"Mrs. Andrews writes that I must go on with as little delay as
possible, and I shall start early Monday morning, as I wish to stop one
day at Chattanooga."
Edna rose and took her hat from the study table, and Mr. Hammond asked:
"Do you intend to travel alone?"
"I shall be compelled to do so, as I know of no one who is going on to
New York. Of course, I dislike very much to travel alone, but in this
instance I do not see how I can avoid it."
"Do not put on your hat--stay and spend the evening with me."
"Thank you, sir, I want to go to the church and practice for the last
time on the organ. After to-morrow, I may never sing again in our dear
choir. Perhaps I may come back after awhile and stay an hour or two
with you."
During the past year she had accustomed herself to practising every
Saturday afternoon the hymns selected by Mr. Hammond for the services
of the ensuing day, and for this purpose had been furnished by the
sexton with a key, which enabled her to enter the church whenever
inclination prompted. The church-yard was peaceful and silent as the
pulseless dust in its numerous sepulchres; a beautiful red-bird sat on
the edge of a marble vase that crowned the top of one of the monuments,
and leisurely drank the water which yesterday's clouds had poured
there, and a rabbit nibbled the leaves of a cluster of pinks growing
near a child's grave.
Edna entered the cool church, went up into the gallery and sat down
before the organ. For some time the low, solemn tones whispered among
the fluted columns that supported the gallery, and gradually swelled
louder and fuller and richer as she sang:
"Cast thy burden on the Lord."
Her sweet, well-trained voice faltered more than once, and tears fell
thick and fast on the keys. Finally she turned and looked down at the
sacred spot where she had been baptized by Mr. Hammond, and where she
had so often knelt to receive the sacrament of the Lord's Supper.
The church was remarkably handsome and certainly justified the pride
with which the villagers exhibited it to all strangers. The massive
mahogany pew-doors were elaborately carved and surmounted by small
crosses; the tall, arched windows were of superb stained glass,
representing the twelve apostles; the floor and balustrade of the
altar, and the grand Gothic pillared pulpit, were all of the purest
white marble; and the capitals of the airy, elegant columns of the same
material, that supported the organ gallery, were ornamented with rich
grape-leaf moulding; while the large window behind and above the pulpit
contained a figure of Christ bearing his Cross--a noble copy of the
great painting of Solario, at Berlin.
As the afternoon sun shone on the glass, a flood of ruby light fell
from the garments of Jesus upon the glittering marble beneath, and the
nimbus that radiated around the crown of thorns caught a glory that was
dazzling.
With a feeling of adoration that no language could adequately express,
Edna had watched and studied this costly painted window for five long
years; had found a marvellous fascination in the pallid face stained
with purplish blood-drops; in the parted lips quivering with human pain
and anguish of spirit; in the unfathomable, divine eyes that pierced
the veil and rested upon the Father's face. Not all the sermons of
Bossuet, or Chalmers, or Jeremy Taylor, or Melville, had power to stir
the great deeps of her soul like one glance at that pale, thorn-crowned
Christ, who looked in voiceless woe and sublime resignation over the
world he was dying to redeem.
To-day she gazed up at the picture of Emmanuel till her eyes grew dim
with tears, and she leaned her head against the mahogany railing and
murmured sadly:
"'And he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not
worthy of me!' Strengthen me, O my Saviour! so that I neither faint nor
stagger under mine!"
The echo of her words died away among the arches of the roof, and all
was still in the sanctuary. The swaying of the trees outside of the
windows threw now a golden shimmer, then a violet shadow over the
gleaming altar pavement; and the sun sunk lower, and the nimbus faded,
and the wan Christ looked ghastly and toil-spent.
"Edna! My darling! my darling!"
The pleading cry, the tremulous, tender voice so full of pathos, rang
startlingly through the silent church, and the orphan sprang up and saw
Mr. Murray standing at her side, with his arms extended toward her, and
a glow on his face and a look in his eyes which she had never seen
there before.
She drew back a few steps and gazed wonderingly at him; but he
followed, threw his arm around her, and, despite her resistance,
strained her to his heart.
"Did you believe that I would let you go? Did you dream that I would
see my darling leave me, and go out into the world to be buffeted and
sorely tried, to struggle with poverty--and to suffer alone? Oh, silly
child! I would part with my own life sooner than give you up! Of what
value would it be without you, my pearl, my sole hope, my only love, my
own, pure Edna--"
"Such language you have no right to utter, and I none to hear! It is
dishonorable in you and insulting to me. Gertrude's lover can not, and
shall not, address such words to me. Unwind your arms instantly! Let me
go!"
She struggled hard to free herself, but his clasp tightened, and as he
pressed her face against his bosom, he threw his head back and laughed:
"'Gertrude's lover!' Knowing my history, how could you believe that
possible? Am I, think you, so meek and forgiving a spirit as to turn
and kiss the hand that smote me? Gertrude's lover! Ha! ha!! Your
jealousy blinds you, my--"
"I know nothing of your history; I have never asked; I have never been
told one word! But I am not blind, I know that you love her, and I
know, too, that she fully returns your affection. If you do not wish me
to despise you utterly, leave me at once."
He laughed again, and put his lips close to her ear, saying softly,
tenderly--ah! how tenderly:
"Upon my honor as a gentleman, I solemnly swear that I love but one
woman; that I love her as no other woman ever was loved; with a love
that passes all language; a love that is the only light and hope of a
wrecked, cursed, unutterably miserable life; and that idol which I have
set up in the lonely gray ruins of my heart is Edna Earl!"
