You have heard with what toil Secunder penetrated to the land of
darkness, and that, after all, he did not taste the water of
immortality.--SAADI.
The three men talk late. The two young people on the porch have no
duenna, for Mrs. Grandon retired early,--indeed, she has left Miss
Murray quite to Violet, and she thinks if Eugene lets slip this chance
he will be foolish above what is written. He plays at love,--it is no
new thing for him,--but he convinces "Polly" without any actual
questions and answers that he cares for her, and the next morning there
is a delicate little triumph in her demeanor, a tender overflow of
pity, as if, after all, she might not take him, and then he would be
heart-broken.
Violet is much better. She thrusts her secret out of sight, and Floyd
is brief and business-like, something more, but he would be much too
proud to own it.
"Violet," he says, "you must go to Mr. Sherburne's with me this
morning. Your father deputed that gentleman and myself to act in your
behalf if at any time we should have an offer to dispose of his
inventions. His dream has been more than realized, and I am glad to
have it go into the hands of men who will do justice to it. I shall
also dispose of the share in the factory, and that part will be
settled."
"Eugene----" she says, with a certain tremulousness, and she cannot
keep the color out of her face. "Will he be--will----"
"I have advised Eugene to dispose of his part. He has no head, no
desire, and no ambition for business. But whatever he does, it is now
in my power to settle my father's estate, and I shall be glad to do
it."
There is a discernible hardness in his voice. She seems to shrink a
little from him, and he feels strangely resentful.
Mrs. Grandon has a talk with her son before he goes. The new firm have
made her an offer to pay down a certain amount, or, if she insists, the
stated income shall be kept for the present.
"I certainly should take their offer," says Floyd. "Your income will
not be as large, but on the one hand it would die with you, and on the
other you are more independent. I will add to it ten thousand dollars."
"You are very kind," she says, with a touch of gratitude. "But Eugene
will be thrown out of business, and your father _did_ hope it would
remain in the family. He was so proud of his standing."
"I have counselled and besought Eugene, and it is pouring water in a
sieve."
"He should have married Violet," she says, in a tone that avenges
madame. "If you had waited----"
Floyd is deathly pale for an instant. If he _had_ waited. If this
useless money could belong to Eugene.
"You will be ready this afternoon," and he leaves the room.
Has he defrauded his brother? He could have held out a hope to the
dying man and temporized. As his ward, Eugene might have come to admire
her, or been tempted by the fortune. He hates himself that he can put
her in any scale with mere money, and yet, does she not care for
Eugene? What has the varying moods of the last six weeks meant, if not
that? What the little interchange of glances last night? Curiously
enough, Mr. Murray is quite taken with Eugene. Perhaps the elder
brother does not do full justice to the fascinations of the younger.
Has he been too tried and vexed and suspected, until his whole nature
is warped and soured? Perhaps he is unfit for civilization, for
domestic life in the realms of culture and fashion, and he wishes with
much bitterness of spirit that he was back in his congenial wilds and
deserts.
Violet is waiting for him, attired faultlessly. She looks pale and
troubled, he can see that, and the sweet, frank expression with which
she has always challenged his glance is no longer there. It is not
altogether suspicion, but she really _does_ evade his glance. She has
the miserable secret of a third person, that, if known, might work
incalculable harm, and she must keep it sacred. Beside, she is training
herself to believe that Eugene will recover from his ill-fated passion
and truly love Pauline Murray.
"Are you ready?" Grandon briefly asks, and hands her to the carriage.
The drive is quite silent. They find all the parties engaged at Mr.
Sherburne's, and proceed at once to business. On behalf of Messrs.
Haviland and Murray the offer is made for all right and title possessed
by Violet St. Vincent Grandon, and by Floyd Grandon, her husband, in
all interests, inventions, etc., with much legal verbiage that alike
confuses and interests Violet. But the sum offered seems enormous to
her! She gazes blankly from one to another, as she hears again that all
income thereof is to be hers, that no one can touch the principal until
she is twenty-five, that it is settled solely upon her and her children
forever.
"Oh!" she exclaims, with a vague glance at her husband, but his face is
absolutely impassible.
