized
look as of someone who had been stricken a mortal blow. All the soft
happiness and sweetness had gone out of them. They were the eyes of an
old woman, Amy.

"'Eliza, what is the matter?' I said. 'Has anything happened to
Willis?'

"She made no answer, but walked to the fireplace, dropped the letter
in a bed of writhing blue flame and watched it burn to white ashes.
Then she turned to me.

"'Help me take off this gown, Winnie,' she said dully. 'I shall never
wear it again. There will be no wedding. Willis is gone.'

"'Gone!' I echoed stupidly.

"'Yes. I am not the heiress, Winnie. It was the fortune, not the girl,
he loved. He says he is too poor for us to dream of marrying when I
have nothing. Oh, such a cruel, heartless letter! Why did he not kill
me? It would have been so much more merciful! I loved him so--I
trusted him so! Oh, Winnie, Winnie, what am I to do!'

"There was something terrible in the contrast between her passionate
words and her calm face and lifeless voice. I wanted to call Mother,
but she would not let me. She went away to her own room, trailing
along the dark hall in her dress and veil, and locked herself in.

"Well, I told it all to the others in some fashion. You can imagine
their anger and dismay. Your father, Amy--he was a hot-blooded,
impetuous, young fellow then--went at once to seek Willis Starr. But
he was gone, no one knew where, and the whole country rang with the
gossip and scandal of the affair. Eliza knew nothing of this, for she
was ill and unconscious for many a day. In a novel or story she would
have died, I suppose, and that would have been the end of it. But this
was in real life, and Eliza did not die, although many times we
thought she would.

"When she did recover, how frightfully changed she was! It almost
broke my heart to see her. Her very nature seemed to have changed
too--all her joyousness and light-heartedness were dead. From that
time she was a faded, dispirited creature, no more like the Eliza we
had known than the merest stranger. And then after a while came other
news--Willis Starr was married to the other Eliza Laurance, the true
heiress. He had made no second mistake. We tried to keep it from Eliza
but she found it out at last. That was the day she came up here alone
and packed this old chest. Nobody ever knew just what she put into it.
But you and I see now, Amy--her ball dress, her wedding gown, her love
letters and, more than all else, her youth and happiness--this old
chest was the tomb of it all. Eliza Laurance was really buried here.

"She went home soon after. Before she went she exacted a promise from
Mother that the old chest should be left at the Grange unopened until
she came for it herself. But she never came back, and I do not think
she ever intended to, and I never saw her again.

"That is the story of the old chest. It was all over so long ago--the
heartbreak and the misery--but it all seems to come back to me now.
Poor Eliza!"

My own eyes were full of tears as Aunt Winnifred went down the stairs,
leaving me sitting dreamily there in the sunset light, with the old
yellowed bridal veil across my lap and the portrait of Eliza Laurance
in my hand. Around me were the relics of her pitiful story--the old,
oft-repeated story of a faithless love and a woman's broken heart--the
gown she had worn, the slippers in which she had danced
light-heartedly at her betrothal ball, her fan, her pearls, her
gloves--and it somehow seemed to me as if I were living in those old
years myself, as if the love and happiness, the betrayal and pain were
part of my own life. Presently Aunt Winnifred came back through the
twilight shadows.

"Let us put all these things back in their grave, Amy," she said.
"They are of no use to anyone now. The linen might be bleached and
used, I dare say--but it would seem like a sacrilege. It was Mother's
wedding present to Eliza. And the pearls--would you care to have them,
Amy?"

"Oh, no, no," I said with a little shiver. "I would never wear them,
Aunt Winnifred. I should feel like a ghost if I did. Put everything
back just as we found it--only her portrait. I would like to keep
that."

Reverently we put gowns and letters and trinkets back into the old
blue chest. Aunt Winnifred closed the lid and turned the key softly.
She bowed her head over it for a minute and then we went together in
silence down the shadowy garret stairs of Wyther Grange.
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes