It was true. Locke Morgeson had been insolvent for five years. All this time he had thrown ballast out from every side in the shape of various ventures, which he trusted would lighten the ship, that, nevertheless, drove steadily on to ruin. Then he steered blindly, straining his credit to the utmost; and then—the crash. His losses were so extended and gradual that the public were not aware of his condition till he announced it. There was a general exasperation against him. The Morgeson family rose up with one accord to represent the public mind, which drove Veronica wild.
"Have you acted wrongly, father?" she asked.
"I have confessed, Verry, will that suit you!"
Our house was thronged for several days. "Pay us," cried the female portion of his creditors. In vain father represented that he was still young—that his business days were not over—that they must wait, for paid they should be. "Pay us now, for we are women," they still cried. Fanny opened the doors for these persons as wide as possible when they came, and shut them with a bang when they went, astonishing them with a satirical politeness, or confounding them with an impertinent silence. The important creditors held meetings to agree what should be done, and effected an arrangement by which his property was left in his hands for three years, to arrange for the benefit of his creditors. The arrangement proved that his integrity was not suspected; but it was an ingenious punishment, that he should keep in sight, improve, or change, for others, what had been his own. I was glad when he decided to sell his real estate and personal property, and trust to the ships alone, but would build no more. I begged him to keep our house till Ben should return. He consented to wait; but I did not tell Verry what I had done. All the houses he owned, lots, carriages, horses, domestic stock, the fields lying round our house—were sold. When he began to sell, the fury of retrenchment seized him, and he laid out a life of self-denial for us three. Arthur's ten thousand dollars were safe, who was therefore provided for. He would bring wood and water for us; the rest we must do, with Fanny's help. We could dine in the kitchen, and put our beds in one room; by shutting up the house in part, we should have less labor to perform. We attempted to carry out his ideas, but Veronica was so dreadfully in Fanny's way and mine, that we were obliged to entreat her to resume her old rôle. As for Fanny, she was happy—working like a beaver day and night. Father was much at home, and took an extraordinary interest in the small details that Fanny carried out.
When Temperance heard of these arrangements, she came down with Abram in their green and yellow wagon. Temperance drove the shaggy old white horse, for Abram was intrusted with the care of a meal bag, in which were fastened a cock and four hens. We should see, she said when she let them out, whether we were to keep hens or not. Was Veronica to go without new-laid eggs? Had he sold the cat, she sarcastically inquired of father.
"Who is going to do your washing, girls?" she asked, taking off her bonnet.
"We all do it."
"Now I shall die a-laughing!" But she contradicted herself by crying heartily. "One day in every week, I tellyou, I am coming; and Fanny and I can do the washing in a jiffy."
"Sure," said Abram, "you can; the sass is in."
"Sass or no sass, I'm coming."
She made me laugh for the first time in a month. I was too tired generally to be merry, with my endeavors to carry out father's wishes, and keep up the old aspect of the house. When she left us we all felt more cheerful. Aunt Merce wanted to come home, but Verry and I thought she had better stay at Rosville. We could not deny it to ourselves, that home was sadly altered, or that we were melancholy; and though we never needed her more, we begged her not to come. Happily father's zeal soon died away. A boy was hired, and as there was no out-of-doors work for him to do, he relieved Fanny, who in her turn relieved me. Finding time to look into myself, I perceived a change in my estimation of father; a vague impression of weakness in him troubled me. I also discovered that I had lost my atmosphere. My life was coarse, hard, colorless! I lived in an insignificant country village; I was poor. My theories had failed; my practice was like my moods—variable. But I concluded that ifto-daywould go on without bestowing upon me sharp pains, depriving me of sleep, mutilating me with an accident, or sending a disaster to those belonging to me, I would be content. Arthur held out a hope, by writing me, that he meant to support me handsomely. He wished me to send him some shirt studs; and told me to keep the red horse. He had heard that I was very handsome when I was in Rosville. A girl had asked him how I looked now. When he told her I was handsomer than any woman Rosville could boast of, she laughed.
