ARLEY’S RESOLVE.
A few days later, as Philip was returning to his lodgings about four
o’clock in the afternoon, he saw, just ahead of him, the figure of his
wife, walking with quick, graceful steps down the fashionable street.
Wondering what could bring her there, for he knew that she had not been
in the habit of going out much since they came to Madrid, he resolved
to follow her and ascertain her errand.
He had not dogged her steps far before she turned into the art store
where she had already been twice before.
Approaching nearer, Philip saw a fine-looking gentleman come forward
as she entered, and, after shaking hands with her, he pointed toward
the back of the store and seemed to be making some request of her. She
nodded assent, and then followed into another room at the end of the
shop.
For the first time since his marriage, a feeling of jealousy arose in
his heart, and mingled with it there was a sense of shame and regret at
his own unworthiness.
His better nature whispered that it was not yet too late to turn over a
new leaf, act according to the promptings of his conscience, make the
best of his talents and opportunities, as she had urged him to do, and
thus compel her to respect and perhaps love him again.
But a terrible temptation had come to him a few days before, in the
shape of Annie Vane’s letter, and the intelligence of Wil Hamilton’s
death.
Had it not been for this, he might have yielded to these better
feelings, but a demon was at hand to remind him that the Lily of
Mordaunt was free, and to tempt him to turn his espionage upon his wife
to his own selfish advantage in a way almost too vile for a human being
to contemplate.
Before Arley came out of the inner office, where the proprietor had
invited her to go with him and show her sketches to some friends who
had been purchasing largely in the way of paintings and engravings,
Philip had disappeared, and she had no suspicion that her visit to the
art store had been observed.
She found him in their parlor on her return, reading an English
periodical. He was very cool in his manner, but no more so than he had
been ever since she had spoken so plainly to him; and, therefore, she
could have no suspicion that he had resolved to institute a system
of espionage over her, with the malicious intention of ruining her
character.
For several days he watched her constantly, but she did not go out at
all, seeming to be very much engrossed with her drawings.
One afternoon, as she left her work for a little while, he stole softly
to her table, curiosity prompting him to see what she was so much
interested in.
Two or three lovely, half-finished sketches lay there, and near them a
portfolio.
Opening this, he found quite a collection of drawings, and some little
gems in water colors, and was greatly surprised by their beauty of
design and finished workmanship.
Then all at once it flashed upon him what her errand to the art store
had been, and that this was how she had obtained those Spanish coins
which he had seen in her purse.
“Ah!” he muttered, with a disagreeable smile, though a blush half of
anger, half of shame, leaped to his cheek at the thought, “if I won’t
work she is bound to, it seems, and to some purpose, too, or I am
greatly mistaken.”
The next morning, while they were at breakfast, their landlord entered
bearing a tray, upon which a neatly-folded paper lay.
He approached Philip and presented it, with his blandest smile and bow,
but with a look in his eye which expressed a dogged determination.
Philip took up the paper, opened and read it, and then grew white with
anger.
It was a bill for the past fortnight’s board, lodging and washing.
He instantly recovered himself, however, and, with a smile and bow
equally affable as the landlord’s own, dropping the note again upon the
tray, he gracefully waved his white, shapely hand toward Arley.
“Madam carries the purse--take it to her,” he said, in excellent
Spanish.
The man flushed and glanced uneasily at “madam.” It was not according
to his ideas of what was right or correct with such business matters;
but, after a moment of hesitation, it flashed upon him that perhaps it
was an English custom, and therefore all right, and so, turning with an
even lower bow to Arley, he held out the salver to her.
She also took up the paper and examined it; but she could not read a
word of it, although she saw at a glance that it was in the form of a
bill.
“What is it?” she asked of Philip. “What does he want?”
“He requests that his bill be settled, and, since I have no money, I
have referred him to you; perhaps you can accommodate him with the sum
required,” Philip replied, with averted eyes and rising color.
Arley felt the blood rush back like a torrent upon her heart at this
indignity, and knew that she was growing very pale; but she also knew
that it would not do to allow the man, who was watching them closely,
to suspect that there was anything wrong; so, biting her lips to keep
the color in them, she quietly arose and went to get the money.
She had become familiar enough with Spanish figures to see that the
bill called for forty escudos and fifty reals, or between four and five
pounds of English money.
This would take nearly all that she had earned--almost every
peseta--and a bitter sob choked her as she counted it out and found her
purse so nearly empty.
It was not so much on account of the loss of the money as the manner
in which it had been demanded, and the humiliation of feeling that her
husband was so lost to all sense of honor and responsibility regarding
his duty toward her.
What would they come to if this continued?--where and how would it all
end?
Surely it was a dark day for the petted and tenderly reared Arley
Wentworth.
But she swept back into their sitting-room with the air of a queen,
and, going to Philip, dropped the coins into his hand, while with a
gesture she directed the man to go to her husband for his pay; he
should at least have the credit of settling their bills, even if he
could have the face to appropriate her own hard earnings for that
purpose.
The man receipted the bill, and then, with a profusion of bows and
thanks, retired, leaving the husband and wife once more alone.
When the door closed, their eyes, as if drawn by some magnetic
influence, were lifted and met.
In Philip’s there was a look of sullen defiance, mingled with something
of shame; in Arley’s, an expression of scorn and resolution born of
despair.
She arose and stood before him, one white hand resting upon the table,
the other hanging by her side.
