"Doctor Grey, had you possessed a tithe of the ingenuity of
Peiresc, you might long ago have interpreted the deep, dark
incisions in my character, which, like the indentations on his
celebrated amethyst, show where the _laminae_ of luckless events
inscribed my history with mournful ciphers. Elsie's hints would have
furnished any woman with a clew; but, since you have not availed
yourself of their aid, I must lift the shroud that hides the corpse of
my youth, my happiness, my faith in man, my hope in God. Ah! unto what
shall I liken it? This ruined, wretched thing I call my life? To the
_Tauk e Kerra_,--standing in a dreary waste, lifting its vast,
keyless arch helplessly to heaven? Even such a crumbling arch,
beautiful and grand in its glorious promise, is the incomplete,
crownless life of Agla Gerome,--a lonely and melancholy monument of a
gigantic failure. Two months before my birth, my father, Henderson
Flewellyn, died, and when I was three hours old, my poor young mother
followed him, leaving me to the care of her nurse, Elsie Maclean,
and of an old uncle who was at that time residing in Copenhagen.
Having no relatives to dictate, Elsie named me Vashti, for my
mother; but my great-uncle wrote that my baptism must be deferred
until he could be present, and instructed her to call me Evelyn,
after himself. But the stubborn Scotch will would not bend, and my
name was written in the family Bible, Vashti Flewellyn. Before the
expiration of three years, Mr. Mitchell Evelyn died, bequeathing his
fortune to me, as Evelyn Flewellyn, and consigning me to the
guardianship of Mr. Lucian Wright, a widowed minister of New York. I
was a feeble, sickly child, hovering continually upon the confines of
death, and, as city air was deemed injurious to me, Elsie kept me
at a farm-house on the Hudson, belonging to the estate that I was
destined to inherit. Here I remained until my tenth year, when Mr.
Wright removed me to the vicinity of Albany, and placed me under
the care of his maiden sister, who had a small class of girls to
educate. Elsie accompanied and watched over me, and here I spent four
quiet, happy years; but the death of my teacher set me once more
afloat, and I was carried to New York, and left at a large and
fashionable boarding-school. I was fond of study, and boundlessly
ambitious, and soon formed a warm, close friendship with a teacher who
entered the institution after I became one of its inmates. I had no
one to love but Elsie, who never left me, and consequently, I gave
to Edith Dexter, the young teacher, all the affection that I would
have lavished on parents, brothers, and sisters, had they been granted
to me. She was several years my senior, and the loveliest woman I ever
saw. Reared in affluence, her family had become impoverished, and
Edith was thrown upon her own resources for a support. My father's
fortune was very large, and the property left me by Mr. Evelyn swelled
my estate to very unusual proportions. Mr. Wright had carefully
attended to the investment of the income, and I was regarded as the
heiress of enormous wealth. Tenderly attached to Edith, whose
beauty, intelligence, and varied accomplishments rendered her
peculiarly attractive, I loaded her with presents, and determined
that as soon as my educational career ended, I would establish
myself in an elegant residence on Fifth Avenue, take Edith to live
under my roof, treat her always as my sister, and share my ample
fortune with her. Dr. Grey, you can form no adequate conception of
the depth of the love I entertained for her. Day and night my busy
brain devised schemes for lightening her labors, for promoting her
happiness; and I spared no exertion to shield her from the petty
vexations and humiliating annoyances incident to her situation.
Waking, I prayed for her; sleeping in her arms, I dreamed of the
future we should spend together. At the close of the session, she
went into Vermont to visit her invalid mother, and I to Mr. Wright's
quiet home, to remain until the end of vacation. The minister was a
kind-hearted but weak old man, who treated me tenderly, and humored
every caprice that attacked my brain. I had never before been his
guest, and here, at his house, on the second day of my sojourn, I
met his favorite nephew, Maurice Carlyle."
Mrs. Gerome uttered the name through firmly set teeth, and the blue
cords on her forehead tangled terribly.
Clenching her fingers, she drew a long breath, and continued,--
"At that time, he was by far the most fascinating, and certainly the
handsomest man I have ever met, and when I recall the beauty of his
face, the grace of his manner, the noble symmetry of his figure, and
the sparkling vivacity of his conversation, I do not wonder that from
the first hour of our acquaintance he charmed me. I was but a child, a
proud, impulsive young thing, full of romance, full of wild dreams of
manly chivalry and feminine constancy and devotion; and Maurice
Carlyle seemed the perfect incarnation of all my glowing ideals of
knightly excellence and heroism. He was thirty,--I not yet sixteen; he
poor and fastidious,--I generous and trusting, and possessed of one of
the largest estates on the continent. He had spent much of his life
abroad, and was as polished as any courtier who ever graced St. Cloud
or St. James; I an impetuous young simpleton, who knew nothing of the
world, save those tantalizing glimpses snatched from behind the bars
of a boarding-school. Here, examine these portraits, while the light
still lingers, and you will see the woful disparity that existed
between us at that period. They were painted a fortnight after I met
him."
