THE STORY.
"My home," began Miss Porter, "is, as you know, in Florida. I am an
only child, as were both my parents, so that I have now living no
nearer relative than a great-uncle--a superannuated clergyman, who
superintends my affairs, and who, in case I die before he does, which
is very probable, will be heir to my possessions.
"It is now nearly ten years since my father started for Europe, and I
went to an adjoining state to visit a widow lady, whom I had met in
New Orleans the winter previous. It is not necessary that I should use
real names, consequently I will call her Mrs. Le Vert. She was
spending the summer on her plantation, at what she called her country-
seat. It was a large, old-fashioned, wooden building, many miles from
any neighbors, and here she lived alone--for her only son, a lad of
twelve years of age, was at some northern school. At first I was very
lonely, for the secluded life we led at Holly Grove was hardly in
accordance with the taste of a young girl. Still, I did not mind it as
much as some, for I cared but little for gentlemen's society, and had
frequently declared that I should never marry.
"Toward the last of July, Mrs. Le Vert's brother came to visit her. He
was a handsome, boyish-looking youth, six months older than myself--
just out of college--full of life and very fond of pretty girls,
particularly if they chanced to be wealthy."
"That's a little like Ben," said Rosamond, and Miss Porter continued:
"From the first, Mrs. Le Vert seemed determined to make a match
between us, for her brother was poor, and she fancied it would be a
fine idea to have the Porter estate come into the Dunlap family. So
she threw us constantly together--talked of me to him and of him to
me, until I really began to believe I liked him. He, on the contrary,
cared for nothing but my money. Still he deemed it advisable to assume
a show of affection, and one night talked to me of love quite
eloquently. I had been to a dinner party that day, and had worn all my
diamonds. He had never seen them before, and they must have inflamed
his avarice, for I afterward heard him tell his sister that he never
should have proposed if I had not looked so beautiful that night.
'_I was irresistible in my diamonds_,' he said."
Miss Porter paused a moment to witness the effect of her last words,
but Rosamond was looking over her shoulder at a _wrinkle_ she had just
discovered in the waist, and did not heed them. Still she was
listening, and she said, "Yes--go on. You were looking beautifully
that night. Did you consent to marry him?"
"Unhappily, I did," returned Miss Porter, "for I had made myself
believe that I loved him. I wished that he was older, to be sure, but
he said he would wait until he was of age. This plan, however, did not
suit his ambitious sister. She knew I intended asking my father's
approval, and from what she heard of him she feared he would never
consent to my marrying a poor student, and she urged an immediate
union. But I persisted in writing to my father, who answered
immediately, forbidding me to think of young Dunlap, ordering me to go
home, and saying he always intended me for John Castlewell, a neighbor
of ours--a millionaire--a _booby_--a _fool_--whom I hated as I did
poison.
"Not long after the receipt of this letter I was surprised by the
sudden appearance of Uncle Bertram, who had come at my father's
request to take me home. This roused me at once. My father was a
tyrant, I said, and I would let him know I could do as I pleased. In
my excitement, I fancied I could not exist a moment without Richard
Dunlap, while he declared that life would be a blank for him if passed
away from me. At this opportune moment Mrs. Le Vert suggested that we
be married immediately--that very night. Uncle Bertram fortunately was
a clergyman, and could officiate as well as any other. In justice to
Richard, I will say that he hesitated longer than I did--but he was
persuaded at last, as was Uncle Bertram, and with no other witness
than Mrs. Le Vert and a white woman who lived with her as half
waiting-maid and half companion, we were married."
Rosamond was interested now, and forgetting to remove her dress, she
threw a crimson shawl around her shoulders, and sitting down upon the
bed, exclaimed, "Married! You married! Why, then, are you called
Porter?"
"Listen and you shall know," returned the lady, a dark look settling
down upon her face.
"Scarcely was the ceremony over, when I began to regret it--not
because I disliked Richard, but because I dreaded my father's
displeasure, for he had a most savage, revengeful temper, and his
daughter possesses the same." This was bitterly spoken, and she
continued--"Hardly an hour after we were married, a negro brought a
letter to Richard from an eccentric old man for whom he had been
named. In it the old man said he had made his namesake his heir,
provided he did not marry until he was _twenty-five_.
"'I know just how _frillickin'_ you are,' he wrote, 'and I know, too,
how unsuitable and how unhappy most early marriages are--so my boy, if
you want Sunnyside, wait till you are twenty-five before you take an
extra rib. I hate to be bothered with letters, and if you don't answer
this, I shall conclude that you accept my terms.'"
