THE DEERING WOODS.
Edith had been in a state of feverish excitement all the day, so
happy had she been made by the certainty that Arthur loved her.
She had not doubted it before, but having it told her in so many
words was delightful, and she could scarcely wait for the hour
when she was to hear the continuation of a story abruptly
terminated by the return of Richard. Poor Richard! He was sitting
in his library now, looking so lonely, when on her way through the
hall she glanced in at him, that she almost cried to think how
desolate he would be when she was gone.
"I'll coax Arthur to come here and live," she said to herself,
thinking how nice it would be to have Arthur and Nina and Richard
all in one house.
The hands of her watch were pointing to three, as, stepping out
upon the piazza she passed hurriedly through the grounds and
turned in the direction of the Deering Woods. Onward, onward, over
the hill and across the fields she flew, until the woods were
reached--the silent, leafless woods, where not a sound was heard
save the occasional dropping of a nut, the rustle of a leaf, or
the ripple of the mill-brook falling over the stones. The warm sun
had dried the withered grass, and she sat down beneath a forest
tree, watching, waiting, wondering, and trembling violently at
last as in the distance she heard the cracking of the brittle
twigs and fancied he was coming.
"I'll pretend I don't hear him," she said, and humming a simple
air she was industriously pulling the bark from the tree when NINA
stood before her, exclaiming,
"You ARE here just as Arthur said you'd be. The woods were so
still and smoky that I was most afraid."
Ordinarily Edith would have been delighted at this meeting, but
now she could not forbear wishing Nina away, and she said to her
somewhat sternly,
"What made you come?"
"He sent me," and Nina crouched down at Edith's feet, like a
frightened spaniel. "Arthur is coming, too, and going to do right.
He said he was, bending right over me last night, and when I woke
this morning there was a great tear on my face. 'Twasn't mine,
Miggie. It was too big for that. It was Arthur's."
"How came he in your room?" Edith asked, a little sharply, and
Nina replied,
"I was in the library. We both staid there all night. It wasn't in
my room, though Arthur has a right, Miggie. IT NEVER WAS SCRATCHED
OUT!"
Edith was puzzled, and was about to question Nina as to her
meaning, when another step was heard, a manly, heavy tread,
precluding all possibility of a mistake this time. Arthur St.
Claire had come!
"It's quite pleasant since yesterday," he said, trying to force a
smile, but it was a sickly effort, and only made more ghastly and
wan his pallid features, over which ages seemed to have passed
since the previous day, leaving them scarred, and battered, and
worn.
Edith had never noticed so great a change in so short a time, for
there was scarcely a vestige left of the once handsome, merry-
hearted Arthur in the stooping, haggard man, who stood before her,
with blood-shot eyes, and an humble, deprecating manner, as if
imploring her forgiveness for the pain he had come to inflict.
Nothing could prevent it now. Her matchless beauty was naught to
him. He did not even see it. He thought of her only as a being for
whose sake he would gladly die the most torturing death that human
ingenuity could devise, if by this means, he could rescue her
unscathed from the fire he had kindled around her. But this could
not be; he had fallen, dragging her down with him, and now he must
restore her even though it broke her heart just as his was broken.
He had felt the fibres snapping, one by one; knew his life blood
was oozing out, drop by drop, and this it was which made him
hesitate so long. It was painful for him to speak, his throat was
so parched and dry, his tongue so heavy and thick.
"What is it, Arthur?" Edith said at last, as Nina, uttering a cry
of fear, hid her face in the grass to shut out Arthur from her
sight, "Tell me, what is it?"
Seating himself upon a log near by, and clasping his hands
together with a gesture of abject misery, Arthur replied.
"Edith, I am not worthy to look into your face; unless you take
your eyes from mine--oh, take them away, or I cannot tell you what
I must."
Had her very life depended upon it, Edith could not have removed
her eyes from his. An undefinable fear was curdling her blood--a
fear augmented by the position of her two companions--Nina, with
her head upon the grass, and that strange, white-faced being on
the log. Could THAT be Arthur St. Claire, or was she laboring
under some horrible delusion? No, the lips moved; it was Arthur,
and leaning forward she listened to what he was saying,
"Edith, when yesterday I was with you, some words which I uttered
and which were wrung from me, I know not how, gave you reason to
believe that I was then asking you to become my wife, while
something in your manner told me that to such asking you would not
answer no. The temptation then to take you to my arms, defying
earth and heaven, was a terrible one, and for a time I wavered, I
forgot everything but my love for you; but that is past and I come
now to the hardest part of all, the deliberate surrender of one
dearer than life itself. Edith, do you remember the obstacle, the
hindrance which I always said existed to my marrying any one?"
She did not answer; only the eyes grew larger as they watched him;
and he continued,
"I made myself forgot it for a time, but Heaven was kinder far
than I deserved, and will not suffer me longer. Edith, you CANNOT
be my wife."