She opened a velvet case, and laid before her companion two oval ivory
miniatures, richly set with large pearls.
Dr. Grey took them both in his hand, and, by the dull, lurid glow that
tipped a ridge of clouds lying along the western horizon, he saw two
pictures.
One, a remarkably handsome man, with brilliant black eyes and regular
features, and a cast of countenance that forcibly reminded him of the
likenesses of Edgar A. Poe, while the expression denoted more of
chicane than chivalry in his character. The other, a fresh, sweet,
girlish face, eloquent with innocence and purity, with clear, gray
eyes, overhung by jetty lashes, and overarched by black brows, while a
mass of dark hair was heaped in short curls on her forehead and
temples, and fell in long ringlets over her neck.
Dr. Grey looked at Mrs. Gerome, and now at the portrait, but the
resemblance could nowhere be traced, save in the delicate yet haughty
arch of the eyebrows, and the dainty moulding of the faultless nose.
While he glanced from one to the other, she placed a third miniature
beside those in his hand, and he started at sight of a surpassingly
lovely countenance, which recalled the outlines of one that he had
left in his library three hours before, where Miss Dexter sat reading
to Muriel.
"There you have the gods of my old worship,--Edith and Maurice. Can
you wonder at my infatuation?"
She took the pictures, and a derisive smile distorted her lips, as she
looked shiveringly at them, and hastily replaced them on their velvet
cushions. Closing the spring with a convulsive snap, she tossed the
case on the terrace, whence it fell to the grass below; and drew her
blue velvet drapery closer around her.
"Dr. Grey, you know quite enough of human nature to anticipate what
followed. Three days after I met Maurice Carlyle, he swore deathless
devotion to his 'gray-eyed angel,' and offered me his hand. Ah! when
I recall that evening, and think of the words uttered so tenderly, so
passionately, when I summon before me that radiant face, and
listen again to the voice that so utterly bewitched me, the
remembrance maddens me, and I feel a murderous hate of my race
stirring my blood into fierce throbs. With my hands folded in his,
we planned our future, painted visions that made my brain reel,
and when his lips touched my forehead, as sacred seal of our
betrothal, I felt that earth could add nothing to my blessed lot. Of
course Mr. Wright warmly sanctioned my choice, drugging his
conscience with the reflection that if Maurice was extravagant and
inert, my fortune would obviate the necessity of his attending to his
nominal profession, that of the law. The old man insisted, however,
that as I was a mere child, we must defer our marriage two years. Mr.
Carlyle frowned, and vowed he could not live more than twelve months
without his 'peerless prize,' and like any other silly girl, I
believed it as unhesitatingly as I did the lessons from the gospels
that were read to us night and morning. What cloudless days flew
over my young head, during the ensuing month; days wherein I never
tired of kneeling and thanking God for the marvellous blessing of
Maurice Carlyle's love. Life was mantling in a crystal goblet, like
_eau de vie de Dantzic_, and I could not even taste it without
watching the gold sparkles rise and fall and flash; and how could
I dream, then, that the draught was not brightened with gilt leaves,
but really flavored with _curare_? The only drawback to my happiness
was Elsie's opposition to my engagement, and Mr. Carlyle's refusal to
allow me to acquaint Edith with my betrothal. He was so 'furiously
jealous of that yellow-haired woman whom his darling loved too well.'
It would be quite time enough to inform her of my happiness when I
returned to school. From the beginning, Elsie distrusted, disliked,
and eyed him suspiciously, but her expostulations and arguments only
strengthened his influence, and partially overthrew hers. One day Mr.
Carlyle sought me in great haste, and with considerable agitation
informed me that he had been unexpectedly summoned abroad. Business,
with the details of which he tenderly forbore to weary me, would
detain him many months in Europe, and he implored me to consent to
a private marriage before his departure. Mr. Wright was in very
feeble health, had been threatened with paralysis, and my ardent
lover would be too unendurably miserable separated from me, when
death might at any moment rob me of my guardian. I consented, and
hastened to obtain Mr. Wright's sanction. That day chanced to be one
of his despondent, hypochondriacal seasons, and after some persuasion
on my part, and much sophistry from his nephew, the weak old man
yielded. Then my lover pressed his advantage, and vowed he could
never leave me, that his young bride must accompany him to London,
that my mind would be too much engrossed by thoughts of him to permit
the possibility of my studying advantageously in his absence, and
that he would assume the responsibility of superintending and
perfecting his wife's education. Mr. Wright demurred; Mr. Carlyle
raved; I wept. Maurice clasped me in his arms, and in the midst of
my tears and pleadings, my guardian succumbed. It was arranged that
our marriage should take place within a fortnight, and that we
should immediately start to Europe. Poor Elsie!--truest, wisest,
best friend God ever gave me,--was enraged and distressed beyond
expression. She wept, wrung her hands, and falling on her knees
entreated me not to execute my insane purpose,--assured me I was a
lamb led to sacrifice, was the victim of an infamous scheme between
uncle and nephew to possess themselves of my estate, and she
exhausted argument and persuasion in attempting to recall my
wandering common sense. Much as I loved her, this bitter vituperation
of my idol incensed and estranged me, and I temporarily forbade her
to enter my presence. Poor, dear, devoted Elsie! When my heart
relented, and I sought her to assure her of my forgiveness, tears
and groans greeted me, and I found her sitting at the foot of her bed,
with her face hidden in her apron."
