husband, she covered her face and wept. He reproached himself for his
transient oblivion of her sorrow, and in endeavouring to soothe it,
Eugenia was for a while forgotten. But he little dreamed of the
fountain of Rosamond's tears. It would have been difficult for
herself to have analyzed the strange feelings struggling within her.
The _bosom serpent_, of whose existence she had been previously
unconscious, then wound its first cold coil in her heart, and instead
of shuddering at its entrance, and closing its portals on the deadly
guest, she allowed it to wind itself in its deepest foldings, where
its hissings and writhings were no less terrible, because unheard and
unseen. Rosamond from earliest childhood had been the object of
exclusive devotion from those she loved. She had never known a sharer
in her mother's love, for unhappily she was an only child. The
undivided fondness of her husband had hitherto been all that her
exacting heart required. Now, she must admit an acknowledged sharer of
his thoughts and affections, not as an occasional visiter, but as an
constant inmate, an inseparable companion. The hallowed privacy of the
domestic altar was destroyed, for the foot of the stranger had
desecrated it. She could no longer appropriate to herself every look
and smile of him, whose glances and smiles she believed her own
inalienable right. If she walked abroad, another beside herself, must
henceforth lean upon his arm. If she remained at home, another must
also be seated at his side. And this invasion of her most precious
immunities, was not to be endured for a short season, for weeks or
months, but years, perhaps for life. These new and evil anticipations
swept darkly across the troubled surface of Rosamond's mind, as she
gazed on the varying countenance of Eugenia, and wondered she had
never thought her handsome before. The gratitude and sensibility that
beamed from her eyes whenever they turned on her benefactor, seemed to
her diseased imagination the harbingers of a warmer emotion, and the
constitutional ardour and frankness of her expressions were indicative
of the most dangerous of characters. It was well for Rosamond that the
recent death of her mother was a legitimate excuse for her pensiveness
and gloom, as the incipient stage of the malady that was beginning to
steal into her soul must otherwise have been perceived. Cecil, frank,
confident, and unsuspecting, never dreamed that every attention
bestowed on Eugenia was considered as a robbery to herself. Eugenia,
warm-hearted, impulsive, and grateful, as little imagined that the
overflowings of her gratitude were construed into feelings she would
have blushed to have cherished. Cecil was passionately fond of music.
Since her mother's death, Rosamond could not be prevailed upon to
touch the keys of the instrument, and he was too kind to urge upon
her a task repugnant to her feelings. But when Eugenia discovered that
she possessed an accomplishment capable of imparting pleasure to him
who had given her the means of acquiring it, she was never weary of
exercising it. She sang too with rare sweetness and power, and never
refused to sing the songs that Cecil loved to hear. Rosamond could not
sing. She had never mourned over this deficiency before, but now she
could not bear to think that another should impart a pleasure to her
husband, she had not the means of bestowing. She forgot that she had
selfishly denied to gratify his taste, in the way she had the power of
doing, because it would have interrupted the indulgence of her filial
grief. Another thing deeply wounded Rosamond's feelings: always
accustomed to being waited upon by others, to have all her wishes
anticipated, she never thought of showing her love by those active
manifestations which most men love to receive. She would have laid
down her life for her husband, if the sacrifice were required, but she
never thought of offering him a glass of water with her own hand,
because it was the office of the servants to supply his recurring
wants. Never till she saw these attentions bestowed by another who was
not a menial, did she imagine that affection could give an added
relish, even to a cup of cold water, when offered to the thirsty lip.
One warm, sultry day, Cecil entered after a long walk, and throwing
himself on a sofa exclaimed, "Give me some drink, Titania--for I
faint--even as a sick girl." Rosamond smiled at his theatrical
assumption of Cæsar's dignity, and reaching out her hand, rang the
bell. Eugenia flew out of the room, and returned long before a servant
could answer the summons, with a glass of water, and bending one knee
to the ground, with sportive grace she offered it to his acceptance.
"Eugenia!" cried Rosamond, colouring very high, "we have no lack of
servants. I am sure there is no necessity of your assuming such a
trouble."
"Oh! but it is such a pleasure!" exclaimed Eugenia, springing up, and
placing the empty glass on the sideboard. "It is all I can do. You
would not deprive me of the privilege if you knew how dearly I prize
it."