She made a movement as if she would go to him, but his swaying
arms kept her off, and he went on;
"There IS an obstacle, Edith--a mighty obstacle, I could trample
it down if I would, and there is none to question the act; but,
Edith, I dare not do you this wrong."
His voice was more natural now, and Nina, lifting up her head,
crept closely to him, whispering softly, "Good boy, you will do
right."
His long, white fingers threaded her sunny hair, and this was all
the token he gave that he was conscious of her presence.
"Don't you know now, Edith, what it is which stands between us?"
he asked; and Edith answered, "It is Nina, but how I do not
understand."
Arthur groaned a sharp, bitter groan, and rocking to and fro
replied, "Must I tell you? Won't you ever guess until I do? Oh,
Edith, Edith--put the past and present together--remember the
picture found in my room when you were a little girl, the picture
of Nina Bernard; think of all that has happened; my dread to meet
with Richard, though that you possibly did not know; my foolish
fear, lest you should know of Nina; her clinging devotion to me;
my brotherly care for her; Richard's story of the one single
marriage ceremony he ever performed, where the bride's curls were
like these," and he lifted Nina's golden ringlets. "You hear me,
don't you?"
He knew she did, for her bosom was heaving with choking sobs as if
her soul were parting from the body; her breath came heavily from
between her quivering lips, and her eyes were riveted upon him
like coals of living fire. Yes, he knew she heard, and he only
questioned her to give himself another moment ere he cut asunder
the last chord and sent her drifting out upon the dark sea of
despair.
"Edith--Edith--Edith," and with each word he hugged Nina closer to
him, so close that she gave a cry of pain, but he did not heed it;
he hardly knew he held her--his thoughts were all for the poor,
wretched girl, rising slowly to her feet. "Edith, you surely
understand me now. The obstacle between us is---; oh, Nina, say it
for me, tell her what you are to me."
"I know," and Edith Hastings stood tall and erect before him,
"NINA IS YOUR WIFE."
Nina looked up and smiled, while Edith crossed her arms upon her
breast, and waited for him to answer.
"Yes, Edith,--though never before acknowledged as such, Nina is my
wife; but, Edith, I swear it before high Heaven, she is only a
wife in name. Never for a day, or hour, or moment have I lived
with her as such. Were it otherwise, I could not have fallen so
low. Her father came the very night we were married, and took her
away next morning. Griswold and I must have met him just as we
left the yard, after having assisted Nina and her room-mate, Sarah
Warren, to reach the window, from which they had adroitly escaped
little move than an hour before. No one had missed them,--no one
ever suspected the truth, and as Miss Warren died a few months
afterward, only Nina, Griswold and myself knew the secret, which I
guarded most carefully for fear of expulsion from college. You
know the rest. You know it all, Nina is my wife. Nina is my wife,-
-my wife,--my wife."
He kept whispering it to himself, as if thus he would impress it
the more forcibly upon the unconscious Edith, who lay upon the
withered grass just where Nina had lain, rigid and white and free
for the present from all suffering. Arthur could not move; the
blow had fallen on them both with a mightier force than even he
had anticipated, killing her he feared, and so benumbing himself
that to act was impossible, and he continued sitting upon the log
with his elbows resting on his knees and his face upon his hands.
Only Nina had any reason then or judgment. Hastening to Edith she
knelt beside her, and lifting up her head pillowed it upon her
lap, wiping from her temple the drops of blood slowly trickling
from a cut, made by a sharp stone.
"Miggie, Miggie," she cried, "wake up. You scare me, you look so
white and stiff. Please open your eyes, darling, just a little
ways, so Nina'll know that you ain't dead. Oh, Arthur, she is
DEAD!" and Nina shrieked aloud, when, opening herself the lids,
she saw the dull, fixed expression of the glassy eye.
Laying her back upon the grass, she crept to Arthur's side, and
tried to rouse him, saying imploringly, "Miggie's dead, Arthur;
Miggie's dead. There is blood all over her face. It's on me, too,
look," and she held before him her fingers, covered with a crimson
stain. Even this did not move him; he only kissed the tiny hand
wet with Edith's blood, and whispered to her, "Richard."
It was enough. Nina comprehended his meaning at once; and when
next he looked about him she was flying like a deer across the
fields to Collingwood, leaving him alone with Edith. From where he
sat he could see her face, and its corpse-like pallor chilled him
with horror. He must go to her. It would be long ere Nina guided
the blind man to the spot, and, exerting all his strength, he
tottered to the brook, filled his hat with water, and crawling,
rather than walking, to Edith's side, dashed it upon her head,
washing the stains of blood, away, and forcing back the life so
nearly gone. Gradually the eyes unclosed, and looked into his with
a glance so full of love. tenderness, reproach, and cruel
disappointment, that he turned away, for he could not meet that
look.