Stretching her arms towards the grave, Mrs. Gerome paused; her lips
quivered, and two tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Ah! dear old heart! Brave, true, tender soul! How different my lot
would have been had I heeded her prayers and counsel! Not until I lie
down yonder, and mingle my dust with hers, can I, even for an instant,
forget her faithful, sleepless care and love. I believe she is the
only human being who was ever tenderly and truly attached to me, and
God knows I learned before I lost her how much her affection was
worth."
The cold, ringing voice grew tremulous, wavering, and some moments
passed before Mrs. Gerome continued,--
"Mr. Carlyle preferred a private wedding, but I insisted upon a
ceremony at the church where Mr. Wright officiated, and immediately
telegraphed to Edith, requesting her presence as bridesmaid, and
offering to provide her outfit and defray all expenses, if she would
accompany us to Europe. My betrothed bit his lip, and objected; but on
this point, at least, I was firm, and assured him I would not be
married unless Edith could be with me. She wrote, declining my
invitation to Europe, but came to New York, the day of my wedding.
When I look back at what followed, I have a vague, confused feeling,
similar to that which results from taking opium. Mr. Carlyle had
positively interdicted my taking Elsie to Europe, assuring me that his
wife should not be in leading-strings to a spoiled and presumptuous
nurse, and promising me that, when we returned to America, she might
occupy the position of housekeeper in our establishment. Absorbed by
my own supreme happiness, I scarcely saw Edith until we were dressed
for the ceremony, and when she came and leaned against the table where
the bridal presents were arranged, I noticed that she was pale and
much agitated, but ascribed her emotion to grief at my approaching
departure. Several of my schoolmates officiated as bridesmaids, and a
large party assembled at the church to witness the marriage. Mr.
Carlyle was a great favorite in society, and his friends were invited
to the wedding breakfast at the parsonage. It was on the bright
morning of my sixteenth birthday, when I stood before the altar and
listened to and uttered the words that made me a wife. Every syllable,
every intonation, of the minister's voice is branded on my memory as
with a red-hot iron: 'Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband,
to live together after God's ordinance, in the holy estate of
matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, serve him, love, honor, and keep him,
in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only
unto him, so long as ye both shall live?' And there, before the altar,
with the stained glass making a rainbow behind the pulpit, I answered,
'_I will_.' Oh, Dr. Grey, pity me! pity me!"
A cry of anguish escaped her, and she extended her arms until her
hands rested on her companion's shoulder.
In silence he bent his head, and put his lips to the tightly clasped
fingers.
"Tell me, sir,--if that vow means that man may make a plaything of
God's statutes? If it binds for one hour, does it not bind while life
lasts?"
"'_So long as ye both shall live_,'" answered Dr. Grey, solemnly; and
he gently removed her hand, and drew himself a little farther from
her.
She was too painfully engrossed by sad reminiscences to notice the
action, and resumed her narrative.
"There was a gay party at the breakfast, and I could not remove my
fascinated eyes from the radiant face of my husband, who had never
seemed half so princely as now, when he was wholly my own. Once he
bent his handsome head to mine, and whispered, '_La Peregrina_,' the
pet name he had given me, because he averred that, in his estimation,
my love was worth as many ducats as that celebrated pearl of Philip.
'_La Peregrina_,' indeed! Ah! he melted it in gall and hemlock, and
drained it at his wedding feast. My heart was so overflowing with
happiness that I slipped my fingers into his, and, in answer to his
fond epithet, whispered, 'Maurice, my king.'"
The speaker was silent for a moment, and an expression of disgust and
scorn usurped the place of mournfulness.
"Dr. Grey, I deserved my punishment, for no Aztec ever worshipped his
stone God more devoutly than I did my black-eyed, smooth-lipped idol.
'Thou shalt have no other gods before me.' Ah! my 'graven image'
seemed so marvellously godlike that I bowed down before it; and there,
in the midst of my adoration, the curse of idolatry smote me. Half
bewildered by the rapture that made my heart throb almost to
suffocation, I stole away from the guests and hid myself in the small
hot-house attached to Mr. Wright's study, longing for a little quiet
that would enable me to realize all the blessedness of my lot. With
childish glee I toyed with my title,--with my new name,--Maurice
Carlyle's wife--Evelyn Carlyle! How pretty it sounded,--how holy it
seemed! My future was as brilliant as that vast enchanted hall into
which poor Nouronihar was enticed through her insane love for Vathek,
and, like hers, my illusion was dispelled by a decree that strangled
hope in my heart, and enveloped it in flames."
