Wives and Widows; or The Broken Life Part 64

"He walked by my side in silence some minutes, looking earnestly in my face when it turned to the moonlight. All at once he broke out earnestly, pa.s.sionately, throwing off all the constraint that had made him seem so artificial.

"'Let us be frank with each other,' he said. 'You are my friend's wife.

I go from his house to-morrow, because I am afraid of loving you more than an honorable man should. Is this honest? Are you angry with me?'

"My face was lifted to his; my hands unconsciously clasped themselves. I trembled in every limb; but it was neither with anger nor pain.

"'Am I not right?' he demanded, turning his face away.

"I did not answer, for I knew well that, right or wrong, his going would leave me miserable.

"'I thought myself stronger and wiser,' he continued, without seeming to heed my silence; 'but that day when you were in such peril I learned how deep was the impression your beauty and loveliness had made upon me.

Since then I have been resolved to go--my honor and my happiness demand it.'

"Still I was silent, partly from a wild sense of triumph, partly from terror lest he should guess at the feeling.

"'You will not answer me; my frankness offends you.'

"He seemed touched and hurt by the silence, which I could not force myself to break. All at once I was sobbing. He took my hand gently in his, and led me back along the path we had been walking. I cannot repeat all that he said to me. It was himself on whom all blame rested. This was the spirit of his conversation. Not for one moment did he hint that I could have been interested in anything he did, save as the hospitable lady of a mansion in which he was a guest. Was he deceived? I cannot tell; but this I do know, every word he uttered was full of loyal respect for my husband. He did not seem to understand or notice the tears I was shedding, but quietly led me toward the house. At last he stopped, took my hand, pressed it to his lips, and left me standing alone within sight of my dwelling.

"Lawrence left the next morning at daylight. I had been dreaming on my sleepless pillow that scene by the lake over and over again. Every word that man had uttered pa.s.sed through my brain, and made a sweet lodgment in my heart. How careful he had been to save my pride while confessing his own weakness. If he had been masterful, and treated me like a child, no word of his had conveyed a suspicion that I too was in danger. His delicacy enthralled me more by far than persuasion could have done. He spoke only of his own struggles and his own danger, never hinting that I might share in one or the other. How magnanimous, how self-sacrificing he was--and this man loved me!

"All at once I heard a noise of wheels in front of the house. A sharp apprehension broke up my dreams. I sprang out of bed, lifted the lace curtain, and saw my husband's light buggy drawn up on the carriage-drive. While Tom was packing a valice under the seat, Mr.

Lawrence stood near drawing on his gloves.

"He was going without one word of farewell. The thought made me wild. I flung up the window with a violence that tore the valenciennes from the sleeve of my night-dress, and called out,--

"'Not yet, not yet!'

"He did not hear me, or perhaps would not. That instant he sprang into the buggy, s.n.a.t.c.hed the reins from Tom, and drove off. As he pa.s.sed a curve in the road, he drew up and looked back at the house, as if unable to leave it without a farewell-glance. I was still at the window, half shrouded by the curtains, but leaning out, with wild unconsciousness of my position. He waved one hand, drew his horse up with the other so sharply that the buggy was half wheeled across the road; the next instant the horse made a plunge forward, seemingly unmanageable, and in an instant bore him out of sight.

"I knelt by the window a long time, looking upon the spot where he had disappeared in blank despair. In one minute my life seemed to have become a barren waste. Points in the landscape that had been so beautiful over-night, struck me with a dreary appearance of change. My eyes grew hot and ached with the pain of my sudden desolation. I could neither weep nor cry out, but knelt there with a dull sense of sorrow and utter loneliness creeping over me. Burdened with these wretched feelings, I crept back to my couch, and burying my face in the pillows, suffered silently."

CHAPTER LXXI.

AWAY FROM HOME.

"This house is not the same now; its stillness oppresses me, its magnificence palls on my senses. Wherever I turn, some memory starts up to pain me. Why have I filled every beautiful spot with a.s.sociations that sting me so?

