MISS ROCHESTER A VICTOR.
Dr. Winthrop was greatly disturbed by his mother’s visit and the charge
which she had brought against him in connection with Sadie Rochester.
“The girl must know that she alone was to blame for the unlucky
_contrétemps_ which occurred that morning,” he said impatiently, as he
paced his room back and forth. “Why couldn’t she have explained the
matter to her mother, and thus exonerated me from all blame? Perhaps she
is ashamed to confess that she so betrayed herself. Such a confession, I
admit, would be awkward for her; yet, in justice to me, she should have
made it.”
At last he sat down before his writing-desk, muttering resolutely:
“I will at least give her the privilege of rejecting me, and that will
settle the matter for all time. I am bored to death with this continual
harping upon the subject of my marriage with the girl.”
He wrote rapidly for a few moments, after which he signed his name with
a reckless dash, and then proceeded to read over what he had written.
The letter ran thus:
“MISS ROCHESTER:—I am considerably troubled over an interview that I
have just had with my mother, and during which she stated that you feel
yourself somewhat compromised by what occurred between us on the day of
your leaving Paris. I sincerely regret if anything which I may have said
or done should have surprised you into the betrayal of feelings which
you would have preferred to conceal. I imagined that it would be a very
easy matter for you to explain the situation to Mrs. Rochester; but if,
under the circumstances, you feel delicate about so doing, and she is
still laboring under a misapprehension of the real nature of the
interview, I will make you the only reparation in my power by the offer
of my hand. I will tell you frankly that I have no heart to give any
woman—that the image of my dead wife still fills it to the exclusion of
all other affection, and I feel that it is but a mockery to ask any one
to marry me. Still if, by so doing, I can set you right in the eyes of
others, I am at your service; the proposal will at least give you the
opportunity of rejecting one who has, perhaps, placed you in a false
position, although unintentionally.
“Very truly yours,
“TRUMAN H. WINTHROP.”
“There! I believe this will end that matter for all time,” the young man
said as he slipped the missive into its envelope and addressed it. “She
can tell them all that I have proposed to her and she has rejected me,
then they will surely let us both alone about this hateful marriage.”
He never once imagined that the girl was as eager for it as her mother
and Madame Winthrop—that she was only waiting for the slightest
concession on his part to trap him into an engagement, and thus secure
the prize for which she had so long angled.
Therefore it was with no little amazement and consternation that he
received, late the next afternoon, the following reply to his proposal:
“DEAR DR. WINTHROP:—You can perhaps imagine what the feelings of a
sensitive woman may have been upon receiving such a note as you wrote to
me yesterday. It was not a pleasant thing to learn that your mother had
told you that I felt compromised by the event which occurred, whatever
my feelings may have been. But since she has told you and since you have
dealt so candidly with me, I will be no less frank with you.
“That I did betray feelings which almost any woman would have regretted
revealing I cannot deny, and, strange though it may seem to you, my
mother is the last person in the world who would regard such a betrayal
with any leniency. Hence my hesitation to explain matters to her. Having
once procrastinated, I have not since had the courage to broach the
subject, so she has naturally inferred what Madame Winthrop intimated to
you.
“You are very good to wish to set me right, though you say that you have
no heart to give me—that you feel it is but mockery for you to make me
the proposal you have. I do not so regard it, and I deeply sympathize
with you in your great loss—in your blighted hopes, and honor you for
your faithfulness to one who was so dear. But, Dr. Winthrop, a man in
your position needs a pleasant home and a devoted wife, and I believe
both those results would be obtained if I should accept your proposal;
and more than that, a wrong would be righted—the Rochester-Hamilton
fortunes, which should never have been willed otherwise upon such
arbitrary conditions, would be secured to the proper heirs. Do not deem
me unmaidenly, I pray, if I confess that my feelings toward you are of
such a nature that I am not only willing, but glad, to devote my life to
you—that I am even sanguine enough to hope that I shall yet make the
future hold something of content, if not of positive happiness for you.
Believing this, and knowing also that my own hopes have no higher aim
than to make myself useful in contributing to your future comfort and
interest, even though I may never win your love, I gratefully accept the
offer of your hand, and pledge myself to be a faithful and helpful wife
to you.
“Yours now and ever,
“SARAH ROCHESTER.”
