A Forest Hearth: A Romance of Indiana in the Thirties Part 28

"No other man can give you the love I feel for you, and you shall respond to it."

"It is impossible, Mr. Williams," she said pleadingly. "You do not know all. I am sorry, so sorry, to give you pain." Her ever ready tears began to flow. "But I do not feel toward you as you wish. I--there is another.

He is--has been very near to me since I was a child, and I have promised to be his wife this long time."

Her words were almost maddening to Williams, and he retorted as if he were, in truth, mad.

"That country fellow? You shall never marry him! I swear it! He is a poor, supercilious fool and doesn't know it! He has nothing in this world, and has never seen anything beyond the limits of his father's farm."

"He has been to New York," interrupted Rita, in all seriousness.

Williams laughed. "I tell you he is a boor. He is a--"

"He is to be my husband, Mr. Williams, and I hope you will not speak ill of him," said Rita, with cold dignity.

"He is not to be your husband," cried Williams, angrily. "You shall be mine--mine; do you hear? Mine! I will have you, if I must--" he caught the girl in his arms, and pressing her head back upon the bend of his elbow, kissed her lips to his heart's content and to his own everlasting undoing. When he released her she started from the room, but he, grasping her arm, detained her, saying:--

"Rita, I beg your pardon. I lost my head. I am sorry. Forgive me."

"There can be no forgiveness for you," she said, speaking slowly, "and I wish you to let me leave the room."

"Rita, forgive me," he pleaded. "I tell you I was insane when I--I did that. You have almost driven me mad. You can surely forgive me when you know that my act was prompted by my love. Your heart is ready with forgiveness and love for every one but me, and I, more than all others, love you. I beg you to forgive me, and if I cannot have your love, forget what I have done this night and again be my friend."

After a long, painful pause, she spoke deliberately: "I would not marry you, Mr. Williams, if you were a king, or if I should die by reason of refusing you. I cannot now be even your friend. I shall tell my father and brother what you have done, and they will order you out of this house. I will tell Dic, and he will kill you!" Her eyes, usually so gentle, were hard and cold, as she continued: "There is the door. I hope you will never darken it again."

She again started to leave the room, and he again detained her. He knew that disgrace would follow exposure, and, being determined to silence her at any cost, said angrily:--

"If you tell your father, I will take from him his store, his home, his farm. He owes me more than all combined are worth. If you will not listen to me through love, you shall do so from fear. I am sorry, very sorry, for what happened. I know the consequences if you speak of it. No one can be made to understand exactly how it happened, and I will protect myself; of that you may be sure. If you speak of what I did, driven to it by my love for you, I say I will turn your father and mother into the street. They will be penniless in their old age. Your brother Tom is a thief. He has been stealing from me ever since he came to my office. Only last night I laid a trap for him and caught him in the act of stealing fifty dollars. He took the money and lost it at Welch's gambling saloon. He has taken, in all, nearly a thousand dollars. I have submitted to his thefts on your account. I have extended your father's notes because he is your father. But if you tell any one that I--I kissed you to-night, or if you repeat what I have told concerning your father and brother, your parents go to the street, and Tom to the penitentiary. Now, do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Will you remain silent?"

"Yes."

Then he took his hat, saying, "I have been beside myself to-night, but it was through love for you, and you will forgive me, won't you?"

"Yes."

"And I may come again?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And we will forget all that has happened this evening and you will be my friend?"

"Yes."

"If you will forgive me," he continued, recovering his senses, "and will allow me the sweet privilege of your friendship, I promise never again to speak of my love until you have given me permission. Shall it be a compact?"

"Yes," murmured the girl.

"Will you give me your hand?" he asked. She offered the hand, and he clasping it, said:--

"You have much to forgive, but your heart is full of gentleness, and you have promised."

"Yes, I have promised," she returned huskily.

"Good night, Rita."

"Good night."

The girl hurried to her room, and, almost unconscious of what she was doing, dressed for the night. During the first few minutes after she had extinguished the candle and had crept into bed, she could not think coherently, but soon consciousness came in an ingulfing flood.

Williams's kisses seemed to stick to her. She rubbed her lips till they were raw, but still the clinging pollution seemed to penetrate to her soul. Her first coherent thought, of course, was of Dic. No man but he had ever, till that night, touched her lips, and with him a kiss was a sacrament. Now he would scorn her. The field of her disaster seemed to broaden, as she thought of it, and with the chast.i.ty of her lips she felt that she had lost everything worth having in life. Abandoning her pillow, she covered her head with the counterpane, and drawing her knees to her breast, lay trembling and sobbing. Dic was lost to her. There seemed to be no other possible outcome to the present situation. She feared Williams as never before, and felt that she was in his clutches beyond escape. The situation seemed hopeless beyond even the reach of prayer, her usual refuge, and she did not pray. She knew of her father's debt to Williams, and had always feared that Tom was not to be trusted.

She was convinced without evidence other than Williams's words that he had told the truth, and she knew that ruin and disgrace for her father and Tom waited upon a nod from the man whom she hated, and that the nod waited upon her frown.

The next morning Rita's face lacked much of its wonted beauty. Her eyes were red and dim, the cheeks were pale and dim, her lips were blue and dim, and all the world, seen by her eyes, was dark and dim. The first thing that must be done, of course, was to tell Dic of the ravaged kiss.

She had no more desire to conceal that terrible fact from him than a wounded man has to deceive the surgeon. He must be told without delay, even should he at once spurn her forever.

She feared Williams, bearing in mind his threat, and determined first to pledge Dic to secrecy, and then to tell him of her disgrace. She wrote to him, begging him to come to her at once; and he lost no time in going.

He arrived at the Bays house an hour past noon, and Rita soon had him to herself in the front parlor. When they entered the room and were alone he took her hand; but she withdrew it, saying:--

"No, no; wait till you hear what has happened."

He readily saw that something terrible had transpired. "What is it, Rita? Tell me quickly."

"I can't, Dic, till I have your solemn promise that you will never repeat what I am about to tell you."

"But, Rita--" he began, in expostulation.

"No--no, you must promise. You must swear--if you will hear."

"I promise. I swear if you wish. What can it be?"

Then she drew him to a settee, and with downcast eyes began her piteous story.

"Monday evening Mr. Williams came to call upon me. You know you said I must receive him kindly. I did so. And he again asked me to--to--you know--to marry him. When I told him it was impossible, he grew angry; and when I became frightened and tried to leave the room, he caught me by the hand and would not let me go. Then he told me again how desperately he cared for me; and when I answered angrily and tried to escape, he held me and--and--oh, Dic, I can't tell you. I thought I could, but I can't. I--I loathe myself." She bent her head forward, and covering her face with her hands, sobbed convulsively.

"Go on, Rita. My G.o.d! you must tell me," demanded Dic.

"I know I must," she replied between sobs. "Oh, Dic, do not hate me. He held me to him as you sometimes do,--but, oh, it was so different. I was helpless, and he bent back my head and kissed me on the lips till I thought I should faint."

"The cowardly hound. He shall pay dearly for his--"

"I have your promise, your oath," said the girl, interrupting him.

"But, Rita--"

"I trusted you, Dic, and I know you will faithfully keep your promise.

Father owes Williams a large sum of money, and Tom has been stealing from him." Here she began to weep. "He will ruin father and send Tom to the penitentiary if he learns that I have told you this. He told me he would, and I promised I would tell no one; but my duty to you is higher than my duty to keep my promise. Now you know why I held you off when we came in here."