Here the flood of melancholy memories drowned her words, and, crossing
her arms on the stone balustrade, she sat silent and moody.
In the dusky, crepuscular light, Dr. Grey could no longer discern the
emotions that printed themselves so legibly on her countenance; but
the outline of her face, and the listless, hopeless droop of her
figure, curved between him and the dun waste of waters.
Overhead a few dim, hazy stars shivered on the ragged skirts of
trailing gray clouds, and the ceaseless rustle of the shuddering
poplars formed a mournful accompaniment to the muttering of the ocean,
whose weary waves were sobbing themselves to rest, like scourged but
unconquered children.
"I thank you for your patience, Dr. Grey. You forbear to hurry me,
even as you would shrink from rudely jostling or pushing forward the
mattock which slowly digs into a grave,--removing human mould and
crumbling coffin, searching for the skeleton beneath. Exhuming human
bones is melancholy work, but sadder still is the mission of one who
disinters the ashes of a woman's love, hope, and faith. Across the
centre of Mr. Wright's hot-house ran a light trellis of fine
lattice-work cut into an arch and covered with the dense luxuriant
foliage of the bignonia trained over it. Behind this screen I had
ensconced my happy self, and sat idly bruising the leaves of a rose
geranium that chanced to be near me, when my blissful reverie was
interrupted by the sound of that voice which had stolen my heart, my
reason, my common sense. Believing that he had missed and was
searching for his bride, I rose and peeped through the glossy leaves
of the clambering vine that divided us. Not four feet distant stood my
husband of an hour, with his arms clasped fondly around Edith, who, in
a broken, passionate voice, denounced his perfidy and heartlessness.
Vehemently he pleaded for an opportunity to exculpate himself, and
there, tearful and sobbing, with her head on his bosom, my friend
listened to an explanation that was destined to enlighten more than
one person. From his lips I learned that he had become entangled in
certain financial difficulties that involved his honor as a gentleman;
he had used money to enable him to embark in a speculation which, if
successful, would have afforded him the means of marrying in
accordance with the dictates of his heart; but, like the majority of
nefarious schemes, it failed signally, and fear of detection, and the
absolute necessity of obtaining a large amount of money, had goaded
him to the desperate step of sacrificing his happiness and offering
his hand to me. He strained her to his breast, kissed her repeatedly,
and impiously called God to witness that he loved her, and her only,
truly, tenderly; that never for an instant had his affection wandered
from her, 'his beautiful, idolized darling.' He bitterly denounced his
folly, cursed the hour that had thrown me and my fortune in his path,
and swore that he utterly loathed and despised the silly child whose
wealth alone had made her his dupe; and, as he flatteringly expressed
it, his 'hated and intolerable incubus.' He had intended to spare her
and himself the agony of this hour,--had determined to remain always
in Europe, where he could escape the mocking contrast of his bride and
his beloved. With indescribable scorn, and a wonderful fertility of
derisive epithets, he held me up, as on the point of a scalpel, and
proved the utter impossibility of his having been influenced by any
other than the most grossly mercenary motives; while, between the
bursts of invective against me, he lavished upon her a hundred fond,
tender, passionate phrases of endearment that had never been applied
to me. Pressing one hand on her head, he raised the other, and called
Heaven to witness, that, although the world might regard him as the
husband of 'that sallow, gray-eyed, silly girl,' whose gold alone had
bought his name, the only woman he could ever love was his own
beautiful Edith; and, should death come to his aid and free him from
the detested bond that linked him to the heiress, he swore he would
not lose a day in claiming the lovely wife that fate had denied him.
All this, and much more, which I have not now the requisite patience
to recapitulate, fell on my ears, startling me more painfully than the
trumpet-blast of the Last Judgment will ever do. Standing there, in my
costly bridal robe, I listened to the revelation that blotted out all
sun and moon and stars from my life,--that made earth a dismal Sheol
and the future a howling desolation,--a dreary wilderness of woe. In
my agony and shame I clenched my hands so savagely, one upon the
other, that my diamond betrothal-ring cut sharply into the quivering
flesh, and blood-drops oozed and dripped on my shining gossamer veil
and white velvet dress. In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, my
whole nature was metamorphosed; and my coming years swept in panoramic
vision before me, beckoning me to the prompt performance of a stern
and humiliating duty. The blood in my veins seemed to hiss and bubble
like a seething cauldron, and my heart fired with a hate for which
language has no name, no garb, no provision; but my brain kept
faithful guard, and reason calmly pointed out my future path. When Mr.
