Family Pride Or Purified by Suffering Part 49

Between each word he uttered now there was a gasp for breath, and Father Cameron opened the window wide to admit the cool night air. But nothing had power to revive him. He was going very fast, Morris said, as he took his stand by the bedside and watched the approach of death. There were no convulsive struggles, only heavy breathings, which grew farther and farther apart, until at last Wilford drew Katy close to him, and winding his arm around her neck, whispered:

"I am almost home, my darling, and all is well. Be kind to Genevra for my sake. I loved her once, but not as I love you."

He never spoke again, and a few minutes later Morris led Katy from the room, and then went out to give his orders for the embalming of the body.

In the little room she called her own, Marian Hazelton sat, her beautiful hair disordered, and her eyes dim with the tears she had shed.

She knew that Wilford was dead, for Morris had told her so, and as if his dying had brought back all her olden love, she wept bitterly for the man who had so darkened her life. She did not know that at the last he knew she was so near. She had not expected to see him with Katy present; but now that it was over, she might go to him. There could be no harm in that. No one but Morris would know who she was, she thought, and she was making up her mind to go, when there came a timid knock upon the door, and Katy entered, her face very pale, her manner very calm, as she came to Marian, and kneeling down beside her, laid her head in her lap with the air of a weary child who has sought its mother for rest.

"Poor little Katy!" Marian said, caressing her golden hair. "Your husband, they tell me, is dead."

"Yes," and Katy lifted up her head, and fixing her eves earnestly upon Marian, continued: "Wilford is dead, but before he died he left a message for Genevra Lambert. Will she hear it now?"

With a sudden start, Marian sprang to her feet, and holding Katy from her, demanded: "Who told you of Genevra Lambert, and when?"

"Wilford told me months ago, showing me her picture, which I readily recognized," was Katy's answer, and a flush of fear and shame came to Marian's cheek as she continued:

"Did he tell you all? And do you hate me as a vile, polluted creature?"

"Hate you, Marian? No. I have pitied you so much, knowing you were innocent. Wilford told me all, but he thought you were dead," Katy said, flinching a little before Marian's burning gaze, which fascinated even, while it startled her.

It is not often two women meet bearing to each other the relations these two bore, and it is not strange that both felt constrained and embarra.s.sed as they stood looking at each other. As Marian's was the stronger nature, so she was the first to rally, and with the tears swimming in her eyes she drew Katy closely to her, and said:

"Now that he is gone I am glad you know it. Mine has been a sad, sad life, but G.o.d has helped me bear it. You say he believed me dead. Some time I will tell you how that came about; but now, his message--he left one, you say?"

Carefully Katy repeated every word Wilford had said, and with a gasping cry Marian wound her arms around her neck, exclaiming:

"And you will love me, not because he did once, but because I have suffered so much? You will let me call you Katy when we are alone? It brings you nearer to me."

Marian was now the weaker of the two, and it was Katy's task to comfort her, as, sinking back in her chair, she sobbed:

"He did love me once. He acknowledged it at the last, before them all, his wife, his father and his sister. Do they know?" she suddenly asked, and when a.s.sured that they did, she relapsed into a silent mood, while Katy stole quietly out and left her there alone.

Half an hour later a female form pa.s.sed hurriedly through the hall and across the threshold into the chamber where the dead man lay. There was no one with him now, and Marian was free to weep out the pent-up sorrow of her life, which she did with choking sobs and pa.s.sionate words poured into the ear deaf now to every human sound. A step upon the floor startled her, and turning around she stood face to face with Wilford's father, who was regarding her with a look which she mistook for one of reproof and displeasure that she should be there thus.

"Forgive me," she said, wringing her hands together. "I know how you despise me, but he was my husband once, and surely now that he is dead you will not begrudge me a few last moments with him for the sake of the days when he loved me."

There were many tender chords in the heart of Father Cameron, and offering Marian his hand, he said:

"Far be it from me to refuse you this privilege. I pity you, Genevra, for I believe he dealt unjustly by you--but I will not censure him now that he is gone. He was my only boy. Oh, Wilford, Wilford. You have left me very lonely."

He released her hand, and Marian fled away, meeting next with Bell, who felt that she must speak to her, but was puzzled what to say. Bell could not define her feelings toward Marian, or why she shrank from approaching her. It was not pride, but rather a feeling of prejudice, as if Marian were in some way to blame for all the trouble which had come to them, while her peculiar position as the divorced wife of her brother made it the more embarra.s.sing. But she could not resist the mute pleading of the eyes lifted so tearfully to her, as if asking for a nod of recognition, and stopping before her she said, softly:

"Genevra."

