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“Oh, of course I did not mean anything by that remark.”
Junewas left alone, and ere long she noticed Irene seated near the young lady in the garnet silk, with Max Brunswick leaning over her and speaking in a low voice. Guy’s eyes rested on the couple, and as was natural to any one present, could not fail to notice their fine appearance.
“Who is the gentleman leaning over that beautiful woman in the cream colored silk?” Guy asked.
“His name is Brunswick.”
“Colonel Max Brunswick?” Guy asked, suddenly.
“Yes,” said Scott, “do you know him?”
“He must be the gentleman who wrote me in regard to taking an interest in my business. I gave him no encouragement, as I do not think it policy to hurry matters of that kind. He may be all right, though. He seems to have his mind just at present concentrated on that beautiful young lady before him.”
Scott tried to say that the young lady was his wife, and looking at her as Guy did, he thought that the attentions which she was receiving were not at all unpleasant to her. He tried to speak ere Guy had a chance to wound him further and tell him that she was his wife, and Brunswick only her friend, but even with all his ready tact and easy flow of language he was unable to speak the words.
“He is extremely devoted, is he not?” continued Guy. “I suppose all the angels in heaven cannot compare with her. Well, she is a lovely woman. I must114request you to introduce me, if that gentleman will allow me the privilege.”
Scott could not bear to have Guy speak again in this manner, and he said in a hurried manner:
“That lady is my wife.”
Guy looked the surprise he felt. He had not thought of her being a wife at all, much less the wife of Scott Wilmer, and he would have recalled the words if he could—words which he knew must have wounded Scott, for he was well aware that there was nothing in his nature that savored of frivolity. He could offer no apology, but was quite careful not to speak of Colonel Brunswick again.
115CHAPTER XV.REJECTED.
“Miss Wilmer, if you knew how deeply, how truly, I love you, you could not receive my attentions as coldly as you do. I did not dream that you would be so indifferent.”
Mr. Linton raised June’s little hand to his lips. He had asked her to walk with him on the lawn, which she, for the sake of courtesy, did not refuse. The clouds of the morning had cleared away and the stars were shining brightly. The light from the street lamps and from the spacious windows of the Wilmer mansion was softened by the shade of evergreen and clusters of shrubbery. The wide lawn, whose soft green carpet sparkled here and there with drops of dew, seemed a fit place to pour forth dreams of youthful love to willing ears, for at least a dozen couples might have been seen promenading the flagstone walks with which the green sod was separated in fair designs. June had thrown a soft blue mantle around her shoulders, for, as she said, Scott had always cautioned her against the damp night air. Scott was as full of notions as any old woman, Rene said, about night air, walking in the dew or sitting in the draught. She saw Rene sparkling116in her beauty and promenading the lawn, leaning on the arm of the Colonel, and once as she followed quite near she observed that he was leaning very closely, speaking in low, tender tones, and as Rene lifted her glowing face to his she saw him kiss her lips. A cold fear shot through June’s heart. Could it be possible that Rene could be so careless of her own reputation and Scott’s happiness? She hoped that Mr. Linton had not noticed the action, and she did not think he had, as he was at that moment speaking to her of his love.
“Where is Scott?” June asked.
“Oh, June, are you here? Ithoughtit was Nellie Blake. I knew you were out on the lawn, but I thought I saw you at the other side,” said Irene in a half frightened voice.
“You were mistaken. Is Scott here?” June asked again.
“I should think not. I saw him and Mr. Horton sitting together, apparently discussing something of great importance, when I left the house; but you know, June, he never finds time to act as other men do,” Irene said, trying to find some way to throw the blame on another than herself.
June made no reply, but as she requested Mr. Linton to turn in another direction she heard Max saying in a tender way:
“Poor darling! It is so hard to live with an uncongenial nature, isn’t it? I am so sorry for you.”
June did not hear Irene’s reply, but she wondered how she could bear such flattery, or how she could hear117her noble husband spoken of in such a slanderous way, and she thought she must speak to some one on the subject, but to whom she did not know.
“Miss Wilmer,” Mr. Linton said again, “if you knew how much I loved you you would at least condescend to reply when I tell you so.”
“Please pardon my carelessness, Mr. Linton.”
“Ah, yes, but truly, my dear, I have waited for some time to speak to you, and this seems just the time for such bliss as will be mine when you tell me that you will be my wife. You are, of all the young ladies I have met, just the one to go with me to England. I shall feel proud to tell my people that I have given you the preference.”
“Indeed, Mr. Linton,” she said, “I have never thought of marriage. I am too young to think of that.”
“Beg pardon, my dear, but my wife must be young.”
“I have a great deal to learn before I shall have experience enough to marry any man, and I shall probably not marry until you are settled in life.”
“How matter of fact you talk, Miss June. You cannot love as I do, or you would discard all such unromantic thoughts. You would not think of putting time or distance between us.”
“I do not wish to hear of love from any man, for it is farther from my thoughts than any other subject at present.”
“But you surely intend to marry some time.”
“Certainly; every young lady thinks of marriage at some time, but at present I do not. I shall find enough of care if I marry at twenty-five.”
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“Then pardon me, but I shall wait until you think of it.”
“It is quite useless, I assure you.”
“Do you really mean it?”
“I do.”
“Is it because you do not admire me?”
“I did not say that, but I am decided on one point, and that is that before I marry at all I shall study well the character of the man I marry.”
“Where is the use? If you love a man, you will not see his faults, and love will cover all defects.”
“I do not agree with you. I think I would see my husband’s faults sooner than I would those of a stranger, from the very fact that I should so greatly fear others seeing them, that my love would magnify them; so I shall learn, as near as possible, what his faults are, and if my love will warrant it, I shall make up my mind to bear what I cannot correct.”
“But cannot you marry the man and try to correct his faults after marriage?”
“I might, providing they were not too numerous. I am not faultless myself, and have little faith in my own ability, so I would not dare to undertake too great a task, and besides, my subject might prove obstinate, and I would then repent at leisure. I think there are too many matches made merely from a fancy, and that is one cause of so many unhappy marriages and so many divorces. When I marry, it will be to give my love and attention to one man, and I shall expect all his love in return.”
“Are you not a little selfish?”
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“In that respect, yes; though I should never exact of a man that which he did not freely bestow. I wish the man I marry to fully understand himself, and know whether he is willing to give me all his love or only a portion of it.”
“Ah, well, it is according to the ways of society, my dear Miss Wilmer. Now, by way of illustration, there is your brother’s wife. Why, really she receives more attention from Mr. Brunswick than she does from your brother—that is, in society, but of course it is only innocent flirtation. She is very much admired by all society men. I am more than half in love with her myself.”
“So you see that the woman who marries you will receive less than a moiety,” June said quickly.
Mr. Linton had forgotten to whom he was speaking, and his true ideas shot forth before he was aware of it.
“Oh—that is—I admire her very much, and really one cannot blame him for paying her some attention, for she is a beauty.”
“But she is my brother’s wife, Mr. Linton, and men have no right to be too attentive to married women.”
She did not say that Rene should have remembered the great responsibility that was resting on her, although she blamed her fully as much as she did her admirers; but she was Scott’s wife, and for his sake she would screen her as much as she could.
“Many men live for the society that surrounds them,” said Mr. Linton.
“As for society,” said June, speaking with emphasis, “it will not support me or make my happiness, and120though I am fond of it, and love to have my friends near me, I think the rules of propriety should be adhered to in all cases.”
“You are quite right, and if my wife were to receive marked attention from other gentlemen I should command her not to allow it—but please give me your answer. Remember, it is for life, and what you are rejecting.”
“I have considered, and still say I have not the least thought of marriage.”
“But I can wait.”
“It is useless. You see, our tastes are not congenial.”
“I cannot see why.”
“I will tell you. First, you were born and reared in England. Your parents, as you have told me, are bitterly opposed to your marrying an American girl, thinking they are all beneath you. I love America and her laws and the very word liberty.”
“Your country has too much liberty. You see, you have such a mixture here, and they all have the same rights, rich and poor.”
“Yes, and if I had the right to vote I should vote for the man of real worth, whether a prince or a pauper.”
“You would not vote, would you?”
“Certainly.”
“I am shocked, don’t you know? I would never allow my wife to do such a bold act.”
“I suppose not; so we should quarrel. You see, we are quarreling now.”
“Oh, June, darling, we could never quarrel. I admire121your face and form just as much as ever, and I know you do not mean half you say.”
“I certainly do mean all I say. You admire my form and face, but not my principles. They are not at all suited to your ideas of propriety, and you see we are not in harmony, and after the romance of marriage had worn off and we became settled in life, there would be jarring and discord, and finally contention. We would be like the keys of an instrument broken and out of tune. Every note struck would fail to harmonize, and the result would be extreme dissatisfaction and general displeasure, and a desire to seek other society, which sooner or later leads to the ruin of one or both.”
“But see how many of our nobility are marrying American heiresses.”
“And who is getting the best of the bargain? How many of them are truly happy?”
“What a broad view you take of the matter, Miss June.”
“If everyone would take a broader view of the subject, and study the character of each, instead of being carried away by a foolish infatuation, there would be far more happiness.”
“You are cruel to refuse me.”
“I should be far more so were I to accept you.”
“I shall never, never give you up.”
122CHAPTER XVI.A SHADOWED HOME.
They had wandered toward the house, and June, looking up, beheld Paul standing before her. His face was very pale, and it was evident that he was laboring under some great excitement. His presence angered Mr. Linton, who at best was not in a happy mood, but who said in a voice of extreme hauteur:
“Well, sir, please tell us why you are standing here.”
“I came to speak to Miss June,” Paul answered in a trembling voice.
“Speak, and be gone, then.”
June wondered that Mr. Linton dare speak in tones of such austerity to a member of her family, but she was the hostess and Mr. Linton her guest, so she offered no rebuke.
“Why don’t you speak? Are you trying to frame an excuse?”
Paul’s eyes flashed forth a strange, fiery light, but instantly melted to one of dreamy sadness, and in a voice full of emotion he said:
“Pardon me, Miss June, but you will be obliged to come to your father’s room. He has been taken with a123bad hemorrhage, and a heart spasm. Your mother and brother are with him, and the physician has been sent for, but he seems to be growing worse. I looked for your sister, but could not find her.”
“She is promenading with Mr. Brunswick. Mr. Linton, you will please find her, and send her to us, will you not?” June asked, and then a low moan escaped the lips which had grown so deadly white.
“Go. I will send her,” Mr. Linton replied.
He found Rene seated on a rustic bench beside Max, with her hand clasped in his. She received the message which he delivered seemingly much agitated, but she did not arise, and Mr. Linton walked away, leaving them as he found them.
“Oh, dear,” said Irene with a shiver, nestling closer to Max, “isn’t it too bad? I hope he will not die; I look so much older in black. It isn’t a bit becoming, and to think that it should happen right in the midst of our party. I declare it is enough to make any one out of patience. I cannot go to the house, for I should get frightened to death to see any person die.”
“I cannot let you go, then. Perhaps you had better wait until it is over.”
“I am afraid Scott will give me a terrible scolding. You do not know him; he is so cruel.”
“Cruel to you, my darling? The man who could be so is a brute,” and Max bent his handsome head until his lips touched the silken hair of the fair, weak woman whom he was leading on from the high pedestal on which she might have stood, down, down to the lowest depths of woman’s degradation.
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“Be careful,” she said, smiling and lifting her jewelled hand, “he might be looking for me; you know he is terribly jealous.”
“How very hard it is to think of spending your life with one so wholly unsuited to you.”
“Oh, dear, yes; and now I see it when it is too late to rectify the mistake.”
“It is not yet too late.”
“Why, what do you mean?” she asked, feigning innocence.
“Divorces are common. Do you understand me now?”
She looked into his eyes and smiled her answer.