Mr. Sherburne takes her into his private office and questions her after
the usual formula as to whether force or persuasion or bribes have been
used, and whether she does all this of her free consent, and smiles a
little at her utter innocence. It is well she and her fortune are in
the hands of a man of such perfect integrity as Floyd Grandon. Then
they both sign all necessary papers, and the morning's work is
completed. Violet goes home, a rich woman beyond any doubt or question,
but a very miserable one. She would like to give at least half the
money to Eugene, but she does not dare make the least proposal. She
feels afraid of Floyd Grandon's steady, searching eyes.
In the afternoon she and Pauline are left together, but the lawyers
have a rather stormier session than in the morning. Mrs. Grandon has a
vague suspicion that Eugene will come out of this much worsted. He will
spend his money and there will be nothing left. The young man is in a
curious mood. He is well aware that he never can or will confine
himself to business routine, that he is the product of the
nineteenth-century civilization, termed a gentleman, rather useless, it
may be, but decidedly ornamental.
The showing of the last nine months has been profitable beyond
expectation. It is true there has been no income used for family
expenses, and the legacies can be paid. Mrs. Grandon finally decides to
dispose of her claim, and everything is adjusted for the law's
inspection, approval, and ultimate signature. Floyd Grandon has
redeemed his trust, has obeyed his dead father's wishes, and
circumstances have proved that the dying man did not over-estimate the
worth of what he was leaving. But it has been a severe and distasteful
duty, and only the closest attention, the best judgment, and most wary
perseverance, have saved the family from ruin. He gives his advisers
full credit for their help and sympathy; but it has been a great
strain, and he is immensely relieved. The dissolution of the old firm
and the arrangement of the new one are matters for time, but happily he
will be out of that. Wilmarth and Eugene take the first, and the others
are quite capable of managing the last. He has a secret pity for
Wilmarth, and yet he knows he has been Eugene's worst enemy, that he
would not have scrupled at any ruin to attain his end. That he is
Marcia's husband he must always regret, and they have not yet reached
the end of dissensions.
Eugene drives slowly homeward, ruminating many matters. He has his
college education and various accomplishments, and in the course of a
month or so will have some money. He has no more taste for a profession
than for business; and though various phases of speculation look
tempting, he is well aware that he has not the brains to compete with
the trained athletes in this department. He can marry Pauline Murray,
and he will, no doubt, end by marrying some rich woman. He looks
covetously at Violet's fortune and calls himself hard names, but that
is plainly out of his reach. He could love Violet so dearly, with such
passion and fervor, but it is too late, and he sighs. She would like
him to marry Miss Murray; he will please her and Polly, who is
undeniably charming, and do extremely well for himself. Why not, then?
He cannot hang here on Floyd forever.
Polly is wandering through the grounds in the late summer afternoon,
her blue-lined parasol making an azure sky over her golden head, her
white dress draping her slender figure in a strikingly statuesque way.
She is the kind of girl to madden men and win admiration on the right
hand and on the left, and he _does_ like the women on whom the world
sets a signet of approval. No sweet domestic drudge for him, and if
Violet _has_ a fault, it is this tendency. When a man begins to
discover flaws in his ideal the enchantment is weakening.
He saunters up to her, and she blushes, while a touch of delight gleams
in her eye.
"Do you know," he begins, in a melancholy tone, "that I have sold my
birthright, but not for a mess of cabbages, as the camp-meeting brother
called it."
They both laugh,--Polly with a mirthful ring, Eugene lazily.
"And now I must take my bag of gold on one end of a stick and my best
clothes done up in a bundle on the other, and go out to the new
Territories. A young man grows up governor or senator, or some great
personage there. I think it must be in the atmosphere,--ozone or odyle,
what is it?"
She laughs again, a pleasant sound to hear. He is so very handsome in
this mock-plaintive mood, with his beseeching eyes.
"You know I ought to do the world some good."
"Yes. And the Presidents come from the West. I would rather be a
President."
"Oh, you couldn't, you know"; and he laughs again. "Is there nothing
else that would satisfy your ambition?"
"Nothing!" She seems to shake a shower of gold out of the waving hair
on her brow.
"Nothing," he repeats, disconsolately. "Then I may as well go. You see
before you a struggling but worthy young man, born to a better
heritage, but cruel fate----"
"Well, cruel fate," she says, as if prompting him.
