Vashti Part 25

"No man of honor--no man who has any delicacy or refinement of feeling--can fail to be distressed and annoyed by the thought that he has unintentionally and unconsciously aroused in a woman's heart an interest which he cannot possibly reciprocate."

"But, if you have never considered the subject until now, how do you know that you may not be able to return the affection?"

"Because, when I examine my own heart, I find not even the germ of a feeling which years might possibly ripen into love."

"Will you candidly answer the question I am about to ask you?"

"Yes, I think I can safely promise that much, simply because I wish to conceal nothing from you; and I cannot conjecture any inquiry on your part from which I should shrink. What would you ask?"

"Is it because you are interested in some other woman, that you speak so positively of the hopelessness of my poor Salome's case?"

"No, my sister; no woman has any claim or hold on my heart stronger than that of mere friendship. I have never loved any one as I must love the woman I make my wife; and since I have seen and merely admired so many who were attractive, lovely, and lovable, I often think that I shall probably never marry.

... 'For several virtues I have liked several women; never any With so full a soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the n.o.blest grace she owned, And put it to a foil.'

Of course this is a matter with reference to which I shall not dogmatize, for we are all more or less the victims of caprice; and, like other men, I may some day set the imperious feet of fancy upon the neck of judgment and sound reason. As yet, I have not met the perfect character whom I could ask to bear my name; still, I may be so fortunate as either to find my ideal, or imagine that I do; or else become so earnestly attached to some beautiful woman, that, for her sake, I will willingly lower my lofty standard. These are the merest possible contingencies, and I have little inclination to discuss them; but I wish at all times to be entirely frank with you. Salome would never suit me as a life-long companion. She meets none of the requirements of my intellectual nature, and her perverse disposition, and what might almost be termed _diablerie_, repel instead of attracting me. I pity the child, and can sympathize cordially with her efforts to redeem herself from the luckless a.s.sociations of earlier years that wofully distorted her character; and I can truly say that I am interested in her welfare and improvement, and have a faint brotherly affection for her; but I thoroughly comprehend my own feelings when I a.s.sure you, Janet, that were Salome and I left alone in the world I could never for a moment entertain the idea of calling such a wayward child my wife. Are you satisfied?"

"Convinced, at least, that you are not deceiving me. But, Ulpian, the girl is growing very beautiful--don't you think so?--or, is it my love that makes me see her through flattering lenses?"

"Her lips are too thin, and her eyes too keen and restless for perfect beauty, which claims repose as one of its essential elements; but, notwithstanding these flaws, she has undoubtedly one of the handsomest faces I have ever seen, and certainly a graceful, fine figure."

"And you are such an admirer of beauty," said Miss Jane, slipping her fingers caressingly into her brother's hand.

"Yes; I shall not deny that I yield to no one in appreciation of lovely faces; but, if I am aware that, like some rich crimson June rose whose calyx cradles a worm, the heart beneath the perfect form is gnawed by some evil tendency, or shelters vindictive pa.s.sion and sinful impulses, I should certainly not select it in making up the precious bouquet that is to shed perfume and beauty in my home, and call my thoughts from the din and strife of the outer world to holiness and peace."

"You have no mercy on the child."

"I ought to have no mercy on glaring faults which she should ere this have corrected."

"But she is so young--only seventeen! Think of it!"

Dr. Grey frowned, and partially withdrew his hand from his sister's clasp.

"Janet, you grieve me. Surely you are not pleading with me in behalf of Salome?"

Tears trickled over Miss Jane's sallow cheeks and dripped on the doctor's hand, as she replied,--

"Bear with me, Ulpian. The girl is very dear to me; and, loving you as she unquestionably does, I know that you could make her a n.o.ble, admirable woman,--for she has some fine traits, and your influence would perfect her character. Believe me, my dear boy, you, and you only, can remould her heart."

"Possibly,--if I loved her; for then I would be patient and forbearing towards her faults. But I cannot even respect that handsome, fiery, impulsive, unreasonable child, much less love her; and, if I ever marry, my wife must be worthy to remould my own defective life and erring nature. I am surprised, my dear sister, that you, whose sincere affection I can not doubt, should be willing to see me link my life with that of one so much younger, and, I grieve to say it, so far inferior in all respects. What congenial companionship could I promise myself? What confidence could I repose--what esteem could I entertain--for a silly girl, who, without warrant and utterly unsought, bestows her love (if, indeed, what you say be true) upon a man who never even dreamed of such folly, and is old enough to be her father?"

