Marguerite Verne; Or, Scenes from Canadian Life Part 58

"I always liked her," said the latter, putting a little marker in her book, "and I would give anything to have her visit us. Mother seems much interested in her."

"I think that I met Miss Boynton at Mrs. Greene's last winter. Is she not tall and slight with auburn hair and straight regular features, with just enough hauteur to give her an air of quiet dignity?"

"The very same, Madge. You are quite an adept at description," said cousin Jennie with mock gravity. "But I have something worth telling," cried she excitedly, "Louise Rutherford is engaged to Mr.

Noyes. It is really true, for Helen told me that she congratulated her, and she did not deny it."

"I expected to hear it before this," said Marguerite somewhat sadly.

"They are to be married early next spring and most likely will go to Europe."

Whichsoever way Marguerite directed her thoughts there was always some reminder of her own gloomy prospects.

Louise Rutherford's betrothed was an intimate friend of Phillip Lawson's. Their interests were much in common and in their outward appearance there was a striking resemblance.

"Phillip will be the next!" thought the girl "Ah, yes. Heaven never intended that such a man would not realize his highest and fondest hopes. He will receive the congratulations of friends and I will smile and join the pressing throng, while my heart will ache and throb so wildly. But no human heart ever was so freighted with sorrow that it had not sufficient resisting power. Ah, no." And the soft white palms are folded together as if the speaker had invoked a prayer.

Jennie Montgomery had also been indulging in some speculative thoughts, for she stole softly to her cousin's side, and, putting an arm around the girl's neck, exclaimed, "Madge, darling, I have longed for a good opportunity to say what I wish, and forgive me if I make you feel badly."

Marguerite looked at her companion, and her lips grew deadly pale, but her manner was calm, and not a shade was visible upon the madonna-like face.

"Madge," said Jennie, with excited and wistful gaze, "tell me why you promised to marry Hubert Tracy. I am certain you couldn't love him! Oh, Madge! what has prompted you to do anything so dreadful?"

Marguerite Verne sat like one in some horrible dream, not daring to move lest she might become the victim of some dread Gorgon or Fury.

"Speak, Madge, or you will frighten me to death," exclaimed Jennie, imprinting a warm kiss upon the cold rigid lips.

The effect was electrifying.

"Oh! cousin Jennie, you know all! I will not hide it from you. I am going to marry Hubert Tracy to save my father from the depths of poverty. Poor mamma shall never know what I am suffering for her sake; and if I could make a ten-fold sacrifice, I would do it to bring my darling father back to life and health--but he shall never know--oh no!"

"Marguerite Verne!" exclaimed the excited girl, raising her right hand aloft in wild, appealing gestures, "you will _never_ marry Hubert Tracy! Heaven could not, or would not, allow it. Oh, no, Madge! Heaven could never sanction, such an act. Madge," exclaimed the girl, with all the intensity of her nature, "you are tempting the Almighty."

"Jennie, Jennie! spare me! oh, spare me! have some mercy!" cried Marguerite, sinking at her cousin's feet, and clinging to her with the force of desperation.

"Ask me not Madge. I can have no mercy in your case. Think me cruel as you will, I will always be of the same mind, and mother is indeed, if anything, a great deal harder upon you."

"She surely cannot be if she knew all Jennie," said Marguerite in wild, agonizing tones.

"She blames you for not having sufficient combativeness to oppose the influence brought to bear upon you."

"Surely Aunt Hester cannot think that I would be doing right to go contrary to the wish of my mother--yes, and all."

"She does, indeed. She says that you are to obey your parents only when their motives are honest and right, not otherwise, and you know well, Madge, that your father, were he in possession of all his senses, would never sanction such a course; and furthermore, Madge, I firmly believe that the very thought of it is consuming the few drops of blood that vainly try to give warmth to the broken heart."

"Jennie Montgomery, if you have one spark of pity, forbear. It is cruel to upbraid me with being my father's murderess, when I would willingly give my life to save him. Oh! Jennie, you cannot mean what you say. Oh! my poor father."

