IX
IN THE LITTLE BOUDOIR
Never had a suspicion crossed my mind of any such explanation of oursecret troubles. I had seen as much of one cousin as the other in myvisits to Mrs. Lansing's house, but Gilbertine being from the first dayof our acquaintance engaged to my friend Sinclair, I naturally did notpresume to study her face for any signs of interest in myself, even ifmy sudden and uncontrollable passion for Dorothy had left me the heartto do so. Yet now, in the light of her unmistakable smile, of herbeaming eyes from which all troublous thoughts seemed to have fled forever, a thousand recollections forced themselves upon my attention whichnot only made me bewail my own blindness, but which served to explainthe peculiar attitude always maintained toward me by Dorothy, and manyother things which a moment before had seemed fraught with impenetrablemystery.
All this in the twinkling of an eye. Meanwhile, misled by my words,Gilbertine drew back a step and with her face still bright with theradiance I have mentioned, murmured in low, but full-toned accents:
"Not just yet! it is too soon. Let me simply enjoy the fact that I amfree and that the courage to win my release came from my own suddenlyacquired trust in Mr. Sinclair's goodness. Last night--" and sheshuddered--"I saw only another way--a way the horrors of which I hardlyrealized. But God saved me from so dreadful, yea, so unnecessary acrime, and this morning--"
It was cruel to let her go on, cruel to stand there and allow thisardent if mistaken nature to unfold itself so ingenuously, while I withear half-turned toward the door, listened for the step of her whom I hadnever so much loved as at that moment--possibly because I had only justcome to understand the cause of her seeming vacillations. My instinctswere so imperative, my duty and the obligations of my position sounmistakable, that I made a move as she reached this point, which causedGilbertine first to hesitate, then to stop. How should I fill up thisgap of silence? How tell her of the great, the grievous mistake she hadmade? The task was one to try the courage of stouter souls than mine.But the thought of Dorothy nerved me; perhaps, also, my real friendshipand commiseration for Sinclair.
"Gilbertine," I began, "I will make no pretense of misunderstanding you.The situation is too serious, the honor which you do me too great; only,I am not free to accept that honor. The words which I uttered were meantfor your cousin Dorothy. I expected to find her in this room. I havelong loved your cousin--in secrecy, I own, but honestly and with everyhope of some day making her my wife. I--I--"
There was no need for me to finish. The warm hand turning to ice in myclasp, the wide-open, blind-struck eyes, the recoil, the maiden flushrising, deepening, covering chin and cheek and forehead, then fading outagain till the whole face was white as marble and seemingly ascold--told me that the blow had gone home and that Gilbertine Murray,the unequalled beauty, the petted darling of a society who recognizedevery charm she possessed save her ardent nature and great heart, hadreached the height of her many miseries and that it was I who had placedher there.
Overcome with pity, but conscious, also, of a profound respect, Iendeavored to utter some futile words, which she at once put an end toby an appealing gesture.
"You can say nothing," she began. "I have made an awful mistake, theworst a woman can make, I think." Then, with long pauses, as though hertongue were clogged by shame--perhaps by some deeper if less apparentfeeling--"You love Dorothy; does Dorothy love you?"
My answer was an honest one.
"I have dared to hope so, despite the little opportunity she has givenme to express my feelings. She has always held me back, and that verydecidedly, or my devotion would have been apparent to everybody."
"Oh, Dorothy!"
Regret, sorrow, infinite tenderness, all were audible in that cry.Indeed, it seemed as if for the moment her thoughts were more taken upwith her cousin's unhappiness than with her own.
"How I must have made her suffer! I have been a curse to those who lovedme. But I am humbled now, and very rightly."
I began to experience a certain awe of this great nature. There wasgrandeur even in her contrition and, as I took in the expression of hercolorless features, sweet with almost an unearthly sweetness in spite ofthe anguish consuming her, I suddenly realized what Sinclair's love forher must be. I also as suddenly realized the depth and extent of hissuffering. To call such a woman his, to lead her almost to the foot ofthe altar and then to see her turn aside and leave him! Surely his lotwas an intolerable one, and, though the interference I had unconsciouslymade in his wishes had been involuntary, I felt like cursing myself fornot having been more open in my attentions to the girl I really loved.
