MURRAY BRADSHAW PLAYS HIS LAST CARD.
"How can I see that man this evening, Mr. Lindsay?"
"May I not be Clement, dearest? I would not see him at all, Myrtle. I
don't believe you will find much pleasure in listening to his fine
speeches."
"I cannot endure it.--Kitty, tell him I am engaged, and cannot see him
this evening. No, no! don't say engaged, say very much occupied."
Kitty departed, communing with herself in this wise:--"Ockipied, is it?
An' that's what ye cahl it when ye 're kapin' company with one young
gintleman an' don't want another young gintleman to come in an' help the
two of ye? Ye won't get y'r pigs to market to-day, Mr. Bridshaw, no, nor
to-morrow, nayther, Mr. Bridshaw. It's Mrs. Lindsay that Miss Myrtle is
goin' to be,--an' a big cake there'll be at the weddin' frosted all
over,--won't ye be plased with a slice o' that, Mr. Bridshaw?"
With these reflections in her mind, Mistress Kitty delivered her message,
not without a gleam of malicious intelligence in her look that stung Mr.
Bradshaw sharply. He had noticed a hat in the entry, and a little stick
by it which he remembered well as one he had seen carried by Clement
Lindsay. But he was used to concealing his emotions, and he greeted the
two older ladies who presently came into the library so pleasantly, that
no one who had not studied his face long and carefully would have
suspected the bitterness of heart that lay hidden far down beneath his
deceptive smile. He told Miss Silence, with much apparent interest, the
story of his journey. He gave her an account of the progress of the case
in which the estate of which she inherited the principal portion was
interested. He did not tell her that a final decision which would settle
the right to the great claim might be expected at any moment, and he did
not tell her that there was very little doubt that it would be in favor
of the heirs of Malachi Withers. He was very sorry he could not see Miss
Hazard that evening,--hoped he should be more fortunate to-morrow
forenoon, when he intended to call again,--had a message for her from one
of her former school friends, which he was anxious to give her. He
exchanged certain looks and hints with Miss Cynthia, which led her to
withdraw and bring down the papers he had entrusted to her. At the close
of his visit, she followed him into the entry with a lamp, as was her
common custom.
"What's the meaning of all this, Cynthia? Is that fellow making love to
Myrtle?"
"I'm afraid so, Mr. Bradshaw. He's been here several times, and they
seem to be getting intimate. I couldn't do anything to stop it."
"Give me the papers,--quick!"
Cynthia pulled the package from her pocket. Murray Bradshaw looked
sharply at it. A little crumpled,--crowded into her pocket. Seal
unbroken. All safe.
"I shall come again to-morrow forenoon. Another day and it will be all
up. The decision of the court will be known. It won't be my fault if
one visit is not enough.--You don't suppose Myrtle is in love with this
fellow?"
"She acts as--if she might be. You know he's broke with Susan Posey, and
there's nothing to hinder. If you ask my opinion, I think it's your last
chance: she is n't a girl to half do things, and if she has taken to this
man it will be hard to make her change her mind. But she's young, and
she has had a liking for you, and if you manage it well there's no
telling."
Two notes passed between Myrtle Hazard and Master Byles Gridley that
evening. Mistress Kitty Fagan, who had kept her ears pretty wide open,
carried them.
Murray Bradshaw went home in a very desperate state of feeling. He had
laid his plans, as he thought, with perfect skill, and the certainty of
their securing their end. These papers were to have been taken from the
envelope, and found in the garret just at the right moment, either by
Cynthia herself or one of the other members of the family, who was to be
led on, as it were accidentally, to the discovery. The right moment must
be close at hand. He was to offer his hand--and heart, of course--to
Myrtle, and it was to be accepted. As soon as the decision of the land
case was made known, or not long afterwards, there was to be a search in
the garret for papers, and these were to be discovered in a certain dusty
recess, where, of course, they would have been placed by Miss Cynthia.
And now the one condition which gave any value to these arrangements
seemed like to fail. This obscure youth--this poor fool, who had been on
the point of marrying a simpleton to whom he had made a boyish
promise--was coming between him and the object of his long pursuit,--the
woman who had every attraction to draw him to herself. It had been a
matter of pride with Murray Bradshaw that he never lost his temper so as
to interfere with the precise course of action which his cool judgment
approved; but now he was almost beside himself with passion. His labors,
as he believed, had secured the favorable issue of the great case so long
pending. He had followed Myrtle through her whole career, if not as her
avowed lover, at least as one whose friendship promised to flower in love
in due season. The moment had come when the scene and the characters in
this village drama were to undergo a change as sudden and as brilliant as
is seen in those fairy spectacles where the dark background changes to a
golden palace and the sober dresses are replaced by robes of regal
splendor. The change was fast approaching; but he, the enchanter, as he
had thought himself, found his wand broken, and his power given to
another.
He could not sleep during that night. He paced his room, a prey to
jealousy and envy and rage, which his calm temperament had kept him from
feeling in their intensity up to this miserable hour. He thought of all
that a maddened nature can imagine to deaden its own intolerable anguish.
