Wives and Widows; or, The Broken Life

CHAPTER LXXII.

OUT IN THE WORLD AGAIN.

"Lawrence was right. Beauty is a great power, and I am beautiful. I know it in a thousand ways, but best of all by the homage of men and the envy of women. Both are sweet to me. I love to see these envious creatures turn pale and whisper their venom to each other, as I am besieged by the attentions of their favorites. At first I was a little timid about asserting the power that I felt myself to possess. Mr. Dennison, I thought, might be displeased, were his wife to accept the position offered her as a belle and leader in the best social circles of the South. I think he was at first annoyed by the great popularity which followed my advent into society, but I soon forgot to notice these indications, and resolved to live my life whether he was pleased or not. After all, there is a great deal in this world worth living for besides love as a grand passion. The adoration which others are forced to give you has its charms; besides, there arise episodes of love in one's life, which come and go like the rosy dawn and golden sunset of a summer-day, which for the time charm one's heart out of its one deep passion. In society here I forget how deeply I loved that one man, and better still, I forget to think of my husband. For his sake my heart was thrown back upon itself, and he had become the cause of my humiliation; but for that, Lawrence might have been my slave, as other men have been, and will be, so long as I allow them to kneel at the altar of my vanity. Had I remained at the plantation, this conviction would, I do believe, have deepened into hatred of my husband; but I was too pleasantly occupied, brain and sense, for any deep feeling to reach me in that whirl of society; just then it would have been as impossible for me to hate, as to love my husband. I simply cared nothing about him, save as he was the source from whence I obtained gold in which to frame my beauty. Without that, half my power would have disappeared.

"Lawrence was right. The time has come when I am a careless, brilliant, beautiful coquette, and this he has made me. 'Then,' he said, 'we can meet in safety and play with the foam of life pleasantly, as it is tossed to our feet by the waves of society.'

"I understand all this now. When I am heartless, and altogether given up to vanity, he will not be afraid of loving me, because, to a man like him, love for a woman so transformed would be impossible. But am I transformed? Is not the old nature still alive in my bosom? I have no time for a serious answer. The foam he speaks of is mounting too whitely around my feet.

"'What is this? Mr. Dennison ill? Falling away? Forgetting to smile? Looking the very ghost of himself?' These were the very words I overheard this morning, as I stood unnoticed behind two ladies conversing in the great drawing-room of the St. Charles. Was this true? I had not noticed. The old man never complained, and I saw nothing. If he had fallen away in his appetite, no one was less likely to be aware of it than myself, for it was very seldom that we breakfasted at the same hour, and at dinner I was always too pleasantly occupied for any thought of his appetite. But one thing was true, he did look thin and terribly depressed. His white linen coat was hanging loosely around his person. The silvery hair, which everybody admired so much, seemed to have grown thinner. Never in my life have I looked on so sad a face.

"I crossed the room at once, and sat down by Mr. Dennison. His face brightened, he swept the white hair back from his forehead, and smiled upon me.

"'Are you ill?' I said, laying my hand on his.

"'No, not ill; only a little lonesome.'

"'Lonesome among all these people?' I answered, still pressing his hand.

"He looked down at my hand, which was blazing with great diamonds that he had given me.

"'There is room for one more,' he said, with a sigh. 'I bought it for you weeks ago, but have found no time in which you could receive it.'

"He took a star of diamonds from his pocket, and placed it on the only one of my fingers that was not already ornamented. His old white hands trembled a little as he put the ring on my finger, and I could see tears trembling up to his eyes.

"'How kind, but how childish you are,' I said, kissing the ring, for it was well worth that small sign of gratitude. 'Now tell me what makes you look so pale and so—'

"'Old, you hesitate to say; but I know it. You are not the only one, child, who has discovered that you are married to an old, old man.'

"'I have not thought of it. Indeed, indeed the idea never enters my mind,' I answered, honestly enough, for he had very seldom been in my memory at all; 'but what makes you look so miserable? Not that idea, I am sure. Is it because I have been so extravagant, and spent such loads of money? Sometimes I do get frightened about that.'

"'But I scarcely regard it—perhaps I ought; but money seems so trivial compared to other things.'

"'Your health, for instance; for you are ill,' I answered, brushing the white hair back from his temple with my hand, while the ladies opposite were watching me in a flutter of curiosity.

"'You are kind to think of that,' he said, gently; 'but I am not ill, only reproaching myself.'

"'Why?'

"'For the bondage which you are beginning to feel so heavily.'

"I looked at him earnestly a moment, and in that glance gathered a knowledge of all he had suffered. My heart smote me, for that moment I was ready to make any sacrifice that would do him good. In truth, the life I had been leading had already become wearisome. After all, empty homage satisfies no real want of the heart.

"'Shall we go home?' I said, with a sudden impulse of kindness.

"He grasped my hand so tightly that the diamonds hurt me.

"'If you would—if you only would!'

"'Let us go to-morrow, then,' I answered. 'No, that cannot be, I have engagements; but next week. We shall get home in full time for the orange-blossoms.'

"'And you will go?'

"'Certainly. All this is getting very tiresome. Even the spite of the women has lost its charm.'

"That morning we went into the breakfast-room together, and then I remarked how completely Mr. Dennison's appetite had failed. This made me very thoughtful. What if he should die?'

"'Cora,' I said that night, as the girl was undressing me, 'have you observed how ill Mr. Dennison looks?'

"'Yes, I have, young mistress, and it has frightened me dreadfully.'

"'Frightened you, Cora? Is he so far gone as that? I did not dream of your caring so much for him.'

"'Neither do I. It is you that I care for.'

"'And you think that I would grieve?'

"'Yes, I do.'

"'It should be so. Indeed, Cora, he is a good man, and has been kind to us.'

"'But that won't last forever, young mistress. The old master is keen as he is kind. If he was to make his will now, have you much idea that his property would go to the wife, who scarcely speaks to him once in twenty-four hours?'

"I started, and turned upon the girl.

"'Why, Cora, you frighten me!'

"'Not so much as you have frightened me. Poor white widows aren't to my taste. We have tried that once, and I didn't like it.'

"'Cora, we will go back to the plantation.'

"'That is the best thing you can do,' answered the girl, quietly. 'Home is the place for a man to die in.'

"'Why, girl!' I cried out, in nervous dread, 'you speak as if he were really in danger.'

