A Manifest Destiny
BY
JULIA MAGRUDER
AUTHOR OF "A MAGNIFICENT PLEBEIAN"
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
1900
Copyright, 1900, by JULIA MAGRUDER.
_All rights reserved._
[Illustration: Page 16
"BETTINA THREW BACK HER VEIL"]
ILLUSTRATIONS
"BETTINA THREW BACK HER VEIL" _Frontispiece_
SHE SANK BACK IN HER CHAIR _Facing p._ 34
"'AND WHO IS THIS HANDSOME BOY?'" " 60
"'THE MONEY WAS PARTLY MY OWN'" " 100
"THE VERY SPIRIT OF WIDOWHOOD" " 168
"'TRULY, MY CHILD, IT IS A WRETCHED STORY'" " 190
A MANIFEST DESTINY
CHAPTER I
Bettina Mowbray, walking the deck of the ocean steamer bound for
England, was aware that she was observed with interest by a great
many pairs of eyes. Certainly the possessors of these eyes were not
more interested in her than she was in the interpretation of their
glances. It was, indeed, of the first importance to her to know that
she was being especially noticed by the men and women of the world,
who in large part made up the passenger list, since her beauty was
her one endowment for the position in the great world which all her
life she had intended and expected to occupy. She was anxious,
therefore, to know whether the personal appearance which had been
rated so high in the obscure places hitherto known to her would or
would not hold its own when she got out into life, as it were.
Therefore, as Miss Mowbray paced the deck, at the side of the erect
elderly woman who had been her nurse and was now her maid, she was
vigilantly regardful of the looks which were turned upon her, and at
times, by straining her ears, she could even catch a word or two of
comment. Both looks and words were gratifying in the extreme. They
not only confirmed the previous verdict passed upon her beauty, but
they gave evidence to her keen intuition that, judged by a higher
standard, she had won a higher tribute.
Yet, ardent as this admiration was on the one side, and grateful as
it was on the other, there the matter stopped. To those who would
have approached her more closely Bettina set up a tacit barrier which
no one had been able to cross, and, after several days at sea, she
was still limited to the society of her maid. Those who had spoken to
her once had been so politely repelled that they had not spoken
again, and many of those who had felt inclined to speak had, on
coming nearer to her, refrained instinctively.
There was something, apart from her beauty, which attracted the eye
and the imagination in this tall girl in her deep mourning. This,
perhaps, was the twofold aspect which her different moods and
expressions gave to her. At one time she looked so profoundly sad,
dejected, almost despairing, that it was easy to connect her mourning
dress with the loss of what had been dearest to her. At another time
there was a buoyancy, animation, vividness, in her look which made
her black clothes seem incongruous in any other sense than that in
which a dark setting is sometimes used to throw into relief the
brilliancy of a jewel.
And these two outward manifestations did, in truth, represent the
dual nature which was Bettina's. Her mother, who had studied her with
a keen and affectionate insight, had often told her that the two
key-notes of her nature were love and ambition. So far, all the ardor
of Bettina's heart had been centred in her delicate, exquisite little
old mother, whom she had loved with something like frenzy; and it was
from the loss of this mother that she was now enduring a degree of
sorrow which might perhaps have overwhelmed her, had not the other
strong instinct of nature acted as an antidote. After some weeks of
what seemed like blank despair, the girl had roused herself with a
sort of desperation, and looked about her to see what was yet left
to her in life. Then it was that ambition had come to her rescue.
With a hardened feeling in her breast she told herself that she could
never love again in the way in which she had loved her mother, so she
must make the most of her opportunity to become a brilliant figure in
the world.
This opportunity, fortunately, was quite within sight. A path had
been opened before her feet by which she might walk to a higher rank
and position than even her extravagant dreams had led her to expect.
In the isolation of her narrow village life she had read in the
papers accounts of the English aristocracy; and to show off her
beauty in such an atmosphere, and be called by a titled name, had
fired her imagination to such a degree that her good mother had had
many a pang of fear for the future of her child.
When Bettina found herself alone, the one profound attachment of her
heart severed by death, she seemed to have no hope of relief from the
dire oppression of her position, save that which lay in the
possibilities of worldly enjoyment which might be in store for her if
she chose to accept them. These took the form of a definite
opportunity in the person of one whom her mother entirely trusted
and approved, and this in itself was enough for Bettina now. It was
little less than a marvellous prospect for a girl in her position,
but it had come about quite simply.
