CHAPTER IV.
They had been travelling for nearly two months, visiting the mountains and the different lakes, and Mary was beginning to think about getting toward New York and Roger, when without any warning came a telegram, announcing a fatal explosion which had resulted in the probable loss of both eyes to Roger. He was in a hospital and wanted his mother. Mary lost no time in going to him taking Andrew with her, and leaving Lady Vale and her daughter to return to the “Five Gables,” and make everything comfortable for the invalid’s reception, for Mary determined on taking Roger home as soon as permissable.
In the hurried preparation for departure, Andrew saw no way in which to broach the subject of his love for Victoria. He doubted if she would listen kindly when so agitated by his mother’s keen distress, so he bade the girl who had become so dear to him, a calm good-bye, and left her with a strange sinking at the heart, which he knew was not caused by the news of his brother’s accident, but by a presentiment of something about to befall Victoria.
Lady Vale and Victoria hurried back to Mary’s home, and there waited in sorrow for the home-coming of one whom they knew to be his mother’s idol. Mary had written that there was “no hope that Roger would ever see again, but they dare not tell him just yet. Let him fully recover from the shock to his nervous system.”
Lady Vale’s eyes filled with tears as she read the letter, which showed plainly a mother’s buried hopes. “Poor Mary,” she said as she handed the letter to Victoria. “The sun of her world has gone down never to rise again. Her hopes have all been centered in that boy. She seemed to care but little for Andrew. It was all Roger, Roger with her. How will she bear this heavy cross?”
Victoria took the letter, and stole up to the picture-gallery, and stood before Roger’s smiling, winsome face. “Could it be possible that the light of those laughingeyes had gone out forever? Ah no. God was good. He would restore to Roger his sight,” she felt sure.
They arrived at evening when everything was hushed and still, and a quiet peaceful calm rested on the home nest. Victoria watched the carriage being driven up to the door, then she fled to her room. She could not meet him yet. Not till the sorrow of being in his childhood’s home, which his eyes never more would gaze upon, had lost its first bitterness. She had seen Mary descend from the carriage weeping, and had seen Andrew assist a blindfolded figure tenderly out, and she realized that she had no part in their grief; that she was only a stranger, and a vague longing took possession of her—a longing to be nearer the stricken one; a wish to take a sister’s part in nursing him back to health and strength.
In a few moments, she went down, but not into the family sitting-room. She took a light wrap from the rack in the hall, and passed quietly out into the fast gathering twilight; but the quick eye of Andrew had seen her form pass the open door, and he followed her, glad of the chance to see her alone. She turned as she heard his step, and although the darkness partly concealed his face, she noticed the glad ring in his voice as he came quickly up to her, and took both her hands in his. “Victoria, sweet one, are you glad that I am back? Did you miss me? Oh how your pure face maddens me,” and before she had realized what he was about to do, he had caught her to him, and had pressed a burning kiss upon her lips.
Victoria struggled to free herself, but she failed, and indignantly looked up into the face of her captor. His eyes shone with a strange light. She felt a dreamy languor stealing upon her, a desire to sleep. What did it mean? Had this man a power over her which she was unable to resist? Horrible thought. She made one more feeble attempt to get away, and then lay passive and quiet in his arms.
He looked gloatingly down at his helpless burden. “I have conquered,” he whispered hoarsely. “She cannot fly from me now. She is mine. Victoria, my sweet angel?”
“Yes,” she answered faintly.
“Put your arms about my neck and kiss me.”
She slowly did as he bade her, but there was no expression in the white face pressed to his, no passion in the kiss. Only a passive obedience to his will, which shamed him, hardened though he was, and he felt no pleasure in the caress which he had been obliged to gain by force. He gently drew her to a rustic seat, and fanned her with his hat. In a few moments she breathed a low sigh and looked up into his face; then she started to her feet and would have fled if he had not caught her arm and held her.
“Let me go,” she cried. “You hurt me.”
“Victoria, be seated for a moment until I can explain,” he said pleadingly. “I have not meant to be harsh with you. Any culprit has a right to plead his cause and ask for mercy. Then will you hear me?”
“I will hear you,” she answered coldly, “but I prefer to stand.”
“That means that you have no confidence in me,” he retorted bitterly. “You are safe from my touch, Victoria. I shall never lay hands on you again without your permission. I did not mean to frighten you, I had no intention of doing as I did. I was a brute. Will you forgive me?”
“No,” she answered indignantly.