"I do not believe you! You have no honor! With the touch of Gertrude's
lips and arms still on yours, you come to me and dare to perjure
yourself! Oh, Mr. Murray! Mr. Murray! I did not believe you capable of
such despicable dissimulation! In the catalogue of your sins, I never
counted deceit. I thought you too proud to play the hypocrite. If you
could realize how I loathe and abhor you, you would get out of my
sight! You would not waste time in words that sink you deeper and
deeper in shameful duplicity. Poor Gertrude! How entirely you mistake
your lover's character! How your love will change to scorn and
detestation!"
In vain she endeavored to wrench away his arm, a band of steel would
have been as flexible; but St. Elmo's voice hardened, and Edna felt his
heart throb fiercely against her cheek as he answered:
"When you are my wife you will repent your rash words, and blush at the
remembrance of having told your husband that he was devoid of honor.
You are piqued and jealous, just as I intended you should be; but,
darling, I am not a patient man, and it frets me to feel you struggling
so desperately in the arms that henceforth will always enfold you. Be
quiet and hear me, for I have much to tell you. Don't turn your face
away from mine, your lips belong to me. I never kissed Gertrude in my
life, and so help me God, I never will! Hear--"
"No! I will hear nothing! Your touch is profanation. I would sooner go
down into my grave, out there in the churchyard, under the granite
slabs, than become the wife of a man so unprincipled. I am neither
piqued nor jealous, for your affairs cannot affect my life; I am only
astonished and mortified and grieved. I would sooner feel the coil of a
serpent around my waist than your arms."
Instantly they fell away. He crossed them on his chest, and his voice
sank to a husky whisper, as the wind hushes itself just before the
storm breaks.
"Edna, God is my witness that I am not deceiving you; that my words
come from the great troubled depths of a wretched heart. You said you
knew nothing of my history. I find it more difficult to believe you
than you to credit my declarations. Answer one question: Has not your
pastor taught you to distrust me? Can it be possible that no hint of
the past has fallen from his lips?"
"Not one unkind word, not one syllable of your history has he uttered.
I know no more of your past than if it were buried in mid-ocean."
Mr. Murray placed her in one of the cushioned chairs designed for the
use of the choir, and leaning back against the railing of the gallery,
fixed his eyes on Edna's face.
"Then it is not surprising that you distrust me, for you know not my
provocation. Edna, will you be patient? Will you go back with me over
the scorched and blackened track of an accursed and sinful life? It is
a hideous waste I am inviting you to traverse! Will you?"
"I will hear you, Mr. Murray, but nothing that you can say will justify
your duplicity to Gertrude, and--"
"D--n Gertrude! I ask you to listen, and suspend your judgment till you
know the circumstances."
He covered his eyes with his hand, and in the brief silence she heard
the ticking of his watch.
"Edna, I roll away the stone from the charnel house of the past, and
call forth the Lazarus of my buried youth, my hopes, my faith in God,
my trust in human nature, my charity, my slaughtered manhood! My
Lazarus has tenanted the grave for nearly twenty years, and comes
forth, at my bidding, a grinning skeleton. You may or may not know that
my father, Paul Murray, died when I was an infant, leaving my mother
the sole guardian of my property and person. I grew up at Le Bocage
under the training of Mr. Hammond, my tutor; and my only associate, my
companion from earliest recollections, was his son Murray, who was two
years my senior, and named for my father. The hold which that boy took
upon my affection was wonderful, inexplicable! He wound me around his
finger as you wind the silken threads with which you embroider. We
studied, read, played together. I was never contented out of his sight,
never satisfied until I saw him liberally supplied with everything that
gave me pleasure. I believe I was very precocious, and made
extraordinary strides in the path of learning; at all events, at
sixteen I was considered a remarkable boy. Mr. Hammond had six
children; and as his salary was rather meagre I insisted on paying his
son's expenses as well as my own when I went to Yale. I could not bear
that my Damon, my Jonathan, should be out of my sight; I must have my
idol always with me. His father was educating him for the ministry, and
he had already commenced the study of theology; but no! I must have him
with me at Yale, and so to Yale we went. I had fancied myself a
Christian, had joined the church, was zealous and faithful in all my
religious duties. In a fit of pious enthusiasm I planned this
church--ordered it built. The cost was enormous, and my mother
objected, but I intended it as a shrine for the 'apple of my eye,' and
where he was concerned, what mattered the expenditure of thousands? Was
not my fortune quite as much at his disposal as at mine? I looked
forward with fond pride to the time when I should see my idol--Murray
Hammond--standing in yonder shining pulpit. Ha! at this instant it is
filled with a hideous spectre! I see him there! His form and features
mocking me, daring me to forget! Handsome as Apollo! treacherous as
Apollyon!"
He paused, pointing to the pure marble pile where a violet flame seemed
flickering, and then with a groan bowed his head upon the railing. When
he spoke again, his face wore an ashy hue, and his stern mouth was
unsteady.
