CHAPTER XIX.
THE "EVENING MOON" CONTINUES ITS ACCOUNT OF THE TRAGEDY, AND DESCRIBES THE SHAMEFUL PART ENACTED BY MR. FREDERICK HOLDFAST IN HIS FATHER'S HOUSE.
When a man of Mr. Holdfast's age and wealth marries, for love, a ladythirty years younger than himself, his friends generally regard him withpity, and predict that the day must arrive when he will awake from hisinfatuated dream. "Warm-blooded May and cold-blooded December," sayMrs. Grundy and her family; "what can be expected?" They are much moreuncharitable towards the lady, if she happen to be poor, as in suchcases she is almost certain to be. It is not possible for her to awakefrom her dream, for she is judged as having been very wide awake, andas having entrapped the poor man with wiles most artfully designed andcarried out, fooling the doting old lover to the top of his bent, hereyes and heart set upon nothing but his money.
The judgment is too often correct. Beauty sacrificing itself at thealtar of Mammon is no new subject for writer or painter whose satiresare drawn from truth and nature. But an arrow tipped with these feathersof false feeling, and aimed at Mr. Holdfast and his lovely bride, wouldhave fallen short of its mark. Their match, despite the disparity ofage, was in the best sense of the word a love-match. On Mr. Holdfast'sside there could be no doubt of it; and as little doubt could there beof a creature so guileless as Lydia Wilson, who had been brought up inthe most delightful ignorance of the value of money.
"We loved each other to the last," says the innocent and much-wrongedwidow. "To have saved my dear husband's life I would have sacrificed myown--willingly, joyfully have sacrificed it!"
By what strange roads, then, had so fair a commencement been conductedto so foul and tragic an end?
Reference has already been made to Mr. Holdfast's son Frederick, and thesketch we have given of his character will be a sufficient indicationof the kind of man he was. We speak of him in the past tense, for he isdead.
Shortly after Mr. Holdfast's second marriage, he communicated to hisson the news of his having chosen a beautiful and amiable woman as acompanion. In his letter the father expressed a hope that his son, whohad already done so much to wound a father's heart, would not add tohis misconduct by behaving other than dutifully and respectfully to hissecond mother. The son wrote back that he had no second mother, andwould acknowledge none; but that he would soon be in London to embracehis father and shake hands with his father's wife. Attention is directedto the terms of this expression of feeling. His father he would embrace,his father's wife he would shake hands with. To one he would exhibitaffection, to the other coldness. There was here at once struck thekeynote to many strange family events (in one of which the affectionswere made to play a monstrous part), leading, there is reason tobelieve, to the untimely death of a father who sinned only on the sideof indulgence and love.
"I had, from the first," said the widow of the murdered man, "amysterious foreboding about Frederick Holdfast. Do not ask me to accountfor it, for it is out of my power. I am a creature of feeling and fancy,but I am seldom wrong. I sometimes shudder when I pass a stranger in thestreet, and I know--something whispers within me--that that stranger hascommitted a crime, or is about to commit a crime. I sometimes feel gladwhen I meet a person for the first time, as I have met you"--(she wasaddressing our Reporter)--"and then I know that that person is anhonourable man, and that I can confide in him. I had a foreboding forill when I first heard the name of Mr. Frederick Holdfast. I shudderedand turned as cold as ice; and that was even before I knew that hisfather and he were not upon friendly terms. I tried to shake off thefeeling, asking myself how was it possible there could be any realwickedness in the son of a man so noble as my dear lost husband? Alas!I have lived to discover that my foreboding of evil was but too true!"
Mr. Frederick Holdfast came to London, and made the acquaintance of hisstepmother. He had rooms in his father's house, but his habits were veryirregular. He seldom dined with his father and his father's wife, ashe insisted upon calling her: he would not accompany them to ball orparty--for, from the date of his second marriage, Mr. Holdfast led a newand happier life. He gave balls and parties at home, of which his wifewas the queen of beauty; he went into society; the gloom which had beenhabitual with him departed from his heart. But the son would not sharethis happiness; he was the thorn in the side of the newly-marriedcouple. We continue the narrative in the widow's words.
