Her Mother's Secret Part 56

"It was nothing but a nightmare dream, Le, and I wish to forget all about it."

"Then you never loved him----"

"Loved him!" interrupted Odalite, with flushing cheeks and flashing eyes.

"Who ever imagined that I could ever love him? I never told you that I loved him, Le."

"No, by Jove, so you never did! You never told me that you loved him; and you did tell me that you had never let him kiss you!" exclaimed Le, with a new ring of joy in his voice and a new light of joy in his eyes.

"No," said Odalite. "It was my greatest merit and my worst fault that I did not love him when I consented to marry him. I was wrong, under any inducement, to consent to such a union; but, Le, if I had loved him, I must have been something of a kindred spirit to him! And that, you know, I am not."

"Odalite!" said the young man, taking her hand between both of his and trying to calm his tumultuous feelings, and to speak quietly, while they slackened their pace and walked very slowly; "Odalite, darling, I had a long interview with your father yesterday, in which we talked over all these matters. He believes that your fancy and imagination were fascinated, captivated by the arts of that man, who shall be nameless, because I cannot bear to utter, nor you to hear, the accursed name. Your father, however, gave me permission to have this final talk with you, on certain conditions, which I promised to keep."

Odalite looked up, anxiously, into his face.

"My darling," he said, as he caressed the hand he held, "when I asked you to take this walk with me to-night, it was because I knew that you were free in hand, at least, to receive the proposal that I came to make you; it was not that we should immediately renew the old engagement that bound our hearts and souls together from our childhood up to the time when the stranger came between us, for I did not know then that your heart, as well as your hand, was free. I thought that it would take time to heal the wound that I supposed you had received in the sudden rupture of your marriage; but that, in time, your woman's pride, your sense of honor and your conscientiousness would enable you to conquer any lingering interest you might feel in that man. So I came here not to plead for an immediate renewal of our precious betrothal, but only to plead as the best grace you might give me that we might correspond, as brother and sister, while I am at sea, doing my duty there and waiting for the time when we may, please Heaven, be united in a dearer, closer love----"

"But, Le!" she broke out, impulsively; "I love you--I love you--I have never ceased to love you, Le!" And then she would have given words to have recalled the hasty, if true, words.

But they were spoken, and every tone of her voice, every glance of her eyes, every play of her features gave such unquestionable evidence of their truth that she never could have repudiated them.

"Then, oh, my dearest one! why were you ever beguiled into consenting to marry that man--into thinking that you could possibly live with that man?"

"Oh, Le, I was never for a moment beguiled! I never for one moment imagined that I could live with him. I knew I could not do so. I knew I should die under the upas tree of his hateful presence! I knew that it was my life I laid down to save others whom I did love!"

"Odalite!" he exclaimed, amazed and overwhelmed by her pa.s.sion.

"Le! Oh, Le! I have told you more than I meant ever to have told any one!

The truth burst from my heart unawares. Forget what I have said, Le! Oh, forget it!"

"Never, never, never can I forget these words, dear Odalite! Those words that have revealed to me a glimpse of a soul braver, n.o.bler, more self-immolating than I ever believed could live in the form of mortal man, not to say in that of a fragile girl," said the young man, fervently, earnestly.

"Oh, dear Le, such overpraise humbles me! Let it pa.s.s! But, oh, my dear, as you unwittingly surprised my confidence, so respect it. Whisper it to no human being--no, not even to yourself in your moments of deepest solitude!" she pleaded.

"I will not, my best beloved, my only love! I will not; but I will hide it in my heart as my secret, sacred treasure, to comfort me, to strengthen me, to elevate me in all places and circ.u.mstances of my life--in the long, long sea voyages, in the midnight watches on the deck, it shall be my hope, my solace and my consolation. Always with me, until I return to claim the greater, higher, better treasure that it promises!" exclaimed Le, with enthusiasm.

"Oh, Le, you have twice spoken of the sea! But you will never go to sea again! You have resigned from the navy," she said, anxiously looking in his face for a confirmation of her words.

