"I do not wish to interrupt you. There is certainly room enough in this
library for both, and my entrance need not prove the signal for your
departure."
Mr. Murray closed the door as he came in, and walking up to the
book-cases, stood carefully examining the titles of the numerous
volumes. It was a cold, dismal morning, and sobbing wintry winds and
the ceaseless pattering of rain made the outer world seem dreary in
comparison with the genial atmosphere and the ruddy glow of the cosy,
luxurious library, where choice exotics breathed their fragrance and
early hyacinths exhaled their rich perfume. In the centre of the
morocco-covered table stood a tall glass bowl, filled with white
camellias, and from its scalloped edges drooped a fringe of scarlet
fuchsias; while near the window was a china statuette, in whose daily
adornment Edna took unwearied interest. It was a lovely Flora, whose
slender fingers held aloft small tulip-shaped vases, into which fresh
blossoms were inserted every morning. The head was so arranged as to
contain water, and thus preserve the wreath of natural flowers which
crowned the goddess. To-day golden crocuses nestled down on the
streaming hair, and purple pansies filled the fairy hands, while the
tiny, rosy feet sank deep in the cushion of fine, green mosses, studded
with double violets.
Edna had risen to leave the room when the master of the house entered,
but at his request resumed her seat and continued reading.
After searching the shelves unavailingly, he glanced over his shoulder
and asked:
"Have you seen my copy of De Guerin's 'Centaur' anywhere about the
house? I had it a week ago."
"I beg your pardon, sir, for causing such a fruitless search; here is
the book. I picked it up on the front steps, where you were reading a
few afternoons since, and it opened at a passage that attracted my
attention."
She closed the volume and held it toward him, but he waved it back.
"Keep it if it interests you. I have read it once, and merely wished to
refer to a particular passage. Can you guess what sentence most
frequently recurs to me? If so, read it to me."
He drew a chair close to the hearth and lighted his cigar.
Hesitatingly Edna turned the leaves.
"I am afraid, sir, that my selection would displease you."
"I will risk it, as, notwithstanding your flattering opinion to the
contrary, I am not altogether so unreasonable as to take offense at a
compliance with my own request."
Still she shrank from the task he imposed, and her fingers toyed with
the scarlet fuchsias; but after eyeing her for a while, he leaned
forward and pushed the glass bowl beyond her reach.
"Edna, I am waiting."
"Well, then, Mr. Murray, I should think that these two passages would
impress you with peculiar force."
Raising the book she read with much emphasis:
"Thou pursuest after wisdom, O Melampus! which is the science of the
will of the gods; AND THOU ROAMEST FROM PEOPLE TO PEOPLE, LIKE A MORTAL
DRIVEN BY THE DESTINIES. In the times when I kept my night-watches
before the caverns, I have sometimes believed that I was about to
surprise the thoughts of the sleeping Cybele, and that the mother of
the gods, betrayed by her dreams, would let fall some of her secrets.
But I have never yet made out more than sounds which faded away in the
murmur of night, of words inarticulate as the bubbling of the rivers.
* * * * * * *
"Seekest thou to know the gods, O Macareus! and from what source men,
animals, and the elements of the universal fire have their origin? The
aged ocean, the father of all things, keeps locked within his own
breast these secrets; and the nymphs who stand around sing as they
weave their eternal dance before him, to cover any sound which might
escape from his lips, half opened by slumber. Mortals dear to the gods
for their virtue have received from their hands lyres to give delight
to man, or the seeds of new plants to make him rich, but from their
inexorable lips--nothing!"
"Mr. Murray, am I correct in my conjecture?"
"Quite correct," he answered, smiling grimly.
Taking the book from her hand he threw it on the table, and tossed his
cigar into the grate, adding in a defiant, challenging tone:
"The mantle of Solomon did not fall at Le Cayla on the shoulders of
Maurice de Guerin. After all, he was a wretched hypochondriac, and a
tinge of le cahier vert doubtless crept into his eyes."
