Honor Edgeworth; Or, Ottawa's Present Tense Part 38

"But bitter hours come to all, When even truths like these will pall, Sick hearts for humbler comfort call, The cry wrung from thy spirits' pain, May echo on some far off plain, And guide a wanderer home again."

--Proctor.

Next morning, it was a bright and cheerful sun that streamed mat Honor's window, the rain had all pa.s.sed away, and the air was mild and refreshing. Hastily dressing herself, Honor hurried to Mr. Rayne's door to ascertain how he had pa.s.sed the night, but as she reached it, she met Aunt Jean coming out, with her forefinger on her lip, and whispering "Sh--sh--" in such premature warning, that Honor looked bewildered as she enquired the cause.

"He is sleeping nicely now, run off, we must not disturb him, it is such a natural little sleep," Madame d'Alberg said in a low voice.

"Oh, is that it?" Honor exclaimed in great relief, as she turned willingly away and followed Aunt Jean down the broad stairway.

They took their silent little breakfast together, and then as Jean rose, to busy herself about the morning occupations, Honor bundled up a ma.s.s of pale blue wool, which she was resolving into a cloud, and went off to the library.

How long she sat there she could hardly say--every now and then she discovered herself, with her hands resting idly on her work, and her eyes gazing vacantly into the s.p.a.ce before her; faces, figures, scenes, were pa.s.sing backward and forward, as she watched, sensations of every kind racked her whole being--but it is not surprising at all, when one considers her in her true light.

People, like her, who have a tendency to intensity in all things have it most of all, in their loves, and hatreds, and no one can understand the nature of her emotions, but those who are themselves intense lovers or intense haters. He who has all his life, loved in a calm, cool, collected sort of way, has never known the acme of moral endurance.

Maybe, the love that I allude to, is not felt more than once in a score of years, by any individual of a community, now-a-days love has been transformed as much as it was in other days, a transformer, men have invaded that dark solemn forest of the soul, where certain pa.s.sions roamed in hungry fury, wild, and unfettered, these have been secured, in our day, and have been tamed and domesticated; our children play with, and fondle, these monsters, that were so dreaded in earlier centuries by gray-haired mortals; let them beware, there is a hypocrisy in this, since hypocrisy is coexistent with life in any of its phases, and some day, the petted tiger or lion will not feel like play, his old nature will seek to a.s.sert itself, and then woe to the victim of this terrible caprice.

A sudden stamping in the hall outside, brought Honor quickly back to stern reality the footsteps vanished up the stairway, and she winced uncomfortably as she told herself it was Vivian Standish. Resolving to remain where she was until sent for, she re-applied herself vigorously to her work and avoided further distraction, but what was her amazement when, a few moments later, the door behind her opened, and Henry Rayne, leaning on the arm of Vivian Standish, entered the room. A cry of genuine surprise burst from her lips, as, scattering her ma.s.s of wool-work on the floor, she rushed to her guardian's side with joyful greetings.

"Oh, I am so glad," she cried, "to see you downstairs this morning, how much better you must feel?"

The feeble old man tried to smile cheerfully back as he said:

"I have made this effort for your sake, my dear, whether I go back up those stairs again with a light or a heavy heart, depends on you."

A shadow flitted over her face, then looking in supreme disgust on the man beside them, she answered,

"On _me_? Then you know very well that your heart will be as light as a feather, going back."

"Get me a chair, Vivian, boy," said the feeble voice of the invalid, turning toward Standish. He moved a step to do so, and had his hand on a low cushioned _fauteuil_, when Honor rushed before him and laid her hand on the other arm of the chair.

"How can you ask a stranger to serve you, when I am by," she asked, half choked with sobs, of Henry Rayne, "What have I done to merit this?"

As she clutched the opposite side of the chair, her eyes and Vivian's met, there was a flash of contempt and a look of defiant love, and then, with all her woman's strength, she wrestled the chair from his strong hold, and placed it behind her guardian. She refused to sit herself, the folding-doors leading to the drawing-room were partially closed and she stood against them, toying nervously with the ma.s.sive handle near her.

When quiet was restored, Henry Rayne began to speak. He seemed to pa.s.s, unnoticed, the confusion of a moment before, and said in the gentlest accents, addressing the girl.

"Honor, we have come here this morning for the purpose of deciding a question which, of late, has received very serious consideration from your friend here, and myself. I am now growing old and feeble, and have all the indications of an early decay in my const.i.tution. Since the first moment that you were given me as a responsibility and a grave charge, my mind has been in a constant worry, lest, in the smallest degree, I would not render you your due as your own father would have done. In all matters, I have tried, as well as I knew how, to place myself in that very relationship to you, and if I have not succeeded I could never know from you, for you have always been a kind, grateful, considerate daughter. What I am about to discuss now, is the very last thing, relative to you, that will abide by my decision. I have, since my recent illness, considered everything that could a.s.sist me in securing your welfare, before I go, and as well as my eager, though maybe, not overwise judgment can direct me, I think I have adopted the best plan of all, it needs only your sanction to complete it and set my mind at rest.

I will not remind you of your promise to me, because, on second thought, I have learned that to ask you to sacrifice your own heart for my sake, would be enough to taunt me in the other world, so I will merely appeal, showing you that with what discretion some sixty odd years of tough experience have given me, I presume I can direct you now."