"I did everything in my power," she said, with touching plaintiveness,"to reconcile father and son. I made excuses for Frederick. I said,'Perhaps Frederick is in debt; it troubles him; you are rich.' Therewas no occasion for me to say another word to such a generous gentlemanas my husband. The very next day he told me that he had had a seriousconversation with Frederick, who had confessed to him that he was deeplyin debt. How much? Thousands. He showed me a list, but I scarcely lookedat it. 'Shall I pay these debts?' my husband asked. 'Of course,' Ireplied; 'pay them immediately, and fill Frederick's pockets withmoney.' 'I have done that very thing,' said Mr. Holdfast, 'a dozen timesalready, and he has always promised me he would reform.' 'Never mind,' Isaid, 'perhaps he will keep his word this time. Pay his debts once more,and let us all live happily together.' That was my only wish--that weshould all be friends, and that Frederick should have no excuse toreproach me for having married his father. The debts were paid, and Mr.Holdfast brought his son to me, and said to him 'Frederick, you have tothank this angel'--(pray, pray do not think I am saying a word that isnot true! My husband was only too kind to me, and loved me so much thathe would often pay me extravagant compliments)--'You have to thank thisangel,' said Mr. Holdfast to his son, 'for what has been done this day.You can now hold up your head with honour. Let bye-gones be bye-gones.Kiss Mrs. Holdfast, and promise to turn over a new leaf.' I held out mycheek to him, and he looked at me coldly and turned away. I was scarletwith shame. Was it not enough to rouse a woman's animosity?--suchtreatment! But it did not rouse mine--no; I still hoped that thingswould come right. Mr. Holdfast did not relate to me the particulars ofthe interview between himself and his son, and I did not inquire. Whyshould I pry into a young man's secrets? And what right had I to doanything but try and make peace between my husband and my husband'sson? Frederick had been wild, but so have plenty of other college men.Many of them have turned out well afterwards; I have heard of some whowere very bad young men, and afterwards became Judges and Members ofParliament. Why should not Frederick do the same--why should he notreform, and become a Judge or a Member of Parliament? My great wishwas that Mr. Holdfast should keep his son with him, and that Frederickshould marry some good girl, and settle down. I had tried to bring itabout. I had given parties, and had invited pretty girls; but Frederickseldom made his appearance at my assemblies, and when he did, stoppedonly for a few minutes. On the very evening of the day upon which myhusband, at my intercession, paid Frederick's debts, I had a ball at myhouse. Is it wrong to be fond of parties and dancing? If it is, you willblame me very much, for I am very fond of dancing. With a good partner Icould waltz all night, and not feel tired. Mr. Holdfast did not dance,but he had no objection to my enjoying myself in this way. On thecontrary, he encouraged it. He would sit down to his whist, and whenthe ball was over I would tell him all the foolish things my partnershad said to me. Well, on this night we were to have a grand ball, and Ivery much wished Frederick to be present, for I wanted to introduce himto some pretty girls I had invited. But in the morning he had insultedme, and had refused to kiss me as a sign of reconciliation. Uponthinking it over I said to myself that perhaps he did not think itproper to kiss me, because I was young and----well, not exactlybad-looking. I was always trying to make excuses for him in my mind.Though there could really be no harm in kissing one's mother--do youbelieve there is?--even if your mother _is_ younger than yourself! If_I_ were a young man, _I_ should have no objection! So I determined toask Frederick to come to my ball, and bind him to it. He was to dinewith us, and, for a wonder, he did not disappoint us. Over dinner Isaid, 'Frederick, I should like you very, very particular
ly to come tomy ball to-night.' Contrary to his usual custom of pleading an excuseof another engagement--it was generally to meet some friend at hisclub--he said, quite readily, 'I will come.' I was surprised. 'You havepromised before,' I said, 'but you have almost always disappointed me. Ishall take your promise now as a gentleman's promise, and shall expectyou to keep it. And you must not only come; you must stop and dance.' Hereplied, without the slightest hesitation, 'I will come, and I will stopand dance.' 'Now,' I said, so glad at his amiability, 'I will make ithard for you to forget. Here is my programme. You may dance two danceswith me. I am sure you would not keep a lady waiting. Behave to me asyou would to any other lady in society.' I gave him my card, and hewrote upon it, and handed it back to me. I did not look to see thedances he had engaged; I was too pleased at my success. His father,also, was very much pleased, and our dinner on this evening was thepleasantest we had ever enjoyed together. Three hours later, my guestsbegan to arrive. While I was dressing, one of my maids brought in theloveliest bouquet I had ever seen. From Mr. Holdfast? No. From his son,Frederick. Was not that a sign of perfect reconciliation, and had Inot every reason to be happy? O, if I had known! I would have cast theflowers to the ground, and have trodden them under my feet! But we cannever tell, can we, what is going to happen to us? I dressed, and wentdown to the ball room. I wore a pale blue silk, with flounces of lace,caught up here and there with forget-me-nots, and I had pearls in myhair. Mr. Holdfast said I looked bewitching. I was in the best ofspirits, and felt sure that this was going to be one of the happiestevenings in my life. How shall I tell you what happened? I am ashamedand horrified when I think of it! But it was not my fault, and I dideverything I could to lead Frederick away from his dreadful, sinfulinfatuation."
