THE STORM THICKENS.
It would be much easier to imagine than describe the violent
paroxysms of grief (if we may use the expression) which seized upon
Mrs. Verne when Marguerite calmly broke the unwelcome news. Grief
did we say--yes--"not the grief that saps the mind," but grief for
the deprivation of those luxuries which the woman had considered as
part and parcel of herself.
"It is just what one might have expected from the loose way in which
your father has been transacting his business," cried Mrs. Verne,
wringing her hands, and lamenting wildly; and then turning upon her
daughter the full benefit of her penetrating eyes, added, "and it is
not himself that will suffer the most, but think of us Madge. How
nice you will look going out to earn your living, perhaps, behind
some counter, or worse still, apprenticed to a dressmaker and
blinding yourself over such rags as we would not condescend to put
on, nor, more than that, recognize the people to whom they
belonged."
After this harangue, Mrs. Verne threw herself into the elegant
fauteuil of carved ebony and oriental tapestry, and poured forth
another volume of tears more prolific than the first.
"Mamma, dear, what is the use of all this. The affair is bad enough,
but it might be a great deal worse. Papa is still alive and we
can live just as happily on a small income as indulging in such
luxury. Really, my dear mamma, I feel that we are going to be much
happier. I need not, as you remarked, have to submit to any great
drudgery, I can teach music and painting, thanks to those kind
instructors who took such pains in my education, and if I fail to
make that kind of work remunerative, why I can easily fit myself for
a school-teacher."
"Marguerite Verne!" cried the horrified mother, raising her hands in
gestures of dismay, "You will drive me mad! A daughter of mine a
school-teacher! Oh! dear, did I ever think I would raise a child to
inherit such plebeian ideas. Bad as Evelyn is with all her faults
she would not hurt my feelings in such a manner."
Marguerite looked at her mother with a feeling of compassion, yet
there were rebellious thoughts in her mind.
"Is it possible that mamma forgets poor dear papa, who is most to be
pitied?" murmured she, as she strove to hide the tears that would
flow in spite of all her efforts.
"And only to think of your papa's slackness. I shouldn't wonder one
bit if he gave up every cent's worth of property, and all the
furniture into the bargain. It is just such a trick as he would do,
for the sake of being called an honest man. Yes, it is very nice to
hear people talking of 'honesty being the best of policy' where no
one is concerned in the matter; but when it comes home, I say a
man's first honesty is to his family."
"Pray, mamma dear, do not worry over our worldly loss; it will all
come right," whispered Marguerite, in tones of endearment, and
stroking the luxuriant mass of silken hair that crowned the pretty,
classic-shaped head.
"Well, I hope so, Madge; but I am sorry that I cannot entertain your
very convenient sort of opinion," returned Mrs. Verne, in a half
angry and petulant mood; then rising from her seat, took up a piece
of crewel embroidery, saying, "I suppose if I have to turn out and
earn my living I had better begin at once," and suiting the action
to the word, was soon busily engaged in making some pretty stitches
upon the handsome panel of rich garnet-colored velvet.
While Marguerite sat buried in deep thought, turning over and over
in her mind what she must do, an attendant arrived with a letter.
"It is from Aunt Hester," cried she, as she broke the seal and
eagerly devoured its contents.
"It's just like her," said Mrs. Verne, as Marguerite passed the
letter for her to read. "Yes, she is one of Job's comforters, and
will make your papa feel a great deal worse than there is any need.
Of course, she will be preaching day and night of our extravagance,
and make him believe that we alone are the cause of all his
misfortune--I should say, mismanagement."
"I think it was very kind of Aunt Hester to come to papa when he was
so lonely," replied Marguerite, with a choking sensation in her
throat.
"Yes, and it is a great wonder she did not say that _her friend,
Mr. Lawson_, was one of the company, for it seems that not one of
the whole Montgomery family can exist without him."
Mrs. Verne had emphasized the word friend in a very uncharitable
manner, and her tone was spiteful in the extreme.
"Of course that letter means come home at once, but I think it would
make us appear very ridiculous to go until some settlement was made
and the gossips had their nine days' wonder over," said she in a
very cool and decided manner.