The girl, standing motionless by the doorway, looked her guardian fully in the face; she struggled for a moment, a secret, hidden struggle, and then answered calmly: "My dear Mr Rayne, do you not know, that such an appeal as this, is unnecessary? If you have something to command of me, state it plainly, clearly, I will understand it better. You have, it is true, guided me with faultless judgment and discretion, you have been kind, and solicitous and careful from the first moment we lived together. What is it you now ask in return? What do I owe you for such devotion?"

There was a faint ring of reproach in the words, as she uttered them--something which sounded as if she had said "yes, 'tis true you have done all this for me, but was your motive no worthier than to trust to these influences, for a power over me in the future?"

A trifle sadder in his accent, Henry Rayne answered, "Do not put it like that Honor you pain me. It is not a debt--no, no! you have generously paid me, and overpaid the attention I lavished on you, but now, what I want to complete my earthly happiness is this." He beckoned to Vivian, and taking a hand of each, was about to join them, when Honor drew hers suddenly away, and turned pale with agitation.

"I understand," she said huskily, "you wish me to marry _that_" pointing in Vivian's face. "Well, as there is nothing which I could refuse you, I must not refuse you this. It is well you have not asked me to love him, or to respect him, for that is beyond me, but if he wishes to secure me, after what he has learned from my own lips, he deserves that I should wed him, and the consequences of such a harmonious union."

Vivian never moved a muscle; he sat silently, quietly listening to it all. Henry Rayne interrupted gently.

"You are excited, Honor, and hence it is you speak thus, you will think better of it later. Do you promise me, then, to accept Vivian Standish as your husband, showing your faith in my discretion, and proving yourself dutiful to the end?"

There was a pause of a second, the word was on the girl's lips; one other moment and her destiny was sealed: but suddenly a cry of "Villain!" broke through the doorway, and simultaneously, Guy Elersley appeared on the scene.

"Villain!" he cried, collaring Vivian Standish, "how can you stand there and hear this girl give up her name and her honor, into such vile keeping. You are a coward and a blackguard, and I will prove it."

Vivian Standish grasping the back of a chair, stared in furious amazement. Honor, with delighted surprise on her face, now stood defiantly up and looked proudly on, and Henry Rayne rubbed his misty eyes wonderingly, and peered into the face of the new-comer. An exclamation of great joy burst from Honor's lips.

"Guy!" she cried, "you are just in time."

"Guy!" repeated the old man, "did someone say Guy? Quick, tell me where is Guy? Guy! Guy!" and with the words the feeble head drooped upon his throbbing bosom, the eyelids closed wearily, he raised his wasted hands to his aching temples, and with a long, heavy sigh, fell backwards.

Everything else was forgotten, for the ten minutes it took to revive Mr.

Rayne. Honor, trembling with fright, supported his head on her bosom, and spoke appealingly to him. After a little his eyelids quivered and opened, he breathed again and sat up.

"Are you better?" Honor asked, bending over him in great eagerness.

"Yes, my dear," he answered kindly, "I am all right now, but where is Guy?"

"Here I am," Guy said, advancing a step, "I hope you will pardon the manner in which I have entered your house, after years of absence, but I have come, and only just in time to vindicate the wrongs of poor, duped victims, and to rescue innocence from the foul grasp of corruption."

"What do you mean, Guy?" his uncle asked in curious consternation.

"I mean to tell my pain and my regret at knowing that while you have forbidden the shelter and comforts of your home to those of your own blood, who have committed deeds of harmless rashness, you have been welcoming and fostering with lavish generosity under your roof a vile man--a wolf in sheep's clothing!"

"May I, as seeming somewhat concerned, ask who this is?" Vivian interrupted in the blandest tones, laying his arm on Guy's shoulder.

"'Tis yourself" Guy cried, shaking him violently off, "you coward!

villain! rogue!"

"Guy, you mystify me," Henry Rayne said in strange wonder, "pray explain. Whatever can you mean by such queer conduct?"

"'Tis a painful task, uncle, but I must do it. This man, in whom you have placed your trust, has foully wronged you. He thrust himself upon you with his deceiving manners, and you were content to take him thus.

You never questioned him about the past, nor did he care to inform you of his swindling career."

Honor trembled and turned pale. Vivian's eyes flashed fire, and he ground his teeth, while Henry Rayne only gazed in a stupid sort of wonder, while Guy enumerated these dreadful things.

"He was not content," Guy continued, "to shake off that past, reeking with loathsome and dishonorable crimes, but he brought his knavery within these respectable walls--he dared to pay his attentions to your ward, and speak words of forbidden love into her ears, while the crime of having enticed as young and respectable a girl from her comfortable home, to swindle her out of thousands of dollars, which she owned, yet lay unexpiated on the black chapter of his heart."

Guy scarcely p.r.o.nounced the words when Vivian Standish sprang in mad fury towards him, crying--

"Liar! slanderer!--your words are false!"

"Pardon me, sir," Guy said, in mock courtesy, "for contradicting you, but" (going towards the door) "if you will allow me, I will prove my _false_ statements."

All eyes followed him, and to their blank amazement, there stepped into the library from the room outside, a beautiful and sad looking young girl, plainly but neatly clad, and who was followed by two professional looking men, who stood on either side of her.

Vivian Standish gave one quick, searching glance at the features of the young girl, and Honor saw in a moment how every tinge of color died out of his face, a grey, unearthly shadow crept over it, and his features a.s.sumed a set expression of misery which almost excited her to pity.