"I can not comprehend the logic that condemns Salome, and justifies your own mother; for, if there be any difference in their lines of conduct, I am too stupid to see it."

Miss Jane lifted her head from her brother's shoulder, resolutely dried her eyes, and settled her cap.

"My mother's tombstone should shelter her from all animadversion, especially from the lips that owe their existence to her. Do not, my sister, disturb the mouldering ashes of the long-buried past. The unfortunate fact you have mentioned, and which I should gladly doubt if you would only permit me to do so, renders it necessary for me to be perfectly candid with you, and you will, I trust, pardon what I feel compelled to say to you. I have remarked that you watch me quite closely whenever I am engaged in conversation with my ward or her governess, and yesterday, when Muriel came, stood by me, and leaned her arm on my shoulder, you frowned and looked harshly at the child.

Once for all, let me tell you that there is no more possibility of my loving Muriel or Edith, than Salome. Of the three, I care most for Muriel, who looks upon me as her second father, and to whom I am deeply attached. If I caress the poor, stricken child, and allow her to approach me familiarly, you ought to understand your brother sufficiently well not to ascribe his conduct to any feeling which he would blush to confess to his sister. The day before Horace died, he said, 'Be a father to my daughter; take my place when I am gone.' If I were at liberty to divulge some matters confided to me, I could easily a.s.sure you that there is not a shadow of possibility that Muriel will ever grieve and mortify me as Salome has done. Now look at me, dear Janet, and kiss me, and trust your brother; for he will never deceive you, and can not endure a moment's estrangement from you."

Miss Jane put up her lips for the caress, and, after a short silence, Dr. Grey continued,--

"Tell me now what you think best under the circ.u.mstances, and I will endeavor to cooperate with you. Does Salome know you are cognizant of her weakness--her misfortune--"

He stammered, and again his face flushed.

"Upon my word, Ulpian, you are positively blushing! Don't worry yourself, dear, over what can not be helped, or at least is attributable to no fault of yours. No; you may be sure Salome would be drawn, quartered, and broiled, before she would confess to me the feeling which she does not suspect I have discovered. Poor thing! I can't avoid pitying her whenever you take Muriel's hand or caress her in any way. This morning you smoothed the hair back from her forehead while she was stooping over her drawing, and poor Salome's eyes flashed and looked like a leopard's. She clenched her fingers as if she were strangling something, and an expression came over her face that was dangerous, and made me shiver a little. Something must be done; but I am sure I do not know what to advise."

"How futile and mocking are merely human schemes! My princ.i.p.al object in bringing Muriel and Miss Dexter here, was to provide agreeable and improving companions for your pet and to afford her the privilege of sharing the educational advantages which Muriel enjoyed. _L'homme propose, et Dieu dispose_, if, indeed, an occurrence so earnestly to be deplored can be deemed providential. What are her plans relative to Jessie?"

"If she has matured any, she keeps them shut up in her own heart. Once she talked freely to me on all subjects, but recently she seems to avoid acquainting me with her intentions or schemes. Of course, Ulpian, you know I have always expected to leave her a portion of my property."

"Certainly, dear Janet; you ought to provide comfortably for the girl whom you have taught to rely upon your bounty. It would be cruel and unpardonable to foster hopes that you could not fully realize."

"It was my intention to put into your hands the share I intended for her, and to leave her also to your care, when I die; but now I know not what is best. If she could be separated from you, she might divert her thoughts and become interested in other things or persons; but so long as you are in the same house I know there will be nothing but wretchedness and disappointment for her."

After a long pause, during which Dr. Grey looked seriously pained and perplexed, he said, sorrowfully,--

"You are right in thinking separation would be best; and I will go away at once--"

"Go where?" exclaimed his sister, grasping his coat-sleeve.

"I will furnish the rooms over my office, and live there. It will be more convenient for my business; but I dislike to leave you and the dear old homestead."

"Stuff! You will churn the Atlantic, with the North Pole for a dasher!