He turns, and she blushes vividly. He bends lower until the warm cheek,
soft as a girl's, touches hers, and the lips meet. Then he draws her
arm through his, and takes her parasol.
"I wonder," he says, presently, "if I could get enough together to buy
you of your father? Might I try?"
"You mercenary wretch!" she cries, but the tone is delicious.
"See here," he says, "some fellows have the cheek to ask such a gift
for just nothing at all. I rate you more highly."
That is very sweet flattery. Her eyes droop and the color comes and
goes.
"You might ask him," she says, in a tone of irresistible fascination,
"but I do not believe you will have _quite_ enough."
"Then I shall start for Dakota."
They ramble up and down, and Eugene allows himself to sup of delight.
Does it make so much difference, after all, whom he marries? Polly is
very charming and her lips are like rose-leaves. She loves him also,
and she isn't the kind to bore a man.
Late that evening Violet steals out on the porch for a breath of the
dewy air. Cecil has been wakeful and the stories almost endless. Floyd
has not come home to dinner, and she feels strangely nervous.
Eugene has some idle moments on his hands.
"Come down the walk!" he exclaims, "I have something to tell you"; and
he draws her gently toward him, taking the limp hand in his. As they go
down in the light Floyd Grandon turns into the broad avenue, unseen by
either.
"Well, I have done it," Eugene begins. "If I am miserable for life it
will be your fault."
The treacherous wind carries back the last, and Floyd hears it
distinctly in one of those electric moods that could translate a quiver
in the air.
They are too far away for her answer.
"You will _not_ be miserable," she says, firmly. "No man could be
miserable with Pauline Murray, if he did his duty and tried, _tried_
with his very soul to the uttermost. And you will, you will."
Eugene Grandon has an insincere nature, while hers is like crystal. He
is extremely fond of sympathy from women, and her urgent tone makes him
seem a sort of hero to himself. If he must endeavor earnestly, there is
something to be overcome, and that is his love for her. The pendulum
vibrates back to it.
"I shall try, of course," he says. Violet St. Vincent, with her
fortune, is no light loss, but he does not distinguish between her and
the fortune. "It was the best thing to do," he continues, "though I had
half a mind to throw up everything and go away."
She feels she should have admired and approved this course, but Pauline
would have been wretched. She does not dream that in this early stage
another lover would have comforted Pauline. She is so simple, so
absolutely truthful, that her youthful discernment is quite at fault.
"You must let yourself be happy," she says, and then she remembers how
she has let herself be happy and the bitter awakening. But in this case
there is nothing to break a confidence once established.
"And what are you going to do?" he asks, suddenly.
It is like a great wave and almost takes her off her feet.
"You must not think of me, nor watch me, nor anything"; and an
observant man would note the strain of agony in her voice. "It was very
good in your brother to take care of me as he did. Mr. Sherburne said
to-day that not one man in a hundred would have brought the matter to
such a successful issue. And you know if everything had been lost, why,
I should have been a burthen on him. Think of _us_ having nothing at
all! What could you do?"
He shrugs his shoulders in the dark, and he knows he should not want
her or any other woman in poverty.
"I shall have a pleasant life," she continues. "I can do a great deal
for Cecil; and I can copy and translate, and Mr. Grandon is so fond of
music. I know we shall be happy when this business no longer perplexes
him and he has a little leisure. He is always so good and thoughtful.
You couldn't expect him to love a little girl like me, fresh from a
convent, with no especial beauty," she says, with heroic bravery.
"And you will forget about me," the young man returns, with jealous
selfishness.
"I shall forget nothing that is right to be remembered," she says,
steadily; "and I like Miss Murray; we shall be friends always. She
seems such a young girl and I am only eighteen. We shall love each
other and take an interest in each other's houses. Now that Gertrude is
away, no one cares very much for me."
"It is a shame!" he interrupts, indignantly. "You and Polly must always
love each other. We shall live somewhere around Grandon Park, I
suppose."
"And we will all end like a fairy story," she declares, trying to
laugh, but it is such a poor, mirthless sound.
She sees with secret joy that he is somewhat comforted, and she trusts
to Polly's fascinations to achieve the rest. Love is not quite what
poets sing about, unless in such lives as Mr. and Mrs. Latimer.
