"Merton, you are not conscious of the extent of your infatuation, which
has already excited comment in our limited circle of acquaintances."
"Indeed! The members of 'our limited circle of acquaintances' are
heartily welcome to whatever edification or amusement they may be able
to derive from the discussion of my individual affairs, or the
analysis of my peculiar tastes. You forget, my dear Constance, that to
devour and in turn be devoured is an inexorable law of this world; and
if my eccentricities furnish a _ragout_ for omnivorous society, I
should be philanthropically glad that tittle-tattledom owes me
thanks."
The speaker did not lay aside the newspaper that partially concealed
his countenance; and when he ceased speaking, his eyes reverted to the
statistical table of Egyptian and Algerine cotton, which for some
moments he had been attentively examining.
"My dear brother, you are spasmodically and provokingly philosophical!
Pray do me the honor to discard that stupid _Times_, which you pore
over as if it were the last sensation novel, and be so courteous as to
look at me while you are talking," replied the invalid sister, beating
a tattoo on the side of her couch.
"I believe I have nothing to communicate just now," was the quiet and
unsatisfactory answer, as he drew a pencil from his pocket and made
some numeral annotations on the margin of the statistics.
"Surely, Merton, you are not angry with your poor Constance?"
Merton Minge lowered his paper, restored the pencil to his vest
pocket, and wheeling his chair forward, brought himself closer to the
couch.
"I wish you were as far removed from fever as I certainly am from
anger. Your eyes are too bright, my pretty one."
He put his fingers on her pulse, and when he removed them, compressed
his lips to stifle a sigh.
"Why will you so persistently evade me?--why will you always change
the subject when I allude to that young lady?"
"Because, when a man attains the sober and discreet age of forty
years, he naturally and logically thinks he has earned, and is
entitled to, an exemption from the petty teasing to which sophomores
and sentimentalists are subjected. While I gratefully appreciate the
compliment implied in your forgetfulness, permit to remind you of the
disagreeable fact that I am no longer a boy."
"You lose sight of that same ugly and ill-mannered fact, much more
frequently than I am in danger of doing; and I affectionately suggest
that you stimulate your own torpid memory. Ah, brother! why will you
not be frank, and confide in me? Women are not easily hoodwinked,
except by their lovers,--and you can not deceive me in this matter."
"What pleasure do you suppose it would afford me to practice deceit of
any kind towards my only sister? To what class of motives could you
credit such conduct?"
"I think you shrink from acknowledging your real feelings, because you
very well know that I could never sanction or consent to them."
Mr. Minge arched his heavy brows, and the sternly drawn lines of his
large mouth relaxed, and threatened to run into curves that belonged
to the ludicrous, as he turned his twinkling eyes upon his sister's
face.
"What extraordinary hallucinations attack even sage, sedate,
middle-aged men? Ten minutes ago I would have sworn I was your
guardian; whereas, it seems your apron-strings are the reins that rule
me. Don't pout, my Czarina, if I demand your credentials before I bow
submissively to your _ukase_."
"Irony is not your forte; and, Merton, I beg you to recollect that I
detest bantering,--it is so excessively ungenteel. No wonder you look
nervous and ashamed, after your recent very surprising manifestation
of--well, I might as well say what I mean--of _mauvais gout_."
Constance Minge impatiently threw off the light worsted shawl that
rested on her shoulders, and propped her cheek on her jewelled hand.
Her brother's countenance clouded, and his lips hardened, but after
one keen look at her flushed features, he once more resumed the
perusal of the paper. Some moments elapsed, and his sister sobbed, but
he took no notice of the sound.
"Merton, I never expected you would treat me so cruelly."
"Make out your charges in detail, and when you are sure you have
included all the petty deeds of tyranny as well as the heinous acts of
brutality, I will examine the indictment, and hear myself arraigned.
Shall I bring you some legal cap, and loan you my pencil?"
For five minutes she held her handkerchief to her eyes, and then Mr.
Minge rose and looked at his watch.