His lips parted in a dangerous smile. “You will not forgive me this slight offense. Then if I am in disgrace with you I might as well tell you all. I love you! Stay, Victoria,” as she turned toward the house. “Youshallhear me. I adore you! Life will not be worth living if you do not share it with me. I want you for my wife, and I mean to have you. Yes,” as she scornfully tossed her head. “As surely as this moon shines in the sky above us, just as surely will I win you for my wife. You do not think so now; you say in your mind, ‘I hate him,’ but the time will come when you shall humbly place your arms about my neck, and say of your own free will, ‘I love you; I am yours.’”
If Victoria had been a girl of the period she might have returned a saucy and spirited answer, but being a young lady carefully reared by an English mamma, and living long before slang was invented, she simply said: “Are you done, Mr. Willing?”
“Yes, I am done, Lady Victoria Vale.’
“Thank you for placing me on my guard. I shallknow how to meet you from this time on,” and with these words she turned and left him.
Andrew sat for some time in deep thought. He was not disheartened at the turn affairs had taken. He knew his power and meant to use it, but in a more temperate way than he had begun. He must be careful and not frighten the bird away, or all would be lost. So long as she staid under the same roof with him, he was confident of success.
Victoria made one great mistake. She did not tell her mother. At first she felt ashamed, humiliated, and dared not confide in her best friend. She knew that her mother would immediately start for England, and she did not want to go. She loved Mary dearly, and now here was Roger afflicted sorely, and she had promised Mary to be his eyes for a while at any rate. Then why should she allow her hatred of Andrew to drive her away from duty, and why should she tell her mother of a disagreeable episode which would never occur again. It would only disturb her, so Victoria met Andrew at breakfast the next morning with a serene countenance, and the two elder ladies dreamed not of the tempest in the two young hearts.
Roger did not appear at breakfast. He was still very much fatigued from his journey, and dreading to meet strangers with this affliction still new upon him, he breakfasted in his own rooms, which Mary had made the brightest and most cheerful looking in the house, even if her darling could not see them. She hastily drank a cup of coffee, then begging to be excused, saying “Roger would feel lonely if left too long,” she went out, leaving Lady Vale with Victoria to entertain Andrew.
Victoria looked after Mary with wistful eyes. How she longed to accompany her, and beg to be allowed to minister to the invalid’s many wants.
Lady Vale glanced rather anxiously at Victoria’s pale face and drooping eyes. “Are you not well, my love?” she asked.
Victoria started, and a faint rose color supplanted the lily in her cheeks. “I was not aware of feeling other than in the best of health, dear mamma. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I thought your general expression savored of lassitude; lacked vivacity, as it were. No doubt the depressinglywarm weather has something to do with it. Now that Mary is again at home and does not need us, would you like to visit some of the lakes, or perhaps the mountains?”
Andrew listened almost breathlessly for Victoria’s reply. He expected to hear a quick assent to Lady Vale’s proposition. After his rough conduct of last night Victoria would gladly make her escape from his hateful presence. He could hardly conceal a smile of delight as Victoria laughed lightly, and said: “Ah, mamma, what did I tell you the other day? Did I not say that you were sadly in need of spectacles? That your eyesight was rapidly failing you? And this proves it. To think that you should imagine I was losing my health. I never felt better in my life. I do not care to travel. What more enchanting spot can we find than this? I never tire of its beauties, besides I promised dear Mrs. Willing to lighten her labor of love, by assisting her in reading to, and caring for, the invalid. Would it be courtesy on our part to leave her just at the time when she needs us most?”
“Certainly not, my daughter. If such be the case, we will stay by all means. I only spoke of going away because I felt concerned as to your health.”
“Then let your heart be reassured, dear mamma,” answered Victoria, rising and kissing Lady Vale. “I feel more than usually bright this morning. Will you walk with me down by the lake? We have still a few more lines of Virgil to translate.”
“With pleasure, my love. Will you not accompany us, Andrew?”
Andrew hesitated, and was about to assent, when a warning flash from Victoria’s eyes stayed him. It plainly said “Do not inflict your presence any longer upon me, sir. I shall rebel.”
“I am extremely sorry, Lady Vale, but I have sadly neglected my duties in being away from home caring for Roger. I must now go over the different plantations, and start immediately, so adieu for to-day and possibly for several days. I may find much to detain me.” He bowed courteously to Victoria, gallantly kissed Lady Vale’s hand, and left the room.