"'And so he is; people seldom get over the disease that has been creeping on him ever since we came here.'

"'What disease? What are you speaking of, Cora? What disease do you think Mr. Dennison has?'

"'A broken heart.'

"'Cora!'

"'None of your sudden fits—people get over them; but slow and sure: I have been watching it from the first.'

"'And you think I have done this?'

"'Of course. Who else?'

"'Cora, we will go home next week.'"

"I am a widow. The name fills me with awe, as if I had never heard it before. It has a new meaning now—a terrible meaning of death, which is full of reproach and horror. He lies yonder, cold and still, the smile which he had almost forgotten of late frozen on his white lips, the lines of age graven deeply in his face,—with something more terrible still, which makes me shiver and shrink as I gaze upon it.

"Have I done this? Is that look of sorrow but the shadow of a charge which the recording angel is now writing down in the eternal book against me? Am I the murderer of this good old man? How he loved me! how kind, how generous, how delicate he was! And I—no, no! it must have been old age. Men of seventy do not sink down and perish in silence because they are not loved with the intensity given to youth. Oh, how I wish it were all over! While he lies in the house, so frozen and cold, I shall not draw a free breath. It seems to me as if he could rise up any moment out of that marble sleep with the power to search every thought that has been in my heart during the last year. His knowledge is perfect now; he reads my soul as I dare not read it myself. Have I wished his death? Have I ever thought of what might happen after that? God forgive me, for I seem terrible to myself.

"Death in the house; this great lonely dwelling, with all its luxurious appliances, is but a tomb. The air chills me; its solitude is terrible. Cora comes to me once in a while with her silky flatteries, and attempts to convince me that I have never been blamable as a wife. I know that she does not believe this, and almost hate her for thinking that her sophistry can reconcile me with myself. Yet what have I done? Amused myself—gathered crowds of admirers around me—neglected the only true love that ever lightened my life. Shall I ever be worshipped again as that old man worshipped me?...

"They have carried him out from his home forever, and now the old house seems more vast and lonely than before. I still hear the tramping of his bearers' feet, and shudder as the pall seems to rustle and sweep by me. Ah! the first feelings of widowhood must be mournful indeed to a devoted wife; to me they are terrible. The very air seems to reproach me. I start at each sound as if it were a denunciation. The very air I breathe seems heavy with funereal shadows....

"The first great horror has left me, but a feeling of blank desolation still remains. I have not yet thought of the future, or asked myself what may be in store for the woman whom so many are loading with praises and commiseration which she knows in her heart are undeserved.

"This morning I was aroused from the heavy apathy which has made my life a blank, by the arrival of my husband's solicitor. Mr. Dennison has left a will making me the inheritor of everything he had on earth. The lawyer told me this, and, for the first time since my widowhood, I felt the heart in my bosom stir like a living thing. Was I indeed so wealthy, and free, too!

"I observed in a dreamy way that the lawyer looked anxious and oppressed, as if something yet remained to be told.

"'Is this all,' I said; 'has he mentioned no other person in the will?'

"'No other person,' was the reply; 'but I have something to explain which may change the aspect of my news. It seems that within the past few months a heavy mortgage has been laid upon the plantation, and it must be sold.'

"'A mortgage!' I said; 'that is something which prevents a man holding or selling his own land, is it not?'

"'It is a debt for which the estate is pledged,' answered the lawyer; 'but I wonder you do not understand it better, for your own signature is attached.'

"Then I remembered that, during the stay of Mr. Lawrence at our house, Mr. Dennison had called me to the table in his library and asked me to sign a paper. He explained to me clearly enough, no doubt, that the paper might deprive me of some claim for dower; but I did not heed it at the time, and now it was to fall upon me with all its force. The plantation must be sold, the lawyer said, for he was one of the executors to the will. The mortgage once cleared off and the debts paid, there would still be a handsome property left.

"All at once I was seized with intense love for the old place. Where should I ever find a home so rich in comforts, so beautifully surrounded?

"'Is it not possible to keep the place?' I demanded, with growing interest.

"'No; the mortgage was given, I imagine, in order to raise funds for some dazzling speculation in which Mr. Lawrence was concerned. At any rate, there is no money to pay it with, and the estate must go to the hammer.'

"'This is cruel, it is unjust,' I said, angrily.

"'It was wrong and foolish to involve the estate as Mr. Dennison has,' answered the executor, 'and the loss is a heavy one. Let us be thankful that our good friend has left enough without that.'

"'But his losses were brought on by Mr. Lawrence?' I questioned, speaking the name with a thrill of pain.

"'No! they were fellow-sufferers. It is understood that Lawrence has lost heavily, and will perhaps be ruined.'

"Instantly my heart swelled with sympathy for the man who had helped to impoverish me.

"'Oh! if he had but left the estate unburdened, I should not care.'

"Heaven knows I was thinking of the man who had, perhaps, wronged me, but the executor misunderstood my words and looked at me wonderingly. I saw this, but could not explain that the great wish of my heart was that there might be enough to redeem the losses that had fallen upon Lawrence. I could not endure to think of him as a poor man. A poor man—that is a terrible word to the ears of a Southern lady.

"The executor tried to explain everything clearly, and I made an effort to understand. He was anxious about the property, and thought the times unpropitious. The North and South were that hour verging closer and closer toward a civil war, in which the value of property would become uncertain, and I might be a sufferer.

"I knew all this before; rumors of political strife had reached even our secluded home. I knew that the bitter animosity which had been long growing between the North and South had even then broken into open hostilities. Southern statesmen had retreated in a body from the United States Senate, and resigned their seats in the House. I had taken a blind interest in this matter, and, in a loose way, hated everything that opposed the dominant power of my own section; but it was as a child takes sides. I did not, and do not, really understand the questions which give rise to all this turmoil. Of course, the whole affair will be settled somehow; people never do fight when they threaten so much. Besides, the South is so reasonable; she only asks to set up for herself, and be let alone. What objection can there be to this? I dare say the Northern people will acquiesce; but if not, it will only take a month or so to gain our independence. I think the executor is right to put off the sale till then; for of course property will rise enormously, and this may compensate me for that great drawback, the mortgage. But until the estate is settled, I must remain a slave here. Perhaps that is best; it would not be proper for a widow to seek society under a year; but oh! how dreary that year will be!