When June reached her father’s room she found Scott standing at the head of the bed, gazing sadly into his father’s face. Her mother knelt beside, weeping bitterly, her silver-gray dress sweeping the carpet. June cast one loving glance at the white face with its bright crimson spot on either cheek lying back upon the snowy pillow. The closed eyes and the short, quick breath of the sufferer filled her soul with an agony almost unbearable, and Scott, seeing her grief, drew her in a close embrace, and laying her bright young head upon his shoulder, she wept the bitterest tears she had ever known. A silence reigned throughout the spacious parlors below, and one by one the guests, who had met there in all their joyousness, quietly departed without formality—left the hearts they had found buoyed up with joyful anticipations, now bowed down in deepest grief. Who can portray the sorrow of the heart breaking by the departure of a loved one from life? Paul, unable to control his grief, turned his face away from that of125the sufferer, and as he did so his attention was attracted toward Bob, who had perched himself upon the foot of the bed, and in a low, mournful sound called out:
“Good night, good night.”
Mr. Wilmer’s eyes slowly unclosed, and while a faint smile rested on his lips he said in a weak voice: “Good night, Bob.”
The bird, seemingly satisfied, drew his head down and closed his eyes.
“Eva, darling, come a little nearer,” the sick man said, reaching out his thin white hand. “I shall leave you soon.”
A heart-rending sob broke from the lips of the grief-stricken wife.
“Do not weep for me, dear wife. Remember, this life is not all. I am going to a brighter world. I am so weary of this pain, and I would be at rest. The hardest of all is to leave my loved ones. Will you try to meet me? You have been a good wife, and I leave you my blessing. Meet me in that world, where we shall never part again.”
Mrs. Wilmer could not speak, and only heart-rending sobs broke the stillness of that death chamber.
“God bless you, my children,” he said, turning his eyes toward them. “You have been very dear to me. June, love and trust your brother, as ever you have, and Scott, take good care of your mother and sister. I can die easy leaving all in your care. June, my little darling June, what a blessing you have been to me. Comfort your mother when I am gone, and meet me in heaven. Paul; where is Paul?”
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Paul glided silently toward the bed, and kneeling by its side bowed his head in silent agony.
“Paul, dear Paul, I shall soon be at rest, and I hope to meet you in the beautiful world where I go. You have been a good, faithful friend, and have cheered many an hour that would have been dark without your presence. Be faithful to your mission; you have a great one yet to perform.” The words sank deeply into Paul’s heart, and they acted as an incentive to urge him to his duty.
“Rene, dear child,” whispered the sick man, “where are you?”
“She will be here soon,” said Scott, vainly trying to hide his emotion, at the same time wondering how she could be so cruel as to stay away when she knew that death was entering their home.
“Rene,” he whispered again, “I am going. Tell her I leave my blessing, as I leave with you all, my loved ones.”
The physician had entered, and looking at the patient, shook his head and turned away.
“Can you do nothing?” Scott asked in a husky voice, showing the agony he was trying so hard to conceal.
The dreaded sentence fell from the doctor’s lips.
“He has passed mortal aid,” he said, then left them to their sorrow. Two hours passed by. Sadly and silently that group sat beside the bed and watched the spark of life die away. The crimson spots faded slowly from the pale face, giving place to a marble whiteness, and peacefully the sufferer slept the sleep that knows no waking.
Irene entered stealthily, her satin slippers and creamy127robes soiled and wet with dew. She tried to appear as though she had no knowledge of the affair, and nearing Scott, she looked on the face of the dead.
“Oh, papa; poor dear papa,” she screamed. “Is he dead? Can’t you speak to me?”
“Hush,” said Scott, in a low, commanding voice. “He left you his blessing. You were sent for, but did not see fit to come. Do not add insult to injury.”
“Oh, is he dead?” she asked again.
“Father, dear father,” said Scott, bending down. “Can it be—oh, mother—June, he is dead.”
And Scott, with voiceless lips and tearless eyes, bowed his head in deepest agony.
128CHAPTER XVII.THE REMOVAL.
Scott had decided to remove to New York. There were several reasons why he wished to change his place of residence. One was that he thought a change would be beneficial to his mother, who grieved so over the loss of his father, whom she had deeply loved. Another reason he had, he thought that Irene might be happier if she were removed from the object of her foolish infatuation. He had learned from his own keen observation that she was not what a true wife should be, and he resolved that no lack of duty on his part should make her more unhappy. She was his wife, bound to him by God’s law, and if he had made a great mistake, either by his own lack of penetration or her artfulness, it must be borne by both until the end came. There was no other alternative. He would persuade her, if possible, and if that were not sufficient he would command her to be more careful in future. Already the voice of slander was wafted on the winds, and Scott felt that he could bear anything better than disgrace; and should that ever come to his home, his worst heartache would be for his mother and sister. June was as129true as steel, and his mother, even though she had been led into a foolish vanity, had the highest regard for virtue.