"You will not be so unkind as to leave me again this afternoon, and
spend your time with that--"
"Constance, you transcend your privileges, and this is a most
_apropos_ and convenient occasion to remind you that presumption is
one fault I find it particularly difficult to forgive. Since my
forbearance only invites aggression, let me hear say (as an economy of
trouble), that you are rashly invading a realm where I permit none to
enter, much less to dictate. I hope you understand me."
"I knew it,--I felt it! I dreaded that artful girl would make mischief
between us,--would alienate the only heart I had left to care for me.
Oh, how I wish she had been forty fathoms under the sea before you
ever saw her!--before you ceased to love me!"
A flood of tears emphasized the sentence, which seemed lost upon Mr.
Minge, as he lighted a cigar, tried its flavor, threw it away, and
puffed the smoke from a second.
"I am sorry you can't smoke and compose your nerves, as I am preparing
to do,--though I confess I prefer to kiss your lips untainted by such
odors. Shall I?"
He held his cigar aside to prevent the wind from wafting the curling
column of smoke in her face, and bent his head close to hers; but she
put up her hand to prevent the caress, and averted her face.
"As you like. But mark you, Constance, the next time our lips touch,
you will find yourself in the nominative case, while I meekly fill an
objective position. You are a poor, wilful, spoiled child, and I must
begin to undo my own ruinous work."
He picked up his hat and walked off, followed by a pretty Italian
mouse-colored greyhound, whose silver bell tinkled as she ran down the
steps.
"Merton, come back! Do not leave me here alone, or I shall die.
Brother!--"
On strode the stalwart figure, looking neither to right nor left,
and behind him trailed the vaporous aroma of the fine cigar.
Raising herself on her couch, the invalid elevated her voice, and
exclaimed,--
"Please, dear Merton, come back,--at least long enough to let me kiss
you. Please, brother!"
He paused,--wavered,--drew geometrical figures on the ground with the
tip of his boot, and finally took off his hat, turned and bowed,
saying,--
"Show some flag of truce, if you really want me to return."
She raised her hands and gracefully tossed him several kisses.
Slowly Mr. Minge retraced his steps, and, as he sat down once more
close to his sister and pushed back his hat, she saw that he intended
her to realize that her reign was at an end; and she trembled and
turned pale at the expression with which he regarded her.
"Merton, don't you know--don't you believe--that I love you above
everything else?"
She sat erect, and stole one arm around the neck that did not bend
toward her, as was its habit.
"If you really loved me, you would desire to see me happy."
"I do desire it, earnestly and sincerely; and there is no sacrifice I
would not make to see you really happy."
"Provided I selected your mode of obtaining the boon, and moreover
consulted your caprices and antipathies; otherwise, my happiness would
annoy and insult you."
"Don't scold,--kiss me." She put up her lips, but he did not respond
to the motion, and she pettishly drew his head down and kissed him
several times. "How obstinate you have grown!--how harsh towards me!
It is all the result of that--"
She bit her lip, and her brother frowned.
"Take care! You seem continually disposed to stumble very awkwardly
into forbidden realms."
The petted invalid nestled her pretty head on his bosom, and patted
his cheek with one hot hand.
"Brother, Kate Sutherland was here this morning, and left--besides
numerous kind messages for you--a three-cornered note that I ordered
Adele to place in your dressing-case, where I felt sure you would see
it."
"Yes, I saw it."
"An invitation to ascend Monte Pellegrini?"
"Which I respectfully decline."
"O Merton! Why not go?"
"Simply because I never premeditatedly, and with _malice prepense_,
bore myself by joining parties composed of persons in whom I have not
an atom of interest."
"But Kate is so lovely?"
"Not to me."
"Nonsense! She was the handsomest young girl in Paris, and was the
acknowledged belle of the season."
"Possibly. Henna-dyed nails are considered irresistible in Turkey, but
your opalescent ones attract me infinitely more pleasantly."
"Pray what have my nails to do with Kate's beauty?"
"Nothing destructive, I hope,--as I am disposed to think she has
little to spare."
"Good heavens! You surely would not insinuate that you believe
or consider,--or would admit, that she is not vastly superior
to--to--there, Beauty, down! She is actually dining on the fringe
of my pelerine!"
To cover her confusion, Constance addressed herself to the diminutive
dog at her feet, and taking her flushed face in his hands, the brother
looked steadily down, and answered,--
"I never insinuate. It impresses me as a cowardly and contemptible bit
of plebeian practice that found favor after the royal purple was
trailed in agrarian democratic dust; and lest you should unjustly
impute abhorred innuendoes to me, I will say perspicuously, that the
most attractive and beautiful woman I have ever seen is not your fair
friend Miss Sutherland, nor any other darling of diamond and satin
sheen, but a young lady whom I admire beyond expression, Miss Salome
Owen."
An angry flush burned on the invalid's face, and her mouth curled
scornfully.
"She is rather handsome sometimes,--so are gypsies and other waifs;
but it is a wild sort of beauty,--if beauty you persist in terming it;
and low birth and blood are visible in everything that appertains to
her. I never expected to see my brother condescend to the level of
opera-singers, and I am astonished at your infatuation. There! you
need not expect to blast me with that fiery look, and besides, you
know you mentioned her name, which I had scrupulously avoided. I
confess I am very proud of my family, and of you, its sole male
representative, and I wish it preserved from all taint."
"Untainted it shall remain, while a drop of the blood throbs in my
veins, and I, who am jealous of my honor, have carefully pondered the
matter, and maturely decided that he who entrusts his happiness to
Salome Owen will be indeed an enviable man, and pardonably proud of
his prize. Once I bartered myself away at the altar, and gave my name
and hand for wealth, for aristocratic antecedents, for fashionable
status, and five years of purgatorial misery was the richly merited
penalty for the insult I offered my heart. Death freed me, and for ten
years I have lived at least in peace, indulging no thought of a second
alliance, and merely amused, or disgusted by the matrimonial snares
that have lined my path. I no longer belong to that pitiable class who
feel constrained to marry for position, and who convert the
altar-steps into so many rounds of the social ladder; and I have
earned the right to indulge my outraged heart in any caprice that
promises to mellow, to gild the evening of my life with that
home-sunshine that was denied its gloomy tempestuous morning. My
future, my fortune, my social standing, my unblemished name, are all
my own,--and I shall exercise my privilege of bestowing them where and
when I please, heedless of the sneers and howls of disappointed
mercenary schemers. Come weal, come woe, I here announce that neither
you nor the world need hope to influence me one 'jot or tittle' in an
affair where I allow no impertinent interference. I warn you this is
the last time I shall permit even an indirect allusion to matters with
which you have no legitimate concern; and provided you do not obtrude
them upon me, it is a question of indifference to me what your opinion
and that of your 'circle' may chance to be. Constance, you here have
your ultimatum. Defy me, if you please, but prompt separation will
ensue; and you will unexpectedly find yourself _en route_ for America.
Peace or war? Before you decide, recollect that all your future will
be irretrievably colored by it."
"In my state of health it is positively cruel for you to threaten me;
and some day when you follow my coffin to Mount Auburn, you will
repent your harshness. I wish to heaven I had never left home!"
A passionate fit of weeping curtailed the sentence, and, while the
face was covered with the lace handkerchief, the brother rose and made
his escape.
Despite the fact that forty years had left their whitening touches on
his head and luxuriant beard, Merton Minge, who had never been
handsome, even in youth, was sufficiently agreeable in appearance to
render him an object of deep interest in the circle where he moved.
Medium-statured, and very robust, a healthful ruddy tinge robbed his
complexion of that sallow hue which mercantile pursuits are apt to
induce, and brightened the deep-set black eyes which his debtors
considered mercilessly keen, cold, and incisive.
The square face, with its broad, full forehead, and deep curved furrow
dividing the thick straight brows,--its well-shaped but prominent
nose, and massive jaws and chin partially veiled by a grizzled beard
that swept over his deep chest,--was suggestive of ledgers rent-roll,
and stock-boards, rather than aesthetics, chivalry, or sentimentality.
The only son of a proud but impoverished family, who were eager to
retrieve their fortune, he had early in life married the imperious
spoiled daughter of a Boston millionaire, whose dower consisted of
five hundred thousand dollars, and a temper that eclipsed the
unamiable exploits of ancient and modern shrews.