"Mamma, dear, let us not delay one hour more than is necessary,"
cried Marguerite clinging to her mother's arm as if to gain assent.
"We surely can be ready for the next steamer of the Anchor Line (the
Olympian) which sails on Saturday."
"What nonsense, Marguerite! and only think of Sir Arthur's
disappointment! Poor man! It is such a pity, and we have received
such kindness." Mrs. Verne drew a long sigh and then added in an
altered tone: "If your papa insists upon our return we shall go, but
I cannot see why your Aunt Hester should take upon herself to
dictate to us."
"We will, no doubt, hear from papa as well. You know, mamma, he owes
me a letter now," said Marguerite, hopefully.
A caller was now announced and Lady Gertrude Fortescue, in her
beauty and amiability, was ushered in with all the deference due her
rank and position.
Mrs. Verne was intoxicated with delight as she thought of the great
honor thus conferred upon her, and she soon forgot all her recent
trouble in the sunshine of her ladyship's smiles.
"Miss Verne is certainly deserving of our most bitter hate!" cried
the latter in affected severity. "You know we English women cannot
tolerate a rival and this clever little Canadian (pointing to
Marguerite) has outshone us all."
Marguerite was indulging in thoughts of a different nature, but she
managed to reply to her ladyship, and occasionally ventured a remark
upon some trivial matters.
"You will be at the reception to-night, my dear?" exclaimed the
blonde beauty as she rose to go.
Mrs. Verne glanced at her daughter for answer and was pained to see
the utter serenity of the pale but interesting face.
"Miss Verne has been slightly indisposed to-day and I fear that she
will plead that as excuse to remain with Muggins."
"You naughty little thing," said her ladyship, poking the said
Muggins with the top of her parasol and exciting lively responses
from his poodleship, then turning to Mrs. Verne exclaimed, "Mrs.
Arnold is looking well. It really seems to me that you Canadians
have found the long-sought elixir of youth and beauty."
"You are inclined to flattery Lady Gertrude, but if you should ever
visit New Brunswick you will find many pretty women."
"Now, my dear Mrs. Verne, _you_ are inclined to teaze," cried
her ladyship. You know full well that it is the gentlemen in whom I
am solely interested. What have you to say in _their_ behalf."
"New Brunswick can boast of many handsome, brave and clever men,"
was the reply, and this time Mrs. Verne spoke the truth.
"Oh well, I shall, perhaps, go and see for myself. Good-bye Mrs.
Verne, and you my little rival, adieu until we meet again."
Her ladyship pressed the tips of her dainty fingers and playfully
threw a kiss to Marguerite as she leaned against the balustrade and
watched her visitor depart.
"What a sweet but sad face," thought the latter, as she was being
assisted into the grand old family coach with its richly-caparisoned
steeds and gay trappings.
"To Hyde Park, James," then leaning back amid the luxurious cushions
the almond-eyed beauty murmured "that girl has a tender spot in her
heart which all the pleasures and gaiety of a thousand worlds like
this can never heal. Ah, well we women must endure," and with the
last remark there arose a sad and weary look that would seem
strangely at variance the gay, sporting butterfly who talked and
chatted of airy nothings in Mrs. Verne's drawing-room.
And now to Marguerite. She has donned her tasteful gray walking
costume and accompanied by Muggins is on the way to Mrs. Arnold's
residence, not far distant.
"I am so glad you have come, Madge, I was just going to send for
you. My head has ached all morning. I can think of nothing but dear
papa. Just imagine him without a cent in the world, and at his age.
Oh, it is too horrible for anything."
Mrs. Arnold now drew her elegant lace handkerchief across her eyes
to arrest the falling tears.
Marguerite was accustomed to her sister's demonstrations, and was
not at all affected as she should be.
"Madge, you are aware, I suppose, of the trouble between mamma and
me, and now I have no one but you to offer any sympathy."
Marguerite looked at her sister in surprise.