"Do you forget, sir, that he said, 'When one is a wanderer, one feels
that one fulfills the true condition of humanity'? and that among his
last words are these, 'The stream of travel is full of delight. Oh! who
will set me adrift on this Nile?'"
"Pardon me if I remind you, par parenthese, of the preliminary and
courteous En garde! which should be pronounced before a thrust. De
Guerin felt starved in Languedoc, and no wonder! But had he penetrated
every nook and cranny of the habitable globe, and traversed the vast
zaarahs which science accords the universe, he would have died at last
as hungry as Ugolino. I speak advisedly, for the true Io gad-fly,
ennui, has stung me from hemisphere to hemisphere, across tempestuous
oceans, scorching deserts, and icy mountain ranges. I have faced alike
the bourrans of the steppes and the Samieli of Shamo, and the result of
my vandal life is best epitomized in those grand but grim words of
Bossuet: 'On trouve au fond de tout le vide et le neant.' Nineteen
years ago, to satisfy my hunger, I set out to hunt the daintiest food
this world could furnish, and, like other fools, have learned finally,
that life is but a huge, mellow, golden Osher, that mockingly sifts its
bitter dust upon our eager lips. Ah! truly, on trouve au fond de tout
le vide et le neant!"
"Mr. Murray, if you insist upon your bitter Osher smile, why shut your
eyes to the palpable analogy suggested? Naturalists assert that the
Solanum, or apple of Sodom, contains in its normal state neither dust
nor ashes, unless it is punctured by an insect (the Tenthredo), which
converts the whole of the inside into dust, leaving nothing but the
rind entire, without any loss of color. Human life is as fair and
tempting as the fruit of 'Ain Jidy,' till stung and poisoned by the
Tenthredo of sin."
All conceivable suaviter in modo characterized his mocking countenance
and tone, as he inclined his haughty head and asked:
"Will you favor me by lifting on the point of your dissecting-knife
this stinging sin of mine to which you refer? The noxious brood swarm
so teasingly about my ears that they deprive me of your cool, clear,
philosophic discrimination. Which particular Tenthredo of the buzzing
swarm around my spoiled apple of life would you advise me to select for
my anathema maranatha?"
"Of your history, sir, I am entirely ignorant; and even if I were not,
I should not presume to levy a tax upon it in discussions with you;
for, however vulnerable you may possibly be, I regard an argumentum ad
hominem as the weakest weapon in the armory of dialectics--a weapon too
often dipped in the venom of personal malevolence. I merely gave
expression to my belief that miserable, useless lives are sinful lives;
that when God framed the world, and called the human race into it, he
made most munificent provision for all healthful hunger, whether
physical, intellectual, or moral; and that it is a morbid, diseased,
distorted nature that wears out its allotted years on earth in bitter
carping and blasphemous dissatisfaction. The Greeks recognized this
immemorial truth--wrapped it in classic traditions, and the myth of
Tantalus constituted its swaddling-clothes. You are a scholar, Mr.
Murray; look back and analyze the derivation and significance of that
fable. Tantalus, the son of Pluto, or Wealth, was, according to Pindar,
'a wanderer from happiness,' and the name represents a man abounding in
wealth, but whose appetite was so insatiable, even at the ambrosial
feast of the gods, that it ultimately doomed him to eternal unsatisfied
thirst and hunger in Tartarus. The same truth crops out in the legend
of Midas, who found himself starving while his touch converted all
things to gold."
"Doubtless you have arrived at the charitable conclusion that, as I am
endowed with all the amiable idiosyncrasies of ancient cynics, I shall
inevitably join the snarling Dives Club in Hades, and swell the howling
chorus. Probably I shall not disappoint your kind and eminently
Christian expectations; nor will I deprive you of the gentle
satisfaction of hissing across the gulf of perdition, which will then
divide us, that summum bonum of feminine felicity, 'I told you so!'"