October had gone, and we had not heard from Ben. Veronica came to my room of nights, and listened to wind and sea, as she never had before. Sometimes she was there long after I had gone to bed, to look out of the windows. If it was calm, she went away quietly; if the sea was rough, she was sorrowful, but said nothing. The lethargic summer had given way to a boisterous autumn of cold, gray weather, driving rains, and hollow gales. At last he came—to Veronica first. He gave a deep breath of delight when he stood again on the hearth-rug, before our now unwonted parlor fire. The sight of his ruddy face, vigorous form, and gay voice made me as merry as the attendants of a feast are when they inhale the odor of the viands they carry, hear the gurgle of the wine they pour, and echo the laughter of the guests.
There was much to tell that astonished him, but he could not be depressed; everything must be arranged to suit us. He would buy the house, provided he could pay for it in instalments. Did I know that his mother had docked his allowance as soon as she knew that he would marry Verry?
"How should I know it?"
I had not heard then that Desmond's was doubled, when she heard his intention of going to Spain.
"How should I know that?"
One thing I should learn, however—and that was, that Desmond had begged his mother to make no change in the disposition of her income. He had declined the extra allowance, and then accepted it, to offer him—Ben. Was not that astonishing?
"Did you take it?"
"No; but pa did."
All he could call his was fifteen hundred a year. Was that enough for them to live on, and pay a little every year for the house? Could we all live there together, just the same? Would we, he asked father, and allow him to be an inmate?
Father shook hands with him so violently that he winced; and Verry crumpled up a handful of his tawny locks and kissed them, whereat he said: "Are you grown a human woman?"
About the wedding? He could only stay to appoint a time, for he must post to Belem. It must be very soon.
"In a year or two," said Verry.
"Verry!"
"In three weeks, then."
"From to-day?"
"No, that will be the date of the wreck of theLocke Morgeson; but three weeks from to-morrow. Must we have anybody here, Ben?"
"Helen, and Alice, Cassandra?"
"Certainly."
"I have no friends," said Verry.
"What will you wear, Verry?" I asked.
"Why, this dress," designating her old black silk. Her eyes filled with tears, and went on a pilgrimage toward the unknown heaven where our mother was.Shecould only come to the wedding as a ghost. I imagined her flitting through the empty spaces, from room to room, scared and troubled by the pressure of mortal life around her.
"I shall not wear white," Verry said hastily.
The very day Ben went to Belem one of father's outstanding ships arrived. She came into the harbor presenting the unusual sight of trying oil on deck. Black and greasy from hull to spar, she was a pleasant sight, for she was full of sperm oil. Little boys ran down to the house to inform us of that fact before she was moored. "Wouldn't Mr. Morgeson be all right now that his luck had changed?" they asked.
At supper father said "By George!" several times, by that oath resuming something of his old self. "Those women can now be paid," he said. "If I could have held out till now, I could have gone on without failing. This is the first good voyage theOswegoever made me; if another ship, theAdamant, will come full while oil is high, I shall arrange matters with my creditors before the three years are up. To hold my own again—ah! I never will venture all upon the uncertain field of the sea."
TheOswego'scaptain sent us a box of shells next day, and a small Portuguese boy, named Manuel—a handsome, black-eyed, husky-voiced fellow, in a red shirt, which was bound round his waist with a leather belt, from which hung a sailor's sheath-knife.
"He is volcanic," said Verry.
"The Portuguese are all handsome," said Fanny, poking him, to see if he would notice it. But he did not remove his eyes from Veronica.
"He shall be your page, Verry."
The next night a message came to us that Abram was dying. If we ever meant to come, Temperance sent word, some of us might come now; but she would rather have Mr. Morgeson. Fanny insisted upon going with him to carry a lantern. Manuel offered her his knife, when he comprehended that she was going through a dark road.
"You are a perfect heathen. There's nothing to be afraid of, except that Mr. Morgeson may walk into a ditch; will a knife keep us out of that?"
"Knife is good—it kills," he said, showing his white, vegetable-ivory teeth.
Verry and I sat up till they returned, at two in the morning. Abram had died about midnight, distressed to the last with worldly cares. "He asked," said father, "if I remembered his poor boy, whose chest never came home, and wished to hear some one read a hymn; Temperance broke down when I read it, while Fanny cried hysterically."
"I was freezing cold," she answered haughtily.
In the morning Verry and I started for Temperance's house; but she waited on the doorstep till I had inquired whether we were wanted. I called her in, for Temperance asked for her as soon as she saw me.
"He was a good man, girls," she said with emphasis.
