Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 14 (41 page)

 
          
"I
will. Thank you, Major. Trust to me, and by tomorrow I will prove that I can
act as becomes me."

 
          
The
grief and misery in the general's face touched the major; he silently wrung his
hand and went away, thanking heaven more fervently than ever that no cursed
coquette of a woman had it in her power to break his heart.

 
          
While
this scene was going on above, another was taking place in the library.
Treherne sat there alone, thinking happy thoughts evidently, for his eyes shone
and his lips smiled as he mused, while watching the splendors of a winter
sunset. A soft rustle and the faint scent of violets warned him of Mrs.
Snowdon's approach, and a sudden foreboding told him that danger was near. The
instant he saw her face his fear was confirmed, for exultation, resolve, and
love met and mingled in the expression it wore. Leaning in the window recess,
where the red light shone full on her lovely face and queenly figure, she said,
softly yet with a ruthless accent below the softness, "Dreaming dreams,
Maurice, which will never come to pass, unless I will it. I know your secret,
and I shall use it to prevent the fulfillment of the foolish hope you
cherish."

 
          
"Who
told you?" he demanded, with an almost fierce flash of the eye and an
angry flush.

 
          
"I
discovered it, as I warned you I should. My memory is good, I recall the gossip
of long ago, I observe the faces, words, and acts of those whom I suspect, and
unconscious hints from them give me the truth."

 
          
"I
doubt it," and Treherne smiled securely.

 
          
She
stooped and whispered one short sentence into his ear. Whatever it was it
caused him to start up with a pale, panic-stricken face, and eye her as if she
had pronounced his doom.

 
          
"Do
you doubt it now?" she asked coldly.

 
          
"He
told you! Even your skill and craft could not discover it alone," he
muttered.

 
          
"Nay,
I told you nothing was impossible to a determined woman. I needed no help, for
I knew more than you think."

 
          
He
sank down again in a despairing attitude and hid his face, saying mournfully,
"I might have known you would hunt me down and dash my hopes when they
were surest. How will you use this unhappy secret?"

 
          
"I
will tell Octavia, and make her duty less hard. It will be kind to both of you,
for even with her this memory would mar your happiness; and it saves her from
the shame and grief of discovering, when too late, that she has given herself
to a—"

 
          
"Stop!"
he cried, in a tone that made her start and pale, as he rose out of his chair
white with a stern indignation which awed her for a moment. "You shall not
utter that word—you know but half the truth, and if you wrong me or trouble the
girl I will turn traitor also, and tell the general the game you are playing
with my cousin. You feign to love me as you feigned before, but his title is
the bait now as then, and you fancy that by threatening to mar my hopes you
will secure my silence, and gain your end."

 
          
"Wrong,
quite wrong. Jasper is nothing to me; I use
him
as a tool, not you. If I
threaten, it is to keep you from Octavia, who cannot forgive the past and love
you for yourself, as I have done all these miserable months. You say I know but
half the truth. Tell me the whole and I will spare you."

 
          
If
ever a man was tempted to betray a trust it was Treherne then. A word, and
Octavia might be his; silence, and she might be lost; for this woman was in
earnest, and possessed the power to ruin his good name forever. The truth
leaped to his lips and would have passed them, had not his eye fallen on the
portrait of Jasper's father. This man had loved and sheltered the orphan all
his life, had made of him a son, and, dying, urged him to guard and serve and
save the rebellious youth he left, when most needing a father's care.

 
          
"I
promised, and I will keep my promise at all costs,"
sighed
Treherne, and with a gesture full of pathetic patience he waved the fair
tempter from him, saying steadily, "I will never tell you, though you rob
me of that which is dearer than my life. Go and work your will, but remember
that when you might have won the deepest gratitude of the man you profess to
love, you chose instead to earn his hatred and contempt."

 
          
Waiting
for no word of hers, he took refuge in his room, and Edith Snowdon sank down
upon the couch, struggling with contending emotions of love and jealousy,
remorse and despair. How long she sat there she could not tell; an approaching
step recalled her to herself, and looking up she saw Octavia. As the girl
approached down the long vista of the drawing rooms, her youth and beauty,
innocence and candor touched that fairer and more gifted woman with an envy she
had never known before. Something in the girl's face struck her instantly: a
look of peace and purity, a sweet serenity more winning than loveliness, more
impressive than dignity or grace. With a smile on her lips, yet a half-sad,
half-tender light in her eyes, and a cluster of pale winter roses in her hand,
she came on till she stood before her rival and, offering the flowers, said, in
words as simple as sincere, "Dear Mrs. Snowdon, I cannot let the last sun
of the old year set on any misdeeds of mine for which I may atone. I have
disliked, distrusted, and misjudged you, and now I come to you in all humility
to say forgive me."

