"I Will Prove It."
It was very fortunate for Virgie that she had a little one at this time,
else she would have deemed life scarcely worth the living, so stunned and
crushed was she by the terrible blow that had fallen upon her.
For two long hours, after reading that letter from Lady Linton, and the
paper containing that paragraph of William Heath's marriage, she lay as if
paralyzed upon her bed. One would hardly believe that she lived at all,
but for that look of unutterable woe in her eyes and the expression of
agony about her mouth.
But she was aroused at last to a sense of her duties and responsibilities
as a mother, by the crying of little Virgie in the outer room; and yet
that cry was like another dagger plunged into her heart, for it reminded
her that, if the dreadful things which she had been told were true, her
whole future was dishonored—that she was a betrayed and deserted woman
and her child nameless.
"Oh, Heaven! it cannot be!" she cried, lifting her arms with a gesture of
despair and locking her fingers in a convulsive clasp above her head,
while her mind went back over the past and reviewed every event that had
occurred since the beginning of her acquaintance with Sir William Heath.
She had believed in him so thoroughly, he had seemed so noble and true,
so entirely above all deception and double dealing. He had appeared to
love her so devotedly, had been so proud of her as the future mistress of
his beautiful home, and so supremely happy in the anticipation of the
coming of their little one. He had hoped for a son and heir, and yet he
had expressed no disappointment upon learning that their child was a
daughter; he had welcomed the little stranger most tenderly in his letter
and fondly named her, to please himself, for her mother.
He had seemed so impatient and regretful at the thought of leaving her so
long alone, and had promised to come to her the moment that he could
safely leave his mother.
All this made it very difficult for Virgie to believe in his apparent
perfidy and treachery, and yet the evidence against him seemed so
overwhelming that she was convinced in spite of herself.
She did not dream of a plot against her, for she could not conceive of any
motive for one; but his letters had suddenly ceased and she could not
believe accident had caused it, when she had written again and again
telling him of it and pleading for but a word from him.
Then she had heard that story of the engagement to Margaret Stanhope, then
the account of the marriage at Heathdale, by Lady Linton, who appeared
entirely ignorant of her existence even; and taking all this into
consideration, together with the notice which had appeared in the paper
sent to Mrs. Farnum she felt obliged to accept the fact of Sir William's
intentional treachery and desertion.
Yet in the face of everything she clung to the conviction that she was a
lawful wife—that her child was the heiress of Heathdale; but the
difficulty was to prove it.
"Prove it? <i>I will prove it</i>," she cried, and at once all that was
resolute in Virginia Heath's character began to struggle to assert itself,
and she went forth from her chamber, at that cry from little Virgie, with
an unflinching purpose written upon her heart.
The nurse cried out in alarm as she saw her white face and sunken eyes.
"You are ill, madam," she exclaimed. "Go back to bed—the baby will do
well enough with me."
"No, I am not ill," Virgie answered, as she took her little one, but she
spoke in a strained, unnatural tone, adding, "I would like you to go to
Mrs. Farnum's door and say that I desire a 'few moments' interview with
her."
The woman went to do her bidding, but muttered with a troubled look:
"These English people seem to bring nothing but sorrow and mischief to the
poor thing, in spite of their sweet ways and honeyed speeches; I wish
they'd clear out—and whatever her husband can mean to leave her here
alone so long and not a line to tell her why is more'n I can make out."
Mrs. Farnum obeyed Virgie's request with some misgivings; but she saw at
once upon entering the room that the young wife believed the very worst,
and she was half frightened at the result of her work.
Virgie arose as she entered, her baby clasped close in her arms, and
handed her the letter which she had sent her to read.
"Here is your letter, Mrs. Farnum," she said, with a cold dignity that
awed her visitor, "and you will find the note inclosed with it. Please be
particular to have it returned to the one who sent it."
"But, my dear, will you not need it yourself?" interrupted the woman with
assumed kindness.
Virgie's lips curled.
"It was an unpardonable insult to offer it to me," she said, with spirit.
"I cannot understand how they dared to send it to me in any such way;
indeed, I cannot understand a good many things that have come to me
through you. If Sir William Heath has wilfully done me this irreparable
injury he might at least have been man enough to strike the blow himself,
rather than employ women to be his emissaries."
Mrs. Farnum winced.
"Ah! but you forget—"
"I forget nothing; do you suppose that I could?" cried Virgie, sharply,
"but I might at least have been spared this last indignity—to offer me a
paltry hundred pounds when he has a fortune in his hands belonging to me."
"A fortune! I did not suppose—I did not know that you had any money,"
stammered Mrs. Farnum, looking blank.
