Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 20 (16 page)

 
          
“Not
yet, my dear fellow, not yet; we cannot spare you this forty years, and with
such a wife what right have you to talk of ending the happy drama which all
predict your life will be?” then glad to change the subject, he added: “Apropos
of predictions, do take pity on my curiosity and tell me if it is true that you
entertained a party with some very remarkable prophecies, or something of that
sort, just before vour marriage with Miss Forrest. I lav onee spoke
mysteriously of it, but he went to the bad so soon after that I never made him
satisfy me.”

 
          
“I
did comply with a ladv’s wish, but entertainment was not the result. I told
Hay, what
all the
world knew, the next day, that
certain dishonorable transactions of his were discovered, and warrants out for
his arrest, and they hurried home to find my warning true.”

 
          
“Yes,
no one dreamed of such an end for the gay captain. I don’t ask how vour
discovery was made, but I do venture to inquire if Miss Heath’s tragical death
was foretold that night?”

 
          
“That
which indirectly caused her death was made know n to her that night, but for
her sake you will pardon me that I keep the secret.”

 
          
“A
thousand pardons for asking, and yet I am tempted to put one more question. You
look propitious, so pray tell me if your other predictions were fulfilled with
equal success?”

 
          
“Yes;
sooner or later they alw ays are.”

 
          
“Upon
my life, that’s very singular! Just for the amusement of the thing make one
now, and let me see if your skill remains undiminished. Nothing personal, you
know’, but some general prediction that any one may know and verify.”

 
          
Stahl
paused a moment, bending his eves on Ursula, w ho stood unseen by his
companion, then answ ered slow ly with a memorable tone and aspect:

 
          
“I
prophesy that before the month is out the city will be startled by a murder,
and the culprit will elude justice by death.”

 
          
Coventry
’s florid countenance paled visibly, and
hastily returning thanks for the undesirable favor so complacently granted, he
took himself away to whisper the evil portent in the ears of all he met. As he
disappeared Stahl advanced to his wife, asking with an air of soft solicitude:

 
          
“Are
vou wearv, love?
or
will you dance? Your cousin is
negligent to-night.”

 
          
“Oh,
no, I have not wished to dance. Let us go now, and Evan, come to me to-morrow
evening, when you will find a few friends and much music,” she answered, with
an unquiet glance at her husband, a significant one at her cousin, who obeyed
it by leaving them with a silent bow.

 
          
The
homeward drive was as quiet as the other had been, and when they alighted Stahl
followed his wife into the drawing-room; there, dropping wearily into a seat,
he removed the handkerchief which had been pressed to his lips, and she saw that
it was steeped in blood.

 
          
“Pardon
me — it was unavoidable. Please ring for Marjory,” he said, feebly.

 
          
Ursula
neither spoke nor stirred, but stood regarding him with an expression which
alarmed
him,
it was so full of a strange, stern
triumph. It gave him strength to touch the bell, and when the faithful old
woman who had nursed him from his babyhood came hurrying in, to say quietly:

 
          
“Take
that ugly thing away, and bring my drops; also your mistress’s vinaigrette, she
needs it.”

 
          
“Not
she, the icicle,” muttered Marjory, who adored her master, and heartily
disliked her mistress because she did not do likewise.

 
          
When
the momentary faintness had cleared away Stahl’s quick eye at once took in the
scene before him. Marjory was carefully preparing the draught, and Ursula stood
watching her with curious intentness.

 
          
“What
is that?” she asked, as the old woman put down the tiny vial, containing a
colorless and scentless liquid.

 
          
“Poison,
madam, one drop of which will restore life, while a dozen will bring a sure and
sudden death.”

 
          
Ursula
took up the little vial, read the label containing both the medicine and its
maker’s name, and laid it back again with a slight motion of head and lips, as
if she gave a mute assent to some secret suggestion. Marjory’s lamentations as
she moved about him drew the wife’s eyes to her husband, and meeting his she
asked coldly:

 
          
“Can
I help you?”

 
          
“Thanks,
Marjory will tend me. Good-night, you'll not be troubled with me long.”

 
          
“No,
I shall not; I have borne enough.”

 
          
She
spoke low to herself, but both listeners heard her, and the old woman sternly
answered:

 
          
“May
the Lord forgive you for that speech,
madam.
”

 
          
“He
will, for He sees the innocent and the
guilty,
and 1
Ie knows mv sore temptation.”

 
          
Then
without another look or word she left them with the aspect of one walking in an
evil dream.

 
          
All
night Marjory hovered about her master, and early in the morning his physician
came. A few words assured Stahl that his hour was drawing very near, and that
whatever work remained to be done must be accomplished speedily. He listened
calmly to the truth which he had forced from the reluctant doctor, and when he
paused made no lament, but said, with more than his accustomed gentleness:

 
          
“You
will oblige me by concealing this fact from my wife. It is best to let it break
upon her by merciful degrees.”

 
          
“I
understand, sir, I will be dumb; but I must caution you not to exert or agitate
yourself in the least, for any undue exertion or excitement would be fatal in
your weak state.”