"I wonder if Mr. Lawrence has heard of his friend's death? Months have gone by and not a word from him, not even the usual letter of condolence. Perhaps he is coming. Surely the share he has taken in the ruin of this property ought to bring some explanation. There is no reason now why he should keep aloof.

"At last I have heard from him. A letter came to the executor, enclosing one for me. It is in my bosom. I have covered the senseless paper with kisses. Yet there is nothing in it but gentle condolence for sorrow. The reason he has not written before is that the news of Mr. Dennison's death reached him in Europe, where he will remain until the end of this year. His letter to the executor was long and thoroughly explanatory of all the business which lay between him and Mr. Dennison. This mortgage, it seems, was only the accumulation of many others that had from year to year been a burden on the estate. Through the influence of Mr. Lawrence, a New York capitalist had paid up these mortgages, and concentrated them into one which, after all, does not cover half the value of the estate. It was this act of friendship which brought Mr. Lawrence to our house. There was neither risk nor speculation in the whole business. Even with this encumbrance, Mr. Dennison's will would have left me wealthy, but for the terrible civil war which has broken over us. As it is, there are three hundred slaves, which the mortgage does not touch, and they are a handsome property in themselves.

"The estate is sold, and the result scarcely covers the mortgage. Still the slaves are left, and my jewels are of great value. Sometimes, when my hand rests upon my black dress, the diamonds with which my husband loaded it flame up and burn into my conscience. How could I be so negligent and cold to him?

"Some months longer I shall remain on the estate. The new owner wishes to hire most of my slaves; that arrangement will supply me with an ample income, and permit me to go anywhere; that is, if I can get away, when the whole country is swarming with armed men. Thank heaven! my home has escaped all these military disturbances; but they build a wall of bayonets between me and him. I cannot even get letters....

"I am going: an opportunity offers. This very day I start for the North. My pass is ready, my escort waiting. How my heart swells! how my courage rises! The dangers of war have no terrors for me. I am going to the North, and he is there....

"How long it is since I have written a line in my journal, or even seen it! In our rough journey there was little time or opportunity for writing, but here I have rest and am entirely out of danger.

"Lawrence is in the Federal army, commanding one of the city regiments which have gone down to the war for special duty. How vast and lonely this hotel seems! I am lost in this great wilderness of people. The streets are full of military men; regiments are constantly passing through on their way to the war. Great heavens! did our people hope to wrest away any portion of this great country from men like these? For the first time I understand the madness of the rebellion. It is no light thing to rend a great nation asunder. I begin to feel this, and tremble for the people of the South. In the insanity of their ambition they have sacrificed everything....

"He is coming. His regiment is ordered home. I am here at the Fifth Avenue Hotel—his home when he is in the city. Lawrence must not find me here. His fastidious delicacy might take the alarm! Besides, I have made acquaintances, and am almost acting over the rôle that made me so popular at New Orleans; else the suspense of this long waiting would have been intolerable. Yes, it is far better that I should be away when he comes. If he hears of me, it will only be from admirers. Even with the women, I think that I have left no enemies. It is early for the season, but this very day my rooms at Long Branch shall be taken. Will he follow me there? The question drives the breath back from my lips....

"I have been at the Branch three weeks. His regiment has returned to New York, but I have not seen him: this suspense is terrible. Yesterday I sent Cora to the city, ostensibly to get some articles that I left at the hotel, but in fact to bring me intelligence of him, for which my soul was thirsting.

"She came back radiant, for the poor girl understands how anxious I am. She saw him—talked with him. He has been very busy with his regiment, and attending to neglected business on Wall Street; but next week—next week—oh, how long the days will seem till then!...

"He is here. I have seen him; we have walked together, free as birds upon the shore, where the sea rolls in with bewildering harmonies for the happy, and solemn anthems for those who suffer. To-day the very air was jubilant; the waves came rolling in crested with foam, and dashing the sand with shimmering silver. How the sunshine danced and broke and laughed over the broad expanse of water! The sea-gulls, as they swooped down and dipped their wings in the curling foam, were like doves to us. Indeed, this flat, treeless shore on which the ocean is eternally beating, is just now the brightest paradise I ever knew.

"Weeks roll on, and our companionship is perfect; but he says nothing of the future. We talk of books, of friendship—love even—but in a vague, dreamy way, that confirms nothing. I wonder at this, and it disturbs me. Is it that he is no longer a rich man? I have heard this, but am not sure, for the rumor is often met with contradiction. If this should prove true, it will account for his conduct. I know him well enough to be sure that his sensitive honor would take alarm at the thought of marrying a woman whose property would more than match his own; and mine, notwithstanding all losses, is of no ordinary value.

"These thoughts trouble me. Nothing can be more impressive than his devotion; my society seems all in all to him, but our relationship remains the same.

"A rather singular family has just arrived—some rich iron-man from the interior of Pennsylvania. His wife is a confirmed invalid, but one of the most refined and lovable women I ever saw. She must have been very beautiful in her youth, for her features are singularly like those of her daughter, who is considered the most lovely girl at the Branch this season. The rooms which Mr. Lee occupies open on to the same veranda with mine, and as the lady spends a great deal of her time in looking out upon the ocean from her luxurious easy-chair, I managed to open an acquaintance with her and a lady who is her constant companion, and either an elder sister of the beautiful girl I have spoken of, or some near friend of the family. My first advances to this lady were rather coldly received. She has evidently been out of society a long time, and appears shy and reserved. The younger lady seemed to be reading my face with more scrutiny than pleased me. She is not really handsome, but has lovely hair and an abundance of it, with deep gray eyes that are almost always shaded by long curling lashes, which gives them intense expression when she lifts them suddenly and meets your gaze. Her complexion is pure and bright, but the mouth is a little too large for harmony with the other features. Still, her smile is peculiarly expressive when she does smile, which is not often.

"I can hardly tell why this person impressed me so forcibly, but a strange sensation came over me when those eyes were first lifted to my face. She is not imposing in her presence, but very modest and very unobtrusive. Her attentions to Mrs. Lee were more than affectionate; and with the young lady she has the air and manner of a sister who feels her superiority in age, and nothing more.

"This morning I met Mr. Lee on the shore, walking alone. He is a princely man in appearance, taller than Mr. Lawrence, and of more noble proportions. Still, his finely-cut features lack the keen intelligence which is only seen where great genius exists. The years he has already numbered scarcely count to his disadvantage. Not very long ago I should have considered this man as far the handsomest of the two; but now the splendor of genius alone can satisfy me....

