"THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR."
That heart-broken cry struck instant terror to the souls of both men.
Clifford started to his feet, and Mr. Temple sprang forward, with a
muttered oath, toward the portières that screened an alcove at one end
of the room, just as they parted, and Minnie Temple appeared in the
aperture.
"Oh, papa, papa! what does it all mean?" she wailed as she fell into his
outstretched arms, and he caught her almost fiercely to his breast. "I
have heard every word that you have said. I came in here after dinner,
laid down on the couch in the alcove and went to sleep. I awoke when
Clifford Faxon came in, but was too late to leave; then when you began
to talk I remained where I was--forgot everything but what you were
saying. Oh, tell me, what is this dreadful story about mamma and me, and
about Mr. Faxon being your son? I must know--I must know! I will know!"
The poor girl was fearfully wrought up, and at this point lapsed into
violent hysterics that alarmed both her companions.
With the child still hugged to his bosom and a face like chalk, Mr.
Temple strode to the mantle and touched an electric button.
"Send Mrs. Maxfield immediately--Miss Minnie is ill," he said when the
butler appeared.
Then he attempted to soothe her, calling her every endearing name he
could think of, and assuring her that there was no story--she simply
dreamed or had a horrible nightmare.
But she was past all reason, and when the housekeeper appeared she was
borne up-stairs in an almost unconscious condition and put to bed, while
Clifford quietly left the house, but with an exceedingly heavy heart.
A physician was summoned, and after powerful anodynes had been
administered the child fell into a profound stupor, from which she did
not arouse until the next morning.
But, of course, when the effects of the sleeping potion wore off and
memory returned, the girl, who was mature beyond her years, sent for her
father and insisted upon being told the truth about herself.
Mr. Temple tried to evade her as he had done the night previous, by
trying to convince her that she had only been dreaming; but she asserted
that she knew better, and appealed to her mother--who had been out at a
reception the night before--to make her father explain what she had
overheard.
Mr. Temple was in despair--he felt that the web of fate was closing
around him, and, for the first time in his life, fell into a violent
passion with her, sternly commanding her to stop questioning him
regarding what was none of her affairs, but had been purely a matter of
business between himself and Mr. Faxon.
Of course, the curiosity of both Mrs. Temple and Philip, who was also
present, was aroused, and, upon their insistence, Minnie faithfully
rehearsed the conversation between her father and Clifford, and, thus
brought to bay, the wretched millionaire was forced to make a clean
breast of everything.
It was a crushing blow to the entire family. Mrs. Temple shut herself up
in her own room and would see no one for three days.
Then she sent for Philip, who seemed to have been suddenly transformed,
and bore himself with a grave dignity that he had never worn before.
They were closeted for several hours; then they requested Mr. Temple to
come to them. He obeyed the summons, but appeared like an old man, out
of whom all hope and ambition had been crushed.
He tried many times to see his wife during those three, to him, endless
days; but she would not admit him. He had sent her note after note that
were pitiful in their expressions of remorse and appeals for
forgiveness. His heart sank anew within him as he now entered her
presence and noted how she had also changed. When he would have greeted
her with his customary caress he was waved to a distant chair with an
air of repulsion.
"I have come to the decision, Mr. Temple, that there is but one thing
for me to do," she began, but without looking at him, "and that is to
leave Washington immediately, seek some place of retirement and hide my
shame as best I can."
"Don't Nell! Oh--don't!" cried the stricken man, cringing before her;
"no breath of shame shall touch you, my darling; we will right
everything."
"Right everything!" exclaimed the outraged woman, turning upon him in
righteous indignation. "Do you presume to talk of righting such a wrong
as mine at this late day? Do you imagine that the formal benediction of
a clergyman would restore to me the self-respect of which you have
deliberately robbed me, or wipe out the stigma that rests upon my child?
I am not your wife--I have never been your wife--I have simply been,
like a piece of merchandise, labeled with your name, and--I will never
answer to it again."
"Oh, Nell! forgive--you break my heart!" groaned the wretched listener.
"Break your heart!" the almost maddened woman exclaimed with a bitter
laugh. "Ah, me! one could scarce expect anything else--you think only of
your heart, your suffering. It is all of a piece with the selfishness
and recklessness that wrecked the life of that other woman, although the
wrong done her is not to be compared with mine. She at least was a legal
wife and her child legitimate, while I--oh, heavens!--to think what I
am! what my child is!" and she threw out her clenched hands with a cry
of mingled shame and agony that rang sharply through the room.