The air is so fragrant, the night so beautiful, that the moments fly
faster than she thinks. The clock strikes ten, and in a little
trepidation she insists that it shall be good night, and glides up the
path and through the hall, and in Cecil's room comes face to face with
Mr. Grandon, who has been home long enough to divest himself of coat,
necktie, and collar. She stands quite still in amaze, the quick flush
he has always admired going up to the very edge of her hair.
"You are out late walking," he says, in a tone that seems to stab her.
"I trust you were not alone."
"I was not alone." He is quite welcome to know all. "I was with Eugene.
He----" How shall she best tell it? Alas! the very hesitation is fatal.
"He is engaged to Miss Murray."
"He abounds in the wisdom of the children of this world," comments
Floyd Grandon, with bitter satire. "It is the best step he could take,
but I hope Miss Murray will never regret it. She is young to take up
life's most difficult problem, a vain, selfish, handsome man."
Violet's lips are dry and her throat constricted. Mr. Grandon is
displeased; he has not been well pleased with Eugene of late. She can
make no present peace between them; something in the sad depths of her
heart tells her that it is useless to try. That this man before her,
her wedded husband, who has never been her lover, should be jealous, is
the last thought that would occur to her. She is a little afraid he
suspects Eugene, but there never will be any cause again. She will not
rest until she sees him devoted to Miss Murray. She can make no
confidence, so she kisses Cecil, and begins to take some roses from her
hair with untender fingers and the nervousness that confesses her ill
at ease.
Floyd Grandon walks over to the window. For perhaps the first time in
his life he is swayed by a purely barbaric element. Men beat or shoot
or stab their wives under the dominion of such a passion! He is almost
tempted to fly down-stairs and confront Eugene and have it out with
him. To go at this fragile little wraith, who is now pale as a
snow-drop, would be too unmanly. He holds himself firmly in hand, and
the tornado of jealousy sweeps over him. Why has he never experienced
it before? Can it be that he has come to love her so supremely? His
brain seems to swim around, he drops into the chair and gives a gasp
for breath at this strange revelation. Yes, he loves her, and she would
be happier with Eugene! He has marred the life he meant to shield with
so much tenderness.
When his passion is spent an utter humiliation succeeds. He is ashamed
at his time of life of giving way to any emotion so strongly; he has
clipped and controlled himself, governed and suppressed rigorously, and
in a moment all the barriers have been swept away. Is this the high and
fine honor on which he has so prided himself?
Some other steps are coming up the stairs. There is a little lingering
good night, a parting of the ways, and Eugene goes to his room. What is
there in this false, handsome face that can so move the hearts of both
these women? Does Violet fancy herself beloved, the victim of a cruel
fate? Does Pauline Murray believe she is going to happy wifehood when
her husband-elect secretly desires another?
Floyd Grandon sits there until past midnight. Violet has breathed her
patient, tender, penitent prayer, wept a few dreary tears, and fallen
asleep. She looks hardly more than a child, and he could pity her if he
did not love her so much, but in its very newness his love is cruel. It
is not him for whom she secretly sighs, but another. And a dim wonder
comes to his inmost soul--did ever any woman longing, and being denied,
suffer this exquisite torture?
The world looks different in the flood of morning sunshine. Mr.
Murray's cheery, inspiriting tones are heard in the hall below, Cecil's
bird-like treble, Mr. Haviland's slow but not unmelodious tone, and
Pauline's witching mockery. Her father has been teazing her, and when
Violet comes down, she stands in the hall, golden crowned and rose-red,
slim and tall, and is the embodiment of delight.
It all comes out, of course. Eugene bears his honors gallantly, and
looks handsomer than ever. Mr. Murray is really proud of Polly's
choice, for, after all, the principal duty of the young people will be
to charm society. Eugene is a high-bred, showy animal, with regular
points and paces, and is not to be easily distanced on the great course
of fashion. Violet watches him in dim amaze. Is he assuming all this
joy and delight?
"It's just too lovely!" Polly says afterward, when she gets Mrs.
Grandon alone. "And do you know, I _was_ jealous last night when you
and Eugene meandered up and down the shrubbery;" and a secret elation
shines in her eyes. "I made him tell me all you said; _did_ you really
want him to marry me? Do you love me, you dear little angel?"