Scott had noticed that Rene did not act as prudent as she should, and he had carefully watched her movements, hoping that his fears were groundless. He had at one time watched his opportunity, and disguising himself, saw Max and Irene leave the opera together, and following closely, caught a portion of their conversation. They had turned on a dimly lighted street, and no doubt, thought they were quite unobserved. Scott’s first impulse was to rush up and confront the guilty pair, as any other less calculating than he would have done, but after a moment’s reflection decided to follow quietly.
“No,” Irene was saying in answer to some question Max had asked. “No, I shall always love you, but I must be miserable as long as I live. I love you better than any one in all the world, but we can only be friends.”
“But, my darling, my beautiful angel,” he said. “I cannot live without you, and your husband does not care for you as I do; and if you will only tell him what a mistake you have made, he will be satisfied.”
“Oh, I wish he knew, but I cannot tell him.”
“There are other ways without having an unpleasant interview.”
Scott did not hear Irene’s reply, but he had heard enough to blight the very life of a heart less brave than his, and possessing a love as strong as his own, and when they turned the next corner he hurried to130his own room to decide what was best for him to do in the matter. He had taken a shorter route home, and when Irene entered he was sitting quietly by his own fireside.
He had looked the matter over, and after careful study decided to leave the home of his youth and look for happiness elsewhere. His father had now been dead six months, and by promising his mother that his remains should be removed, she consented to make the change. June shed many a tear at the thought of leaving her old home, but she never opposed the arrangement, thinking that Scott might be happier elsewhere. She had observed that he was far from happy, although he had never spoken one word to her in a disparaging way of his wife, but she knew he was aware of Rene’s vanity. She had often thought she would tell him what she knew, but a fear of making him more unhappy restrained her; and thus the days passed by, and the dark gulf between the husband and the one who should have been his greatest comfort was each day growing broader and deeper, and its waters more bitter, until they seemed at times to throw high their huge waves and carry him down to despair. But his brave manhood would assert its power, and, rising above the waves of grief and shame that surged about him, Scott Wilmer stood firmly upon the rock of his lofty aspirations, and by the strength of his mighty will emerged with a new purity of heart and purpose. He firmly resolved that when they were settled in their new home he would seek an interview with his wife, and perhaps when she was away from her present surroundings, and131he had reasoned with her, she might forget her foolish infatuation.
They grew more and more like strangers. Perhaps, he thought, it might be in a measure some fault of his own, and if there could be a way to rebuild their lost happiness, he would do all in his power to make amends for the past. His love, and he feared his respect also, was growing less, but he would be true to her as long as she lived. He would screen her as long as she gave him the right. When he imparted to her his intention to seek another home she made no reply. She really did not know whether she was glad or sorry. In one way she was delighted—she would find a place where there would be a greater amount of gaiety, but she would be so sorry to leave Max. So studying between the two conditions, she received the news indifferently.
132CHAPTER XVIII.THE INTERVIEW.
It was the first of December that the old home passed into the hands of strangers, and the Wilmer family took up their abode in a fashionable part of the city of New York. The air of refinement which they carried with them, and the fact of their being wealthy, soon drew around them a large circle of friends, and among them Irene shone a bright star in the world of fashion. Guy Horton was there, established in an extensive publishing business, and he and Scott were soon fast friends. The longer Scott knew Guy the better opinion he formed of his character. Aside from a slight show of egotism, he thought Guy almost faultless. Irene had remarked to June that she would be glad when the year was up, that she could leave off that horrid black. “For,” said she, “you look lovely in black, but I am a fright. I am glad that Scott never notices how I look, any way.”
It was very true that the horrid black, as Irene termed it, was for some reason much more becoming to June than to herself. The sombre robes gave a still more lovely glow to June’s pearly complexion and sunny hair, but Irene looked much older in black.