Hopeless of domestic happiness in a union to which affection had not
prompted him, Mr. Minge devoted himself to the rapid accumulation of
wealth, and by judicious and successful speculations had doubled his
fortune, ere, at the comparatively early age of thirty, he was left a
childless widower. Whether he really thanked fate for his timely
release, his most intimate friends were never able to ascertain, for
he wore mourning, badges for three years, and conducted himself in all
respects with exemplary dignity and scrupulous propriety. But the
frigid indifference with which he received all matrimonial overtures
indicated that his conjugal experience was not so rosy as to tempt him
to repeat the experiment.
His mother was a haughty, frivolous woman, jealously tenacious of her
position as one of the oligarchs of _le beau monde_, and his fragile
sister had from childhood been the victim of rheumatism that
frequently rendered her entirely helpless. To these two and their
fashionable friends, he abandoned his elegant home, costly equipages,
and opera-box, reserving only a suite of rooms, his handsome
riding-horse, and yacht.
Grave and unostentatious, yet not moody,--neither impulsively liberal
and generous nor habitually penurious and uncharitable,--he led a
quiet and monotonously easy life, varied by occasional trips to
foreign lands, and comforted by the assurance that his income-tax was
one of the heaviest in the state. Two years after the death of his
mother, he took his sister a second time to Europe, hoping that the
climate of the Levant might relieve her suffering; and upon the
steamer in which he crossed the Atlantic he met Salome Owen.
Extravagantly fond of music, though unable to extract it from any
instrument, his attention had first been attracted by her exquisite
voice, which invested the voyage with a novel charm and rendered her a
great favorite with the passengers.
Human nature is wofully inflexible and obstinate, and not all the
Menus, Zoroasters, Solomons, and Platos have taught it wisdom;
wherefore it is not surprising that a caustic wit and savage cynic
asserts, "The vices, it may be said, await us in the journey of life
like hosts with whom we must successively lodge; and I doubt whether
experience would make us avoid them if we were to travel the same road
a second time."
Habit may be second nature, but it is the Gurth, the thrall of the
first,--the vassal of inherent impulses; and even the most ossified
natures contain some soft palpitating spot that will throb against
the hand that is sufficiently dexterous to find it. In every man and
woman there lurks a vein of sentiment, which, no matter how heavily
crushed by the super-incumbent mass of utilitarian, practical
commonplaceisms, will one day trickle through the dusty _debris_,
and creep like a silver thread over the dun waste of selfishness; or,
Arethusa-like, burst forth suddenly after long subterranean
wandering.
For forty years it had crawled silently and sluggishly under the
indurated and coldly egoistic nature of Merton Minge,--had been dammed
up at times by avarice and at others by grim recollections of his
domestic infelicity; but finally, after tedious meandering in the
Desert of Heartlessness, it struggled triumphantly to the surface one
glorious autumn night, when a golden moon illumined the Atlantic waves
and kindled a bewitching beauty in the face of Salome, who sat on
deck, singing an impassioned strain from _La Favorite_.
Her silvery voice was the miraculous rod that smote his petrified
affections, and a wellspring of tenderness gushed forth, freshening,
softening, and clothing with verdure and bloom his arid, sterile,
stony temperament. Long-buried dreams of his boyhood stirred in their
chilly graves and flitted dimly before him, and a hope that had
slumbered so soundly he had utterly ignored its memory, started up,
eager and starry-eyed, as in the college days of eld,--the precious
hope, underlying all other emotions in a man's heart, that one day he
too would be loved and prayed for by a pure womanly heart, and pure,
sweet, womanly lips.
Fifteen years before, he had vowed "to cherish," not the haughty girl
whose hand he clasped, but the five hundred thousand dollars that
gilded it; and faithfully he had kept his oath to the god of his
idolatry, sacrificing the best half of his life to insatiate
_Kuvera_.
On that cloudless October night, as he watched the shimmer of the moon
on Salome's silky hair, and noted the purely oval outline of her
daintily carved face, and the childish grace of her fine form,--as he
listened to flute-like tones, as irresistible as Parthenope's, his
cold, formal, non-committal mouth stirred, his hand involuntarily
opened and closed firmly, as if grasping some "pearl of great price,"
and his slow, almost stagnant pulses, leaped into feverish activity,
and soon ran riot. Perhaps more regular features, and deeper, richer
carnation bloom had confronted him, but love makes sad havoc of
ideals and abstract standards, and he who defined beauty, "the woman I
love," was wiser than Burke and more analytical than Cousin.
The freshness, the _brusquerie_, the outspoken honesty, that
characterized Salome, strangely fascinated this grave, selfish,
_blase_ aristocrat, who was weary of hollow, polished conventionalities
and stereotyped society phrases; and, as he sat on deck watching her
countenance, he would have counted out his fortune at her feet for
the privilege of claiming her fair, slender hand, and her tremulous,
scarlet lips, instinct with melody that entranced him.
Henceforth life had a different goal, a nobler aim, a tenderer and
more precious hope; and all the energy of his vigorous character was
bent to the fulfilment of the beautiful dream that one day that young
girl would bear his name, grace his princely home, and nestle in his
heart.
He did not ask, Can that fair, graceful, gifted young thing ever love
a gray-haired man, old enough to call her his daughter? Nay, nay!
Common sense was utterly dethroned and expelled,--romance usurped the
realm, and draped the future with rainbows; and he only set his teeth
firmly against each other, and said to his bounding heart and blinded
soul, "Patience, ye shall soon possess her!"
To Paris, Lyons, Naples, he had followed her, and finally secured a
villa at Palermo, where Prof. V---- had established himself and his
household in a comfortable suite of rooms.
To-day, as he left his sister and approached the house where the
professor dwelt, his countenance was moody and forbidding, but its
expression changed rapidly, as he caught a glimpse of the white muslin
dress that fluttered in the evening wind.
Salome was swiftly pacing the wide terrace that commanded a view of
the Mediterranean, and her hands were clasped behind her, as was her
habit when immersed in thought.
Over her head she had thrown a white gauze scarf of fringed silk,
which, slipping back, displayed the elaborate braids of hair wound
around the head, where a crescent of snowy hyacinths partially
encircled the glossy coil, and drooped upon her neck.
Her face wore a haggard, anxious, restless expression, and the thin
lips had lost their bright coral tint,--the smooth, clear cheeks
something of their rounded perfection.
As Mr. Minge came forward, she paused in her walk and leaned against
the marble railing of the terrace, where a lemon tree, white with
bloom, overhung the mosaiced floor and powdered it with velvety
petals.
He held out his hand.
"I hope I find you better?"
"Do I look so, think you?" said she, eyeing him impatiently, and
keeping her hands folded behind her.
"Unfortunately, no; and if I possessed the right I have more than once
solicited, other physicians should be consulted. Why will you tamper
with so serious a matter, and unnecessarily augment the anxiety of
those who love you?"
"I beg you to believe that my self-love is infinitely stronger than
any other with which I am honored, and prompts me to all possible
prudential precautions. Three doctors have already annoyed me with
worthless prescriptions, and this morning I paid their bills and
dismissed them; whereupon, one of them revenged himself by maliciously
informing me that I should not be able to sing a note for one year at
least."
"To what do they attribute the disease?"
"To that attack of scarlet fever, and also to the too frequent and
severe cauterization of my throat. Time was when like other fond
fools, I fancied Fate was not the hideous hag that wiser heads had
painted her, but an affable old dame, easily cajoled and propitiated.
With Carthaginian gratitude she repays my complimentary opinion by
trampling my hopes and aims as I crush these petals, which yield
perfume to their spoiler, while I could--"
She put her foot upon the drifting lemon blossoms, and bit her lip to
keep back the bitter words that trembled on her tongue.
"Come and sit here on the steps, and confide your plans to one whose
every scheme shall be subordinated to your wishes, your happiness."
Mr. Minge attempted to take her hand, but she drew back and repulsed
him.
"Excuse me. I prefer to remain where I am; and when I am so fortunate
and sagacious as to mature any plans, I shall be sure to lock them in
my own heart beyond the tender mercies of meddling, marplot fortune."
Her whole face grew dark, sinister, almost dangerous in its sudden
transformation, and, leaning against the railing, she impatiently
swept off the snowy lemon leaves. Mr. Minge took the end of her scarf,
and as he toyed with the fringe, sighed heavily.
"Of course you are forced to abandon your contemplated _debut_ in
Paris?"
"Yes. A _debut_ minus a voice, does not tempt me. Ah! how bright the
future looked when I sang for the agent of the Opera-House, and found
myself engaged for the season. How changed, how cheerless all things
seem now."
"Salome, fate is Janus-faced, and while frowning on you smiles
benignantly on me. I joyfully hail every obstacle that bars your path,
hoping that, weary of useless resistance, you will consent to walk in
the flowery one I have offered you. My beautiful darling, why will you
refuse the--"
"Silence! I am in no mood to listen to a repetition of sentiments
which, however flattering to my vanity, have no power to touch my
heart. Mr. Minge, I have twice declined the offer you have done me the
honor to make; and while proud of your preference, my Saxon is not so
ambiguous or redundant as to leave any margin for misconception of my
meaning."
"My dear Salome, I fear your decision has been influenced by the
consciousness that my poor, petted Constance has occasionally
neglected the courtesies which you had a right to claim from the
sister of the man who seeks to make you his wife."
"No, sir; your sister's sneers, and the petty slights and persecutions
for which I am indebted to her friend, Miss Sutherland, have not
sufficient importance to affect me in any degree. My decision is
based upon the unfortunate fact that I do not love you."
"No woman can withstand such devotion as I bring you, and time would
soon soften and deepen your feelings."
"Sir, you unduly flatter yourself. Neither time nor eternity would
change me, and you would do well to remember that it is my voice,
sir,--not my hand and heart,--that I offer for sale."
"Your stubborn rejection is explicable only by the supposition that
you have deceived me,--that you have already bartered away the heart I
long to call my own."
"I am a miller's child,--you a millionaire, but permit me to remind
you that I allow no imputation on my veracity. Why should I condescend
to deceive you?"
She petulantly snatched her scarf from the fingers that still stroked
it caressingly; but an instant later a singular change swept over her
countenance, and pressing her hands to her heart, she said in a proud,
almost exultant tone,--
"Although I deny your right to question me upon this subject, you are
thoroughly welcome to know that I love one man so entirely, so
deathlessly, that the bare thought of marrying any one else sickens my
soul."
Mr. Minge turned pale, and grasped the carved balustrade against which
he rested.
"O Salome! you have trifled."
"No, sir. Take that back. I never stoop to trifling; and the curse of
my life has been my almost fatal earnestness of purpose. If I ever
deliberated one moment concerning the expediency of clothing myself
first with your aristocratic name, afterwards with satin, velvet, and
diamonds,--if I ever silenced the outcry of my heart long enough to
ask myself whether _gilded misery_ was not the least torturing type of
the epidemic wretchedness,--at least I kept my parley with Mammon to
myself; and if you obstinately cherished hopes of final success, they
sprang from your vanity, not my dissimulation. Mark you, I here set up
no claim to sanctity,--for indeed my sins are 'thick as leaves in
Vallombrosa'; but my pedigree does not happen to link me with
Sapphira, and deceit is not charged to me in the real Doomsday Book.
Theft would be more possible for me than falsehood, for while both are
labelled 'wicked,' I could never dwarf and shrivel my soul by the
cowardly process of mendacity. Mr. Minge, had I been a trifle less
honest and true than I find myself, I might have impaired my
self-respect by trifling."
"Forgive me, Salome, if the pain I endure rendered me harsh or unjust.
My dearest, I did not intend to wound you, but indeed you are cruel
sometimes."
"Yes; truth is the most savagely cruel of all rude, jagged weapons,
and leaves ugly gashes and quivering nerves exposed, and these are the
hurts that never cicatrize--that gape and bleed while the heart throbs
to feed them."
"Tell me candidly whether the heart I covet belongs to that Mr.
Granville, who paid you such devoted attention in Paris."
A short, scornful, mirthless laugh rang sharply on the air, and
turning quickly, Salome exclaimed contemptuously,--
"I said I loved a man,--a true, honest, brave, noble man,--not that
perfumed, unprincipled, vain, foppish automaton, who adorns a corner
of the diplomatic apartment where _attaches_ of the American embassy
'most do congregate'! Gerard Granville is unworthy of any woman's
affection, for maugre the indisputable fact that he is betrothed to a
fond, trusting girl, now in the United States, he had the effrontery
to attempt to offer his addresses to me. If an honest man be the
noblest work of God, then, beyond all peradventure, the disgrace of
creation is centred in an unscrupulous one, such as I have the honor
to pronounce Mr. Granville."
Seizing her hands, Mr. Minge carried them forcibly to his lips, and
said, in a voice that faltered from intensity of feeling,--
"Is it the hope that your love is reciprocated which bars your heart
so sternly against my pleadings? Spare me no pangs,--tell me all."
She freed her fingers from his grasp, and retreating a few steps,
answered with a passionate mournfulness which he never forgot,--
"If I were dowered with that precious hope, not all the crown jewels
in Christendom and Heathendom could purchase it. Not the proudest
throne on that continent of empires that lies yonder to the north,
could woo me one hour from the only kingdom where I could happily
reign,--the heart of the man I love. No--no--no! That hope is as
distant as the first star up there above us, which has rent the blue
veil of heaven to gaze pityingly at me; and I would as soon expect to
catch that silver sparkle and fold it in my arms as dream that my
affection could ever be returned. The only man I shall ever love could
not bend his noble, regal nature to the level of mine, and towers
beyond me, a pinnacle of unapproachable purity and perfection. Ah,
indeed, he is one of those concerning whom it has been grandly said:
'_The truly great stand upright as columns of the temple whose dome
covers all,--against whose pillared sides multitudes lean, at whose
base they kneel in times of trouble._' Mr. Minge, it is despair that
crouches at my heart, not hope that shuts its portals against your
earnest petition; for a barrier wider, deeper than a hundred oceans
divides me from my idol, who loves, and ere this, is the husband of
another."
She did not observe the glow that once more mantled his cheek, and
fired his eyes, until he exclaimed with unusual fervor,--
"Thank God! That fact is freighted with priceless comfort."
Compassion and contempt seemed struggling for mastery, as she waved
him from her, and answered, impatiently,--
"Think you that any other need hope to usurp my monarch's place,--that
one inferior dare expect to wield his sceptre over my heart? Pardon
me,--
'If there were not an eagle in the realm of birds,
Must then the owl be king among the feathered herds?'
Some day a gentler spirit than mine will fill your home with music,
and your heart with peace and sunshine; and, in that hour, thank
honest Salome Owen for the blessings you owe to her candor. I must bid
you good-night."
She drew the scarf closer about her head and throat, and turned to
leave the terrace.
"Will you not allow me to drive you to-morrow afternoon on the Marino?
Do not refuse me this innocent and inexpressibly valued privilege. I
will not be denied! Good-night, my--Heaven shield you, my worshipped
one! Hush!--I will hear no refusal."
He stooped, kissed the folds of the scarf that covered her head, and
hurried down the steps of the terrace.
The glory of a Sicilian sunset bathed the face and figure that stood a
moment under the lemon-boughs, watching the retreating form which soon
disappeared behind clustering pomegranate, olive, and palm; and a
tender compassion looked out of the large hazel eyes, and sat on the
sad lips that murmured,--
"God help you, Merton Minge, to strangle the viper that coils in your
heart, and gnaws its core. My own is a serpent's lair, and I pity the
pangs that rend yours also. But after a little while, your viper will
find a file,--mine, alas! not until death arrests the slow torture.
To-morrow afternoon I shall be--where? Only God knows."
She shivered slightly, and raised her beautiful eyes towards the west,
where golden gleams and violet shadows were battling for possession of
a reef of cloud islets, which dotted the azure upper sea of air, and
were reflected in the watery one beneath.
"Courage! courage!
'Those who have nothing left to hope,
Have nothing left to dread.'"