"My father left me a good many thousands of dollars when he died; it was
all settled upon me at the time of my marriage, but Sir William Heath took
charge of it and has it now. He deposited five thousand dollars in a bank
here for my use, while he should be away, and the most of that remains;
but there is much more that rightly belongs to me," Virgie explained.
"Then this hundred pounds surely is your due," Mrs. Farnum said, as she
drew it from the envelope and held it out to the young wife.
Virgie drew back haughtily.
"Do you suppose that I would accept as charity a paltry sum like
that?—for Lady Linton sent it as such, and as a sort of remuneration for
what I suffer. It is an outrage which I cannot brook, and I am amazed at
the audacity that prompted it."
So was Mrs. Farnum amazed, and she saw at once that Lady Linton had
unwittingly committed a great blunder. She had never dreamed that Virgie
had had money at the time of her marriage, and she imagined that Lady
Linton was also ignorant that her brother had taken back to England a
fortune belonging to the girl whom they were thus seeking to wrong.
Matters were getting complicated, and she almost wished that she had never
allowed herself to become involved in them.
"You should have kept your marriage certificate," she faltered, "every
wife should do that—then you could have proved your claim."
"I shall prove it yet," Virgie declared, in a clear, decisive voice. "Do
you imagine I am going to sit tamely down and allow a stigma to rest upon
this innocent child if there is any power on earth to prevent it? In spite
of all that you have told me, or all that your friends have written, I
<i>know</i> that I am Sir William Heath's lawful wife. If he committed a rash
and impulsive act, and one which he regrets now, while he was in America
and while he was bound by other ties in England <i>he</i> must suffer the
consequences. I cannot understand how he has <i>dared</i> to perpetrate such a
farce, were he a thousand times engaged to Miss Stanhope; how he has dared
to so wrong and compromise one of his own countrywomen, for, just so sure
as we both live, it will all be exposed sooner or later. All this I will
do for the sake of my child; then——"
"Then?" repeated Mrs. Farnum, leaning eagerly toward the resolute girl.
"Then <i>I</i> will repudiate <i>him</i>. I will never look upon his face again. I
will give him his freedom—will divorce myself from him; and then, if the
woman who now believes herself to be his wife wishes it, or will accept
it, he can make the tie between them legal."
"You will obtain a divorce?" said her companion, with an exultant thrill.
This was something she had never thought of before She and Lady Linton had
both hoped to estrange this fond couple, then make Sir William believe in
his wife's infidelity, and work upon his feelings and pride until he
should be willing to seek a divorce; but they had never imagined that
Virgie would be the one to suggest such a measure. Such a preceding on her
part would wonderfully facilitate matters, and Mrs. Farnum, who a few
minutes previous began to be disheartened, was greatly encouraged.
"Exactly," Virgie replied. "Do you imagine that I desire to hold Sir
William Heath unwillingly bound to me? Do you think that I would ever have
consented to become his wife if I had known that any one had a prior claim
upon him? But, are you sure that he was engaged to Miss Stanhope before he
came to America?" the young wife asked, as doubt again arose in her mind.
"Yes; Will and Margie have been betrothed for years—ten, at least, I
should say. Did you not read it for yourself in Lady Linton's letter?"
Mrs. Farnum returned; but there was a vivid flush on her cheek as she
told the wretched lie, even while she was literally speaking the truth.
A convulsion of pain passed over Virgie's face.
"True; but it is all so strange," she said, wearily. "And I suppose—she
loves him?"
"I believe her life would be ruined if anything should happen to part
them," said the woman, ruthlessly.
Any icy shiver ran over Virgie from head to foot, and a low moan escaped
her lips.
No one cared for <i>her</i> ruined life; it was nothing that <i>she</i> was parted
forever from the man she adored.
"I will not part them," she said, in a hollow tone; "<i>but</i>—"
"Well?" inquired Mrs. Farnum, with a painful thrill, as she paused on the
word, with a threatening intonation.
"A day of reckoning will surely come for him," Virgie answered, firmly;
"for, if this child lives, she will one day make her appearance at
Heathdale and claim her heritage. There may be other children, but she
will have the first right there. Tell your Lady Linton this—tell her that
'that girl,' of whom she wrote so slightingly and heartlessly, will live
to educate her child for her position as the mistress of her 'proud
ancestral home;' tell her to warn her brother that the day of retribution
will not fail to overtake him."
Virgie was regally beautiful as she stood there before her enemy and
pronounced this stern prophecy. There was not an atom of color in her
face, but her figure was drawn proudly erect, a sort of majesty in every
graceful curve, while there was a resolute, inflexible purpose in every
line of her beautiful features, and her eyes burned with a steady,
relentless fire which told that, if she lived, she would accomplish her
vow, let the cost be what it would.
