CONFESSION AND RESOLUTION.
November's chilly blast moaned hoarsely around the heavy solid walls
of "Sunnybank," and the weird sound of the rustling leaves impressed
one with thoughts alike weird and melancholy.
Marguerite Verne sat in the library poring over some accounts.
Several letters lay beside her ready for mailing and as she glanced
occasionally at the outer door she is evidently awaiting some
person.
The suspense is of short duration. A bright cheerful face is soon at
her side.
"You dear old coz, have I kept you long waiting?"
"Only two minutes," said Marguerite glancing at her watch, then
hanging the pretty bauble within reach added, "Cousin Jennie I
believe you are equal to a time piece."
An affectionate embrace was the outcome of the compliment and very
soon the apartment looked brighter and more welcome.
The fire in the grate sent up a more cheerful glow as if it were
trying to shew its appreciation of the newly arrived guest. In fact
all things animate and inanimate tried to do homage to the sweet and
cheery Jennie Montgomery.
The willing domestic who had answered Marguerite's summons, had no
sooner finished her task than a message was conveyed from Mrs.
Verne's chamber requesting Marguerite's immediate presence.
Jennie followed and her presence of mind soon quieted her aunt's
violent fit of hysteria, and bathing the aching brows with Florida
water coaxed the restless woman into a soft and gentle sleep.
"What would I do without you, darling!" said Marguerite, her eyes
filling with tears and then hastily shading her delicate face sought
the nurse to make inquiries about her father.
On being advised that it was better not to disturb his restless
slumbers she instantly returned to the library.
"It is cosey in here to-day, Madge. Just see how angry the sky
appears. How fast the clouds are moving! Look! they seem furious!"
Marguerite having finished her accounts, now looked about for
something farther to do.
Her eyes were attracted towards a handsome volume that lay upon the
sofa. Its rich cream and gold binding giving a pretty contrast to
the elegant upholstering of the said article.
The first words that claimed the girls attention ran:
"Wake maid of Love! the moments fly
Which yet, that maiden-name allow;
Wake, maiden, wake! the hour is nigh
When Love shall claim a plighted vow."
Hitherto Scott had been one of Marguerite's favorite authors, but
now she threw down the book as if stung by an adder. Her blood was
chilled in her veins, and she seemed as if petrified.
It were well that Jennie Montgomery was busily engaged looking over
the broad rows of bookshelves in quest of some thing suitable to her
fancy.
It was also well that she found the desired volume and had
comfortably seated herself for a good long read.
Cousin Jennie might well be termed a book-worm, for, notwithstanding
the fact that she was a clever housekeeper, an industrious handmaid
and a skilful needlewoman, no girl had, considering her advantages,
been a more extensive reader. She was conversant with many of the
standard authors, could discuss freely upon the most abstruse
subjects and also kept herself well posted in all the leading events
of the day, a fact which goes to prove that there is no woman no
matter in what circumstances, but can, if inclined, give some
attention to the improvement of the mind, and make herself a fairly
intellectual being.
Marguerite's thoughts were painful, indeed. "The hour is nigh," she
murmured. Hubert Tracy's letter had arrived, and the well-known
lines had doubly recalled the fact.
"Would to heaven that it might never arrive," then suddenly checking
the wicked wish the girl exclaimed, "it is so hard to bear. Oh,
Heavenly Father, forgive my wicked, sinful heart."
"Madge, whom do you think I met as I was going along Princess
street?"
Jennie had now turned towards her cousin. Her honest face was fair
to look upon. Its genuineness was stamped in bold characters upon
the open brow and reflected in the clear expressive eyes.
"Why, none other than Helen Rushton. She has just arrived from
Fredericton where she has been for six weeks. She introduced me to
her friend Miss Boynton who is such a nice-looking girl, not a
beauty but interesting and very graceful."
"She called a few days after I came home," said Marguerite, "but I
was unable to leave papa. Helen is a good girl, Jennie."
"I always liked her," said the latter, putting a little marker in
her book, "and I would give anything to have her visit us. Mother
seems much interested in her."
"I think that I met Miss Boynton at Mrs. Greene's last winter. Is
she not tall and slight with auburn hair and straight regular
features, with just enough hauteur to give her an air of quiet
dignity?"
"The very same, Madge. You are quite an adept at description," said
cousin Jennie with mock gravity. "But I have something worth
telling," cried she excitedly, "Louise Rutherford is engaged to Mr.
