Marguerite Verne; Or, Scenes from Canadian Life Part 59

Answer me truly! Do you love Hubert Tracy with a deep and tender love--such a love as a true woman gives to her husband?"

There was silence deep as death, then a sweet voice, murmured: "Papa, I know it is sinful, but I cannot! Oh! I cannot love him!"

"G.o.d be praised for these comforting words. Come close my child."

Marguerite had her face down upon the pillow, calmly awaiting the loved voice--the voice that ere long would be silent forever!

Mr. Verne had been tenderly raised to a sitting position, and supported by pillows, he was comfortable and easy. A smile lighted up his countenance and he looked calm and happy.

"Marguerite, my child, in presence of G.o.d and his holy angels, I ask you now to make me a solemn promise--I can ask you now, thank G.o.d, with a feeling of delight--promise me that you will from this hour renounce that bad and unprincipled man--Hubert Tracy."

Marguerite was bewildered. What knowledge had of late been imparted to her father? But it matters not. She is not to question, and with firm voice, exclaimed: "As Heaven is my witness I hereby break the bonds that bind me to Hubert Tracy," and as if some invisible aid had been wafted from that upper world the costly solitaire, diamond dropped upon the floor and rolled into a darkened recess, where for the time it was safe from human eyes!

CHAPTER x.x.xIX.

A TURNING POINT.

What a change a few moments often make! They seem of small note and yet to many lives they have wrought wondrous things.

Marguerite Verne sought her father's presence with a heart sad as it were possible to be, and left it some time later with a new light dawning upon her. A ray of hope had given warmth to her whole being, and in the inaudible "Thank G.o.d" what a world of grat.i.tude was conveyed.

But it must not be inferred that the girl had no misgiving. The picture of the disappointed lover hung before her as a reminder that her release was purchased at the expense of another's happiness.

Marguerite reasoned with herself. She was of a deep argumentative turn of mind, though her actions did not always endorse the statement.

"How shall I ever have courage to write Hubert!" thought she! "How shall I pen the words inflicting such a blow! Poor fellow! Whatever his faults are, and papa must know of some, I am certain he loved me, and would try to do better. Indeed, the only consoling thought I had was being the means of making him a better man, but then, it is dreadful to think of him as having committed some crime! Poor fellow! he has been led into it," and heaving a deep sigh of relief Marguerite once more felt truly grateful that she had been rescued from a fate which now to her seemed terrible.

"Papa does not seem inclined to explain matters and perhaps is as well," said she, taking a small portrait from a cabinet putting it away in a drawer which she seldom opened. "I will not destroy it.

Poor Hubert! some day I may feel even more sympathy than I do now;"

and Hubert Tracy in miniature was consigned to its solitary resting place.

Marguerite Verne's words were prophetic indeed.

She had remained some moments in utter abstraction when Cousin Jennie hastily entered telling her that Mr. Lawson had just left and that her father wished to see her.

"What an early call for Mr. Lawson," thought the girl as she went in answer to the message.

Mr. Verne's face caused Marguerite to clutch the chair beside her for support.

"Is he dying!" thought she, "dying, and our clergyman from home. Oh, if he were here to give us comfort."

But Marguerite was mistaken. Her father's voice was stronger than usual and his eye kindled with something of the old fervor, then drawing from beneath his pillow a slip of paper raised it to Marguerite.

The latter did not faint or indulge in any hysterical outbreaks as is fashionable on such occasions but quietly read the lines and with calm composure stood for a moment as if waiting for some one to speak.

"May G.o.d have mercy upon his soul! Poor fellow, he had pa.s.sed away ere the letter could have reached its destination."

Mr. Verne spoke these words in a deep reverential air. They were sacred to the memory of Hubert Tracy.

Poor misguided young man. He had gone out one bright Sunday afternoon flashed with the antic.i.p.ation of his fondest hopes and as he stepped gaily on board the saucy-looking yacht that awaited him at the pier a boisterous shout went up from merry-making companions.

Who among the lookers-on, glancing at the calm sky, would have then predicted the approaching storm.

Sad to relate none who went out ever returned to tell the sad story.

Some waterman who afterwards pa.s.sed the spot brought back the tidings that the trim little craft was a complete wreck and that so far the bodies had not been recovered.

Strange as it may seem Montague Arnold suddenly aroused himself from his semi-brutal state and sent a lengthy cablegram to none other than Phillip Lawson.

We will not question the motives which prompted this sense of duty.

Let us charitably hope that the impression left by the Divine Architect was not entirely obliterated, that his last generous act was due to that source.

It was the evening of the same day that Marguerite Verne had received the news of Hubert Tracy's sad end.

She was in her own chamber, locking perplexed and troubled. "Am I to blame for his death? Heaven forbid! Did I wish it! Ah no!" then she thought of Cousin Jennie's prophetic speech and a chill seized her as of ague. "It is indeed hard to decide between right and wrong.

Will I ever feel real happiness again! Will not the bitter past come up and taunt me with cruel heartlessness. Would it not have been better if he had lived! then I would have had an opportunity to know myself better than now!"

What causes the girl to start? A well known step is heard on the stairway, and a voice that has power to thrill every nerve, is heard in conversation with Cousin Jennie.

"I cannot see him," murmured Marguerite, "I must not let him think that I am glad of my release."

The cosey reception-room was directly underneath, and much of the conversation within could be distinctly heard.

Mrs. Verne having sufficiently recovered to make her appearance now formed one of the company.

Her manner towards the young solicitor was warmth itself. It was painfully embarra.s.sing to the sensitive girl to hear the labored speeches addressed to the guest.

"It is better that I remain in ignorance, for such knowledge will only make me act more ridiculous, in fact, I would not be myself when I was prejudiced to such an extent."

Marguerite then arose, and stole quietly along the upper hall until she sought the curious-looking apartment already described in a preceding chapter.

Master Charlie and several of his chums were seated around an old table and were having some fun over that highly intellectual game known as "old maid" or "old bachelor."

With an air of gallantry the young gentlemen arose and each had an impromptu seat for the fair visitor.

"We are not very presentable to ladies, Miss Verne," remarked a rather handsome boy of thirteen, possessed with that I-am-a-man look so amusing and comical.

"Oh, Madge, what good luck brought you to our den? Come let us make 'old maid' of you, I've been 'old bachelor' six times."

"And he is afraid that it will turn out so in reality one of these days!" said out the lad who had not hitherto spoken.

"I might as well be diverting these children as brooding over real and imaginary woes. It cannot be wrong. If papa could only look in upon us now as he often did."

"I can stay a few moments boys--that is if you will be quick." And suiting the action to the words Marguerite wedged in between two curly-headed urchins brimful of fun and mischief and ready for anything that might honestly be termed a good time.

"I thought so," exclaimed the jubilant Charlie, clapping his hands in wild delight, "Madge is old maid."