"I think that my husband is watching me with more interest than formerly. If he sees a cloud on my face, some gentle act of attention seeks to drive it away. Sometimes he asks, in a troubled voice, what makes me so sad and thoughtful, as if he guessed at the truth, and the suspicion wounded him. Then I fly from the stillness of my sorrow, and force a wild sort of spirits, that make him still more depressed. This old man has seen a great deal of the world in his life, and perhaps reads me better than I think. Is deception ever a duty? At any rate, it is the refuge of cowards, and sometimes of kindness. Now, I should not really be afraid to lay the whole truth before this old man, so far as its effect on myself is concerned; but when I think of him and all the pain it would certainly give, my heart recoils from its expression. If he would only be a little unkind, I should not care so much. But, after all, what is there to explain? No word of _his_, or act of mine, could be censured justly. True, I met him at night, unknown to the family, in a beautiful and solitary spot, where some conversation pa.s.sed which made me both sad and happy, but no wrong was done to any one, and the whole scene, if thoroughly explained, should bring no blame with it. I left the house without one thought of meeting any human being. If he saw and followed me, it was for a most honorable purpose--honorably, but, oh, most cruelly carried out.

"How miserably slow the weeks and months roll on. I can endure this irksome sameness of life no longer; the very fragrance of the air sickens me. I long for change--for excitement. Youth has no need of rest; its aspirations are always pressing onward. _He_ said that I was beautiful. My husband has told me this a hundred times, but it made little impression, for what is the worth of beauty in a great dull house like this? I long to go out into the world again, for there is a chance that I may--no, no, I will not think of that. He did not even tell me where he was going. But change I must and will have; it is the want of excitement that makes me a slave to these fits of depression. While surrounded by the homage of other men, I shall learn to forget that this one refused it to me.

"This evening I ventured upon the subject which has been haunting me for weeks. Mr. Dennison remarked that I was getting pale, and had lost all the brilliant glow of spirits which made my first coming home like an opening of paradise to him. Was I ill, or had he failed in anything that could have made me happy?

"I did not complain, but smiled upon him in a way that brought light into his eyes, and said pleasantly enough, that I was not quite myself in splendid solitude, that female friends were necessary to me, and I had parted with them perhaps a little too suddenly. Sometimes, I confessed, a feeling of discontent would creep over me, and but for him and all his generous attentions, I should grow weary of our grand lonely life.

"Mr. Dennison became anxious at once. 'Would I have guests invited? It was the easiest thing in life to have the great house filled with the most agreeable company to be found in the State.'

"'Guests? Oh, nothing of the kind! The duties of a hostess were beyond me just then,--but a little journey somewhere--how would he like that?--say to New Orleans?--the approaching autumnal weather would render a trip to the city pleasant, and we could come back any day.'

"Mr. Dennison accepted this proposal at once. He had seemed a little anxious at first when I spoke of leaving home, as if some doubt rested in his mind; but when I mentioned New Orleans, the cloud left his face, and he fell in with the suggestion.

"My suspicions were right. Mr. Dennison was not altogether at rest about Lawrence. At first he suspected that I was anxious to be thrown in his way again. I could see it in his face, and dared not speak of Saratoga, Newport, or any Northern watering-place, which it had been my first intention to suggest. So I mentioned New Orleans, and he was satisfied, while I fairly bit my lips white with the vexation of my failure. But New Orleans was better than nothing. There, at least, we should find society, amus.e.m.e.nt and distraction. Besides, our names would be announced in the public journals, and _he_ might learn of our presence there. Yes, yes, New Orleans was preferable to home, especially as the autumn was near, and the gay season northward already breaking up.

"Cora was in ecstasies when I told her that we were going away. Poor girl, she had found my domestic life very dull and depressing; I could see that by the alacrity with which she went to work. Once more she became bright and animated as a bird. My wardrobe was speedily put in order, and we left the plantation, much happier to go away than we had been to enter it."

CHAPTER LXXII.

OUT IN THE WORLD AGAIN.