The reckless mockery of his manner made Edna shiver, and a tremor crept
across her beautiful lips as she answered sadly:
"You torture my words into an interpretation of which I never dreamed,
and look upon all things through the distorting lenses of your own
moodiness. It is worse than useless for us to attempt an amicable
discussion, for your bitterness never slumbers, your suspicions are
ever on the qui vive."
She rose, but he quickly laid his hand on her shoulder, and pressed her
back into the chair.
"You will be so good as to sit still, and hear me out. I have a right
to all my charming, rose-colored views of this world. I have gone to
and fro on the earth, and life has proved a Barmecide's banquet of just
thirty-eight years' duration."
"But, sir, you lacked the patience and resolution of Shacabac, or, like
him, you would have finally grasped the splendid realities. The world
must be conquered, held in bondage to God's law and man's reason,
before we can hope to levy tribute that will support our moral and
mental natures; and it is only when humanity finds itself in the
inverted order of serfdom to the world, that it dwarfs its capacities,
and even then dies of famine."
The scornful gleam died out of his eyes, and mournful compassion stole
in.
"Ah! how impetuously youth springs to the battlefield of life! Hope
exorcises the gaunt spectre of defeat, and fancy fingers unwon trophies
and fadeless bays; but slow-stepping experience, pallid, blood-stained,
spent with toil, lays her icy hand on the rosy veil that floats before
bright, brave, young eyes, and lo' the hideous wreck, the bleaching
bones, the grinning, ghastly horrors that strew the scene of combat! No
burnished eagles nor streaming banners, neither spoils of victory nor
paeans of triumph, only silence and gloom and death--slow-sailing
vultures--and a voiceless desolation! Oh, child! if you would find a
suitable type of that torn and trampled battlefield--the human
heart--when vice and virtue, love and hate, revenge and remorse, have
wrestled fiercely for the mastery--go back to your Tacitus, and study
there the dismal picture of that lonely Teutoburgium, where Varus and
his legions went down in the red burial of battle! You talk of
'conquering the world--holding it in bondage!' What do you know of its
perils and subtle temptations--of the glistening quicksands whose
smooth lips already gape to engulf you? The very vilest fiend in hell
might afford to pause and pity your delusion ere turning to
machinations destined to rouse you rudely from your silly dreams. Ah!
you remind me of a little innocent, happy child, playing on some
shining beach, when the sky is quiet, the winds are hushed, and all
things wrapped in rest, save
'The water lapping on the crag,
And the long ripple washing in the reeds'--
a fair, fearless child, gathering polished pearly shells with which to
build fairy palaces, and suddenly, as she catches the mournful murmur
of the immemorial sea, that echoes in the flushed and folded chambers
of the stranded shells, her face pales with awe and wonder--the
childish lips part, the childish eyes are strained to discover the
mystery; and while the whispering monotone admonishes of howling storms
and sinking argosies, she smiles and listens, sees only the glowing
carmine of the fluted reels, hears only the magic music of the sea
sirens--and the sky blackens, the winds leap to their track of ruin,
the great deep rises wrathful and murderous, bellowing for victims, and
Cyclone reigns? Thundering waves sweep over and bear away the frail
palaces that decked the strand, and even while the shell symphony still
charms the ear, the child's rosy feet are washed from their sandy
resting-place; she is borne on howling billows far out to a lashed and
maddened main, strewn with human drift; and numb with horror she sinks
swiftly to a long and final rest among purple algae! Even so, Edna, you
stop your ears with shells, and my warning falls like snow-flakes that
melt and vanish on the bosom of a stream.
"No, sirs I am willing to be advised. Against what would you warn me?"
"The hollowness of life, the fatuity of your hopes, the treachery of
that human nature of which you speak so tenderly and reverently. So
surely as you put faith in the truth and nobility of humanity, you will
find it as soft-lipped and vicious as Paolo Orsini, who folded his
wife, Isabella de Medici, most lovingly in his arms, and while he
tenderly pressed her to his heart, slipped a cord around her neck and
strangled her."
