THE DARKNESS DEEPENS.
Death brooded over Collingwood, and his black wing beat
clamorously against the windows of the room to which, on that
fearful night, Richard had borne his fainting burden, and where
for days and weeks she lay so low that with every coming morning
the anxious villagers listened for the first stroke of the bell
which should tell that Edith was dead. Various were the rumors
concerning the cause of her illness, all agreeing upon one point,
to wit, that she had fainted suddenly in the woods with Nina, and
in falling, had received a deep gash upon her forehead. This it
was which made her crazy, the people said, and the physician
humored the belief, although with his experience he knew there was
some secret sorrow preying upon that young mind, the nature of
which he could not easily guess. It never occurred to him that it
was in any way associated with Arthur St. Claire, whose heart-
broken expression told how much he suffered, and how dear to him
was the delirious girl, who never breathed his name, or gave token
that she knew of his existence. Every morning, regularly he rung
the Collingwood bell, which was always answered by Victor, between
whom and himself there was a tacit understanding, perceptible in
the fervent manner with which the faithful valet's hand was
pressed whenever the news was favorable. He did not venture into
her presence, though repeatedly urged to do so by Grace, who
mentally accused him of indifference toward Edith. Alas, she knew
not of the nightly vigils kept by the wretched man, when with dim
eye and throbbing head he humbled himself before his Maker,
praying to be forgiven for the sorrow he had wrought, and again
wrestling in agony for the young girl, whose sick room windows he
could see, watching the livelong night the flickering of the lamp,
and fancying he could tell from its position, if any great change
occurred in her.
Richard was completely crushed, and without noticing any one he
sat hour after hour, day after day, night after night, always in
one place, near the head of the bed, his hands folded submissively
together, and his sightless eyes fixed upon the pillow, where he
knew Edith was, with a hopeless, subdued expression touching to
witness. He did not weep, but his dry, red eyes, fastened always
upon the same point, told of sealed fountains where the hot tears
were constantly welling up, and failing to find egress without,
fell upon the bruised heart, which blistered and burned beneath
their touch, but felt no relief. It was in vain they tried to
persuade him to leave the room; he turned a deaf ear to their
entreaties, and the physician was beginning to fear for his
reason, when crazy Nina came to his aid, and laying her moist hand
upon his said to him, not imploringly, but commandingly, "Come
with me."
There was a moment's hesitation, and then Richard followed her out
into the open air, sitting where she bade him sit, and offering no
resistance when she perched herself upon his knee and passed her
arm around his neck.
"Make him cry, can't you? That will do him good," whispered
Victor, who had come out with them.
Nina knew that better than himself. SHE remembered the time when
the sight of Edith had wrung from her torrents of tears, cooling
her burning brow, and proving a blessed relief, the good effects
of which were visible yet. And now it was her task to make the
blind man cry. She recognized something familiar in the hard,
stony expression of his face, something which brought back the
Asylum, with all its dreaded horrors. She had seen strong men
there look just as he was looking. Dr. Griswold had called them
crazy, and knowing well what that word implied she would save
Richard from so sad a fate.
"It will be lonesome for you when Miggie's gone," she said, as a
prelude, to the attempt; "lonesomer than it has ever been before;
and the nights will be so dark, for when the morning comes
there'll be no Miggie here. She will look sweetly in her coffin,
but you can't see her, can you? You can FEEL how beautiful she is,
perhaps; and I shall braid her hair just as she used to wear it."
There was a perceptible tremor in Richard's frame, and perceiving
it, Nina continued quickly,
"We shall never forget her, shall we? and we'll often fancy we
hear her singing through the halls, even though we know she's far
away heading the choir in Heaven. That will be a pleasanter sound,
won't it, than the echo of the bell when the villagers count the
eighteen strokes and a half, and know it tolls for Miggie? The
hearse wheels, too--how often we shall hear them grinding through
the gravel, as they will grind, making a little track when they
come up, and a deeper one when they go away, for they'll carry
Miggie then."
"Oh, Nina! hush, hush! No, no!" and Richard's voice was choked
with tears, which ran over his face like rain.
