LED INTO ERROR
Some time after the occurrences of the last chapter, Nathan received a
note from Major Walden, requesting him to call at his house.
He went directly, and was ushered into the library, where he found his
friend looking worn and dejected, as if from haunted days and sleepless
nights.
Major Walden motioned Nathan to a seat, and then paced slowly up and
down the room, as though striving to compose himself before giving to
his friend the promised revelation.
At length he paused, and seating himself a short distance from his
visitor said gravely:
“Bartram, I am about to confide to you a chapter from my private history
which perhaps might better never be disclosed, and in doing so I am
subjecting myself to a painful trial and tearing open a wound not yet
healed. And yet I cannot otherwise explain to you the scene which you
witnessed a few days since. My story may serve to show you the venom
that may exist in a species of human reptile. I need not say that I
trust this to you alone. You will understand how great the cause I have
for secrecy when you have heard what I am about to relate to you.
“Twelve years ago my business often took me up and down the Hudson. Upon
one of those trips I met one who seemed to me the perfection of female
loveliness. Her deep, dark eyes seemed wells of crystal purity and
innocence, and her sweet, fair face haunted my vision for days.
“I found myself comparing, mentally, every lovely woman I met with the
one face ever before me, and finally began to consider myself a victim
to a case of love at first sight. It is needless to say my trips upon
the Hudson were frequently repeated after this, and at length fate
rewarded me by giving me once more the same lovely fellow-passenger. I
managed to find a mutual acquaintance and so followed up my advantage as
to become, in a few months, an accepted visitor at her father’s house.
She was an only child, the idol of an aged father and mother, who at the
end of the following year made me the happiest of men by giving me their
daughter’s hand in marriage.
“Everything prospered with me. My wife was all that could be desired;
three lovely children were born to us; my business ventures were
successful, and until five years ago there seemed to be nothing wanting
to make the harmony of our united lives complete.
“About this time, at the house of a friend, we met a spirit-medium, a
Dr. Teasdale. How he ever obtained admittance there I do not know, but
there he was, and there we were forced to make his acquaintance. He held
a seance, as he called it, and among other things told what my wife had
written and sealed in our presence and which never left her hand. I
discovered afterwards a bit of impression paper concealed beneath the
outer cover of the book he handed her to write upon, which probably
aided the spirits in making their revelation. This so interested my wife
that she attended a number of seances, and finally invited the Doctor to
our house, where he became a frequent visitor.
“I never liked the fellow. There was a sort of sneaking hypocrisy about
him, it seemed to me, that made me prefer his room to his company.
“However, as I seldom interfered with my wife’s actions, I said nothing,
thinking she would soon penetrate his shallow mask of deceit and become
disgusted with him, as I had.
“In one of his trances he wrote and delivered to me a sealed
communication, purporting to be from the spirit world, hinting,—barely
hinting,—among other things, infidelity on the part of my wife. I waited
until the other guests had gone, and then I called the wretch to one
side and told him what I thought of him, and bade him never set foot,
under any pretense, within my doors again.
“I told my wife I had forbidden the fellow the house because he was
disagreeable to me, and she seemed more pleased than otherwise at what I
had done and said she, too, participated in my growing dislike of him. I
hoped then I had seen the last of him.
“A short time after this my wife was summoned by telegram to visit her
mother, who was ill, and left home, taking with her the children, my
business being such as to prevent my accompanying her.
“While she was gone two letters came to the house addressed to her and I
noticed the superscription resembled the chirography of the Doctor. I
wondered what he could have to say to her, but laid the letters aside
unopened, thinking it unnecessary to forward them, and that I would
deliver them to her upon her return and satisfy myself as to their
contents. I own I had some curiosity, as I could not imagine a reason
for correspondence with the villain. One evening, just before her
return, as I was turning over some papers in the writing-desk, a letter
fell out addressed in the same peculiar handwriting. It had been opened,
and this time my curiosity overcame my scruples of honor, and I opened
it and read a most impassioned love-letter to my wife, signed ‘Devotedly
yours, Z. T.,’ which I could only interpret Zenas Teasdale.
“I hesitated no longer to open and devour the contents of the two
letters which had come to her later, and before I had finished, the
characters traced in ink had burned into my very soul, and my tongue was
parched with a thirst that water could not quench. The words stood
before my gaze like demon eyes.
“The first letter spoke of the pleasure the writer had received in the
perusal of my wife’s last ‘white-winged message of love’ and quoted from
her letter sentences about the ‘bear that growled around her
hearthstone’ meaning me—and other like extravagant expressions, and
concluded by assuring her of his never-dying affection, and hope of
their ultimate union in spiritland, where no disagreeable tyrant should
ever presume to forbid them the pleasure of each other’s company.
“The second letter, written three days later, chided her with her long
delay in answering, and informed her that the writer had received a
communication from the invisible world to the effect that the obstacle
in their way was about to be removed, and pictured the delights in store
for them.
“All night I paced the room and swore and raved alternately. But with
the morning came calmer reflection. Retribution would overtake them, I
concluded, if left to themselves; I would not put my own neck in
jeopardy for the sake of such despisable wretches as they seemed to me.
Besides, a softer feeling, in spite of me, would creep into my heart,
when I thought of the happy past, and I felt I could not take the life
of one who had been dearer than all else to me—who was now the mother of
my innocent children. They would be from this time motherless. I would
not make them also fatherless, but would keep my life blameless and
unblemished for their sweet sakes. The stain of their mother’s fall
would be dark enough.
“She returned home that day. I shall never forget how sweet and fair she
looked as she tripped from her carriage up the steps and into the room
where I stood like an avenging Nemesis. Her bright hair was blown into
little rings about her forehead, and a smile wreathed her sweet lips,
which expected the kiss of greeting.
“See,” he said as he took from his desk a miniature and handed it to
Nathan, “was she not beautiful? And that picture was but a poor
representation of her, for art cannot produce on ivory the thousand
pretty changes of expression which constituted one of the chief charms
of her face.”
Nathan looked attentively at the fair, sweet face of the picture, and
agreed as to its beauty. The Major continued:
“I met her sternly, and she must have seen in my face something of what
I was about to utter, for the smile left her cheeks and gave place to a
look of terror indescribable.
“‘Agnes,’ I began, ‘do not dare to face with a smile the husband you
have betrayed, wronged, and made a cuckold of in his own house;
miserable woman, that should ever have lived to become so low and vile a
creature, with so fair a face!’ She gazed at me in fear and horror and I
verily believe she for the time thought me insane. She pressed both
hands to her heart as though to quiet its fluttering,—ah, God! I can see
her yet,—and then gasped, ‘Markham, for Christ’s sake, what do you mean?
What, oh! what has happened?’
“I cannot describe accurately the scene which followed. I know I
flaunted the letters in her face, I accused her of her treachery, and
called her to account in the worst possible terms, such a maddened brute
was I, and refused to listen to anything she tried to say in denial or
palliation of her guilt.
“She fell on her knees before me, and begged and implored me to listen
to her—to believe her. She called on God to witness and attest her
innocence. But I mocked at her, and told her that after such conduct as
hers had been, a falsehood was as nothing; that I would not believe her
if the angel Gabriel came down from heaven to testify in her behalf. I
bade her begone from my sight, that I might not so far forget myself as
to punish her crime with violence. Then she begged, if she must leave
me, that I would let her have the children. Finally, as I remained
obdurate, she prayed only for the one little girl, the youngest, three
years old—the baby, and most helpless one. The boys might stay with me,
but this little one, her baby, she could not give up. She should die
without her baby, and she pleaded as only a mother can plead for this
one boon, the privilege of caring for her own child, which she had
herself brought into this cruel world.”
Here the Major’s voice faltered, and there was a sympathizing moisture
in Nathan’s eyes as he continued:
“A shame upon such laws as give any one, even a father, the right to
deprive a mother of her God-given privilege!”
