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<= o:p>
Pauline’s Passion And
Punishment
By
Louisa May Alcott
Contents
Chapter 1=
span>
To and fro, like a wild creature in its ca=
ge,
paced that handsome woman, with bent head, locked hands, and restless steps.
Some mental storm, swift and sudden as a tempest of the tropics, had swept =
over
her and left its marks behind. As if in anger at the beauty now proved powe=
rless,
all ornaments had been flung away, yet still it shone undimmed, and filled =
her
with a passionate regret. A jewel glittered at her feet, leaving the lace r=
ent
to shreds on the indignant bosom that had worn it; the wreaths of hair that=
had
crowned her with a woman's most womanly adornment fell disordered upon
shoulders that gleamed the fairer for the scarlet of the pomegranate flowers
clinging to the bright meshes that had imprisoned them an hour ago; and over
the face, once so affluent in youthful bloom, a stern pallor had fallen lik=
e a
blight, for pride was slowly conquering passion, and despair had murdered h=
ope.
Pausing in her troubled march, she swept a=
way
the curtain swaying in the wind and looked out, as if imploring help from
Nature, the great mother of us all. A summer moon rode high in a cloudless
heaven, and far as eye could reach stretched the green wilderness of a Cuban
cafetal. No forest, but a tropical orchard, rich in lime, banana, plantain,
palm, and orange trees, under whose protective shade grew the evergreen cof=
fee plant,
whose dark-red berries are the fortune of their possessor, and the luxury of
one-half the world. Wide avenues diverging from the mansion, with its belt =
of
brilliant shrubs and flowers, formed shadowy vistas, along which, on the wi=
ngs
of the wind, came a breath of far-off music, like a wooing voice; for the m=
agic
of night and distance lulled the cadence of a Spanish contradanza to a tran=
ce
of sound, soft, subdued, and infinitely sweet. It was a southern scene, but=
not
a southern face that looked out upon it with such unerring glance; there wa=
s no
southern languor in the figure, stately and erect; no southern swarthiness =
on
fairest cheek and arm; no southern darkness in the shadowy gold of the
neglected hair; the light frost of northern snows lurked in the features,
delicately cut, yet vividly alive, betraying a temperament ardent, dominant,
and subtle. For passion burned in the deep eyes, changing their violet to
black. Pride sat on the forehead, with its dark brows; all a woman's sweete=
st
spells touched the lips, whose shape was a smile; and in the spirited carri=
age
of the head appeared the freedom of an intellect ripened under colder skies,
the energy of a nature that could wring strength from suffering, and dare to
act where feebler souls would only dare desire.
Standing thus, conscious only of the wound
that bled in that high heart of hers, and the longing that gradually took s=
hape
and deepened to a purpose, an alien presence changed the tragic atmosphere =
of that
still room and woke her from her dangerous mood. A wonderfully winning guis=
e this
apparition wore, for youth, hope, and love endowed it with the charm that g=
ives
beauty to the plainest, while their reign endures. A boy in any other clima=
te,
in this his nineteen years had given him the stature of a man; and Spain, t=
he
land of romance, seemed embodied in this figure, full of the lithe slendern=
ess
of the whispering palms overhead, the warm coloring of the deep-toned flowe=
rs
sleeping in the room, the native grace of the tame antelope lifting its hum=
an
eyes to his as he lingered on the threshold in an attitude eager yet timid,=
watching
that other figure as it looked into the night and found no solace there.
"Pauline!"
She turned as if her thought had taken voi=
ce
and answered her, regarded him a moment, as if hesitating to receive the
granted wish, then beckoned with the one word.
"Come!"
Instantly the fear vanished, the ardor
deepened, and with an imperious "Lie down!" to his docile attenda=
nt,
the young man obeyed with equal docility, looking as wistfully toward his
mistress as the brute toward her master, while he waited proudly humble for=
her
commands.
"Manuel, why are you here?"
"Forgive me! I saw Dolores bring a
letter; you vanished, an hour passed, I could wait no longer, and I came.&q=
uot;
"I am glad, I needed my one friend. R=
ead
that."
She offered a letter, and with her steady =
eyes
upon him, her purpose strengthening as she looked, stood watching the chang=
es
of that expressive countenance. This was the letter:
Pauline--
Six months ago I left you, promising to re=
turn
and take you home my wife; I loved you, but I deceived you; for though my h=
eart
was wholly yours, my hand was not mine to give. This it was that haunted me
through all that blissful summer, this that marred my happiness when you ow=
ned you
loved me, and this drove me from you, hoping I could break the tie with whi=
ch I
had rashly bound myself. I could not, I am married, and there all ends. Hate
me, forget me, solace your pride with the memory that none knew your wrong,
assure your peace with the knowledge that mine is destroyed forever, and le=
ave
my punishment to remorse and time.
Gilbert
With
a gesture of wrathful contempt, Manuel flung the paper from him as he flash=
ed a
look at his companion, muttering through his teeth, "Traitor! Shall I =
kill
him?"
Pauline laughed low to herself, a dreary
sound, but answered with a slow darkening of the face that gave her words an
ominous significance. "Why should you? Such revenge is brief and paltr=
y,
fit only for mock tragedies or poor souls who have neither the will to devi=
se
nor the will to execute a better. There are fates more terrible than death;
weapons more keen than poniards, more noiseless than pistols. Women use suc=
h, and
work out a subtler vengeance than men can conceive. Leave Gilbert to remors=
e--and
me."
She paused an instant, and by some strong
effort banished the black frown from her brow, quenched the baleful fire of=
her
eyes, and left nothing visible but the pale determination that made her
beautiful face more eloquent than her words.
"Manuel, in a week I leave the
island."
"Alone, Pauline?"
"No, not alone."
A moment they looked into each other's eye=
s,
each endeavoring to read the other. Manuel saw some indomitable purpose, be=
nt
on conquering all obstacles. Pauline saw doubt, desire, and hope; knew that=
a
word would bring the ally she needed; and, with a courage as native to her =
as
her pride, resolved to utter it.
Seating herself, she beckoned her companio=
n to
assume the place beside her, but for the first time he hesitated. Something=
in
the unnatural calmness of her manner troubled him, for his southern tempera=
ment
was alive to influences whose presence would have been unfelt by one less s=
ensitive.
He took the cushion at her feet, saying, half tenderly, half reproachfully,
"Let me keep my old place till I know in what character I am to fill t=
he
new. The man you trusted has deserted you; the boy you pitied will prove lo=
yal.
Try him, Pauline."
"I will."
And with the bitter smile unchanged upon h=
er
lips, the low voice unshaken in its tones, the deep eyes unwavering in their
gaze, Pauline went on:
"You know my past, happy as a dream t=
ill
eighteen. Then all was swept away, home, fortune, friends, and I was left, =
like
an unfledged bird, without even the shelter of a cage. For five years I have
made my life what I could, humble, honest, but never happy, till I came her=
e,
for here I saw Gilbert. In the poor companion of your guardian's daughter h=
e seemed
to see the heiress I had been, and treated me as such. This flattered my pr=
ide
and touched my heart. He was kind, I grateful; then he loved me, and God kn=
ows
how utterly I loved him! A few months of happiness the purest, then he went=
to
make home ready for me, and I believed him; for where I wholly love I wholly
trust. While my own peace was undisturbed, I learned to read the language of
your eyes, Manuel, to find the boy grown into the man, the friend warmed in=
to a
lover. Your youth had kept me blind too long. Your society had grown dear to
me, and I loved you like a sister for your unvarying kindness to the solita=
ry woman
who earned her bread and found it bitter. I told you my secret to prevent t=
he
utterance of your own. You remember the promise you made me then, keep it
still, and bury the knowledge of my lost happiness deep in your pitying hea=
rt,
as I shall in my proud one. Now the storm is over, and I am ready for my wo=
rk
again, but it must be a new task in a new scene. I hate this house, this ro=
om,
the faces I must meet, the duties I must perform, for the memory of that
traitor haunts them all. I see a future full of interest, a stage whereon I
could play a stirring part. I long for it intensely, yet cannot make it mine
alone. Manuel, do you love me still?"
Bending suddenly, she brushed back the dark
hair that streaked his forehead and searched the face that in an instant
answered her. Like a swift rising light, the eloquent blood rushed over swa=
rthy
cheek and brow, the slumberous softness of the eyes kindled with a flash, a=
nd
the lips, sensitive as any woman's, trembled yet broke into a rapturous smi=
le
as he cried, with fervent brevity, "I would die for you!"
A look of triumph swept across her face, f=
or
with this boy, as chivalrous as ardent, she knew that words were not mere
breath. Still, with her stern purpose uppermost, she changed the bitter smi=
le
into one half-timid, half-tender, as she bent still nearer, "Manuel, i=
n a
week I leave the island. Shall I go alone?"
"No, Pauline."
He understood her now. She saw it in the
sudden paleness that fell on him, heard it in the rapid beating of his hear=
t,
felt it in the strong grasp that fastened on her hand, and knew that the fi=
rst
step was won. A regretful pang smote her, but the dark mood which had taken
possession of her stifled the generous warnings of her better self and drove
her on.
"Listen, Manuel. A strange spirit rul=
es
me tonight, but I will have no reserves from you, all shall be told; then, =
if
you will come, be it so; if not, I shall go my way as solitary as I came. If
you think that this loss has broken my heart, undeceive yourself, for such =
as I
live years in an hour and show no sign. I have shed no tears, uttered no cr=
y,
asked no comfort; yet, since I read that letter, I have suffered more than =
many
suffer in a lifetime. I am not one to lament long over any hopeless sorrow.=
A
single paroxysm, sharp and short, and it is over. Contempt has killed my lo=
ve,
I have buried it, and no power can make it live again, except as a pale gho=
st
that will not rest till Gilbert shall pass through an hour as bitter as the
last."
"Is that the task you give yourself,
Pauline?"
The savage element that lurks in southern
blood leaped up in the boy's heart as he listened, glittered in his eye, and
involuntarily found expression in the nervous grip of the hands that folded=
a
fairer one between them. Alas for Pauline that she had roused the sleeping
devil, and was glad to see it!
"Yes, it is weak, wicked, and unwoman=
ly;
yet I persist as relentlessly as any Indian on a war trail. See me as I am,=
not
the gay girl you have known, but a revengeful woman with but one tender spot
now left in her heart, the place you fill. I have been wronged, and I long =
to
right myself at once. Time is too slow; I cannot wait, for that man must be=
taught
that two can play at the game of hearts, taught soon and sharply. I can do
this, can wound as I have been wounded, can sting him with contempt, and pr=
ove
that I too can forget."
"Go on, Pauline. Show me how I am to =
help
you."
"Manuel, I want fortune, rank, splend=
or,
and power; you can give me all these, and a faithful friend beside. I desir=
e to
show Gilbert the creature he deserted no longer poor, unknown, unloved, but
lifted higher than himself, cherished, honored, applauded, her life one of
royal pleasure, herself a happy queen. Beauty, grace, and talent you tell m=
e I possess;
wealth gives them luster, rank exalts them, power makes them irresistible.
Place these worldly gifts in my hand and that hand is yours. See, I offer
it."
She did so, but it was not taken. Manuel h=
ad
left his seat and now stood before her, awed by the undertone of strong emo=
tion
in her calmly spoken words, bewildered by the proposal so abruptly made,
longing to ask the natural question hovering on his lips, yet too generous =
to
utter it. Pauline read his thought, and answered it with no touch of pain or
pride in the magical voice that seldom spoke in vain.
"I know your wish; it is as just as y=
our
silence is generous, and I reply to it in all sincerity. You would ask, 'Wh=
en I
have given all that I possess, what do I receive in return?' This--a wife w=
hose
friendship is as warm as many a woman's love; a wife who will give you all =
the heart
still left her, and cherish the hope that time may bring a harvest of real
affection to repay you for the faithfulness of years; who, though she takes=
the
retribution of a wrong into her hands and executes it in the face of heaven,
never will forget the honorable name you give into her keeping or blemish i=
t by
any act of hers. I can promise no more. Will this content you, Manuel?"=
;
Before she ended his face was hidden in his
hands, and tears streamed through them as he listened, for like a true chil=
d of
the south each emotion found free vent and spent itself as swiftly as it ro=
se.
The reaction was more than he could bear, for in a moment his life was chan=
ged,
months of hopeless longing were banished with a word, a blissful yes cancel=
ed
the hard no that had been accepted as inexorable, and Happiness, lifting her
full cup to his lips, bade him drink. A moment he yielded to the natural
relief, then dashed his tears away and threw himself at Pauline's feet in t=
hat
attitude fit only for a race as graceful as impassioned.
"Forgive me! Take all I have--fortune,
name, and my poor self; use us as you will, we are proud and happy to be sp=
ent
for you! No service will be too hard, no trial too long if in the end you l=
earn
to love me with one tithe of the affection I have made my life. Do you mean=
it?
Am I to go with you? To be near you always, to call you wife, and know we a=
re
each other's until death? What have I ever done to earn a fate like this?&q=
uot;
Fast and fervently he spoke, and very wins=
ome
was the glad abandonment of this young lover, half boy, half man, possessing
the simplicity of the one, the fervor of the other. Pauline looked and list=
ened
with a soothing sense of consolation in the knowledge that this loyal heart=
was
all her own, a sweet foretaste of the devotion which henceforth was to shel=
ter
her from poverty, neglect, and wrong, and turn life's sunniest side to one =
who
had so long seen only its most bleak and barren. Still at her feet, his arms
about her waist, his face flushed and proud, lifted to hers, Manuel saw the
cold mask soften, the stern eyes melt with a sudden dew as Pauline watched =
him,
saying, "Dear Manuel, love me less; I am not worth such ardent and ent=
ire
faith. Pause and reflect before you take this step. I will not bind you to =
my
fate too soon lest you repent too late. We both stand alone in the world, f=
ree
to make or mar our future as we will. I have chosen my lot. Recall all it m=
ay
cost you to share it and be sure the price is not too high a one. Remember =
I am
poor, you the possessor of one princely fortune, the sole heir to another.&=
quot;
"The knowledge of this burdened me be=
fore;
now I glory in it because I have the more for you."
"Remember, I am older than yourself, =
and
may early lose the beauty you love so well, leaving an old wife to burden y=
our
youth."
"What are a few years to me? Women li=
ke
you grow lovelier with age, and you shall have a strong young husband to le=
an
on all your life."
"Remember, I am not of your faith, and
the priests will shut me out from your heaven."
"Let them prate as they will. Where y=
ou
go I will go; Santa Paula shall be my madonna!"
"Remember, I am a deserted woman, and=
in
the world we are going to my name may become the sport of that man's cruel
tongue. Could you bear that patiently; and curb your fiery pride if I desir=
ed
it?"
"Anything for you, Pauline!"
"One thing more. I give you my libert=
y;
for a time give me forbearance in return, and though wed in haste woo me
slowly, lest this sore heart of mine find even your light yoke heavy. Can y=
ou
promise this, and wait till time has healed my wound, and taught me to be
meek?"
"I swear to obey you in all things; m=
ake
me what you will, for soul and body I am wholly yours henceforth."
"Faithful and true! I knew you would =
not
fail me. Now go, Manuel. Tomorrow do your part resolutely as I shall do min=
e,
and in a week we will begin the new life together. Ours is a strange betrot=
hal,
but it shall not lack some touch of tenderness from me. Love, good night.&q=
uot;
Pauline bent till her bright hair mingled =
with
the dark, kissed the boy on lips and forehead as a fond sister might have d=
one,
then put him gently from her; and like one in a blessed dream he went away =
to
pace all night beneath her window, longing for the day.
As the echo of his steps died along the
corridor, Pauline's eye fell on the paper lying where her lover flung it. At
this sight all the softness vanished, the stern woman reappeared, and, crus=
hing
it in her hand with slow significance, she said low to herself, "This =
is
an old, old story, but it shall have a new ending."
Chapter 2=
span>
"What jewels will the señora w=
ear
tonight?"
"None, Dolores. Manuel has gone for
flowers--he likes them best. You may go."
"But the señora's toilette is =
not
finished; the sandals, the gloves, the garland yet remain."
"Leave them all; I shall not go down.=
I
am tired of this endless folly. Give me that book and go."
The pretty Creole obeyed; and careless of
Dolores' work, Pauline sank into the deep chair with a listless mien, turned
the pages for a little, then lost herself in thoughts that seemed to bring =
no
rest.
Silently the young husband entered and,
pausing, regarded his wife with mingled pain and pleasure--pain to see her =
so
spiritless, pleasure to see her so fair. She seemed unconscious of his pres=
ence
till the fragrance of his floral burden betrayed him, and looking up to smi=
le a
welcome she met a glance that changed the sad dreamer into an excited actor,
for it told her that the object of her search was found. Springing erect, s=
he
asked eagerly, "Manuel, is he here?"
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"His wife is with him."
"Is she beautiful?"
"Pretty, petite, and petulant." =
"And he?"
"Unchanged: the same imposing figure =
and
treacherous face, the same restless eye and satanic mouth. Pauline, let me
insult him!"
"Not yet. Were they together?" <= o:p>
"Yes. He seemed anxious to leave her,=
but
she called him back imperiously, and he came like one who dared not
disobey."
"Did he see you?"
"The crowd was too dense, and I kept =
in
the shadow."
"The wife's name? Did you learn it?&q=
uot;
"Barbara St. Just."
"Ah! I knew her once and will again.
Manuel, am I beautiful tonight?"
"How can you be otherwise to me?"=
;
"That is not enough. I must look my
fairest to others, brilliant and blithe, a happy-hearted bride whose honeym=
oon
is not yet over."
"For his sake, Pauline?"
"For yours. I want him to envy you yo=
ur
youth, your comeliness, your content; to see the man he once sneered at the
husband of the woman he once loved; to recall impotent regret. I know his
nature, and can stir him to his heart's core with a look, revenge myself wi=
th a
word, and read the secrets of his life with a skill he cannot fathom."=
"And when you have done all this, sha=
ll
you be happier, Pauline?"
"Infinitely; our three weeks' search =
is
ended, and the real interest of the plot begins. I have played the lover for
your sake, now play the man of the world for mine. This is the moment we ha=
ve
waited for. Help me to make it successful. Come! Crown me with your garland,
give me the bracelets that were your wedding gift--none can be too brilliant
for tonight. Now the gloves and fan. Stay, my sandals--you shall play Dolor=
es
and tie them on."
With an air of smiling coquetry he had nev=
er
seen before, Pauline stretched out a truly Spanish foot and offered him its
dainty covering. Won by the animation of her manner, Manuel forgot his
misgivings and played his part with boyish spirit, hovering about his state=
ly
wife as no assiduous maid had ever done; for every flower was fastened with=
a word
sweeter than itself, the white arms kissed as the ornaments went on, and wh=
en
the silken knots were deftly accomplished, the lighthearted bridegroom
performed a little dance of triumph about his idol, till she arrested him,
beckoning as she spoke.
"Manuel, I am waiting to assume the l=
ast
best ornament you have given me, my handsome husband." Then, as he cam=
e to
her laughing with frank pleasure at her praise, she added, "You, too, =
must
look your best and bravest now, and remember you must enact the man tonight.
Before Gilbert wear your stateliest aspect, your tenderest to me, your
courtliest to his wife. You possess dramatic skill. Use it for my sake, and
come for your reward when this night's work is done."
The great hotel was swarming with life, ab=
laze
with light, resonant with the tread of feet, the hum of voices, the musical=
din
of the band, and full of the sights and sounds which fill such human hives =
at a
fashionable watering place in the height of the season. As Manuel led his w=
ife
along the grand hall thronged with promenaders, his quick ear caught the
whispered comments of the passers-by, and the fragmentary rumors concerning
themselves amused him infinitely.
"Mon ami! There are five bridal coupl=
es
here tonight, and there is the handsomest, richest, and most enchanting of =
them
all. The groom is not yet twenty, they tell me, and the bride still younger.
Behold them!"
Manuel looked down at Pauline with a mirth=
ful
glance, but she had not heard.
"See, Belle! Cubans; own half the isl=
and
between them. Splendid, aren't they? Look at the diamonds on her lovely arm=
s,
and his ravishing moustache. Isn't he your ideal of Prince Djalma, in The
Wandering Jew?"
A pretty girl, forgetting propriety in
interest, pointed as they passed. Manuel half-bowed to the audible complime=
nt,
and the blushing damsel vanished, but Pauline had not seen.
"Jack, there's the owner of the black
span you fell into raptures over. My lord and lady look as highbred as their
stud. We'll patronize them!"