Victoria’s heart gave a bound of relief. “Now I shall be my old self again,” she thought. “Relieved of hisodious watchful eyes following me everywhere, I can again be natural. Ugh! I feel as if a snake had crawled over me, and left its nasty trail behind.”
She gave her arm to Lady Vale. “Come mamma, let us get out into the beautiful sunlight, among the fragrant blooming trees. I feel stifled here.”
They had been down by the lake over an hour. Lady Vale with her white hands idly resting in her lap, was watching two swans which were sailing majestically on the placid bosom of the water, while she listened to the sweet voice of Victoria, reading the closing lines of Virgil. Suddenly she looked toward the avenue, and placed her hand on Victoria’s arm. “Hush, daughter, I heard voices. Ah, I thought I was not mistaken. It is Mary leading her son. Is not that a touching sight? Who could look upon it without being affected. The mother, her hair whitened with years, bending her form under the weight of her stalwart youthful son upon whom she has centered all her hopes.”
Victoria raised her head, and her eyes filled with tears. Roger’s head was bent until his lips touched his mother’s hair. They were still too far away for her to distinguish what they were saying.
“How does the dear old place look, mother mine? Is it changed?”
“Not at all, dear Roger. The peacocks are strutting on the lawn. The swans are sailing on the lake, and, oh my darling, the fairest girl who ever lived is sitting on the stone seat which you fashioned with your own hands when but a lad. You ran away from her, but fate, or a kind Providence which ever you will, has decreed that you are to meet. You are not averse to it, my son?”
“Not now, mother. I can be nothing but an object of pity to her, and as for me, all interest in anything feminine has ceased forever.”
Victoria rose and advanced to meet them.
“Oh, if you could only see her now,” exclaimed Mary. “She is tall and most beautifully formed. Her complexion is like roses; her eyes like stars; but they are filled with tears, my son; and those tears are for you; and the expression on her sweet face is such, that if you could but see it, you would take her in your arms and kiss the tears away. It is not pity. It is love; maidenly love, which as yet does not know that it loves.”
Victoria was near enough now to hear Roger say: “Mother, you speak wildly. What do you mean?” and she wondered what Mary had been saying.
“Ah, Victoria, I missed you, and wondered where you had hidden. Roger, this is Lady Victoria Vale, of whom you have often heard me speak.”
Roger pressed the little hand placed within his, and smiled. Victoria thought she had never seen a more winning smile, yet it was full of sadness.
“Yes, I ought to know Lady Victoria Vale very well,” he said, still retaining her hand; “but I should like to have met her under brighter circumstances.” He lightly touched the bandage about his eyes. “If I could but tear off this hateful band, and be able to see the beautiful vision which my mother is never tired of praising! But that pleasure is denied me. I must be content to see only withhereyes.”
Victoria blushed and withdrew her hand.
“Dear Mrs. Willing is partial, and I am afraid sees only with the eyes of love. She says she loves me as she would a daughter, so you must excuse any little exaggerations on her part.”
Mary had gone on and left the young people together, while she spoke with Lady Vale. “Come,” continued Victoria, “let me introduce you to my mother. Shall I become your guide? Your mother has basely deserted you.”
“Hail to her desertion,” laughed Roger as he felt Victoria’s arm slip into his. “This is a lucky exchange of companions for me. Are you not taller than my mother?”
“Somewhat,” replied Victoria, leading him to her mother who rose and grasped both his hands, kissing him tenderly.
“Ah! this is indeed a greeting worth having,” cried Roger. “See what it is to be an invalid. I doubt if you would have accorded me this honor, had I been presented to you six months ago, Lady Vale.”
“Who knows,” replied Lady Vale, who saw that Roger chose to make light of his affliction, and did not wish too much sympathy expressed. “I am glad that I am not a young lady. I am afraid I should lose my heart. You are too dangerous as it is. No wonder your mother’s life is all centered in you.”
Roger’s laugh rang out joyously, and Mary smiled to see him in such good spirits.
“Ah, Lady Vale, it is very plain to be seen that you have visited Ireland, and kissed the ‘Blarney Stone,’” said Roger.
Lady Vale placed her hand on the young man’s arm. “My dear boy,” she said gravely, “I love your mother as I would a sister. I love her sons because they are her sons. I have mourned with her over this affliction which has come upon you, until you have become very near to me. There has has been no flattery meant in the few words I have spoken.”