The rector of the church in the village where Mrs. Mowbray and her
daughter lived was an Englishman of good family, the Rev. Arthur
Spotswood by name. When his young relative, Horace Spotswood, who was
cousin and heir to Lord Hurdly, came to travel in America, it was but
natural that he should visit the rector in his home. Natural, too, it
was that he should there encounter Bettina Mowbray; and as he thought
her the most charming and most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and
as his affections were quite disengaged, it was almost a matter of
course that he should fall in love with her.
So aware of this was Bettina that when one morning she had met and
talked to the young fellow at the rectory, she wound up the account
of the meeting which she gave to her mother by saying, quite simply:
"He will ask me to marry him, mamma, and I shall say yes. So for a
short time I shall be Mrs. Horace Spotswood, the wife of a diplomat
at the Russian court, and ultimately I shall be Lady Hurdly, with a
London mansion, several country places, and one of the greatest
positions in English society."
"My child, my poor child!" said the mother, in a tone of distress,
"what is to be the end of your inordinate ambition for the things of
the world? You have got to discover the vanity and hollowness of them
some time, but what must you suffer on your way to this experience!
Money and position cannot bring happiness in marriage. Nothing can do
that but love."
"But, you see, I propose to have love too," was the gay response. "I
assure you it will not be a difficult matter to love such a man as
this, and I assure you also that he is fathoms deep in love with me
already. He is manly, handsome, healthy, well-bred, and altogether
charming. As to my ever loving any created being as I love you,
mother darling, that, I have always told you, is out of the question;
but I can imagine myself caring a good deal for this young heir of
Lord Hurdly."
"Bettina," said the mother, gravely, laying her hands on her
daughter's shoulder and looking deep into her eyes, "you will have to
come to it by suffering, my child, but you will come to it at
last--the knowledge that even the love which you give to me is slight
and inadequate, and not worthy to be compared with the love which
you will one day feel for the man who, as your husband, shall call
forth your highest feeling. I believe this with firm conviction, and
I beg you not to throw away your chance of a woman's best heritage.
Don't marry this man, or any man, until you can feel that even the
great love you have given me is poor compared with that. Heaven knows
I love you, child, and mother-love is stronger than daughter-love;
but I could not love you so well or so worthly if I had not loved
your father more."
These words, so impatiently listened to, were destined to come back
to Bettina afterward, though at the time she resented the very
suggestion of what they predicted.
Her instinct about young Spotswood had been exactly true. He had
become fascinated with her during their first interview, and had
followed up the acquaintance with ardor, making her very soon a
proposal of marriage.
Lord Hurdly, his cousin, was unmarried, it appeared, and was an
inveterate enemy to matrimony. Horace Spotswood was his nearest of
kin and legal heir. But Lord Hurdly was not over sixty two or three,
and was likely to live a long time. Finding it, perhaps, not very
agreeable to be constantly reminded that another man would some day
stand in his shoes, his lordship had procured for Horace a diplomatic
position at St. Petersburg, where, although the society was
delightful, the pay was small. As his heir, however, Lord Hurdly made
him a very liberal allowance, and with this it was easy for Horace to
indulge his taste for travel. In this way he had come to America,
intending to see it extensively; but he met Bettina, and from that
moment gave up every other thought but the dominant one of winning
her for his wife.
Even when he had asked and been accepted he could not leave her side,
but concluded to await there Lord Hurdly's answer to his letter
announcing his engagement. He was not without certain misgivings on
this point, but he had written so convincingly, as he thought, of
Bettina's beauty, breeding, and fitness for the position of Lady
Hurdly that was to be, that he would not and could not believe that
his cousin would disapprove. Besides, he was too blissfully happy to
grieve over problematical troubles, and so he quite gave himself up
to the joys of his present position and ardent dreams of the future.
It happened, however, that Lord Hurdly's letter, when it came, was a
cold, curt, and most decided refusal to consent to the marriage. He
objected chiefly on the score of Bettina's being an American, though
he did not hesitate to say also that he considered his heir a fool to
think of marrying a woman without fortune, when he might so easily do
better. In conclusion, he said that if this infatuated nonsense, as
he called it, went on, he would withdraw his allowance from the very
day of the marriage. He ended by hoping that Horace would come to his
senses, and let him know that the thing was at an end.