"I know, sir, that human nature is weak, selfish, sinful--that such
treacherous monsters as Ezzolino and the Visconti have stained the
annals of our race with blood-blotches, which the stream of time will
never efface; but the law of compensation operates here as well as in
other departments, and brings to light a 'fidus Achates' and Antoninus.
I believe that human nature is a curious amalgam of meanness, malice
and magnanimity, and that an earnest, loving Christian charity is the
only safe touchstone, and furnishes (if you will tolerate the simile)
the only elective affinity in moral chemistry. Because ingots are not
dug out of the earth, is it not equally unwise and ungrateful to
ridicule and denounce the hopeful, patient, tireless laborers who
handle the alloy and ultimately disintegrate the precious metal? Even
if the world were bankrupt in morality and religion--which, thank God,
it is not--one grand shining example, like Mr. Hammond, whose
unswerving consistency, noble charity, and sublime unselfishness all
concede and revere, ought to leaven the mass of sneering cynics, and
win them to a belief in their capacity for rising to pure, holy, almost
perfect lives."
"Spare me a repetition of the rhapsodies of Madame Guyon! I am not
surprised that such a novice as you prove yourself should, in the
stereotyped style of orthodoxy, swear by the hoary Tartuffe, that
hypocritical wolf, Allan Hammond--"
"Stop, Mr. Murray! You must not, shall not use such language in my
presence concerning one whom I love and revere above all other human
beings! How dare you malign that noble Christian, whose lips daily lift
your name to God, praying for pardon and for peace? Oh! how ungrateful,
how unworthy you are of his affection and his prayers!"
She had interrupted him with an imperious wave of her hand, and stood
regarding him with an expression of indignation and detestation.
"I neither possess nor desire his affection or his prayers."
"Sir, you know that you do not deserve, but you most certainly have
both."
"How did you obtain your information?"
"Accidentally, when he was so surprised and grieved to hear that you
had started on your long voyage to Oceanica."
"He availed himself of that occasion to acquaint you with all my
heinous sins, my youthful crimes and follies, my--"
"No, sir! he told me nothing, except that you no longer loved him as in
your boyhood; that you had become estranged from him; and then he wept,
and added, 'I love him still; I shall pray for him as long as I live.'"
"Impossible! You can not deceive me! In the depths of his heart he
hates and curses me. Even a brooding dove--pshaw! Allan Hammond is but
a man, and it would be unnatural--utterly impossible that he could
still think kindly of his old pupil. Impossible!"
Mr. Murray rose and stood before the grate with his face averted, and
his companion seized the opportunity to say in a low, determined tone:
"Of the causes that induced your estrangement I am absolutely ignorant.
Nothing has been told me, and it is a matter about which I have
conjectured little. But, sir, I have seen Mr. Hammond every day for
four years, and I know what I say when I tell you that he loves you as
well as if you were his own son. Moreover, he--"
"Hush! you talk of what you do not understand. Believe in him if you
will, but be careful not to chant his praises in my presence; not to
parade your credulity before my eyes, if you do not desire that I shall
disenchant you. Just now you are duped--so was I at your age. Your
judgment slumbers, experience is in its swaddling-clothes; but I shall
bide my time, and the day will come ere long when these hymns of
hero-worship shall be hushed, and you stand clearer-eyed,
darker-hearted, before the mouldering altar of your god of clay."
"From such an awakening may God preserve me! Even if our religion were
not divine, I should clasp to my heart the system and the faith that
make Mr. Hammond's life serene and sublime. Oh! that I may be 'duped'
into that perfection of character which makes his example beckon me
ever onward and upward. If you have no gratitude, no reverence left, at
least remember the veneration with which I regard him, and do not in my
hearing couple his name with sneers and insults."
"'Ephraim is joined to idols; let him alone!'" muttered the master of
the house, with one of those graceful, mocking bows that always
disconcerted the orphan.
She was nervously twisting Mr. Leigh's ring around her finger, and as
it was too large, it slipped off, rang on the hearth, and rolled to Mr.