Gilbertine seemed to divine my thoughts, for, pausing at the door shehad unconsciously approached, she stood with the knob in her hand, and,with averted brow, remarked gravely:
"I am going out of your life. Before I do so, however, I should like tosay a few words in palliation of my conduct. I have never known amother. I early fell under my aunt's charge, who, detesting children,sent me away to school, where I was well enough treated, but neverloved. I was a plain child and felt my plainness. This gave anawkwardness to my actions, and as my aunt had caused it to be distinctlyunderstood that her sole intention in sending me to the Academy was tohave me educated for a teacher, my position awakened little interest,and few hearts, if any, warmed toward me. Meanwhile my breast wasfilled with but one thought, one absorbing wish. I longed to lovepassionately and be passionately loved in return. Had I found amate--but I never did. I was not destined for any such happiness.
"Years passed. I was a woman, but neither my happiness nor myself-confidence had kept pace with my growth. Girls who once passed mewith a bare nod now stopped to stare, sometimes to whisper commentsbehind my back. I did not understand this change, and withdrew more andmore into myself and the fairy-land made for me by books. Romance was mylife, and I had fallen into the dangerous habit of brooding over thepleasures and excitements which would have been mine had I been bornbeautiful and wealthy, when my aunt suddenly visited the school, saw meand at once took me away and placed me in the most fashionable school inNew York City. From there I was launched, without any word of motherlycounsel, into the gay society you know so well. Almost with mycoming-out I found the world at my feet and, though my aunt showed me nolove, she evinced a certain pride in my success and cast about toprocure for me a great match. Mr. Sinclair was the victim. He visitedme, took me to theaters and eventually proposed. My aunt was inecstasies. I, who felt helpless before her will, was glad that thehusband she had chosen for me was, at least, a gentleman, and, to allappearances, respectable in his living and nice in his tastes. But hewas not the man I had dwelt on in my dreams, and while I acceptedhim--(it was not possible to do anything else, with my aunt controllingevery action, if not every thought)--I cared so little for Mr. Sinclairhimself that I forgot to ask if his many attentions were the result ofany real feeling on his part or only such as he considered due to thewoman he expected to make his wife. You see what girls are. How Idespise myself now for this miserable frivolity!
"All this time I knew that I was not my aunt's only niece; that DorothyCamerden, of whom I knew little but her name, was as closely related toher as I was. For, true to her heartless code, my aunt had placed us inseparate schools and we had never met. When she found that I was toleave her and that soon there would be nobody to see that her dresseswere bought with discretion, and her person attended to with somethinglike care, she sent for Dorothy. I shall never forget my firstimpression of her. I had been told that I need not expect much in theway of beauty and style, but from my first glimpse of her dear face, Isaw that my soul's friend had come and that, marriage or no marriage, Ineed never be solitary again.
"I do not think I made as favorable an impression on my cousin as shedid on me. Dorothy was new to elaborate dressing and to all the folliesof fashionable life, and her look had more of awe than expectation init. But I gave her a hearty kiss and in a week she was as brilliantlyequipped as myself.
"I loved her, but, from bl
indness of eye or an overwhelming egotismwhich God has certainly punished, I did not consider her beautiful. ThisI must acknowledge to you, if only to complete my humiliation. I neverimagined for a moment, even after I became the daily witness of yourmany attentions to her, that it was on her account you visited the houseso often. I had been so petted and spoiled since entering society thatI thought you were kind to her simply because honor forbade youto be too kind to me; and seeing in you a man different from theothers--one--who--who pleased me as the heroes of my old romances hadpleased me, I gave you all my heart and, what was worse, _confided myfolly to Dorothy_.
"You will have many a talk with her in the future, and some day she maysucceed in proving to you that it was vanity and not badness of heartwhich led me to misunderstand your feelings. Having repressed my ownimpulses so long, I saw in your reticence the evidences of a likestruggle; and when, immediately upon my break with Mr. Sinclair, youentered here and said the words you did--Well, we have finished withthis subject for ever.
"The explanations which I gave below, of the part I played in my aunt'sdeath were true. I only omitted one detail, which you may consider avery important one. The fact which paralyzed my hand and voice when Isaw her lift the drop of death to her lips was this: I had meant to dieby this drop myself, in Dorothy's room, and with Dorothy's arms aboutme. This was my secret--a secret which no one can blame me for keepingas long as I could, and one which I should hardly have the courage todisclose to you now if I had not already parted with it to the coroner,who would not credit my story till I had told him the whole truth."
"Gilbertine," I prayed, for I saw her fingers closing upon the knob shehad held lightly till now, "do not go till I have said this. A younggirl does not always know the demands of her own nature. The heart youhave ignored is one in a thousand. Do not let it slip from you. Godnever gives a woman such a love twice."
"I know it," she murmured, and turned the knob.