Marguerite was now an object of pity. Her hands were clasped above her head, and in that half-prostrate position she seemed a living representation of some Grecian maid who, more than two thousand years in the past, with like struggles, had climbed the marble steps leading to the Acropolis and with lips pallid as the ivory temple near, wailed out her woes to the myriads of deities that met her despairing gaze.

But for the nonce Jennie Montgomery had steeled her heart and looked as indifferent as a Zeno.

"It will do her good. There is more work on hand yet"--these and other remarks of a like nature escaped the daring girl as she rose to her feet and glanced at the angry clouds trooping along the grey November sky like hordes of insatiable warriors bent upon further deeds of prowess.

"Cousin Jennie!"

"Yes, Madge," said the latter going toward her cousin with as much composure as if their conversation had been of the most common place.

"Cousin Jennie," said Marguerite raising herself with an air of determination, "I thank you for your harsh but wholesome words. They have given rise to a train of thoughts which I shall soon put to the test and you, my dear, must await the result."

"What now, coz? If it be anything that will relieve you from such disgraceful bonds, I will enter into it body and soul."

"Better to-day, dearest papa? I am so glad," and Marguerite rained kisses upon the emaciated cheeks.

"And cousin Jennie is here to congratulate you upon looking so well," Marguerite now motioned her cousin to the bedside.

"Uncle Stephen," said the girl taking the trembling hands between her own, "you must hurry and get well for I'm not going to leave here until you do."

Marguerite having supplanted the nurse for the entire afternoon and having taken the precaution to learn from the good old doctor that her cheerful presence would do good turned the occasion to the best possible account.

Side by side sat the two maidens in striking but happy contrast.

Cousin Jennie's neatly fitting frock of wine-colored serge was relieved by point lace collar and cuffs, the work of her own deft fingers, while a cl.u.s.ter of white geranium served to complete the toilet and give a subdued tone to the highly brilliant complexion.

Marguerite's plain black cashmere with bodice of rich velvet harmonized most exquisitely with her soft _spirituelle_ beauty and set off the purity of the purely transparent complexion.

How many have gazed with tearful eye upon that most bewitching of portraits, that of Mary Queen of Scots in costume of black velvet, time-honored ruff, and as reminder of her belief, the ma.s.sive jet crucifix was suspended from the most perfect neck that was ever fashioned by the hand of the Divine Craftsman.

It is while gazing upon Marguerite Verne that our thoughts carry us back to the ill-fated queen and as we note the striking personal resemblance, thank a kind Providence that the maiden's lot has been cast in happier days and in a land not blighted by the harrowing a.s.sociations of those stormy times.

But to our subject. The dutiful daughter goes softly toward the bed and raising the shrivelled hand from the snowy coverlid looks into the languid eyes as if she would read the thoughts which she now longed to hear.

"Papa I want to say something. Will you promise me that you will not get excited. You know I am under orders."

"Nothing will excite me now my child. Excitement is only fit for the people of the earth, and I am now already on the verge of another and I trust a better world."

Marguerite would fain have urged her father to forbear, but she knew full well that it was the truth.

"Well, papa, we are all in the hands of G.o.d. He will do what he thinks is best for us."

The quivering lips and tremulous tones gave expression to the overflowing heart, but the girl bore up bravely.

"Papa, here is my accuser," said she, grasping Cousin Jennie by the hand and drawing her forcibly to his side. "Now, dearest, tell papa what you told me in the library."

Cousin Jennie trembled somewhat. She was alarmed lest her words might add to the grief of the dying man. But she must not waver now, and in measured tones she repeated almost word for word the same conversation which had so deeply affected the sensitive Marguerite.

Mr. Verne listened, and as the girl proceeded his eye kindled and his lips moved as if in deep grat.i.tude.

Cousin Jennie's eyes now flashed upon Marguerite, and as if by intuition Mr. Verne's also sought his daughter.

"My child, this may be the last question I shall ever ask you!