"Hallowed days of my blessed boyhood! Ah! they rise before me now, like
holy, burning stars, breaking out in a stormy, howling night, making
the blackness blacker still! My short happy springtime of life! So full
of noble aspirations, of glowing hopes, of philanthropic schemes, of
all charitable projects! I would do so much good with my money! my
heart was brimming with generous impulses, with warm sympathy and care
for my fellow-creatures. Every needy sufferer should find relief at my
hands as long as I possessed a dollar or a crust! As I look back now at
that dead self, and remember all that I was, all the purity of my life,
the nobility of my character, the tenderness of my heart--I do not
wonder that people who knew me then, predicted that I would prove an
honor, a blessing to my race! Mark you! that was St. Elmo Murray--as
nature fashioned him; before man spoiled God's handiwork. Back! back to
your shroud and sepulchre, O Lazarus of my youth! and when I am called
to the final judgment, rise for me! stand in my place, and confront
those who slaughtered you! * * * My affection for my chum, Murray,
increased as I grew up to manhood, and there was not a dream of my
brain, a hope of my heart which was not confided to him. I reverenced,
I trusted, I almost--nay, I quite worshipped him! When I was only
eighteen I began to love his cousin, whose father was pastor of a
church in New Haven, and whose mother was Mr. Hammond's sister. You
have seen her. She is beautiful even now, and you can imagine how
lovely Agnes Hunt was in her girlhood. She was the belle and pet of the
students, and before I had known her a month I was her accepted lover.
I loved her with all the devotion of my chivalric, ardent, boyish
nature; and for me she professed the most profound attachment. Her
parents favored our wishes for an early marriage, but my mother refused
to sanction such an idea until I had completed my education and visited
the old world. I was an obedient, affectionate son then, and yielded
respectfully; but as vacation approached, I prepared to come home,
hoping to prevail on mother to consent to my being married just before
we sailed for Europe the ensuing year, after I left Yale. Murray was my
confidant and adviser. In his sympathizing ears I poured all my fond
hopes, and he insisted that I ought to take my lovely bride with me; it
would be cruel to leave her so long; and, beside, he was so impatient
for the happy day when he should call me his cousin. He declined coming
home, on the plea of desiring to prosecute his theological studies with
his uncle, Mr. Hunt. Well do I recollect the parting between us. I had
left Agnes in tears--inconsolable because of my departure; and I flew
to Murray for words of consolation. When I bade him good-bye my eyes
were full of tears, and as he passed his arm around my shoulders, I
whispered, 'Murray, take care of my angel Agnes for me! watch over and
comfort her while I am away.' Ah! as I stand here to-day, I hear again
ringing over the ruins of the past twenty years, his loving musical
tones answering:
"'My dear boy, trust her to my care. St. Elmo, for your dear sake I
will steal time from my books to cheer her while you are absent. But
hurry back, for you know I find black-letter more attractive than
blue-eyes. God bless you, my precious friend. Write to me constantly.'
"Since then, I always shudder involuntarily when I hear parting friends
bless each other--for well, well do I know the stinging curse coiled up
in those smooth liquid words! I came home and busied myself in the
erection of this church; in plans for Murray's advancement in life, as
well as my own. My importunity prevailed over my mother's sensible
objections, and she finally consented that I should take my bride to
Europe; while I had informed Mr. Hammond that I wished Murray to
accompany us; that I would gladly pay his travelling expenses--I was so
anxious for him to see the East, especially Palestine. Full of happy
hopes, I hurried back earlier than I had intended, and reached New
Haven very unexpectedly. The night was bright with moonshine, my heart
was bright with hope, and too eager to see Agnes, whose letters had
breathed the most tender solicitude and attachment, I rushed up the
steps, and was told that she was walking in the little flower-garden.
Down the path I hurried, and stopped as I heard her silvery laugh
blended with Murray's; then my name was pronounced in tones that almost
petrified me. Under a large apple-tree in the parsonage-garden they sat
on a wooden bench, and only the tendrils and branches of an Isabella
grape vine divided us. I stood there, grasping the vine--looking
through the leaves at the two whom I had so idolized; and saw her
golden head flashing in the moonlight as she rested it on her cousin's
breast; heard and saw their kisses; heard--what wrecked, blasted me! I
heard myself ridiculed--sneered at--maligned; heard that I was to be a
mere puppet--a cat's paw, that I was a doting, silly fool--easily
hoodwinked; that she found it difficult, almost impossible, to endure
my caresses; that she shuddered in my arms, and flew for happiness to
his! I heard that from the beginning I had been duped; that they had
always loved each other--always would; but poverty stubbornly barred
their marriage--and she must be sacrificed to secure my fortune for the
use of both! All that was uttered I can not now recapitulate; but it is
carefully embalmed, and lies in the little Taj Mahal, among other
cherished souvenirs of my precious friendships! While I stood there, I
was transformed; the soul of St. Elmo seemed to pass away--a fiend took
possession of me; love died, hope with it--and an insatiable thirst for
vengeance set my blood on fire. During those ten minutes my whole
nature was warped, distorted; my life blasted--mutilated--deformed. The
loss of Agnes's love I could have borne, nay--fool that I was!--I think
my quondam generous affection for Murray would have made me relinquish
her almost resignedly, if his happiness had demanded the sacrifice on
my part. If he had come to me frankly and acknowledged all, my insane
idolatry would have made me place her hand in his, and remove the
barrier of poverty; and the assurance that I had secured his lifelong
happiness would have sufficed for mine. Oh! the height and depth and
marvellous strength of my love for that man passes comprehension! But
their scorn, their sneers at my weak credulity, their bitter ridicule
of my awkward, overgrown boyishness, stung me to desperation. I
wondered if I were insane, or dreaming, or the victim of some horrible
delusion. My veins ran fire as I listened to the tingling of her
silvery voice with the rich melody of his, and I turned and left the
garden, and walked back toward the town. The moon was full, but I
staggered and groped my way, like one blind, to the college buildings.
I knew where a pair of pistols was kept by one of the students, and
possessing myself of them, I wandered out on the road leading to the
parsonage. I was aware that Murray intended coming into the town, and
at last I reeled into a shaded spot near the road, and waited for him.