Murray's feet.
Picking it up he examined the emerald, and repeating the inscription,
asked:
"Do you understand these words?"
"I only know that they have been translated, 'Peace be with thee, or
upon thee.'"
"How came Gordon Leigh's ring on your hand? Has Tartuffe's Hebrew
scheme succeeded so soon and so thoroughly?"
"I do not understand you, Mr. Murray."
"Madame ma mere proves an admirable ally in this clerical matchmaker's
deft hands, and Gordon's pathway is widened and weeded. Happy Gordon!
blessed with such able coadjutors!"
The cold, sarcastic glitter of his eyes wounded and humiliated the
girl, and her tone was haughty and defiant--
"You deal in innuendoes which I cannot condescend to notice. Mr. Leigh
is my friend, and gave me this ring as a birthday present. As your
mother advised me to accept it, and indeed placed it on my finger, her
sanction should certainly exempt me from your censure."
"Censure! Pardon me! It is no part of my business; but I happen to know
something of gem symbols, and must be allowed to suggest that this
selection is scarcely comme il faut for a betrothal ring."
Edna's face crimsoned, and the blood tingled to her fingers' ends.
"As it was never intended as such, your carping criticism loses its
point."
He stood with the jewel between his thumb and fore-finger, eyeing her
fixedly, and on his handsome features shone a smile, treacherous and
chilling as arctic snowblink.
"Pliny's injunction to lapidaries to spare the smooth surface of
emeralds seems to have been forgotten when this ring was fashioned. It
was particularly unkind, nay, cruel to put it on the hand of a woman,
who of course must and will follow the example of all her sex, and go
out fishing most diligently in the matrimonial sea; for if you have
chanced to look into gem history, you will remember what befell the
fish on the coast of Cyprus, where the emerald eyes of the marble lion
glared down so mercilessly through the nets, that the fishermen could
catch nothing until they removed the jewels that constituted the eyes
of the lion. Do you recollect the account?"
"No, sir, I never read it."
"Indeed! How deplorably your education has been neglected! I thought
your adored Dominie Sampson down yonder at the parsonage was teaching
you a prodigious amount?"
"Give me my ring, Mr. Murray, and I will leave you."
"Shall I not enlighten you on the subject of emeralds?"
"Thank you, sir, I believe not, as what I have already heard does not
tempt me to prosecute the subject."
"You think me insufferably presumptuous?"
"That is a word which I should scarcely be justified in applying to
you."
"You regard me as meddlesome and tyrannical?"
She shook her head.
"I generally prefer to receive answers to my questions. Pray, what do
you consider me?"
She hesitated a moment, and said sadly and gently:
"Mr. Murray, is it generous in you to question me thus in your own
house?"
"I do not claim to be generous, and the world would indignantly defend
me from such an imputation! Generous? On the contrary, I declare
explicitly that, unlike some 'whited supulchres' of my acquaintance, I
do not intend to stand labeled with patent virtues! Neither do I parade
mezuzoth on my doors. I humbly beg you to recollect that I am not a
carefully-printed perambulating advertisement of Christianity."
Raising her face, Edna looked steadfastly at him, and pain, compassion,
shuddering dread filled her soft, sad eyes.
"Well, you are reading me. What is the verdict?"
A long, heavily-drawn sigh was the only response.
"Will you be good enough to reply to my questions?"
"No, Mr. Murray. In lieu of perpetual strife and biting words, let
there be silence between us. We can not be friends, and it would be
painful to wage war here under your roof; consequently, I hope to
disarm your hostility by assuring you that in future I shall not
attempt to argue with you, shall not pick up the verbal gauntlets you
seem disposed to throw down to me. Surely, sir, if not generous you are
at least sufficiently courteous to abstain from attacks which you have
been notified will not be resisted?"
"You wish me to understand that hereafter I, the owner and ruler of
this establishment, shall on no account presume to address my remarks
to Aaron Hunt's grandchild?"
