The Actress' Daughter Part 30

"It is very plain what you must do, my love. You must apologize to Miss Richmond."

As if she had received a spear-thrust, Georgia bounded to her feet, her eyes blazing, her lips blanched.

"WHAT!"

"Nay, my dear; it is folly to excite yourself in this way. Be calm. Of course, you must apologize--there is no other way in which you can atone for your unparalleled madness."

"Never!"

"You _will not_? Georgia, do I understand you right? You mean you _will_ apologize?"

"Never!"

"Georgia, you _will_!"

"I will NOT!"

There was another dead pause. Still he stood calm and coldly stern, while she stood with her full form drawn up to its full height, her eyes flashing sparks of fire, her brow corrugated, her lips white with pa.s.sion and defiance.

"Georgia," he said, coldly, and his words fell like ice on the fire raging in her stormy breast, "once your boast was that you never told a lie; now you have _sworn_ one. You vowed before G.o.d's minister to obey me, and yet the first _command_ I have given you since, you pa.s.sionately refuse to obey. I am no tyrant, Georgia, and I shall _never_ request you to do anything for me again; but remember, madam, I shall not forget this."

He was turning away, but with a great cry she sprang after him and caught his arm.

"Oh, Richmond, unsay your words! Oh, I will do anything, anything, _anything_ sooner than part with you in anger! Oh, Richmond, my heart feels as if it were breaking. I shall die if you do not say you forgive me!"

"Will you go to my cousin to-morrow, and beg her pardon for your insane conduct to-night?"

She shivered as one in an ague fit, while from her white lips dropped the hollow word:

"_Yes._"

"That is my own brave Georgia. The insult was publicly given, and should be publicly atoned for; but I will spare you _that_ humiliation. And now I feel that this lesson, severe as it is, will do you good. You will be more careful for the future, Georgia."

She lifted her head, and looked up in his face with a smile that startled him.

"It has come true, Richmond," she said.

"What has, my love?" he asked, uneasily.

"My dream. Do you not remember the dream I told you and Charley, long ago, when I first knew you?"

"Yes, I remember it. You told it so impressively I could not forget it.

What of that dream, my dear?"

She laughed--such a mockery of laughter as it was!

"It was _you_ I saw in that dream, Richmond; it was _you_ who drove me, all wounded and bleeding, through the fiery furnace. You are doing it _now_, Richmond. But I did not tell you _all_ my dream then. I did not tell you then that at last I turned, sprang upon my torturer, and STRANGLED him in my own death throes!"

Again she laughed, and looked up in his face with her gleaming eyes.

"My dear, you are hysterical," he said in alarm. "Be calm; do not excite yourself so. I always knew you were wild; but positively this is the very superlative of wildest. To-morrow you will feel better, Georgia."

"Oh, yes--to-morrow, when I shall have begged _her_ pardon! Listen, Richmond, do you know what I wished to-night?"

"No, dear Georgia; what was it?"

"It was, Richmond, _that I had never married you_!"

CHAPTER XV.

SOWING THE WIND.

Merry days those were in Richmond House, with the old halls resounding with music and laughter, and the hum of gay voices, from morning till night. Astonished and awed were the people of Burnfield by the glittering throng of city fashionables, who promenaded their streets and swept past them in the sweeping amplitude of flashing silks and rich velvets and furs. As for our city friends themselves, the ladies p.r.o.nounced the place "horrid stupid;" but as the young gentlemen, with one or two exceptions, found the country girls exceedingly willing to be flirted with, they rather liked it than otherwise.

A proud man was the Reverend Mr. Barebones the first Sunday after their arrival, when the bewildering throng flashed into the meeting-house, and, with a great rustle of silks and satins, and an intoxicating odor of _eau de Cologne_, filled the two large front pews that from time immemorial had belonged to Richmond House. It was not religion altogether that brought them--at least, not all. Languid Miss Reid, for instance, went because the rest did, and it was less trouble to go than to form excuses for staying; and that quintessence of exquisiteness, Mr. Adolphus Lester, who was tender on that young lady, went because she did. Miss Harper went because Captain Arlingford was going, and Miss Freddy Richmond went because she was a very discreet young lady and it was "proper" to attend divine worship, and Miss Richmond never shocked the proprieties. Georgia went because she _had_ to, and Lieutenant Gleason and his father went to kill time, which always hung heavy on their hands, on Sunday. Of the whole party, only Master Henry Gleason and Mr. Curtis were absent; Master Henry, having p.r.o.nounced the whole establishment of Christian churches on earth and their attendant Christian ministers "horrid old bores," declared his intention of staying at home and having a "jolly good snooze."