Had Cecil observed the heightened colour of Rosamond, he might have
conjectured that all was not right in her bosom, but she sat in the
shadow of a curtain, and her emotion was unperceived. A few evenings
afterwards, they were walking together, when they met a woman
bustling through the streets, with her arm a-kimbo, and an air of
boldness and defiance, that spoke the determined Amazon. Eugenia clung
closely to Cecil's arm as she approached, and turned deadly pale; she
recognised in those stony eyes and iron features the dreaded Mrs.
Grundy, the tyrant of her desolate childhood, and she felt as if the
thong were again descending on her quivering flesh, and the iron again
entering into her soul. Such a rush of painful recollections came over
her, she was obliged to lean against a railing for support, while
Cecil, who saw what was the cause of her agitation, gave a stern
glance at the woman, who had stopped, and was gazing in her face with
an undaunted stare.
"Heyday!" cried she, "who's this? 'Tisn't Giny, sure enough? I never
should have thought of such a thing, if it hadn't been for the
gentleman. Well! can't you speak to a body, now you have got to be
such a fine lady? This is all the gratitude one gets in the world."
"Gratitude!" repeated Cecil, "how dare you talk of gratitude to her,
before me? Pass on and leave her, and be thankful that your sex
shields you a second time from my indignation."
"Well you needn't bristle up so, sir," cried she, with a sneer. "I'm
not going to kill her. I suppose you've got married to her by this
time. But you'd better look sharp, lest she gets into a rambling way,
as her mother did before her." With a malignant laugh the virago
passed on, delighted to find that she had drawn quite a crowd to the
spot where Eugenia still leaned, incapable of motion, and Rosamond
stood, pale as a statue, brooding over the words of the woman, as if,
like a Delphian priestess, she had uttered the oracles of fate.
"Why should she imagine _her_ to be his wife," whispered the bosom
serpent, subtle as its arch prototype in the bowers of Eden, "if she
had not witnessed in him evidences of tenderness, such as a husband
only should bestow? That random sentence spoke volumes, and justifies
thy fearful suspicions. Alas for thee, Rosamond! The young blossoms of
thy happiness are blighted in the sweet springtime of their bloom.
There is no more greenness or fragrance for thee--better that thou
hadst died, and been laid by thy mother's side, than live to
experience the bitter pangs of deceived confidence and unrequited
love."
Cecil, unconscious of the secret enemy that was operating so
powerfully against him in the breast of Rosamond, wondered at her
coldness to Eugenia; a coldness which became every day more apparent,
and was even assuming the character of dislike. It seemed so natural
in one so young and affectionate as Rosamond, to wind her affections
round a being of corresponding youth and sensibility, so foreign to
her gentle nature to treat one entirely dependent on her kindness,
with such reserve and distrust--he wondered, regretted, and at length
remonstrated. Eugenia had just anticipated a servant's movements in
bringing him a book from the library, which he expressed a desire to
see, and he had taken it from her hand with a smile of acknowledgment,
when the instantaneous change in the countenance of Rosamond arrested
his attention. It was so chilling, so inexplicable, he dropped the
book to the ground in his confusion, which Eugenia, with her usual
graceful readiness, again lifted and laid upon his knee. In raising
her face from her bending position, she encountered the glance of
Rosamond, which seemed to have upon her the momentary effect of
fascination. She stood as if rooted to the spot, gazing steadfastly on
her, then with a cheek as hueless as ashes, turned and precipitately
left the apartment. Cecil and Rosamond looked at each other without
speaking. Never had they exchanged such a look before. "Good heavens!"
he exclaimed, rising and walking two or three times across the
apartment, with a resounding tread. "Good heavens! what a
transformation! I must know the cause of it. Tell me, Rosamond, and
tell me truly and unreservedly, what means your mysterious and unkind
behaviour to one who never can have offended you? What has Eugenia
done to forfeit your affection as a friend, your consideration as a
guest, your respect to the claims of your husband's adopted sister?"
"It were far better to subject your own heart and conscience to this
stern inquisition, than mine, Cecil," replied Rosamond bitterly. "Had
you informed me sooner of the length and breadth of my duties, I might
have fulfilled them better. I did not know, when Eugenia was received
into our household, how overwhelming were her claims. I did not know
that I was expected to exalt _her_ happiness on the ruins of my own."
"Rosamond! Rosamond!" interrupted Cecil, vehemently--"Beware what you
say--beware lest you strike a deathblow to our wedded love. I can bear
anything in the world but suspicion. Every feeling of my heart has
been laid bare before you. There is not a thought that is not as open
to your scrutiny as the heavens in the blaze of noonday. How unworthy
of yourself, how disgraceful to me, how wounding to Eugenia, this
unjustifiable conduct!"