"You need not look that way, Madge, I mean it, and when you
have--" Mrs. Arnold checked herself. She was on the eve of a
declaration which she must at all hazards supress. "I say it is
most cruel of mamma to treat me in the way that she does. Really,
Madge, it makes me feel terribly; and oh! poor, dear, papa! I don't
know why it should affect me so strangely, but really, Madge, I
cannot get it out of my head but that papa is going to die."
"Oh, Eve!" cried Marguerite, clinging to her chair for support,
"pray do not say such a dreadful thing."
"Well, you know, Madge, that grief will sap all the vitality of
stronger constitutions than papa's."
Mrs. Arnold sat watching the effect of her words upon her sister,
and tried to be engaged assorting some letters that had been
misplaced in her desk.
"If it were only in my power to save papa such trouble I would make
any sacrifice," cried the latter, suddenly glancing at Marguerite.
"And would I not, too? Oh! Eve," said the girl, with an eager,
hungry look upon her face.
"You can _now_, if you wish, Madge," said Mrs. Arnold, in the
coolest possible manner.
"Eve, this is too serious a matter for jesting. You know not what
you say," cried Marguerite, wildly.
"I know that you can pay every cent of papa's debts if you will only
marry Hubert Tracy!"
"Eve! Spare me!" exclaimed Marguerite, turning deadly pale.
"Yes, my dear--I knew full well that you could not make such a
sacrifice. Why did I mention it. Forgive me, dear Madge, I shall
never mention the subject again. I told Hubert that I knew it was
useless for him to urge the suit."
"And he has spoken of it lately?" cried Marguerite.
"Not later than this morning, my dear. He called a few moments after
you went away, and seemed to be in great distress at papa's
misfortune. Poor fellow, he was deeply moved, and said that if you
would only consent to be his wife that his immense fortune would be
at your entire control. What a pity, dear Madge, that you cannot
treat him as he deserves--he is such a generous-hearted fellow."
Marguerite Verne was, indeed, an object of pity as she sat with her
eyes fixed upon the wall opposite, while a look of anguish now
settled down upon her features, and made them rigid as death.
"Don't worry, darling. I cannot bear to see you thus. If Hubert
Tracy is not willing to settle papa's affairs without sacrificing
your happiness, why let it go. Papa may get over it, and if he has
to face the world and earn his living by drudgery, it may do him
good in the end; if not, we cannot help it, my dear: So don't worry
any longer." And Mrs. Arnold swept across the room with the air of
an empress, while with her lace handkerchief she wiped the tears
from Marguerite's eyes.
"Has Hubert Tracy the full control of his estates, Eve?"
"Yes, Madge. He has had ever since his uncle died, which was more
than three months ago."
"Poor dear papa," murmured the girl in very bitterness of soul.
"She will come to it yet," thought Mrs. Arnold, "nothing succeeds
like moderation," and with the most consummate adroitness commenced
asking questions concerning her mother.
"You know, Madge, that mamma is so much wrapped up in Sir Arthur,
the ugly old bore, that she can listen to no one else, and for no
other reason than to have you addressed as 'my lady.'"
"Oh Eve, do not say that."
"I _will_ say it Madge, and more than that I will say that
mamma has no more respect for her children's feeling than for those
of her meanest servant. She would think it splendid to marry you to
a gouty old baronet old enough to be your father, yes your
grandfather, while I would not insist upon your favoring a handsome
young man with wealth and a large heart into the bargain."
"Eve, you do mamma a great injustice," cried Marguerite, who be it
said to her credit, always defended the absent one, "she already
knows my feelings towards Sir Arthur and has used no coercion since
and now that we are soon going home there is no need of referring to
the affair."
Marguerite was annoyed and her sister saw that she had said enough,
so with diplomatic tact, she became doubly tractable and tried to
appear in sympathy with every word that the girl uttered.
"Are you going to accompany us to the opera this evening, Madge? My
amiable husband, anxious to make reparation for past neglect, has
formed a set and I must certainly go."
Marguerite was pained at her sister's composure and thought of the
protestations of grief she had hitherto exhibited.
"Is it possible," thought she, "that Eve can dissemble so much?"
Then turning to her sister she exclaimed: "Eve, I cannot go; I am
miserable enough already and--"
"I see how it is, Madge, you are inclined to be selfish, and cannot
bear to see the happiness of others."