Our Reporter himself takes up the narrative, and relates what followedin his own words. The beautiful widow was overcome by shame at therevelation she had to make, and it was only by considerate and skilfulpersuasion that our representative was able to elicit from her the fullparticulars of what she rightly called a dreadful, sinful infatuation.
The ball was a perfect success; there were many beautiful women amongthe guests, but the most beautiful of all was the hostess herself. Agentleman asked her to dance, and she handed him her card.
"How annoying!" he exclaimed. "You are engaged for every waltz."
"No," she replied, "only for two."
"But look," said the gentleman.
She glanced at her card, and found that Frederick had placed his nameagainst every one of the six waltzes comprised in the programme.
"The foolish fellow!" she cried, "I promised him two, and he hasappropriated six!"
"In that case," observed the gentleman, "as you are much too precious tobe monopolised, I may take the liberty of erasing Mr. FrederickHoldfast's name from one waltz at least, and writing my own in itsplace."
"Yes," said Mrs. Holdfast, "I will promise you one."
Just as the gentleman had made the alteration in the card Frederick cameup, and protested against being deprived of the waltz.
"You made me promise to stop and dance," he said, "and I will dance withno other lady in the room but you."
"Why," said Mrs. Holdfast, "there are fifty pretty girls here, who willbe delighted to dance with you."
"I have no eyes for any lady but yourself," he said, offering her hisarm. "You wear the crown of beauty."
Surprised as she was at this sudden change in him, it was so much betterthan the systematically cold manner in which he had hitherto treatedher, that she humoured him and was quite disposed to yield to hiscaprices. He told her during the evening that he was jealous of anyperson dancing with her but himself; he paid her a thousand compliments;he was most devoted in his attentions.
"Frederick is a changed man," she said to her husband, when he came fromthe whist to inquire how she was enjoying herself; "he has been the mostattentive of cavaliers."
Mr. Holdfast expressed his satisfaction to his son.
"You have commenced your new leaf well, Frederick," he said; "I hope youwill go on as you have begun."
"I intend to do so, sir," replied Frederick.
Had Mr. Holdfast understood the exact meaning of these words, hisadvice to his son would have been of a precisely opposite nature, andon that very night the severance of father and son would have beencomplete.
The evening progressed; music, pretty women, gallant men, brilliantlights, flowers, a sumptuous supper, a fascinating and charming hostess,formed the sum of general happiness. The ball was spoken of as themost successful of the season. In an interval between the dances Mrs.Holdfast found herself alone with Frederick in a conservatory. She hada difficulty in fastening one of the buttons of her glove. Frederickoffered his assistance; she held out her white arm; his fingers trembledas he clumsily essayed to fasten the button.
"You seem agitated," she said to him, with a smile.
"I have behaved to you like a brute," he muttered.
"Don't think of the past," she said sweetly, "we commence from thisnight."
