PLANS AND LETTERS.
All that day Elsie remained in bed, sleeping a good deal, but so nervous
and shaken that she would not permit herself to be left alone for a
single instant. Her brother's presence seemed to fill her with fear, and
she shrank with a strange sort of timidity from every tender word or
soothing caress; still she was wretched if he left her bedside, and
there he watched the long day through.
Evening came. Mellen was compelled to go through the pretence of another
meal; indeed he forced himself to eat, for he began to grow angry with
his own weakness.
He had thought when the first struggle was over to feel only an icy,
implacable resentment against the woman who had wronged him; he was
ashamed of the tenderness in his own nature when he found that, stronger
than his rage, more powerful than the horror with which he regarded her
dishonor, was the love he had believed uprooted suddenly from his heart,
as a strong tree is torn up by tornados.
Yes, he regretted her! It was not only that his life must be a desolate
blank, he pined for her presence. But for his pride he would have rushed
out in search of her, and taken her back to his heart, sweeping aside
all memory of her sin.
He roused himself from what appeared to him such degrading weakness by
one thought--the partner in her guilt was his old enemy; a man too vile
for vengeance, even.
That memory brought all the hardness back to his face, all the insane
passion to his soul, but it centered on the man now.
That night, in the woman's very presence, he could not take the
vengeance that he meditated, but now he was prepared to force her from
the villain's grasp--on to repentance.
Alone in his library, Grantley Mellen wrote several letters; it was
impossible to tell how that meeting would end, and he must make
preparations for the worst. When all was done he rose to go upstairs
again; a sudden resolution made him pause. He sat down at his desk once
more, and wrote these lines:
"ELIZABETH--I said that even in your dying hour, I would never
forgive you: I retract. If my pardon can console your last moments,
remember that it is yours. I have made no alteration in my will; if
you can accept the benefits which may accrue to you by my death,
take them; but so surely as you ever attempt to approach the
innocent girl who has been so long endangered by your
companionship, my curse shall follow you, even from the grave to
which you will have consigned me."
He put the note in an envelope, sealed it carefully, and addressed
it--"To Elizabeth."
These were necessary precautions. The man who had twice wronged him
possessed the fierce courage of a bravo. If Elizabeth was found with
him, death might come to one of them--even if that followed, the woman
who had been his wife should never share the degrading future of a man
too vile for personal vengeance. In mercy to her he would separate them.
He found Elsie sitting up in bed. She shrank away among the pillows when
he entered; he saw the movement, and it shook his heart with a new pang.
This artful woman had drawn the spell of her fascinations as closely
about that pure girl as she had enthralled him. Elsie shrank from the
brother who had deprived her of the love on which she had leaned.
Elizabeth had left him nothing but bitterness.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked, sitting down by the bed.
"Oh, I never shall be any better," she murmured; "I shall die, and then,
perhaps, you will be sorry."
Mellen could not be angry with her; it wounded and stung him to hear her
speak thus, but he answered, patiently:
"When you are able to reflect, Elsie, you will see that I could not have
acted differently. Few men would have shown as much leniency as I have
done; regardless of the consequences to themselves, they would have made
that woman's conduct public, and ruined her utterly."
"She wasn't bad," cried Elsie; "you are crazy to think so. She was the
best woman in the world."
"Have you forgotten what I told you this morning--what I was forced to
tell you or submit to your hatred? From yon window you could look out on
the spot where she had buried----"
"Be still!" interrupted Elsie, with a shriek. "I won't stay in the house
if you go on so--be still, I say!"
It required all his efforts to soothe the excited girl. He longed to
question her, to know if she had left Elizabeth much alone during his
absence, to understand how she could have been so persistently deceived,
but she was in no state to endure such inquiries then.
Elsie lay back among her pillows, refusing to be comforted:
"If you want to cure me send for Bessie--my dear, dear Bessie! Search
for her--send the people out!"
"Elsie, she has gone with that man; I cannot follow her there."
"No, no; she is wandering about in the cold. Go, search for her!"