Every chord of Rosamond's heart quivered with agony at this burst of
indignant feeling from lips which had never before addressed her but
in mild and persuasive tones. Had the wealth of worlds been laid at
her feet, she would have given it to recall the last words she had
uttered. Still, in the midst of her remorse and horror, she felt the
overmastering influence of her imagined wrongs, and that influence
triumphed over the suggestions of reason and the admonitions of
prudence.
"It is ungenerous--it is unmanly," she cried, "to force me into the
confession of sentiments which you blame me for declaring--I had said
nothing, done nothing--yet you arraign me before the bar of inexorable
justice, as the champion of the injured Eugenia. If the sincerity of
my countenance offends you, it is my misfortune, not my fault. I
cannot smile on the boldness I condemn, or the arts I despise."
"Boldness! arts!" repeated Cecil. "If there was ever an unaffected,
impulsive child of nature, it is she whom you so deeply wrong; but you
wrong yourself far more. You let yourself down from the high station
where I had enthroned you, and paid you a homage scarcely inferior to
an angel of light. You make me an alien from your bosom, and nourish
there a serpent which will wind you deeper and deeper in its envenomed
folds, till your heart-strings are crushed beneath its coils."
"I am indeed most wretched," exclaimed Rosamond; "and if I have made
myself so, I deserve pity rather than upbraiding. Cecil, you never
could have loved me, or you would not so lightly cast me from you."
Cecil, who had snatched up his hat, and laid his hand on the latch of
the door, turned at the altered tone of her voice. Tears, which she
vainly endeavoured to hide, gushed from her eyes, and stole down her
colourless cheeks.
"Rosamond," said he, in a softened tone, approaching her as he spoke,
"if you believe what you last uttered, turn away from me, and let us
henceforth be strangers to each other;--but if your heart belies their
meaning, if you can restore me the confidence you have withdrawn, and
which is my just due, if you are willing to rely unwaveringly on my
integrity, my honour, and my love, come to my arms once more, and
they shall shelter you through life with unabated tenderness and
undivided devotion."
Poor, foolish Rosamond! she had wrought herself up to a state
bordering on despair, and the revulsion of her feelings was so great
that she almost fainted in the arms that opened to enfold her. Her
folly, her madness, her injustice and selfishness stared her so
fearfully in the face, she was appalled and self-condemned. Like the
base Judean, she had been about to throw away from her "a gem richer
than all its tribe," a gem of whose priceless worth she had never till
this moment been fully conscious. She made the most solemn resolutions
for the future, invoking upon herself the most awful penalties if she
ever again yielded to a passion so degrading. But passion once
admitted is not so easily dispossessed of its hold. Every self-relying
effort is but a flaxen withe bound round the slumbering giant, broken
in the first grasp of temptation. Jealousy is that demon, whose name
is Legion, which flies from the rebuking voice of Omnipotence alone.
Rosamond did not say, "If God give me strength, I will triumph over my
indwelling enemy." She said, "The tempter shall seek me in vain--I am
strong, and I defy its power." Rosamond was once more happy, but she
had planted a thorn in the bosom of another, sharp, deep, and
rankling. No after kindness could obliterate the remembrance of that
involuntary, piercing glance. It was but the sheathing of a weapon.
Eugenia felt that the cold steel was still lurking in the scabbard,
ready to flash forth at the bidding of passion. A few evenings after
the scene just described, when she had been playing and singing some
of Cecil's favourite songs, at the magnanimous request of Rosamond,
she turned suddenly to Cecil and said--
"I think I overheard a friend of yours say to you the other day, that
I might make my fortune on the stage. Now," added she, blushing, "I do
not wish to go upon the stage, but if my musical talents could give me
distinction there, they might be made useful in the domestic circle. I
have been told of a lady who wishes an instructress for her daughters.
Suffer me to offer myself for the situation. If through your bounty I
am possessed of accomplishments which may be subservient to myself or
others, is it not my duty to exercise them? I should have done this
sooner--I have been too long an idler."
"No, no, Eugenia," said Rosamond, warmly, every good and generous
feeling of her heart in full and energetic operation--"we can never
sanction such a proposition. Is not this your home as well as mine?
Are you not our sister? Remember the threefold cord that never was to
be broken." She pressed Eugenia's hand in both her own, and continued,
in a trembling voice--"If I have ever seemed cold or unkind, forgive
me, Eugenia, for I believe I am a strange, fitful being. You found me
a sad mourner over the grave of my mother, with weakened nerves and
morbid sensibilities. My mind is getting a healthier tone. Remain with
us--we shall be happier by and by."