"Mrs. Le Vert at once suggested that, as the old gentleman had already
had two fits of apoplexy, and would undoubtedly soon have the third,
our marriage should for a time be kept a secret.
"But he didn't consent," cried Rosamond.
"Yes, he did," answered Miss Porter, "and though I, too, said it would
be best, I began to distrust him from that moment--to think that he
preferred money to myself. Uncle Bertram promised secrecy and went
back alone, and then commenced a life of wretchedness, which makes me
shudder even to recall it. With the exception of my own servant, who
dared not tell if I bade her be silent, the blacks knew nothing of our
marriage, and though we lived together as man and wife, so skillfully
did Mrs. Le Vert and Esther, her white domestic, manage the matter,
that for a time our secret was safely kept. A few of the negroes
discovered it ere I left, but as they always lived in that out-of-the-
way place, it never followed me, and to this day no human being in
Florida, save Uncle Bertram knows of the marriage.
"I am very impulsive, and the excitement being over, my affection
began to cool. Richard could have kept it alive had he tried, but he
did not. On the contrary he was much alone, and when with me was
always tormenting me with conscientious scruples about deceiving 'the
old man.'"
"Oh, I like him for that," cried Rosamond, "I like him for that. Why
didn't you let him tell?"
"Because," returned Miss Porter, "I had fears that father would
disinherit _me_, and if Richard lost Sunnyside we should be poor
indeed."
A shadow passed over Rosamond's face, and she said involuntarily, "I
could be happy with Mr. Browning if we _were_ poor."
Marie started and answered quickly, "What has _Mr. Browning_ to do
with my story?"
"Nothing, nothing," returned Rosamond, "only I was thinking that if
you loved Richard as well as I do Mr. Browning, you would not have
cared for money."
"But I didn't," returned Marie. "I was mistaken. 'Twas a mere childish
fancy. I never loved him. _I hate him now_."
She spoke vehemently, and when Rosamond said mournfully. "Hate your
husband!" she replied, "Yes, more than _hate_, or I had never come to
tell you this; but listen--from indifference we came to coldness--from
coldness to recrimination--from that to harsh words--from harsh words
to quarrels--and from quarrels to _blows_!"
She uttered the last word slowly, while Rosamond exclaimed, "Not
_blows_, Miss Porter! No man would strike a woman. _I_ almost hate
him, now."
The proud lip curled scornfully--a gleam of satisfaction shot from the
keen black eyes, and Marie went on. "He would say--nay does say _I_
was the most to blame--that I aggravated him beyond human endurance--
but he provoked me to it. Think of his swearing at me, Rosamond--
calling me a _she-devil_ and all that. Think, too, of his telling me
to my face that he was driven into the marriage wholly by his sister--
that he regretted it more than I, and to crown all, think of his
_boxing my ears!_--he, a poor, insignificant Northern _puppy_, boxing
_me_--a Porter, and a Southern heiress!"
She was terribly excited, and Rosamond, gazing at her face, distorted
with malignant passion, began to fancy that the greater wrong might
perhaps have lain with her.
After a moment's pause, Marie began again. "When we had been three
months man and wife, he wrote to the old man, confessing his marriage,
and saying sundry things not wholly complimentary to his bride; but I
intercepted it, read it, tore it up, and taunted him with it. I
believe I called him a low-lived Yankee, or something like that, and
then it was he struck me. The blow sunk deep into my soul. It was an
insult, an unpardonable insult, and could not be forgiven. My Southern
blood was all on fire, and had I been a man, he should have paid for
that blow. I feel it yet; the smart has never for a moment left me,
but burns upon my face just as hatred for him burns upon my heart!"
"Oh, Miss Porter," cried Rosamond, as the former ground her teeth
together, "don't look so terribly. You frighten me. He struck you, but
he asked your pardon, sure?"
"Yes, he pretended to, but I spat at him and bade him leave me
forever. His sister tried to interfere, but she made the matter worse,
and as my father was on the eve of embarking for America, I determined
to go home, and when he came, tell him the whole and ask him to seek
satisfaction from one who had dared to strike his daughter. Richard
made a show of trying to keep me--said we had better live together,
and all that, while his sister called us two silly children who needed
whipping. But I did not heed it. I went home to Uncle Bertram and
waited for my father, who never came. He died upon the sea, and I was
heir of all his vast possessions. Then Richard made overtures for
reconciliation, but I spurned them all. You've heard of _woman-
haters,_ Rosamond--I am a _man-hater_. I loathe the whole sex, Uncle
Bertram excepted. My marriage was of course a secret in Florida. My
servant, who knew of it, died soon after my father, and as Uncle
Bertram kept his own counsel, more than one sought my hand, but I
turned my back upon them all.
"Four or five years ago he wrote me a letter. He was then master of
Sunnyside, for the old man left it to him after all. He was lonely
there, he said, and he asked a reconciliation. Had he never struck me,
I might have gone, for his letter was kindly enough, but the blow was
a barrier between us, so I refused to listen, and exulted over the
thought of his living there alone all his days, with the secret on his
mind.
"The sweetest morsel of all in the cup of revenge was, however, for a
time withheld, but it came at last, Rosamond. It came at last. He
loved a beautiful young girl, loved her all the more that he could not
marry her."
She drew nearer to Rosamond, who, though still unsuspecting, trembled
from head to foot with an undefinable emotion of coming evil.
"I saw her, Rosamond; saw this young girl with his name upon her lips
when waking--saw her, too, with his name upon her lips when sleeping,
and all this while she did not dream that I, the so-called Marie
Porter, was his wife, the barrier which kept him from saying the words
her little heart longed so to hear."
There were livid spots on Rosamond's neck--livid spots upon her face,
and still she did not move from her seat, though her clammy hand
clutched nervously her bridal dress. A _horrid_ suspicion had flashed
upon her, but with a mighty effort she threw it off as injustice to
Mr. Browning, and mentally crying, "It cannot be," she faintly
whispered, "Go on."
"The summer I met her," said Miss Porter, I was at Cartersville, a
little out-of-the-way place on a lake--"
"You're telling me true?" interrupted Rosamond, joy thrilling in her
tones.
"Yes, true," returned Miss Porter.
"Then bless you--bless you for those last words," rejoined Rosamond,
burying her face in her companion's lap. "A terrible fear for a moment
came over me, that it might be _I_. But it isn't. _I_ met you at the
Springs. Oh, if it had been me, I should most surely die."
"But _she_ did not--the young girl," resumed Miss Porter. "She had a
brave, strong heart, and she bore up wondrously. She felt that he had
cruelly deceived her, and that helped her to bear the blow. Besides,
she was glad she knew of it in time, for, had he married her, she
would not have been his wife, you know."
Rosamond shuddered and replied, "I know, but my heart would have
broken all the same. It aches so now for her. But go on, how did she
find it out? Who could have strength to tell her?"
There was a pause, and each could hear the beating of the other's
heart. The November wind had risen within the last half hour, and now
howled dismally past the window, seeming to Rosamond like the wail
that young girl must have uttered when she first learned how her trust
had been betrayed. _The clock struck four!_ Rosamond counted each
stroke, and thought, "One hour more, and _he_ will be here." Marie
counted each stroke, and thought, "One hour more, and I must be
gone."
"Rosamond," she began again, "what I now have to confess is an act of
which I have repented bitterly, and never more than since I sat within
this room. But it was not premeditated, and believe me, Rosamond, it
was not done for any malice I bore to that young girl, for I pitied
her so much--oh, so much," and her hand wandered caressingly over the
bright hair lying on her lap.
"We went out one afternoon--two ladies, a gentleman, and myself--in a
small sail-boat upon the lake. _I_ planned the excursion and thought I
should enjoy it, but we had not been out long when my old affection of
the heart began to trouble me. I grew faint, and begged of them to put
me on the land. They complied with my request, and set me down upon a
point higher up than that from which we had embarked, and near to a
dilapidated cabin where lived a weird old hag, who earned a scanty
livelihood by fortune-telling. I told her I was sick, and sat down by
her door where I could watch the movements of the party. Suddenly a
terrific thunderstorm arose, the wind blew a hurricane, and though the
boat rode the billows bravely for a time, it capsized at length, and
its precious freight disappeared beneath the foaming waves. For a
moment horror chilled my blood; then, swift as the lightning which
leaped from the cloud overhanging the graves of my late companions, a
maddening thought flashed upon my mind."
"But the girl--hasten to that part," said Rosamond, lifting up her
head, while Miss Porter went back to her chair.
"I shall come to her soon enough," returned Miss Porter, continuing
her story. "No living being, save the old woman at my side, knew of my
escape, and I could bribe her easily. Fortunately I carried the most
of my money about my person, and I said to her, 'There are reasons
why, for a time at least, I wish to be considered dead. Here are
twenty dollars now, and the same shall be paid you every month that
you are silent. No human creature must know that I am living.' I saw
by the kindling of her eye at the sight of the gold that I was safe,
and when the night shadows were falling I stole from her cabin, and
taking a circuitous route to avoid observation, I reached the midway
station in time for the evening train.
"Three days later in a distant city I read of the sad catastrophe--
read that all had been found but one, a Miss Porter, from Florida, and
as I read I thought '_he_ will see that, too.' He did see it. Before
going to Carterville I sent to Sunnyside a girl who was under peculiar
obligations to me, and one whom I could trust. She secured the place.
She was employed at last about the person of that young girl, _who had
lived at Sunnyside since she was a child, a friendless orphan_."
There was a quick, gasping moan as if the soul were parting from the
body, and Rosamond fell upon her face, which the pillows concealed
from view, while Miss Porter hurriedly proceeded:
"There is but little more to tell. I wrote to the girl who took her
own letters from the office. I told her all, and from her heard that
the bridal day was fixed. The obstacle was removed--not
_insanity_, but a _living wife_. Need I say more?"
She paused, but from the bed where the crushed, motionless figure lay,
there came no sound, and she said again, "Speak, Rosamond. Curse me,
if you will, for saving you from an unlawful marriage."
Still there was no sound, save the low sighing of the wind, which
seemed to have taken a fresh note of sadness as if bewailing the
unutterable desolation of the young girl, who lay so still and
lifeless that Marie Porter's heart quickened with fear, and drawing
near, she touched the little hand resting on the pillow. It was cold--
rigid--as was also the face which she turned to the light.
"_It is death!_" she cried, and a wild shriek rang through the house,
bringing at once the servants, headed by Mrs. Peters.
"_What is it?_" cried the latter, as she saw the helpless figure and
beautiful upturned face.
"_It's death, madam--death_, and it's coming on me, too,"
answered Miss Porter, clasping her hands over her heart, which
throbbed as it never had done before, and which at last prostrated her
upon the lounge.
But no one heeded her, save the girl Maria. The rest gave their
attention to Rosamond, who lay so long in the death-like stupor that
others than Miss Porter believed her dead.
_The clock struck five!_ and echoing from the Granby hills the engine-
whistle came. Then a slight tremor ran through her frame, and Mrs.
Peters whispered joyfully, "There's life--there's hope."
Along the highway the returning traveler came with rapid tread, but
'neath the sycamore no Rosamond was waiting.
"She is hiding from me," he said, but his search for her was vain, and
he rapidly hastened on.
All about the house was still. There was no Rosamond at the door--nor
in the hall--nor in the parlor--nor on the stairs; but from her
chamber came the buzz of voices, and he entered unannounced, recoiling
backward when he saw the face upon the pillow, and knew that it was
Rosamond's. Every particle of color had left it; there were dark
circles beneath the eyes, and a look about the mouth as if the
concentrated agony of years had fallen suddenly upon her.
"What is it?" he asked, and at the sound of his voice, the brown eyes
he had been wont to call so beautiful unclosed, but their sunny
brightness was all gone, and he shuddered at their dim, meaningless
expression.
She seemed to know him, and stretching her arm toward him as a child
does toward its mother when danger threatens, she laid her head upon
his bosom with a piteous wail--the only really audible sound she had
yet uttered.
"Rosamond, darling--what has come upon you?" he said, "and why are you
in your bridal dress?"
At that word she started, and moving away from him, moaned sadly, "It
was cruel--oh, so cruel to deceive me, when I loved and trusted him so
much."
"Won't somebody tell me what this means?" he demanded, and Mrs. Peters
replied, "We do not know. There's been a strange woman here, and she
was with Rosamond when it happened."
"Woman? What woman? And where is she now?" he asked, and Mrs. Peters
replied, "She was faint--dying, she said, and Maria took her into
another chamber."
Mechanically he started for that chamber--hearing nothing--seeing
nothing--thinking nothing for the nameless terror which had fallen
upon him. He did not suspect the real truth. He merely had a vague
presentiment that some one who knew nothing of the drowning had come
there to save his Rosamond from what they supposed to be an unlawful
marriage, and when at last he stood face to face with his living wife,
when he knew the grave had given up its dead, he dropped to the floor
as drops the giant oak when felled by the lightning's power!
Marie Porter, even had she been cruelly wronged, was avenged--fully,
amply avenged, and covering her face with her hands, she moaned, "I
have killed them both, and there's nothing left for me now but to
die!"