"I have had terrible news. President Lincoln has issued a proclamation which emancipates all slaves in the rebellious States. If this act is lawful, and can be enforced, I am almost a beggar. All the property to which I have a right lies in the strong arms of nearly three hundred negro slaves. A single word, the mere writing of a man's name, has swept all my wealth away. With the exception of my jewels, I have nothing. This is a terrible blow, for I have endured poverty, and shrink from it with absolute dread. To me a luxurious ease and elegance are a fixed habit, and so necessary that I could not live without them.

"One consolation comes out of all this ruin. I am sure that Lawrence has hesitated to say all that is in his heart on account of my wealth, which, if rumor speaks truly, was far greater than anything he can command. When I think of this and glory in his sensitive delicacy, the loss of all my slaves seems a less crushing calamity. This very day I will tell him how suddenly the Act of Emancipation has placed me on his level.

"I have told him of the sweeping misfortune which has left me on the verge of poverty. He looked at me in alarm. His face clouded over, his eyes turned away from mine. It was moments before he spoke.

"'It is a misfortune,' he said, at last, and there was bitterness in his voice, as if some wrong had been done himself. 'Poverty is a terrible thing; from my heart I pity you.'

"'But it is not everything,' I faltered; 'surely happiness can exist without wealth: you must not frighten me with the thought that my future is all broken up.'

"He shook his head, moved away from me abruptly, and stood for a moment looking out upon the ocean in gloomy silence. At last he came back and took my hand, which was growing cold.

"'It is a misfortune,' he said, 'but you will hardly feel it. Something is left, if properly managed. You are young and splendidly beautiful. A few smiles—a little condescension—and fortunes will be laid at your feet, compared to which that which you have lost will be nothing. As for me—but I will not talk of myself. It is only another dream broken up.' He turned abruptly, dropped my cold hand from his clasp, and walked away, leaving me stranded, as it were, like a wreck upon the shore.

"What does this mean? 'It is only another dream broken up.' These were his words. Merciful heavens! has this ruin fallen on my whole life. Will poverty frighten back the heart that was mine?

"'Another dream broken up.' These words signify everything that is humiliating and painful. If they have any meaning at all, he is ready to give me up rather than face the difficulties of my position. And I thought him so disinterested, so proud!

"Alas! I thought myself unhappy before, but this is perfect desolation. 'Another dream broken up' for him—a life broken up for me.

"I do not believe it. I mistook the meaning of his words. He loved me; I know he did. Was it not a consciousness of too passionate tenderness that drove him away from me when I was a married woman? Has he not sought me since, and told me in a thousand ways how dear I was to him? Has he not so mingled our future lives in his conversation that there could be no mistaking the drift of his thoughts? I am foolish to think that this will make any lasting difference. Besides, Lincoln must be master of the South before my slaves can be reached by any act of his.

"It is true: Lawrence, during the last week, has been gradually withdrawing himself from my society. I have seen him less frequently of late; he seldom joins me unless I am surrounded by others. Our walks on the beach are entirely broken up, and he no longer seeks me when I purposely sit apart on the veranda of the hotel.

"I have been so annoyed and felt so wronged by his conduct, that a spirit of bitter retaliation is aroused in my bosom. The most aristocratic and splendid man here is Mr. Lee. I have noticed once or twice that Lawrence has seemed a little disturbed by the slight interest this gentleman has taken in me. He shall feel this more keenly before the week is over. By that time a prouder and more fastidious man than he is shall be my slave. That idea of the power a brilliant coquette may wield, which he first planted in my mind, shall bring forth bitter fruit for his eating before I have done with him.

"This man shall be at my feet again—I do not know whether in love or hate; but no living creature shall ever cast me off in this slow, heartless fashion. I am young, beautiful, the fashion—but these things count for but little in a contest with men like Lawrence. He it was who first told me that I possess something far more powerful than all these—intellect, talent, powers of combination, and that subtle magnetism which no man has ever yet had power to resist: compared with this, beauty, youth, and fashion are trivial possessions. But I have them all, and it shall go hard if this proud man is not made to feel their influence. He thinks I accept the position, and do not feel. Let him. I have not mingled in society and practised his lessons for nothing. The 'brilliant coquette' with whom he could associate with safety has at least learned how to conceal her anguish. He shall yet find how fatal and poisonous is the hatred growing up like a upas-tree in the desert he has made. My acquaintance with Mr. Lee thrives. I have become the intimate friend of his daughter, a tender nurse to his invalid wife. They are a singularly refined and intelligent family, so loving and true that I almost envy the simplicity which springs from so much goodness. In my friendship for his wife and daughter I find the surest means of interesting Mr. Lee.

"What do I purpose by this? Why, to triumph over that ingrate Lawrence by a conquest of the only man within reach who is admitted to be his superior. He has humiliated my pride, wounded my vanity, and, oh heavens! thrown back the most passionate love that woman ever bestowed on man, as too worthless for his acceptance without money. Were Mr. Lee an unmarried man, this Lawrence should be invited to act as his groomsman within the month. As it is, he is distinguished and unapproachable to the common herd. As to the rest, wait and see—wait and see!

"Even here that man seems determined to thwart and wound me. Once, when I was talking with Mr. Lee in a low voice, watching the effect of this intimacy on Lawrence, who stood near, from under my half-closed eyelashes, he came up quietly, and desired to be introduced to my companion, who that moment moved away unconscious of the request.

"Lawrence has become acquainted with the young lady. I do not know how he managed it, but this morning when I looked out upon the sea, thinking only of him, they were standing together on the shore, conversing like old friends. My heart stood still; I felt my very lips turn white. The girl is rich, beautiful, and of good family. Almost her entire life has been spent in France, and she has undoubtedly brought all the arts and graces learned in foreign society in order to insure her conquests here. How did she manage to attract Lawrence? No woman has been able to do that since he came here. Until now my influence has been supreme, my society sufficient to his happiness;—now he is standing by her—yes, looking down into the eyes of that girl with the air of a man entranced. What can it mean? what can it mean?...

"I have not slept all night. My brain whirls, my heart aches; all the pride in my nature rises up in rebellion. I hate that man. He loves her. I can see it in his eyes; I can hear it in his speech. There is homage in the very bend of his person when he salutes her. Never, even in the first days of our acquaintance, has he addressed me with such tender admiration. Oh, how I hate her! The blood burns hotly in my veins when she approaches me. I long to strike her down. But be quiet, proud heart! the time will come—the time will come!