 
          
With
the girlish abandon of her impulsive nature Octavia knelt down before the woman
who was plotting to destroy her happiness, laid the roses like a little peace
offering on her lap, and with eloquently pleading eyes waited for pardon. For a
moment Mrs. Snowdon watched her, fancying it a well-acted ruse to disarm a
dangerous rival; but in that sweet face there was no art; one glance showed her
that. The words smote her to the heart and won her in spite of pride or
passion, as she suddenly took the girl into her arms, weeping repentant tears.
Neither spoke, but in the silence each felt the barrier which had stood between
them vanishing, and each learned to know the other better in that moment than
in a year of common life. Octavia rejoiced that the instinct which had prompted
her to make this appeal had not misled her, but assured her that behind the
veil of coldness, pride, and levity which this woman wore there was a heart
aching for sympathy and help and love. Mrs. Snowdon felt her worser self slip
from her, leaving all that was true and noble to make her worthy of the test
applied. Art she could meet with equal art, but nature conquered her. For spite
of her misspent life and faulty character, the germ of virtue, which lives in
the worst, was there, only waiting for the fostering sun and dew of love to
strengthen it, even though the harvest be a late one.

 
          
"Forgive
you!" she cried, brokenly. "It is I who should ask forgiveness of
you—I who should atone, confess, and repent. Pardon
me
, pity me,
love
me, for I am more wretched than you know."

 
          
"Dear,
I do with heart and soul. Believe it, and let me be your friend" was the
soft answer.

 
          
"God
knows I need one!"
sighed
the poor woman, still
holding fast the only creature who had wholly won her. "Child, I am not
good, but not so bad that I dare not look in your innocent face and call you
friend. I never had one of my own
sex
. I never knew my
mother; and no one ever saw in me the possibility of goodness, truth, and
justice but you. Trust and love and help me, Octavia, and I will reward you
with a better life, if I can do no more."

 
          
"I
will, and the
new year
shall be happier than the
old."

 
          
"God
bless you for that prophecy; may I be worthy of it."

 
          
Then
as a bell warned them away, the rivals kissed each other tenderly, and parted
friends. As Mrs. Snowdon entered her room, she saw her husband sitting with his
gray head in his hands, and heard him murmur despairingly to himself, "My
life makes her miserable. But for the sin of it I'd die to free her."

 
          
"No,
live for me, and teach me to be happy in your love." The clear voice
startled him, but not so much as the beautiful changed face of the wife who
laid the gray head on her bosom, saying tenderly, "My kind and patient
husband, you have been deceived. From me you shall know all the truth, and when
you have forgiven my faulty past, you shall see how happy I will try to make
your future."

 
          
"Bless
me, how dull we are tonight!" exclaimed Rose, as the younger portion of
the party wandered listlessly about the drawing rooms that evening, while my
lady and the major played an absorbing game of piquet, and the general dozed
peacefully at last.

 
          
"It
is because Maurice is not here; he always keeps us going, for he is a fellow of
infinite resources," replied Sir Jasper, suppressing a yawn.

 
          
"Have
him out then," said Annon.

 
          
"He
won't come. The poor lad is blue tonight, in spite of his improvement.
Something is amiss, and there is no getting a word from him."

 
          
"Sad
memories afflict him, perhaps,"
sighed
Blanche.

 
          
"Don't
be absurd, dear, sad memories are all nonsense; melancholy is always
indigestion, and nothing is so sure a cure as fun," said Rose briskly.
"I'm going to send in a polite invitation begging him to come and amuse
us.
He'll accept, I haven't a doubt."

 
          
The
message was sent, but to Rose's chagrin a polite refusal was returned.

 
          
"He
shall
come. Sir Jasper, do you and Mr. Annon go as a deputation from us,
and return without him at your peril" was her command.

 
          
They
went, and while waiting their reappearance the
sisters
spoke of what all had observed.

 
          
"How
lovely Mrs. Snowdon looks tonight. I always thought she owed half her charms to
her skill in dress, but she never looked
so
beautiful
as in that plain black silk, with those roses in her hair," said Rose.