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It was now the first of February. Scott had asked his wife to meet him in his study. They had grown to be such strangers that formality seemed hardly out of place between them. She came with a reluctant step, like a guilty child who is looking for a chastisement, and with a cool bow took the chair which he very politely offered her, sitting where the light fell dimly on her face.
“I have requested your presence here that we might speak on a very painful subject.”
She settled back in the soft cushions, but did not speak.
“I beg you will listen, and answer me truthfully.”
The crimson blood mounted to her face, but she dare not raise her eyes and look in Scott’s face.
“I have not requested this interview to upbraid you,” he continued, “but merely to learn your intentions. It may save you a great deal of surmising for me to state to you that I am acquainted with the fact that you care more for another than you do for me, and God knows that I am sorry that you have learned it too late.”
She started to her feet, but he gently reseated her.
“Be quiet,” he said in a firm voice. “I have no desire to intimidate you, or to make you feel unhappy. I only wish to ask you if the life we are living is to continue?”
His hazel eyes seemed to pierce her very soul. She did not speak, and he continued:
“It has become a burden to me, and rather than that it should continue I would prefer death.”
She stole a glance at his face. The keen, penetrating134look in his eyes had given place to one of extreme sadness, and almost any heart would have been moved to remorse, but between her face and his own there came another whose beauty blotted out every other object, and made her forget for the time that she was a wife, and forget, too, the vast importance of the answer she should make.
“I am willing, Irene, to forgive, and as far as in my power lies, to forget, and take you back to my heart, if you can say that you come with a determination to live for your own and my happiness, but never must that bold villain who holds such an influence over you cross my threshold. Will you consent?”
Again the handsome face arose before her, sealing her lips to that which should in justice, have been said.
“Irene, I warn you now. Remember what you are doing. I am sorry for you, but the die is cast, and there is but one thing in all the world to do, and thereby protect your honor; do you know what it is?”
“I suppose it is to spend my days with a man who has not one thought in common with my own; to live with a man I never can love, and who does not love me.”
Scott arose with compressed lips and pale face. His arms were folded across his manly breast, a favorite attitude with him when laboring under any excitement.
“No, it is not. The house is at your disposal, just as ever. If you have found you have made so great a mistake, keep the society of your lady friends, and I will not trouble you, but for the sake of yourself, for the sake of my mother and sister, if not for me, do nothing to disgrace us.”
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“You have no heart, Scott Wilmer,” she said, bursting into a flood of angry tears, “and the best thing we can do is to live apart.”
“One moment, Irene,” Scott said as she started to leave the room, but she heeded not his words, and closing the door with a crash, she went to her room and penned the following lines:
“Dearest: The end has come at last. Come to me at once and we will make arrangements for our departure. Your own,R.”
“Dearest: The end has come at last. Come to me at once and we will make arrangements for our departure. Your own,
R.”
Two days later she was busy packing her clothing. Very cautiously she worked, being careful not to come in contact with her husband.
June was all taken up with her harp lessons, learning, she knew, just because that important Guy Horton liked the music of it.
At the end of the third day, as Paul was passing her room, Irene called him in. Paul wondered that she should do him such an honor, and still more surprised was he when she asked him to do her a favor, to which Paul answered that he would if he could.
“I know you can,” she said, putting on one of her most bewitching smiles.
Paul did not readily accept flattery, and he supposed that Irene was about to ask a favor that she could not obtain in any other way, but he waited as patiently and accepted the terms as politely as though she were a queen.
“Paul,” she said, “I am going away for a time, and I wish to ask you to attend to a little matter of business for me. I am expecting a letter from papa which will136contain a check. Please cash it and send it by express. Here is the order. I will let you know later where to send it.”
“I would rather you would leave the business with your husband. I think he is the proper one.”
“No,” she said abruptly, “I wish you to do the favor for me. Can’t I trust you to do a small favor?”
“Certainly you can,” said Paul, a new idea entering his head.
“And will you?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I shall never be able to thank you enough. There, let me pay you for your trouble; take this money.”
“No, I shall not accept a penny. I am not in need of money.”
