CHAPTER XX.ALL ALONE.
Madame de Marke stood a moment irresolute, then she spoke out. “My son! you will call the young reprobate De Marke, my son, as if he ever had a drop of my blood in his veins. I tell you he was De Marke’s son by a first wife, and I——Well, yes, I am his stepmother, his father’s widow, and his guardian till, till——But what’s the use of talking? You couldn’t understand it.”
“But I understand this, and thank God for it. De Marke is not your own son.”
“No more my son than he is your husband, honey-bird, be sure of that,” cried the old woman, with a spiteful laugh.
Catharine’s eyes sparkled. It was something to know that the old woman had really no claim on her for respect.
“But you have always looked upon him as a son, and youknowthat I am his wife.”
“Indeed,howdo I know that? Let me read over the certificate, and then—”
“He told you that we were married, I am sure of it.”
“Oh! they are deceivers all; don’t put any faith in the blood, my dear; but just go away like a nice girl and hide your shame in the country. I’ll give you a trifle for travellingexpenses, and then you might make a nice match, where no one ever heard of you before.”
“Hush, madam, I will not listen to this; it degrades me and my husband.”
“Your husband, ha! A tender, attentive husband, isn’t he? Don’t you wonder when he will come back?”
“Tell me where he is gone. Oh, tell me that, and I will trouble you no more!”
“Why? what would you do?”
“I would follow him to the uttermost ends of the earth, as a true wife should follow the man she loves.”
“Would you, my dear? But that is just what the young fellow does not want. He has left you, girl, and I tell you he will never return, never, never, do you hear?”
“I do not believe it. Sooner or later he will come back to contradict this wicked slander. He isnota bad man!”
“Just as you please to think, my dear; only he is a long time in coming!”
Catharine gave a quick motion of the hand, as if to silence the slander, and turning upon the old woman, demanded if she would give her shelter and protection?
“No, no, my dear, the thing is just impossible,” answered the old creature, with jeering malice in her look and voice; “that would be owning to the world that I gave some faith to your romance about Philadelphia, the clergyman, and all that.”
“I am almost glad of it,” answered Catharine, conscious that a sensation of unaccountable relief went with her words. “Now I have nothing but God to trust in; all his creatures have forsaken me.”
“Oh!” ejaculated the old woman, kissing her crucifix, “what has God, or the mother of God, to do with heretics but to punish their sins? Go away, dear, go away.”
“I will,” was the sad reply. “You send me out among men like a wild bird into the woods, but God takes care even of them.”
“That’s a nice girl, you’ll go into the country away west or east, where no one will ever hear of you again. Don’t come back to disgrace the poor boy, and I’ll pay your passage in the emigrant cars just as far as you will go. Only let it be a long way off, and remember, dear, how much it will cost me.”
“No,” answered Catharine, “I cannot leave the city till he comes back.”
“I tell you he never will come back, never! You hear me, never! never!”
Catharine turned very white, and clenched her little hand hard on the back of a chair.
“How do you know this, madam?” she questioned, in a faint voice.
“He told me so himself, dear; depend on it, he never will come back, and never can marry you; it would make him a beggar.”
“Why?”
“Why, darling? because his father just left it in his will that his son should never marry without my consent; if he did, all the property should come to me. So, my dear, you understand how it would turn out if you were really married; he would be a beggar, and I rolling in gold—rolling in gold. Oh, if you only had been married, now wouldn’t it have been a run of luck for me? But he won’t do it—not fool enough for that—never thought of such a thing.”
“Do you mean to say that George has practised a deception on me?”
“Oh, a little cheat, nothing else, of course you understand all about it; the certificate that you made so much of, all fudge and nonsense. Just go away, darling, as I tell you; he’ll never come back till you do, and never then, I dare say.”
Catharine held by the chair still trembling from head to foot. In all her trouble she had possessed one source of consolation and strength—deep faith in her husband’s love andintegrity. Now her very heart seemed uprooted. For a moment, she had no faith in anything. She leaned heavily on the chair, grasping it with both hands, but her limbs trembled and gave way; she sunk slowly downward, and bowing her face, cried out in bitter anguish:
“Oh, my God, what have I done that all Thy creatures turn against me? Let me die—let me die!”
Madame De Marke turned away. At the head of her cot was a small hen-coop such as farmers use in transporting poultry to market. Through the bars of this coop, two or three lank, hungry fowls were protruding their long necks, and set up a low chuckle as if they joined the old woman in mocking at the poor girl. “Ha, ha! you understand it, dears,” said the crone; “here now, my pets, help yourselves.”
She went to a platter that stood on her deal table, and dividing a cold potato with her fingers, thrust half of it through the bars. As the hungry fowls devoured it, she began quietly eating the other half, while she eyed the poor girl with a look of malicious cunning, apparently quite unmindful of the anguish that made her very heart quiver.
At last Catharine lifted her head and looked steadily at the old woman. “Madam, if you have deceived me in this, if you know this of my husband.” She paused—the name almost suffocated her; goaded with fresh agony, she arose to her feet.
“Woman, woman, as you have dealt with us, so will the God of heaven deal with you on your death-bed!”
The next instant Catharine Lacy passed through the door, as one flees from an impending death-blow.
Madame De Marke looked after her with a wild, fierce look; then she snatched up her crucifix and kissed it.
“A heretic, a heretic—why should I mind the words of a heretic? What right has she to call on God?”
But her grim features worked with fear long after she ceased speaking, and she repeatedly kissed the crucifix in her hand, as if striving to bribe protection from it.