Every one seemed to have enjoyed themselves the last week at Richmond House but its young mistress. There were rides, and drives, and excursions during the day, and sailing parties on the river in Mr.

Wildair's yacht; and there were dancing, and music, and acting charades, and all sorts of amus.e.m.e.nts for the evening, into which all the young people entered with eager zest--all but Georgia.

Those days, few as they were, had wrought a marked change in her. The flush of her health and happiness had faded from her cheeks, leaving only two dark purple spots, that burned there like tongues of flame; her eye had lost its sparkle, her brow was worn and haggard, and her step was slow and weary. She lived in daily martyrdom, such as none but a spirit so morbidly proud and keenly sensitive can comprehend. Slights, insults, insolence, and little galling acts of malice, "making up in number what they wanted in weight," were daily to be borne now from her supercilious mother-in-law and her malicious, insolent shadow and echo, Miss Richmond. And these were offered openly, in the presence of all; not an opportunity was allowed to escape of mortifying her; until sometimes, wild and nearly maddened, she would fly up to her room, and, alone and frenzied, struggle with the storm raging in her heart.

Richmond, absorbed in attending to the comfort and amus.e.m.e.nt of his guests, knew nothing of all this. It was not their policy to let him suspect their dislike--yes, _hatred_ of his bride; and, as they well knew, the rest, who saw it all, would not venture to speak on so delicate a subject to their proud host. It is true, he saw the change in Georgia's face, and the freezing coldness her manners were a.s.suming to all, even to him; but from some artfully dropped hints of immaculate Miss Freddy's, he set it down to stubborn sullenness. And believing her to be incorrigible in her disagreeableness and insubordination, he grew markedly reserved and cold when alone in her society; and thus the misunderstanding between them daily widened.

Georgia was too proud to complain of what she herself suffered and endured--she was dumb; and indeed if she had been inclined, she would have found it hard to make out a list of her grievances and relate them, for Miss Freddy's insults were offered in such a way that, keenly as they struck home, they dwindled into nothing when related to a third party. Had he not been so absorbed in the duties of hospitality, and striving to atone for his wife's neglect, he might have seen for himself; but he was blind and deaf to all, and only saw her uncourteous treatment of his friends and her wifely disobedience. And before long--no one scarcely knew how--Georgia was pushed aside, and Mrs.

Wildair and Freddy began to take the place of hostess, and Richmond looked on and tacitly consented. All were consulted in their plans and amus.e.m.e.nts but Georgia; _she_ was overlooked with the coolest and most insolent contempt; and if sometimes, as a matter of form, her opinion was asked by either of the ladies, it was worded in such a way or uttered in such a tone as made it even a more galling insult. And Georgia, with a swelling heart and with lips compressed in proud, bitter endurance, consented to bare her place usurped, without a word or attempt to regain it. With a heart that underneath all her calmness seemed ready to burst at such times, she would refuse to accompany them, pleading indisposition, or sometimes giving no reason at all; and Mrs.

Wildair would turn away with an indifferent, "Oh, very well, just as you please," and Richmond would say nothing at the time, until he would find her alone, and then he would coldly begin:

"Mrs. Wildair, may I beg to know the reason you will not honor us with your company to-morrow?"

"Because I do not wish to," she would flash, with all her old defiance flaming up in her dusky eyes.

"_Because you do not wish to!_ Insolent! Madam, I _insist_ upon your accompanying us to-morrow!"

"You find my society so brilliant and agreeable, no doubt, that my absence will destroy your pleasure," she would say, with a bitter laugh that jarred painfully on the ear.

"No, madam, I regret to say that your fixed determination to disobey me, and be uncourteous and disagreeable, is carried out in the very letter and spirit. Still, I cannot allow my guests to be treated with marked discourtesy. _I_ have some regard for the laws of hospitality, if you have not. Therefore, Mrs. Wildair, you will prepare to join our party to-morrow."

"And if I refuse?"

His eye flashed, and his mouth grew stern.

"You will be sorry for it! Do not attempt such a thing! You may disobey, but you shall not trifle with me."

She lifted her eyes, and he would see a face so haggard and utterly wretched that his heart would melt, and he would go over and put his arm around her, and say, gently: