THE SALE IS COMPLETE.
When I awoke again--but I cannot proceed. There are crimes done every
day, which the world knows by heart, and yet shudders to see recorded,
even in the most carefully vailed phrase. But the crime of which I
was the victim, was too horrible for belief. Wareham the criminal, my
own mother the accomplice, the victim a girl of fifteen, who had been
reared in purity and innocence afar from the world.
When I awoke again--for the potion failed to kill--I found myself in my
room, and Wareham by my side, surveying me as a ghoul might look upon
the dead body which he has stolen from the grave. The vial given to
me by the maid did not contain a fatal poison, but merely a powerful
anodyne, which sealed my senses for hours in sleep, and--combined with
the reaction of harrowing excitement--left me for days in a state of
half dreamy consciousness. I awoke * * * * My sight was dim, my senses
dulled, but I knew that I was lost! Lost! O, how poor and tame that
word, to express the living damnation of which I was the victim! The
events of the next twenty-four hours, I can but vaguely remember. I was
taken from the bed, arrayed in the bridal costume, and then led down
stairs into the parlor. There was a marriage celebrated there (as I was
afterward told)--yes! it was there that a minister of the Gospel, book
in hand, sanctified with the name of marriage, the accursed bargain
of which I was the victim--marriage, that sacrament which makes of
home, God's holiest altar, the truest type of Heaven--marriage was,
in my case, made the cloak of an unspeakable crime. I can remember
that I said some words, which my mother whispered in my ear, and that
I signed my name to a letter which she had written. It was the letter
which Ernest received, announcing my intention to visit Niagara. As for
the letter which I had written to him, on the previous day, it never
went farther than from the hands of Caroline to those of my mother. I
was hurried into a carriage, Wareham by my side, and then on board of
a steamboat, and have a vague consciousness of passing up the Hudson
river. I did not clearly recover my senses, until I found myself at
Niagara Falls, leaning on Wareham's arm, and pointed at by the crowd of
visitors at the Falls, as "the beautiful bride of the Millionaire."
From the Falls, we passed up the Lakes, and then retraced our steps;
visited the Falls again; journeyed to Montreal, and then home by Lake
Champlain and the Hudson river. My mother did not accompany us. We were
gone three months, and as the boat glided down the Hudson, the trees
were already touched by autumn. As the boat drew near Tapaan bay, I
concealed myself in my stateroom--I dared not look upon my cottage home.
We arrived at home toward the close of a September day. My mother met
me at the door, calm and smiling. She gave me her hand--but I pushed
it gently away. Wareham led me up the steps. I stood once more in that
house, from which I had gone forth, like one walking in their sleep.
And that night, in our chamber, Wareham and myself held a conversation,
which had an important bearing on his life and mine.
I was sitting alone in my chamber, dressed in a white wrapper, and
my hair flowing unconfined upon my shoulders; my hands were clasped
and my head bent upon my breast. I was thinking of the events of the
last three months, of all that I had endured from the man whose very
presence in the same room, filled me with loathing. My husband entered,
followed by Jenkins, who placed a lighted candle, a bottle of wine and
glasses on the table, and then retired.
"What, is my pretty girl all alone, and in a thinking mood?" cried
Wareham, seating himself by the table and filling a glass with wine;
"and pray, my love, what is the subject of your thoughts?"
And raising the glass to his lips, he surveyed me from head to foot
with that gloating gaze which always gave a singular light to his eyes.
His face was slightly flushed on the colorless cheeks. He had already
been drinking freely, and was now evidently under the influence of wine.
"You have a fine bust, my girl," he continued, as though he was
repeating the "points" of a horse; "a magnificent arm, a foot that
beats the Medicean Venus all hollow, and limbs,--" he paused and sipped
his wine, protruding his nether lip which now was scarlet red,--"such
limbs! I like the expression of your eyes--there's fire in them, and
your clear brown complexion, and your moist red lips, and,--" he sipped
his wine again,--"altogether an elegantly built female."
And he rose and approached me. I also rose, my eyes flashing and my
bosom swelling with suppressed rage.
"Wareham, I warn you not to touch me," I said in a low voice. "For
three months I have been your prey. I will be so no longer. Before the
world you may call me wife, if you choose--you have bought the right
to do that--but I inform you, once for all, that henceforth we are
strangers. Do you understand me, Wareham? I had as lief be chained to a
corpse as to submit to be touched by you."
He fell back startled, his face manifesting surprise and anger, but in
an instant his gaze was upon me again, and he indulged in a low burst
of laughter.
"Come, I like this! It is a pleasant change from the demure, pious girl
of three months ago to the full-blown tragedy queen." He sank into a
chair and filled another glass of wine. "Be seated, Frank, I want to
have a little talk with my pet."
I resumed my seat.
"You give yourself airs under the impression that you are my
wife,--joint owner of my immense fortune,--my rich widow in
perspective. Erroneous impression, Frank. I have a wife living in
England."
The entirely malignant look, which accompanied these words, convinced
me of their sincerity. For a moment I felt as though an awful weight
had crushed my brain, and by a glance at the mirror, I saw I was
frightfully pale; but recovering myself by a strong exertion of will, I
answered him in these words:
"Gentlemen, who allow themselves more than one wife at a time, are
sometimes (owing to an unfortunate prejudice of society) invited to
occupy an apartment in the state prison."
"And so you think you hold a rod over my head?"--he drank his
wine--"but I have only one wife, Frank. The gentleman, who married
you and me, was neither clergyman nor officer of the law, but simply
a convenient friend. Our mock marriage was not even published in the
papers."
Every word went like an ice-bolt to my heart. I could not speak. Then,
as his eyes glared with a mingled look of hatred and of brutal passion,
he sipped his wine as he surveyed me, and continued:
"You used the word 'bought' some time ago. You were right. 'Bought' is
the word. You are simply my _purchase_. In Constantinople these things
are easily managed; they keep an open market of fine girls there; but
here we must find an affable mother, and pay a huge price--sometimes
even marry the dear angels. I met your mother in Paris some years ago,
and have been intimately acquainted with her ever since. When she first
spoke of you, you were a child and I was weary of the world--jaded,
sick of its pleasures, by which I mean its women. An idea struck me!
What if this pretty little child, now being educated in innocence and
pious ways, and so forth, should, in the full blossom of her beauty
and piety--say at the ripe age of sixteen--become the consoler of
my declining years? And so I paid the expenses of your education
(your father consenting that I should _adopt_ you, but very possibly
understanding the whole matter as well as your mother), and you were
accordingly _educated_ for me. And when I first saw you, three months
ago, it was your very innocence and pious way of talking which gave an
irresistible effect to your beauty, and made me mad to possess you at
all hazards."
It is impossible to depict the bitter mocking tone in which these words
were spoken.
"I settled this mansion, the furniture, and so forth upon your mother,
with ten thousand dollars. That was the price. You see how much you
have cost me, my dear."
"But I will leave your accursed mansion." I felt, as I spoke, as though
my heart was dead in my bosom. "I am not chained to you in marriage; I
am, at least, free." I started to my feet and moved a step toward the
door.
"But where will you go? back to your elderly clerical friend, with
every finger leveled at you and every voice whispering 'There goes the
mistress of the rich Englishman!' Back to your village lover to palm
yourself upon him as a pure and spotless maiden?"
I sank into a chair and covered my face with my hands.
"Or will you begin the life of a poor seamstress, working sixteen hours
per day for as many pennies, and at last, take to the streets for
bread?"
His words cut me to the quick. I saw that there was no redemption in
this world for a woman whose innocence has been sacrificed.
"But think better of it, my dear. Your mother shall surround you with
the most select and fashionable company in New York,--she shall give
splendid parties,--you will be the presiding genius of every festival.
As for myself, dropping the name of husband, I will sink into an
unobtrusive visitor. When you see a little more of the world you will
not think your case such a hard one after all."
My face buried in my hands, I had not one word of reply.
Lost,--lost,--utterly lost!