Roger grasped the white hand still lying on his arm, and carried it to his lips, while his voice had a suspicious tremble in it as he said, “I never longed for my sight as I do at this moment. My mother has undertaken to describe you, but I am sure her description must fall far short of the reality. How is it that I am blessed with so charming a trio to minister to my comfort, and to help to chase dull care away? I have been anything but a docile invalid, have I not, mother mine?”
“You have been most patient, my son. Indeed, I have wondered how you could bear all that you have with such rare fortitude, but sit down on this rustic seat made by yourself, and rest. I am sure Victoria will most gladly take upon herself the task of entertaining you, while Lady Vale accompanies me to the gardener’s cottage. I must see him before luncheon.”
Roger smiled as his mother gently pressed him into the old stone seat, and walked away with Lady Vale. Victoria stood a short distance from him, looking out over the lake, and thinking: “What shall I say to him? I must be cheerful while I feel just like crying, and I can’t think of a pleasant word to say. I wish I had a good book. One never need to exert themselves when they can read something interesting. I will ask him who is his favorite author, then step up to the house and select it.”
“Am I deserted?” said Roger, putting out his hand gropingly. “I thought I heard my mother say that Lady Victoria Vale would stay by me.”
“I am here,” replied Victoria, moving nearer. Roger touched her dress.
“There used to be room enough for two on thisstone. It has not changed, I think. Will you not sit beside me? I like to have people near while I talk to them.”
Victoria complied, blushing slightly, as there was scant room for two, and necessitated the placing of Roger’s arm over the back of the seat.
“How ridiculous of me to blush,” she thought, “he can’t see me.”
“Now tell me how you like our home, Lady Victoria. Is it not the fairest spot you have ever seen?”
“It is very beautiful, Mr. Willing, but I know one fairer, and more dear to me.”
“Ah! I can guess without further explanation from you. It is your English home. Let me see, what is the name of it? I have heard my mother say.”
“Valecourt, Mr. Willing. Oh, it is so beautiful. I wish you might see it.” She stopped in confusion, as a pained expression rested for a moment upon Roger’s face. “Oh, whathaveI said, pray forgive me, Mr. Willing. I am such a blunderer. I had forgotten your affliction.”
“Don’t make any excuses,” replied Roger, trying to laugh cheerfully. “You were wishing I might see your home so far away. What is to hinder me? I will see it now by proxy. You shall describe it so graphically that I shall need no eyes, and perhaps, who knows, in the years to come I may gaze upon its beauties. I shall not always be blind.”
Victoria gazed at the young man pityingly. She knew how hopeless was his case by Mary’s despairing letters. “Would it not be better if he knew?” she thought. “Would it not be more charitable to tell him the truth?” She would consult Mrs. Willing.
Roger continued. “I will forgive you on one condition. That you drop the formal Mr. Willing, and call me Roger. No one calls me Mr. Willing, except strangers, and you are not a stranger. You are my cousin. Your mother said as much. She said she was my mother’s sister. I’ll tell you what we will do. I hate the handle to your name. I am too thoroughly American to enjoy titles, although my parents were of English blood. I’ll call you Cousin Victoria, while to you I am Cousin Roger.”
“Agreed,” said Victoria, laughing. “I never did like those near to me to call me Lady Victoria. It places me miles away from them.”
Roger felt a strange thrill in the region of his heart as Victoria said “those near to me.” Then he was one of the fortunate “those.” How soon would it be ere he could dispense with the hateful bandage, and look upon the face of the sweet-voiced maiden, who so unconsciously said such comforting things?
“Let us begin without delay, then, Cousin Victoria; tell me of your fair English home, Valecourt.”
While Victoria pictured her home to Roger, Lady Vale and Mary walked slowly toward the gardener’s cottage arm in arm.
“You have guessed my hopes, dear Augusta, or I should say, what was once my hope, in regard to your child and my Roger.”
“Yes, Mary,” and Lady Vale pressed her friends hand tenderly. “Shattered hopes. I will say that I should not have been averse to their union, had Roger been in full possession of his health, but now—dear Mary,yousurely cannot wish it, while of course Victoria will not allow herself to love a blind man. Think of what a future hers would be, tied for life to a never-ceasing care. Ah no, it can never, never be.”
Mary burst into tears. “My poor boy! What a dark prospect lies before him. I must tell him the physician’s decision, though the telling break my heart.”
“Has he enough strength of will, think you, to bear up under it? When he knows there is no hope, will he do as so many have done before him? Will he take his own life.”