"A gentleman has just arrived at the Branch from the neighborhood of Mr. Lee's residence in Pennsylvania. He is a bright, chivalrous, noble-hearted young fellow, evidently in love with Jessie Lee, who looks upon him only as a generous young man whom she has known all her life, and cannot be particularly interested in. I discovered all this at the first interview. Besides the disadvantage of a long intimacy, she does not care for him because of the fascinations this other man has thrown around her. Poor fellow! how sad and bewildered he looks when she turns from him with such unconscious indifference to listen for the footsteps of his rival. How her cheek burns and her eyelids droop when the one man approaches her! Ah! I know the feeling, and could almost give pity for the disappointment in store for her; for she shall be disappointed. His 'brilliant coquette' is on the watch, softly, stealthily, but vigilant as a fox. Where two men are in love with the same woman, opportunities for complications are always arising. I shall neither overlook or throw them aside.

"Days and weeks have worn away,—that is the word,—worn away with such dull joylessness that they seem to me like the heavy dreams of a sick man. It is true this man would have married me out of lukewarm love and a thirst for money; but it is all over now. Both inclinations have kindled up into fiery passion for this Jessie Lee, and she is in love with him—a first love, deep and shy, but positive. He sees this and exults in it, utterly careless that I see and suffer.

"My friends reproach me for my reckless gayety. They complain that I am too greedy of pleasure, and give myself no rest. Greedy of pleasure! I am only fleeing from pain; I cannot pause to think without loathing the past and dreading the future. I rush onward like a wounded animal, afraid to pause lest I should be tempted to lie down and bleed to death.

"Lawrence has become close friends with young Bosworth. They have known each other before, it seems, and the acquaintance has been warmly renewed. There is craft and calculation in this. Let me watch and wait. I knew it. Lawrence seldom attempts to attract man or woman in vain. This morning the blinds of my window were closed, and I sat thoughtfully in the twilight of my room, listening to the murmurs of the ocean, that seemed to grow softer and more slumberous as the sun poured its silvery radiance upon them. I was very sad. No one would have complained of my spirits could they have seen me then.

"All at once, voices startled me. Lawrence and young Bosworth had paused near the closed blinds of my room. Just before this, some invitation had evidently been extended to Lawrence, and he accepted it with evident satisfaction.

"'Of course I will come, my good fellow. Fine shooting, a good horse, and such neighbors as the Lees, would draw a man out of paradise. You may count on me for a month.'

"'Then it is settled,' answered Bosworth, with a little reserve; perhaps he was not altogether pleased that the Lees were considered as an inducement for the visit. 'Then it is settled. We will do our best to make your visit to the old house pleasant.'

"They passed on after this, and left me trembling with indignation. Lawrence had made arrangements to follow Jessie Lee in a way that would commit him to nothing. Here, my presence has been some restraint upon him. In the country, his opportunities to see her will be far greater, and he will become thoroughly acquainted with all the advantages of her position.

"Lawrence is going to visit his rival, Mr. Bosworth. I will visit my rival, Miss Jessie Lee, at the same time. Before the night closes in, I will have an invitation from both the young lady and her invalid mother. As for Miss Hyde, it would be a thousand years before I got one from her. She does not like me, but I will become an inmate of her friends' house nevertheless. I can almost smile when I think of the confusion this arrangement will make.

"The night has not darkened yet, and I am invited to The Ridge. This is the name of Mrs. Lee's place in the country. How easily these gentle and truthful women are managed. They had not the least idea of inviting me when I entered their parlor, but in ten minutes after it was all arranged. I did not promise to go, however, but left the acceptance for a future day. This uncertainty will prevent them mentioning the visit to Lawrence....

"I am here at The Ridge, an honored guest, welcome to every one except Miss Hyde, who never has even pretended to like me. She has great influence in the family; but how long will it last? My enemies usually get into trouble in some unexpected way before I have been with them long.

"Lawrence is here, but I have managed that he shall not know of my presence until we meet face to face. We have a delicate game to play, and I shall enjoy the first move.

"I have seen him. We went out on horseback this afternoon, and he joined us. I was in my saddle when he rode up, and smiled upon him as if we had met only yesterday. His face flushed scarlet when he saw me. I made no effort to have him near me, but rode on with Mr. Lee, who is really one of the most charming men I ever saw. I watched Lawrence closely, to detect some annoyance at this intimacy; but his face was inscrutable. One thing was positive: my presence annoyed him.

"I think there was an effort made by Miss Hyde to keep me from Mrs. Lee's sick-room, but all her petty obstacles were swept away like a handful of rushes. Let this dainty little person take care, or she may not long remain the friend par excellence of the family. Mrs. Lee is very delicate, and may at any hour drop out of life. They are enormously rich, and most of the money comes from her real estate. I suppose Lawrence knows all this, or he would not have been in the neighborhood; but he shall never marry this girl—never—never!

"I am gaining something of my old ascendency over this man; and as I gain, she loses—no matter how—but she does. There are things which we never write, or care to see on record even in our own hearts. I think the devoted attentions of my host wound his vanity a little; and it is for this reason I encourage them—with another, so vague and remote that it scarcely takes shape as yet. But this is certain: I will not be made bankrupt in everything. If love fails me, I will have power and wealth. If he attains this girl, I will sweep everything else out of his reach. The pale woman up yonder in her tower-chamber cannot live forever.

"There is a little imp of Satan in this house, who is constantly with Mrs. Lee, vigilant as a fox, but, to all appearance, stolid enough in everything where her mistress is not concerned. She is completely uneducated, and seems to observe or know nothing beyond her duties in the sick-room; but she is forever there, and, I am sure, listens sometimes to our conversation, though it makes no visible impression upon her. I have told Cora to gain some influence over this strange creature. Since then she has been in my room frequently, and yesterday proposed to dress my head, which was beautifully done. She is very quiet, and takes no interest in anything around her, but talks to Cora when I am away, and the two are becoming very intimate. I shall find her useful. In her simplicity she will tell Cora everything.