“Amen!” said Nathan under his breath.
“Finally I promised her that if at the end of six months I heard no
report of her holding any communication with Teasdale I would let the
little Eva go to her mother; but if I learned of her seeing or having
anything to do with that creature I would never allow the child to even
see her. With that she must be content. I had a sort of fiendish delight
in the thought that through the mother’s love for her child I might keep
her from the arms of her paramour.
“Finally I left her, saying that I should expect her to take the next
boat back to her father’s and that I would make suitable provision for
her maintenance so long as she remained away from Teasdale; and that I
desired that she should take with her everything belonging to her or
that might help to remind me of her who was once my wife. That was the
last time I ever met her.
“When I came back in the evening the nurse told me the mistress had gone
away, and the children were in the nursery crying for mamma.
“Here was a feature of the case I had not, in my anger, counted upon.
What should I do to appease the children? I concluded to transfer my
business to other hands for the time, shut up the house, and take the
children to my parents, thinking that perhaps grandma might be the best
substitute for mother. This, as soon as I could make the necessary
arrangements, I did.
“That night upon returning to my room I read, written in trembling hand
upon an open page of my note-book, these words, which are burned into my
memory: ‘Markham, my husband,—for God knows no act of mine has made me
other than your wife,—I feel that the time will come when my innocence
will in some way be vindicated. It may never be while I live, but I
cannot believe a just and over-ruling Providence will allow such a foul
wrong to be done and the perpetrator to go unpunished. And some day, in
some way, justice will be done to me or my memory. Then you may,
perhaps, realize the tithe of what I now suffer in the remorse which
will follow you to the grave. Deal gently and tenderly with my babies
who are to be without a mother, and remember, as you would have God deal
justly with you, to keep your promise and allow the little Eva to cheer
her mother’s desolate heart at the end of this terribly long probation.
May Heaven forgive you and open your eyes to the fatal and terrible
mistake you have made, is the prayer of your injured and heart-broken
Agnes.’
“Well, we had not been long at their grandmother’s before the children
were taken sick with that terrible ravaging disease, diphtheria, and in
three short days Arthur and Eva, the youngest boy and the baby girl,
were chill and cold in death. I would have sent for their mother, I
think, had more time been given me; but they were taken down so suddenly
and the disease made such rapid progress that ere I was aware of their
danger death had already set its seal upon them, and I could only
telegraph their mother the sad tidings that two of her loved ones were
no more.
“It was some time before I heard from her, and then came such a letter
as I never read before, and have never dared to read a second time, so
full was it of hopeless agony and pain. I could not sleep for nights
after. The words kept ringing in my ears, together with the plaintive
moans of my little ones, who cried for mamma with their last conscious
moments. I would think, sometimes, that if I lived until the morning I
would take the first train to my wife, and despite her treachery would
forgive and take her once more to my heart and trust; but the morning
light would dissolve alike my visions and my resolutions, and I had to
read but one of Teasdale’s letters to harden my heart to all such
sentiments. Do you wonder that I never doubted the genuineness of those
letters? How could I doubt with the remembrance of their finding ever
before me?
“After the death of my little ones I went to Chicago, that metropolis of
bustle and activity, hoping a change of scene and business would lift
the pall of gloom that rested upon my spirits. There I became acquainted
with my present wife. At the hotel where I boarded we were thrown into
daily intercourse, and as I became impressed with the strong, quiet
dignity and purity of her life, a warmer sentiment seemed to gradually
thaw my heart, the more so as I perceived she manifested an evident
partiality for me.
“I found it easy, with the aid of those letters, to procure a divorce
from Agnes, in Chicago, and last fall I married my second wife and came
here, bringing with us the one child left me, whom you have often seen.