“God forbid! Oh Augusta, you are a mother; pity a sorrowing mother’s breaking heart, and promise me, that if God brings those two young hearts together, and they love, in spite of Roger’s affliction, promise me that you will consent to their union; that you will do nothing to separate them?”
Mary stopped and wound her arms around Lady Vale, who kissed the tear-stained face of her friend. “It is a hard thing to promise, dear Mary.”
“Ah! but my heart will break if you do not. Think of how little Roger will have to make him happy. Thinkof what a joy such a love as Victoria’s would be to him. They may not love, but if they do, will you promise me not to withhold your consent? Do Augusta, or my life will be miserable.” And Lady Vale, although her heart misgave her, finally consented, hoping that Victoria’s good sense would prevent her from doing anything so rash.
CHAPTER V.
Andrew remained away three days. They seemed the longest three days in all his life. He longed to be near Victoria, to hear her voice, to watch her changing face, even if she did show weariness at his presence, and treat him with scorn. His perseverance must win in the long run, and then how sweet the victory. He doubted if he would have loved her with half the fervor, if she had willingly thrown herself into his arms, but her scornful half-averted looks, only made the blood course faster through his veins, and the chase was twice as fascinating. As he rode up the broad avenue that quiet summer evening, he was as positive of victory, as though Victoria were already his wife, and he anticipated the swift look of disdain which would shoot from her eyes, with as much ardor as a favored lover longs for his mistress’s most enchanting smile. To his enamored fancy her coldness was only a sure sign of a complete conquest for him. As he drew near the house he heard voices, and then a laugh which he knew could only belong to one person, Victoria. The happy, joyous ring of her voice told that she was enjoying her companion’s society. Andrew wondered who it could be. A pang of jealousy shot through him, as he descried a tall, manly form with his arm passed through Victoria’s, slowly pacing in front of him. “Ah!” he thought, “so we have a visitor. Very familiar, I must say. I’ll soon put an end to that.” He savagely thrust his spurs into the animal’s sides, causing the poor creature to rear and plunge madly, while Victoria who had not heard Andrew approaching, screamed and jumped to one side, dragging Roger with her, as the horse dashed by. Andrew wheeled and returned, glancing quickly at Victoria’s companion, and when he saw the blindfolded figure of his brother, he uttered an exclamation which sounded very much like “damn.” He had forgotten Roger, or if he had thought of him, it was of his being in a darkened room shut away from everything joyous, and bemoaning his fate. Instead, Andrew saw him apparently happy,with a jest on his lips, entertaining his fair guide in a manner peculiarly Roger’s own, and “evidently very pleasing to Victoria,” Andrew thought bitterly, forhehad never been able to beguile such laughter from those sweet lips. In another moment he was smiling at his foolishness, at being for even a second jealous of a blind man. “Of course she is doing her best to cheer him,” he thought. “Poor Roger. Why should I begrudge him a few moments of happiness? It’s all he’ll ever get, I fancy.”
He alighted and grasped Roger by the hand. “Hello, old chap,” he said heartily. “I’m glad to see you out, and more like your old self than when I went away. How are the eyes progressing?” To Victoria he merely raised his hat, who acknowledged his salutation by a silent bow.
“Hello, yourself,” cried Roger, taking his arm from Victoria’s. “I’m right glad to see you back again, Andrew. My eyes are doing fine, thank you. I think it nonsense to keep all this fol-de-rol around them. I’m sure they would get well much quicker without the bandage. I fancied I could see a ray of light this morning, as Richard dressed them.”
Andrew started, and glanced toward Victoria, but she stood a little apart, with her eyes on the ground, and as he slipped his horse’s bridle over one arm, he offered the other to Roger, saying: “Come, brother, let me perform the pleasant duty of guiding you, although I may not be so apt as your fair companion. I hope it will not be long now that any one shall have to be eyes for you.” While in his heart he was saying: “Can it be possible that the doctor was wrong in saying that his eyesight was totally destroyed? Doctors make mistakes sometimes, as well as other people. Well, if such be the case my goose will be cooked; I can see that with half an eye. Victoria would never look at me twice, after gazing into the laughing eyes of Roger, for he is far superior to me, and I know it. Well, may the best fellow win. I can hold my own with a man without eyes, but, ah yes, there is a but in every case, I reckon, and if Roger regains the sight of those melting orbs, good-bye, Andrew Willing, and exaunt from the scene.”
He followed his mother from the dining-room aftertheir evening meal, and when they were alone, he said: “Is there any hope of Roger regaining his sight?”