I thought she was gone, and let the sigh which had been laboring at mybreast have vent, when suddenly I caught one last word whispered fromthe threshold:
"Throw back the shutters and let in the light. Dorothy is coming. I amgoing now to call her."
An hour had passed, the hour of hours for me, for in it the sun of myhappiness rose full-orbed and Dorothy and I came to understand eachother. We were sitting hand in hand in this blessed little boudoir, whensuddenly she turned her sweet face toward me and gently remarked:
"This seems like selfishness on our part; but Gilbertine insisted. Doyou know what she is doing now? Helping old Mrs. Cummings and holdingMrs. Barnstable's baby while her maid packs. She will work like that allday, and with a smile, too. Oh, it is a rich nature, an ideal nature! Ithink we can trust her now."
I did not like to discuss Gilbertine even with Dorothy, so I saidnothing. But she was too full of her theme to stop. I think she wishedto unburden her mind once and for ever of all that had disturbed it.
"Our aunt's death," she continued, "will be a sort of emancipation forher. I don't think you, or any one out of our immediate household, canrealize the control which Aunt Hannah exerted over every one who camewithin her daily influence. It would have been the same had she occupieda dependent position instead of being the wealthy autocrat she was. Inher cold nature dwelt an imperiousness which no one could withstand. Youknow how her friends, some of them as rich and influential as herself,bowed to her will and submitted to her interference. What, then, couldyou expect from two poor girls entirely dependent upon her foreverything they enjoyed? Gilbertine, with all her spirit, could not faceAunt Hannah's frown, while I studied to have no wishes. Had this beenotherwise, had we found a friend instead of a tyrant in the woman whotook us into her home, Gilbertine might have gained more control overher feelings. It was the necessity she felt of smothering her naturalimpulses, and of maintaining in the house and before the world anappearance of satisfaction in her position as bride-elect, which causedher to fall into such extremes of despondency and deep despair. Herself-respect was shocked. She felt that she was living a lie and hatedherself in consequence.
"You may think I did wrong not to tell her of your affection for myself,especially, after what you whispered into my ear that night at thetheater. I did do wrong; I see it now. She was really a stronger womanthan I thought and we might all have been saved the horrors which havebefallen us had I acted with more firmness at that time. But I was weakand frightened. I held you back and let her go on deceiving herself,which meant deceiving Mr. Sinclair, too. I thought, when she foundherself really married and settled in her own home, she would find iteasier to forget, and that soon, perhaps very soon, all this would seemlike a troubled dream to her. And there was reason for this hope on mypart. She showed a woman's natural interest in her outfit and the plansfor her new house, but when she heard you were to be Mr. Sinclair's bestman, every feminine instinct within her rebelled and it was withdifficulty she could prevent herself from breaking out into a loud No!in face of aunt and lover. From this moment on her state of mind grewdesperate. In the parlor, at the theater, she was the brilliant girlwhom all admired and many envied; but in my little room at night shewould bury her face in my lap and talk of death, till I moved in aconstant atmosphere of dread. Yet, because she looked gay and laughed, Iturned a like face to the world and laughed also. We felt it wasexpected of us, and the very nervous tension we were under made theseebullitions easy. But I did not laugh so much after coming here. Onenight I found her out of her bed long after every one else had retiredfor the night. Next morning Mr. Beaton told a dream--I hope it was adream--but it frightened me. Then came that moment when Mr. Sinclairdisplayed the amethyst box and explained with such a nonchalant air howa drop from the little flask inside would kill a person. A toy, but sodeadly! I felt the thrill which shot like lightning through her, andmade up my mind she should never have the opportunity of touching thatbox. And that is why I stole into the library at the first moment I hadto myself and took down the little box and hid it in my hair. I neverthought to look inside; I did not pause to think that it was the flaskand not the box she wanted, and consequently felt convinced of hersafety so long as I kept the latter successfully concealed in my hair.You know the rest."
Yes, I knew it. How she opened the box in her room and found it empty.How she flew to Gilbertine's room, and, finding the door unlocked,looked in, and saw Miss Lane lying there asleep but no Gilbertine. Howher alarm grew at this and how, forgetting that her cousin often stoleto her room by means of the connecting balcony, she had wandered overthe house in the hope of coming upon Gilbertine in one of thedown-stairs rooms. How her mind misgave her before she had entered thegreat hall, and how she turned back only to hear that awful scream go upas she was setting foot upon the spiral stair. I had heard it all beforeand could imagine her terror and dismay; and why she found it impossibleto proceed any further, but clung to the stair-rail, half-alive andhalf-dead, till she was found there by those seeking her and taken up toher aunt's room. But she never told me, and I do not yet know, what herthoughts or feelings were when, instead of seeing her cousinoutstretched in death on the bed they led her to, she beheld thelifeless figure of her aunt. The reserve she maintained on this pointhas been always respected by me. Let it continue to be so.