Oh! the mocking glory of that cloudless night! To this day I hate the
cold glitter of stars, and the golden sheen of midnight moons! For the
first time in my life, I cursed the world and all it held; cursed the
contented cricket singing in the grass at my feet; cursed the blood in
my arteries, that beat so thick and fast I could not listen for the
footsteps I was waiting for. At last I heard him whistling a favorite
tune, which all our lives we had whistled together, as we hunted
through the woods around Le Bocage; and, as the familiar sound of 'The
Braes of Balquither' drew nearer and nearer, I sprang up with a cry
that must have rung on the night air like the yell of some beast of
prey. Of all that passed I only know that I cursed and insulted and
maddened him till he accepted the pistol, which I thrust into his hand.
We moved ten paces apart--and a couple of students, who happened
accidentally to pass along the road and heard our altercation, stopped
at our request, gave the word of command, and we fired simultaneously.
The ball entered Murray's heart, and he fell dead without a word. I was
severely wounded in the chest, and now I wear the ball here in my side.
Ah! a precious in memoriam of murdered confidence!"
Until now Edna had listened breathlessly, with her eyes upon his; but
here a groan escaped her, and she shuddered violently, and hid her face
in her hands.
Mr. Murray came nearer, stood close to her, and hurried on.
"My last memory of my old idol is as he lay with his handsome,
treacherous face turned up to the moon; and the hair which Agnes had
been fingering, dabbled with dew and the blood that oozed down from his
side. When I recovered my consciousness Murray Hammond had been three
weeks in his grave. As soon as I was able to travel, my mother took me
to Europe, and for five years we lived in Paris, Naples, or wandered to
and fro. Then she came home, and I plunged into the heart of Asia.
After two years I returned to Paris, and gave myself up to every
species of dissipation. I drank, gambled, and my midnight carousals
would sicken your soul were I to paint all their hideousness. You have
read in the Scriptures of persons possessed of devils? A savage,
mocking, tearing devil held me in bondage. I sold myself to my
Mephistopheles on condition that my revenge might be complete. I hated
the whole world with an intolerable, murderous hate; and to mock and
make my race suffer was the only real pleasure I found. The very name,
the bare mention of religion maddened me. A minister's daughter, a
minister's son, a minister himself, had withered my young life, and I
blasphemously derided all holy things. Oh, Edna! my darling! it is
impossible to paint all the awful wretchedness of that period, when I
walked in the world seeking victims and finding many. Verily,
'There's not a crime
But takes its proper change out still in crime,
If once rung on the counter of this world,
Let sinners look to it.'
Ah! upon how many lovely women have I visited Agnes's sin of hypocrisy!
Into how many ears have I poured tender words, until fair hands were as
good as offered to me, and I turned their love to mockery! I hated and
despised all womanhood; and even in Paris I became notorious as a
heartless trifler with the affections I won and trampled under my feet.
Whenever a brilliant and beautiful woman crossed my path, I attached
myself to her train of admirers, until I made her acknowledge my power
and give public and unmistakable manifestation of her preference for
me; then I left her--a target for the laughter of her circle. It was
not vanity; oh! no, no! That springs from self-love, and I had none. It
was hate of every thing human, especially of every thing feminine. One
of the fairest faces that ever brightened the haunts of fashion--a
queenly, elegant girl--the pet of her family and of society, now wears
serge garments and a black veil, and is immured in an Italian convent,
because I entirely won her heart; and when she waited for me to declare
my affection and ask her to become my wife, I quitted her side for that
of another belle, and never visited her again. On the day when she bade
adieu to the world, I was among the spectators; and as her mournful but
lovely eyes sought mine, I laughed, and gloried in the desolation I had
wrought. Sick of Europe, I came home...
'And to a part I come where no light shines.'
My tempting fiend pointed to one whose suffering would atone for much
of my misery. Edna, I withhold nothing; there is much I might conceal,
but I scorn to do so. During one terribly fatal winter, scarlet-fever
had deprived Mr. Hammond of four children, leaving him an only
daughter--Annie--the image of her brother Murray. Her health was
feeble; consumption was stretching its skeleton hands toward her, and
her father watched her as a gardener tends his pet, choice, delicate
exotic. She was about sixteen, very pretty, very attractive. After
Murray's death, I never spoke to Mr. Hammond, never crossed his path;
but I met his daughter without his knowledge, and finally I made her
confess her love for me. I offered her my hand; she accepted it. A day
was appointed for an elopement and marriage; the hour came; she left
the parsonage, but I did not meet her here on the steps of this church
as I had promised, and she received a note that announced my inability
to fulfill the engagement. Two hours later her father found her
insensible on the steps, and the marble was dripping with a hemorrhage
of blood from her lungs. The dark stain is still there; you must have
noticed it. I never saw her again. She kept her room from that day, and
died three months after. When on her deathbed she sent for me, but I
refused to obey the summons. As I stand here, I see through the window
the gray, granite vault overgrown with ivy, and the marble slab where
sleep in untimely death Murray and Annie Hammond, the victims of my
insatiable revenge. Do you wonder that I doubted you when you said that
afflicted father, Allan Hammond, had never uttered one unkind word
about me?"
Mr. Murray pointed to a quiet corner of the church-yard, but Edna did
not lift her face, and he heard the half-smothered, shuddering moan
that struggled up as she listened to him.
He put his hand on hers, but she shivered and shrank away from him.