"It will be the commencement of heaven or hell to me!" he said, in avoice almost indistinct, with contrition as she supposed. "My fatherwas right in calling you an angel. When I reflect upon my conduct thismorning I can't help thinking I must have been mad. To refuse to kissa beautiful woman like you! Let me kiss you now, in token of myrepentance."
She offered him her cheek, and he seized her in his arms, and kissed herlips.
"I love you! I love you!" he whispered, and before she could releaseherself he had kissed her a dozen times. "That will make amends for myrudeness this morning," he said, as he rushed from her presence.
She scarcely knew what to think; she was bewildered by his strangebehaviour, but she was too pure-minded to put any but an innocentconstruction upon it. Poor lady! she had had no experience of that kindof man in whose eyes a woman's good name is a thing to trifle with anddestroy, and who afterwards exults in the misery he has brought upon anunsuspecting, confiding heart. She lived to learn the bitter lesson. Toosoon did she learn it! Too soon did the horrible truth force itself uponher soul that her husband's son loved her, or professed to love her--andthat he was using all his artifices to prevail upon her to accept himas her secret lover. At first she refused to credit it; she had read ofsuch things, but had never believed they could exist. To the pure allthings are pure, and so for a time she cast away the suspicion whichintruded itself that the heart of this young man could harbour suchtreachery towards a father too ready to forgive the errors which staina man's name with dishonour. Her position was most perplexing. Insteadof absenting himself from home, Frederick was unremitting in hisattendance upon her. When he came down to breakfast in the morning hekissed her, but never before his father. When he went out of the househe kissed her--but his father never saw the embrace. In private, when noone else was by, he called her "Lydia," or "dear Lydia"; when his fatheror strangers were present, he addressed her as Mrs. Holdfast. He was sosubtle in his devices that he wove around her and himself a chain ofsecrecy which caused her the greatest misery. She was no match for him.He was a man of the world; she, a young and innocent girl brought, forthe first time, face to face with deliberate villainy. Her positionwas rendered the more embarrassing by the pleasure which Frederick'soutward conduct afforded her husband. He expressed his pleasure to herfrequently. "Our union," he said to her, "has brought happiness to me inmore ways than one. Frederick has reformed; he is all I wish him to be;and I owe it to you that I can look forward now with satisfaction to hisfuture." How could she undeceive the fond father? She contemplated withshudders the effect of the revelation it was in her power to make. Couldshe not in some way avoid the exposure? Could she not bring the son to atrue sense of his shameful and unmanly conduct? She would try--she wouldtry; innocence and a good intent would give her strength and courage.She was not aware of the difficulty of the task she had set herself.
In its execution private interviews between Frederick and herself werenecessary, and she had to
solicit them. The eagerness with which heacceded to her request to speak with him in the absence of her husbandshould have been a warning to her--but she saw nothing but the possiblesuccess of a worthy design which was to save her husband from bittergrief. She spoke to Frederick seriously; she endeavoured to show himnot only the wickedness but the folly of his passion for her; she toldhim that she loved his father, and that if he did not conquer his madinfatuation for her, an exposure must ensue which would cover him withshame. And the result of her endeavour to bring the young man to reasonwas a declaration on his part, repeated again and again, that he lovedher more than ever. He had the cunning to hint to her that she wasalready compromised, and that she could not defend herself successfullyagainst an imputation of guilt. Appearances were all against her; thevery interviews which she herself had planned and solicited were proofsagainst her. These infamous arguments convinced her of the hopelessnessof her task, and with grief she relinquished it. She had no alternativebut to appeal for protection to her husband. We doubt whether in theannals of social life a more delicate and painful situation could befound.
She faced her duty bravely. She had full confidence in the honour andjustice of her husband, and her confidence was not misplaced. Sufferingmost deeply himself, he pitied her for the suffering she experiencedin being the innocent cause of what could not fail to be a life-longseparation between himself and his son. "You have done your duty," hesaid, "and I will do mine. I am not only your husband and lover; Iam your protector." He called his son to him and they were closetedtogether for hours. What passed between them, the wife never knew. Uponthat subject husband and wife maintained perfect silence. At the endof the interview Frederick Holdfast left his father's house, never toreturn. The echo of the banished son's footsteps still lingered in LydiaHoldfast's ears when her husband called her into his study. His paleface showed traces of deep suffering. Upon the writing table was a smallBible, with silver clasps.