Ulpian Grey! come weal come woe, I don't intend to give you up. Here, right here, you will live while there is breath in my body,--unless you wish to make me sob it out and die the sooner. Pooh! Salome's shining eyes can not recompense me for the loss of my boy's blue ones, and I will not hear of such nonsense as the move you propose. You know, dear, I can't be here very long at the best, and while G.o.d spares me I want you near me. Besides, the separation of a few miles would not be worth a thimbleful of chaff; for, of course, Salome would hear of or see you daily, and the change would amount to nothing but anxiety and grief on my part. We will think the matter over, and do nothing rashly. But try to be patient with my little girl; and, for my sake, Ulpian, do not allow her to suspect that you dream of her feeling towards you. It is pitiable,--it is distressing beyond expression; and G.o.d knows, if I had thought for an instant that such a state of things would ever have come to pa.s.s, I would have left her in the poor-house sooner than have been instrumental in bringing such misery upon her young life. Last night I was suffering so much with my shoulder that I could not sleep, and I heard the child pacing her room until after three o'clock. It was useless to question her; for, of course, she would not confess the real cause, and I did not wish her to know that I noticed what I could not cure. But, my dearest boy, we are not to be blamed; so don't look so mortified and grieved. I would not have opened your unsuspecting eyes if I had not feared that your ignorance of the truth might increase the trouble, and I knew I could safely appeal to my sailor-boy's honor. Now you know all, and must be guided by your own good sense and delicacy in your future course toward the poor, proud young thing. Be guarded, Ulpian, and don't torment her by petting Muriel in her presence; for sometimes I am afraid there is bad blood in her veins, that brings that wicked glow to her eyes, and I dread that she might suddenly say or do some desperate thing that would plunge us all in sorrow. You know she is not a meek creature, and we must pity her weakness."

Dr. Grey had grown very pale, and the profound regret printed on his countenance found expression also in the deepened and saddened tones of his voice.

"Trust me, Janet! I will do all a man can to rectify the mischief, of which, G.o.d knows, I have been an innocent and entirely unintentional cause. Salome's course is unwomanly, and lowers her in my estimation; but she is so young I shall hope and pray that her preference for me is not sufficiently strong to prove more than an idle, fleeting, girlish fancy."

He took his gloves from the table and left the room; and, for some time after his departure, his sister sat rocking herself to and fro, pondering all that had pa.s.sed. Finally, she struck her hand decisively upon the cushioned top of her crutch, and muttered,--

"Yes, he certainly is as nearly perfect as humanity can be; but, after all, Ulpian Grey is only flesh and blood, and despite his efforts to crush it, there must be some vanity hidden under his proud humility,--for certainly he is both humble in one sense, and inordinately proud in another; and I do not believe there lives a man of his age who would not be flattered by the love of a fresh young beauty like Salome. He thinks now that he is distressed and mortified; and, of course, he is honest in what he tells me; but I have studied human nature to very little purpose for the last fifty years, if, before long, he does not find himself more interested in Salome than he will be willing to confess. Her love for him will invest her with a charm she never possessed before, for men are vulnerable as women to the cunning advances of flattery. One thing is as sure and clear as that two and two make four,--if he is proof against Salome's devotion it will be attributable to the fact that he gives his heart to some one else; and I thought his blue eyes rather shied away from mine when he said he had yet to meet the woman he could marry. You don't intend to deceive me, my precious boy, I know you don't; but I should not be astounded if you had hoodwinked yourself,--a very little. But 'sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,' and I will wait,--and we shall see what we shall see."

CHAPTER XIV.

"Elsie, it is worse than useless to talk to me. Once I could listen to you,--once I felt as you do now; but that time has gone by forever. I will read to you as often as you desire it, provided you do not make every chapter a text for a sermon. What do you wish to hear this morning?"

"The fortieth Psalm."

Mrs. Gerome opened the Bible, and, when she had finished the psalm designated, shut the book and laid it back close to Elsie's pillow.

The old woman placed her hand on the round, white arm of her mistress, who rested carelessly against the bed.

"You know, my child, that David's afflictions were sore indeed; but he declares, 'I waited patiently for the Lord, and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry.' You will not be patient, and G.o.d can't help you till you are. We are like children punished for bad conduct,--as long as we rebel and struggle, of course we must be still further chastised; but the moment we show real penitence, our parents notice that we are bearing correction patiently, and then they throw away the rod and stretch out their arms, and s.n.a.t.c.h us close to their loving hearts. Even so G.o.d holds one hand to draw us tenderly to Him; and, if we are obstinately sinful, with the other He scourges us into the right path,--determined to help us, even against our own wills. Ah, if I could see you waiting patiently for the Lord!"