"Young Bosworth has proposed to Jessie and been rejected; I am sure of this, though she is honorably reticent, and Miss Hyde refuses to speak. My relations with Lawrence are getting more and more confidential and friendly. Yesterday he even hinted at his attachment for Jessie. I listened in dead stillness, holding my breath, for it seemed as if some cruel hand were clutching at my heart. Does he think that I have no feeling, no pride? Sometimes I hate the man. How would he open this subject? How was I endowed with power to listen without shrieking forth the agony it inflicted?

"He asked me, with an effort at carelessness, if I thought there was anything serious in young Bosworth's attentions to Miss Lee. His voice faltered a little, and I knew that he was anxious. So I answered with gentle deliberation that I knew very little of the matter. Cora had gathered from the servants that they were mutually attached, but Mr. Lee opposed the marriage, as young Bosworth's fortune was in no reasonable proportion to that Miss Lee would inherit. Lawrence winced at this, unless I am greatly mistaken. Bosworth is a millionaire compared to him. If he has property of any amount, I have been unable to learn the fact. Indeed, he speaks of himself always as a poor man; but that may be from calculation. Thinking that Bosworth might know and have spoken of his friend's affairs, I have brought up the subject once or twice when conversing with Miss Hyde, but she evidently knew little or nothing about it. Oh, why is he not a rich man! The temptation of Miss Lee's fortune would be nothing to him then, and that girl and I would stand on equal ground. With the odds so completely against me, I have sworn to myself that he shall never, never marry her.

"She loves him, and I think he loves her; still he turns to me for sympathy and counsel, believing that I forget and forgive.

"Yes, she has rejected young Bosworth, and he is ill, very ill. That fine old lady, his grandmother, has sent for Miss Hyde, who will take Jessie Lee to visit her sick lover. Lawrence shall know this. He shall watch for her, going and coming. What, but intense love, can account for a step so singular—taken, too, without the knowledge of her father, for I will see that no communication of the fact shall reach him.

"It is exactly as I wished. He saw her on the road; he knows how angry her father was. His mortification is complete. He suffers enough to make my soul rise up in arms against him. To-day he betrayed one fact. The hope of gaining her property was a powerful incentive, however much he may love her. The man is worse than poor—heavily in debt—and feels himself compelled to marry riches. Perhaps this is the sole motive that brings him to the feet of this beautiful heiress. If I thought so, he might marry her; and I would wait a little till that frail woman—no, that is a terrible thought; let it sleep—let it sleep. Still, what would I do, even if Lawrence loved me? With extravagant tastes like ours, and high social positions to maintain without means, and he in debt, a marriage would be madness. If I were only sure that he sought her for her money alone—but I will not think of it.

"Lawrence has gone. I could not endure to see his disappointment, and let him depart supposing her engaged.

"I cannot live without him. This beautiful place is a desert, with all its blossoming flowers and rich appliances. When I feel that he has gone, a gloom falls upon everything around me. I am more lonely and miserable than his devotion to this young heiress could make me. Without his society, life would be a heavy burden. But how is that to be attained?

"These few days have been important ones to me. I have conjectured and thought till my brain aches and my heart is sore. To-day I stood upon the top of the Ridge, looking out upon the town and the vast landed estate owned by this man. Miss Hyde was with me, and something she said led me into a new train of thought. It seems that Jessie Lee is an heiress in spite of her father. At her mother's death, she will come in possession of half the estate. Of course, she will always live near the homestead, and the man she marries must necessarily be almost an inmate there. I have thought of this a great deal. New combinations are arranging themselves in my mind. If this rich man were free—but I dare not think of it.

"This lady is very lovely, but life must be a burden to any invalid. I should think death a mercy compared to the dull monotony of a sick-room. He is very tender and kind to her; but full health and continued illness cannot long remain in sympathy. He has learned this within the last two months, or I am greatly mistaken. Jessie Lee is getting distrustful of me. Miss Hyde has disliked me from the first, but in the sick-room I am all-potent, and this proud man does not himself dream of the power I have attained over him....

"I will do it; what choice have I? Poverty on one side, loneliness, desolation. On the other, wealth, position, his society. Oh, if I could only be sure that he does not love her!

"Having made up my mind, I am not one to falter. Yesterday I was talking with her about opiates. She is very nervous and wakeful at night, but refused to take laudanum. Very well; I have persuaded her that chloroform will bring rest, and she has some in her room. If she should take an overdose, who can be astonished?

"Last night I had a fearful struggle in her room. That girl seems endowed with wonderful resistance. I cannot put her so deeply into insensibility that she does not come out with a suddenness that frightens me. Perhaps I am nervous; everything startles me, and I feel panic-stricken at the least sound.

"After several failures I at last got the imp into perfect unconsciousness. She was lying on her white bed, more like a ghost than a human being. I stood over her; the dim outline of her person was just visible, but my hand crept slowly through the darkness, grasping the bottle, which was already uncorked. I was resolute. There was no tremor of heart or hand to hold me back. Slowly and steadily she inhaled the drug. Her breath stopped—her hand, which I grasped in mine, was growing cold, when I heard a scraping noise behind me. In an instant the room was illuminated with pale blue light. I turned in horror, and saw the girl Lottie and Miss Hyde, both pale as death, gazing upon me. I escaped them almost by a miracle. Cora came to my aid, and, quick as a flash of lightning, changed the bottle in my hand for another, while Miss Hyde was absolutely holding me in her arms. The whole family were aroused, but I received them calmly: the moment of peril had passed, and, instead of sinking, my energies rose to the conflict. But after I reached my room, the reaction was terrible. I fell from one fainting fit to another until morning.

"That girl Lottie suspects me. No fox waiting for prey was ever more vigilant. I dare not venture to that room again.

"An idea struck me this afternoon. A few words, spoken sadly and secretly by the sick woman, revealed means of reaching the end I wish, which are entirely free from danger, and may lead to other results. Let me think; let me plan. Why did this idea never present itself before?

"'To think that he did not love me, would be death,' she said. I felt the blood leap from my heart. This sentence revealed a terrible power which might safely be used. A power so subtle and deep-working that no human being would ever guess at its fatal effects.

"I have written this woman a letter, so completely imitating Jessie Lee's handwriting that no human being can detect the difference. In that letter I have accused myself of attempting to entrap Mr. Lee, and of usurping the affections that should belong to his wife. I have pointed out proof after proof that he has ceased to regard her, and is becoming weary of the life her illness forces upon him. I have warned her that his love is already given to another, and that her very life is becoming burdensome to him.