"Indeed he was."
"A little mean, I spose."
I put in a demurrer; her face cleared instantly.
"He thought a great deal of your folks."
"And a great deal of you."
"Oh, what a loss I have met with! He had just bought a first-rate overcoat."
"But Temperance," said Verry, with a lamentable candor, "you can come back now."
"Can't you wait for him to be put into the ground?" And she tried to look shocked, but failed.
A friend entered with a doleful face, and Temperance groaned slightly.
"It is all done complete now, Mis Handy. He looks as easy as if he slept, he wassolimber."
"Yes, yes," answered Temperance, starting up, and hurrying us out of the room, pinching me, with a significant look at Verry. She was afraid that her feelings might be distressed. "The funeral will be day after to-morrow. Don't come; your father will be all that must be here of the family. I shall shut up the house and come straight to you. I know that I am needed; but you mustn't say a word about pay—I can't stand it, I have had too much affliction to be pestered about wages."
Verry hugged her, and Temperance shed the honestest tears of the day then, she was so gratified at Verry's fondness. Before Abram had been buried a week, she was back again—a fixture, although she declared that she had only come for a spell, as we might know by the size of the bundle she had, showing us one, tied in a blue cotton handkerchief. What should she stay from her own house for, when as good a man as ever lived left it to her? We knew that she merely comforted a tender conscience by praising the departed, for whom she had small respect when living. We felt her brightening influence, but Fanny sulked, feeling dethroned.
Ben Pickersgill Somers and Veronica Morgeson were "published." Contrary to the usual custom, Verry went to hear her own banns read at the church. She must do all she could, she told me, to realize that she was to be married; had I any thoughts about it, with which I might aid her? She thought it strange that people should marry, and could not decide whether it was the sublimest or the most inglorious act of one's life. I begged her to think about what she should wear—the time was passing. Father gave me so small a sum for the occasion, I had little opportunity for the splendid; but I purchased what Veronica wanted for a dress, and superintended the making of it—black lace over lavender-colored silk. She said no more about it; but I observed that she put in order all her possessions, as if she were going to undertake a long and uncertain journey. Every box and drawer was arranged. All her clothes were repaired, refolded, and laid away; every article was refreshed by a turn or shake-up. She made her room a miracle of cleanliness. What she called rubbish she destroyed—her old papers, things with chipped edges, or those that were defaced by wear. She went once to Milford in the time, and bought a purple Angola rug, which she put before her arm-chair, and two small silver cups, with covers; in one was a perfume which Ben liked, the other was empty. Her favorite blank-books were laid on a shelf, and the table, with its inkstand and portfolio, was pushed against the wall. The last ornament which she added to her room was a beautifully woven mat of evergreens, with which she concealed the picture of the avenue and the nameless man. After it was done, she inhabited my room, appearing to feel at home, and glad to have me with her. As the time drew near, she grew silent, and did not play at all. Temperance watched her with anxiety. "If ever she can have one of those nervous spells again she will have one now," she said. "Don't let her dream. I am turning myself inside out to keep up her appetite."
"Do you ever feel worried aboutme, Tempy?"
"Lord 'a marcy! you great, strong thing, why should I? May be you do want a little praise. I never saw anybody get along as well as you do, nowadays; you have altered very much; I never would have believed it."
"Whatwasthe trouble with me?"
"Ialways stuck up for you, gracious knows. Do you know what has been said of you in Surrey?"
"No."
"Then I shan't tell you; if I were you, though, I shouldn't trouble myself to be overpolite to the folks who have come and gone here, nigh on to twenty years,—hang 'em!"
A few days before the wedding Aunt Merce and Arthur came home. Arthur was shy at first regarding the great change, but being agreeably disappointed, grew lively. I perceived that Aunt Merce had aged since mother's death; her manner was changed; the same objects no longer possessed an interest. She looked at me penitentially. "I wish I could say," she said, "what I used to say to you,—that you were 'possessed.' Now that there is no occasion for me to comprehend people, I begin to. My education began wrong end foremost. I think Mary's death has taught me something. Do you think of her? She was the love of my life."
"Women do keep stupid a long time; but I think they are capable of growth, beyond the period when men cease to grow or change."
"Oh, I don't know anything about men, you know."
