FABIAN AND ROSE.
"What do you mean?"
"I should rather ask what do you mean, or rather what did you mean, by
daring to marry any honest man, and of all men--Aaron Rockharrt? It was
the most audacious challenging of destruction that the most reckless
desperado could venture upon." Fabian Rockharrt continued, mercilessly:
"Do you not know what, if Mr. Rockharrt were to discover the deception
you put upon him, he might do and think himself justified in doing to
you?"
Rose shuddered in silence.
"The very least that he would do would be to turn you out of his house,
without a dollar, and shut his doors on you forever. Then what would
become of you? Who would take you in?"
"Oh, Fabian!" she screamed at last. "Do not talk to me so. You will
frighten me into hysterics."
"Now don't make a noise. For if you do, you will precipitate the
catastrophe that you fear. Be quiet, I beg you," said Mr. Fabian,
composedly, putting his thumbs in his vest pockets and leaning back.
"Why do you say such cruel things to me, then? Such inconsistent
things, too. If I was good enough to marry you, I was good enough to
marry your father."
"But you were never good enough to marry either of us, my dear. If you
will take a little time to reflect on your antecedents, you will
acknowledge that you were not quite good enough to marry any honest
man," said Mr. Fabian, coolly.
"Yet you asked me to marry you," she said, sobbing softly, with her
handkerchief to her eyes.
"Beg pardon, my dear. I think the asking was rather on the other side.
You were very urgent that we should be married, and that our betrothal
should be formally announced."
"Yes; because you led me to believe that you were going to marry me."
"Excuse me. I never led you to believe so, simply allowed you to believe
so. What could a gentleman do under the circumstances? He couldn't
contradict a lady."
"Oh, what a prevarication, Fabian Rockharrt, when every word, every
deed, every look you bestowed on me went to assure me that you loved me
and wished to marry me!"
"Softly, my dear. Softly. I was sorry for you and generous to you. I
gave you the use of a pretty little house and a sufficient income during
good behavior. But you were ungrateful to me, Rose. You were unkind to
me."
"I was not. I would have married you. I could not have done more than
that."
"But, my dear, your good sense must have told you that I could not marry
you. I have done the best I could by you always. Twice I rescued you
from ruin. Once when you were but little more than a child, and your
boy-lover, or husband, had left you alone, a young stranger in a
strange land--a girl friendless, penniless, beautiful, and so in deadly
peril of perdition, I took you on your own representation, and
introduced you into my own family as the governess of my niece. I became
responsible for you."
"And did I not try my best to please everybody?" sobbed the woman.
"That you did," heartily responded Mr. Fabian. "And everybody loved you.
So that, at the end of five years' service, when my niece was to enter a
finishing school, and you were to go to another situation, you took with
you the best testimonials from my father and mother and from the
minister of our parish. But you did not keep your second situation
long."
"How could I? I was but half taught. The Warrens would have had me teach
their children French and German, and music on the harp and the piano. I
knew no language but my own, and no music except that of the piano,
which the dear, gentle lady, your mother, taught me out of the kindness
of her heart. I was told that I must leave at the end of the term. And
my term was nearly out when Captain Stillwater became a daily visitor to
the house, and I saw him every evening. He was a tall, handsome man,
with a dark complexion and black hair and beard. And I always did admire
that sort of a man. Indeed, that was the reason why I always admired
you."
"Don't attempt to flatter me."
"I am not flattering anybody. I am telling you why I liked Captain
Stillwater. And he was always so good to me! I told him all my troubles.
And he sympathized with me! And when I told him that I should be obliged
to leave my situation at the end of the quarter, he bade me never mind.
And he asked me to be his wife. I did consent to be his wife. I was glad
of the chance to get a husband, and a home. So all was arranged. He
advised me not to tell the Warrens that we were to be married, however.
So at the end of my quarter I went away to a hotel, where Captain
Stillwater came for me and took me away to the church where we were
married."
"You had no knowledge that Alfred Whyte was dead, and that you were free
to wed!"
"He had been lost seven years and was as good as dead to me! Besides,
when a man is missing and has; not been heard of for seven years, his
wife is free to marry again, is she not?"
"No. She has good grounds for a divorce that is all! To risk a second
marriage without these legal formalities, would be dangerous! Might be
disastrous! The first husband might turn up and make trouble!"
"I did not know that! But, after all, as it turned out, it did not
matter!" sighed Rose.
"Not in the least!" assented Mr. Fabian, amiably.
"After all, it was not my fault! I married him in good faith; I did,
indeed!"
"Did you tell him of your previous marriage? That is what you have not
told me yet!"
"N-n-no; I was afraid if I did he might break off with me."
"Ah!"
"And I was in such extremity for the want of a home!"
"Had not my father and mother told you that if ever you should find
yourself out of a situation, you should come to them? Why did you not
take them at their word? They had always been very kind to you, and they
would have given you a warm welcome and a happy home. Now, why need you
have rushed into a reckless marriage for a home?"
"Oh, Fabian!" she exclaimed, impatiently, "don't pretend to talk like
an idiot, for you are not one! Don't talk to me as if I were a wax doll
or a wooden woman, for you know I am not one!"
"I am sure I do not know what you mean!"
"Well, then, I loved the man! There, it is out! I loved him more than I
ever loved any one else in the whole world! And I was afraid of losing
him!"
"And so it was because you loved him so well that you deceived him so
much!"
"Didn't he deceive me much more?"
"There were a pair of you--well matched! So well, it seems a pity that
you were parted!"
"Oh, how very unkind you are to me!"
"Not yet unkind! Only waiting to see how you are going to behave!"
"I have never behaved badly! I was not wicked; I was unhappy! Unhappy
from my birth, almost! I had no evil designs against anybody. I only
wanted to be happy and to see people happy. I honestly believed I was
lawfully married to Captain Stillwater. He took me to the Wirt House and
registered our names as Mr. and Mrs. Stillwater. And we were very happy
until his ship sailed. He gave me plenty of money before he went away;
but I was heartbroken to part with him, and could take no pleasure in
anything until I got a little used to his absence."
"I think you told me that you met him once more before your final
separation. When was that meeting? Eh?"
"Fabian Rockharrt, are you trying to catch me in a falsehood? You know
very well that I never told you anything of the sort I told you that I
never saw him again after he sailed away that autumn day! I waited all
the autumn and heard nothing from him, I wrote to him often, but none
of my letters were answered. At length I longed so much to see him that
I grew wild and reckless and resolved to follow him. I took passage in
the second cabin of the Africa and sailed for Liverpool, where I arrived
about the middle of December. I went to the agency of the Blue Star
Line, to which his ship belonged, and inquired where he was to be found.
They told me he had sailed for Calcutta and had taken his wife with him!
It turned me to stone--to stone, Fabian--almost! I remember I sat down
on a bench and felt numb and cold. And then I asked how long he had been
married--hoping, if it was true, that my own was the first and the
lawful union. They told me, for ten years, but as they had no family,
his wife usually accompanied him on all his voyages. So she had now gone
with him to Calcutta."
"I suspect the people in that office were pretty well acquainted with
the handsome skipper's 'ways and manners,' and that they understood your
case at once."
"I do really believe they did," said Rose; "for they looked at me so
strangely, and one man, who seemed to be a porter or a messenger, or
something of that sort, said something about a sailor having a wife at
every port."
"So after that you came back to New York, and did, at last, what you
should have done at first--you wrote to me."
"There was no one on earth to whom, under the peculiar circumstances, I
could have written but to you. Oh, Fabian! to whom else could I appeal?"
"And did I not respond promptly to your call?"
"Indeed you did, like a true knight, as you were. And I did not deceive
you by any false story, Fabian. I told you all--even thing--how basely I
had been deceived--and you soothed and consoled me, and told me that,
as I had not sinned intentionally, I had not sinned at all; and you
brought me with you to the State capital, and established me comfortably
there."
"But you were very ungrateful, my dear. You took everything; gave
nothing."
"I would have given you myself in marriage, but you would not have me.
You did not think me good enough for you."
"But, bless my wig, child! for your age you had been too much married
already--a great deal too much married! You got into the habit of
getting married."
"Oh! how merciless you are to me!" Rose said, beginning to weep.
"No; I am not. I have never been unkind to you--as yet. I don't know
what I may be! My course toward you will depend very much upon yourself.
Have I not always hitherto been your best friend? Ungrateful,
unresponsive though you were at that time, did I not procure for you an
invitation from my mother to accompany her party on that long,
delightful summer trip?"
"I had an impression at the time that I owed the invitation to your
father, who suggested to your mother to write and ask me to accompany
them."
Mr. Fabian looked surprised, and said--for he never hesitated to tell a
fib:
"Oh! that was quite a mistake. It was I myself who suggested the
invitation. I thought it would be agreeable to you. Was it not I myself
who sent you forward in advance to the Wirt House, Baltimore, there to
await the arrival of our party, and join us in our summer travel? And
didn't you have a long, delightful tour with us through the most sublime
scenery in the most salubrious climates on earth? Didn't you return a
perfect Hebe in health and bloom?"
"I acknowledge all that. I acknowledge all my obligations to your
family; but at the same time I declare that I also did my part. I was as
a white slave to your parents. I was lady's maid to your mother, foot
boy to your father. I don't know, indeed, what the old people would have
done without me, for no hired servant could have served them as
faithfully as I did."
"Oh, yes; you were grateful and devoted to all the family except to me,
your best friend--to me, who gave you the use of a lovely home, and a
liberal income, and a faithful friendship; and then trusted in your
sense of justice for my reward."
"I would have given you all I possessed in the world--my own poor self
in marriage--and you led me on to believe that you wished to marry me,
but, finally, you would not have me. You went off and married another
woman."
"Bah! we are talking around in a circle, and getting back to where we
began. Let us come to the point."
"Very well; come to the point," said Rose, sulkily.
"Listen, then: It is not for your reckless elopement with your
step-father's pupil, when you were driven from home by cruelty; it is
not for your false marriage with Stillwater, when you yourself were
deceived; but because with all these antecedents against
you--antecedents which constituted you, however unjustly, a pariah, who
should have lived quietly and obscurely, but who, instead of doing so,
took advantage of kindness shown her, and betrayed the family who
sheltered her by luring into a disgraceful marriage its revered father,
and bringing to deep dishonor the gray head of Aaron Rockharrt, a man of
stern integrity and unblemished reputation--you should be denounced and
punished."
"Oh, Fabian, have mercy! have mercy! You would not now, after years of
friendship, you would not now ruin me?"
"Listen to me! You checkmated me in that matter of the cottage and the
income. Yes, simple as you seem, and sharp as I may appear, you
certainly managed to take all and give nothing. And when you found but
that you could not take my hand and my name, you waylaid me at the
railway station, when I was on my wedding tour, and you swore to be
revenged. I laughed at you. I advised you to be anything rather than
dramatic. I never imagined the possibility of your threatened revenge
taking the form of your marriage. Well, my dear, you have your revenge,
I admit; but in your blindness, you could not see that revenge itself
might be met by retribution! One man kills another for revenge, and does
not, in his blind fury, see the gallows looming in the distance."
"What do you mean? You cannot hang me for marrying your father,"
exclaimed Rose.
"No; don't raise your voice, or you may be heard. No, Rose, I cannot
hang you for treachery; but, my dear, there are worse fates than neat
and tidy hanging, which is over in a few minutes. I could expose your
past life to my father. You know him, and you know that he would show no
ruth, no mercy to deception and treachery such as yours. You know that
he would turn you out of the house without money or character, destitute
and degraded. What then would be your fate at your age--a fading rose
past thirty-seven years old? Sooner or later, and very little later, the
poor-house or the hospital. Better a sweet, tidy little hanging and be
done with it, if possible."
"You are a fiend to talk to me so! a fiend! Fabian Rockharrt," exclaimed
Rose, bursting into hysterical sobs and tears.
"Now, be quiet, my child; you'll raise the house, and then there will be
an explosion."
"I don't care if there will be. You are cruel, savage, barbarous! I
never meant to do any harm by marrying Mr. Rockharrt. I never meant to
be revenged on you or anybody. I only said so because I was so excited
by your desertion of me. I married the old gentleman for a refuge from
the world. I meant to do my duty by him, though he is as cross as a bear
with a bruised head. But do your worst; I don't care. I would just as
lief die as live. I am tired of trying to be good; tired of trying to
please people; tired, oh, very tired of living!"
"Come, come," said soft-hearted Mr. Fabian; "none of that nonsense.
Place yourself in my hands, to be guided by me and to work for my
interests, and none of these evils shall happen to you. You shall live
and die in wealth and luxury, my father's honored wife, the mistress of
Rockhold."
He spoke slowly, tenderly, caressingly, and as she listened to him her
sobs and tears subsided and she grew calmer.
"What is it you want me to do for you? What can I do for you, indeed,
powerless as I am?" she inquired at last.
"You must use all your influence with my father in my interests, and use
it discreetly and perseveringly," he whispered.
"But I have no influence. Never was the young wife of an old man--and I
am young in comparison to him--treated so harshly. I am not his pet; I
am his slave!" she complained.
"But you must obtain influence over him. You can do that. You are with
him night and day when he is not at his business. You are his
shadow--beg pardon, I ought to have said his sunshine."
"I am his slave, I tell you."
"Then be his humble, submissive, obedient slave; betray no
disappointment, discontent, or impatience at your lot. The harsher he
is, the humbler must you be; the more despotic he becomes, the more
subservient you must seem. Make yourself so perfectly complying in all
his moods that he shall believe you to be the very 'perfect rose of
womanhood,' more excellent even than he thought when he married you, and
so as he grows older and weaker in mind as well as body you will gain
not only influence but ascendency over him, and these you must use in my
interest."
"But how? I don't understand."
"Pay attention, then, and you will understand Mr. Rockharrt is aged. In
the course of nature he must soon pass away. Fie has made no will.
Should he die intestate, the whole property, by the laws of this
commonwealth, would fall to pieces; that is to say, it would be divided
into three parts--one-third would go to you--"
Rose started, caught her breath, and stared at the speaker; the greed of
gain dilating her great blue eyes. The third of the Rockharrt's fabulous
wealth to be hers at her husband's death! Amazing! How many millions or
tens of millions would that be? Incredible! And all for her, and she
with, perhaps, half a century of life to live and enjoy it! What a
vista!
"Why do you stare at me so?" demanded Mr. Fabian.
"Because I was so surprised. That is not the law in England. In England
there are usually what are called marriage settlements, which make a
suitable provision for the wife, but leave the bulk of the property to
go to the children--generally to the oldest son."
"And such should be the law here, but it isn't; and so if my father
should die without having made a will, the great estate would break, as
I said, into three parts--one part would be yours, the other two parts
would be divided into three shares, to me, to my brother, and to the
heirs of my sister. The business at North End would probably be carried
on by Aaron Rockharrt's sons."
"But would not that be equitable?" inquired Rose, who had no mind to
have her third interfered with.
"It would not be expedient, nor is such a disposition of his property
the intention of Aaron Rockharrt. I know, from what he has occasionally
hinted, that he means to bequeath the Great North End Works to me and my
brother Clarence, share and share alike; but he puts off making this
will, which indeed must never be made. The North End Works should not be
a monster with two heads, but a colossus with one head with my head. So
that I wish my father to make a will leaving the North End Works to me
exclusively--to me alone as the one head."
"I think if I dared to suggest such a thing to him, he would take off my
head!" said Rose, with grim humor.
"I think he would if you should do so suddenly or clumsily. But you must
insinuate the idea very slowly and subtlely. Clarence is not for the
works; Clarence is too good for this world--at least for the business of
this world. I think him half an imbecile! My father does not hesitate to
call him a perfect idiot. Do you begin to see your way now? Clarence can
be moderately provided for, but should have no share in the North End
Works."
"The North End Works to be left to you solely; Clarence to be moderately
provided for; and what of the two children of the late Mrs. Haught?"
"Oh! my father never intends to leave them more than a modest legacy.
They have each inherited money from their father. No; understand me
once for all, Rose. I must be the sole heir of all my father's wealth,
with the exceptions I have named, and the sole successor to his
business, without any exception whatever. You must live, serve him and
bear with him only to obtain such an ascendency over him as to induce
him to make such a will as I have dictated to you. You can do this. You
can insinuate it so subtlely that he will never suspect the suggestion
came from you. I say you can do this, and you must do it. The woman who
could deceive and entrap old Aaron Rockharrt, the Iron King, into
matrimony, can do anything else in the world that she pleases to do with
him if only she will be as subtle, as patient, and as complacent to him
after marriage as she had been before marriage."
"If Clarence is to be so provided for, Cora and Sylvan to have modest
legacies, and you to have the huge bulk of the estate--where is my third
to come from?"
"Why, my dear, I could never let you have so vast a slice out of the
mammoth fortune! Your third of the estate must follow Clarence's share
of the business--into nothingness. You must play magnanimity, sacrifice
your third, and content yourself with a suitable provision," said
Fabian, equably.
"I will never do that! I would not do it to save your life, Fabian
Rockharrt!"
"Oh, yes, you will, my darling. Not to save my life, but to save
yourself from being denounced to Mr. Rockharrt, and turned out of this
house, destitute and degraded."
"I don't care if I should be! Do you think me quite a baby in your
hands? I have been reflecting since you have been talking to me. I have
been remembering that you told me that the law gives the widow one third
of her late husband's property when he dies intestate, and entitles her
to it, no matter what sort of a will he makes."
"Unless there has been a settlement, my angel," said Mr. Fabian,
composedly.
"Well, there has been no settlement in my case. So whether Aaron
Rockharrt should die intestate, or whether he should make a will, I am
sure of my lawful third. So I defy you, Mr. Fabian Rockharrt. You may
denounce me to your father He may turn me out of doors without a penny,
and 'without a character,' as the servants say, but he cannot divorce
me, because I have been faithful to him ever since our marriage. I could
compel him by law to support me, even though he might not let me share
his home. He would be obliged by law to give me alimony in proportion to
his income, and, oh! what a magnificent revenue that would be for
me--with freedom from his tyranny into the bargain! And at his death,
which could not be long coming at his age, and after such a shock as his
dutiful son proposes to give him, I should come in for my third. And,
oh, where so rich a widow as I should be! With forty or fifty years of
life before me in which to enjoy my fortune! Ah, you see, my clever Mr.
Fabian Rockharrt, though you frightened me out of self-possession at
first, when I come to think over the situation, I find that you can do
me no great harm. If you should put your threats in execution and bring
about a violent separation between myself and my husband, you would do
me a signal favor, for I should gain my personal freedom, with a
handsome alimony during his life, and at his death a third of his vast
estate," she concluded, snapping her fingers in his face.
"I think not."
"Yes; I would."
"No; you would not."
"Indeed! Why would I not, pray?" she inquired, with mocking
incredulity.
"Oh, because of a mere trifle in your code of morals--an insignificant
impediment."
"Tchut!" she exclaimed, contemptuously. "Do you think me quite an
idiot?"
"I think you would be much worse than an idiot if, in case of my
father's discarding you, you should move an inch toward obtaining
alimony or in the case of the coveted 'third.'"
"Pshaw! Why, pray?"
"Because you have not, and never can have, the shadow of a right to
either."
"Bah! why not?"
"Because--Alfred Whyte is living!"
She caught her breath and gazed at the speaker with great dilating blue
eyes.
"What--do--you--mean?" she faltered.
"Alfred Whyte, your husband of twenty years ago, is still living and
likely to live--a very handsome man of forty years old, residing at his
magnificent country seat, Whyte Hall, Dulwich, near London."
"Married again?" she whispered, hoarsely.
"Certainly not; an English gentleman does not commit bigamy."
"How did you--become acquainted--with these facts?"
"I was sufficiently interested in you to seek him out, when I was in
England. I discovered where he lived; also that he was looking out for
the best investment of his idle capital. I called on him personally in
the interests of our great enterprise. He is now a member of the London
syndicate."
"Did you speak--of me?"
"Never mentioned your name. How could I, knowing as I did of the
Stillwater episode in your story?"
"And he lives! Alfred Whyte lives! Oh, misery, misery, misery! Evil fate
has followed me all the days of my life," moaned Rose, wringing her
hands.
"Now, why should you take on so, because Whyte is living? Would you have
had that fine, vigorous man, in the prime of his life, die for your
benefit?"
"But I thought he was dead long ago."
"You were too ready to believe that, and to console yourself. He was
more faithful to your memory."
"How do you know? You said my name was never mentioned between you."
"Not from him, but from a mutual acquaintance, of whom I asked how it
was that Mr. Whyte had never married, I heard that he had grieved for
her out of all reason and had ever remained faithful to the memory of
his first and only love. My own inference was, and is, that the report
of your death was got up by his friends to break off the connection."
"And you never told this 'mutual friend' that I still lived?"
"How could I, my dear, with my knowledge of your Stillwater affair? No,
no; I was not going to disturb the peace of a good man by telling him
that his child-wife of twenty years ago was still living, but lost to
him by a fall far worse than death. No--I let you remain dead to him."
"Oh, misery! misery! misery! I would to Heaven I were dead to everybody!
dead, dead indeed!" she cried, wringing her hands in anguish.
"Come, come, don't be a fool! You see that you are utterly in my power
and must do my will. Do it, and you will come to no harm; but live and
die in a luxurious home."