"Lawrence was right. Beauty is a great power, and I am beautiful. I know it in a thousand ways, but best of all by the homage of men and the envy of women. Both are sweet to me. I love to see these envious creatures turn pale and whisper their venom to each other, as I am besieged by the attentions of their favorites. At first I was a little timid about a.s.serting the power that I felt myself to possess. Mr. Dennison, I thought, might be displeased, were his wife to accept the position offered her as a belle and leader in the best social circles of the South. I think he was at first annoyed by the great popularity which followed my advent into society, but I soon forgot to notice these indications, and resolved to live my life whether he was pleased or not.

After all, there is a great deal in this world worth living for besides love as a grand pa.s.sion. The adoration which others are forced to give you has its charms; besides, there arise episodes of love in one's life, which come and go like the rosy dawn and golden sunset of a summer-day, which for the time charm one's heart out of its one deep pa.s.sion. In society here I forget how deeply I loved that one man, and better still, I forget to think of my husband. For his sake my heart was thrown back upon itself, and he had become the cause of my humiliation; but for that, Lawrence might have been my slave, as other men have been, and will be, so long as I allow them to kneel at the altar of my vanity. Had I remained at the plantation, this conviction would, I do believe, have deepened into hatred of my husband; but I was too pleasantly occupied, brain and sense, for any deep feeling to reach me in that whirl of society; just then it would have been as impossible for me to hate, as to love my husband. I simply cared nothing about him, save as he was the source from whence I obtained gold in which to frame my beauty. Without that, half my power would have disappeared.

"Lawrence was right. The time has come when I am a careless, brilliant, beautiful coquette, and this he has made me. 'Then,' he said, 'we can meet in safety and play with the foam of life pleasantly, as it is tossed to our feet by the waves of society.'

"I understand all this now. When I am heartless, and altogether given up to vanity, he will not be afraid of loving me, because, to a man like him, love for a woman so transformed would be impossible. But am I transformed? Is not the old nature still alive in my bosom? I have no time for a serious answer. The foam he speaks of is mounting too whitely around my feet.

"'What is this? Mr. Dennison ill? Falling away? Forgetting to smile?

Looking the very ghost of himself?' These were the very words I overheard this morning, as I stood unnoticed behind two ladies conversing in the great drawing-room of the St. Charles. Was this true?

I had not noticed. The old man never complained, and I saw nothing. If he had fallen away in his appet.i.te, no one was less likely to be aware of it than myself, for it was very seldom that we breakfasted at the same hour, and at dinner I was always too pleasantly occupied for any thought of his appet.i.te. But one thing was true, he did look thin and terribly depressed. His white linen coat was hanging loosely around his person. The silvery hair, which everybody admired so much, seemed to have grown thinner. Never in my life have I looked on so sad a face.

"I crossed the room at once, and sat down by Mr. Dennison. His face brightened, he swept the white hair back from his forehead, and smiled upon me.

"'Are you ill?' I said, laying my hand on his.

"'No, not ill; only a little lonesome.'

"'Lonesome among all these people?' I answered, still pressing his hand.

"He looked down at my hand, which was blazing with great diamonds that he had given me.

"'There is room for one more,' he said, with a sigh. 'I bought it for you weeks ago, but have found no time in which you could receive it.'

"He took a star of diamonds from his pocket, and placed it on the only one of my fingers that was not already ornamented. His old white hands trembled a little as he put the ring on my finger, and I could see tears trembling up to his eyes.

"'How kind, but how childish you are,' I said, kissing the ring, for it was well worth that small sign of grat.i.tude. 'Now tell me what makes you look so pale and so--'

"'Old, you hesitate to say; but I know it. You are not the only one, child, who has discovered that you are married to an old, old man.'

"'I have not thought of it. Indeed, indeed the idea never enters my mind,' I answered, honestly enough, for he had very seldom been in my memory at all; 'but what makes you look so miserable? Not that idea, I am sure. Is it because I have been so extravagant, and spent such loads of money? Sometimes I do get frightened about that.'