When therefore she said, "You know the rest," I took her in my arms andgave her my first kiss. Then I softly released her, and by tacit consentwe each went our way for that day.
Mine took me into the hall below, which was all alive with the hum ofdeparting guests. Beaton was among them, and as he stepped out on theporch I gave him a parting handclasp and quietly whispered:
"When all dark things are made light, you will find that there was bothmore and less to your dream than you were inclined to make out."
He bowed, and that was the last word which ever passed between us onthis topic.
But what chiefly impressed me in connection with this afternoon's eventswas the short talk I had with Sinclair. I feared I forced this talk, butI could not let t
he dreary day settle into still drearier night withoutmaking clear to him a point which, in the new position he held towardGilbertine if not toward myself, might seem to be involved in somedoubt. When, therefore, I had the opportunity to accost him I did so,and, without noting the formal bow with which he strove to hold back allconfidential communication, I said:
"It is not a very propitious time for me to intrude my personal affairsupon you, but I feel as if I should like you to know that the cloudshave been cleared away between Dorothy and myself, and that some day weexpect to marry."
He gave me the earnest look of a man who has recovered his one friend.Then he grasped my hand warmly, saying with something like his oldfervor:
"You deserve all the happiness that awaits you. Mine is gone; but if Ican regain it, I will; trust me for that, Worthington."
The coroner, who had seen much of life and human nature, managed withmuch discretion the inquest he felt bound to hold. Mrs. Lansing wasfound to have come to her death by a meddlesome interference with one ofher niece's wedding trinkets; and, as every one acquainted with Mrs.Lansing knew her to be quite capable of such an act of malicious folly,the verdict was duly accepted and the real heart of this tragedy closedfor ever from every human eye.
As we were leaving Newport Sinclair stepped up to me.
"I have reason to know," said he, "that Mrs. Lansing's bequests will bea surprise, not only to her nieces, but to the world at large. Let meadvise you to announce your engagement before reaching New York."
I followed his advice and in a few days understood why it had beengiven. All the vast property owned by this woman had been left toDorothy. Gilbertine had been cut off without a cent.
We never knew Mrs. Lansing's reason for this act. Gilbertine had alwaysbeen considered her favorite, and, had the will been a late one, itwould have been generally thought that she had left her thus unprovidedfor solely in consideration of the great match which she expected her tomake. But the will was dated back several years,--long beforeGilbertine had met Mr. Sinclair, long before either niece had come tolive with Mrs. Lansing in New York. Had it always been the latter'swish, then, to enrich the one and slight the other? It would seem so,but why should the slighted one be Gilbertine?
The only explanation I ever heard given was the partiality which Mrs.Lansing felt for Dorothy's mother, or, rather, her lack of affection forGilbertine's. God knows if it is the true one, but whether so or not,the discrimination she showed in her will put poor Gilbertine in a veryunfortunate position. At least, it would have done so, if Sinclair, withan adroitness worthy of his love, had not proved to her that a break atthis time in their supposed relations would reflect most seriously uponhis disinterestedness and thus secured for himself opportunities forurging his suit which ended, as such opportunities often do, in arenewal of their engagement. But this time mutual love was its basis.This was evident to any one who saw them together. But how the magicwas wrought, how this hard-to-be-won heart learned at last its trueallegiance, I did not know till later, and then it was told me byGilbertine herself.
I had been married for some months and she for some weeks, when oneevening chance threw us together. Instantly, and as if she had waitedfor this hour, she turned upon me with the beautiful smile which hasbeen hers ever since her new happiness came to her, and said:
"You once gave me some very good advice, Mr. Worthington, but it was notthat which led me to realize Mr. Sinclair's affection. It was a shortconversation which passed between us on the day my aunt's will was read.Do you remember my turning to speak to him the moment after that word_all_ fell from the lawyer's lips?"
"Yes, Mrs. Sinclair." Alas! did I not! It was one of the most poignantmemories of my life. The look she gave him, and the look he gave her!Indeed, I did remember.
"It was to ask him one question,--a question to which misfortune onlycould have given so much weight. Had my aunt taken him into herconfidence? Had he known that I had no place in her will? His answer wasvery simple; a single word,--'always.' But after that, do I need to saywhy I am a wife? why I am _his_ wife?"
THE HOUSE IN THE MIST