"Will fortune never come with both hands full,
But write her fair words still in fairest letters?
She either gives a stomach and no food--
Such are the poor in wealth; or else a feast,
And takes away the stomach--such are the rich,
That have abundance, and enjoy it not."
Shakspeare.
Della sat rocking by the fire, looking pale and ill, and Bernard was
fondly hanging over her chair. Minny sat a little way apart, holding
upon her lap the first-born babe--a boy--"the darling of their een."
Never was a happier father, never a prouder and more delighted mother.
"Bernard," said Della, looking up in her husband's face, "I have a plan
to propose."
"What is it, dearest?"
"Will you grant it?"
"Perhaps."
"Well, I think that now little Bernard is old enough to do a little
while without me, and what I have to propose is, that you send me in the
country, to visit our friends, and to regain my health, which you know
is sadly impaired, while Minny stays home, and takes care of you, and
plays mother to baby; what say you?"
"And leave me a widower?"
"Just a little while."
"And why not take the boy and Minny with you?"
"Oh, that would never do. Must leave my cares behind, when I go for my
health, you know."
"Poor child! it seems strange to hear you talking of cares, you who were
born to so much wealth and luxury."
"Hush, hush! you musn't talk so. Happy cares mine are, and you know it,
though not just the ones to take with me on a visit. Now confess, that
you never knew a happier little wife than yours, or a more joyous little
household than ours."
"True, in spite of our poverty."
"Yes, in spite of everything. Love is our wealth, and we are so happy in
the possession of it."
"Yet you want to run away from us all!"
"Yes, since you will have it so; do you consent?"
"Submissively."
It was so arranged, then, that Della should leave on one of the evening
up-river boats, and the rest of the day was spent in the hurry and
bustle of preparation.
Though Minny had felt really unhappy at the idea of being left alone
with Bernard, toward whom she stood in such a peculiar relation, she
studiously concealed her feelings from Della, not wishing to mar the
bright anticipations in which she was indulging; and, smothering her own
forebodings, hoped for the best.
The parting hour arrived, and with many charges, and tears, and
warnings, Della clung to her husband and her baby, regretting, even at
the last moment, that she had made up her mind to part with them.
"Dear Bernard, I leave Minny in your charge; take precious care of her
for my sake. A great charge I leave with you, dearest--my boy and dear
Minny. You must be mother and sister till I come back."
"I will, love; truly is my charge a sacred one."
"Good-bye, my treasures."
"Good-bye."
She passed out to the carriage.
"Send Minny to me once again, Bernard."
Minny came.
Della threw her arms around her, and pressed her to her heart.
"I never parted from you before, dear Minny, and I can scarcely give you
up. Were it not that health demanded it, and a narrow purse forbade our
both going, this would have never been. There! don't cry, Minny; when we
meet, it will be never to part again."
Was there prophecy in those parting words?
As the carriage rolled away, Minny stood holding the heavy black curls
from her brow, gazing earnestly after it as long as she could see
Della's white handkerchief waving her adieu; then, bursting into a flood
of tears, she took the babe from its father's arms, and entered the
house.
Bernard was a good husband to Della, and loved her as dearly as it was
possible for him to love. But his marriage with her had not bettered his
fortunes, and he was a poor man. This sometimes induced him to indulge
in his old habits, in spite of Della's remonstrances, and tearful
assurances that they were rich enough, and surely very happy, if he
wouldn't follow these bad practices. He occasionally played high, in the
hope of mending his purse, and then drank deep, to drown his
disappointment. Several times since their marriage, he had gone home in
such a state as this; but, every time, Della's unfeigned distress had
called forth an earnest promise of amendment, which at the time he had
faithfully meant to fulfill. But now Della was gone, and her restraining
influence gone with her. She had been absent but a few days, when one
night Bernard stayed out very late; and Minny, tired of waiting up for
him, arranged the latch-key so that he might enter, and taking the baby
in her arms, retired with him to her own room. She had but just laid the
child upon his pillow when she heard his fathers step upon the stairs.
She knew instantly, by its unsteadiness, that he was intoxicated. She
did not disrobe, but, sitting down beside the bed, listened with painful
anxiety to hear him go quietly to rest in his own room. She sat almost
breathless, while a thrilling and undefinable dread crept through her
whole frame. The steps went slowly on, she heard them pass into Della's
chamber, linger there a moment, and then, oh, horror! they were directed
straight toward her door. They came on, in their wavering unsteadiness,
and, with a sudden impulse, Minny sprang to the bed, thinking to catch
up his sleeping son, and meet him in the hall; but ere she could carry
out her design Bernard had reached the door, entered, and closed it
behind him. His blood-shot eyes, his flushed face, and trembling hand,
as he held the lamp before him, all bore evidence of the excitement
under which he labored.
"So, so, pretty one, how do you progress in playing mother, eh?"
"Very well," replied Minny, with forced calmness. "Did you come to look
after him?"
"Look after him? no, I didn't; I knew he was doing well enough; I came
to look after you."
"Is there anything you want, which I can get you," said Minny,
approaching the door, and laying her hand on the knob.
"No, my beauty," returned the other, placing his back against the door,
and turning the key in the lock, while he placed his lamp on the table
beside him, "there's nothing I want which you can _get_ me, but there's
something I want which you can _give_ me, and that's a kiss. Come here."
He seated himself, and motioned for her to come and sit upon his knee.
Minny grew deathly pale, and laid her hand upon her heart, to still its
tumultuous throbbing. There was no way of escape; the window was too
high from the ground, and the door was locked, and her persecutor had
the key.
Striving to conceal her agitation, she said, as quietly as she could:--
"I cannot give you that, Bernard; such manifestations on your part, you
should remember, belong to your wife and child."
"And isn't the mother of my boy my wife? and did you not just confess
you were his mother?"
"In the absence of his rightful mother, I have striven to fill her
place; and if you choose to look upon me in such a light, show me the
respect which is my due. Leave my room, sir!"
"By Jove, girl, you are saucy; come here, and sit upon my knee. You're a
little wrathful just now, but all the prettier for that. Come."
Minny rose up, with her face ashy pale, and stood in her calm womanly
dignity before him.
"Are you not ashamed to show a defenceless woman such an outrage, in
your own house? I have seen the time when Bernard Wilkins would have
scorned so cowardly an act as this."
"That was when he had drank less wine, and lost less gold; come, there
is no use in parleying, come here by me."
He started forward, and grasping her rudely by the wrist, drew her
toward him.
Minny struggled wildly, but his hold was firm.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, as with a violent effort she wrenched her wrist
from his grasp, "for Heaven's sake, Bernard, remember what is due to
your absent wife, what belongs to yourself, what in duty bound you owe
to me. Think of your innocent babe, and be a man once more. I beg you
leave me to myself."
"Nonsense, girl; haven't I a right here? Didn't I marry you once, and
doesn't that make my presence here proper and right? Have you forgotten
that?"
"No, never! but _you_ forgot it. _You_ made the bonds, which united us,
illegal, and took to your heart another bride. You have forgotten this,
too, it would seem, or you would not thus insult me. I am no more to you
now than if those days had never been."
"Zounds! my pretty one, we think differently on that score," said
Wilkins, throwing his arms about her slender waist.
"Let go your hold this instant!" cried Minny, "or I will shriek for
help, and expose you to the neighborhood."
"Shriek as loud as you choose," returned the now determined man; "who,
do you suppose, will hear? Scream, and let me see how well you can do it
up."
Still struggling in his grasp, Minny flung herself upon her knees before
him, and clasped her hands upon her breast.
"Oh, Bernard, have mercy!"
"Yield, then."
"Never!"
"By Heaven, then, I will make you."
Tightening his clasp about her with one arm, with the other he drew a
pistol from his side-pocket, and presented it at her forehead.
"How now?"
"Oh, Bernard, is this the sacred charge that Della left you?"
"Do you give up?"
"No, no! with my latest breath, no!"
"Then I shall fire."
"Fire, then! here is my heart, fire! I would sooner die a thousand
deaths, than have my mistress think I was so base a thing as you would
make me. You never shall dishonor her while Minny has power to prevent
it."
Surely a demon had crept into Bernard's heart, as he stood an instant,
with fascinated eye, gazing on the young girl, as she knelt in all her
fearful beauty before him. He seemed to have lost entirely all control
over himself, and with excited mien listened to the echo of those last
words. It was but a second's pause, yet it embraced an eternity; the
fatal trigger was drawn, by an impulse he could not withstand, and Minny
fell backward on the floor, with her long curls falling round her like a
pall.
The ball had entered just beneath her chin, glanced, and lodged in her
right side. It was a most ghastly wound, and as the blood poured from
it, over the snow-white dress, and trickled slowly along the floor,
Bernard stood gazing upon it like one petrified. His eyes opened wide
with horror, his limbs grew rigid, his very hair seemed to rise up, in
the intense agony of the moment. The pistol dropped from his extended
hand, and he fell upon his knees beside his victim, completely sobered,
and awakened to the full magnitude of the crime he had committed.
"Oh, Minny, Minny! I have been the curse of your life-time; a shadow,
mingling with all your sunlight; fearful, fearful is the retribution
cast from your dying spirit upon mine. Forgive me, oh, forgive me!"
Suddenly, with the last remnant of strength gathered to speak once more,
her small hands were raised convulsively, and placed in Bernard's, while
her dark eyes, softened, and even more beautiful in their death-hour
than ever before, sought his face.
"God forgive you, Bernard, as I this moment forgive you _all, all_. To
your wife, Bernard, your Della, henceforth be faithful; be true to her,
love her, cherish her, guard her as your life. Do this, and the shadow
of this hour will rest ever on your heart holily."
"I promise; as God hears me, I promise."
There was a faint pressure from the hand he held, the lips moved, but
gave out no sound, and Bernard sat alone in the chamber of death,
clasping in his own the cold hands of the murdered Minny!