Manuel muttered a disdainful
"Impertinente!" between his teeth as he surveyed a brace of dandi=
es
with an air that augured ill for the patronage of Young America, but Pauline
was unconscious of both criticism and reproof. A countercurrent held them
stationary for a moment, and close behind them sounded a voice saying,
confidentially, to some silent listener, "The Redmonds are here tonigh=
t,
and I am curious to see how he bears his disappointment. You know he married
for money, and was outwitted in the bargain; for his wife's fortune not only
proves to be much less than he was led to believe, but is so tied up that h=
e is
entirely dependent upon her, and the bachelor debts he sold himself to liqu=
idate
still harass him, with a wife's reproaches to augment the affliction. To be
ruled by a spoiled child's whims is a fit punishment for a man whom neither
pride nor principle could curb before. Let us go and look at the
unfortunate."
Pauline heard now. Manuel felt her start, =
saw
her flush and pale, then her eye lit, and the dark expression he dreaded to=
see
settled on her face as she whispered, like a satanic echo, "Let us als=
o go
and look at this unfortunate."
A jealous pang smote the young man's heart=
as
he recalled the past.
"You pity him, Pauline, and pity is a=
kin
to love."
"I only pity what I respect. Rest
content, my husband."
Steadily her eyes met his, and the hand wh=
ose
only ornament was a wedding ring went to meet the one folded on his arm wit=
h a
confiding gesture that made the action a caress.
"I will try to be, yet mine is a hard
part," Manuel answered with a sigh, then silently they both paced on. =
Gilbert Redmond lounged behind his wife's
chair, looking intensely bored.
"Have you had enough of this folly,
Babie?"
"No, we have but just come. Let us
dance."
"Too late; they have begun."
"Then go about with me. It's very
tiresome sitting here."
"It is too warm to walk in all that
crowd, child."
"You are so indolent! Tell me who peo=
ple
are as they pass. I know no one here."
"Nor I."
But his act belied the words, for as they
passed his lips he rose erect, with a smothered exclamation and startled fa=
ce,
as if a ghost had suddenly confronted him. The throng had thinned, and as h=
is
wife followed the direction of his glance, she saw no uncanny apparition to=
cause
such evident dismay, but a woman fair-haired, violet-eyed, blooming and ser=
ene,
sweeping down the long hall with noiseless grace. An air of sumptuous life
pervaded her, the shimmer of bridal snow surrounded her, bridal gifts shone=
on
neck and arms, and bridal happiness seemed to touch her with its tender cha=
rm
as she looked up at her companion, as if there were but one human being in =
the
world to her. This companion, a man slender and tall, with a face delicately
dark as a fine bronze, looked back at her with eyes as eloquent as her own,
while both spoke rapidly and low in the melodious language which seems made=
for
lover's lips.
"Gilbert, who are they?"
There was no answer, and before she could
repeat the question the approaching pair paused before her, and the beautif=
ul
woman offered her hand, saying, with inquiring smiles, "Barbara, have =
you
forgotten your early friend, Pauline?"
Recognition came with the familiar name, a=
nd
Mrs. Redmond welcomed the newcomer with a delight as unrestrained as if she
were still the schoolgirl, Babie. Then, recovering herself, she said, with a
pretty attempt at dignity, "Let me present my husband. Gilbert, come a=
nd welcome
my friend Pauline Valary."
Scarlet with shame, dumb with conflicting
emotions, and utterly deserted by self-possession, Redmond stood with downc=
ast
eyes and agitated mien, suffering a year's remorse condensed into a moment.=
A
mute gesture was all the greeting he could offer. Pauline slightly bent her
haughty head as she answered, in a voice frostily sweet, "Your wife
mistakes. Pauline Valary died three weeks ago, and Pauline Laroche rose from
her ashes. Manuel, my schoolmate, Mrs. Redmond; Gilbert you already know.&q=
uot;
With the manly presence he could easily as=
sume
and which was henceforth to be his role in public, Manuel bowed courteously=
to
the lady, coldly to the gentleman, and looked only at his wife. Mrs. Redmon=
d,
though childish, was observant; she glanced from face to face, divined a my=
stery,
and spoke out at once.
"Then you have met before? Gilbert, y=
ou
have never told me this."
"It was long ago--in Cuba. I believed
they had forgotten me."
"I never forget." And Pauline's =
eye
turned on him with a look he dared not meet.
Unsilenced by her husband's frown, Mrs.
Redmond, intent on pleasing herself, drew her friend to the seat beside her=
as
she said petulantly, "Gilbert tells me nothing, and I am constantly
discovering things which might have given me pleasure had he only chosen to=
be
frank. I've spoken of you often, yet he never betrayed the least knowledge =
of
you, and I take it very ill of him, because I am sure he has not forgotten =
you.
Sit here, Pauline, and let me tease you with questions, as I used to do so =
long
ago. You were always patient with me, and though far more beautiful, your f=
ace
is still the same kind one that comforted the little child at school. Gilbe=
rt,
enjoy your friend, and leave us to ourselves until the dance is over."=
Pauline obeyed; but as she chatted, skillf=
ully
leading the young wife's conversation to her own affairs, she listened to t=
he
two voices behind her, watched the two figures reflected in the mirror befo=
re
her, and felt a secret pride in Manuel's address, for it was evident that t=
he former
positions were renewed.
The timid boy who had feared the sarcastic
tongue of his guardian's guest, and shrunk from his presence to conceal the
jealousy that was his jest, now stood beside his formal rival, serene and
self-possessed, by far the manliest man of the two, for no shame daunted hi=
m,
no fear oppressed him, no dishonorable deed left him at the mercy of anothe=
r's tongue.
Gilbert Redmond felt this keenly, and curs=
ed
the falsehood which had placed him in such an unenviable position. It was v=
ain
to assume the old superiority that was forfeited; but too much a man of the
world to be long discomforted by any contretemps like this, he rapidly rega=
ined
his habitual ease of manner, and avoiding the perilous past clung to the sa=
fer
present, hoping, by some unguarded look or word, to fathom the purpose of h=
is
adversary, for such he knew the husband of Pauline must be at heart. But Ma=
nuel
schooled his features, curbed his tongue, and when his hot blood tempted hi=
m to
point his smooth speech with a taunt, or offer a silent insult with the eye=
, he
remembered Pauline, looked down on the graceful head below, and forgot all
other passions in that of love.
"Gilbert, my shawl. The sea air chills
me."
"I forgot it, Babie."
"Allow me to supply the want." <= o:p>
Mindful of his wife's commands, Manuel sei=
zed
this opportunity to win a glance of commendation from her. And taking the d=
owny
mantle that hung upon his arm, he wrapped the frail girl in it with a care =
that
made the act as cordial as courteous. Mrs. Redmond felt the charm of his ma=
nner
with the quickness of a woman, and sent a reproachful glance at Gilbert as =
she
said plaintively, "Ah! It is evident that my honeymoon is over, and the
assiduous lover replaced by the negligent husband. Enjoy your midsummer nig=
ht's
dream while you may, Pauline, and be ready for the awakening that must
come."
"Not to her, madame, for our honeymoon
shall last till the golden wedding day comes round. Shall it not,
cariña?"
"There is no sign of waning yet,
Manuel," and Pauline looked up into her husband's face with a genuine
affection which made her own more beautiful and filled his with a visible
content. Gilbert read the glance, and in that instant suffered the first pa=
ng
of regret that Pauline had foretold. He spoke abruptly, longing to be away.=
"Babie, we may dance now, if you
will."
"I am going, but not with you--so giv=
e me
my fan, and entertain Pauline till my return."
He unclosed his hand, but the delicately
carved fan fell at his feet in a shower of ivory shreds--he had crushed it =
as
he watched his first love with the bitter thought "It might have
been!"
"Forgive me, Babie, it was too frail =
for
use; you should choose a stronger."
"I will next time, and a gentler hand=
to
hold it. Now, Monsieur Laroche, I am ready."
Mrs. Redmond rose in a small bustle of
satisfaction, shook out her flounces, glanced at the mirror, then Manuel led
her away; and the other pair were left alone. Both felt a secret agitation
quicken their breath and thrill along their nerves, but the woman concealed=
it
best. Gilbert's eye wandered restlessly to and fro, while Pauline fixed her=
own
on his as quietly as if he were the statue in the niche behind him. For a
moment he tried to seem unconscious of it, then essayed to meet and conquer=
it,
but failed signally and, driven to his last resources by that steady gaze,
resolved to speak out and have all over before his wife's return. Assuming =
the
seat beside her, he said, impetuously, "Pauline, take off your mask as=
I
do mine--we are alone now, and may see each other as we are."
Leaning deep into the crimson curve of the
couch, with the indolent grace habitual to her, yet in strong contrast to t=
he
vigilant gleam of her eye, she swept her hand across her face as if obeying
him, yet no change followed, as she said with a cold smile, "It is off;
what next?"
"Let me understand you. Did my letter
reach your hands?"
"A week before my marriage."
He drew a long breath of relief, yet a fro= wn gathered as he asked, like one loath and eager to be satisfied, "Your = love died a natural death, then, and its murder does not lie at my door?" <= o:p>
Pointing to the shattered toy upon the gro=
und,
she only echoed his own words. "It was too frail for use--I chose a
stronger."
It wounded, as she meant it should; and the
evil spirit to whose guidance she had yielded herself exulted to see his
self-love bleed, and pride vainly struggle to conceal the stab. He caught t=
he
expression in her averted glance, bent suddenly a fixed and scrutinizing ga=
ze
upon her, asking, below his breath, "Then why are you here to tempt me
with the face that tempted me a year ago?"
"I came to see the woman to whom you =
sold
yourself. I have seen her, and am satisfied."
Such quiet contempt iced her tones, such
pitiless satisfaction shone through the long lashes that swept slowly down,
after her eye had met and caused his own to fall again, that Gilbert's cheek
burned as if the words had been a blow, and mingled shame and anger tremble=
d in
his voice.
"Ah, you are quick to read our secret,
for you possess the key. Have you no fear that I may read your own, and tell
the world you sold your beauty for a name and fortune? Your bargain is a be=
tter
one than mine, but I know you too well, though your fetters are diamonds and
your master a fond boy."
She had been prepared for this, and knew s=
he
had a shield in the real regard she bore her husband, for though sisterly, =
it
was sincere. She felt its value now, for it gave her courage to confront the
spirit of retaliation she had roused, and calmness to answer the whispered
taunt with an unruffled mien, as lifting her white arm she let its single d=
ecoration
drop glittering to her lap.
"You see my 'fetters' are as loose as
they are light, and nothing binds me but my will. Read my heart, if you can.