The blood from the wound upon the forehead was flowing freely now,
and faint from its loss, Edith sank again into a state of
unconsciousness, while Arthur, scarcely knowing what he did, crept
away to a little distance, where, leaning against a tree, he sat
insensible as it were, until the sound of footsteps roused him,
and he saw Nina coming, holding fast to the blind man's wrist, and
saying to him encouragingly,
"We are almost there. I see her dress now by the bank. Wake up,
Miggie; we're coming--Richard and I. Don't you hear me, Miggie?"
* * * * * *
Victor had been sent to the village upon an errand for Richard,
who was sitting in his arm-chair, just where Edith had left him an
hour before, dozing occasionally, as was his custom after dinner,
and dreaming of his singing bird.
"Little rose-bud," he whispered to himself. "It's strange no
envious, longing eyes have sought her out as yet, and tried to win
her from me. There's St. Claire--cannot help admiring her, but
thus far he's been very discreet, I'm sure. Victor would tell me
if he saw any indications of his making love to Edith."
Deluded Richard! Victor Dupres kept his own counsel with regard to
Edith and the proprietor of Grassy Spring; and when questioned by
his master, as he sometimes was, he always answered, "Monsieur St.
Claire does nothing out of the way."
So Richard, completely blinded, trusted them both, and had no
suspicion of the scene enacted that afternoon in the Deering
Woods. Hearing a swift footstep coming up the walk, he held his
breath to listen, thinking it was Edith, but a moment only
sufficed to tell it was Nina. With a rapid, bounding tread she
entered the library, and gliding to his side, startled him with,
"Come, quick, Miggie's dead--dead in the Deering Woods!"
For an instant Richard's brain reeled, and rings of fire danced
before his sightless eyes; then, remembering the nature of the one
who had brought to him this news, hope whispered that it might not
be so bad, and this it was which buoyed him up and made him strong
to follow his strange guide.
* * * * * *
Down the lane, across the road, and over the fields Nina led him,
bareheaded as he was, and in his thin-soled, slippers, which were
torn against the briers and stones, for in her haste Nina did not
stop to choose the smoothest path, and Richard was too intent on
Edith to heed the roughness of the way. Many questions be asked
her as to the cause of the accident, but she told him nothing save
that "Miggie was talking and fell down dead." She did not mention
Arthur, for, fancying that he had in some way been the cause of
the disaster, she wished to shield him from all censure,
consequently Richard had no idea of the crushed, miserable wretch
leaning against the sycamore and watching him as he came up. He
only heard Nina's cry, "Wake up, Miggie, Richard's here!"
It needed more than that appeal, however, to rouse the unconscious
girl, and Richard, as he felt her cold, clammy flesh, wept aloud,
fearing lest she were really dead. Eagerly he felt for her heart,
knowing then that she still lived.
"Edith, darling, speak to me," and he chafed her nerveless hands,
bidding Nina bring him water from the brook.
Spying Arthur's hat Nina caught it up, when the thought entered
her mind, "He'll wonder whose this is." Then with a look of subtle
cunning, she stole up behind the blind man, and placing the hat
suddenly upon his head, withdrew it as quickly, saying, "I'll get
it in this, shan't I?"
Richard was too much excited to know whether he had worn one hat
or a dozen, and he answered her at once, "Use it of course."
The cold water brought by Nina roused Edith once more, and with a
sigh she lay back on Richard's bosom, so trustfully, so
confidingly, that Arthur, looking on, foresaw what the future
would bring, literally giving her up then and there to the blind
man, who, as if accepting the gift, hugged her fondly to him and
said aloud, "I thank the good Father for restoring to me my
Edith."
She suffered him to caress her as much as he liked, and offered no
remonstrance when lifting her in his strong arms, he bade Nina
lead him back to Collingwood. Like a weary child Edith rested her
head upon his shoulder, looking behind once, and regarding Arthur
with a look he never forgot, even when the darkness in which he
now was groping had passed away, and the full daylight was shining
o'er him. Leading Richard to a safe distance, Nina bade him wait a
moment while she went back for something she had forgotten--then
hastening to Arthur's side she wound her arms around his neck,
smoothed his hair, kissed his lips, and said to him so low that
Richard could not hear,
"NINA won't desert you. She'll come to you again, when she gets
Miggie home. You did do it, didn't you? but Nina'll never tell."
Kissing him once more, she bounded away, and with feelings of
anguish which more than compensated for his error, Arthur looked
after them as they moved slowly across the field, Richard
sometimes tottering beneath his load, which, nevertheless, he
would not release, and Nina, holding to his arm, telling him where
to go, and occasionally glancing backward toward the spot where
Arthur sat, until the night shadows were falling, and he shivered
with the heavy dew. Nina did not return, and thinking that she
would not, he started for home, never knowing how he reached
there, or when; only this he knew, no one suspected him of being
in the Deering Woods when Edith Hastings was attacked with that
strange fainting fit. Thanks for this to little Nina, who,
returning as she had promised, found the forgotten HAT still
dripping with water, and hiding it beneath her shawl, carried it
safely to Grassy Spring, where it would betray no one.