Mrs. Farnum, woman of the world though she was, felt cowed and abashed
before her, and when, without waiting for a reply, the wronged wife turned
from her and walked, with a firm, unfaltering step, into her chamber,
shutting the door after her, she slunk away to her own room, feeling like
the guilty thing she was, and trembling for the future if it should ever
be discovered what part she had played in the plot to ruin Virginia
Heath's happiness.
She was dismayed by the young mother's last words. At first she felt
triumphant when she had spoken of her intention of obtaining a divorce,
for such a measure would simplify matters greatly; it would relieve Lady
Linton from the disagreeable task of trying to persuade her brother to
adopt such a course, and thus he would be free, without any effort of his
own, to wed whom he chose, and she had reckoned upon Sadie being the
favored one.
But she had not taken into consideration the fact that Virgie's child
would have a claim upon Heathdale; no divorce would affect her right
there, if the legality of Sir William's marriage to Virgie could be
proved, and thus endless trouble, to say nothing of the scandal the story
would create, might ensue.
Still, there were a hundred "ifs" and possibilities in the way. Virgie
might not be able to get satisfactory proofs; the child might not live;
she might not live herself to accomplish her object; and she finally
resolved to try to be satisfied with the success of her plot thus far, and
not trouble herself about future developments. But that pale, beautiful
face, with that resolute yet heart-broken look upon it, haunted her for
years afterward. She was deeply thankful that Sadie was not there to see
it, and she was resolved that they should not meet again.
That evening Virgie was waited upon by the proprietor of the house, who,
with much stammering and many apologies, informed her that he was obliged
to request her to vacate the rooms that she was occupying.
She understood instantly, but her proud spirit rebelled against this last
indignity, and she arose and stood before him in all the majesty of her
insulted womanhood.
"Sir! Mr. Eldridge! you will please explain this very extraordinary
request," she said, meeting his eyes with a steady glance.
Mr. Eldridge hemmed, looked embarrassed, and remarked with all the
blandness he could assume:
"Really, Mrs. ——, madam, I regret to pain you, and it might be as well
to avoid explanations."
"No, sir; that is impossible; my husband left me here with the
understanding that I should remain here until he came for me, and there
must therefore be some very urgent reason for such a strange proceeding on
your part."
"Yes, madam," said the man, driven to the wall. "—I—I have been informed
that—that you are not Mrs. Heath at all; that the gentleman who brought
you here was not what he represented himself to be."
"What authority have you for making such a statement Virgie demanded,
haughtily:
"This," answered the hotel keeper, producing the paper containing the
notice of the marriage at Heathdale which Mrs. Farnum had slyly laid upon
his desk, with the marked paragraph uppermost. She was very careful,
however, not to appear in the matter to commit herself.
She had determined to get Virgie away before Sadie's return from Coney
Island, while she feared, too, the coming of Sir William to investigate
the cause of his wife's long silence.
One glance was sufficient to tell Virgie what paper it was, and she
flushed to her brow.
"I see," she said, scornfully, "those who have professed to be my friends
are leagued against me."
"But—pardon me—have you no doubts yourself regarding your position?"
questioned the landlord, feeling a deep pity for the beautiful woman, in
spite of his anxiety regarding the reputation of his house.
"None," but the word came hoarsely from the now hueless lips.
"But you have had no letters for a long time; the gentleman has for years
been engaged to an English lady; this paper gives a notice of his recent
marriage to her, and everything goes to prove that you have been grossly
deceived. It is very unfortunate, but I have received notice from several
of my guests that they will leave to-morrow morning unless I insist upon
this change, and thus it becomes my painful duty to request these rooms to
be vacated."
This was a bitter blow to add to all the rest, but Virgie, conscious of
her own purity, bore it with Spartan-like heroism.
She cast one look of scorn upon the man before her, then said, with a
calmness that was born of despair:
"Sir, I still assert, in the face of all that you have just said, that I
am the wife of Mr.—yes, of Sir William Heath, of Heathdale, Hampshire
County, England and some day it will be in my power to prove to you the
truth of my words; but I have no wish to occasion you either trouble or
loss, so I will go away; to-morrow morning."
The landlord looked greatly relieved at this assurance and yet he was
impressed both by her manner and her words.
He assured her of his sympathy, and kindly offered to assist her in
obtaining other rooms and establishing herself in them.
Virgie quietly declined this offer, however, and, thanking her for her
speedy compliance with his request Mr. Eldridge took his leave, though, to
his credit be it said, with considerable shamefacedness and embarrassment.
The next morning Virgie sent to Dr. Knox for his bill, paid it, dismissed
her nurse, notwithstanding her urgent plea to be retained even at reduced
wages, and then she quietly disappeared from the place, leaving no trace
behind her to point to her destination or future plans, and, after the
gossip consequent upon such a choice bit of scandal had died away, she
was, for the time at least, forgotten.