"Anything but that, Elsie--ask anything else in the world."
"I don't want anything else."
"As soon as you are better we will go away from here," he continued; "to
Europe, if you like."
"But how will she live?" persisted Elsie. "What will become of her? No
money--no friends. Oh, Bessie, Bessie!"
"She has plenty to live on," he replied. "There are stocks enough
deposited in her name to give her a comfortable income."
"But they are gone," cried Elsie. Then, remembering the danger of that
avowal, she stopped suddenly.
"Gone!" he repeated. "How do you know? Oh, Elsie, do you know more than
you own--do--"
"Stop, stop!" she screamed. "You have driven Bessie away and now you
want to kill me! I don't know about anything--you know I don't. Just the
other day Bessie spoke something about the stocks; I thought from what
she said that you had taken them back for some purpose."
He was perfectly satisfied with her explanation, but the distress and
fright into which she had fallen nearly brought on another nervous
crisis. Great drops of perspiration stood on her forehead, and the
slender fingers he held worked nervously in his grasp.
"Don't talk any more, dear child," he said. "Try to go to sleep again."
"I can't sleep--I never shall rest again--never! I feel so wicked--I
hate myself!"
"Child, what do you mean?"
She must restrain herself, no danger must come near her. Even her sorrow
for Elizabeth, her stinging remorse, could not make her unselfish enough
to run any personal risk of his displeasure.
"I don't know what I mean--nothing at all! But it drives me wild to
think of Bessie. Where can she be--where could she go? Suppose she has
killed herself! Oh, she may be drowned in the bay--drowned--drowned!"
She went nearly mad with the ideas which her fancy conjured up, but it
was perfectly in keeping with her character that in the very extremity
of her suffering, no word for Elizabeth should be spoken that would
implicate herself. Mellen must not guess at her knowledge of his wife's
fault.
"You will have her searched for," she cried; "promise me that, if you
don't want to kill me outright, promise me that."
"It could do no good, Elsie, none whatever. She has chosen her own
destiny."
"It might, it might! If she has no money what will become of her?"
"I will inquire to-morrow," he replied. "I will write to my agent. If
she has disposed of the stocks I will see that she has means to live
upon; I promise you that."
"Really, truly?"
"Did I ever break my word, Elsie?"
"No, no; but you are so hard and stern."
"Never with you, darling--never with you."
Elsie groaned aloud, but hastened to speak:
"I am only in pain--don't mind it."
"My poor little Elsie, my sister, my treasure!"
"Do you love me so much, Grant?"
"Better than ever; you are all I have now! Oh, Elsie, don't shut your
heart against me, I can't bear that. Try to believe that I have acted as
justly as a man could. To the whole world I can be stern and silent, but
let me tell you the truth. I loved that woman so, my heart is breaking
under this grief. Bear patiently with me, child."
"Oh, if you suffer, send for her back," cried Elsie. "Let her explain;
you gave her no time----"
"Hush, hush! Have I not said all those things to myself?"
This man's pride was so utterly crushed that he was revealing the inmost
secrets of his soul to this frail girl, scarcely caring to conceal from
her how keenly he suffered.
"But try," pleaded Elsie; "only try."
"It is impossible; later you will see that as plainly as I do. Don't you
see what a sin I should commit in taking a false, dishonored woman back
to my heart; what a wrong to my sister in exposing her to the society of
a creature so lost and fallen?"
"She is good!" cried Elsie. "Bessie was an angel! Oh, I wish I was
dead--dead--dead! I can't bear this; it is too much--too much!"
Elsie wrung her hands and sobbed piteously; she had wept until nature
exhausted itself, and that choked anguish was more painful to witness
than the most violent outburst of tears.
"We loved her so," muttered Mellen; "she was twined round that girl's
heart as she enthralled mine; she has broken both."
"What are you saying, Grant?"
"Nothing, dear; I only pitied you and myself for loving her so much."
"I will always love her," cried Elsie; "you never shall change me;
nothing shall do that. She is innocent; I believe it; I would say so
before the whole world."