You will find there contempt for a love so poor that it feared poverty; pity
for a man who dared not face the world and conquer it, as a girl had done
before him, and gratitude that I have found my 'master' in a truehearted bo=
y,
not a falsehearted man. If I am a slave, I never know it. Can you say as mu=
ch?"
Her woman's tongue avenged her, and Gilbert
owned his defeat. Pain quenched the ire of his glance, remorse subdued his
pride, self- condemnation compelled him to ask, imploringly, "Pauline,
when may I hope for pardon?"
"Never."
The stern utterance of the word dismayed h=
im,
and, like one shut out from hope, he rose, as if to leave her, but paused
irresolutely, looked back, then sank down again, as if constrained against =
his
will by a longing past control. If she had doubted her power this action set
the doubt at rest, as the haughtiest nature she had known confessed it by a=
bittersweet
complaint. Eyeing her wistfully, tenderly, Gilbert murmured, in the voice of
long ago, "Why do I stay to wound and to be wounded by the hand that o=
nce
caressed me? Why do I find more pleasure in your contempt than in another
woman's praise, and feel myself transported into the delights of that
irrecoverable past, now grown the sweetest, saddest memory of my life? Send=
me
away, Pauline, before the old charm asserts its power, and I forget that I =
am
not the happy lover of a year ago."
"Leave me then, Gilbert. Good
night."
Half unconsciously, the former softness st=
ole
into her voice as it lingered on his name. The familiar gesture accompanied=
the
words, the old charm did assert itself, and for an instant changed the cold
woman into the ardent girl again. Gilbert did not go but, with a hasty glan=
ce down
the deserted hall behind him, captured and kissed the hand he had lost,
passionately whispering, "Pauline, I love you still, and that look ass=
ures
me that you have forgiven, forgotten, and kept a place for me in that deep
heart of yours. It is too late to deny it. I have seen the tender eyes agai=
n,
and the sight has made me the proudest, happiest man that walks the world
tonight, slave though I am."
Over cheek and forehead rushed the treache=
rous
blood as the violet eyes filled and fell before his own, and in the glow of
mingled pain and fear that stirred her blood, Pauline, for the first time,
owned the peril of the task she had set herself, saw the dangerous power she
possessed, and felt the buried passion faintly moving in its grave. Indigna=
nt
at her own weakness, she took refuge in the memory of her wrong, controlled=
the
rebel color, steeled the front she showed him, and with feminine skill mute=
ly
conveyed the rebuke she would not trust herself to utter, by stripping the
glove from the hand he had touched and dropping it disdainfully as if unwor=
thy
of its place. Gilbert had not looked for such an answer, and while it baffl=
ed
him it excited his man's spirit to rebel against her silent denial. With a
bitter laugh he snatched up the glove.
"I read a defiance in your eye as you
flung this down. I accept the challenge, and will keep gage until I prove
myself the victor. I have asked for pardon. You refuse it. I have confessed=
my
love. You scorn it. I have possessed myself of your secret, yet you deny it.
Now we will try our strength together, and leave those children to their
play."
"We are the children, and we play with
edge tools. There has been enough of this, there must be no more." Pau=
line
rose with her haughtiest mien, and the brief command, "Take me to
Manuel."
Silently Gilbert offered his arm, and sile=
ntly
she rejected it.
"Will you accept nothing from me?&quo=
t;
"Nothing."
Side by side they passed through the retur=
ning
throng till Mrs. Redmond joined them, looking blithe and bland with the
exhilaration of gallantry and motion. Manuel's first glance was at Pauline,=
his
second at her companion; there was a shadow upon the face of each, which se=
emed
instantly to fall upon his own as he claimed his wife with a masterful sati=
sfaction
as novel as becoming, and which prompted her to whisper, "You enact yo=
ur
role to the life, and shall enjoy a foretaste of your reward at once. I want
excitement; let us show these graceless, frozen people the true art of danc=
ing,
and electrify them with the life and fire of a Cuban valse."
Manuel kindled at once, and Pauline smiled
stealthily as she glanced over her shoulder from the threshold of the danci=
ng
hall, for her slightest act, look, and word had their part to play in that
night's drama.
"Gilbert, if you are tired I will go =
now."
"Thank you, I begin to find it
interesting. Let us watch the dancers."
Mrs. Redmond accepted the tardy favor,
wondering at his unwonted animation, for never had she seen such eagerness =
in
his countenance, such energy in his manner as he pressed through the crowd =
and
won a place where they could freely witness one of those exhibitions of fas=
hionable
figurante which are nightly to be seen at such resorts. Many couples were
whirling around the white hall, but among them one pair circled with slowly
increasing speed, in perfect time to the inspiring melody of trumpet, flute,
and horn, that seemed to sound for them alone. Many paused to watch them, f=
or
they gave to the graceful pastime the enchantment which few have skill enou=
gh
to lend it, and made it a spectacle of life-enjoying youth, to be remembered
long after the music ceased and the agile feet were still.
Gilbert's arm was about his little wife to
shield her from the pressure of the crowd, and as they stood his hold
unconsciously tightened, till, marveling at this unwonted care, she looked =
up
to thank him with a happy glance and discovered that his eye rested on a si=
ngle
pair, kindling as they approached, keenly scanning every gesture as they
floated by, following them with untiring vigilance through the many-colored
mazes they threaded with such winged steps, while his breath quickened, his=
hand
kept time, and every sense seemed to own the intoxication of the scene.
Sorrowfully she too watched this pair, saw their grace, admired their beaut=
y,
envied their happiness; for, short as her wedded life had been, the thorns
already pierced her through the roses, and with each airy revolution of tho=
se
figures, dark and bright, her discontent increased, her wonder deepened, her
scrutiny grew keener, for she knew no common interest held her husband ther=
e,
fascinated, flushed, and excited as if his heart beat responsive to the
rhythmic rise and fall of that booted foot and satin slipper. The music end=
ed
with a crash, the crowd surged across the floor, and the spell was broken. =
Like
one but half disenchanted, Gilbert stood a moment, then remembered his wife,
and looking down met brown eyes, full of tears, fastened on his face.
"Tired so soon, Babie? Or in a pet
because I cannot change myself into a thistledown and float about with you,
like Manuel and Pauline?"
"Neither; I was only wishing that you
loved me as he loves her, and hoping he would never tire of her, they are so
fond and charming now. How long have you known them--and where?"
"I shall have no peace until I tell y=
ou.
I passed a single summer with them in a tropical paradise, where we swung h=
alf
the day in hammocks, under tamarind and almond trees; danced half the night=
to
music, of which this seems but a faint echo; and led a life of luxurious de=
light
in an enchanted climate, where all is so beautiful and brilliant that its
memory haunts a life as pressed flowers sweeten the leaves of a dull book.&=
quot;
"Why did you leave it then?"
"To marry you, child."
"That was a regretful sigh, as if I w=
ere
not worth the sacrifice. Let us go back and enjoy it together."
"If you were dying for it, I would not
take you to Cuba. It would be purgatory, not paradise, now."
"How stern you look, how strangely you
speak. Would you not go to save your own life, Gilbert?"
"I would not cross the room to do tha=
t,
much less the sea."
"Why do you both love and dread it? D=
on't
frown, but tell me. I have a right to know."
"Because the bitterest blunder of my =
life
was committed there--a blunder that I never can repair in this world, and m=
ay
be damned for in the next. Rest satisfied with this, Babie, lest you prove =
like
Bluebeard's wife, and make another skeleton in my closet, which has enough
already."
Strange regret was in his voice, strange g=
loom
fell upon his face; but though rendered doubly curious by the change, Mrs.
Redmond dared not question further and, standing silent, furtively scanned =
the
troubled countenance beside her. Gilbert spoke first, waking out of his
sorrowful reverie with a start.
"Pauline is coming. Say adieu, not au
revoir, for tomorrow we must leave this place."
His words were a command, his aspect one of
stern resolve, though the intensest longing mingled with the dark look he c=
ast
on the approaching pair. The tone, the glance displeased his willful wife, =
who
loved to use her power and exact obedience where she had failed to win
affection, often ruling imperiously when a tender word would have made her
happy to submit.
"Gilbert, you take no thought for my
pleasures though you pursue your own at my expense. Your neglect forces me =
to
find solace and satisfaction where I can, and you have forfeited your right=
to
command or complain. I love Pauline, I am happy with her, therefore I shall
stay until we tire of one another. I am a burden to you; go if you will.&qu=
ot;
"You know I cannot without you, Babie=
. I
ask it as a favor. For my sake, for your own, I implore you to come away.&q=
uot;
"Gilbert, do you love her?"
She seized his arm and forced an answer by=
the
energy of her sharply whispered question. He saw that it was vain to dissem=
ble,
yet replied with averted head, "I did and still remember it."
"And she? Did she return your love?&q=
uot;
"I believed so; but she forgot me whe=
n I
went. She married Manuel and is happy. Babie, let me go!"
"No! you shall stay and feel a little=
of
the pain I feel when I look into your heart and find I have no place there.=
It
is this which has stood between us and made all my efforts vain. I see it n=
ow
and despise you for the falsehood you have shown me, vowing you loved no one
but me until I married you, then letting me so soon discover that I was onl=
y an
encumbrance to your enjoyment of the fortune I possessed. You treat me like=
a
child, but I suffer like a woman, and you shall share my suffering, because=
you
might have spared me, and you did not. Gilbert, you shall stay."
"Be it so, but remember I have warned
you."
An exultant expression broke through the g=
loom
of her husband's face as he answered with the grim satisfaction of one who =
gave
restraint to the mind, and stood ready to follow whatever impulse should sw=
ay
him next. His wife trembled inwardly at what she had done, but was too prou=
d to
recall her words and felt a certain bitter pleasure in the excitement of the
new position she had taken, the new interest given to her listless life.
Pauline and Manuel found them standing
silently together, for a moment had done the work of years and raised a bar=
rier
between them never to be swept away.
Mrs. Redmond spoke first, and with an air =
half
resentful, half triumphant:
"Pauline, this morose husband of mine
says we must leave tomorrow. But in some things I rule; this is one of them.
Therefore we remain and go with you to the mountains when we are tired of t=
he
gay life here. So smile and submit, Gilbert, else these friends will count =
your
society no favor. Would you not fancy, from the aspect he thinks proper to
assume, that I had sentenced him to a punishment, not a pleasure?"
"Perhaps you have unwittingly, Babie.
Marriage is said to cancel the follies of the past, but not those of the
future, I believe; and, as there are many temptations to an idle man in a p=
lace
like this, doubtless your husband is wise enough to own that he dares not s=
tay
but finds discretion the better part of valor."