"My words were very clear, Mr. Murray, and I meant what I said, and
said what I meant. But one thing I wish to add: while I remain here, if
at any time I can aid or serve you, Aaron Hunt's grandchild will most
gladly do so. I do not flatter myself that you will ever require or
accept my assistance in anything, nevertheless I would cheerfully
render it should occasion arise."
He bowed and returned the emerald, and Edna turned to leave the library.
"Before you go, examine this bauble."
He took from his vest pocket a velvet case containing a large ring,
which he laid in the palm of her hand.
It was composed of an oval jacinth, with a splendid scarlet fire
leaping out as the light shone on it, and the diamonds that clustered
around it were very costly and brilliant. There was no inscription, but
upon the surface of the jacinth was engraved a female head crowned with
oak leaves, among which serpents writhed and hissed, and just beneath
the face grinned a dog's head. The small but exquisitely carved human
face was savage, sullen, sinister, and fiery rays seemed to dart from
the relentless eyes.
"Is it a Medusa?"
"No."
"It is certainly very beautiful, but I do not recognize the face.
Interpret for me."
"It is Hecate, Brimo, Empusa--all phases of the same malignant power;
and it remains a mere matter of taste which of the titles you select. I
call it Hecate."
"I have never seen you wear it."
"You never will."
"It is exceedingly beautiful."
Edna held it toward the grate, flashed the flame now on this side, now
on that, and handed it back to the owner.
"Edna, I bought this ring in Naples, intending to ask your acceptance
of it, in token of my appreciation of your care of that little gold
key, provided I found you trustworthy. After your pronunciamento
uttered a few minutes since, I presume I may save myself the trouble of
offering it to you. Beside, Gordon might object to having his emerald
over-shadowed by my matchless jacinth. Of course, your tender
conscience will veto the thought of your wearing it?"
"I thank you, Mr. Murray; the ring is, by far, the most beautiful I
have ever seen, but I certainly can not accept it."
"Bithus contra Bacchium!" exclaimed Mr. Murray, with a short, mirthless
laugh that made his companion shrink back a few steps.
Holding the ring at arm's length above his head, he continued:
"To the 'infernal flames,' your fit type, I devote you, my costly Queen
of Samothrace!"
Leaning over the grate, he dropped the jewel in the glowing coals.
"Oh, Mr. Murray! save it from destruction!"
She seized the tongs and sprang forward, but he put out his arm and
held her back.
"Stand aside, if you please. Cleopatra quaffed liquid pearl in honor of
Antony, Nero shivered his precious crystal goblets, and Suger pounded
up sapphires to color the windows of old St. Denis! Chacun a son gout!
If I choose to indulge myself in a diamond cremation in honor of my
tutelary goddess Brimo, who has the right to expostulate? True, such
costly amusements have been rare since the days of the 'Cyranides' and
the 'Seven Seals' of Hermes Trismegistus. See what a tawny, angry glare
leaps from my royal jacinth! Old Hecate holds high carnival down there
in her congenial flames."
He stood with one arm extended to bar Edna's approach, the other rested
on the mantel; and a laughing, reckless demon looked out of his eyes,
which were fastened on the fire.
Before the orphan could recover from her sorrowful amazement the
library door opened and Henry looked in.
"Mr. Leigh is in the parlor, and asked for Miss Edna."
Perplexed, irresolute, and annoyed, Edna stood still, watching the red
coals; and after a brief silence, Mr. Murray smiled, and turned to look
at her.
"Pray, do not let me detain you, and rest assured that I understand
your decree. You have entrenched yourself in impenetrable silence, and
hung out your banner, 'noli me tangere!' Withdraw your pickets; I shall
attempt neither siege nor escalade. Good morning. Leave my De Guerin on
the table; it will be at your disposal after to-day."
He stooped to light a cigar, and she walked away to her own room.
As the door closed behind her, he laughed and reiterated the favorite
proverb that often crossed his lips, "Bithus contra Bacchium!"