Carlyle ended his tirade against me and his curses on his own folly, I
moved forward into the arch and confronted my dethroned and defiled
gods. If the tedious years of the primitive patriarchs could be
allotted to me they would never suffice to efface the picture that
lingers in deep, hot lines on my memory, and pursues me as ruthlessly
as the avenging cross followed and tortured the miserable fugitive in
Gustave Dore's '_Le Juif errant_,' or the Eyeless Christ that proved a
haunting Nemesis to the Empress Irene. Edith's lovely face was on his
bosom, and his false, handsome lips were pressed to hers. So, I met my
husband and my dearest friend, one hour after the utterance of vows
that were perhaps still echoing in the courts of heaven. Such
spectacles of human perfidy are the real Medusas that Gorgonize
trusting, tender, throbbing hearts, and in view of this one I laughed
aloud,--laughed so unnaturally that it was no marvel I was called a
maniac. At sight of my desperate white face Edith shrieked and
fainted, and Maurice blanched and stammered and cowered. Without a
word of comment or recrimination I silently passed on to my own room,
where Elsie was waiting to clothe me in my travelling-suit. In three
hours the steamer would sail, and I had little leisure for resolution
and execution. Summoning the lawyer to whose care my estate was
entrusted, I requested him to call Mr. Wright and Mr. Carlyle into the
dressing-room that adjoined my apartment, and there I held an audience
with the three who were most interested in my career. Briefly I
explained what had occurred, and announced my determination, then and
there, to separate forever from the man who could never be more than
my nominal husband. I told them I held marriage, next to the Lord's
Supper, the holiest sacrament instituted by God, but mine had been an
infamous mockery, an unpardonable sin against me, and an insult to
Heaven, whose blessing could never rest upon it. Marriage, without
sanctifying love, was unhallowed, was a transgression of divine law,
and a crime against my womanhood which neither God nor man should
forgive. Maurice Carlyle had perjured himself,--had never loved the
woman who went with him to the altar,--and the affection that had
stirred my heart one hour before, was now as dead as the Pharaohs
hidden for centuries under the pyramids. We two, who had sworn to
love, honor, and cherish one another, now hated and despised each
other beyond all possibility of expression; and I considered it a
heinous sin to perpetuate the awful mockery, to cling to the letter of
a contract that bade defiance to every impulse of heart and soul,--to
every dictate of reason and decree of conscience. Wedded lives and
divided hearts I believed a crime, and while I admitted that man could
not put asunder those whom God's statutes joined together, I contended
that Mr. Carlyle's perjury rendered it sinful for him and me to reside
under the same roof. I could not recognize the validity of divorces,
for human hands could not unlink God's fetters, and man's law had no
power to free either of us from the bonds we had voluntarily assumed
in the invoked presence of Jehovah. I would neither accept nor permit
a divorce, for, in my estimation, it was not worth the paper that
framed it, and was a species of sacrilegious trifling; but I would
never live as the wife of a man who had repeatedly declared he had not
an atom of affection for me. _Under some circumstances I deemed
separation a woman's duty_, and while I fully comprehended the awful
import of the vow '_Till death us do part_,' and denied that human
legislators could free us, or annul the marriage, I was resolved,
while life lasted, to consider myself a duped, an unloved, but a
lawful wife,--a woman consecrated by solemn oaths that no human action
could cancel. Since money was the bait, I was willing to divide my
fortune as the price of a quiet separation; and though from that hour
I intended to quit his presence forever, and regard the tie that
linked us as merely nominal, I would allow him a liberal income until
I attained my majority and would liquidate all his present debts. To
your imagination, Dr. Grey, I leave the details of what ensued,--my
guardian's remorseful grief, my lawyer's wonder and expostulation, Mr.
Carlyle's confusion, chagrin, and rage. He pleaded, argued,
threatened; but he might as well have attempted to catch and restrain
in the hollow of his hand the steady sweep of Niagara, as hope to
change my purpose. My terms were fixed, and I gave him permission to
tell the world what he chose concerning this strange _denouement_ of
the wedding feast. If I could only go away at once, I cared not what
the public thought or said; and finally, finding me no longer a
yielding child, but a desperate, stern, relentless woman, my terms
were acceded to. Briefly we discussed the legal provisions, and I
signed some hastily prepared papers that settled a bountiful annuity
upon Mr. Carlyle. My trunks were sent to the steamer, the carriage was
brought to the door, and in the presence of my guardian and the
lawyer, I announced my desire never to look again upon the man who
had so completely blighted my life. In silence I laid upon the table
my betrothal and wedding rings, and the sparkling diamond cross that
had constituted my bridal present. No word of reproach passed my lips,
for women love when they upbraid, and only aching, fond hearts furnish
stinging rebukes; but I hated and scorned the author of my ruin too
utterly to indulge in crimination and reproach. So we two, who had
just been pronounced man and wife, who had clasped hands and linked
hearts and lives until we should stumble into the tomb,--we, Maurice
Carlyle and Evelyn, his bride, four hours married, stood up and looked
at each other for the last time. During the interview I had addressed
no remark to him, and the last words I ever uttered to him were
contained in that sentence fondly whispered when he bent over me at
the table, 'Maurice, my king.' As I bade adieu to my guardian, and
paused before the princely figure whom the world called my husband,
our eyes met, and he flushed, and muttered, 'You will rue your
rashness.' Silently I looked on the handsome features that had so
suddenly grown loathsome to me, and he snatched my wedding ring from
the table and held it appealingly towards me, saying remorsefully,
'Evelyn, my wife, forgive your wretched husband!' Without a word, or a
touch of his outstretched hands, I turned and went down to the
carriage, where my faithful nurse sat weeping and waiting. One hour
later, the vessel swung from her moorings, and Elsie and I were soon
at sea. A girl only sixteen, four hours married, separated forever
from husband and friends,--without hope or faith in either human or
heavenly things,--hating, with most intolerable intensity, the man
whose name she had just assumed, and to whom she felt indissolubly
bound, in accordance with the vow '_So long as ye both shall live_.'"