Nothing could be softer than the tone in w=
hich
these words were uttered, nothing sharper than the hidden taunt conveyed, b=
ut
Gilbert only laughed a scornful laugh as he fixed his keen eyes full upon h=
er
and took her bouquet with the air of one assuming former rights.
"My dear Pauline, discretion is the l=
ast
virtue I should expect to be accused of by you; but if valor consists in da=
ring
all things, I may lay claim to it without its 'better part,' for temptation=
is
my delight--the stronger the better. Have no fears for me, my friend. I gla=
dly
accept Babie's decree and, ignoring the last ten years, intend to begin lif=
e anew,
having discovered a sauce piquante which will give the stalest pleasures a
redoubled zest. I am unfortunate tonight, and here is a second wreck; this I
can rebuild happily. Allow me to do so, for I remember you once praised my
skill in floral architecture."
With an air of eager gallantry in strange
contrast to the malign expression of his countenance, Gilbert knelt to rega=
ther
the flowers which a careless gesture of his own had scattered from their
jeweled holder. His wife turned to speak to Manuel, and, yielding to the un=
conquerable
anxiety his reckless manner awoke, Pauline whispered below her breath as she
bent as if to watch the work, "Gilbert, follow your first impulse, and=
go
tomorrow."
"Nothing shall induce me to."
"I warn you harm will come of it.&quo=
t;
"Let it come; I am past fear now."
"Shun me for Babie's sake, if not for
your own."
"Too late for that; she is
headstrong--let her suffer."
"Have you no power, Gilbert?"
"None over her, much over you." =
"We will prove that!"
"We will!" Rapidly as words could
shape them, these questions and answers fell, and with their utterance the =
last
generous feeling died in Pauline's breast; for as she received the flowers,=
now
changed from a love token to a battle gage, she saw the torn glove still
crushed in Gilbert's hand, and silently accepted his challenge to the
tournament so often held between man and woman--a tournament where the keen
tongue is the lance, pride the shield, passion the fiery steed, and the har=
dest
heart the winner of the prize, which seldom fails to prove a barren honor,
ending in remorse.
Chapter 3=
span>
For several days the Cubans were almost
invisible, appearing only for a daily drive, a twilight saunter on the beac=
h,
or a brief visit to the ballroom, there to enjoy the excitement of the past=
ime
in which they both excelled. Their apartments were in the quietest wing of =
the
hotel, and from the moment of their occupancy seemed to acquire all the cha=
rms of
home. The few guests admitted felt the atmosphere of poetry and peace that
pervaded the nest which Love, the worker of miracles, had built himself even
under that tumultuous roof. Strollers in the halls or along the breezy vera=
ndas
often paused to listen to the music of instrument or voice which came float=
ing
out from these sequestered rooms. Frequent laughter and the murmur of
conversation proved that ennui was unknown, and a touch of romance inevitab=
ly
enhanced the interest wakened by the beautiful young pair, always together,
always happy, never weary of the dolce far niente of this summer life.
In a balcony like a hanging garden, shelte=
red
from the sun by blossoming shrubs and vines that curtained the green nook w=
ith
odorous shade, Pauline lay indolently swinging in a gaily fringed hammock as
she had been wont to do in Cuba, then finding only pleasure in the luxury o=
f motion
which now failed to quiet her unrest. Manuel had put down the book to which=
she
no longer listened and, leaning his head upon his hand, sat watching her as=
she
swayed to and fro with thoughtful eyes intent upon the sea, whose murmurous
voice possessed a charm more powerful than his own. Suddenly he spoke:
"Pauline, I cannot understand you! For
three weeks we hurried east and west to find this man, yet when found you s=
hun
him and seem content to make my life a heaven upon earth. I sometimes fancy
that you have resolved to let the past sleep, but the hope dies as soon as
born, for in moments like this I see that, though you devote yourself to me,
the old purpose is unchanged, and I marvel why you pause."
Her eyes came back from their long gaze and
settled on him full of an intelligence which deepened his perplexity. "=
;You
have not learned to know me yet; death is not more inexorable or time more
tireless than I. This week has seemed one of indolent delight to you. To me=
it
has been one of constant vigilance and labor, for scarcely a look, act, or =
word
of mine has been without effect. At first I secluded myself that Gilbert mi=
ght
contrast our life with his and, believing us all and all to one another, fi=
nd
impotent regret his daily portion. Three days ago accident placed an unexpe=
cted
weapon in my hand which I have used in silence, lest in spite of promises y=
ou
should rebel and end his trial too soon. Have you no suspicion of my
meaning?"
"None. You are more mysterious than e=
ver,
and I shall, in truth, believe you are the enchantress I have so often call=
ed
you if your spells work invisibly."
"They do not, and I use no supernatur=
al
arts, as I will prove to you. Take my lorgnette that lies behind you, part =
the
leaves where the green grapes hang thickest, look up at the little window in
the shadowy angle of the low roof opposite, and tell me what you see."=
"Nothing but a half-drawn curtain.&qu=
ot;
"Ah! I must try the ruse that first
convinced me. Do not show yourself, but watch, and if you speak, let it be =
in
Spanish."
Leaving her airy cradle, Pauline bent over=
the
balcony as if to gather the climbing roses that waved their ruddy clusters =
in
the wind. Before the third stem was broken Manuel whispered, "I see the
curtain move; now comes the outline of a head, and now a hand, with some br=
ight
object in it. Santo Pablo! It is a man staring at you as coolly as if you w=
ere
a lady in a balcony. What prying rascal is it?"
"Gilbert."
"Impossible! He is a gentleman."=
"If gentlemen play the traitor and the
spy, then he is one. I am not mistaken; for since the glitter of his glass
first arrested me I have watched covertly, and several trials as successful=
as
the present have confirmed the suspicion which Babie's innocent complaints =
of
his long absences aroused. Now do you comprehend why I remained in these ro=
oms with
the curtains seldom drawn? Why I swung the hammock here and let you sing and
read to me while I played with your hair or leaned upon your shoulder? Why I
have been all devotion and made this balcony a little stage for the perform=
ance
of our version of the honeymoon for one spectator?"
Still mindful of the eager eyes upon her,
Pauline had been fastening the roses in her bosom as she spoke, and ended w=
ith
a silvery laugh that made the silence musical with its heartsome sound. As =
she
paused, Manuel flung down the lorgnette and was striding past her with iref=
ul impetuosity,
but the white arms took him captive, adding another figure to the picture
framed by the green arch as she whispered decisively, "No farther! The=
re
must be no violence. You promised obedience and I exact it. Do you think
detection to a man so lost to honor would wound as deeply as the sights whi=
ch
make his daily watch a torment? Or that a blow would be as hard to bear as =
the
knowledge that his own act has placed you where you are and made him what he
is? Silent contempt is the law now, so let this insult pass, unclench your =
hand
and turn that defiant face to me, while I console you for submission with a
kiss."
He yielded to the command enforced by the
caress but drew her jealously from sight, and still glanced rebelliously
through the leaves, asking with a frown, "Why show me this if I may not
resent it? How long must I bear with this man? Tell me your design, else I
shall mar it in some moment when hatred of him conquers love of you." =
"I will, for it is tune, because thou=
gh I
have taken the first step you must take the second. I showed you this that =
you
might find action pleasanter than rest, and you must bear with this man a
little longer for my sake, but I will give you an amusement to beguile the
time. Long ago you told me that Gilbert was a gambler. I would not believe =
it
then, now I can believe anything, and you can convince the world of this vi=
ce of
his as speedily as you will."
"Do you wish me to become a gambler t=
hat
I may prove him one? I also told you that he was suspected of dishonorable
play--shall I load the dice and mark the cards to catch him in his own
snares?"
Manuel spoke bitterly, for his high spirit
chafed at the task assigned him; womanly wiles seemed more degrading than t=
he
masculine method of retaliation, in which strength replaces subtlety and
speedier vengeance brings speedier satisfaction. But Pauline, fast learning=
to
play upon that mysterious instrument, the human heart, knew when to stimula=
te
and when to soothe.
"Do not reproach me that I point out a
safer mode of operation than your own. You would go to Gilbert and by a hot
word, a rash act, put your life and my happiness into his hands, for though
dueling is forbidden here, he would not hesitate to break all laws, human or
divine, if by so doing he could separate us. What would you gain by it? If =
you
kill him he is beyond our reach forever, and a crime remains to be atoned f=
or.
If he kill you your blood will be upon my head, and where should I find con=
solation
for the loss of the one heart always true and tender?"
With the inexplicable prescience which
sometimes foreshadows coming ills, she clung to him as if a vision of the
future dimly swept before her, but he only saw the solicitude it was a sweet
surprise to find he had awakened, and in present pleasure forgot past pain.=
"You shall not suffer from this man a=
ny
grief that I can shield you from, rest assured of that, my heart. I will be
patient, though your ways are not mine, for the wrong was yours, and the
retribution shall be such as you decree."
"Then hear your task and see the shape
into which circumstances have molded my design. I would have you exercise a
self-restraint that shall leave Gilbert no hold upon you, accept all
invitations like that which you refused when we passed him on the threshold=
of
the billiard room an hour ago, and seem to find in such amusements the same
fascination as himself. Your skill in games of chance excels his, as you pr=
oved
at home where these pastimes lose their disreputable aspect by being openly=
enjoyed.
Therefore I would have you whet this appetite of his by losing freely at
first--he will take a grim delight in lessening the fortune he covets--then
exert all your skill till he is deeply in your debt. He has nothing but wha=
t is
doled out to him by Babie's father, I find; he dare not ask help there for =
such
a purpose; other resources have failed else he would not have married; and =
if
the sum be large enough, it lays him under an obligation which will be a th=
orn
in his flesh, the sharper for your knowledge of his impotence to draw it ou=
t.
When this is done, or even while it is in progress, I would have you add the
pain of a new jealousy to the old. He neglects this young wife of his, and =
she
is eager to recover the affections she believes she once possessed. Help he=
r,
and teach Gilbert the value of what he now despises. You are young, comely,
accomplished, and possessed of many graces more attractive than you are
conscious of; your southern birth and breeding gift you with a winning warm=
th
of manners in strong contrast to the colder natures around you; and your lo=
ve
for me lends an almost tender deference to your intercourse with all womank=
ind.
Amuse, console this poor girl, and show her husband what he should be; I ha=
ve
no fear of losing your heart nor need you fear for hers; she is one of those
spaniel-like creatures who love the hand that strikes them and fawn upon the
foot that spurns them."