"Years passed. I grew more and more savage; the very power of loving
seemed to have died out in my nature. My mother endeavored to drag me
into society, but I was surfeited, sick of the world--sick of my own
excesses; and gradually I became a recluse, a surly misanthrope. How
often have I laughed bitterly over those words of Mill's: 'Yet nothing
is more certain than that improvement in human affairs is wholly the
work of the uncontented characters!' My indescribable, my tormenting
discontent, daily belied his aphorism. My mother is a woman of stern
integrity of character and sincerity of purpose; but she is worldly and
ambitious, and inordinately proud, and for her religion I had lost all
respect. Again I went abroad, solely to kill time; was absent two
years, and came back. I had ransacked the world, and was disgusted,
hopeless, prematurely old. A week after my return I was attacked by a
very malignant fever, and my life was despaired of, but I exulted in
the thought that at last I should find oblivion. I refused all
remedies, and set at defiance all medical advice, hoping to hasten the
end; but death cheated me. I rose from my bed of sickness, cursing the
mockery, realizing that indeed:
'The good die first,
And they whose hearts are dry as summer dust
Burn to the socket.'
Some months after my recovery, while I was out on a camp-hunt, you were
brought to Le Bocage, and the sight of you made me more vindictive than
ever. I believed you selfishly designing, and I could not bear that you
should remain under the same roof with me. I hated children as I hated
men and women. But that day when you defied me in the park, and told me
I was sinful and cruel, I began to notice you closely. I weighed your
words, watched you when you little dreamed that I was present, and
often concealed myself in order to listen to your conversation. I saw
in your character traits that annoyed me, because they were noble and
unlike what I had believed all womanhood or girlhood to be. I was aware
that you dreaded and disliked me; I saw that very clearly every time I
had occasion to speak to you. How it all came to pass I can not tell--I
know not--and it has always been a mystery even to me; but, Edna, after
the long lapse of years of sin and reckless dissipation, my heart
stirred and turned to you, child though you were, and a strange,
strange, invincible love for you sprang from the bitter ashes of a dead
affection for Agnes Hunt. I wondered at myself; I sneered at my idiocy;
I cursed my mad folly, and tried to believe you as unprincipled as I
had found others; but the singular fascination strengthened day by day.
Finally I determined to tempt you, hoping that your duplicity and
deceit would wake me from the second dream into which I feared there
was danger of my falling. Thinking that at your age curiosity was the
strongest emotion, I carefully arranged the interior of the Taj Mahal,
so that it would be impossible for you to open it without being
discovered; and putting the key in your hands, I went abroad. I wanted
to satisfy myself that you were unworthy, and believed you would betray
the trust. For four years I wandered, restless, impatient, scorning
myself more and more because I could not forget your sweet, pure,
haunting face; because, despite my jeers, I knew that I loved you. At
last I wrote to my mother from Egypt that I should go to Central
Persia, and so I intended. But one night as I sat alone, smoking, amid
the ruins of the propylon at Philas, a vision of Le Bocage rose before
me, and your dear face looked at me from the lotus-crowned columns of
the ancient temple. I forgot the hate I bore all mankind; I forgot
every thing but you; your pure, calm, magnificent eyes; and the longing
to see you, my darling--the yearning to look into your eyes once more,
took possession of me. I sat there till the great, golden, dewless dawn
of the desert fell upon Egypt, and then came a struggle long and
desperate. I laughed and swore at my folly; but far down in the abysses
of my distorted nature hope had kindled a little feeble, flickering
ray. I tried to smother it, but its flame clung to some crevice in my
heart, and would not be crushed. While I debated, a pigeon that dwelt
somewhere in the crumbling temple fluttered down at my feet, cooed
softly, looked in my face, then perched on a mutilated red granite
sphinx immediately in front of me, and after a moment rose, circled
above me in the pure, rainless air and flew westward. I accepted it as
an omen, and started to America instead of to Persia. On the night of
the tenth of December, four years after I bade you good-bye at the park
gate, I was again at Le Bocage. Silently and undiscovered I stole into
my own house, and secreted myself behind the curtains in the library. I
had been there one hour when you and Gordon Leigh came in to examine
the Targum. Oh, Edna! how little you dreamed of the eager, hungry eyes
that watched you! During that hour that you two sat there bending over
the same book, I became thoroughly convinced that while I loved you as
I never expected to love any one, Gordon also loved you, and intended
if possible to make you his wife. I contrasted my worn, haggard face
and grayish locks with his, so full of manly hope and youthful beauty,
and I could not doubt that any girl would prefer him to me. Edna, my
retribution began then. I felt that my devil was mocking me, as I had
long mocked others, and made me love you when it was impossible to win
you. Then and there I was tempted to spring upon and throttle you both
before he triumphantly called you his. At last Leigh left, and I
escaped to my own rooms. I was pacing the floor when I heard you cross
the rotunda and saw the glimmer of the light you carried. Hoping to see
you open the little Taj, I crawled behind the sarcophagus that holds my
two mummies, crouched close to the floor, and peeped at you across the
gilded byssus that covered them. My eyes, I have often been told,
possess magnetic or mesmeric power. At all events, you felt my eager
gaze, you were restless, and searched the room to discover whence that
feeling of a human presence came. Darling, were you superstitious, that
you avoided looking into the dark corner where the mummies lay?