"Mother, hush! do not go over all that again!" Philip here interposed,
with quiet authority. "There is no call for you to mourn any loss of
self-respect, for you are in no way responsible for this wrong, and we
will guard Minnie so tenderly that the world shall never have an
opportunity to make her suffer a single pang. Of course," he continued
with grave thoughtfulness, "things cannot go on as they are. If your
decision--that you will not legally assume the name that you have
hitherto borne--is irrevocable, we must arrange for as quiet a
separation as possible, for Minnie's sake----"
"Oh, Nell! spare me that, I beg," pleaded Mr. Temple, with a heartbroken
sob. "Oh, forgive me this great wrong; don't talk of separation; let me
make you legally my wife, then we will go away to Europe--or anywhere
you like--and I will be your slave--I will do my utmost to atone for the
past and make you happy for the future. No one need ever know aught of
this secret. Faxon is honor itself, and he assured me that no hint of it
should ever escape his lips, and I am sure he would keep his word--Phil,
you know that he can be depended upon."
"Yes," Philip gravely asserted, after a moment of hesitation, "I know,
if Faxon said that he will abide by it. But, Mr. Temple," he resumed in
a tone which was an indication of his own attitude, "I feel sure that my
mother has received a shock from which she can never recover, and I
agree with her that a separation will be the wisest measure to adopt
under the circumstances."
"Let your mother speak for herself, if you please, Phil," Mr. Temple
interrupted, as he braced himself in his chair and turned his haggard
face toward the woman whom he adored.
The proud, beautiful worldling shivered as if an icy wind had blown over
her, for she had loved this man who, for twelve almost idealistic years,
she had regarded as her husband. She had scarce had a wish ungratified;
she had enjoyed his wealth and been proud of her position in society.
But, as Philip had said, the shock which she had sustained had been one
from which she could never rally, for it had killed both love and
respect at one blow. She did not move or lift her glance to him as she
said in an almost inaudible voice.
"Phil has stated it right--I can never forgive the fearful wrong that
you have done me. We must part."
"How about--Minnie?" Mr. Temple questioned, a look of despair on his
face.
It was an unfortunate question. It aroused all the lioness in the
outraged woman, and she turned upon him with a burst of passion of which
he had never imagined her capable.
"Minnie is mine!" she cried in a voice that rang shrilly through the
room--"mine by the right of motherhood and--oh, God!--mine, exclusively
mine, by right of the shame which you have entailed upon us both."
It was a terrible thrust, and William Temple threw out his hands with a
gesture of keenest anguish, as if warding off the point of a dagger. He
sat like one stunned for several moments, and there was no sound in the
room.
Finally the man lifted his bowed head and observed in a hollow tone and
with a look of utter hopelessness:
"Very well, Nell, it will have to be as you say; but no breath of shame
from the world shall ever touch either of you--I could not bear that. I
know I deserve my punishment, and I bow to the inevitable. You shall
have Minnie--I relinquish her to you--and you shall go where you will;
or, if you prefer to remain here in Washington, I will go to the ends of
the earth, on some plausible errand, and you shall never hear of me
again.
"Now"--rising feebly and holding onto the back of his chair, while he
gazed on her with the look of one whose heart was breaking--"arrange
everything to suit yourself. I will not lay a straw in your way, and you
shall have all the money you want."
He tottered from the room, groping his way down-stairs and walking like
one who has been stricken blind, sought the library, and locked himself
in to keep out intruders, while trying to face a future which did not
seem to have a single ray of hope to make it worth the living.
There they found him five hours later, sitting before his desk, his head
bowed upon his outstretched arms, unconscious and almost rigid.
The butler, desiring some instructions regarding certain orders his
master had given him, rapped upon the door for admission; but, after
repeated attempts, receiving no answer, he had gone out upon the veranda
and entered the room by a window, to find the occupant of the room in
the condition described.
He was borne to his room and the family physician summoned, when the
attack was pronounced an apoplectic stroke.
He recovered consciousness after a few days, but could move neither hand
nor foot, while the verdict of the doctors was that his days, even his
hours, were numbered.