A groan of misery burst from Dr. Winthrop’s white lips as he finished
reading this cunningly constructed epistle.
“Has the girl no sense of shame—no discernment?” he cried fiercely.
“Could she not understand that my letter was but a mere form—a simple
pretext to give her a chance to set herself right with my mother and her
own? Could she not see that I shrank from all thought of marriage, with
any woman, with a feeling of absolute loathing? Great Heaven! She has
pledged herself to me—she has made the affair a formal engagement, and I
am bound to her in spite of myself!”
Oh, if he could have foreseen what the result of his letter would have
been, his hand would have withered before writing it!
Still he believed that she really loved him; she had betrayed it
involuntarily—as he imagined—that morning when he had gone to tell her
of the danger of remaining in Paris; she had confessed it again in her
letter to-day. Her life, then, would be ruined if she did not marry him.
She would lose her fortune through no fault of her own, and her mother
would also forfeit the independent control of the income of fifty
thousand dollars.
He realized that Miss Rochester was beautiful; that she would shine in
society, and be an ornament in any man’s home, and having been allowed
to see only the best side of her nature, he did not once imagine her to
be the hypocrite that she was.
Why, then, since his own life was so hopelessly ruined, should he not
gracefully submit to the inevitable, and sacrifice himself to the wishes
and good of others?
He had hardly arrived at this almost despairing conclusion, after
several hours of rebellion against his doom, when his brother suddenly
dashed into his presence, without even the formality of knocking for
admittance, his brow gloomy, his face white from passion and pain.
Dr. Winthrop regarded him with surprise and anxiety.
“What is it, Norman?” he inquired. “Is there anything the matter at the
chateau?”
“No, everybody is well, if that is what you mean,” was the curt reply,
as the young man recklessly threw himself into a chair.
“But, Norman, it does not seem to be well with you—what has occurred to
disturb you thus?”
“I have simply come to have an understanding with you before we leave
for Italy.”
“An understanding?” repeated Dr. Winthrop. “Pray what is there that
needs explanation between you and me?”
“This—is it true that you are going to marry Sadie Rochester?” demanded
Norman Winthrop, starting to his feet and facing his brother, while a
dull red wave of passion flushed his brow. “Is it true that you are
formally betrothed to her? My mother has told me so, and I have also
heard it from another source.”
Dr. Winthrop searched his brother’s face; he noticed his sullen,
desperate air; the reckless tone in his voice, the look of pain on his
face, which was now pale even to ghastliness, and he instantly surmised
the meaning of it.
His brother loved the girl who had but just pledged herself to marry
him.
“You have heard it from another source—from whom?” he inquired.
“From that heartless flirt herself—Sadie Rochester,” was the fierce
reply.
“Has Miss Rochester told you that she is betrothed to me?” Dr. Winthrop
gravely asked, thinking that the girl had been in rather unseemly haste
to announce the engagement, since he had but just learned her decision
himself.
“Yes, she says she is pledged to marry you.”
“Pledged to marry me! Does she appear at all averse to the bond?”
“No—no!” responded Norman passionately; “and that is what cuts me so,
for you are so indifferent; you do not act at all like a man who has
been so fortunate as to win a beautiful woman like Sadie Rochester, and
I want to know whether you are voluntarily betrothed to her, or whether
you simply feel bound to comply with the conditions of that contract.”
The young physician was deeply distressed by this new development, for
he saw that his brother was desperately in love, and it seemed hard
indeed if another life must be ruined by his own enforced engagement.
“I am sorry, Norman, that this matter is a source of unhappiness to
you,” he said earnestly, “but I suppose it is settled that I am to marry
Miss Rochester.”
Norman Winthrop began excitedly pacing the floor.
“Heavens! you drive me mad!” he cried passionately. “You suppose it is
settled that you are to marry her! Do you love the girl?”
And he stopped short in his walk, and glared fiercely at his companion
with flaming eyes.
“Pray do not get so excited, Norman,” Dr. Winthrop wearily returned.
“Sit down and let us talk this matter over calmly. You ask me if I love
Sadie Rochester. You must know that after the experiences which I have
been through during the last two years, it would not be easy for me to
love any woman with the absorbing passion of a first attachment. I have
not even pretended to any such affection; but Miss Rochester is not
disagreeable to me; she evidently desires the union, while you well know
that my mother’s heart is set upon it. Therefore, since much depends
upon the fulfilment of this contract, I feel that it is perhaps my duty
to yield to the wishes of others, and—well,” with a long-drawn sigh, as
if further explanation would not better matters, “that is about all
there is concerning it.”