"Am I to be the sole actor in the dra=
ma
of deceit? While I woo Babie, what will you do, Pauline?"
"Let Gilbert woo me--have patience ti=
ll
you understand my meaning; he still loves me and believes I still return th=
at
love. I shall not undeceive him yet, but let silence seem to confess what I=
do
not own in words. He fed me with false promises, let me build my life's
happiness on baseless hopes, and rudely woke me when he could delude no lon=
ger,
leaving me to find I had pursued a shadow. I will do the same. He shall fol=
low
me undaunted, undeterred by all obstacles, all ties; shall stake his last t=
hrow
and lose it, for when the crowning moment comes I shall show him that throu=
gh
me he is made bankrupt in love, honor, liberty, and hope, tell him I am you=
rs
entirely and forever, then vanish like an ignis-fatuus, leaving him to the
darkness of despair and defeat. Is not this a better retribution than the b=
ullet
that would give him peace at once?"
Boy, lover, husband though he was, Manuel =
saw
and stood aghast at the baleful spirit which had enslaved this woman, crush=
ing
all generous impulses, withering all gentle charities, and making her the
saddest spectacle this world can show--one human soul rebelling against Pro=
vidence,
to become the nemesis of another. Involuntarily he recoiled from her,
exclaiming, "Pauline! Are you possessed of a devil?"
"Yes! One that will not be cast out t=
ill
every sin, shame, and sorrow mental ingenuity can conceive and inflict has =
been
heaped on that man's head. I thought I should be satisfied with one accusing
look, one bitter word; I am not, for the evil genii once let loose cannot be
recaptured. Once I ruled it, now it rules me, and there is no turning back.=
I
have come under the law of fate, and henceforth the powers I possess will b=
an,
not bless, for I am driven to whet and wield them as weapons which may win =
me
success at the price of my salvation. It is not yet too late for you to shun
the spiritual contagion I bear about me. Choose now, and abide by that choi=
ce
without a shadow of turning, as I abide by mine. Take me as I am; help me
willingly and unwillingly; and in the end receive the promised gift--years =
like
the days you have called heaven upon earth. Or retract the vows you plighte=
d,
receive again the heart and name you gave me, and live unvexed by the stormy
nature time alone can tame. Here is the ring. Shall I restore or keep it,
Manuel?"
Never had she looked more beautiful as she
stood there, an image of will, daring, defiant, and indomitable, with eyes
darkened by intensity of emotion, voice half sad, half stern, and outstretc=
hed
hand on which the wedding ring no longer shone. She felt her power, yet was
wary enough to assure it by one bold appeal to the strongest element of her=
husband's
character: passions, not principles, were the allies she desired, and before
the answer came she knew that she had gained them at the cost of innocence =
and
self-respect.
As Manuel listened, an expression like a d=
ark
reflection of her own settled on his face; a year of youth seemed to drop a=
way;
and with the air of one who puts fear behind him, he took the hand, replaced
the ring, resolutely accepted the hard conditions, and gave all to love, on=
ly
saying as he had said before, "Soul and body, I belong to you; do with=
me
as you will."
A fortnight later Pauline sat alone, waiti=
ng
for her husband. Under the pretext of visiting a friend, she had absented
herself a week, that Manuel might give himself entirely to the distasteful =
task
she set him. He submitted to the separation, wrote daily, but sent no tidin=
gs
of his progress, told her nothing when they met that night, and had left he=
r an
hour before asking her to have patience till he could show his finished wor=
k.
Now, with her eye upon the door, her ear alert to catch the coming step, her
mind disturbed by contending hopes and fears, she sat waiting with the vigi=
lant
immobility of an Indian on the watch. She had not long to look and listen.
Manuel entered hastily, locked the door, closed the windows, dropped the
curtains, then paused in the middle of the room and broke into a low,
triumphant laugh as he eyed his wife with an expression she had never seen =
in
those dear eyes before. It startled her, and, scarcely knowing what to desi=
re
or dread, she asked eagerly, "You are come to tell me you have
prospered."
"Beyond your hopes, for the powers of
darkness seem to help us, and lead the man to his destruction faster than a=
ny
wiles of ours can do. I am tired, let me lie here and rest. I have earned i=
t,
so when I have told all say, 'Love, you have done well,' and I am
satisfied."
He threw himself along the couch where she
still sat and laid his head in her silken lap, her cool hand on his hot
forehead, and continued in a muffled voice.
"You know how eagerly Gilbert took
advantage of my willingness to play, and soon how recklessly he pursued it,
seeming to find the satisfaction you foretold, till, obeying your commands,=
I
ceased losing and won sums which surprised me. Then you went, but I was not
idle, and in the effort to extricate himself, Gilbert plunged deeper into d=
ebt;
for my desire to please you seemed to gift me with redoubled skill. Two days
ago I refused to continue the unequal conflict, telling him to give himself=
no uneasiness,
for I could wait. You were right in thinking it would oppress him to be und=
er
any obligation to me, but wrong in believing he would endure, and will hard=
ly
be prepared for the desperate step he took to free himself. That night he
played falsely, was detected, and though his opponent generously promised
silence for Babie's sake, the affair stole out--he is shunned and this reso=
urce
has failed. I thought he had no other, but yesterday he came to me with a s=
trange
expression of relief, discharged the debt to the last farthing, then hinted
that my friendship with his wife was not approved by him and must cease. Th=
is proves
that I have obeyed you in all things, though the comforting of Babie was an
easy task, for, both loving you, our bond of sympathy and constant theme has
been Pauline and her perfections."
"Hush! No praise--it is a mockery. I =
am
what one man's perfidy has made; I may yet learn to be worthy of another ma=
n's
devotion. What more, Manuel?"
"I thought I should have only a defea=
t to
show you, but today has given me a strange success. At noon a gentleman arr=
ived
and asked for Gilbert. He was absent, but upon offering information relativ=
e to
the time of his return, which proved my intimacy with him, this Seguin ente=
red
into conversation with me. His evident desire to avoid Mrs. Redmond and way=
lay
her husband interested me, and when he questioned me somewhat closely
concerning Gilbert's habits and movements of late, my suspicions were rouse=
d;
and on mentioning the debt so promptly discharged, I received a confidence =
that
startled me. In a moment of despair Gilbert had forged the name of his form=
er
friend, whom he believed abroad, had drawn the money and freed himself from=
my
power, but not for long. The good fortune which has led him safely through =
many
crooked ways seems to have deserted him in this strait. For the forgery was
badly executed, inspection raised doubts, and Seguin, just returned, was at=
his
banker's an hour after Gilbert, to prove the fraud; he came hither at once =
to accuse
him of it and made me his confidant. What would you have had me do, Pauline?
Time was short, and I could not wait for you."
"How can I tell at once? Why pause to
ask? What did you do?"
"Took a leaf from your book and kept
accusation, punishment, and power in my own hands, to be used in your behal=
f. I
returned the money, secured the forged check, and prevailed on Seguin to le=
ave
the matter in my hands, while he departed as quietly as he had come. Babie's
presence when we met tonight prevented my taking you into my counsels. I ha=
d prepared
this surprise for you and felt a secret pride in working it out alone. An h=
our
ago I went to watch for Gilbert. He came, I took him to his rooms, told him
what I had done, added that compassion for his wife had actuated me. I left=
him
saying the possession of the check was a full equivalent for the money, whi=
ch I
now declined to receive from such dishonorable hands. Are you satisfied,
Pauline?"
With countenance and gestures full of exul=
tation
she sprang up to pace the room, exclaiming, as she seized the forged paper,
"Yes, that stroke was superb! How strangely the plot thickens. Surely =
the
powers of darkness are working with us and have put this weapon in our hands
when that I forged proved useless. By means of this we have a hold upon him=
which
nothing can destroy unless he escape by death. Will he, Manuel?"
"No; there was more wrath than shame =
in
his demeanor when I accused him. He hates me too much to die yet, and had I
been the only possessor of this fatal fact, I fancy it might have gone hard
with me; for if ever there was murder in a man's heart it was in his when I
showed him that paper and then replaced it next the little poniard you smil=
e at
me for wearing. This is over. What next, my queen?"
There was energy in the speaker's tone but
none in attitude or aspect, as, still lying where she had left him, he pill=
owed
his head upon his arm and turned toward her a face already worn and haggard
with the feverish weariness that had usurped the blithe serenity which had =
been
his chiefest charm a month ago. Pausing in her rapid walk, as if arrested by
the change that seemed to strike her suddenly, she recalled her thoughts fr=
om
the dominant idea of her life and, remembering the youth she was robbing of=
its
innocent delights, answered the wistful look which betrayed the hunger of a
heart she had never truly fed, as she knelt beside her husband and, laying =
her
soft cheek to his, whispered in her tenderest accents, "I am not wholly
selfish or ungrateful, Manuel. You shall rest now while I sing to you, and
tomorrow we will go away among the hills and leave behind us for a time the
dark temptation which harms you through me."
"No! Finish what you have begun. I wi=
ll
have all or nothing, for if we pause now you will bring me a divided mind, =
and
I shall possess only the shadow of a wife. Take Gilbert and Babie with us, =
and
end this devil's work without delay. Hark! What is that?"
Steps came flying down the long hall, a ha=
nd
tried the lock, then beat impetuously upon the door, and a low voice whispe=
red
with shrill importunity, "Let me in! Oh, let me in!"
Manuel obeyed the urgent summons, and Mrs.
Redmond, half dressed, with streaming hair and terror-stricken face, fled i=
nto
Pauline's arms, crying incoherently, "Save me! Keep me! I never can go
back to him; he said I was a burden and a curse, and wished I never had been
born!"
"What has happened, Babie? We are your
friends. Tell us, and let us comfort and protect you if we can."
But for a time speech was impossible, and =
the
poor girl wept with a despairing vehemence sad to see, till their gentle
efforts soothed her; and, sitting by Pauline, she told her trouble, looking
oftenest at Manuel, who stood before them, as if sure of redress from him. =
"When I left here an hour or more ago=
I
found my rooms still empty, and, though I had not seen my husband since
morning, I knew he would be displeased to find me waiting, so I cried mysel=
f to
sleep and dreamed of the happy time when he was kind, till the sound of voi=
ces
woke me. I heard Gilbert say, 'Babie is with your wife, her maid tells me; =
therefore
we are alone here. What is this mysterious affair, Laroche?' That tempted m=
e to
listen, and then, Manuel, I learned all the shame and misery you so generou=
sly
tried to spare me. How can I ever repay you, ever love and honor you enough=
for
such care of one so helpless and forlorn as I?"
