"Mrs. Harrison, I must own that what you allege surprises me. You
charge me, by implication at least, with want of affection for my
wife."
"No, Percy," returned the lady quickly. "I did not mean to say that.
I only spoke of your manner towards her, which lacks the warmth a
woman's heart requires. I have not said that you did not love her."
"I do not see how I can act differently; for I see no defect in my
conduct," said the young man, with a repellant manner. "If my wife
misinterprets the manner in which I treat her, and makes herself
unhappy about it, that is no fault of mine. She ought to have the
good sense to take me as I am, and not make herself wretched because
I am not what I cannot be."
"You still misunderstand me, Percy," urged (sic) the the mother of
Kate. "I did not say that your wife made herself wretched because
your manner towards her was not different. I only suggested a
modification of it, at least for the present, as a means of aiding
in her return to a healthier state of mind. But we will say no more
about this. I have frankly opened my mind to you, and thus far
discharged my duty. You must now act as your own heart directs."
Percy showed no inclination to continue the subject. His manner
plainly enough indicated that the conversation had given him no
pleasure; and that he believed the mother of Kate to have exceeded
the privilege of her position. When they parted, it was with the
most formal politeness on both sides.
After Mrs. Harrison parted with Percy Edwards, the young man
remained alone for nearly an hour. Sometimes he walked the floor
with hurried steps, his manner greatly excited; sometimes he sat
beside a table, with his head leaning upon his hand, so buried in
thought as to be almost motionless; and sometimes he muttered to
himself, as he aroused up from these fits of abstraction.
"Ah me!" he sighed, at last, rising slowly from his chair, and
beginning to walk about, but with less agitation of manner than
before exhibited. "This was a great mistake,--the one great error of
my life. How blind I was not to have foreseen just such a result as
this! I never had the smallest impulse of affection for her, and
never can have. Both are unhappy in our bonds, and both will be so
until death severs the unnatural tie. Ah me! A hundred thousand as a
marriage portion, doubled on my own side, with half a million in
prospect, does not put a single drop of honey in this cup, which
grows more bitter with every draught. The worldly advantage is all
very well. I am satisfied with that. But it comes at too heavy a
cost. And poor Kate"--there was something of pity in the tone with
which this was uttered--pity, not tenderness--"she has been the
most wronged in this business. But the alliance was of her father's
own seeking. His were the offered inducements, and I am not to be
blamed if the temptation proved too strong for me. To a great
extent, I can protect myself, though not fully. There are, thorns in
my pillow which can neither be covered nor removed. Ah me! I wish
Kate would seek, as I do, in coldness and indifference, the
protection she needs. Her mother's observation is correct. There is
no tenderness in my manner, and I have not meant that there should
be. I have not treated her unkindly, for I wished to avoid all cause
for complaint or reproach. I wished to stand clear before the world;
and I am clear. If she beat herself against the bars of her cage, am
I to blame? No, no! Let her yield to the necessity of her position,
as I do. Let her avail herself of all the sources of forgetfulness
within her reach--and there are many--and live passionless, if not
happy. But she will not. If some speedy change do not take place,
she cannot live a year. The world is quick in its imputation of
wrong; and a whisper from her friends may thrill a thousand hearts
with a suspicion of foul play, if she go down to the grave in so
short a period after our marriage. And there is yet another
consideration,--my interest in her father's large estate. How will
that be affected? Having sacrificed so much for this consideration,
it must not be abandoned now."
Edwards continued to move about the room, in deep reflection, for a
considerable time longer. Then he went slowly up to his wife's
chamber. She was lying upon the bed, with her face buried in a
pillow. She did not stir, although his footfall was distinct upon
the floor. Edwards went to the bedside, and leaning over, said, with
more affection in his voice than he had ever used since their
marriage, taking her hand in his, with a gentle pressure, at the
same time--
"Kate, it grieves me to see you so ill both in body and mind."
There was an instant quiver in every limb, before so motionless; but
the sufferer neither arose nor made any reply.
"Unless something be done for your relief," continued Mr. Edwards,
in the same tone, "you cannot live. You know how much we are all
afflicted, and how anxious we all feel on account of your loss of
health and spirits."
The hand of his wife was still in his, and he held it with the same
gentle pressure, that was now as gently returned. The impulse of Mr.
Edwards was to remove his hand the instant Kate showed this
consciousness of a tenderer manifestation than he was accustomed to
give; but he restrained himself, and still let his hand rest upon
hers. He felt that she was listening to him, and that he had the
ability to influence her as he would, if he used the power of a
well-counterfeited regard. After a few moments' silence, he went
on:--
"I am sure that a change of air and a change of scene will do you
good. This Doctor R--has already said, and you know that we all
agree in the opinion. Now, will you not, to relieve the minds of
your friends, even if you feel reluctant to quit this seclusion into
which you have shrunk, make an effort? I am ready to go with you, at
any moment. Come! arouse yourself; if not for your own sake, for
ours, for mine."
The way in which this was said, more than the words themselves,
acted like a charm upon Mrs. Edwards. The almost pulseless lethargy
into which she had fallen passed off quickly, and rising up, she
pushed back the matted hair from her face, and said, "I know you all
think me perverse and unreasonable, and I may be so to some extent;
but I will try to do as you wish. I feel as weak in mind and body as
a child; and, like a child, I will submit myself to your direction.
Only, Percy,"--her voice had a most touching pathos as she said
this,--"_love me as a child!_ Speak to me as gently, as tenderly as
you did just now, and I will be the happiest being alive."
As she spoke, she leaned over towards her husband, and, burying her
face on his bosom, sobbed aloud.
Cold-hearted as was Percy Edwards, this exhibition moved him. It was
unexpected, and, therefore, he was not prepared to meet it in the
way he would otherwise have done. As Kate lay weeping upon his
bosom, and almost clinging to him, he experienced a change of
feeling towards her. Pity melted into tenderness, and, on the
impulse of the moment, he drew his arm around her, and, bending
down, touched his lips to her forehead.
A happier moment the trembling wife had not known for years.
"You will make a short visit to Newport?" said Mr. Edwards, as
Kate's feelings grew calmer.
"Oh, yes," she whispered, "if you wish me to do so."
"Only on account of your health," he replied, "I know it will do you
good."
"Oh, certainly I will go. Forgive me for having before hesitated a
moment; it was a childish weakness. But I will try hereafter to act
with more reason."
The pressure of a tenderly spoken word revealed to Percy Edwards a
hidden treasure in the love of a woman, worthy, truly worthy of a
full reciprocation. Her heart was open and panting before him. Alas!
for the man, that he could not prize the untold wealth he had only
to reach forth his hand and take. But the lover of himself and the
world is ever blind to what are life's real blessings. Thus blind
was Percy Edwards.
Deluded into the belief that a genuine affection had been awakened
in the breast of her husband, Kate felt the motions of a new life
within her.
Satisfied that if he again fell back into his old habit of treating
his wife, she would at once relapse into her former state of
depression, Mr. Edwards maintained a certain appearance of
affection, much as the effort cost him. It was wonderful to see the
effect upon Mrs. Edwards. Her countenance became cheerful, her voice
lost its even, passionless tone, and she evinced an interest in much
that was passing around her. Preparations were immediately commenced
for a visit to Newport, and in a week from the time she was aroused
from the lethargy into which she had fallen, she left for that
fashionable resort, in company with her husband and several friends.