“And, I suppose you were going to remark, since your life has been
ruined by the loss of the woman you loved, it cannot matter much if you
sacrifice yourself to gain these fortunes, without regard to the
feelings of any one else,” sneered Norman Winthrop, with exceeding
bitterness. “Yes,” he went on, with increasing excitement, “you have
read me aright; this matter is a source of unhappiness—of despair to me.
I love Sadie Rochester as you never thought of loving any one; she has
become the one woman in the world to me, and if I must lose her I do not
care how quickly I go to the devil. Be quiet!” he continued savagely, as
Dr. Winthrop attempted to speak; “I must let it all out—I’ll not give up
all my hopes without a struggle. I know that I have always been the
black sheep of the family, that I’ve been wild and fast, and have cared
but little for anything save my own pleasure; but I love this girl so
well that she could do anything she chose with me; she could mould me to
her will like a lump of wax—I would be a man for her sake, working hard
for fortune, honor, and a name, if I could but win her for my wife; but
without her I am lost, and the hardest of all is that I believe I could
win her if it were not for this cursed money.”
Dr. Winthrop flushed.
It was not pleasant to be told that a woman was going to marry him
simply for the fortune she would thus secure, even if he did not love
her as well as he should. Still he believed that his brother was blinded
by his own feelings. He was quite sure that Miss Rochester loved him—for
she had told him so—had she not tried to impress the fact upon him in
many ways?—and he honestly believed that he should wreck her happiness
if he did not make her his wife. At all events, he had offered himself
to her, and been accepted, and there was no honorable way of retreating
from the position.
“Well, Norman,” he said sadly, for he was grieved to see how reckless
his brother had become under the influence of this passion, “I cannot
tell you how shocked I am by what you have told me regarding your
feelings toward Miss Rochester. If I thought that she loved you in
return, and would be happier as your wife, I would willingly release her
from her pledge to me; for, believe me, the money is, comparatively, of
little consequence to me. Indeed I would most cheerfully transfer my
right to it to you, if that would answer the same purpose, and the
requirements of the will, and make you both happy.”
“Would you?” eagerly demanded the young man, brightening visibly. “Then
prove it—renounce it and Sadie at the same time, and I swear that I will
leave all my past life behind me and become a good man. I am simply
desperate, True—I am pleading for life, home, happiness; you have no
idea how much is involved, for I idolize this girl; she will either be
my salvation or prove my ruin. True, will you give me my bride and save
my soul?”
Dr. Winthrop arose and grasped his brother’s hand. He was deeply moved
by this appeal, and for a moment he could not speak, while a thrill of
joy agitated every fibre of his being at the prospect of his own escape
from this hated marriage.
“Yes,” he said at length, “at least I will give you a chance, if you
think there is one for you. Miss Rochester knows that I do not love her
as a man ought to love his wife; and I am willing to tell her that I
would prefer to forfeit the fortune rather than marry her if she
entertains anything of affection for you. I will submit the matter for
her decision, but you must make up your mind to abide by it, for I
cannot honorably retreat from the engagement if she sees fit to hold me
to it. Believe me, Norman, I would gladly give you both fortune and
bride if I could, but since I cannot, your fate must hinge upon Miss
Rochester’s fiat.”
“Then I am lost,” cried Norman Winthrop, reeling where he stood, “for if
you submit the question to her, she will choose to be your wife and not
mine. Break the engagement yourself, and, with no hope before her of
winning these fortunes, she will be driven to me.”
“I cannot do that, Norman. I see no honorable way in which I can
withdraw from my engagement to her, and I am surprised at you. I cannot
understand how you would be willing to marry a woman who was driven to
you, as you express it, by being thrust from another,” Dr. Winthrop
concluded with some scorn, even though he deeply sympathized with his
brother.
“You do not know what it is to love as I love,” he cried hoarsely—“and
you will not break with her?”
“I must not.”
“Then it doesn’t matter how quick I go to——”
The last word was almost inarticulate, as he turned and rushed from the
room, slamming the door violently behind him.