Temperance and I cleaned the house, opened every room, and made every fire-place ready for a fire—a fire being the chief luxury which I could command. Baking went on up to within a day of the wedding, under Hepsey's supervision, who had been summoned as a helper; Fanny was busy everywhere.
"Mr. Morgeson," said Temperance, "the furniture is too darned shabby for a wedding."
"It is not mine, you must remember."
"Plague take the creditors! they know as well as I that you turned Surrey from a herring-weir into a whaling-port, and that the houses they live in were built out of the wages you gave them. I am thankful that most of them have water in their cellars."
The day came. Alice Morgeson, and Helen with her baby, arrived the night before; and Ben and Mr. Somers drove from Milford early in the afternoon. Mr. Somers was affable and patronizing. When introduced to Veronica, he betrayed astonishment. "She is not like you, Cassandra. Are you in delicate health, my dear!" addressing her.
"I have a peculiar constitution, I believe." He made excuses to her for Mrs. Somers and his daughters to which she answered not a word. He was in danger of being embarrassed, and I enticed him away from her—not before she whispered gravely, "Why didhecome?" I went over the house with him, he remarking on its situation, for sun and shade, and protection from, or exposure to, the winds; and tasting the water, pronounced it excellent. He thought I had a true idea of hospitality; the fires everywhere proclaimed that. Temperance had the air of a retainer; there was an atmosphere about our premises which placed them at a distance from the present. Then Alice came to my assistance and entertained him so well that I could leave him.
We had invited a few friends and relations to witness the ceremony, at eight o'clock. I had been consulted so often on various matters that it was dark before I finished my tasks. The last was to arrange some flowers I had ordered in Milford. I kept a bunch of them in reserve for Verry's plate; for we were to have a supper, at father's request, who thought it would be less tiresome to feed the guests than to talk to them. Verry did not know this, though she had asked several times why we were all so busy.
It was near seven when I went upstairs to find her. Temperance had sent Manuel and Fanny to the different rooms with tea, bread and butter, and the message that it was all we were to have at present. Ben had been extremely silent since his arrival, and disposed to reading. I looked over his shoulder once, and saw that it was "Scott's Life of Napoleon" he perused; and an hour after, being obliged to ask him a question, saw him still at the same page. He was now dressing probably. Helen and Alice were in their rooms. Mr. Somers was napping on the parlor sofa; father was meditating at his old post in the dining-room and smoking. It was a familiar picture; but there was a rent in the canvas and a figure was missing—she who had been its light!
I found Verry sound asleep on the sofa in my room.
A glass full of milk was on the floor beside her, and a plate with a slice of bread. The lamp had been lighted by some one, and carefully shaded from her face. She had been restless, I thought, for her hair had fallen out of the comb and half covered her face, which was like marble in its whiteness and repose. Her right arm was extended; I took her hand, and her warm, humid fingers closed over mine.
"Wake up, Verry; it is time to be married."
She opened her eyes without stirring and fixed them upon me. "Do you know any man who is like Ben? Or was it he whom I have just left in the dark world of sleep?"
"I know his brother, who is like him, but dark in complexion—and his hair is black."
"His hair is not black."
I rushed out of the room, muttering some excuse, came back and arranged her toilette; but she remained with her arm still extended, and continued:
"It was a strange place where we met; curious, dusty old trees grew about it. He was cutting the back of one with a dagger, and the pieces he carved out fell to the ground, as if they were elastic. He made me pick them up, though I wished to listen to a man who was lying under one of the trees, wrapped in a cloak, keeping time withhisdagger, and singing a wild air.
"'What do you see?' said the first.
"'A letter on every piece,' I answered, and spelt Cassandra. 'Are you Ben transformed?' I asked, for he had his features, his air, though he was a swarthy, spare man, with black, curly hair, dashed with gray; but he pricked my arm with his dagger, and said, 'Go on.' I picked up the rest, and spelt 'Somers.'
"'Cassandra Somers! now tell her,' he whispered, turning me gently from him, with a hand precisely like Ben's."
"No, it is handsomer," I muttered.
"Before me was a space of sea. Before I crossed I wanted to hear that wild music; but your voice broke my dream."
She sat up and unbuttoned her sleeve.As I live, there was a red mark on her arm above her elbow!