“None whatever, Andrew.”
“But he told me he fancied he could see a ray of light this morning, when his attendant was dressing his eyes.”
Mrs. Willing began to weep. “Poor boy, he fancies that every day; perhaps he can distinguish light from darkness, but what is that? I had a letter from Dr. Kohler last night. He is coming—as he promised to do—when it is time to remove the bandage. Then he will break the news to Roger. It is better that he should hear it from a stranger.”
Andrew went out from his mother’s presence with almost rejoicing in his heart. He knew he ought to mourn with her at this affliction which had come upon his twin brother, but instead, he felt a wicked satisfaction in knowing that Roger would be shorn of his greatest strength as long as he lived. The care of the plantation, all money matters which had once been Roger’s prerogative, would now revert to the younger brother; younger by one short hour, but who had been made to feel all his life, that Roger was his superior in everything, and now,—now that a new love had sprung up in his heart, and for a moment, a fierce jealousy as well, he knew that if Roger by any chance should regain his eyesight, he should hate him with bitterer hatred than ever Cain displayed towardhisbrother. All else he might relinquish in Roger’s favor, but Victoria never.
For several days he watched the pair with Argus eyes. Not a motion made by either escaped him. Victoria was soon conscious of his espionage, and became guarded in her actions, never betraying by word or look the deep interest she felt in Roger, so that Andrew finally concluded, that Roger was fast falling in love with Victoria, but thatshecared nothing for the blind man, nor would she ever. He soon tried his power over Victoria, and to his delight found it as strong as ever. One day he was sitting in the little rustic summer-house, when he saw her going down the avenue toward the lodge gates. He never took his eyes off of her figure, but slowly put out both hands toward her. Presently she turned, and came rapidly back directing her steps to where he was sitting. There were two doors to the summer-house, and as she approached, he quietly slipped out behind an acaciabush, taking care not to turn his back to her, keeping his eyes fixed steadily upon her. She entered by the opposite door and sat down, with a vacant expression in her eyes, languidly leaning her head against the lattice work. A few seconds passed, and Andrew stole out from behind the bush, and seated himself beside her, taking her passive hand in his, and patting it gently.
“Are you happy, Victoria,” he whispered.
“Oh, so happy,” she answered dreamily.
“Do you love?”
“Ah yes,” with a sigh, “I love.”
He passed his hand over her face and her eyes closed. “Do you love me, Victoria darling?”
“Yes, I love you.”
“Then kiss me. Kiss my hands, my hair, my face!”
Victoria complied, and different to that other time when he had forced her, there was now a passionate abandonment in her caresses, which caused the blood to course through his veins like fire, and he caught her to his breast, pressing his face to the one not whiter than his own.
“God in heaven, how I love her!” he cried. A moment later he was again behind the bush, and Victoria slowly opened her eyes, yawned, and looked about her, bewildered. “Strange,” she said dreamily, “very strange. How came I here? I started for the lodge. Oh, I know. I felt so sort of weak and trembling, that I decided to rest for a moment. I must have dropped asleep.” She arose and passed out.
As soon as she had disappeared, Andrew entered the summer-house, flung himself down on the seat so lately occupied by Victoria, and remained buried in thought for some time. He dared not try his power too often, and only then when he was safe from detection. He knew that if Victoria’s suspicions should be again aroused, she would flee from the house, and he would lose her forever; so when in her presence he was most circumspect, and veiled his eyes when he knew they betrayed too dangerous a fire.
Meanwhile Roger’s eyes had ceased to pain him, and he chafed at having to still wear the bandage. One day his ill-humor and impatience got the upper hand of him, and he took Victoria by surprise by suddenly tearing the bandage from his face. She had been readingIvanhoe to him. They were out in their favorite stone seat by the lake. A quick gesture caused her to glance up, and she uttered a faint cry, for she saw him for the first time without the disfiguring cloth.
“Oh, Cousin Roger! What made you?” she cried. “You must let me bandage your eyes again.”
“Never,” he replied, catching her hand as he felt it touch his face. “I have waited for that confounded doctor to come till I’m tired. My eyes must get accustomed to the light or I’ll never see, and Victoria, I have heard your voice, your laugh, have felt your presence until I am wild to see your face.” He groped for her face, and took it between his hands, drawing it close until it nearly touched his own.
“Can you see me?” she asked eagerly. He sadly dropped his hands.