 
          
The
worthy doctor spoke earnestly, but to his infinite amazement and alarm his
patient rose suddenly from the couch on w hich he lav half dressed, and
standing erect before him, said forcibly, while his hollow cheeks burned
crimson, and his commanding eye almost enforced belief in his assertion:

 
          
“You
are mistaken; I am not w eak, for
1
have
done
with fear as well as hope, and if I choose to barter my month ot life for one
hour, one moment of exertion or excitement, I have the right to do it.”

 
          
He
paused, took breath and added:

 
          
“My
wife intended to receive her friends tonight; she must not be disappointed,
therefore you will not only tell her I am in no danger, but add that an
unexpected crisis in my malady has
come,
and that with
care and a season at the South I shall yet be a hale and hearty man. Grant me
this favor, I shall not torget it.”

 
          
The
doctor was both a poor and a timid man; his generous but eccentric patient w as
a fortune to him; the falsehood seemed a kind one; the hint of a rich remembrance
was irresistible, and bowing his acquiescence, he departed to obey directions
to the letter.

 
          
All
that day Ursula sat in her room w riting steadily, and all that day her husband
watched and waited for her coming, but sent no invitation and received no message.
At dusk she went out alone. Her departure was unheard and unseen by any but the
invalid, whose every sense was alert; his quick ear caught the soft rustle of
her dress as she passed his door, and dragging himself to the window he saw her
glide away, wrapped in a shrouding cloak. At that sight Stahl’s hand was lifted
to the bell, but he dropped it, saying to himself:

 
          
“No,
if she did not mean to return she would have taken care to tell me she was
coming back; women always betray themselves by too much art. I have it!
she
has been writing, Marjory says; the letter is to Evan;
she fears he may not come to-night, and trusts no one but herself to post it. I
must assure myself of this.”

 
          
Nerved
with new strength, he went down into the dainty room so happily prepared and
dedicated to Ursula’s sole use. It was empty, but the charm of her presence
lingered there, and every graceful object spoke of her. Lights burned upon the
writing-table; the ink was still wet in the pen, and scattered papers confirmed
the report of her day’s employment; but no written word was visible, no note or
packet anywhere appeared. A brief survey satisfied her husband, and assured him
of the truth of his suspicion.

 
          
“Oh,
for an hour of my old strength to end this entanglement like a man, instead of
being forced to wait for time and chance to aid me like a timorous woman,” he
sighed, looking out into the wild March night, tormented by an impotent desire
to follow his truant wife, yet conscious that it was impossible unless he left a
greater work undone, for hourly he felt his pow er decline, and one dark
purpose made him tenacious of the life fast slipping from his hold.

 
          
For
many moments he stood thinking deeply, so deeply that the approach of a light,
rapid step roused him too late for escape. It was his wife’s step; why was she
returning so soon?
had
her heart failed her?
had
some unforeseen occurrence thwarted her? She had not
been absent long enough to post a letter to reach Evan’s lodgings, or the house
of any friend, then w'here had she been? An uncontrollable impulse caused Stahl
to step noiselessly into the shadow of a curtained recess as these thoughts
flashed through his mind, and hardly had he done so when Ursula hurried in wet,
wild-eyed and breathless, but wearing a look of pale determination which gave
place to an expression of keen anxiety as she glanced about the room as if in
search of something. Presently she murmured half aloud, “He shall never say
again that I do not trust his honor. Lie there in safety till I need you,
little friend,” and lifting the cover of a carved ivory casket that ornamented
the low chim- nevpiece, she gave some treasure to its keeping, saying, as she
turned away with an air of feverish excitement, “Now for Evan and — my
liberty!”

 
          
Nothing
stirred in the room but the flicker of the fire and the softly moving pendulum
of the clock that pointed to the hour of seven, till the door of Ursula’s
distant dressing-room closed behind her and a bell had summoned her maid. Then,
from the recess, Stahl went straight to the ivory ornament and laid his hand
upon its lid, yet paused long before he lifted it. The simple fact of her
entire trust in him at anv other time would have been the earnest safeguard of
her secret; even now it restrained him by appealing to that inconsistent code
of honor which governs many a man w ho would shoot his dearest friend for a hot
word, and yet shrink with punctilious pride from breaking the seal of any
letter that did not bear his name. Stahl hesitated till her last words stung
his memory, making his own perfidv seem slight compared to hers. “I have a
right to know,” he said, “for when she forgets her honor I must preserve mine
at anv cost.” A rapid gesture uncovered the casket, and showed him nothing but
a small, sealed bottle, lying alone upon the velvet lining. A harmless little
thing it looked, yet Stahl’s face whitened terribly, and he staggered to a
seat, as if the glance he gave had shown him his own death-w arrant. He
believed it had, for in size, shape, label and colorless contents the little
vial was the counterpart of another last seen in Ursula’s hand, one difference
only in the two — that had been nearly empty, this was lull to the up.

 
          
In
an instant her look, tone, gesture of the preceding night returned to him, and
w ith the vivid recollection
came
the firm conviction
that Ursula had yielded to a black temptation, and in her husband’s name had
purchased her husband’s death. 1 ill now no feeling but the intensest love had
tilled his heart towards her; Evan he had learned to hate, himself to despise,
but of his wife he had made an idol and worshipped her with a blind passion
that would not see defects, own disloyalty or suspect deceit.