Noyes. It is really true, for Helen told me that she congratulated
her, and she did not deny it."
"I expected to hear it before this," said Marguerite somewhat sadly.
"They are to be married early next spring and most likely will go to
Europe."
Whichsoever way Marguerite directed her thoughts there was always
some reminder of her own gloomy prospects.
Louise Rutherford's betrothed was an intimate friend of Phillip
Lawson's. Their interests were much in common and in their outward
appearance there was a striking resemblance.
"Phillip will be the next!" thought the girl "Ah, yes. Heaven never
intended that such a man would not realize his highest and fondest
hopes. He will receive the congratulations of friends and I will
smile and join the pressing throng, while my heart will ache and
throb so wildly. But no human heart ever was so freighted with
sorrow that it had not sufficient resisting power. Ah, no." And the
soft white palms are folded together as if the speaker had invoked a
prayer.
Jennie Montgomery had also been indulging in some speculative
thoughts, for she stole softly to her cousin's side, and, putting an
arm around the girl's neck, exclaimed, "Madge, darling, I have
longed for a good opportunity to say what I wish, and forgive me if
I make you feel badly."
Marguerite looked at her companion, and her lips grew deadly pale,
but her manner was calm, and not a shade was visible upon the
madonna-like face.
"Madge," said Jennie, with excited and wistful gaze, "tell me why
you promised to marry Hubert Tracy. I am certain you couldn't love
him! Oh, Madge! what has prompted you to do anything so dreadful?"
Marguerite Verne sat like one in some horrible dream, not daring to
move lest she might become the victim of some dread Gorgon or Fury.
"Speak, Madge, or you will frighten me to death," exclaimed Jennie,
imprinting a warm kiss upon the cold rigid lips.
The effect was electrifying.
"Oh! cousin Jennie, you know all! I will not hide it from you. I am
going to marry Hubert Tracy to save my father from the depths of
poverty. Poor mamma shall never know what I am suffering for her
sake; and if I could make a ten-fold sacrifice, I would do it to
bring my darling father back to life and health--but he shall never
know--oh no!"
"Marguerite Verne!" exclaimed the excited girl, raising her right
hand aloft in wild, appealing gestures, "you will _never_ marry
Hubert Tracy! Heaven could not, or would not, allow it. Oh, no,
Madge! Heaven could never sanction, such an act. Madge," exclaimed
the girl, with all the intensity of her nature, "you are tempting
the Almighty."
"Jennie, Jennie! spare me! oh, spare me! have some mercy!" cried
Marguerite, sinking at her cousin's feet, and clinging to her with
the force of desperation.
"Ask me not Madge. I can have no mercy in your case. Think me cruel
as you will, I will always be of the same mind, and mother is
indeed, if anything, a great deal harder upon you."
"She surely cannot be if she knew all Jennie," said Marguerite in
wild, agonizing tones.
"She blames you for not having sufficient combativeness to oppose
the influence brought to bear upon you."
"Surely Aunt Hester cannot think that I would be doing right to go
contrary to the wish of my mother--yes, and all."
"She does, indeed. She says that you are to obey your parents only
when their motives are honest and right, not otherwise, and you know
well, Madge, that your father, were he in possession of all his
senses, would never sanction such a course; and furthermore, Madge,
I firmly believe that the very thought of it is consuming the few
drops of blood that vainly try to give warmth to the broken heart."
"Jennie Montgomery, if you have one spark of pity, forbear. It is
cruel to upbraid me with being my father's murderess, when I would
willingly give my life to save him. Oh! Jennie, you cannot mean what
you say. Oh! my poor father."
Marguerite was now an object of pity. Her hands were clasped above
her head, and in that half-prostrate position she seemed a living
representation of some Grecian maid who, more than two thousand
years in the past, with like struggles, had climbed the marble steps
leading to the Acropolis and with lips pallid as the ivory temple
near, wailed out her woes to the myriads of deities that met her
despairing gaze.
But for the nonce Jennie Montgomery had steeled her heart and looked
as indifferent as a Zeno.
"It will do her good. There is more work on hand yet"--these and
other remarks of a like nature escaped the daring girl as she rose
to her feet and glanced at the angry clouds trooping along the grey
November sky like hordes of insatiable warriors bent upon further
deeds of prowess.
"Cousin Jennie!"
"Yes, Madge," said the latter going toward her cousin with as much
composure as if their conversation had been of the most common
place.