Out of the tossing, moaning sea, the moon had risen slowly, breaking
through a rent scarf of cloud that barred her solemn, white disc,
and silvering the foam of the racing waves that seemed to reflect
the glittering fringe of the scudding vapor in the chill vault above
them. There was no mellow radiance, no golden lustre such as
southern moons are wont to shed, but a weird, fitful glitter on
sea and land, that now shone with startling vividness, and anon
waned, until sombre shadows seemed stalking in spectral ranks from
some distant, gloomy ocean lair. It was one of those melancholy
nights when the supernatural realm threatened to impinge upon the
physical, that shuddered and shrank from the contact,--when the
atmosphere gave vague hints of ghostly denizens, and every passing
breeze seemed laden with sepulchral damps and vibrating with
sepulchral sounds.
Mrs. Gerome sat erect, with her hands resting on the balustrade, and
under that mysteriously white moon her pearl-pale face looked as
hopelessly cold and rigid as any Persepolitan sphinx, that nightly
fronts the immemorial stars which watch the ruined tombs of
Chilminar.
Raising her fingers to her forehead, she lifted and shook a band of
the shining white hair, and resumed her narration, in the same steady,
passionless tone.
"These gray locks were the fruit of that bridal day, for, on the
afternoon that we sailed, I was taken very ill with what was called
congestion of the brain,--was unconscious throughout the voyage, and
when we reached Liverpool, my hair, once so black and glossy, was as
you see it now. Ah! how often, since that time, have I heard poor
Elsie mourning over my mother's untimely death, and quoting that
ancient superstition, 'You should never wean a child while trees are
in blossom; otherwise it will have gray hair.' Mr. Wright was so
prostrated by grief at what had occurred, that he survived my departure
only a few weeks; and at his death, Mr. Carlyle attempted to seize and
control my estate. Urging the plea of my minority, he insisted upon
assuming the charge of my property, and in order to consummate his
avaricious designs, and screen his name from opprobrium, he told the
world that I was hopelessly insane; and that the discovery of this
fact, one hour after his marriage, had induced him to send me abroad
under the care of a faithful and judicious nurse. To give plausibility
to this statement, a paragraph was inserted in the New York papers
announcing that I was a raving maniac and an inmate of an English
asylum for lunatics. Mr. Clayton, my lawyer, was the sole surviving
witness of my final interview, and of its financial provisions; and,
had he yielded to bribes and threats which were unsparingly offered,
God only knows what would have been my fate, since the tender mercies
of my husband destined me to the cheerful and attractive precincts of
a mad-house. To Mr. Clayton's stern integrity and brave defence, I am
indebted for the preservation of my fortune and the defeat of a
daring and iniquitous scheme to arrest me in London and commit me to the
custody of an asylum-warden. Fortunately for me, he lived long enough
to transfer to my own guardianship, when I attained my majority, the
estate which had cost me every earthly hope. Six months after my
departure from America I bade farewell to Europe, and plunged into
the most remote and unfrequented portions of the East, where I wished to
remain unknown and unnoticed. In a half-defiant and half-superstitious
mood, I had assumed the talismanic and mystical name of Alga Gerome,
with the faint hope that it might shield me from the intrigues and
persecutions which I felt assured would always dog the steps of
Evelyn Carlyle. Having appointed a cautious and confidential agent in
New York and Paris, I destroyed all traces of my whereabouts, and
became as utterly lost to the world as though the portals of the
grave had closed upon me. Without friends, and accompanied only by
Elsie and her son Robert, I lived year after year in wandering through
strange lands. Books and pictures were my solace, and to strangle time
I first devoted myself to drawing and painting. After a while I came
back to Rome, and frequented the studios and galleries, perfecting
myself in the mechanical department of Art. But fear of encountering
some familiar face drove me from the Eternal City, and a sudden whim
took me to Madeira, where I spent the only portion of my life to
which I recur with any degree of satisfaction. There, surrounded by
magnificent scenery, and safe from intrusion, I intended to drag out
the remainder of my dreary years; but poor Elsie grew so restless, so
homesick, so impatient to visit the graves of her household band, that I
finally allowed myself to be persuaded into returning to my native land.
Robert preceded us, and purchased this secluded spot, which I had
stipulated must be upon the sea-shore and secure from all intrusion.
Avoiding New York, I came reluctantly to Boston, thence to 'Solitude,'
without seeing or hearing of any whom I had once known. When I was
twenty-one, I transferred to Mr. Carlyle the sum of thirty thousand
dollars, as a final settlement; but my agent scrupulously obeyed my
instructions, and no human being, save himself, is aware of my place
of residence or the name under which I am sheltered. Strenuous
efforts have been made by Mr. Carlyle to unearth his wretched dupe,
but since I left England, nearly eight years ago, he has been unable
to discover any trace of my location. From time to time I received
bills, contracted by him, and paid by my lawyer after I left New York;
and in my escritoire are two accounts of jewellers, where I find
charged the flashing ring and costly diamond cross, which I refused
to retain but for which I paid, after my separation. Prone to
dissipation, Mr. Carlyle plunged into excesses that would have
squandered royal portions, and my agent writes that his eagerness to
ascertain where I am residing has recently increased, in consequence of
his pecuniary necessities, although the terms of our separation deprive
him of every shadow of claim upon me or my purse. Such, Dr. Grey, is
the shattered idol of my girlish adoration,--such the divinity of dust
upon which I spent the treasures of my love and trust. Gray-haired,
gray-hearted, mocked, and maddened in the dawn of my confiding
womanhood, nominally a wife, but in reality a nameless waif, shut
out from happiness, and pitied as a maniac,--such, is that most
desolate and isolated woman, whom, as Agla Gerome, you have known as
the mistress of this lonely place. As for my name, I sometimes wonder
whether in the last great gathering in the court of Heaven, my own
mother will know what to call her unbaptized child,--whether the sins
charged against me will be read out as those of Vashti, or Evelyn,
or Agla. Elsie persistently clung to Vashti, and verily there seems
a grim fitness in her selection,--a dismal analogy between my
blasted life and that of the discrowned Persian Queen. Be that as it
may, if I miss a name I surely shall not miss the equity that man
denies me. '_So long as ye both shall live_.' When I look out in
springtime, over the blossoming earth, daisies, and violets, and
primroses range themselves into lines that spell out these hated words
of an ever-echoing vow, and if, in midnight hours, I raise my weary
eyes, the sleepless stars revengefully group themselves, and flash back
to me, in burning characters, '_Till death us do part_.' Up yonder,
behind sun, and planet, and nebulae, I shall look God in the face, and
pointing to my withered heart and blighted life, can say truly, 'At
least I kept the ruins free from perjury; there, at your feet, is the
oath unsullied, that I called you to accept on the awful day when I
knelt at your altar.' Love, honor, and obedience, Maurice Carlyle's
unworthiness rendered impossible; but the vow which consecrated and
set me apart, which forbade the thought that other men might offer
homage and affection, or even ordinary tributes of admiration, I
have kept sacredly and faithfully. I might have plunged into the
whirlpool of fashionable life, and found temporary oblivion of my
humiliation and disappointment; but from such a career my whole
being revolted, and in seclusion I have dragged out a dreary series of
years that can scarcely be termed life. Recently I have been honored by
several proposals for a divorce, on condition of an additional
settlement of money upon my eminently chivalric and devoted husband;
but my invariable reply has been, _human legislation is impotent to
cancel the statutes of Almighty God, which declare that only death
can free what Jehovah has joined together_, and the legal provisions
of man crumble and shrivel before the divine command, '_For the woman
which hath an husband is bound by the law to her husband so long as he
liveth_.' With what impatience, what ceaseless yearning, I await the
cold touch of that deliverer who alone can sever my galling,
detested fetters, none but the God above us can understand and
realize. The eagerness with which I once anticipated my bridal hour
does not approximate the intensity of my longing for the day of my
death. O merciful God! surely, surely, I have been sufficiently
tortured, and the tardy release can not be far distant."
She raised her face skyward, as if invoking Divine aid, but her wan
lips were voiceless; and only the song of the surf mingled with the
whisper of trembling poplars, whose fading leaves gleamed ghostly and
chill under the silver sheen of that broad white moon.
"There heavily, across the troubled night,
A warning comet trails her hideous hair,
And underneath, the wroth sea-waves are white."
During the hour in which Dr. Grey listened to the recital of this
woman's hapless career, she became as utterly dead to him as though
shroud and sepulchre had already claimed her; and when she ceased
speaking, he looked as sorrowfully down at her fair, frozen face, as
if the coffin-lid were shutting it forever from his view.
Henceforth she was as sacred in his sad eyes as some beloved corpse,
and bowing his head upon his hands, he prayed long but silently that
God would strengthen him for the duties of a desolate future,--would
sanctify this grievous disappointment to his eternal welfare, and
grant him power to lead heavenward the heart of the only woman whom he
had ever desired to call his own.
Putting away the beautiful dreams wherein this regal form had moved to
and fro as crown and queen of his home and heart, he calmly resigned
the cherished scheme that linked this woman's life with his; and felt
that he would gladly barter all his earthly hopes for the assurance,
that, throughout eternity, he might be allowed the companionship which
time denied him.