"The letter is adroitly written, but has no signature. Who could suppose any woman capable of maligning herself? I have sent it to the mail. It will reach her to-morrow. I cannot sleep to-night. Work like this requires a heart of brass and nerves of steel.

"It is done. She got the letter while we were out riding. When we came back, her heart was broken—poor thing, poor woman! I almost wish it had not been done. The feeling of terror that seized upon me when I saw their white faces, was awful. A faint sickness crept over me, but I must go on and face the work I had done.

"I kissed her while she was dying. Did Judas feel so when he betrayed the Saviour? No wonder he went out and killed himself. A drop of her life-blood clung to my lips. I washed it off again and again, but it burns there yet—it burns there yet....

"Weeks have passed, mostly in solitude, for we keep apart from each other, and meet gloomily when forced into domestic companionship. I am sure this man loves me, though as yet he has given no sign. I am equally sure that the other inmates of the house hate me.

"I have written to Lawrence, explaining away many things that drove him from the neighborhood. I have told him that Jessie Lee is not engaged—that she has loved him from the first. This will bring him back. Let him marry her; his presence is my life. That much at least will be secured.

"He has been here, she has refused him utterly, and he is furious. Oh, such words as he used, such cruel, hard truths as he told me! They pierce my heart like arrows poison-tipped. He does not love me—never did. This thought makes me hard as iron, resolute as a tigress.

"I am about to leave the Ridge. I have separated him from his household. It was the necessity of my position. Had these two women regained their influence over Mr. Lee, I should have lost him too. As it is, they will be left alone. I shall not be absent from his house twenty-four hours before he will depart also.

"He intends to leave home at once and travel in Europe. About the end of this year he will be in Paris. He asked no questions about my movements, but there was anxiety and deep distress in his eyes that I understood.

"I shall go at once to New York, sell my jewels, and hold myself in readiness for anything that comes. But one thing is certain—this man and I meet again."

Mrs. Dennison's journal closed here. I read it through, word by word, until my very heart grew cold with horror and dread. It is a terrible thing to be made the custodian of a great crime. It haunted me night and day, until the very burden of it threatened to undermine my health.

I hid the book away, and locked it close from all knowledge but my own. For the universe I would not have told Jessie one word of the awful crime it revealed. I think it would have killed her. But all this time my soul grew faint with apprehension. The year was wellnigh at its close. Would this woman carry out her project and meet Mr. Lee in Paris? The thought drove me wild. I resolved to leave home and cross the ocean rather than allow a noble and good man to be wiled on to a union with that terrible woman. But this was difficult. How could I leave Jessie to such perfect loneliness? These thoughts filled my mind day and night, haunting me almost into insanity.

Sometimes I thought of Lottie with a gleam of hope: possibly she had undertaken the daring enterprise which I contemplated with so much terror. I resolved to wait a while, hoping that she might send us some intelligence.

Weeks went by and we heard nothing of her. She had not promised to write—still we anxiously expected to hear of her welfare; but nothing came. Like Mr. Lee, Lottie seemed to have been swept out of our lives.

All this was very sad; but we received a little sunshine in the constant visits of young Bosworth, who was so happy now in his but half acknowledged engagement to our Jessie that all our troubles were chased away in his presence. As for the old lady—but it is impossible to explain what a protection and comfort her society proved to us at this time.

A month—six weeks went by, and still nothing of Mr. Lee or of Lottie; both had deserted us, and we were indeed alone. Jessie had some consolation in the dawning tenderness of her second love; but I—oh! those were dreary, dreary days to me!

One morning I found a letter on the hall-table, which sent all the blood from my heart. The handwriting I did not know, but it had a foreign post-mark, and that set my hand to trembling as I touched it. The address was to myself.

Jessie was still in the room; so, like a thief, I snatched the precious messenger, and went off to my old place on the Ridge, where I could be sure of solitude. I was breathless on reaching the rock, and sat down with a hand pressed hard against my heart, which throbbed with suffocating violence.

I sat down and tore open the envelope. It was a long, heavy letter, closely written. I recognized the handwriting with a thrill of dread. With a sinking heart I turned over the pages, and saw "Lottie" written on the extreme corner of the last sheet.

"Lottie!" and the letter dated in Paris! What could it mean? It was some moments before I composed myself sufficiently to make out the first few lines, though they were characteristic enough.

"My very dear Miss Hyde," the letter began, "I a'n't much used to writing letters, and it seems to me as if this would be long and hard work; but things must be told, and if I don't write them, who will?

"You thought hard of me, I dare say, for leaving you just as I did; but I thought just the other way about it, and haven't changed my mind yet. It was tough work, though, to get away from home and bid you both good-bye, as I did. I hope to goodness you will never have to go through with anything like it. I could not tell you then what it was that set me off; but I will now.

"That very morning, before I came down on you for the money, the man from town brought over some things done up in a newspaper more than six weeks old, and in it I read that Mrs. Bab—I beg pardon—Madam Dennison had set sail in a steamboat for a place called Havre, across the Atlantic Ocean; I know more of places and things than you might believe. I was sure that Havre was in Europe, and knew well enough that Mr. Lee was there—a rich widower—with no one in the wide world to keep him from getting into scrapes. Of course, anybody that could see through a mill-stone might have known what that she-Bab—no, I mean that lady and servant—went to Havre for.

"Well, I thought it all over, and made up my mind what to do. First, I concluded to keep a close mouth in regard to Miss Jessie, for I was sure that she would wilt right down; and as for you—well, no matter: that little secret lies between you and me. Silent was the word then; but I had made up my mind to travel, and was bound to do it. But people can't sail across oceans, and gulfs, and inlets, and such kind of waterworks, without money, and I hadn't but two half-dollars in the world. You know how I came down on you and the dear young lady like a roaring lion, and got that six hundred dollars; I'd rather have danced on red-hot coals an hour than do what I did. It was just highway burglary, and nothing less. I hate myself for it yet.

"Well, after I got the money I made quick work of it, sat up all night, did a little packing, a little praying, and a great deal of crying till daylight came; then I put for the railroad and flashed down to New York. A newspaper that I bought of a little boy in the cars told me that a steamer sailed for Havre that very day. The minute we stopped in New York I got lost in a crowd of carriage-drivers and long whips, that seemed terribly glad to see me; and one of them took me on one side as kind as could be, asking where I wanted to go, promising to take me right there—that is, to the steamer—trunk and all, in no time.