"I am repaid already. Let that pass, =
and
tell what brings you here with such an air of fright and fear?"
"When you were gone he came straight =
to
the inner room in search of something, saw me, and knew I must have heard a=
ll
he had concealed from me so carefully. If you have ever seen him when that
fierce temper of his grows ungovernable, you can guess what I endured. He s=
aid
such cruel things I could not bear it, and cried out that I would come to y=
ou,
for I was quite wild with terror, grief, and shame, that seemed like oil to=
fire.
He swore I should not, and oh, Pauline, he struck me! See, if I do not tell=
the
living truth!"
Trembling with excitement, Mrs. Redmond pu= shed back the wide sleeve of her wrapper and showed the red outline of a heavy h= and. Manuel set his teeth and stamped his foot into the carpet with an indignant exclamation and the brief question, "Then you left him, Babie?" <= o:p>
"Yes, although he locked me in my roo=
m,
saying the law gave him the right to teach obedience. I flung on these clot=
hes,
crept noiselessly along the balcony till the hall window let me in, and the=
n I
ran to you. He will come for me. Can he take me away? Must I go back to suf=
fer
any more?"
In the very act of uttering the words, Mrs.
Redmond clung to Manuel with a cry of fear, for on the threshold stood her
husband. A comprehensive glance seemed to stimulate his wrath and lend the
hardihood wherewith to confront the three, saying sternly as he beckoned,
"Babie, I am waiting for you."
She did not speak, but still clung to Manu=
el
as if he were her only hope. A glance from Pauline checked the fiery words
trembling on his lips, and he too stood silent while she answered with a
calmness that amazed him:
"Your wife has chosen us her guardian=
s,
and I think you will scarcely venture to use force again with two such
witnesses as these to prove that you have forfeited your right to her obedi=
ence
and justify the step she has taken."
With one hand she uncovered the discolored
arm, with the other held the forgery before him. For a moment Gilbert stood
daunted by these mute accusations, but just then his ire burned hottest aga=
inst
Manuel; and believing that he could deal a double blow by wounding Pauline
through her husband, he ignored her presence and, turning to the young man,=
asked
significantly, "Am I to understand that you refuse me my wife, and pre=
fer
to abide by the consequences of such an act?"
Calmed by Pauline's calmness, Manuel only =
drew
the trembling creature closer, and answered with his haughtiest mien, "=
;I
do; spare yourself the labor of insulting me, for having placed yourself be=
yond
the reach of a gentleman's weapon, I shall accept no challenge from a--&quo=
t;
A soft hand at his lips checked the
opprobrious word, as Babie, true woman through it all, whispered with a bro=
ken
sob, "Spare him, for I loved him once."
Gilbert Redmond had a heart, and, sinful
though it was, this generous forbearance wrung it with a momentary pang of
genuine remorse, too swiftly followed by a selfish hope that all was not lo=
st
if through his wife he could retain a hold upon the pair which now possessed
for him the strong attraction of both love and hate. In that brief pause th=
is thought
came, was accepted and obeyed, for, as if yielding to an uncontrollable imp=
ulse
of penitent despair, he stretched his arms to his wife, saying humbly,
imploringly, "Babie, come back to me, and teach me how I may retrieve =
the
past. I freely confess I bitterly repent my manifold transgressions, and su=
bmit
to your decree alone; but in executing justice, oh, remember mercy! Remember
that I was too early left fatherless, motherless, and went astray for want =
of
some kind heart to guide and cherish me. There is still time. Be compassion=
ate
and save me from myself. Am I not punished enough? Must death be my only co=
mforter?
Babie, when all others cast me off, will you too forsake me?"
"No, I will not! Only love me, and I =
can
forgive, forget, and still be happy!"
Pauline was right. The spaniel-like nature
still loved the hand that struck it, and Mrs. Redmond joyfully returned to =
the
arms from which she had so lately fled. The tenderest welcome she had ever
received from him welcomed the loving soul whose faith was not yet dead, for
Gilbert felt the value this once neglected possession had suddenly acquired,
and he held it close; yet as he soothed with gentle touch and tone, could n=
ot forbear
a glance of triumph at the spectators of the scene.
Pauline met it with that inscrutable smile=
of
hers, and a look of intelligence toward her husband, as she said, "Did=
I
not prophesy truly, Manuel? Be kind to her, Gilbert, and when next we meet =
show
us a happier wife than the one now sobbing on your shoulder. Babie, good ni=
ght
and farewell, for we are off to the mountains in the morning."
"Oh, let us go with you as you promis=
ed!
You know our secret, you pity me and will help Gilbert to be what he should=
. I
cannot live at home, and places like this will seem so desolate when you and
Manuel are gone. May we, can we be with you a little longer?"
"If Gilbert wishes it and Manuel
consents, we will bear and forbear much for your sake, my poor child."=
Pauline's eye said, "Dare you go?&quo=
t;
and Gilbert's answered, "Yes," as the two met with a somber fire =
in
each; but his lips replied, "Anywhere with you, Babie," and Manuel
took Mrs. Redmond's hand with a graceful warmth that touched her deeper than
his words.
"Your example teaches me the beauty of
compassion, and Pauline's friends are mine."
"Always so kind to me! Dear Manuel, I
never can forget it, though I have nothing to return but this," and, l=
ike
a grateful child, she lifted up her innocent face so wistfully he could only
bend his tall head to receive the kiss she offered.
Gilbert's black brows lowered ominously at=
the
sight, but he never spoke; and, when her good-nights were over, bowed silen=
tly
and carried his little wife away, nestling to him as if all griefs and pains
were banished by returning love.
"Poor little heart! She should have a
smoother path to tread. Heaven grant she may hereafter; and this sudden
penitence prove no sham." Manuel paused suddenly, for as if obeying an
unconquerable impulse, Pauline laid a hand on either shoulder and searched =
his
face with an expression which baffled his comprehension, though he bore it
steadily till her eyes fell before his own, when he asked smilingly:
"Is the doubt destroyed,
cariña?"
"No; it is laid asleep."
Then as he drew her nearer, as if to make =
his
peace for his unknown offense, she turned her cheek away and left him silen=
tly.
Did she fear to find Babie's kiss upon his lips?
Chapter 4=
span>
The work of weeks is soon recorded, and wh=
en
another month was gone these were the changes it had wrought. The four so
strangely bound together by ties of suffering and sin went on their way, to=
the
world's eye, blessed with every gracious gift, but below the tranquil surfa=
ce rolled
that undercurrent whose mysterious tides ebb and flow in human hearts unfet=
tered
by race or rank or time. Gilbert was a good actor, but, though he curbed his
fitful temper, smoothed his mien, and sweetened his manner, his wife soon f=
elt
the vanity of hoping to recover that which never had been hers. Silently she
accepted the fact and, uttering no complaint, turned to others for the
fostering warmth without which she could not live. Conscious of a hunger li=
ke
her own, Manuel could offer her sincerest sympathy, and soon learned to fin=
d a
troubled pleasure in the knowledge that she loved him and her husband knew =
it, for
his life of the emotions was rapidly maturing the boy into the man, as the
fierce ardors of his native skies quicken the growth of wondrous plants that
blossom in a night. Mrs. Redmond, as young in character as in years, felt t=
he
attraction of a nature generous and sweet, and yielded to it as involuntari=
ly
as an unsupported vine yields to the wind that blows it to the strong arms =
of a
tree, still unconscious that a warmer sentiment than gratitude made his
companionship the sunshine of her life. Pauline saw this, and sometimes own=
ed
within herself that she had evoked spirits which she could not rule, but her
purpose drove her on, and in it she found a charm more perilously potent th=
an
before. Gilbert watched the three with a smile darker than a frown, yet no =
reproach
warned his wife of the danger which she did not see; no jealous demonstrati=
on
roused Manuel to rebel against the oppression of a presence so distasteful =
to
him; no rash act or word gave Pauline power to banish him, though the one
desire of his soul became the discovery of the key to the inscrutable
expression of her eyes as they followed the young pair, whose growing
friendship left their mates alone. Slowly her manner softened toward him, p=
ity
seemed to bridge across the gulf that lay between them, and in rare moments
time appeared to have retraced its steps, leaving the tender woman of a year
ago. Nourished by such unexpected hope, the early passion throve and
strengthened until it became the mastering ambition of his life, and, only
pausing to make assurance doubly sure, he waited the advent of the hour whe=
n he
could "put his fortune to the touch and win or lose it all."
"Manuel, are you coming?"
He was lying on the sward at Mrs. Redmond's
feet, and, waking from the reverie that held him, while his companion sang =
the
love lay he was teaching her, he looked up to see his wife standing on the
green slope before him. A black lace scarf lay over her blonde hair as Span=
ish
women wear their veils, below it the violet eyes shone clear, the cheek glo=
wed with
the color fresh winds had blown upon their paleness, the lips parted with a
wistful smile, and a knot of bright-hued leaves upon her bosom made a mingl=
ing
of snow and fire in the dress, whose white folds swept the grass. Against a
background of hoary cliffs and somber pines, this figure stood out like a
picture of blooming womanhood, but Manuel saw three blemishes upon it--Gilb=
ert
had sketched her with that shadowy veil upon her head, Gilbert had swung
himself across a precipice to reach the scarlet nosegay for her breast, Gil=
bert
stood beside her with her hand upon his arm; and troubled by the fear that
often haunted him since Pauline's manner to himself had grown so shy and sa=
d,
Manuel leaned and looked forgetful of reply, but Mrs. Redmond answered blit=
hely:
"He is coming, but with me. You are t=
oo
grave for us, so go your ways, talking wisely of heaven and earth, while we
come after, enjoying both as we gather lichens, chase the goats, and meet y=
ou
at the waterfall. Now señor, put away guitar and book, for I have
learned my lesson; so help me with this unruly hair of mine and leave the
Spanish for today."
They looked a pair of lovers as Manuel held
back the long locks blowing in the wind, while Babie tied her hat, still
chanting the burthen of the tender song she had caught so soon. A voiceless
sigh stirred the ruddy leaves on Pauline's bosom as she turned away, but
Gilbert embodied it in words, "They are happier without us. Let us
go."