"No, dear," he answered, very gently. "I have not resigned. I wish now that I had done so, but it is too late."

"Oh, Le, why did you not, when you meant to do so?"

"My darling, when I inherited Greenbushes, I fully intended to leave the navy, marry my betrothed, and settle down on our farm. But, when I came home and learned that she was to be married to some one else, I did the very opposite thing to resigning. I wrote to the department and asked for sailing orders, because I could not bear to stay in the neighborhood, or even in the country, after such a bitter disappointment."

"Oh, my dear Le!"

"Never mind, love. It will all come right now. I put Greenbushes in the hands of Beever and Copp, and waited to hear from the department. I received my sailing orders yesterday. That was the reason why I spoke to your father and asked for this interview."

"Oh, Le! Le! can you not yet resign?" pleaded Odalite.

"Yes, dear, of course I can, but not with honor. Having asked for these orders, I must obey them. I must not trifle with duty, dear Odalite," he answered, gravely.

"Oh, Le, and there seems no real necessity for you to go!"

"Honor, love," gently suggested the youth.

"When do you leave us, and where are you going this time, Le?"

"I leave on the second of January, to join my ship at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, to sail in a few days after for the Pacific coast."

"Oh, I am so sorry! But I ought not to say so, Le. I ought not to say anything to make it harder to do your duty, and I will not."

"Dearest Odalite, will you say something that will make it easy for me to do my duty? Will you say that you will correspond with me regularly while I am gone, as you did during my first voyage? And will you promise that when I return, three years hence, and leave the service--as I can with honor then--you will give me this dear hand of yours, which I cannot help feeling belongs to me only, and has belonged to me of right all the time?

Say you will give me your hand, Odalite! Shall I go away happy in the knowledge that you are to be my wife on my return?"

"Oh, yes! Yes, Le! With all my heart!" she impulsively answered. Then, catching her breath in a spasmodic way, as some painful thought sped like an arrow through her heart, she added, in a subdued tone: "But, Le, before anything of that sort is quite settled between us, I want you to talk with my mother about it."

"But why? Aunt Elfrida will have no objection. She likes me. She liked our engagement, before any one came between us," said Le, growing uneasy and very thoughtful.

"Yes, I know she loves you, Le, and liked our engagement. And, of course, all will be right! But, still, I would rather that you should speak to my mother," persisted the girl, with a dark foreshadowing of evil which she could not shake off.

"Well, love, I will have a talk with Aunt Elfrida to-night," said Le, with a laugh.

"No, no, not to-night. We shall be in the drawing room, engaged in some Christmas games for the children. Do not take her away from the family circle to-night. To-morrow will do quite as well. You can talk to her after breakfast," pleaded Odalite, with a shudder she could not control.

"You are cold," said Le. "I have kept you out too long. Come, let us go home. I will speak to Aunt Elfrida in the morning."

They turned and walked homeward under the moonlight, wintry sky, along the sh.o.r.e, then up the wooded hill, through the lawn and on to the house, the whole front of which was brilliantly lighted from within in honor of the holy, festive season.

They entered, and threw off their wraps in the hall, just as the tea bell rang.

A merry party a.s.sembled around the table, upon which every suitable Christmas dainty was spread.

After tea the family and guests, with the new addition of Dr. Ingle--who dropped in, as usual--gathered in the drawing room, and engaged in merry games, in which they spent the Christmas evening.

CHAPTER XLI

HIS FATE

"Aunt Elfrida, dear, I want to speak to you. Can you give me a few moments, quite alone, this morning?" inquired Le of Mrs. Force, in a low voice, as they left the breakfast room together, the last two in the rear of the party.

"Yes, Le. Come into my siting room, where we shall be uninterrupted,"

replied the lady, in the same subdued tone, and with a somewhat troubled look, as if she antic.i.p.ated a painful interview.

The other members of the family pa.s.sed on through the door on the right side of the hall and entered the drawing room.