Presently you stopped in front of the little tomb, and swept away the
spider-web, and took the key from your pocket, and as you put it into
the lock I almost shouted aloud in my savage triumph! I absolutely
panted to find Leigh's future wife as unworthy of confidence as I
believed the remainder of her sex. But you did not open it. You merely
drove away the spider and rubbed the marble clean with your
handkerchief, and held the key between your fingers. Then my heart
seemed to stand still, as I watched the light streaming over your
beautiful, holy face and warm, crimson dress; and when you put the key
in your pocket and turned away, my groan almost betrayed me. I had
taken out my watch to see the hour, and in my suspense I clutched it so
tightly that the gold case and the crystal within all crushed in my
hand. You heard the tingling sound and wondered whence it came; and
when you had locked the door and gone, I raised one of the windows and
swung myself down to the terrace. Do you remember that night?"
"Yes, Mr. Murray."
Her voice was tremulous and almost inaudible.
"I had business in Tennessee, no matter now, what, or where, and I went
on that night. After a week I returned, that afternoon when I found you
reading in my sitting-room. Still I was sceptical, and not until I
opened the tomb, was I convinced that you had not betrayed the trust
which you supposed I placed in you. Then, as you stood beside me in all
your noble purity and touching girlish beauty,--as you looked up half
reproachfully, half defiantly at me--it cost me a terrible effort to
master myself--to abstain from clasping you to my heart, and telling
you all that you were to me. Oh! how I longed to take you in my arms
and feed my poor famished heart with one touch of your lips! I dared
not look at you, lest I should lose my self-control. The belief that
Gordon was a successful rival sealed my lips on that occasion; and ah!
the dreary wretchedness of the days of suspense that followed. I was a
starving beggar who stood before what I coveted above everything else
on earth, and saw it labelled with another man's name and beyond my
reach. The daily sight of that emerald ring on your finger maddened me;
and you can form no adequate idea of the bitterness of feeling with
which I noted my mother's earnest efforts and manoeuvres to secure for
Gordon Leigh--to sell to him--the little hand which her own son would
have given worlds to claim in the sight of God and man! Continually I
watched you when you least expected me; I strewed infidel books where I
knew you must see them; I tempted you more than you dreamed of; I
teased and tormented and wounded you whenever an opportunity offered;
for I hoped to find some flaw in your character, some defect in your
temper, some inconsistency between your professions and your practice.
I knew Leigh was not your equal, and I said bitterly, 'She is poor and
unknown, and will surely marry him for his money, for his position--as
Agnes would have married me.' But you did not! and when I knew that you
had positively refused his fortune, I felt that a great dazzling light
had broken suddenly upon my darkened life; and, for the first time
since I parted with Murray Hammond, tears of joy filled my eyes. I
ceased to struggle against my love--I gave myself up to it, and only
asked, How can I overcome her aversion to me? You were the only tie
that linked me with my race, and for your sake I almost felt as if I
could forget my hate. But you shrank more and more from me, and my
punishment overtook me when I saw how you hated Clinton Allston's
blood-smeared hands, and with what unfeigned horror you regarded his
career. When you declared so vehemently that his fingers should never
touch yours--oh! it was the fearful apprehension of losing you that
made me catch your dear hands and press them to my aching heart. I was
stretched upon a rack that taught me the full import of Isaac Taylor's
grim words, 'Remorse is man's dread prerogative!' Believing that you
knew all my history and that your aversion was based upon it, I was too
proud to show you my affection. Douglass Manning was as much my friend
as I permitted any man to be; we had travelled together through Arabia,
and with his handwriting I was familiar. Suspecting your literary
schemes, and dreading a rival in your ambition, I wrote to him on the
subject, discovered all I wished to ascertain, and requested him, for
my sake, to reconsider and examine your MS. He did so to oblige me, and
I insisted that he should treat your letters and your MS. with such
severity as to utterly crush your literary aspirations. Oh, child! do
you see how entirely you fill my mind and heart? How I scrutinize your
words and actions? Oh, my darling--"
He paused, and leaned over her, putting his hand on her head, but she
shook off his touch and exclaimed:
"But Gertrude! Gertrude!"
"Be patient, and you shall know all; for as God reigns above us, there
is no recess of my heart into which you shall not look. It is, perhaps,
needless to tell you that Estelle came here to marry me for my fortune.
It is not agreeable to say such things of one's own cousin, but to-day
I deal only in truths, and facts sustain me. She professes to love me!
has absolutely avowed it more than once in days gone by. Whether she
really loves anything but wealth and luxury, I have never troubled
myself to find out; but my mother fancies that if Estelle were my wife,
I might be less cynical. Once or twice I tried to be affectionate
toward her, solely to see what effect it would have upon you; but I
discovered that you could not easily be deceived in that direction--the
mask was too transparent, and beside, the game disgusted me. I have no
respect for Estelle, but I have a shadowy traditional reverence for the
blood in her veins which forbids my flirting with her as she deserves.
The very devil himself brought Agnes here. She had married a rich old
banker only a few months after Murray's death, and lived in ease and
splendor until a short time since, when her husband failed and died,
leaving her without a cent. She knew how utterly she had blasted my
life, and imagined that I had never married because I still loved her!
With unparalleled effrontery she came here, and trusting to her
wonderfully preserved beauty, threw herself and her daughter in my way.