I crushed my hands together and set my teeth, for I would have kissed the mark and washed it with my tears. But Verry must not be agitated now. She divined my feelings for the first time in her life. "I have indeed been in a long sleep, as faryouare concerned; this means something. My blindness is removed by a dream. Do you despise me?" Two large, limpid tears dropped down her smooth cheeks without ruffling the expression of her face.
"I have prided myself upon my delicacy of feeling. You may have remarked that I considered myself your superior?"
"You are all wrong. I have no delicate feelings at all; they are as coarse and fibrous as the husk of a cocoanut. Do for heaven's sake get up and let me dress you."
She burst into laughter. "Bring me some water, then."
I brought her a bowl full, and stood near her with a towel; but she splashed it over me, and dribbled her hands in it till I was in despair. I took it away and wiped her face, which looked at me so childly, so elfish, so willful, and so tenderly, that I took it between my hands and kissed it. I pulled her up to a chair, for she was growing willful every moment; but she must be humored. I combed her hair, put on her shoes and stockings, and in short dressed her. Father came up and begged me to hurry, as everybody had come. I sent him for Ben, who came with a pale, happy face and shining eyes. She looked at him seriously. "I like you best," she said.
"Itistime you said that. Oh, Verry! how lovely you are!"
"I feel so."
"Come, come," urged father.
"I do not want these gloves," she said, dropping them.
Ben slipped on the third finger of her left hand a plain ring. She kissed it, and he looked as if about to be translated.
"Forever, Verry?"
"Forever."
"Wait a moment," I said, "I want a collar," giving a glance into the glass. What a starved, thin, haggard face I saw, with its border of pale hair! Whose were those wide, pitiful, robbed eyes?
I hurried into the room in advance to show them their place in front of a screen of plants. When they entered the company rose, and the ceremony was performed. Veronica's dress was commented upon and not approved of; being black, it was considered ominous. She looked like a 'cloud with a silver lining.' I also made my comments. Temperance, whose tearful eyes were fixed on her darling, was unconscious that she had taken from her pocket, and was flourishing, a large red and yellow silk handkerchief, while the cambric one she intended to use was neatly folded in her left hand. She wore the famous plum-colored silk, old style, which had come into a fortune in the way of wrinkles. A large bow of black ribbon testified that she was in mourning. Hepsey rubbed her thumb across her fingers with the vacant air of habit. I glanced at Alice; she was looking intently at Fanny, whose eyes were fixed upon father. A strange feeling of annoyance troubled me, but the ceremony was over. Arthur congratulated himself on having a big brother. Ben was so pale, and wore so exalted an expression, that he agitated me almost beyond control.
After the general shaking of hands, there came retorts for me. "When shall we have occasion to congratulate you?" And, "You are almost at the corner." And, "Your traveling from home seems only to have been an advantage to Veronica."
"I tell you, Cousin Sue," said Arthur, who overheard the last remark, "that you don't know what they say of Cassandra in Rosville. She's the biggest beauty they ever had, and had lots of beaus."
A significant expression passed over Cousin Sue's face, which was noticed by Alice Morgeson, who colored deeply.
"Have you not forgotten?" I asked her.
"It was of you I thought, not myself. I cannot tell you how utterly the past has gone, or how insignificant the result has proved."
"Alice," said father, "can you carve?"
"Splendidly."
"Come and sit at the foot of my table; Mr. Somers will take charge of the smaller one."
"With pleasure."
"Slip out," whispered Fanny, "and look at the table; Temperance wants you."
"For the Lord's sake!" cried Temperance, "say whether things are ship-shape."
I was surprised at the taste she had displayed, and told her so.
"For once I have tried to do my best," she said; "all for Verry. Call 'em in; the turkeys will be on in a whiffle."
Tables were set in the hall, as well as in the dining-room. "They must sit down," she continued, "so that they may eat their victuals in peace." The supper was a relief to Veronica, and I blessed father's forethought. Nobody was exactly merry, but there was a proper cheerfulness. Temperance, Fanny, and Manuel were in attendance; the latter spilled a good deal of coffee on the carpet in his enjoyment of the scene; and when he saw Veronica take the flowers in her hand, he exclaimed, "Santa Maria!"
Everybody turned to look at him.
"What are you doing here, Manuel?" asked Ben.
"I wait on the señoritas," he answered. "Take plum-duff?"