Of revenge. If Myrtle rejected his suit, should he take her life on the
spot, that she might never be another's,--that neither man nor woman
should ever triumph over him,--the proud ambitious man, defeated,
humbled, scorned? No! that was a meanness of egotism which only the most
vulgar souls could be capable of. Should he challenge her lover? It was
not the way of the people and time, and ended in absurd complications, if
anybody was foolish enough to try it. Shoot him? The idea floated
through his mind, for he thought of everything; but he was a lawyer, and
not a fool, and had no idea of figuring in court as a criminal. Besides,
he was not a murderer,--cunning was his natural weapon, not violence. He
had a certain admiration of desperate crime in others, as showing nerve
and force, but he did not feel it to be his own style of doing business.
During the night he made every arrangement for leaving the village the
next day, in case he failed to make any impression on Myrtle Hazard and
found that his chance was gone. He wrote a letter to his partner,
telling him that he had left to join one of the regiments forming in the
city. He adjusted all his business matters so that his partner should
find as little trouble as possible. A little before dawn he threw
himself on the bed, but he could not sleep; and he rose at sunrise, and
finished his preparations for his departure to the city.
The morning dragged along slowly. He could not go to the office, not
wishing to meet his partner again. After breakfast he dressed himself
with great care, for he meant to show himself in the best possible
aspect. Just before he left the house to go to The Poplars, he took the
sealed package from his trunk, broke open the envelope, took from it a
single paper,--it had some spots on it which distinguished it from all
the rest,--put it separately in his pocket, and then the envelope
containing the other papers. The calm smile he wore on his features as
he set forth cost him a greater effort than he had ever made before to
put it on. He was moulding his face to the look with which he meant to
present himself; and the muscles had been sternly fixed so long that it
was a task to bring them to their habitual expression in company,--that
of ingenuous good-nature.
He was shown into the parlor at The Poplars; and Kitty told Myrtle that
he had called and inquired for her and was waiting down stairs.
"Tell him I will be down presently," she said. "And, Kitty, now mind
just what I tell you. Leave your kitchen door open, so that you can hear
anything fall in the parlor. If you hear a book fall,--it will be a
heavy one, and will make some noise,--run straight up here to my little
chamber, and hang this red scarf out of the window. The left-hand
side-sash, mind, so that anybody can see it from the road. If Mr.
Gridley calls, show him into the parlor, no matter who is there."
Kitty Fagan looked amazingly intelligent, and promised that she would do
exactly as she was told. Myrtle followed her down stairs almost
immediately, and went into the parlor, where Mr. Bradshaw was waiting.
Never in his calmest moments had he worn a more insinuating smile on his
features than that with which he now greeted Myrtle. So gentle, so
gracious, so full of trust, such a completely natural expression of a
kind, genial character did it seem, that to any but an expert it would
have appeared impossible that such an effect could be produced by the
skilful balancing of half a dozen pairs of little muscles that manage the
lips and the corners of the mouth. The tones of his voice were subdued
into accord with the look of his features; his whole manner was
fascinating, as far as any conscious effort could make it so. It was
just one of those artificially pleasing effects that so often pass with
such as have little experience of life for the genuine expression of
character and feeling. But Myrtle had learned the look that shapes
itself on the features of one who loves with a love that seeketh not its
own, and she knew the difference between acting and reality. She met his
insinuating approach with a courtesy so carefully ordered that it was of
itself a sentence without appeal. Artful persons often interpret sincere
ones by their own standard. Murray Bradshaw thought little of this
somewhat formal address,--a few minutes would break this thin film to
pieces. He was not only a suitor with a prize to gain, he was a
colloquial artist about to employ all the resources of his specialty.
He introduced the conversation in the most natural and easy way, by
giving her the message from a former school-mate to which he had
referred, coloring it so delicately, as he delivered it, that it became
an innocent-looking flattery. Myrtle found herself in a rose-colored
atmosphere, not from Murray Bradshaw's admiration, as it seemed, but only
reflected by his mind from another source. That was one of his arts,
always, if possible, to associate himself incidentally, as it appeared,
and unavoidably, with an agreeable impression.
So Myrtle was betrayed into smiling and being pleased before he had said
a word about himself or his affairs. Then he told her of the adventures
and labors of his late expedition; of certain evidence which at the very
last moment he had unearthed, and which was very probably the
turning-point in the case. He could not help feeling that she must
eventually reap some benefit from the good fortune with which his efforts
had been attended. The thought that it might yet be so had been a great
source of encouragement to him,--it would always be a great happiness to
him to remember that he had done anything to make her happy.
Myrtle was very glad that he had been so far successful,--she did not
know that it made much difference to her, but she was obliged to him for
the desire of serving her that he had expressed.
"My services are always yours, Miss Hazard. There is no sacrifice I
would not willingly make for your benefit. I have never had but one
feeling toward you. You cannot be ignorant of what that feeling is."