Neither spoke till they reached the appoin=
ted
tryst. The others were not there, and, waiting for them, Pauline sat on a m=
ossy
stone, Gilbert leaned against the granite boulder beside her, and both sile=
ntly
surveyed a scene that made the heart glow, the eye kindle with delight as it
swept down from that airy height, across valleys dappled with shadow and da=
rk
with untrodden forests, up ranges of majestic mountains, through gap after =
gap,
each hazier than the last, far out into that sea of blue which rolls around=
all
the world. Behind them roared the waterfall swollen with autumn rains and
hurrying to pour itself into the rocky basin that lay boiling below, there =
to
leave its legacy of shattered trees, then to dash itself into a deeper chas=
m,
soon to be haunted by a tragic legend and go glittering away through forest,
field, and intervale to join the river rolling slowly to the sea. Won by th=
e beauty
and the grandeur of the scene, Pauline forgot she was not alone, till turni=
ng,
she suddenly became aware that while she scanned the face of nature her
companion had been scanning hers. What he saw there she could not tell, but=
all
restraint had vanished from his manner, all reticence from his speech, for =
with
the old ardor in his eye, the old impetuosity in his voice, he said, leanin=
g down
as if to read her heart, "This is the moment I have waited for so long.
For now you see what I see, that both have made a bitter blunder, and may y=
et
repair it. Those children love each other; let them love, youth mates them,
fortune makes them equals, fate brings them together that we may be free.
Accept this freedom as I do, and come out into the world with me to lead the
life you were born to enjoy."
With the first words he uttered Pauline fe=
lt
that the time had come, and in the drawing of a breath was ready for it, wi=
th
every sense alert, every power under full control, every feature obedient to
the art which had become a second nature. Gilbert had seized her hand, and =
she
did not draw it back; the sudden advent of the instant which must end her w=
ork sent
an unwonted color to her cheek, and she did avert it; the exultation which
flashed into her eyes made it unsafe to meet his own, and they drooped befo=
re
him as if in shame or fear, her whole face woke and brightened with the
excitement that stirred her blood. She did not seek to conceal it, but let =
him
cheat himself with the belief that love touched it with such light and warm=
th,
as she softly answered in a voice whose accents seemed to assure his hope. =
"You ask me to relinquish much. What =
do
you offer in return, Gilbert, that I may not for a second time find love's
labor lost?"
It was a wily speech, though sweetly spoke=
n,
for it reminded him how much he had thrown away, how little now remained to
give, but her mien inspired him, and nothing daunted, he replied more arden=
tly
than ever:
"I can offer you a heart always faith=
ful
in truth though not in seeming, for I never loved that child. I would give
years of happy life to undo that act and be again the man you trusted. I can
offer you a name which shall yet be an honorable one, despite the stain an
hour's madness cast upon it. You once taunted me with cowardice because I d=
ared
not face the world and conquer it. I dare do that now; I long to escape from
this disgraceful servitude, to throw myself into the press, to struggle and=
achieve
for your dear sake. I can offer you strength, energy, devotion-- three gifts
worthy any woman's acceptance who possesses power to direct, reward, and en=
joy
them as you do, Pauline. Because with your presence for my inspiration, I f=
eel
that I can retrieve my faultful past, and with time become God's noblest
work--an honest man. Babie never could exert this influence over me. You ca=
n,
you will, for now my earthly hope is in your hands, my soul's salvation in =
your
love."
If that love had not died a sudden death, =
it
would have risen up to answer him as the one sincere desire of an erring li=
fe
cried out to her for help, and this man, as proud as sinful, knelt down bef=
ore
her with a passionate humility never paid at any other shrine, human or div=
ine.
It seemed to melt and win her, for he saw the color ebb and flow, heard the=
rapid
beating of her heart, felt the hand tremble in his own, and received no den=
ial
but a lingering doubt, whose removal was a keen satisfaction to himself.
"Tell me, before I answer, are you su=
re
that Manuel loves Babie?"
"I am; for every day convinces me tha=
t he
has outlived the brief delusion, and longs for liberty, but dares not ask i=
t.
Ah! that pricks pride! But it is so. I have watched with jealous vigilance =
and
let no sign escape me; because in his infidelity to you lay my chief hope. =
Has he
not grown melancholy, cold, and silent? Does he not seek Babie and, of late,
shun you? Will he not always yield his place to me without a token of displ=
easure
or regret? Has he ever uttered reproach, warning, or command to you, althou=
gh
he knows I was and am your lover? Can you deny these proofs, or pause to as=
k if
he will refuse to break the tie that binds him to a woman, whose superiorit=
y in
all things keeps him a subject where he would be a king? You do not know the
heart of man if you believe he will not bless you for his freedom."
Like the cloud which just then swept across
the valley, blotting out its sunshine with a gloomy shadow, a troubled look=
flitted
over Pauline's face. But if the words woke any sleeping fear she cherished,=
it
was peremptorily banished, for scarcely had the watcher seen it than it was=
gone.
Her eyes still shone upon the ground, and still she prolonged the bitterswe=
et
delight at seeing this humiliation of both soul and body by asking the one
question whose reply would complete her sad success.
"Gilbert, do you believe I love you
still?"
"I know it! Can I not read the signs =
that
proved it to me once? Can I forget that, though you followed me to pity and
despise, you have remained to pardon and befriend? Am I not sure that no ot=
her
power could work the change you have wrought in me? I was learning to be
content with slavery, and slowly sinking into that indolence of will which =
makes
submission easy. I was learning to forget you, and be resigned to hold the
shadow when the substance was gone, but you came, and with a look undid my
work, with a word destroyed my hard-won peace, with a touch roused the pass=
ion
which was not dead but sleeping, and have made this month of growing certai=
nty
to be the sweetest in my life--for I believed all lost, and you showed me t=
hat
all was won. Surely that smile is propitious! and I may hope to hear the ha=
ppy
confirmation of my faith from lips that were formed to say 'I love!'" =
She looked up then, and her eyes burned on
him, with an expression which made his heart leap with expectant joy, as ov=
er
cheek and forehead spread a glow of womanly emotion too genuine to be feign=
ed,
and her voice thrilled with the fervor of that sentiment which blesses life=
and
outlives death.
"Yes, I love; not as of old, with a
girl's blind infatuation, but with the warmth and wisdom of heart, mind, and
soul--love made up of honor, penitence and trust, nourished in secret by the
better self which lingers in the most tried and tempted of us, and now read=
y to
blossom and bear fruit, if God so wills. I have been once deceived, but fai=
th still
endures, and I believe that I may yet earn this crowning gift of a woman's =
life
for the man who shall make my happiness as I make his--who shall find me the
prouder for past coldness, the humbler for past pride --whose life shall pa=
ss
serenely loving. And that beloved is--my husband." If she had lifted h=
er
white hand and stabbed him, with that smile upon her face, it would not have
shocked him with a more pale dismay than did those two words as Pauline sho=
ok
him off and rose up, beautiful and stern as an avenging angel. Dumb with an
amazement too fathomless for words, he knelt there motionless and aghast. S=
he
did not speak. And, passing his hand across his eyes as if he felt himself =
the prey
to some delusion, he rose slowly, asking, half incredulously, half implorin=
gly,
"Pauline, this is a jest?"
"To me it is; to you--a bitter
earnest."
A dim foreboding of the truth fell on him
then, and with it a strange sense of fear; for in this apparition of human
judgment he seemed to receive a premonition of the divine. With a sudden
gesture of something like entreaty, he cried out, as if his fate lay in her
hands, "How will it end? how will it end?"
"As it began--in sorrow, shame and
loss." Then, in words that fell hot and heavy on the sore heart made
desolate, she poured out the dark history of the wrong and the atonement wr=
ung
from him with such pitiless patience and inexorable will. No hard fact rema=
ined
unrecorded, no subtle act unveiled, no hint of her bright future unspared to
deepen the gloom of his. And when the final word of doom died upon the lips
that should have awarded pardon, not punishment, Pauline tore away the last=
gift
he had given, and dropping it to the rocky path, set her foot upon it, as i=
f it
were the scarlet badge of her subjection to the evil spirit which had haunt=
ed
her so long, now cast out and crushed forever.
Gilbert had listened with a slowly gatheri=
ng
despair, which deepened to the blind recklessness that comes to those whose
passions are their masters, when some blow smites but cannot subdue. Pale to
his very lips, with the still white wrath, so much more terrible to witness
than the fiercest ebullition of the ire that flames and feeds like a sudden
fire, he waited till she ended, then used the one retaliation she had left =
him.
His hand went to his breast, a tattered glove flashed white against the cli=
ff
as he held it up before her, saying, in a voice that rose gradually till the
last words sounded clear above the waterfall's wild song:
"It was well and womanly done, Paulin=
e,
and I could wish Manuel a happy life with such a tender, frank, and noble w=
ife;
but the future which you paint so well never shall be his. For, by the Lord
that hears me! I swear I will end this jest of yours in a more bitter earne=
st
than you prophesied. Look; I have worn this since the night you began the c=
onflict,
which has ended in defeat to me, as it shall to you. I do not war with wome=
n,
but you shall have one man's blood upon your soul, for I will goad that tame
boy to rebellion by flinging this in his face and taunting him with a perfi=
dy
blacker than my own. Will that rouse him to forget your commands and answer
like a man?"
"Yes!"
The word rang through the air sharp and sh=
ort
as a pistol shot, a slender brown hand wrenched the glove away, and Manuel =
came
between them. Wild with fear, Mrs. Redmond clung to him. Pauline sprang bef=
ore him,
and for a moment the two faced each other, with a year's smoldering jealousy
and hate blazing in fiery eyes, trembling in clenched hands, and surging
through set teeth in defiant speech.
"This is the gentleman who gambles his
friend to desperation, and skulks behind a woman, like the coward he is,&qu=
ot;
sneered Gilbert.
"Traitor and swindler, you lie!"
shouted Manuel, and, flinging his wife behind him, he sent the glove, with a
stinging blow, full in his opponent's face.
Then the wild beast that lurks in every st=
rong
man's blood leaped up in Gilbert Redmond's, as, with a single gesture of his
sinewy right arm he swept Manuel to the verge of the narrow ledge, saw him =
hang
poised there one awful instant, struggling to save the living weight that
weighed him down, heard a heavy plunge into the black pool below, and felt =
that
thrill of horrible delight which comes to murderers alone.
So swift and sure had been the act it left=
no
time for help. A rush, a plunge, a pause, and then two figures stood where =
four
had been--a man and woman staring dumbly at each other, appalled at the dre=
ad
silence that made high noon more ghostly than the deepest night. And with t=
hat moment
of impotent horror, remorse, and woe, Pauline's long punishment began.