AN ORGAN GRINDER.
Every eye in the room turned on the bold, defiant speaker, whose tall
form seemed to grow taller and to expand with the pride she felt in her
own cleverness.
As she caught the low, stifled cry that came from the blanched lips of
the deceived bride, her blue eyes blazed maliciously, and she continued
audaciously, and as if regardless of any one’s good opinion:
“I owed that girl a bitter grudge, and this is the way I have paid it.
I introduced him to her, and pretended that he was rich, because I knew
that she and her foolish mother were on the lookout for a rich husband.
They fell into the trap, and now they are well punished for their pride
and ambition. George Lorraine--although, by the way, that isn’t his
real name--is as poor as a church mouse, and lazy withal. He----”
“Stop!” shouted the bridegroom, springing toward her, and she quailed
a little at the fire in his black eyes, as he continued sharply: “It
wasn’t in the bargain that you should abuse me to the girl you made me
marry, for I love her, and I’ll work for her, and her mother, too--yes,
I will!--and perhaps she may forgive me yet, if you do not, like the
fiend you are, try to poison her against me with your malicious tales.”
“Hear him, hear him! The Italian organ grinder!” exclaimed Belva, with
disdainful mockery; but he had turned from her and flung himself on his
knees before his bride, whose big brown eyes looked out of her lovely,
blanched face with scorn and disdain.
He held up his hands to her, and cried abjectly:
“Oh, Fair, if only you will forgive me, I will work for you--slave for
you--for I love you madly, and it may be that some day I can make you
rich. Oh, Mrs. Fielding,” frantically, as that lady was about to speak,
“do not speak, do not interfere between us! It is her affair and mine
alone, for she is my wife. I love her, and perhaps she has some little
love for me that will make her forgive me some day.”
At that Fair found her voice, and, holding up her hand for him to be
silent, she said, in a clear voice:
“Tell me the truth, George Lorraine, or whatever your name is--was this
deception carried out in all, or was I only deceived about your riches?
Are you, or are you not, the cousin of Bayard Lorraine?”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Belva Platt, and Fair’s husband answered
shamefully:
“I am not any kin to Bayard Lorraine. I never saw him, nor heard of
him, until Belva Platt told me about him, and the plan to pretend he
was my cousin was hers, not mine. But, Fair, I love you, in spite of
the way I was led to marry you. I’ll make you a good hus----”
“Hush!” she almost screamed, and the fire that flashed from her brown
eyes almost frightened him. He started, and sprang erect, listening
with sullen patience, as she went on scathingly:
“You are a coward and a villain, and I hate you for the wicked way in
which you have deceived me. As for forgiving you, I will never do it.
I will never live with you, either, and now I’m going back to the old
house with my mother, and if you ever darken our door I’ll have you put
out by a policeman.”
“Quite right, my dear, quite right! We’ll have him put out by a
policeman,” muttered Mrs. Fielding, in a half-dazed way; but Belva
Platt exclaimed jeeringly:
“Pshaw! You talk very fine, Fairfax Fielding, but the law will make
you live with him, don’t you know that? George Lorraine, I didn’t know
you could be such a white-faced coward as to give in to a proud little
hussy like that! Come, be a man! Tell her she shan’t go. She married
you of her own free will, now let her live with you.”
But Mrs. Jones, who had been looking and listening in amazement, now
interposed sharply:
“Belva Platt, this is the meanest plot I ever heard of. You ought to be
forever and ever ashamed of yourself.”
“She ought to be hung!” declared Sadie Allen, in a fierce gust of anger.
She went to the deceived girl and put her arms around the trembling
form. “Darling little Fair, don’t be frightened. You shan’t live with
him if you don’t want to. I’ll mount guard over you and keep him away,”
she declared, with a menacing glance at the bridegroom; but Belva’s
advice had encouraged him to rebellion, and he said sullenly:
“You mind your own business, Miss Allen. Fair’s my wife, and she’s got
to live with me. If she tries on any foolishness with me, she’ll only
make matters worse for herself.”
Fair’s eyes flashed in disdainful defiance, but just then Alice
Stevens, one of the pretty working girls whom Fair had been so anxious
to invite to her wedding, went up to Belva Platt, and asked curiously:
“What did Fair do, Miss Platt, that made you so mad with her?”
“Never mind!” answered Belva angrily; but Lucy Miller, another one of
the girls, exclaimed vivaciously:
“Oh, I know, Alice! She cut Belva out with Waverley Osborne, and Belva
was so mad she did this to get even with Fair. But I think it was very
mean, don’t you, Alice?”
“Yes, I do, for Fair didn’t care for Waverley at all, and she’s a
good girl, and I think it’s a shame that Belva’s treated her so bad,”
answered Alice, with a reproachful glance at Belva, who paid no heed to
it, for at that moment she heard Fair saying:
“Come, mother--come, Sadie! We will go home.”
“Ladies, you have not partaken of the wedding feast yet. Won’t you
drink some beer to the happiness of the wedded pair?” Belva called out
insolently, with ineffable malice; but no one noticed her. Fair, with
her hand on her mother’s arm, was moving toward the door, with Sadie
Allen on the other side of her. George Lorraine started to follow them,
but the deceived bride looked around at him with burning eyes.
“Do not dare follow me, nor come near me!” she said, with a blaze of
scorn, and he shrank back like a culprit.
The beautiful, angry eyes turned from him then, and rested on Belva’s
face with its fiendish smile of triumph.
“Miss Platt, I have never harmed you,” she said. “I did not know until
a moment ago that Waverley Osborne was anything to you, and if I had
known it I could not have treated him more coldly than I did always.
You have taken a cruel revenge upon one who never willfully wronged
you, and Heaven will punish you for what you have done. I know I am
only a poor working girl. I have no one to take my part except the
poor working girls, my friends and companions. I have no father to call
this villain here to an account. I cannot avenge myself, but I leave
you to the justice of Heaven.” And for a moment, as the beautiful face
of the wronged girl turned appealingly toward heaven it seemed to Belva
and them all as if she were invoking the divine vengeance upon her
enemies with such earnestness as must surely bring it down upon their
heads.
The next moment she passed unmolested through the door with her mother
and her friend; and the others, with the exception of Belva Platt and
George Lorraine, after a moment’s hesitation, followed after.
Belva looked scornfully at the man, who had sunk into a rickety seat,
in an attitude of deep despondency.
“You are a poor specimen of a man!” she said sneeringly. “Why didn’t
you make her stay?”
He looked at her a moment doubtfully, then, nettled by her scorn, said,
with angry bravado:
“I didn’t want to fool with those women, but I’ll make her come back.”
“That’s right! Good night.”