“You will attend to the business for me, though?”
“Yes.”
“And be sure and not mention it to my husband. You receive all the mail that comes to the house, and when you find one marked San Bernardino you will know it is from my father.”
“San Bernardino,” Paul repeated.
“Yes; don’t forget. If it comes soon, bring it to the Grand Central and see if I am there; if I am not, do as I have directed you. Will you promise me this, and keep it a secret?”
“I will promise to do the business according to your orders.”
“Thank you, Paul. If I can ever serve you in any way I will do so.”
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Paul bowed and left the room. His brain was very busy with several plans which he was working up, and he must have time to calculate, for though they might not one of them be of any importance, they were weighty enough for his young brain to master, and he must be by himself. He had some work to do for his employer, an errand or two for Irene, a piece of work of his own that must be done, and then he would take time to think.
Two days later Paul received the letter of which Irene had spoken, and accordingly made haste to fulfill his promise. He reached the hotel, and stepping in, sought Irene and delivered the letter. She did not seem at all anxious that Paul should stay, but said hurriedly: “Thank you, Paul; I may write you some day and perhaps ask another favor of you.”
Then she closed the massive door and Paul was left standing alone. He entered the street thinking that it was all very strange, and there must be something about Irene’s intentions that were highly improper. He had in his possession another letter which Irene had given him to deliver to Scott, and to-day he must do that errand. He wondered if the letter contained anything unpleasant.
138CHAPTER XIX.A FATAL STEP.
“Mr. Wilmer, here is a letter for you,” said Paul, entering his employer’s room.
“Where did you get this?” Scott asked, looking at the envelope.
“It was given me by your wife to deliver to you.”
Scott was just preparing to go to the office, and was standing by the mantel gazing down as though in a deep study. He had broken the seal and read the letter. Then, while a deathly pallor overspread his fine features, he sank into a chair and laid his head on the boy’s shoulders.
“Oh, Paul,” he groaned, “has it come to this? Poor, foolish girl. Oh, what a terrible mistake we both made in our marriage.
“Poor, foolish, weak woman. Poor girl, her punishment will come sooner or later, and God knows I pity her.”
Paul passed his hand over Scott’s brow with a tender, loving caress, then his finger-tips rested lightly on the rings of hair which clustered around his brow, and softly the great tears fell and dropped on Scott’s hand.
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“What, crying, my boy? Tears are only for women; not for a brave boy like you.”
“I know it,” Paul said, wiping his eyes, “but you are so cruelly wronged. I know you must be, or you would not look so white. Oh, I hope the woman who has ruined your happiness will never see a happy day.”
“Hush, Paul,” said Scott quickly. “Sin brings its own reward, and remember that shewasmy wife. God help her, and bring her the happiness she is seeking. Please bring mother and June.”
Paul left the room and soon returned, accompanied by Mrs. Wilmer and June.
“What is it, my son?” Mrs. Wilmer asked, noticing the white, sad look on Scott’s face.
“Mother, please be seated and read this aloud, if you can, that June and Paul may know its contents.”
Mrs. Wilmer read the letter, which ran as follows:
“Scott: I am going away. I have learned, after a long time, that we both made a great mistake, and the best way to undo the wrong is to try to do justice to ourselves by finding companions more suitable to our natures. You will see for yourself that it was the one great mistake of our lives—at least of mine. I have found my affinity, and hope that some day you will be happier with yours than you ever were with Irene Mapleton. I suppose you will heap all sorts of abuse upon me for bringing disgrace upon the Wilmer name, as you no doubt will call it, but I could not live as we were, and that last cruel reprimand decided me. I am going to a heart that is filled with a deep and lasting140love. I suppose you will hardly have time to search for me, and I assure you it will be quite useless to do so, as nothing can induce me to return.“Irene Mapleton.”
“Scott: I am going away. I have learned, after a long time, that we both made a great mistake, and the best way to undo the wrong is to try to do justice to ourselves by finding companions more suitable to our natures. You will see for yourself that it was the one great mistake of our lives—at least of mine. I have found my affinity, and hope that some day you will be happier with yours than you ever were with Irene Mapleton. I suppose you will heap all sorts of abuse upon me for bringing disgrace upon the Wilmer name, as you no doubt will call it, but I could not live as we were, and that last cruel reprimand decided me. I am going to a heart that is filled with a deep and lasting140love. I suppose you will hardly have time to search for me, and I assure you it will be quite useless to do so, as nothing can induce me to return.