Everybody laughed.
"Do you like widows?" whispered Fanny at the back of my chair. I made a sign to her to attend to her business, but, as she suggested, looked at Alice. At that moment she and father were drinking wine together. I thought her handsomer than ever; she had expanded into a fair, smooth middle age.
The talking and clattering melted vaguely into my ears; I was a lay-figure in the scene, and my soul wandered elsewhere. Mr. Somers began to fidget gently, which father perceiving, rose from the table. Soon after the guests departed. The remains of the feast vanished; the fires burnt down, "winding sheets" wrapped the flame of the candles, and suppressed gaping set in.
The flowers, left to themselves, began to give out odors which perfumed the rooms. I went about extinguishing the waning candles and stifling the dying fires, finished my work, and was going upstairs when I heard Veronica playing, and stopped to listen. It was not a paean nor a lament that she played, but a fluctuating, vibratory air, expressive of mutation. I hung over the stair-railing after she had ceased, convinced that she had been playing for herself a farewell, which freed me from my bond to her. Mr. Somers came along the hall with a candle, and I waited to ask him if I could do anything for his comfort.
"My dear," he said with apprehension, "your sister is a genius, I think."
"In music—yes."
"What a deplorable thing for a woman!"
"A woman of genius is but a heavenly lunatic, or an anomaly sphered between the sexes; do you agree?"
He laughed, and pushed his spectacles up on his forehead.
"My dear, I am astonished that Ben's choice fell as it did—"
"Good-night, sir," I said so loudly that he almost dropped his candle, and I retired to my room, taking a chair by the fire, with a sigh of relief. After a while Ben and Veronica came up.
"It is a cold night," I remarked.
"I am in an enchanted palace," said Ben, "where there is no weather."
"Cassy, will you take these pins out of my hair?" asked Verry, seating herself in an easy-chair. "Ben, we will excuse you."
"How good of you." He strode across the passage, went into her room, and shut the door.
"There, Verry, I have unbound your hair."
"But I want to talk."
I took her hand, and led her out. She stood before her door for a moment silently, and then gave a little knock. No answer came. She knocked again; the same silence as before. At last she was obliged to open it herself, and enter without any bidding.
"Which will rule?" I thought, as I slipped down the back stairs, and listened at the kitchen door. I heard nothing. Finding an old cloak in the entry, I wrapped myself in it and left the house. The moon was out-riding black, scudding clouds, and the wind moaned round the sea, which looked like a vast, wrinkled serpent in the moonlight.
I walked to Gloster Point, and rested under the lee of the lighthouse, but could not, when I made the attempt, see to read the inscription inside my watch, by the light of the lantern. I must have fallen asleep from fatigue, still holding it in my hand; for when I started homeward, there was a pale reflection of light in the east, and the sea was creeping quietly toward it with a murmuring morning song.
I looked across the bay from my window. "The snow is making 'Pawshee's Land' white again, and I remain this year the same. No change, no growth or development! The fulfillment of duty avails me nothing; and self-discipline has passed the necessary point."
I struck the sash with my closed hand, for I would now give my life a new direction, and it was fettered. But I would be resolute, and break the fetters; had I not endured a "mute case" long enough? Manuel, who had been throwing snowballs against the house, stopped, and looked toward the gate, and then ran toward it. A pair of tired, splashed horses dashed down the drive. Manuel had the reins, and Ben was beside him, reeling slightly on the seat of the wagon. I ran down to meet him; he had been on a trip to Belem, where he never went except when he wanted money.
"I have some news for you," he said, putting his arm in mine, as he jumped from the wagon. "Come in, and pull off my boots, Manuel." I brought a chair for him, and waited till his boots were off. "Bring me a glass of brandy."
I stamped my foot. Verry entered with a book. "Ah, Verry, darling, come here."
"Why do you drink brandy? Have you over-driven the horses?"
He drank the brandy. She nodded kindly to him, shut her book, and slipped out, without approaching him.
"That'sherway," he said, staring hard at me. "She always says in the same unmoved voice, 'Why do you drink brandy?'"
"And then—she will not come to kiss you."
"The child is dead, for the first thing. (Cigar, Manuel.) Second, I was possessed to come home by the way of Rosville. When did your father go away, Cass?"
I felt faint, and sat down.