 
          
"What
has she done to herself?" replied Blanche. "I see a change, but can't
account for it. She and Tavie have made some beautifying discovery, for both
look altogether uplifted and angelic all of a sudden."

 
          
"Here
come the gentlemen, and, as I'm a Talbot, they haven't got him!" cried
Rose as the deputation appeared, looking very crestfallen. "Don't come
near me," she added, irefully, "you are disloyal cowards, and I doom
you to exile till I want you.
I
am infinite in resources as well as this
recreant man, and come he shall. Mrs. Snowdon, would you mind asking Mr.
Treherne to suggest something to wile away the rest of this evening? We are in
despair, and can think of nothing, and you are all-powerful with him."

 
          
"I
must decline, since he refuses you" was the decided answer, as Mrs.
 
Snowdon moved away.

 
          
"Tavie,
dear, do go; we
must
have him; he always obeys you, and you would be
such a public benefactor, you know."

 
          
Without
a word Octavia wrote a line and sent it by a servant. Several minutes passed,
and the gentlemen began to lay wagers on the success of her trial. "He
will not come for me, you may be sure," said Octavia. As the words passed
her lips he appeared.

 
          
A
general laugh greeted him, but, taking no notice of the jests at his expense, he
turned to Octavia, saying quietly, "What can I do for you, Cousin?"

 
          
His
colorless face and weary eyes reproached her for disturbing him, but it was too
late for regret, and she answered hastily, "We are in want of some new and
amusing occupation to wile away the evening. Can you suggest something
appropriate?"

 
          
"Why
not sit round the hall fire and tell stories, while we wait to see the old year
out, as we used to do long ago?" he asked, after a moment's thought.

 
          
"I
told you so! There it is, just what we want." And Sir Jasper looked
triumphant.

 
          
"
It's
capital—let us begin at once. It is after ten now, so
we shall not have long to wait," cried Rose, and, taking Sir Jasper's arm,
she led the way to the hall.

 
          
A
great fire always burned there, and in wintertime thick carpets and curtains
covered the stone floor and draped the tall windows. Plants blossomed in the
warm atmosphere, and chairs and lounges stood about invitingly. The party was
soon seated, and Treherne was desired to begin.

 
          
"We
must have ghost stories, and in order to be properly thrilling and effective,
the lights must be put out," said Rose, who sat next him, and spoke first,
as usual.

 
          
This
was soon done, and only a ruddy circle of firelight was left to oppose the rapt
gloom that filled the hall, where shadows now seemed to lurk in every corner.

 
          
"Don't
be very dreadful, or I shall faint away," pleaded Blanche, drawing nearer
to Annon, for she had taken her sister's advice, and laid close siege to that
gentleman's heart.

 
          
"I
think your nerves will bear my little tale," replied Treherne. "When
I was in
India
, four years ago, I had a very dear friend in my regiment—a Scotchman;
I'm half Scotch myself, you know, and clannish, of course. Gordon was sent up
the country on a scouting expedition, and never returned. His men reported that
he left them one evening to take a survey, and his horse came home bloody and
riderless. We searched, but could not find a trace of him, and I was desperate
to discover and avenge his murder. About a month after his disappearance, as I
sat in my tent one fearfully hot day, suddenly the canvas door flap was raised
and there stood Gordon. I saw him as plainly as I see you, Jasper, and should
have sprung to meet him, but something held me back. He was deathly pale,
dripping with water, and in his bonny blue eyes was a wild, woeful look that
made my blood run cold. I stared dumbly, for it was awful to see my friend so
changed and so unearthly. Stretching his arm to me he took my hand, saying
solemnly, 'Come!' The touch was like ice; an ominous thrill ran through me; I
started up to obey, and he was gone."

 
          
"A horrid dream, of course.
Is that all?" asked
Rose.

 
          
With
his eyes on the fire and his left hand half extended, Treherne went on as if he
had not heard her.

 
          
"I
thought it was a fancy, and soon recovered myself, for no one had seen or heard
anything of Gordon, and my native servant lay just outside my tent. A strange
sensation remained in the hand the phantom touched. It was cold, damp, and
white. I found it vain to try to forget this apparition; it took strong hold of
me; I told Yermid, my man, and he bade me consider it a sign that I was to seek
my friend. That night I dreamed I was riding up the country in hot haste; what
led me I know not, but I pressed on and on, longing to reach the end. A
half-dried river crossed my path, and, riding down the steep bank to ford it, I
saw Gordon's body lying in the shallow water looking exactly as the vision
looked. I woke in a strange mood, told the story to my commanding officer, and,
as nothing was doing just then, easily got leave of absence for a week. Taking
Yermid, I set out on my sad quest. I thought it folly, but I could not resist
the impulse that drew me on. For seven days I searched, and the strangest part
of the story is that all that time I went on exactly as in the dream, seeing
what I saw then, and led by the touch of a cold hand on mine. On the seventh
day I reached the river, and found my friend's body."