I have lived a peaceful and quiet life, and striven so far as possible
to banish from my memory and thoughts the scenes of the past—that
beautiful and nearly tragical past, the happiest days of my life and the
most miserable, until—Well, you were with me in my office when a certain
letter was delivered to me but a short time ago, and you witnessed the
effect upon me and wondered at my agitation. I promised to explain its
cause. You will wonder no longer when I tell you that the letter was
from Teasdale and contained a full confession of his villainy. In it he
avows the perfect innocence of Agnes, and explains just how and why he
secreted the letter in my secretary and wrote the others in her absence,
thus wreaking a terrible vengeance on us both.
“Admiring my wife, he hoped if he could in some way separate us he might
get her into his power; and when she, with scorn, repelled his slightest
advances toward her, and I with threats drove him from the house, he
became unscrupulous as to his mode of revenge. He bribed one of the
servants to place the letter where I found it, as soon as he learned of
my wife’s absence from home, and then sent the other two letters,
conceived with diabolical cunning that the result would be just what it
has been. And I, blind fool that I was, worked right into his hands, and
acted the damnable part of an Othello, entailing a life of misery and
lifelong regret upon both myself and my innocent Agnes.
“If I were free I would hasten to her, the bride of my youth, and on
bended knee implore her forgiveness of the most grievous wrong ever
committed by man upon the gentle being who gave her life into his hands,
and whose only fault was having loved and trusted so stupid a fool as I.
“As it is I cannot right one wrong without committing another. _There_
lives the wife of my youth, mother of my son and co-partner in the right
to that little grave upon the hillside where sleep the two innocents,
flesh of our flesh. _Here_ is the wife who married me in all trust, who
will soon be mother, also, of my child. Was ever man so unfortunately
placed? Curses upon a system that makes it easy for a man to get a
divorce upon the most trivial pretext. If I had only—but why speak of
what cannot be changed? I can see nothing but days and nights of
sleepless remorse in my pathway, whichever way I turn, whatever happens.
On my life, Bartram, the future is too black a hell to enter into! Were
it not a cowardly act, I believe I would make an end of my wretched
existence.”
“Have you told her, your present wife, of all this?” Nathan asked.
“No; I could not tell her all. It seemed unnecessary. She knew when she
married me that I had divorced my first wife for infidelity. Were I to
tell her now of this late discovery she would at once jump at correct
conclusions in the matter and be inconsolably wretched, for I believe
she loves me, unworthy as I am; while I—I must strive against hating any
object that stands in the way of retracing my steps back to those
halcyon days of love and happiness. I tell you, Bartram, the human heart
is a wayward animal and hard to be held in the leash. But forgive me for
giving utterance to thoughts that should never be allowed lodgment in my
brain.”
“Have you written to your first wife, Agnes?” Nathan inquired, as Major
Walden began gloomily to pace the floor of the library.
“Yes; I wrote telling her all,—all my misery,—and inclosed the letter
from Teasdale. She shall have that to clear herself there, and she shall
have the satisfaction of knowing that remorse with guilt is harder to
bear than injustice with innocence. I think, after a time, I will tell
Mrs. Walden as much as is necessary, and let little Freddy go to his
mother. I have promised Agnes that, and I have made my will providing
liberally for her, for I feel as if this strain cannot long be borne
without the snapping of some of those strings that are essential to the
harmony of this mysterious something we call life, and the grave or
mad-house will ere long claim a victim.”
“You have my profound sympathy, Major,” said Nathan; “but you know it is
said, ‘life has no wounds time cannot heal.’”
“I know, I know; but, alas, I am haunted by a fear that Agnes may not be
living; that she may have been crushed by this terrible blow of my
inflicting! She was so sensitive, so gentle. Oh, I cannot bear the
thought! I want her to know the truth, now.”
“Do you not think she might know that, even if in the other world?”
Nathan ventured.
“For God’s sake, don’t say that! It savors too much of that accursed
creed that has been at the bottom of all my trouble,” said Walden with
savage vehemence. “The nauseating flavor of the other world which I have
been obliged to taste from the hands of these spiritists has given me no
appetite for any more of it, I assure you. I’ll think of Hades or
Nirvana, but not of that intermediate place where spirits are supposed
to roam. Ugh! I’ll have none of it!”