"Ah, weallhave a weakness; does yours overcome you?"
"He went three days ago."
"I saw him at Alice Morgeson's."
"Arthur?"
"He didn't go to see Arthur. He will marry Alice, and I must build my house now."
A devil ripped open my heart; its fragments flew all over me, blinding and deafening me.
"He will be home to-night."
"Very well."
"What shall you say, Cassy?"
"Expose that little weakness to him."
"When will you learn real life?"
"Please ask him, when he comes, if he will see me in my room."
I waited there. My cup was filled at last. My sin swam on the top.
Father came in smoking, and taking a chair between his legs, sat opposite me, and tapped softly the back of it with his fingers. "You sent for me?"
"I wanted to tell you that Charles Morgeson loved me from the first, and you remember that I stayed by him to the last."
"What more is there?" knocking over the chair, and seizing me; "tell me."
His eyes, that were bloodshot with anger, fastened on my mouth. "I know, though, damn him! I know his cunning. Was Alice aware of this?" And he pushed me backward.
"All."
An expression of pain and disappointment crossed his face; he ground his teeth fiercely.
"Don't marry her, father; you will kill me if you do!"
"Must you alone have license?"
He resumed his cigar, which he picked up from the floor.
"It would seem that we have not known each other. What evasiveness there is in our natures! Your mother was the soul of candor, yet I am convinced I never knew her."
"If you bring Alice here, I must go. We cannot live together."
"I understand why she would not come here. She said that she must see you first. She is in Milford."
He knocked the ashes from his cigar, looked round the room, and then at me, who wept bitterly. His face contracted with a spasm.
"We were married two days ago." And turning from me quickly, he left the room.
I was never so near groveling on the face of the earth as then; let me but fall, and I was sure that I never should rise.
Ben knew it, but left it to me to tell Veronica.
My grief broke all bounds, and we changed places; she tried to comfort me, forgetting herself.
"Let us go away to the world's end with Ben." But suddenly recollecting that she liked Alice, she cried, "What shall I do?"
What could she do, but offer an unreasoning opposition? Aunt Merce cried herself sick, fond as she was of Alice, and Temperance declared that if she hadn't married a widower herself, she would put in an oar. Anyhow, she hadn't married a man with grown-up daughters.
"What ails Fanny?" she asked me the next day. "She looks like a froze pullet."
"Where is she now?"
"Making the beds."
Temperance knew well what was the matter, but was too wise to interfere. I found her, not bed-making, but in a spare room, staring at the wall. She looked at me with dry eyes, bit her lips, and folded her hands across her chest, after her old, defiant fashion. I did not speak.
"It is so," she said; "you need not tear me to pieces with your eyes, I can confess it toyou, for you are as I am. I love him!" And she got up to shake her fist in my face. "My heart and brain and soul are as good as hers, andheknows it."
I could not utter a word.
"I know him as you never knew him, and have for years, since I was that starved, poor-house brat your mother took. Don't trouble yourself to make a speech about ingratitude. I know that your mother was good and merciful, and that I should have worshiped her; but I never did. Do you suppose I ever thought he was perfect, as the rest of you thought? He is full of faults. I thought he was dependant on me. He knows how I feel. Oh, what shall I do?" She threw up her arms, and dropped on the floor in a hysteric fit. I locked the door, and picked her up. "Come out of it, Fanny; I shall stay here till you do."
By dint of shaking her, and opening the window, she began to come to.After two or three fearful laughs and shudders, she opened her eyes.She saw my compassion, and tears fell in torrents; I cried too. Thepoor girl kissed my hands; a new soul came into her face.
"Oh, Fanny, bear it as well as you can! You and I will be friends."
"Forgive me! I was always bad; I am now. If that woman comes here,I'll stab her with Manuel's knife."
"Pooh! The knife is too rusty; it would give her the lockjaw. Besides, she will never come. I know her. She is already more than half-way to meet me; but I shall not perform my part of the journey, and she will return."
"You don't say so!" her ancient curiosity reviving.
"Manuel keeps it sharp," she said presently, relapsing into jealousy.
"You are a fool. Have you eaten anything to-day?"
"I can't eat."
"That's the matter with you—an empty stomach is the cause of most distressing pangs."