Completely overcome by this unexpected and candid avowal, Eugenia
threw her arms round Rosamond's neck, and exclaimed--"I shall be the
happiest being in the world, if you indeed love me. I have no one else
in the world to love but you and my benefactor."
Cecil felt as if he could have prostrated himself at Rosamond's feet,
and thanked her for her noble and generous conduct. He had waited in
trembling eagerness for her reply. It was more than he expected. It
was all he wished or required.
"Be but true to yourself, my beloved Rosamond," said he, when he was
alone with her, "and you can never be unjust to me. Continue in the
path you have now marked out, and you shall be repaid not only with my
warmest love, but with my respect, my admiration, and my gratitude."
Thus encouraged, Rosamond felt new life flowing in her veins. Though
she could not sing according to scientific rules, her buoyant spirit
burst forth in warbling notes, as she moved about her household
duties, with light, bounding steps, rejoicing in the consciousness of
recovered reason. Week after week glided away, without any
circumstance arising to remind them of the past. Indeed all seemed to
have forgotten that anything had ever disturbed their domestic peace.
"Oh! what beautiful flowers!" exclaimed Rosamond, as, riding with her
husband, on a lovely autumnal evening, they passed a public garden,
ornamented with the last flowers of the season. "I wish I had some of
them. There are the emblems of love, constancy, and devotion. If I had
them now, I would bind them on my heart, in remembrance of this
enchanting ride."
"You shall have them speedily, dear Rosamond," replied he, "even if,
like the gallant knight who named the sweet flower _Forget-me-not_, I
sacrifice my life to purchase them."
Rosamond little thought those flowers, sought with such childish
earnestness, and promised with such sportive gallantry, were destined
to be so fatal to her newly acquired serenity. As soon as they reached
home, Cecil returned to seek the flowers which Rosamond desired, and
selecting the most beautiful the garden afforded, brought them with as
much enthusiasm of feeling as if it were the bridegroom's first gift.
When he entered the room Eugenia was alone, Rosamond being still
engaged in changing her riding apparel.
"Oh! what an exquisitely beautiful nosegay," cried Eugenia,
involuntarily stretching out her hand--"how rich, how fragrant!"
"Yes! I knew you would admire them," he replied--"I brought them
expressly for----" Rosamond, he was just going to add, when he was
suddenly called out, leaving the flowers in the hand of Eugenia, and
the unfinished sentence in her ear. Not knowing anything of their
appropriation, Eugenia believed the bouquet a gift to herself, and she
stood turning them to the light in every direction, gazing on their
rainbow hues with sparkling eyes, when Rosamond entered the apartment,
with a cheek glowing like the roses before her.
"See what beautiful flowers your husband has just given me," cried
Eugenia--"he must have been endowed with second sight, for I was just
yearning after such a bouquet."
Had Rosamond beheld the leaves of the Bohon-Upas, instead of the
blossoms she loved, she could not have experienced a more sickening
sensation. She had begged for those flowers--she had pointed out their
emblematic beauties--had promised to bind them to her heart, and yet
they were wantonly bestowed on another, as if in defiance of her
former wretchedness. She grew dizzy from the rapidity of the thoughts
that whirled through her brain, and leaning against the mantelpiece,
pressed her hand upon her head.
"You are ill, dear Rosamond," cried Eugenia, springing towards
her--"lean on me--you are pale and faint."
Rosamond recoiled from her touch, as if a viper were crawling over
her. She had lost the power of self-control, and the passion that was
threatening to suffocate her, found vent in language.
"Leave me," cried she, "if you would not drive me mad. You have
destroyed the peace of my whole life. You have stolen like a serpent
into my domestic bower, and robbed me of the affections of a once
doting husband. Take them openly, if you will, and triumph in the
possession of your ill-gotten treasure."
"Rosamond!" uttered a deep, low voice behind her. She started, turned,
and beheld her husband standing on the threshold of the door, pale,
dark and stern as the judge who pronounces the doom of the
transgressor. Eugenia, who had dropped the flowers at the commencement
of Rosamond's indignant accusation, with a wild, bewildered
countenance, which kindled as she proceeded, now met her scorching
glance, with eyes that literally flashed fire. Her temple veins
swelled, her lip quivered, every feature was eloquent with scorn.
"Rosamond," said she, "you have banished me for ever. You have
cruelly, wantonly, causelessly insulted me." She walked rapidly to the
door, where Cecil yet stood, and glided by him before he could
intercept her passage. Then suddenly returning, she snatched his hand,
and pressed it to her forehead and to her lips.