"Cousin Jennie," said Marguerite raising herself with an air of
determination, "I thank you for your harsh but wholesome words. They
have given rise to a train of thoughts which I shall soon put to the
test and you, my dear, must await the result."
"What now, coz? If it be anything that will relieve you from such
disgraceful bonds, I will enter into it body and soul."
* * * * *
"Better to-day, dearest papa? I am so glad," and Marguerite rained
kisses upon the emaciated cheeks.
"And cousin Jennie is here to congratulate you upon looking so
well," Marguerite now motioned her cousin to the bedside.
"Uncle Stephen," said the girl taking the trembling hands between
her own, "you must hurry and get well for I'm not going to leave
here until you do."
Marguerite having supplanted the nurse for the entire afternoon and
having taken the precaution to learn from the good old doctor that
her cheerful presence would do good turned the occasion to the best
possible account.
Side by side sat the two maidens in striking but happy contrast.
Cousin Jennie's neatly fitting frock of wine-colored serge was
relieved by point lace collar and cuffs, the work of her own deft
fingers, while a cluster of white geranium served to complete the
toilet and give a subdued tone to the highly brilliant complexion.
Marguerite's plain black cashmere with bodice of rich velvet
harmonized most exquisitely with her soft _spirituelle_ beauty
and set off the purity of the purely transparent complexion.
How many have gazed with tearful eye upon that most bewitching of
portraits, that of Mary Queen of Scots in costume of black velvet,
time-honored ruff, and as reminder of her belief, the massive jet
crucifix was suspended from the most perfect neck that was ever
fashioned by the hand of the Divine Craftsman.
It is while gazing upon Marguerite Verne that our thoughts carry us
back to the ill-fated queen and as we note the striking personal
resemblance, thank a kind Providence that the maiden's lot has been
cast in happier days and in a land not blighted by the harrowing
associations of those stormy times.
But to our subject. The dutiful daughter goes softly toward the bed
and raising the shrivelled hand from the snowy coverlid looks into
the languid eyes as if she would read the thoughts which she now
longed to hear.
"Papa I want to say something. Will you promise me that you will not
get excited. You know I am under orders."
"Nothing will excite me now my child. Excitement is only fit for the
people of the earth, and I am now already on the verge of another
and I trust a better world."
Marguerite would fain have urged her father to forbear, but she knew
full well that it was the truth.
"Well, papa, we are all in the hands of God. He will do what he
thinks is best for us."
The quivering lips and tremulous tones gave expression to the
overflowing heart, but the girl bore up bravely.
"Papa, here is my accuser," said she, grasping Cousin Jennie by the
hand and drawing her forcibly to his side. "Now, dearest, tell papa
what you told me in the library."
Cousin Jennie trembled somewhat. She was alarmed lest her words
might add to the grief of the dying man. But she must not waver now,
and in measured tones she repeated almost word for word the same
conversation which had so deeply affected the sensitive Marguerite.
Mr. Verne listened, and as the girl proceeded his eye kindled and
his lips moved as if in deep gratitude.
Cousin Jennie's eyes now flashed upon Marguerite, and as if by
intuition Mr. Verne's also sought his daughter.
"My child, this may be the last question I shall ever ask you!
Answer me truly! Do you love Hubert Tracy with a deep and tender
love--such a love as a true woman gives to her husband?"
There was silence deep as death, then a sweet voice, murmured:
"Papa, I know it is sinful, but I cannot! Oh! I cannot love him!"
"God be praised for these comforting words. Come close my child."
Marguerite had her face down upon the pillow, calmly awaiting the
loved voice--the voice that ere long would be silent forever!
Mr. Verne had been tenderly raised to a sitting position, and
supported by pillows, he was comfortable and easy. A smile lighted
up his countenance and he looked calm and happy.
"Marguerite, my child, in presence of God and his holy angels, I ask
you now to make me a solemn promise--I can ask you now, thank God,
with a feeling of delight--promise me that you will from this hour
renounce that bad and unprincipled man--Hubert Tracy."
Marguerite was bewildered. What knowledge had of late been imparted
to her father? But it matters not. She is not to question, and with
firm voice, exclaimed: "As Heaven is my witness I hereby break the
bonds that bind me to Hubert Tracy," and as if some invisible aid
had been wafted from that upper world the costly solitaire, diamond
dropped upon the floor and rolled into a darkened recess, where for
the time it was safe from human eyes!