"I know, Mr. Bradshaw, it has been one of kindness. I have to thank you
for many friendly attentions, for which I hope I have never been
ungrateful."
"Kindness is not all that I feel towards you, Miss Hazard. If that were
all, my lips would not tremble as they do now in telling you my
feelings.--I love you."
He sprang the great confession on Myrtle a little sooner than he had
meant. It was so hard to go on making phrases! Myrtle changed color a
little, for she was startled.
The seemingly involuntary movement she made brought her arm against a
large dictionary, which lay very near the edge of the table on which it
was resting. The book fell with a loud noise to the floor.
There it lay. The young man awaited her answer; he did not think of
polite forms at such a moment.
"It cannot be, Mr. Bradshaw,--it must not be. I have known you long, and
I am not ignorant of all your brilliant qualities, but you must not speak
to me of love. Your regard,--your friendly interest, tell me that I
shall always have these, but do not distress me with offering more than
these."
"I do not ask you to give me your love in return; I only ask you not to
bid me despair. Let me believe that the time may come' when you will
listen to me,--no matter how distant. You are young,--you have a tender
heart,--you would not doom one who only lives for you to
wretchedness,--so long that we have known each other. It cannot be that
any other has come between us--"
Myrtle blushed so deeply that there was no need of his finishing his
question.
"Do you mean, Myrtle Hazard, that you have cast me aside for
another?--for this stranger--this artist--who was with you yesterday when
I came, bringing with me the story of all I had done for you, yes, for
you,--and was ignominiously refused the privilege of seeing you?" Rage
and jealousy had got the better of him this time. He rose as he spoke,
and looked upon her with such passion kindling in his eyes that he seemed
ready for any desperate act.
"I have thanked you for any services you may have rendered me, Mr.
Bradshaw," Myrtle answered, very calmly, "and I hope you will add one
more to them by sparing me this rude questioning. I wished to treat you
as a friend; I hope you will not render that impossible."
He had recovered himself for one more last effort. "I was impatient
overlook it, I beg you. I was thinking of all the happiness I have
labored to secure for you, and of the ruin to us both it would be if you
scornfully rejected the love I offer you,--if you refuse to leave me any
hope for the future,--if you insist on throwing yourself away on this
man, so lately pledged to another. I hold the key of all your earthly
fortunes in my hand. My love for you inspired me in all that I have
done, and, now that I come to lay the result of my labors at your feet,
you turn from me, and offer my reward to a stranger. I do not ask you to
say this day that you will be mine,--I would not force your
inclinations,--but I do ask you that you will hold yourself free of all
others, and listen to me as one who may yet be more than a friend. Say
so much as this, Myrtle, and you shall have such a future as you never
dreamed of. Fortune, position, all that this world can give, shall be
yours."
"Never! never! If you could offer me the whole world, or take away from
me all that the world can give, it would make no difference to me. I
cannot tell what power you hold over me, whether of life and death, or of
wealth and poverty; but after talking to me of love, I should not have
thought you would have wronged me by suggesting any meaner motive. It is
only because we have been on friendly terms so long that I have listened
to you as I have done. You have said more than enough, and I beg you
will allow me to put an end to this interview."
She rose to leave the room. But Murray Bradshaw had gone too far to
control himself,--he listened only to the rage which blinded him.
"Not yet!" he said. "Stay one moment, and you shall know what your pride
and self-will have cost you!"
Myrtle stood, arrested, whether by fear, or curiosity, or the passive
subjection of her muscles to his imperious will, it would be hard to say.
Murray Bradshaw took out the spotted paper from his breast-pocket, and
held it up before her. "Look here!" he exclaimed. "This would have made
you rich,--it would have crowned you a queen in society,--it would have
given you all, and more than all, that you ever dreamed of luxury, of
splendor, of enjoyment; and I, who won it for you, would have taught you
how to make life yield every bliss it had in store to your wishes. You
reject my offer unconditionally?"
Myrtle expressed her negative only by a slight contemptuous movement.
Murray Bradshaw walked deliberately to the fireplace, and laid the
spotted paper upon the burning coals. It writhed and curled, blackened,
flamed, and in a moment was a cinder dropping into ashes. He folded his
arms, and stood looking at the wreck of Myrtle's future, the work of his
cruel hand. Strangely enough, Myrtle herself was fascinated, as it were,
by the apparent solemnity of this mysterious sacrifice. She had kept her
eyes steadily on him all the time, and was still gazing at the altar on
which her happiness had been in some way offered up, when the door was
opened by Kitty Fagan, and Master Byles Gridley was ushered into the
parlor.
"Too late, old man! "Murray Bradshaw exclaimed, in a hoarse and savage
voice, as he passed out of the room, and strode through the entry and
down the avenue. It was the last time the old gate of The Poplars was to
open or close for him. The same day he left the village; and the next
time his name was mentioned it was as an officer in one of the regiments
just raised and about marching to the seat of war.