"My benefactor, brother, friend!" cried she, "may Heaven for ever
bless thee, even as thou hast blessed me!"
"Stay, Eugenia, stay!" he exclaimed, endeavouring to detain her--but
it was too late. He heard her footsteps on the stairs, and the door of
her chamber hastily close, and he knew he could not follow her.
"Rash, infatuated girl!" cried he, turning to Rosamond, "what have you
done? At a moment too when my whole heart was overflowing with
tenderness and love towards you. Remember, if you banish Eugenia from
the shelter of my roof, I am bound by every tie of honour and humanity
still to protect and cherish her."
"I know it well," replied Rosamond; "I remember too that it was to
give a home to Eugenia you first consented to bind yourself by
marriage vows. That home may still be hers. I am calm now, Cecil--you
see I can speak calmly. The certainty of a misfortune gives the spirit
and the power of endurance. Those flowers are trifles in themselves,
but they contain a world of meaning."
"These worthless flowers!" exclaimed Cecil, trampling them under his
feet till their bright leaves lay a soiled and undistinguishable
mass--"and have these raised the whirlwind of jealous passion? These
fading playthings, left for a moment in another's keeping,
accidentally left, to be immediately reclaimed!"
"You gave them to her--with her own lips she told me--rapture
sparkling in her eyes."
"It was all a misunderstanding--an innocent mistake. Oh, Rosamond! for
a trifle like this you could forget all my faith and affection, every
feeling which should be sacred in your eyes--forget your woman's
gentleness, and utter words which seem branded in my heart and brain
in burning and indelible characters. I dare not go on. I shall say
what I may bitterly repent. I wish you no punishment greater than your
own reflections."
Rosamond listened to his retreating footsteps, she heard the outer
door heavily close, and the sound fell on her ear like the first fall
of the damp clods on the coffin, the signal of mortal separation. She
remained pale as a statue, gazing on the withering flowers, counting
the quick beatings of her lonely heart, believing herself doomed to a
widowhood more cruel than that the grave creates. Cecil's simple
explanation, stamped with the dignity of truth, had roused her from
the delirium of passion, and seeing her conduct in its true light, she
shuddered at the review. Her head ached to agony--one moment she
shivered with cold, the next the blood in her veins seemed changed to
molten lead. "I feel very strangely," thought she--"perhaps I am going
to die, and when I am dead, he will pity and forgive me." She had
barely strength to seek her own chamber, where, throwing herself on
the bed, she lay till the shades of night darkened around her,
conscious of but one wish, that her bed might prove her grave, and
Cecil, melted by her early fate, might shed one tear of forgiveness
over the icy lips that never more could open to offend. The bell rang
for supper--she heeded not the summons. A servant came to tell her
that Mr. Dormer was below. Her heart bounded, but she remained
immovable. Again the servant came.
"Shall I make tea for Mr. Dormer?" she asked. "Miss Eugenia is gone
out."
Rosamond started up, and leaned on her elbow. "Gone!" repeated she,
wildly--"when? where?"
"I don't know, ma'am," replied the girl; "she put on her bonnet and
shawl an hour ago and went out through the back gate."
"Does Mr. Dormer know it?" asked Rosamond faintly.
"I don't know, ma'am--he has just come in," was the reply.--"I saw him
reading a note he found on the table in the hall, and he seemed
mightily flustered."
There was an insolent curiosity in the countenance of the girl, who
had hitherto been respectful and submissive. She placed the lamp near
the bedside and left the room; and almost simultaneously, Cecil
entered, with an open note in his hand, which he threw upon the bed
without speaking. She seized it mechanically, and attempted to read
it, but the letters seemed to move and emit electric sparks, flashing
on her aching eyeballs. It was with difficulty that she deciphered the
following lines, written evidently with a trembling hand:--
"Farewell, kindest, noblest, and best of friends! May the happiness
which I have unconsciously blighted, revive in my absence. I go,
sustained by the strength of a virtuous resolution, not the excitement
of indignant passion. The influence of your bounty remains, and will
furnish me an adequate support. Seek not, I pray you, to find the
place of my abode. The Heaven in which I trust will protect me.
Farewell--deluded, but still beloved Rosamond! Your injustice shall be
forgotten, your benefits remembered for ever."
Rosamond dropped the letter, cast one glance towards her husband, who
stood with folded arms, pale and immovable, at the foot of the bed,
then sinking back upon her pillow, a mist came over her eyes, and all
was darkness.