“Irene Mapleton.”
Mrs. Wilmer handed the letter to Scott, as in a trembling voice she said:
“Oh, Scott, my poor boy.”
“Poor Scott,” said June, and “Poor Scott” seemed to ring involuntarily from Paul’s lips.
“Poor Scott!” screamed Bob, who had perched himself on the mantel.
Scott smiled.
“Yes, ‘poor Scott’ will be the cry everywhere, and what a hero Colonel Brunswick will be,” said June. “Oh, I could almost hate her for her cruelty.”
“Don’t, June,” said Scott.
“It is time I was at the office,” continued he.
“How can you think of attending to business, when your mind is so troubled?” Mrs. Wilmer asked.
“Our lives must go on, and our duty be performed, whether we carry a load or go empty handed,” Scott replied.
“What a brave man you are, and how any woman can throw away such happiness I cannot tell,” said Mrs. Wilmer, wiping away her tears.
June looked out at the dreary sky. How her heart ached as she watched the floating clouds. She went to the family parlor and rang a few chords on the harp, but it sounded mournful and out of tune. She walked to the window, then back to the harp. “I don’t141wonder you are out of tune,” she said. “Everything around seems to be, and all through one weak and discordant string.”
Guy stepped in to inquire for Scott. He had grown almost like one of the family, and was allowed the privilege of coming when he chose, regardless of form.
Quickly noticing June’s tear stained eyes, he asked if she were in trouble.
June sighed. How could she tell him of Scott’s disgrace. She knew, however, that she must, for if she did not, the unpleasant task fell on Scott. She hardly knew how to begin, and after several unsuccessful efforts she burst into tears.
“What is it, June, dear?” Guy asked in surprise, and then before he realized it himself his arm was around her waist, and her head was brought down on his shoulder. “What are all these tears for?”
As soon as June could command her voice she told him all. Guy fully sympathized with her, telling her there was no use crying over what could not be helped.
“But, June, you should not make yourself unhappy. Few men have more courage than Scott, and few are as capable of mastering difficulties, and doubtless he will in time conquer his grief by his wonderful determination.”
“Yes, he will conquer just because he must. I never knew a grander nature than that of my brother.”
Guy turned to leave the room, then as if taken by a sudden impulse, he took a step nearer to June, saying:
“Miss June, will you allow me to call some evening soon and have a talk with you?”
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“Certainly. Come and talk as long as you please,” June answered.
“Then dry your eyes and see if you cannot be as brave in this trouble as your brother.”
A half sad smile passed over June’s lips as she said:
“Oh, I shall never be brave like Scott; few people are.”
“I wish I were like Scott.”
June’s lily white face fairly blazed with crimson, and Guy, seeing her confusion, begged her pardon.
If Mr. Linton were just like him, she thought she could have received his attentions with a great deal more pleasure. Mr. Linton had written to her that he should see her in New York, but she hoped he would remain at home; she had no desire to see him now, especially since the unpleasant affair of the elopement.
“Guy,” she said, glad of the opportunity to broach a new subject, “I have been thinking of asking your sister Carrie to come and spend the remainder of the winter with me. I know she is lonely without you, and I am lonely, too.”
“Not without me, certainly,” Guy said in a mocking way.
“Oh, no, certainly not; but I shall miss Rene, even though she was not a bit suited to my taste,” and here again June’s eyes filled with tears.
“There, you are losing your courage again. If you wish me to use my influence to have Carrie come, you must be sensible and stop that crying.”
Guy took his leave, wondering if in all the world there was such a dear, sensible girl as June Wilmer. He143had no remembrance of ever having seen more than one, and she was the pretty little gypsy-like girl his Aunt Platts had adopted, and though she was quite as sensible, she was not one bit like June, and with all her aptitude, she lacked the polish that gave that brilliancy to June’s character. He wondered what had become of her.