Mrs. Gerome rose, and folding her mantle around her, said proudly,--
"Married life, unhallowed by love, is more acceptable in your
righteous eyes than my isolated existence; and you have passed
sentence against me. So be it. Strange code of morality you Christians
hug to your hearts, squeezing the form that holds no spirit; but some
day I shall be acquitted by that incorruptible tribunal where God
alone has the right to judge us. Till then, farewell."
She turned to leave the terrace, but he arrested the movement, and
placed himself before her.
"You misinterpret my silence, if you suppose it was employed in
censuring your course. Pondering all that you have recapitulated, I
can conjecture no line of conduct towards your husband less deplorable
than that which you have pursued; and I honor the stern honesty and
integrity of purpose from which you have never swerved. Mrs. Carlyle,
I acquit you of all guilt, save that of impious defiance, of rebellion
against your God, whose grace could sweeten even the bitter dregs of
the cup you have well-nigh drained."
At the sound of her name, so long unuttered, she winced and writhed as
if some sensitive nerve had been suddenly pierced and torn; but
without heeding her emotion, Dr. Grey continued,--
"If your earthly lot has been stinted of sunshine, can you not bear a
little temporary gloom,--must you needs people it with adverse
witnesses, must you thicken the darkness with imprecations? You forget
that life is only the racecourse, not the goal,--that this world is
for human souls what the plain of Dura proved for the Hebrew trio who
braved its flames. Suppose you are lonely and bereft of the love that
might have cheered you? Was not Christ far more isolated and loveless?
In His fearful ordeal He was forsaken by God,--but to you remains the
everlasting promise, 'I will not leave you comfortless; I will come to
you.' O wretched woman! give your aching heart to Him who emptied it
of earthly idols in order to fit it up for His own temple.
'Is God less God, that thou art left undone?
Rise, worship, bless Him, in this sackcloth spun,
As in that purple.'"
Silently she listened, looking steadily up at his noble face, where
intense mental anguish had left unwonted pallor, and printed new
ciphers on brow and lips; and when his adjuration ended, she put out
her hand.
"That you do not condemn me is the most precious consolation you could
offer, for your good opinion is worth much to my proud, sensitive
soul. If all men were like you there would be no mutilated, ruined
lives, such as mine,--no nominal wives roaming up and down the world
in search of an obscure corner wherein to hide dishonored heads and
crushed hearts. God grant you some day a wife worthy of the noblest
man it has ever been my good fortune to meet. Good-by."
He did not accept the offered hand, and stood for a moment as if
struggling to master some impulse to which he could not yield. Perhaps
he dared not trust the touch of those gleaming, slender fingers that
had clasped a living husband's; or perchance he was so absorbed by
painful thoughts that he failed to observe them.
Laying his palm softly on her snowy head, he said tenderly,--
"Mrs. Carlyle, you have innocently, and I believe unconsciously,
caused me the keenest suffering I have ever endured; and I feel
assured you will not withhold the only reparation which you could
render, or I accept. Will you promise to consecrate the remainder of
your life to the service of Christ? Will you humble your defiant soul,
and so spend your future, that when this brief earthly pilgrimage ends
you can pass joyfully to the city of Rest? Girded with this hope, I
can brave all trials,--can be content to look upon your face no more
in this world,--can patiently wait for a reunion in that Eternal Home
where they which shall be accounted worthy to obtain that world, and
the resurrection from the dead, neither marry nor are given in
marriage."
"Oh, Dr. Grey, if it were possible!"
She clasped her hands and bowed her chin upon them, awed by his tones,
and unable to met his grave, pleading eyes.
"Faith and prayer are the talismans that render all things possible to
an earnest Christian; and it has been truly said 'We mount to heaven
mostly on the ruins of our cherished schemes, finding our failures
were successes.' Recollect,--
'There is a pleasure which is born of pain:
The grave of all things hath its violet,'
and do not indulge a corroding bitterness that has almost destroyed
the nobler elements of your nature. I will exact no promise, but when
I am gone, do not forget the request that my soul makes of yours. May
God point out your work and help you to perform it faithfully. May His
hand guide and uphold, and His merciful arms enfold you, now and
forever, is and shall be my prayer."
For a moment his hand lingered as if in benediction upon the drooping
gray head, then he quietly turned and walked away, knowing full well
that he was bidding adieu to the most precious of all earthly
objects,--that he too was shattering a lovely "graven image," before
which his heart had fondly bowed.
As the sound of his firm step died away, the lonely woman lifted her
face and looked after the form, vanishing in the gloom of the
overarching trees. When he had disappeared, and she turned seaward,
where the moon, as if inviting her to heaven, had laid a broad shining
band of beaten silver from wave to sky,--the miserable wife raised her
hands appealingly, and made a new covenant with her pitying God.
... "Wherefore thy life
Shall purify itself, and heal itself,
In the long toil of love made meek by tears."