"Lydia," said Mr. Holdfast, "this Bible was given to me by my firstwife. Two children she bore me--first, the man who has but now leftmy house, and will not enter it again; then a girl, who died beforeshe could prattle. It were better that my son had so died, but itwas otherwise willed. In this Bible I wrote the record of my firstmarriage--my own name, the maiden name of my wife, the church in whichwe were married, and the date. It is here; and beneath it the record ofmy marriage with you. Upon a separate page I wrote the date of the birthof my son Frederick; beneath it, that of my second child, Alice, dead.That page is no longer in the sacred Book. I have torn it out anddestroyed it; and as from this Bible I tore the record of my son'sbirth, so from my life I have torn and destroyed his existence. He livesno longer for me. I have now no child; I have only you!" He pausedawhile, and continued. "It is I, it seems," he said, pathetically, "whohave to turn over a new leaf. With the exception of yourself--my firstconsideration--there is but one engrossing subject in my mind; thehonour of my name. I must watch carefully that it is not dragged inthe mud. From such a man as my son has grown into--heaven knows bywhat means, for neither from myself nor from his mother can he haveinherited his base qualities--I am not safe for a moment. Between to-dayand the past, let there be a door fast closed, which neither you nor Iwill ever attempt to open."
Then this man, whose nature must have been very noble, kissed his youngwife, and asked that she would not disturb him for the remainder ofthe day. "Only one person," he said, "is to be admitted to see me--mylawyer." In the course of the afternoon that gentleman presentedhimself, and did not leave until late in the night. His business isexplained by the date of a codicil to Mr. Holdfast's will, whereby theson is disinherited, and Mr. Holdfast's entire fortune--amounting to notless than one hundred thousand pounds--is left unreservedly to his wife.
To avoid the tittle-tattle of the world, and the scandal which any openadmission of social disturbances would be sure to give rise to, Mr.Holdfast insisted that his wife should mingle freely in the gaietiesof society. She would have preferred to have devoted herself to herhusband, and to have endeavoured, by wifely care and affection, tosoften the blow which had fallen upon him. But he would not allow her tosacrifice herself. "My best happiness," he said, "is to know that youare enjoying yourself." Therefore she went more frequently into society,and feted its members in her own house with princely liberality. Whenpeople asked after Mr. Holdfast's son, the answer--dictated by thefather himself--was that he had gone abroad on a tour. It appeared,indeed, that the compact between father and son was that the young manshould leave England. In this respect he kept his word. He went toAmerica, and his father soon received news of him. His career in theStates was disgraceful and dissipated; he seemed to have lost allcontrol over himself, and his only desire appeared to be to vex hisfather's heart, and dishonour his father's name. Events so shapedthemselves that the father's presence was necessary in America topersonally explain to the heads of firms with whom he had for yearstransacted an extensive business, the character of the son who, bymisrepresentations, was compromising his credit. When he communicatedto his wife his intention of leaving her for a short time, she beggedhim not to go, or, if it were imperative that the journey should beundertaken, to allow her to accompany him. To this request he would notconsent; he would not subject her to the discomfort of the voyage; andhe pointed out to her that her presence might be a hindrance instead ofa help to him.
"Not only," he said, "must I set myself right with my agents in America,but I must see my son. I will make one last appeal to him--I will speakto him in the name of his dead mother! It is my duty, and I will performit. The wretched man, hearing of my arrival, may fly from the citiesin which it is necessary that I shall present myself. I must followhim until we are once more face to face. Cannot you see that I must bealone, and entirely free, to bring my mission to a successful issue."
Mournfully, she was compelled to confess that he was right, and that itwas imperative his movements should not be hampered. She bade him anaffectionate farewell, little dreaming, as he drove away from the house,that she had received his last kiss.