When I heard SHE was at the parsonage, all the old burning hate leaped
up strong as ever. I fancied that she was the real cause of your
dislike to me, and that night, when the game of billiards ended, I went
to the parsonage for the first time since Murray's death. Oh! the
ghostly thronging memories that met me at the gate, trooped after me up
the walk, and hovered like vultures as I stood in the shadow of the
trees, where my idol and I had chatted and romped and shouted and
whistled in the far past, in the sinless bygone! Unobserved I stood
there, and looked once more, after the lapse of twenty years, on the
face that had caused my crime and ruin. I listened to her clear laugh,
silvery as when I heard it chiming with Murray's under the apple-tree
on the night that branded me and drove me forth to wander like Cain;
and I resolved, if she really loved her daughter, to make her suffer
for all that she had inflicted on me. The first time I met Gertrude I
could have sworn my boyhood's love was restored to me; she is so
entirely the image of what Agnes was. To possess themselves of my home
and property is all that brought them here; and whether as my wife or
as my mother-in-law I think Agnes cares little. The first she sees is
impracticable, and now to make me wed Gertrude is her aim. Like mother,
like daughter!"
"Oh! no, no! visit not her mother's sins on her innocent head! Gertrude
is true and affectionate, and she loves you dearly."
Edna spoke with a great effort, and the strange tones of her own voice
frightened her.
"Loves me? Ha! ha! just about as tenderly as her mother did before her!
That they do both 'dearly love'--my purse, I grant you. Hear me out.
Agnes threw the girl constantly and adroitly in my way; the demon here
in my heart prompted revenge, and, above all, I resolved to find out
whether you were indeed as utterly indifferent to me as you seemed. I
know that jealousy will make a woman betray her affection sooner than
any other cause, and I deliberately set myself to work to make you
believe that I loved that pretty cheat over yonder at the
parsonage--that frolicsome wax-doll, who would rather play with a
kitten than talk to Cicero; who intercepts me almost daily, to favor me
with manifestations of devotion, and shows me continually that I have
only to put out my hand and take her to rule over my house, and trample
my heart under her pretty feet! When you gave me that note of hers a
week ago, and looked so calmly, so coolly in my face, I felt as if all
hope were dying in my heart; for I could not believe that, if you had
one atom of affection for me, you could be so generous, so unselfish
toward one whom you considered your rival. That night I did not close
my eyes, and had almost decided to revisit South America; but next
morning my mother told me you were going to New York--that all
entreaties had failed to shake your resolution. Then once more a hope
cheered me, and I believed that I understood why you had determined to
leave those whom I know you love tenderly--to quit the home my mother
offered you and struggle among strangers. Yesterday they told me you
would leave on Monday, and I went out to seek you; but you were with
Mr. Hammond, as usual, and instead of you I met--that curse of my
life--Agnes! Face to face, at last, with my red-lipped Lamia! Oh! it
was a scene that made jubilee down in Pandemonium! She plead for her
child's happiness--ha, ha, ha!--implored me most pathetically to love
her Gertrude as well as Gertrude loved me, and that my happiness would
make me forget the unfortunate past! She would willingly give me her
daughter, for did she not know how deep, how lasting, how deathless was
my affection? I had Gertrude's whole heart, and I was too generous to
trifle with her tender love! Edna, darling! I will not tell you all she
said--you would blush for your sisterhood. But my vengeance was
complete when I declined the honor she was so eager to force upon me;
when I overwhelmed her with my scorn, and told her that there was only
one woman whom I respected or trusted; only one woman upon the broad
earth whom I loved; only one woman who could ever be my wife, and her
name was--Edna Earl!"
His voice died away, and all was still as the dead in their grassy
graves.
The orphan's face was concealed, and after a moment St. Elmo Murray
opened his arms, and said in that low winning tone which so many women
had found it impossible to resist: "Come to me now, my pure, noble
Edna. You whom I love, as only such a man as I have shown myself to be
can love."
"No, Mr. Murray; Gertrude stands between us."
"Gertrude! Do not make me swear here, in your presence--do not madden
me by repeating her name! I tell you she is a silly child, who cares no
more for me than her mother did before her. Nothing shall stand between
us. I love you; the God above us is my witness that I love you as I
never loved any human being, and I will not--I swear I will not live
without you! You are mine, and all the legions in hell shall not part
us!"
He stooped, snatched her from the chair as if she had been an infant,
and folded her in his strong arms.
"Mr. Murray, I know she loves you. My poor little trusting friend! You
trifled with her warm heart, as you hope to trifle with mine; but I
know you; you have shown me how utterly heartless, remorseless,
unprincipled you are. You had no right to punish Gertrude for her
mother's sins; and if you had one spark of honor in your nature, you
would marry her, and try to atone for the injury you have already done."
"By pretending to give her a heart which belongs entirely to you? If I
wished to deceive you now, think you I would have told all that hideous
past, which you can not abhor one half as much as I do?"
"Your heart is not mine! It belongs to sin, or you could not have so
maliciously deceived poor Gertrude. You love nothing but your ignoble
revenge and the gratification of your self-love! You--"
"Take care, do not rouse me. Be reasonable, little darling. You doubt
my love? Well, I ought not to wonder at your scepticism after all you
have heard. But you can feel how my heart throbs against your cheek,
and if you will look into my eyes, you will be convinced that I am
fearfully in earnest, when I beg you to be my wife
to-morrow--to-day--now! if you will only let me send for a minister or
a magistrate! You are--"
"You asked Annie to be your wife, and--"
"Hush! hush! Look at me. Edna, raise your head and look at me."
She tried to break away, and finding it impossible, pressed both hands
over her face and hid it against his shoulder.
He laughed, and whispered:
"My darling, I know what that means. You dare not look up because you
cannot trust your own eyes! Because you dread for me to see something
there which you want to hide, which you think it your duty to conceal."
He felt a long shudder creep over her, and she answered resolutely:
"Do you think, sir, that I could love a murderer? A man whose hands are
red with the blood of the son of my best friend?"
"Look at me then."