If she is a little struck at Eugene's way of confessing to his
sweetheart, she does not betray any suspicion of mendacity. She can
truly say she likes Pauline, and that she is glad of the engagement,
that she and Polly are certain to be the best of friends. The warms
arms around her are so fond, the kisses so delicately sweet, the
exaggerations of feeling are so utterly delicious, that Violet yields
to the fascination and adores Polly to her heart's content, and Polly
promises that Eugene shall dance with her and be just the same real
brother that he was before.
It seems as though business had but just begun. The elders talk law: it
is the surrogate's office and the orphans' court and published notices.
Eugene formally dissolves partnership with Jasper Wilmarth, and for a
"consideration," which he insists is Polly, transfers his half to Mr.
Murray. Wilmarth is offered a large price for his quarter-share, but he
resolves to fight to the bitter end. Of course he must give up, but he
means to make all the trouble possible. Marcia flies hither and thither
like a wasp, stinging wherever she can, but in these days Violet is
guarded a good deal by Polly and her lover. Grown bolder, she at length
attacks Floyd, accusing him of treachery and avarice and half the
crimes in the calendar. Violet's fortune is flung up,--"The fortune no
one else would touch, though it was offered to them," says Marcia,
crushingly.
Floyd loses his temper.
"Marcia," he says, "never let me hear you make that accusation! Mr.
Wilmarth went to Canada for that deliberate purpose, and urged his suit
up to the very last day of Mr. St. Vincent's life. He would have been
too glad to have swept the whole concern into his hands, and swallowed
up your portion as well. It has been an unthankful office from first to
last, and but for my father's sake I should have thrown it up at once."
Marcia is white to the lips. Either Jasper Wilmarth has deceived her,
or her brother Floyd standing here does not tell the truth! To foolish
Marcia there has been something quite heroic in Mr. Wilmarth refusing
so tempting an offer and choosing _her_.
"He did not care for such a mere child," she says, with obstinate
pride.
"But he _did_ care for the money. And in the mean while he was
depreciating the business and doing his utmost to ruin it. If _you_
love him," he says, "well and good, but do not insist that I shall. I
can never either honor or esteem him. I saw through him too easily."
"I think you are very indiscreet, Marcia," exclaims her mother, when
Floyd has left the room. "Do try to keep peaceable. It is a shame to
have you quarrelling all the time! How could he help disposing of the
business? It was only held in trust until it could be settled."
For Mrs. Grandon has resolved herself into quite a comfortable frame of
mind. Eugene will not come to grief; on the contrary, his prospects are
so bright that her spirits rise accordingly. He is her darling, her
pride. She has no foolish jealousy of the young girl who is to be his
wife,--she could not have chosen better herself. Her motherly cares are
at an end, her income is assured. She would rather have Madame
Lepelletier in Violet's place, but she will not allow the one bitter to
spoil so much sweet.
Madame Lepelletier is somewhat amazed at the turn affairs have taken.
Eugene has not been the trump card she hoped. There is so much going on
at the great house that she is quite distanced.
But one evening Floyd comes down with a message that he has not cared
to trust to others. It is a little cool, and she has a bit of fire in
the grate, though the windows are open to the dewy, sweet air. All is
so quiet and tranquil, and for a month there has been little save
confusion and flying to and fro at home.
She remarks that he is thinner and there is a restlessness in the eyes,
while the face is set and stern.
"You are working too hard," she begins, in her sympathetic voice. "All
this has been a great care. You ought to have something----"
His sensitive pride takes the alarm. Does she, too, think he had his
covetous eye on the St. Vincent fortune?
"Don't!" he interrupts, in a strained, imploring tone. "I should hate
to have you of all others think I was moved in whatever I have done by
any thought of personal gain. I could wish that not one dollar of gain
had come to me,--and it has not," he says, defiantly. "I will confess
to you that I was moved by the profoundest pity for a dying man, and I
was afraid then that we should all go to ruin together."
"Ah," she returns, and a beguiling light plays over her face like some
swift ripple, "I never looked upon it in any other light. I knew you
better than you believed I did."
He has one friend, he thinks, in a daring, obstinate sort of way quite
new to him.