That was all, but it made Genevra's tears flow in torrents, and she involuntarily held her hand out to Bell, who took it, and holding it between her own, said:

"You were very kind to my brother. I thank you for it, and will tell my mother, who will feel so grateful to you."

This was a good deal for Bell to say, and after it was said, she hastened away, while Marian went on her daily round of duties, speaking softer, if possible, to her patients that day, and causing them to wonder what had come over that sweet face to make it so white and tear-stained. That night in Marian's room Katy sat and listened to what she did not before know of the strange story kept from her so long.

Candidly Marian confirmed all Wilford had told, breathing no word of blame against him now that he was dead, only stating facts, and leaving Katy to draw her own conclusions. Herself she censured much for fostering that fondness for admiration so irritating to a jealous man like Wilford.

"I knew that I was handsome," she said, "and I liked to test my power; but for that weakness I have been sorely punished. I had not at first any intention of making him believe that I was dead, and when I sent the paper containing the announcement of father's death I was not aware that it also contained the death of my cousin, a beautiful girl just my age, who bore our grandmother's name of Genevra, and about whom and a young English lord, who had hunted one season in her father's neighborhood, there were some scandalous reports. Afterward it occurred to me that Wilford would see that notice and naturally think it referred to me, inasmuch as he knew nothing of my Cousin Genevra, she having spent much of her time in the northern part of Scotland, and he never inquired particularly about my relatives.

"It was just as well, I said, I was dead to him, and I took a strange satisfaction in wondering if he would care. Incidentally I heard that the postmaster at Alnwick had been written to by an American gentleman, who asked if such a person as Genevra Lambert was buried at St. Mary's; and then I knew he believed me dead, even though the name appended to the letter was not Wilford Cameron, nor was the writing his, for, as the cousin of the dead Genevra. I asked to see the letter, and my request was granted. It was Mrs. Cameron who wrote it, I am sure, at the instigation, probably, of her son, signing a feigned name and bidding the postmaster answer to that address. He did so, a.s.suring the inquirer that Genevra Lambert was buried there, and wondering to me if the young American who seemed interested in her could have been a lover of the unfortunate girl.

"I was now alone in the world, for the aunt with whom my childhood was pa.s.sed died soon after my father, and so I went at last to learn a trade on the Isle of Wight, emigrating from thence to New York, with the determination in my rebellious heart that some time, when it would cut the deepest, I would show myself to the proud Camerons, whom I so cordially hated. This was before G.o.d had found me, or rather before I had listened to the still, small voice which took the hard, vindictive feelings away, and made me feel kindly toward the mother and sisters when I saw them, as I often used to do, driving gayly by. Wilford was sometimes with them, and the sight of him always sent the hot blood surging through my heart. But the greatest shock I ever had came to me when I heard from your sister of his approaching marriage with you.

Those were terrible days that I pa.s.sed at the farmhouse, working on your bridal _trousseau_; and sometimes I thought it more than I could bear.

Had you been other than the little, loving, confiding, trustful girl you were, I must at some time have disclosed the whole, and told that you would not be the first who had stood at the altar with Wilford. But pity for you, whom I knew loved him so much, kept me silent, and you became his wife.

"Of what has happened since you know--except, indeed, how hard it was sometimes for poor, weak human nature to see you as happy as you were at first, and then contrast my lot with yours. I loved your baby almost as much as if it had been my own, and when it died there was nothing to bind me to the North, and so I came here, where I hope I have done some good; at least, I was here to care for Wilford, and that is a sufficient reward for all the toil which falls to the lot of a hospital nurse. I shall stay until the war is ended, and then go I know not where. It will not be best for us to meet very often, for though we may and do respect each other, neither can forget the past, or that one was the lawful, the other the divorced, wife of the same man. I have loved you, Katy Cameron, for your uniform kindness shown to the poor dressmaker. I shall always love you, but our paths lie widely apart. Your future I can predict, but mine G.o.d only knows."

Marian had said all she meant to say, and all Katy came to hear. The latter was to leave in the morning, and when they would meet again neither could tell. Few were the parting words they spoke, for the great common sorrow welling up from their hearts; but when at last they said good-by, the bond of friendship between them was more strongly cemented than ever, and Katy long remembered Marian's parting words:

"G.o.d bless you, Katy Cameron! You have been a bright sun spot in my existence since I first knew you, even though you have stirred some of the worst impulses of my nature. I am a better woman for having known you. G.o.d bless you, Katy Cameron!"