He raised her head, drew down her hands, took them firmly in one of
his, and placing the other under her chin, lifted the burning face
close to his own.
She dreaded the power of his lustrous, mesmeric eyes, and instantly her
long silky lashes swept her flushed cheeks.
"Ah! you dare not! You can not look me steadily in the eye and say,
'St. Elmo, I never have loved--do not--and never can love you!' You are
too truthful; your lips can not dissemble. I know you do not want to
love me. Your reason, your conscience forbid it; you are struggling to
crush your heart. You think it your duty to despise and hate me. But,
my own, Edna--my darling! my darling! you do love me! You know you do
love me, though you will not confess it! My proud darling!"
He drew the face tenderly to his own, and kissed her quivering lips
repeatedly, and at last a moan of anguish told how she was wrestling
with her heart.
"Do you think you can hide your love from my eager eyes? Oh! I know
that I am unworthy of you! I feel it more and more every day, every
hour. It is because you seem so noble--so holy--to my eyes, that I
reverence while I love you. You are so far above all other women--so
glorified in your pure, consistent piety--that you only have the power
to make my future life--redeem the wretched and sinful past. I tempted
and tried you, and when you proved so true and honest and womanly, you
kindled a faint beam of hope that, after all, there might be truth and
saving, purifying power in religion. Do you know that since this church
was finished I have never entered it until a month ago, when I followed
you here, and crouched downstairs--yonder, behind one of the pillars,
and heard your sacred songs, your hymns so full of grandeur, so full of
pathos, that I could not keep back my tears while I listened. Since
then I have come every Saturday afternoon, and during the hour spent
here my unholy nature was touched and softened as no sermon ever
touched it. Oh! you wield a power over me--over all my future, which
ought to make you tremble! The first generous impulse that has stirred
my callous, bitter soul since I was a boy, I owe to you. I went first
to see poor Reed, in order to discover what took you so often to that
cheerless place; and my interest in little Huldah arose from the fact
that you loved the child. Oh, my darling! I know I have been sinful and
cruel and blasphemous; but it is not too late for me to atone! It is
not too late for me to do some good in the world; and if you will only
love me, and trust me, and help me--"
His voice faltered, his tears fell upon her forehead, and stooping he
kissed her lips softly, reverently, as if he realized the presence of
something sacred.
"My precious Edna, no oath shall ever soil my lips again; the touch of
yours has purified them. I have been mad--I think, for many, many
years, and I loath my past life; but remember how sorely I was tried,
and be merciful when you judge me. With your dear little hand in mine
to lead me, I will make amends for the ruin and suffering I have
wrought, and my Edna--my own wife, shall save me!" Before the orphan's
mental vision rose the picture of Gertrude, the trembling coral mouth,
the childish wistful eyes, the lovely head nestled down so often and so
lovingly on her shoulder; and she saw, too, the bent figure and white
locks of her beloved pastor, as he sat in his old age, in his
childless, desolate home, facing the graves of his murdered children.
"Oh, Mr. Murray! You can not atone! You can not call your victims from
their tombs. You can not undo what you have done! What amends can you
make to Mr. Hammond, and to my poor little confiding Gertrude? I can
not help you! I can not save you!"
"Hush! You can, you shall! Do you think I will ever give you up? Have
mercy on my lonely life! my wretched, darkened soul. Lean your dear
head here on my heart, and say, 'St. Elmo, what a wife can do to save
her erring, sinful husband, I will do for you.' If I am ever to be
saved, you, you only can effect my redemption; for I trust, I reverence
you. Edna, as you value my soul, my eternal welfare, give yourself to
me! Give your pure, sinless life to purify mine."
With a sudden bound she sprang from his embrace, and lifted her arms
toward the Christ, who seemed to shudder as the flickering light of
fading day fell through waving foliage upon it.
"Look yonder to Jesus, bleeding! Only his blood can wash away your
guilt. Mr. Murray, I can never be your wife. I have no confidence in
you. Knowing how systematically you have deceived others, how devoid of
conscientious scruples you are, I should never be sure that I too was
not the victim of your heartless cynicism. Beside, I--"
"Hush! hush! To your keeping I commit my conscience and my heart."
"No! no! I am no vicegerent of an outraged and insulted God! I put no
faith in any man whose conscience another keeps. From the species of
fascination which you exert, I shrink with unconquerable dread and
aversion, and would almost as soon entertain the thought of marrying
Lucifer himself. Oh! your perverted nature shocks, repels, astonishes,
grieves me. I can neither respect nor trust you. Mr. Murray, have mercy
upon yourself! Go yonder to Jesus. He only can save and purify you."
"Edna, you do not, you can not intend to leave me? Darling--"
He held out his arms and moved toward her, but she sprang past him,
down the steps of the gallery, out of the church, and paused only at
sight of the dark, dull spot on the white steps, where Annie Hammond
had lain insensible.
An hour later, St. Elmo Murray raised his face from the mahogany
railing where it had rested since Edna left him, and looked around the
noble pile which his munificence had erected. A full moon eyed him
pityingly through the stained glass, and the gleam of the marble pulpit
was chill and ghostly; and in that weird light the Christ was
threatening, wrathful, appalling.
As St. Elmo stood there alone, confronting the picture--confronting the
past-memory, like the Witch of Endor, called up visions of the departed
that were more terrible than the mantled form of Israel's prophet; and
the proud, hopeless man bowed his haughty head, with a cry of anguish
that rose mournfully to the vaulted ceiling of the sanctuary:
"It went up single, echoless, 'My God! I am forsaken!'"