Ben urged me to go to Milford to meet Alice, and to ask her to come to our house. But father said no more to me on the subject. Neither did Veronica. In the afternoon they drove over to Milford, returning at dusk. She refused to come with them, Ben said, and never would probably. "You have thrown out your father terribly."
"You notice it, do you?"
"It is pretty evident."
"What is your opinion?"
He was about to condemn, when he recollected his own interference in my life. "Ah! you have me. I think you are right, as far as the past which relates to Alice is concerned. But if she chooses to forget, why don't you? We do much that is contrary to our moral ideas, to make people comfortable. Besides, if we do not lay our ghosts, our closets will be overcrowded."
"We may determine some things for ourselves, irrespective of consequences."
"Well, there is a mess of it."
Fanny had watched for their return, counting on an access of misery, for she believed that Alice would come also. It was whatshewould have done. Rage took possession of her when she saw father alone. She planted herself before him, in my presence, in a contemptuous attitude. He changed color, and then her mood changed.
"What shall I do?" she asked piteously.
I tried to get away before she made any further progress; but he checked me, dreading the scene which he foreboded, without comprehending.
"Fanny," he said harshly, but with a confused face, "you mistake me."
"Not I; it was your wife and children who mistook you."
"What is it you would say?"
"You have let me be your slave."
"It is not true, I hope—what your behavior indicates?"
I forgave him everything then. Fanny had made a mistake. He had only behaved very selfishly toward her, without having any perception of her—that was all! She was confounded, stared at him a moment, and rushed out. That interview settled her; she was a different girl from that day.
"Father, you will go to Rosville, and be rich again. Can you buy this house from Ben, for me? A very small income will suffice me and Fanny, for you may be sure that I shall keep her. Temperance will live with Verry; Ben will build, now that his share of his grandfather's estate will come to him."
"Very well," he said with a sigh, "I will bring it about."
"It is useless for us to disguise the fact—I have lost you. You are more dead to me than mother is."
"You say so."
It was the truth. I was the only one of the family who never went to Rosville. Aunt Merce took up her abode with Alice, on account of Arthur, whom she idolized. When father was married again, the Morgeson family denounced him for it, and for leaving Surrey; but they accepted his invitations to Rosville, and returned with glowing accounts of his new house and his hospitality.
By the next June, Ben's house was completed and they moved. Its site was a knoll to the east of our house, which Veronica had chosen. Her rooms were toward the orchard, and Ben's commanded a view of the sea. He had not ventured to intrude, he told her, upon the Northern Lights, and she must not bother him about his boat-house or his pier. They were both delighted with the change, and kept house like children. Temperance indulged their whims to the utmost, though she thought Ben's new-fangled notions were silly; but they might keep him fromsomething worse. This something was a shadow which frightened me, though I fought it off. I was weary of trouble, and shut my eyes as long as possible. Whenever Ben went from home, and he often drove to Milford, or to some of the towns near, he came back disordered with drink. At the sight my hopes would sink. But they rose again, he was so genial, so loving, so calmly contented afterward. As Verry never spoke of it either to Temperance or me, I imagined she was not troubled much. She could not feel as I felt, for she knew nothing of the Bellevue Pickersgill family history.
The day they moved was a happy one for me. I was at last left alone in my own house, and I regained an absolute self-possession, and a sense of occupation I had long been a stranger to. My ownership oppressed me, almost, there was so much liberty to realize.
I had an annoyance, soon after I came into sole possession. Father's business was not yet settled, and he came to Surrey. He was paying his debts in full, he told me, eking out what he lacked himself with the property of Alice. He could not have used much of it, however, for the vessels that were out at the time of the failure came home with good cargoes. I fancied that he had more than one regret while settling his affairs; that he missed the excitement and vicissitudes of a maritime business. Nothing disagreeable arose between us, till I happened to ask him what were the contents of a box which had arrived the day before.
"Something Alice sent you; shall we open it?"
"I made no answer; but it was opened, and he took out a sea-green and white velvet carpet, with a scarlet leaf on it, and a piece of sea-green and white brocade for curtains. Had she sought the world over, she could have found nothing to suit me so well.
"She thought that Verry might have a fancy for some of the old furniture, and that you would accept these in its place."
"There's nothing here to match this splendor, and I cannot bear to make a change. Verry must have them, for she took nothing from me."
"Just as you please."