“No, Victoria. I cannot see even an object. Oh, God! the thought that perhaps I may be totally blind is maddening. Victoria!” His voice as he spoke her name ran the whole gamut of love, hope, despair, misery.
Victoria quickly placed her hand upon his. “What is it, dear Roger?”
“Victoria, I cannot live if I am blind. When the doctor comes, if he tells me there is no hope, I shall end my useless life—there.” He pointed toward the lake.
“Oh, no, no, Roger! How can you think of anything so horrible? Have you no love for your mother who adores you, that you should grieve her so?”
“I shall soon be forgotten, Victoria. Better to die and end it all than to live a burden, and no comfort to anybody. Ah, Victoria, you do not know what hopes I have cherished. What visions I have seen. God grant they may be realized.” He grasped the hand which still lingered on his arm. “My angel of peace, my comforter, my eyes, it is a cruel question I am going to ask you. Could you sacrifice your youth, your fresh beauty, to become the companion for life of one who would be a constant care; who could not bear to have you from his side one moment?”
A glad light suffused Victoria’s face, but ere she could reply Andrew stood before them. She quickly withdrew her hand from Roger’s, whose sad countenance became still sadder.
“Ah, here you are,” said Andrew, noting with hiskeen eyes the disturbed faces before him. “What, Roger! Are you without the bandage?”
“Yes,” said Roger gloomily. “I can see as well without it, as with it. Darkness and daylight are as one with me now. God help me!” He rose and Andrew passed his arm through his brother’s.
“Dear old boy don’t give way like this. The doctor’s decision may be favorable. Don’t borrow trouble.”
“Oh no, I’m not borrowing,” said Roger, with a laugh, sadder than any tears. “It is thrust upon me free gratis. There is no need to borrow. Come, tell me of yourself Andrew. Mother tells me you are up for Governor. Do you stand the ghost of a chance, think you?”
“Not so much as the tenth part of a ghost, dear fellow. The Whigs will carry the day in spite of our heavy electioneering, and I hope they will. I’d never consented to run if I had dreamed of getting elected. I’d make a fine Governor, wouldn’t I?”
“You’d be far better than the present one I reckon, even if you are but twenty-two. Cousin Victoria?”
“Victoria is not here,” replied Andrew. “She is out of sight, gone toward the lodge.”
“Then let us go to the house, Andrew. Great God! what an affliction is mine if I never regain my sight. I had rather lost a limb, aye, all of them, than to have lost my eyes. Ah, my brother, the doctor’s decision means everything to me!”
“Were you making love to Victoria as I came up?” asked Andrew, darting a glance at Roger, which fortunately he could not see.
“Not exactly,” replied Roger rather ironically, remembering the recent conversation. “It takes two to make love generally.”
Andrew’s dark face lightened. “Then she was not agreeable?”
“How could a sensible woman listen to the wild ravings of an imbecile?” said Roger, bitterly. “What girl, young and beautiful, would willingly yoke herself to a cripple for life? I must have been an ass, a two-fold idiot, to let my feelings carry me away, but by heavens, Andy! if the doctor gives me hope—Hope! Oh, God, what a blessed word; if he gives me hope, I’ll win her, but——”
“If he tells you nothing can be done?” asked Andrew, eagerly.
“There will be but one course left for me,” replied Roger, again pointing to the lake.
“Ah, no, old boy, not that,” and Andrew placed his arm about Roger’s neck. “Mother would die heart broken. You are still her darling, and will always be. I’m content to take second place in her affections, and Roger you must not become morbid. It’s the worst thing you can possibly do. Come, let us go up to the house, and I will play on my violin, and so chase dull care away.”
Andrew scrutinized Victoria’s face when next he saw her, but it was serene and unconscious. “She does not care a rap for Roger,” he thought exultantly, “for she could never hide it so admirably. She would betray herself by word or action.” Which shows that Andrew knew but little of the sublime duplicity of woman.