CHAPTER XLIX.

MOURNING.

The grand funeral which Mrs. Cameron once had planned for Katy was a reality at last, but the breathless form lying so cold and still in the darkened rooms at No. ---- Fifth Avenue was not Katy's, but that of a soldier embalmed--an only son brought back to his father's house amid sadness and tears. They had taken him there rather than to his own house, because it was the wish of his mother, who, however hard and selfish she might be to others, had loved and idolized her son, mourning for him truly, and forgetting in her grief to care how grand the funeral was, and feeling only a pa.s.sing twinge when told that Mrs. Lennox had come from Silverton to pay the last tribute of respect to her late son-in-law. Some little comfort it was to have her boy lauded as a faithful soldier and to hear the commendations lavished upon him during the time he lay in state, with his uniform around him; but when the whole was over, and in the gray of the wintry afternoon her husband returned from burying his son, there came over her a feeling of such desolation as she had never known--a feeling which drove her at last to the little room upstairs, where sat a lonely man, his head bowed upon his hands, and his tears dropping silently upon the hearthstone as he, too, thought of the vacant parlor below and the new-made grave at Greenwood.

"Oh, husband, comfort me, for our only boy is dead," fell from her lips as she tottered to her husband, who opened his arms to receive her, forgetting all the years which had made her the cold, proud woman, who needed no sympathy, and remembering only that bright, green summer when she was first his bride, and came to him for comfort in every little grievance, just as now she came in this great, crushing sorrow.

He did not tell her she was reaping what she had sown, that but for her pride and deception concerning Genevra, Wilford might never have gone to the war, or they been without a son. He did not reproach her at all, but soothed her tenderly, calling her even by her maiden name, and awkwardly smoothing her hair, silvered now with gray, feeling for a moment that Wilford had not died in vain, if by his dying he gave back to his father the wife so lost during the many years since fashion and folly had been the idols she worshiped. But the habits of years could not be lightly broken, and Mrs. Cameron's mind soon became absorbed in the richness of her mourning, and the strict etiquette of her mourning days. To Katy she was very kind, caressing her with unwonted affection, and scarcely suffering her to leave her sight, much less to stay even for a day at Mrs. Banker's, where Katy secretly preferred to be. Of Genevra, too, she talked with Katy, and at her instigation wrote a friendly letter, thanking Miss Lambert for all her kindness to her son, expressing her sorrow that she had ever been so unjust to her, and sending her a handsome locket, containing on one side a lock of Wilford's hair, and on the other his picture, taken from a large-sized photograph. Mrs. Cameron felt herself a very good woman after she had done all this, together with receiving Mrs. Lennox at her own house, and entertaining her for one whole day; but at heart there was no real change, and as time pa.s.sed on she gradually fell back into her old ways of thinking, and went no more for comfort to her husband as she had on that first night after the burial.

With Mr. Cameron the blow struck deeper, and his Wall Street friends talked together of the old man he had grown since Wilford died, while Katy often found him bending over his long-neglected Bible, as he sat alone in his room at night. And when at last she ventured to speak to him upon the all-important subject, like a little child, he put his hand in hers, and bade her teach him the narrow way which she had found, and wherein Wilford, too, had walked at the very last, they hoped.

For many weeks Katy lingered in New York, and the June roses were blooming when she went back to Silverton, a widow and the rightful owner of all Wilford's ample fortune. They had found among his papers a will, drawn up and executed not long before his illness, and in which Katy was made his heiress, without condition or stipulation. All was hers to do with as she pleased, and the bitterest tears she ever shed were those which fell like rain when she heard how generous Wilford had been. Then, as she thought of Marian, and the life of poverty before her, she crept to Father Cameron's side, and said to him, pleadingly:

"Let Genevra share it with me. She needs it quite as much."

Father Cameron would not permit Katy to divide equally with Marian. It was not just, he said; but he did not object to a few thousand going to her, and before Katy left New York for Silverton, she wrote a long, kind letter to Marian, presenting her with ten thousand dollars, which she begged her to accept, not so much as a gift, but as her rightful due.

There was a moment's hesitancy on the part of Marian when she read the letter, a feeling that she could not take so much from Katy; but when she looked at the pale sufferers around her, and remembered how many wretched hearts that money would help to cheer, she said:

"I will keep it."

CHAPTER L.

PRISONERS OF WAR.