When this was made known to Mrs. Temple she seemed to become like one
petrified. She sat motionless and speechless for several minutes; then
she burst into a passion of weeping, so violent in her utter abandonment
to her overwhelming grief that she was utterly prostrated by it; the
flood-gates that had hitherto been held back by an almost indomitable
will and pride were lifted, and all her pent-up sorrow and shame were
let loose.
When the storm finally spent itself she slept from sheer exhaustion, and
did not wake for several hours. Then she was calm, and once more
mistress of herself, and clothing herself in soft, noiseless garments,
she went directly to her husband, a chastened look on her face, an air
of gentleness and resignation in her bearing that hitherto had been
wholly foreign to her.
Almost ever since memory had returned to him, the sick man had lain with
his eyes fastened upon the door leading from his room, and with a look
of longing in them that was pathetic beyond description.
When, at length, it opened to admit his wife, his whole face lighted
with an expression of joy that nearly made her weep again, but which
sent a thrill to her own heart that told her she loved him still, in
spite of the irreparable wrong he had done her.
She went to his bed and sat down beside him, gathering one of his
lifeless hands into hers, and, bending over him, kissed him on the
forehead.
Two great tears welled up from the fountain of his heart and brimmed
over upon his cheeks. His wife gently wiped them away and questioned
tenderly:
"Will, is there anything you would like me to do for you?"
He closed his eyes slowly, thus signifying that there was, then, opening
them again, he glanced toward the nurse.
"Do you wish to be alone with me for a while?" Mrs. Temple inquired.
Yes, the sad eyes signified, and the attendant went immediately out.
"Now, dear, how can I manage to find out just what you want?" said Mrs.
Temple, when the door was closed.
Again that intensely yearning look was fastened upon her face, and she
instinctively divined his thought at once.
"Is it that you wish me to say something kind to you?" she asked.
His look brightened, but the tears started at the same time.
"Well, then, Will, dear," began the chastened wife, in a voice that was
tremulous with emotion, "I have fought my battle out, and I believe I
can truly say that I forgive all. I see now that I was selfish in
thinking only of my own suffering--I had no right to be cruel to you
when you were more wretched than I. Get well, Will--try to get well, and
then we will all go to some quiet place and begin to live in a more
earnest and sensible way."
The tears were raining thick and fast now from the man's eyes, but she
wiped them away, while she continued to talk to him in a soothing,
comforting strain, until he became more composed. But she soon saw that
there was still something on his mind, and she tried to ascertain what
it was, but though she asked many questions regarding his business and
certain appointments which she knew he had made, she could not seem to
get at his thought.
At last she told him that she would say the alphabet and they would
spell out his wish. When she reached the letter M, he signified that was
right, and she instantly jumped to a conclusion, and inquired:
"Do you want Minnie?--how strange I did not think of that before!"
Yes, the eyes assented. Mrs. Temple rang the bell and sent for the
child, who had not been allowed to come into the room, except for a
moment or two, while her father was sleeping.
She soon made her appearance, looking pale and drooping, for the
sensitive girl had been stricken to the heart by what she had learned,
and inexpressibly lonely and wretched while her mother was brooding over
her own misery.
Mrs. Temple folded her in her arms and kissed her tenderly, then made
her sit down in her own chair, while she drew another near for herself.
"Papa wished me to send for you, dear," she said; "he cannot speak, but
you may talk to him a little; and, love, say something kind to him," she
concluded, with her lips close to Minnie's ear.
Minnie sat down by the sick man and laid her cheek against his with all
her accustomed fondness.
"Papa," she murmured, "I love you--I am so sorry you are ill and cannot
talk to me; but"--now lifting her head and looking earnestly into his
eyes--"you know that I love you--that I shall always love you."
The look of yearning and agony which he bent upon her was more than she
could bear, and, dropping her head again upon his pillow, she added:
"Now cannot you go to sleep for a little while; I will sit here beside
you and hold your hand; then, perhaps, when you are rested you can talk
to me a little."
She clasped his hand in both of her own soft, warm palms, raised it to
her lips, kissed it, and held it there, and for nearly half an hour
there was no sound in the room.
Finally the nurse came softly in, to look after her patient, and Mrs.
Temple turned, with her finger upon her lips.
"They are both asleep," she whispered.
It was true, both the man and child were wrapped in slumber; one in that
which knows no waking, the other in the innocent, restful sleep of
childhood.