"The man kept his word. I got into his carriage, and we drove through long streets, and cross-streets, down among acres of ships that looked like blasted trees, and at last we got to a steamer with stairs down its black sides, and smoke puffing out from its chimneys in a frightful way.

"The man climbed up the stairs with my trunk on his shoulder; I followed. He set it down, and I sat down on it. Then the man wanted two dollars, and I gave him one, at which he grumbled a little; but I told him that I had travelled, and knew what was what. Then he went away and left me alone in the crowd; so I had a good cry all to myself, thinking of you folks at home, and wondering what would become of me in the end.

"While I was sitting there so heavy-hearted, the bells started out a-ringing, the steamer began to heave and groan, half the people went helter-skelter down the side of the vessel, and the other half crowded toward one end. Then we began to move, and I felt the blood creep up and down my limbs as shivery as ice. I remember seeing, through the tears that almost blinded me, handkerchiefs waving and people crying on the deck and down on the wharf; but there was nobody to cry about me, nor shake away their sorrow from a white handkerchief; so I just huddled down on the trunk and gave right up.

"Oh! how my heart sunk as the steamer swung round and dashed out into the great river; and, to scare me worse, a gun went off, bang! sending a stream of smoke behind us. I covered my face in my hands and cried—oh! how I did cry!

"When I looked up again, New York was a great way off; the ships looked like a forest of dead pine-trees, and everything else lay in a blue fog. I looked the other way, where the sun was going down in the deep, deep water. There everything was lonesome as the grave, and I almost wished that I was dead. But the steamer kept on prowling along the water, like a great wild beast, worrying us all into the next world. It seemed as if I was going off, far, far away from where my mistress had gone.

"I had been lonesome before in my life; but this was worse than that. I wanted to creep into some corner and die. Then I remembered that I had promised her, when she lay dead in the tower-chamber, to be a mother to you and Miss Jessie, and made a little prayer to God that He would help me in the thing that I was going about. It was all I could do.

"When the steamer was out in the deep waters, and the dark came on, a man stood by my trunk and asked why it was that I stayed out of my room. Then I told him my trunk was room enough for me just then; so he went away and brought another man, who asked if I had a state-room and a ticket.

"I told him the truth—that I didn't know what a state-room was; but that something I had eaten must have made me sick, and I wanted to lie down dreadfully.

"The man told me that a state-room would cost more than a hundred dollars; so I told him I'd rather stay on deck, for there was no certainty how much money I might want to spend before I got back.

"Then they began talking about second cabins, and asked how much money I could pay; but, somehow, I was too sick to care much, and let 'em pay themselves; so they took me down into a room with beds made like shelves along the sides, and I fell into one. Oh, mercy! I can't think of it now without being dizzy.

"Day and night—day and night—rock, rock—plunge, plunge—till at last there was an end of the eternal waters, and we landed at Havre,—an old fussy place that seemed as unsteady as the ship.

"Europe is a large place, Miss Hyde, and I didn't know whereabouts in it Mr. Lee or that woman was to be found; but I had money, and the mistress always taught me to trust in God when I couldn't do anything on my own hook. So I watched everything that went on among the passengers, and kept a prayer for help stirring in the bottom of my heart.

"At first I was about to ask some of the passengers which way I'd better turn, but concluded to wait. So I followed the crowd when it left the steamer, and it took me into a hotel as old as the hills, where women were running round in their nightcaps and chattering like tame crows.

"I went into a room with the rest, and sat down with my satchel on my lap, keeping a keen eye on everything. We had to wait a good while; for the men at the wharf wanted to see if everything was put up nicely in my trunk; but they promised to give it back, and a passenger said he would send it with his to the hotel, as I was alone. I had to wait.

"As I sat there watching, some gentlemen came in that seemed to know some of our passengers. They had just run down from Paris, I heard them say, to meet their friends on landing. They were nice, genteel men, and I listened to their talk, having nothing else to busy myself with. After a good deal of shaking hands and questioning about the voyage, they began to talk about Paris, especially about its hotels, and what Americans were at them.

"I held my breath and listened. The Hotel de Louvre, or Loofer, or something like that, they said, was the hotel where Americans went most. There was a great number of distinguished persons there now, and they went over a list of names. When they came to that of Mr. Lee, I caught my breath, and sprang up, dropping my satchel, with the gold in it, with a clank to the floor. No one minded me; so I sat down again, trembling all over, and listened. Then Mrs. Dennison's name was huddled in among the rest, and I knew that the persons I was in search of were in the same town together, and very near too; for the men who had run down from Paris didn't seem out of breath or the least tired. So I made up my mind to go there at once, and come back in an hour or two after my trunk.

"'Please, sir,' said I to one of the gentlemen, 'can you tell me just how far Paris is from this hotel, and which way I must turn?'

"He looked at me a minute, and smiled with his eyes.

"'It is about six hours, I think,' he answered; 'any coachman will take you to the depot.'

"I was rather discouraged. If it took him six hours to run the distance, I should find it a long walk. So I concluded to hire a carriage and take my trunk along.

"After awhile my trunk came up with a heap of other baggage, and, as everybody else was starting off in carriages, I hired one too; and when the man asked where I wanted to go, I told him to the Louvre Hotel in Paris. He drove away at once, and after a few minutes stopped at a railroad depot, and opened the door for me to get out.

"'This is the right train,' he said, in the queerest English I ever heard. 'I will get you a ticket.'

"I felt myself blushing, but said nothing. He didn't know that I had thought of walking. In less than ten minutes I was whizzing along like anything over the most beautiful country, and through the queerest old towns, and by the strangest houses with points and caps and corners like great table-casters cut in stone. Then the dark came on, and I fell sound asleep, till a great crash and jar awoke me in a depot right in the midst of a city larger than New York, all blazing with lights and crowded with folks.

"I had learned a thing or two by this time, and when a driver put himself in my way, told him that I wanted to go to Mr. Louvre's Hotel, and that he'd better get my trunk. He didn't seem to understand a word except the name of Mr. Louvre; but he caught that at once and nodded his head.

"'We, we!'

"'Yes,' I said, 'both of us. You couldn't very well drive me without going too, I should think.'

"So up he came with a little one-horse concern, and in I got. Oh! what streets, and lanes, and roads of lamps I went through! What crowds of people—what tall, tall houses! They made me more dizzy than I had been, and that was bad enough."