“Philip Paxton, this kind of thing can go on no longer,” she said, in
low but decided tones.
“Indeed! Won’t you tell me what you mean by ‘this kind of thing?’” he
asked, with a sneer.
“This manner of living.”
“Oh! then won’t you be so good as to tell me how it is to be
helped?--it is an enigma beyond my power to solve,” he replied, in the
same tone as before.
“You know well enough how it can be helped,” Arley cried, with a quiver
of passion in her tones. “Have you no shame?--have you no honor or
manhood, that you keep me here in this strange country, where I am
comparatively helpless, and subject me to such degradation? I will
not bear it; I am your wife, and it is your duty to take care of me.
I have not complained--I have uttered no word of reproach at being
dragged from country to country, suffering increasing discomfort with
every change; I have borne it patiently, hoping that your eyes would
be opened and that your better nature would triumph at last; but my
patience is exhausted--I will not live like this another day.”
“How will you help it, Arley?” Philip asked, dryly.
“I will take care of myself,” she answered bravely.
“How independent you will be! Have you, like the fairies of old, a
magic wand, by which you can summon the goddess of wealth to your feet?
If so, please wave it for our mutual benefit,” he returned, with a
laugh.
“Sneers and irony ill become you, Mr. Paxton,” Arley replied, with
proud dignity, adding: “But what I have said I mean--I will not live
like this another day.”
She turned and walked from the room with a step and bearing that
excited his admiration.
“Whew! I had no idea that the little thing had so much spirit,” he
muttered, as the door closed after her. “What will she do, I wonder? I
know what I hope she will do and leave me free to carry out my scheme
as I wish,” saying which he took his hat and went out.
When he returned to dinner he found Arley in her traveling-dress, as if
ready for a journey.
She was very pale, but every line of her face expressed resolution.
She arose as he entered and asked, abruptly:
“Philip, will you go home?”
He started at the sound of his name, for it was the first and only time
she had addressed him thus since leaving England, while the appeal in
her tones touched him for the moment.
She looked very beautiful, very lovable, standing there with that
appealing face, her wistful eyes fixed so earnestly on his, her small
hands clasped and half extending to him.
But instead of being won, he was only angered by her words. To think of
going back to England without a pound in his pocket galled him beyond
endurance, especially as he realized that he alone was to blame for
this disgraceful poverty.
“No, I will not!” he replied, almost fiercely.
“Then will you resume your profession here, or do something--anything,
to earn an honest support for us?”
Her tone was very patient, but there was a gleam in her eye which told
him that the question meant more than it appeared to mean.
“No. I will not be dictated to--I will not be told by a woman what I
ought and what I ought not to do. And as for our going back, you know
that is out of the question--we could not, even if I would consent.”
“I have a number of valuable jewels, and I would gladly dispose of
those to pay our passage,” Arley said, with downcast eyes and flushed
cheeks, and determined to use every argument in her power.
Yet she would not tell him that she had money, lest he should demand it
of her and thus leave her powerless to go back by herself if worse came
to worst.
“I will not go back, I tell you,” he repeated, sullenly, then added,
with a touch of malice: “Now you perceive the wisdom of my advice about
keeping your money when you might have had it just as well as not,
and we need not have been in this cursed plight. You feel the need of
it now, as I meant you should, and it won’t hurt you in the least to
experience some discomfort for being so obstinate.”
“No,” Arley said, with uplifted head, “it will not hurt me--it can
never hurt me, for I have at least retained my self-respect.”
Her flashing eyes and curling lips told him as plainly as words could
have done whom she could not respect.
“I hoped,” she resumed, in a tremulous voice, “that you would consent
to what I have proposed, for I did not wish to take any radical
measures; but, as I have said, I will not live thus. I have been
out this morning to engage a less expensive room for myself, and I
am going to occupy it this evening, unless you will give me your
promise to change your mode of life--and as soon as I can I shall make
arrangements to return to England.”
He started at this, and regarded her earnestly for a moment. He saw
that it was no idle threat; she meant every word that she uttered.
“Do you know what usually follows when a woman leaves her husband’s
care and protection?” he asked.
“Surely, you cannot accuse me of leaving my husband’s ‘care and
protection?’” Arley retorted, with impulsive sarcasm.
The hot blood mounted in a flood to Philip’s brow, showing how keenly
he felt this well-merited reproof.
“I have no choice,” she added, wearily, and half regretting that she
had spoken so hotly; “we cannot remain here honorably, for you cannot
meet our expenses, and we should only have the disgrace of being turned
out of doors at the end of another two weeks or month, if our landlord
was not paid. My address will be No. 4 ---- street, if you should need
me for anything especial, Philip. I should have been so glad if we
could have been more united,” and here the tears welled up into her
beautiful eyes. “I would have liked to be a true and faithful wife to
you, in spite of the wrong which you did me in the beginning; but you
have put such obstacles in my way that it has been impossible. But
even now, if you should be ill and need me before I go back to England,
I will come to you and do what I can for you. Good-night, Philip.”
She left him and went to her own room, and Philip Paxton was in
anything but a comfortable frame of mind.
An hour later Arley took her departure for No. 4 ---- street, where she
spent her first night as wretched, and lonely, and homesick as it was
ever the lot of any one to be.
But she intended to go to the English consul the next day, and put
herself under his care until she could hear of some one who would take
charge of her back to England.