Poor Horace! He would fain have kept this letter from Bettina, but
she insisted upon seeing it. Having done so, she became fired with a
keen desire to triumph over this obdurate opposition, and when Horace
asked her if she would still fulfil her pledge, in the face of his
altered fortunes, she agreed with rather more ardor of feeling than
she had hitherto shown.
The truth was, Bettina had disappointed him in this last respect. Her
mother was so obviously and unquestionably her first thought, and her
mother's failing health was so plainly a grief which his love could
not counterbalance, that he at times had pangs of jealousy, of which
he afterward felt ashamed. Was not this intense love for her mother
in itself a proof of her great capacity of loving, and must he not,
with patient waiting, one day see himself loved in like manner?
Still, he chafed under the fact that every day her mother became more
and more the object of her time and attention, so that he saw her now
more rarely and for shorter periods. She always explained this fact
by saying that the invalid was more suffering and in need of her, and
she never seemed to think it possible that this excuse would not be
all-sufficing.
At last a day came which brought him what he had been fearing--a
summons to return to his post of duty. At one time he would have
attempted to get a longer leave, even at some risk; but now, with the
prospect of having his allowance from England withdrawn, he dared not
do so. He knew that it would require great economy for two to live on
what had once seemed so inadequate for one, and he laid the matter
frankly before Bettina. She was full of hope that Lord Hurdly would
relent, and spoke so indifferently about their lack of money that he
loved her all the more for it.
He had some hope, in his ardent soul, that he might persuade Bettina
to be married at once and go with him, but when he ventured to
propose this he found that the mere suggestion of her leaving her
mother, then or ever, made her almost angry. She insisted that her
mother would get better; that when the weather changed she would be
braced up and strengthened, and then, she hoped, a thorough change
would do her good. So her plan was to let her lover go at once, and
some months later, when Mrs. Mowbray should be stronger, they would
go to England together, and there Spotswood could meet her and they
could be married.
With this promise he was obliged to go. It was a new and annoying
experience for him to have to consider the question of money so
closely. True, he was Lord Hurdly's heir-at-law, and he could not be
disinherited, so far as the title and entailed estates were
concerned, but it was wholly within the power of the present lord to
deprive him of the other properties, and he knew Lord Hurdly well
enough to understand that he was tenacious of any position once
taken.
So he said farewell to Bettina with a sad heart. He was ardently
willing to give up money and ease and to endure hardness for her
sake, but he would have wished to feel that the sadness and
depression in which Bettina parted from him had been the echo of what
was in his own heart, rather than, as he was quite aware, the deeper
care and sorrow of her anxiety about her mother's health.
Once away from her, however, the strong flame of his love burned so
vividly that he wrote her, by almost every mail, letters of such
heart-felt love and sympathy and adoration that he could but feel
confident that they would bring him a reply in kind. When at last her
letters did come, they were so short, scant, and preoccupied that
they fell like blows upon his heart. When he thought of the
passionately loving letters that she was getting almost daily, while
he got so rarely these half-hearted and insufficient ones, his pride
became aroused, and he decided that he would imitate her to the
extent of writing more rarely, even if he could not find it in his
heart to write to her coolly, as she did to him. In this way it came
to pass that there was a distinct change in the tone of his letters
to her. As day by day, and sometimes week by week, passed without his
hearing from her, and as her letters, when they came, continued to
speak only of her mother's health and her grief about it, the young
fellow's love and pride were alike so wounded that he forced himself,
so far as his nature and feelings would allow, to imitate her
attitude to him, and to cease the expression of the vehement love
for her in which he got no response.
At last, after a longer interval than usual, he got a letter from
Bettina, which told him that her mother was dead--had, indeed, been
dead and buried almost two weeks before she had roused herself to
write to him.
In the tone of this letter there was a sort of desperate resolution
that showed that a reaction had come on, under the stress of which
she had been roused to act with energy. She announced that as she had
found it intolerable to stay where she was, she would sail for Europe
at once. She fixed the 23d of June as the day on which she had
decided to sail. In reality, however, she actually embarked from New
York just one week earlier. This was in pursuance of a certain plan
which required that she should have one week in London quite free of
Horace before he should come to claim the fulfilment of her promise
to marry him.