He wrote regularly--from Queenstown, from ship-board, from New York. Hisletters were filled with expressions of affection; of his business hemerely said, from time to time, that matters were not so serious as theywere represented to be. As he had suspected, his son flew before him,and, resolute in his intention of having a last interview with him, hefollowed the young man from city to city, from State to State. Weeks,months were occupied in this pursuit, and it happened, on more than oneoccasion, that Mrs. Holdfast was a considerable time without a letterfrom her husband. She wrote to him again and again, entreating him togive up the pursuit and come home, but strong as was his affection forher, she could not shake his resolve. In one of his letters he hintedthat his son was not alone--that he was in company with a woman of morethan doubtful character; in another that this woman, having deserted themisguided young man, had appealed to Mr. Holdfast himself for assistanceto enable her to return to England. "I did not refuse her," he wrote; "Iwas only too happy to break the connection between her and Frederick. Isupplied her with money, and by the time you receive this she is mostprobably in her native land." Actions such as this denoted the kindnessof his heart, and there is no doubt, had his son thrown himself at hisfather's feet, and, admitting the errors of the past, promised amendmentin the future, that Mr. Holdfast would have helped him to commence a newand better career. Mr. Holdfast spoke of this in his letters. "There areother lands than England and America," he said, "where a man may buildup a name that shall be honoured, and live a life of usefulness andhappiness. In one of the Australian colonies, or in New Zealand, he maywork out his repentance, under conditions which offer almost a certaintyof a bright and honourable future."
This was the father's aim--a wise and merciful design, altogether toogood in its intentions for the man it was to benefit.
At length a letter arrived conveying the intelligence that Mr. Holdfasthad tracked his son to Minnesota, one of the Western States of America,and
was journeying onward in pursuit of him. This letter was not in Mr.Holdfast's writing; it was written by a stranger, at his dictation, anda satisfactory explanation of this circumstance was given. "Although Iam wearied in spirit," it said, "and sometimes feel that but for you Iwould give up the world and its trials with thankfulness, I am notreally ill. My right hand has been wounded by the shutting of the doorof a railroad car, and I am unable to use it. For this reason you mustnot feel uneasy if you do not hear from me for some time. I do not careto entrust, even to a stranger, the particulars of my private troubles.Good bye, and God bless you! Be happy!" These tender words were the lastshe ever received from him. When she read them she was oppressed by anominous foreboding, and a voice within her whispered: "You will neversee him more!" But for one thrilling circumstance, nothing in the worldcould have prevented her from taking instant passage to America to nurseand comfort her dear husband. She was about to become a mother. Now,indeed, she could not risk the perils of the voyage and the feverishtravelling in the States. Another and a dearer life claimed her care andlove.
Within a week of the receipt of this last letter she learnt, from anewspaper forwarded to her from a small town in Minnesota, that herhusband's quest was over. On the banks of the laughing waters ofMinne-haha the dead body of a stranger was found. He had not met hisdeath by drowning; from marks upon the body it was certain that he hadbeen killed--most likely in a drunken brawl. A gentleman travellingthrough the district identified the body as that of Frederick Holdfast,with whom he was well acquainted in Oxford. The occurrence excitedno comment, and simply supplied the text for an ordinary newspaperparagraph. The body was buried, and in that distant part of the worldthe man was soon forgotten. Thus was ended the shameful life ofFrederick Holdfast, a young man to whom fortune held out a liberal hand,and whose career was marred by a lack of moral control.
Shocked as Mrs. Holdfast was by the tragic news, she could not but feelhappy in the thought of the calmer future which lay before her. "Myhusband will soon be home!" she thought, and her heart beat with gladanticipation.
_END OF VOLUME I._
Transcriber's note
Words in italics have been surrounded by _underscores_ and smallcapitals have been changed to all capitals.
Punctuation errors have been corrected silently. Also thefollowing corrections have been made, on page
12 "could'nt" changed to "couldn't" (So of course it couldn't have been) 19 "facination" changed to "fascination" (with a horrible fascination) 187 "And" changed to "and" (raised their voices, and I wasn't awake) 211 "writhin" changed to "writhing" (Mrs. Bailey writhing in bed) 247 "But" changed to "but" (feeling and fancy, but I am seldom wrong) 257 "herelf" changed to "herself" (how she was enjoying herself;) 257 "have" added (his advice to his son would have been).
Otherwise the original has been preserved, including inconsistentspelling and hyphenation.
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