 
          
"How horrible!
Is it really true?" cried Mrs.
Snowdon.

 
          
"As
true as I am a living man. Nor is that all: this left hand of mine never has
been warm since that time. See and feel for yourselves."

 
          
He
opened both hands, and all satisfied themselves that the left was smaller,
paler, and colder than the right.

 
          
"Pray
someone tell another story to put this out of my mind; it makes me
nervous," said Blanche.

 
          
"I'll
tell one, and you may laugh to quiet your nerves. I want to have
mine
done with, so that I can enjoy the rest with a free
mind." With these words Rose began her tale in the good old fashion.

 
          
"Once
upon a time, when we were paying a visit to my blessed grandmamma, I saw a
ghost in this wise: The dear old lady was ill with a cold and kept her room,
leaving us to mope, for it was very dull in the great lonely house. Blanche and
I were both homesick, but didn't like to leave till she was better, so we
ransacked the library and solaced ourselves with all manner of queer books.
One day I found Grandmamma very low and nervous, and evidently with
something on her mind.
She would say nothing, but the next day was
worse, and I insisted on knowing the cause, for the trouble was evidently
mental. Charging me to keep it from Blanche, who was, and is, a sad coward, she
told me that a spirit had appeared to her two successive nights. 'If it comes a
third time, I shall prepare to die,' said the foolish old lady.

 
          
"'No,
you won't, for I'll come and stay with you and lay your ghost,' I said. With
some difficulty I made her yield, and after Blanche was asleep I slipped away
to Grandmamma, with a book and candle for a long watch, as the spirit didn't
appear till after
midnight
.
She usually slept with her door unlocked, in case of fire or fright, and her
maid was close by. That night I locked the door, telling her that spirits could
come through the oak if they chose, and I preferred to have a fair trial. Well,
I read and chatted and dozed till dawn and nothing appeared, so I laughed at
the whole affair, and the old lady pretended to be convinced that it was all a
fancy.

 
          
"Next
night I slept in my own
room,
and in the morning was
told that not only Grandmamma but Janet had seen the spirit.
All
in white, with streaming hair, a pale face, and a red streak at the throat.
It came and parted the bed-curtains, looking in a moment, and then vanished.
Janet had slept with Grandmamma and kept a lamp burning on the chimney, so both
saw it.

 
          
"I
was puzzled, but not frightened; I never am, and I insisted on trying again.
The door was left unlocked, as on the previous night, and I lay with
Grandmamma, a light burning as before. About two she clutched me as I was
dropping off. I looked, and there, peeping in between the dark curtains, was a
pale face with long hair all about it, and a red streak at the throat. It was
very dim, the light being low, but I saw it, and after one breathless minute
sprang up, caught my foot, fell down with a crash, and by the time I was around
the bed, not a vestige of the thing appeared. I was angry, and vowed I'd
succeed at all hazards, though I'll confess I was just a bit daunted.

 
          
"Next
time Janet and I sat up in easy chairs, with bright lights burning, and both
wide awake with the strongest coffee we could make. As the hour drew near we
got nervous, and when the white shape came gliding in Janet hid her face. I
didn't, and after one look was on the point of laughing, for the spirit was
Blanche walking in her sleep. She wore a coral necklace in those days, and
never took it off, and her long hair half hid her face, which had the
unnatural, uncanny look somnambulists always wear. I had the sense to keep
still and tell Janet what to do, so the poor child went back unwaked, and
Grandmamma's spirit never walked again for I took care of that."

 
          
"Why
did you haunt the old lady?" asked Annon, as the laughter ceased.

 
          
"I
don't
know,
unless it was that I wanted to ask leave
to go home, and was afraid to do it awake, so tried when asleep. I shall not
tell any story, as I was the heroine of this, but will give my turn to you, Mr.
Annon," said Blanche, with a soft glance, which was quite thrown away, for
the gentleman's eyes were fixed on Octavia, who sat on a low ottoman at Mrs.
Snowdon's feet in the full glow of the firelight.