That night the doctor came, and when morning dawned fair and rosy, Roger was told what to him seemed his death-warrant. Out under the nodding trees, arm and arm, the great oculist and Roger paced, while gently as a mother could have done, the man of science old in years, explained to the young man just on the threshold of a long life, why he could never again look upon the faces of those he loved, or study nature in all its varied forms. Roger listened in silence, then, as they approached the old stone seat, he said: “Leave me here, doctor, I would be alone.” The doctor was deceived by Roger’s calmness and left him. The stricken man buried his face in his hands, and listened to the doctor’s retreating footsteps. “He will soon be out of sight and hearing,” he murmured, “then I will go my way, and nobody will be the wiser until too late. Will she shed one tear for me, I wonder? Yes, I reckon she will. She is tender-hearted, and she will grieve with my mother. Poor mother,sheloves me, but oh, I cannot live with this load at my heart. An object of pity, tolerated, where once I was the most sought after. Is it wicked, I wonder, to take one’s own life under such circumstances? God knows, and I will know soon. Let me think. I used to know just how many paces to take from this old stone to the lake. Ah, yes, it is fifteen. I was just that age when I fashioned this seat.I have a ’kerchief of Victoria’s which I stole one day. It is perfumed with vervaine. How I love the odor! How I love the owner of this little dainty square!”
He took the ’kerchief from his breast pocket and kissed it. Then holding it tightly in one hand, he began to measure off the paces toward the lake, counting them aloud as he paced. When he had reached the thirteenth, a pair of arms were suddenly thrown around him, and Victoria’s voice cried: “Roger, what would you do? Destroy two lives instead of one?”
“Victoria, you here!” exclaimed Roger. “Why did you come so soon? If you had only waited a few moments—just a few moments.”
“Ah, but I could not wait, dear Roger; something compelled me to seek you, and having found you in the act of self-destruction, I have detained you long enough to say, that if you are still bent on drowning, go ahead; but I warn you that you will have to answer to God for two lives.”
“What do you mean?” gasped Roger, clutching Victoria’s arm.
“I mean that if you go, I go too.”
“Victoria!”
“Well, I am here.”
“Did I hear aright?”
“I am within good hearing distance. You could not have misunderstood me very well.”
“Are you willing to brave death with me?”
“Yes, if you are still bent on suicide, but I would much prefer to live with you on good solid pork and potatoes. We could get more fun out of it. Oh, Roger, if you only knew how ridiculous you looked measuring off those fifteen paces.”
Now no person about to commit suicide likes to be laughed at, and as Victoria’s gay laugh rang out, Roger’s face looked uncommonly silly.
“Um,” he said gloomily, “how long had you been here before you spoke, Victoria?”
“Oh for quite a while, sir knight of the rueful countenance. I saw the doctor returning alone, so as I had something to whisper into your ear when no one was by, I hastened down to the old stone seat.”
“Were you there when I kissed your ’kerchief?”
“Right behind you, and I didn’t admire your taste atall. I considered the kisses wasted when you might have had the owner. Oh, you stupid, silly boy, must I do all the courting?”
Roger grasped Victoria’s hands and held them tightly, while a great hope shone in his face.
“Victoria, you are not trifling with me? What means this sudden change in you? Yesterday you drew your hand away as if in displeasure at what I said, and you have seemed to avoid me ever since. I have not dared to hope.”
Victoria laughed. “Do you not remember, Roger, that Andrew came upon the scene just as you asked me that question? Do you suppose I cared to make a third party an interested listener? I am here to give you my answer, which I hope will please you. It is, that I love you, eyes or no eyes; that I am willing to face anything so long as you are by my side.”
Roger drew her to him, and laid her sunny head upon his shoulder. “My loved one, dare I take this blessed hope to my bosom? Are you sure that it is not pity which prompts you, and that you are not making a sacrifice for my sake?”
Victoria took his face in her hands and kissed his sightless eyes. “It is no sacrifice on my part, dear Roger. I worshiped your picture before I ever knew you. I have loved you always, I think. Just because you are blind, should I cease to love you?”
“Oh, God, I thank Thee!” cried Roger. “I thank Thee for the gift of a true, pure woman’s love, which Thou has sent me in this my hour of need.” He bared his head, and turned his sightless eyes toward the heavens. Then placing an arm about Victoria’s neck, he kissed her reverently upon the forehead. “What a magic healer is this divine love, dear sweetheart. An hour ago I longed for death. Now I long to live, for I have been given new life by one who loves me. Ah, how blessed am I to be made the recipient of such an affection. God bless you, my own.”
Victoria gently led him to the old stone seat. “Then you have entirely given up the idea of a watery grave?” she asked, banteringly, as they were seated.
He placed both arms around her, and laid his head upon her shoulder. “Don’t mention it again, dear love. Think if you had come too late.”
“Ah, but I determined yesterday not to leave you for one moment alone. I watched the doctor and you. I was not far behind you when he left you. I had you in surveillance, young man, and from this moment I constitute myself your private detective.”