"Happiness!" murmured the girl, "as if there is much happiness under
all this false glittering surface." But Mrs. Arnold heeded not the
remark and added:
"Poor mamma, I know she feels badly, I will ask Montague to call and
invite her to join us. I know I did wrong to say so much, but at
times you know, dear Madge, I have an ungovernable temper."
"I am going now," said Marguerite rising and holding out her hand to
Mrs. Arnold.
"I know Madge well enough to perceive that she will have no peace of
mind this night. How she will brood over what I nave said!" and
turning to the spacious mirror Mrs. Arnold exclaimed, "Ah! madame,
you can dupe more clever minds than that of your confiding little
sister."
In the quiet of her own room Marguerite Verne gave full vent to her
pent-up feelings in an outburst of tears. Hers was not a nature that
could endure with fortitude the ills that oftentimes befall
humanity; but like the fragile reed that bends with the storm, and
when the force of nature has spent itself raises its head
heavenward.
And now the girl was prostrated, and bowed her head in keenest
agony. She wished not the interruption of mother or friends, but
remained silent and preoccupied.
On the third day in question a reaction set in, and Marguerite had
made up her mind to act.
"I am reconciled to my fate," murmured the girl, as she carefully
arranged her pretty morning toilet, and then went to her mother's
apartments to receive the extremely conventional style of
endearment.
"You should have been with us, my dear," exclaimed Mrs. Verne, as
she glanced at the interesting maiden, and thought that grief, if
anything, made her more bewitching.
"You should have been there, dear," cried she in ecstasies of
unfeigned delight. "It was such a charming little coterie, and the
dear girl has such a happy knack of making her friends appear at
ease, while Montague is so attentive that with all his faults one
can forgive him, and admire his highly-polished manners. And you
should have seen Lady Gertrude, my dear. She looked radiant in that
_eau de nil_ satin and honiton-lace flounces, but really I
think that her ladyship is very forward, as she certainly was making
love to Mr. Tracy and using all her blandishments with a master
stroke."
"And what matters that to me," thought Marguerite, though she
expressed it not She was puzzled to know what had wrought such a
change in her mother, as the latter talked of dear Eve and Mr. Tracy
in one breath and seemed enthusiastic over each particular.
In order to explain the cause of Mrs. Verne's altered manner we
would have to repeat a conversation which a few hours earlier took
place in Mrs. Montague Arnold's boudoir with mother and daughter as
occupants. Suffice it to say that a reconciliation was effected, and
that Mrs. Verne agreed to everything advanced by her daughter, also
that they were now united in a common cause, and that Sir Arthur
Fonister was ruthlessly cast aside for a more profitable
consideration, and one which would gratify the wants and wishes of
both.
"But enough of this for the present, my dear," said Mrs. Verne, then
instantly changing look, tone and manner, exclaimed, "It is strange
that we have not heard from home. Madge, I trust, things are not
growing worse. Indeed, I feel uneasy, but we must be prepared;
nothing seems improbable nowadays."
It was Marguerite's turn now to speak. Looking steadily into her
mother's face she asked, "Mamma, did Eve tell you what had passed
between her and Mr. Tracy?"
"Yes, dearest, and I begged that she would think no more of the
matter. When she declared that she would make double such sacrifice
for her dear papa, I told her that I believed she would, but that
she was of a different disposition from you, and would suit herself
to circumstances, and besides she is of a strong mind and possessed
of much will, and is capable of smoothing all difficulties, while
you, my dear Madge, are a tender, sensitive creature, whom it would
be more than cruel to submit to anything contrary to your wishes."
"Mamma, I am capable of more than you think. I have never
looked upon Hubert Tracy otherwise than a friend. Indeed I have
friends whom I like very much better, but I will receive him as my
future husband, and try to do the best I can to repay him for
unreciprocated love."
With these words died all the hopes that Marguerite hitherto vainly
cherished, and as she received her mother's warm embrace, her heart
seemed to have suddenly turned to ice, and her breath more chilling
than the piercing blasts of the frigid zone.