Several months of irksome quiet to Mrs. St. John succeeded the
festivities that followed upon her marriage.
Her elderly bridegroom found that protracted gayeties did not agree with
his age and health, and with the obstinacy common to a selfish old age,
he prohibited his wife from participation in those scenes of pleasure in
which, by reason of her youth and beauty, she was so pre-eminently
fitted to shine.
He could not stand such excitement himself, he said, and he wanted his
wife at home to cheer and solace his declining years.
So the beautiful bridal dresses hung in the wardrobe unworn, and the
costly jewels hid their brightness locked away in their caskets.
Xenie had small need for these things in the lonely life to which she
found herself condemned by her foolish, doting old husband.
Loving pleasure and excitement with all the ardor of a passionate,
impulsive temperament like hers, it is quite possible that Mrs. St. John
might have rebelled against her liege lord's selfishness, but for one
strong purpose to which she bent every energy, subordinating everything
else to its accomplishment.
So she bore his selfish exactions with a patient, yielding sweetness,
and ministered to his caprices with the beautiful devotion of a fireside
angel.
She was using every sweet persuasion in her power to induce Mr. St. John
to execute a will in her favor.
She had learned that in the event of his death, without a will, his
widow would legally inherit only one-third of his great wealth, while
the remaining two-thirds would descend to his next of kin--the next of
kin in this case being her enemy, Howard Templeton.
Xenie knew that her revenge would not be secure until her husband had
made his will and cut off his nephew without a dollar.
She had believed that Mr. St. John's infatuation for her would make her
task easy, but she had not counted upon the uneasy sense in the old
man's mind of a certain injustice done to the nephew he had reared, by
his unexpected marriage.
"No, no, Xenie," he said, when she openly pleaded with him to make such
a will. "It would be unjust to leave poor Howard without a dollar to
support himself."
"He is a man," said Xenie, scornfully. "He has his head and hands to
earn his living."
"Yes; but Howard does not know how to work, my darling, and it is all my
fault. I brought him up as my heir and refused to let him have a
profession or to learn anything useful. You see we are the last of our
race, and I expected to leave him everything when I died. I did not know
I should meet and marry you, my darling," he said, kissing her fondly,
without noticing her uncontrollable shiver of disgust.
"Yes, but your marriage alters everything," she said, eagerly, lifting
her melting, dark eyes to his face with a siren smile on the curve of
her scarlet lips. "You would not wish to leave your money away from me,
your poor, helpless little wife?"
"There is enough for you both, my dear," he said, persuasively. "Howard
might have his share--the smaller share, of course--and you would still
be a wealthy woman!"
"I hate Howard Templeton!" exclaimed Xenie, with sudden, passionate
vehemence.
The old man looked at her half angrily.
"You hate my nephew?" he said. "Why do you hate him, Xenie, when next to
you I love him, best of anyone in the world?"
Xenie's sober senses, that had almost deserted her in her sudden gust of
passion, returned to her with a gasp.
"I--oh, forgive me," she said, with ready penitence, "I spoke foolishly.
I do not like you to love him so. I am jealous of you, my darling!"
She leaned toward him and laid her white arm around his shoulder
caressingly.
But suddenly, and even as she lifted her beautiful face for his caress,
he drew back his hand, and without a word of warning, struck her a heavy
blow across the face.
She reeled backward and fell upon the floor, the red blood spurting from
her nostrils and from her lips that the terrible blow had driven against
the points of her white teeth and terribly lacerated.
"You Jezebel," he shouted, hoarsely, rising and standing over her with
his brandished fist. "How dare you hate him--my own nephew, my handsome
Howard!"
With a moan of fear and pain Xenie sprang up and fled to the furthest
corner of the room.
"Oh! you coward!" she cried, passionately. "To strike a woman--a
helpless woman!"
She was trying to staunch the fast flowing blood with her lace
handkerchief, but she stopped and stared at him in dumb terror as he
approached her.
For the glare of madness shone in his dim eyes as they turned upon
her--his foam-flecked lips were drawn away from his glistening set of
false teeth, and his face presented a terrible appearance.
"Oh! my God, he is going to kill me!" she moaned to herself, crouching
down in the corner with her arms raised wildly above her shrinking head.
He towered above her with his clenched fist raised threateningly and his
eyes glaring ferociously upon her.
Xenie believed that a sudden frenzy of madness had come upon her husband
and that he was going to take her life.
She was about to shriek aloud in the hope of rescue, when he suddenly
clapped a strong hand over her lips.
"Hush!" he said, fearfully, "hush, Xenie, don't let anyone know I struck
you! Does it hurt you much?--the blood, I mean--I'm sorry if it does."
The tone was that of a wheedling, penitent child that is sorry for its
fault. In sheer surprise the frightened creature looked up at him.
The ferocious look of bloodthirsty madness had marvelously faded from
his face, and left a pale, fearful, childish expression instead.
He dropped his hand and wiped the blood from it, shivering all over.
"Oh! the blood, how red it is!" he whined. "Did I hurt you, my love?
I'm sorry--very sorry. Don't tell anyone I struck you."
"I'll tell the whole world," she flashed forth, speaking with
difficulty, for her lips were bruised and swollen. "I'll tell them that
you are mad, and I'll have you put into an asylum for dangerous
lunatics, you base coward!"
Mr. St. John's face grew livid at her angry threat. He trembled with
fear.
"No, no, Xenie, you won't, you mustn't do it," he gasped forth. "I will
never do so again. I'll be your slave if you won't tell!"
"I will tell it everywhere!" cried his young wife, rushing to the door,
her whole passionate spirit aglow with the keenest resentment.
But with unlooked-for strength in one of his age, he ran forward, and
stood with his back against the door.
"You shall not go till you promise to keep silent," he said, firmly; "I
will do anything you ask me, Xenie, if you will only not tell on me!"
"Anything?" she exclaimed, turning quickly.
"Yes, anything," he reiterated, with a weak, imploring look, full of
craven fear.
"Very well," she answered firmly; "make your will to-day, and cut Howard
Templeton off with a shilling, and I'll keep your secret--otherwise the
city shall ring with the story of your cruelty!"
"Won't you let me leave him ten thousand dollars, dear?" he asked,
pitifully.
"Not a dollar!" she answered coldly.
"Five thousand dollars?"
"Not a dollar!" she reiterated firmly.
"Very well," he answered, weakly. "I have said you shall name your own
price. Shall I go to my lawyer now, Xenie?"
"Yes, now," she answered, with a flash of triumph in her eyes.
He stood still a moment looking at her with a half-insane look of
cunning on the wrinkled features that but a moment ago had been
transformed by maniacal rage.
"Poor boy!" he said, "you hate him very much, Xenie; I wonder what he
has done to make you his enemy!"
She did not answer, and the old millionaire went out of the room, after
turning upon her a strange look of blended cunning and triumph which she
could not understand.
"Pshaw! he meant nothing by it," she said to herself to dispel the
uneasy impression that glance had left. "The old man is getting weak and
silly. One is scarcely safe alone with him."
She shuddered at the recollection of what she had passed through, and
going to her private room, locked the door and bathed her swollen,
discolored face with a healing lotion.