Nina had achieved her object, and, with a most satisfied
expression she watched him as he wept. Her's was a triple task,
caring for Richard, caring for Arthur, and caring for Edith, but
most faithfully did she perform it. Every day, when the sun was
low in the western sky, she stole away to Grassy Spring, speaking
blessed words of comfort to the despairing Arthur, who waited for
her coming as for the visit of an angel. She was dearer to him now
since he had confessed his sin to Edith, and could she have been
restored to reason he would have compelled himself to make her his
wife in reality as well as in name. She was a sweet creature, he
knew; and he always caressed her with unwonted tenderness ere he
sent her back to the sick room, where Edith ever bemoaned her
absence, missing her at once, asking for pretty Nina, with the
golden hair. She apparently did not remember that Nina stood
between herself and Arthur St. Claire, or, if she did, she bore no
malice for the patient, all-enduring girl who nursed her with so
much care, singing to her the plaintive German air once sung to
Dr. Griswold, and in which Edith would often join, taking one
part, while Nina sang the other; and the members of the household,
when they heard the strange melody, now swelling load and full, as
some fitful fancy took possession of the crazy vocalists, and now
sinking to a plaintive wail, would shudder, and turn aside to
weep, for there was that in the music which reminded them of the
hearse wheels grinding down the gravel, and of the village bell
giving the eighteen strokes. Sometimes, for nearly a whole night
those songs of the olden time would echo through the house, and
with each note she sang the fever burned more fiercely in Edith's
veins, and her glittering black eyes flashed with increased fire,
while her fingers clutched at her tangled hair, as if they thus
would keep time to the thrilling strain. Her hair troubled her, it
was so heavy, so thick, so much in her way, and when she
manifested a propensity to relieve herself of the burden by
tearing it from the roots the physician commanded them to cut away
those beautiful shining braids, Edith's crowning glory.
It was necessary, he said, and the sharp, polished scissors were
ready for the task, when Nina, stepping in between them and the
blue-black locks, saved the latter from the nurse's barbaric hand.
She remembered well when her own curls had fallen one by one
beneath the shears of an unrelenting nurse, and she determined at
all hazards to spare Edith from a like fancied indignity.
"Miggie's hair shall not be harmed," she said, covering with her
apron the wealth of raven tresses. "I can keep her from pulling
it. I can manage her;" and the sequel proved that she was right.
It was a singular power that blue-eyed blonde possessed over the
dark-eyed brunette, who became at last as obedient to Nina's will
as Nina once had been to her's, and it was amusing to watch Nina
flitting about Edith, now reasoning with, now coaxing, and again
threatening her capricious patient, who was sure eventually to do
as she was bidden.
Only once while the delirium lasted did Edith refer to Arthur, and
then she said reproachfully, "Oh, Nina, what made him do so?"
They were alone, and bending over her, Nina replied, "I am so
sorry, Miggie, and I'll try to have the ugly thing SCRATCHED OUT."
This idea once fixed in Nina's mind could not easily be dislodged,
and several times she went to Richard, asking him to SCRATCH IT
OUT! Wishing to humor her as far as possible he always answered
that he would if he knew what she meant. Nina felt that she must
not explain, and with vigilant cunning she studied how to achieve
her end without betraying Arthur. It came to her one night, and
whispering to Edith, "I am going to get it fixed," she glided from
the room and sought the library where she was sure of finding
Richard. It was nearly eleven o'clock, but he had not yet retired,
and with his head bent forward he sat in his accustomed place, the
fire-light shining on his face, which had grown fearfully haggard
and white within the last two weeks. He heard Nina's step, and
knowing who it was, asked if Edith were worse.
"No," returned Nina, "she'll live, too, If you'll only scratch it
out."
He was tired of asking what she meant, and he made no answer. But
Nina was too intent upon other matters to heed his silence. Going
to his secretary she arranged materials for writing, and then
taking his hand, said, in the commanding tone she used toward
Edith when at all refractory, "Come and write. 'Tis the only
chance of saving her life."
"Write what?" he asked, as he rose from his chair and suffered her
to lead him to the desk.
He had written occasionally since his blindness, but it was not a
frequent thing, and his fingers closed awkwardly about the pen she
placed in his hand. Feeling curious to know the meaning of all
this, he felt for the paper and then said to her,
"I am ready for you to dictate."
But dictation was no part of Nina's intentions. The lines traced
upon that sheet would contain a secret which Richard must not
know; and with a merry laugh, as she thought how she would cheat
him, she replied,
"No, SIR. Only Miggie and I can read what you write. Nina will
guide your hand and trace the words."
Dipping the pen afresh into the ink, she bade him take it, and
grasping his fingers, guided them while they wrote as follows;
"I, THE BLIND MAN, RICHARD HARRINGTON,--
"That last was my name," interrupted Richard, who was rewarded by
a slight pull of the hair, as Nina said,
"Hush, be quiet."
A great blot now came after the "Harrington," and wiping it up
with the unresisting Richard's coat sleeve, Nina continued:
"--DO HEREBY SOLEMNLY--"
She was not sure whether "swear" or "declare" would be the more
proper word, and she questioned Richard, who decided upon "swear"
as the stronger of the two, and she went on:
"--SWEAR THAT THE MARRIAGE OF--
"As true as you live you can't SEE?" she asked, looking curiously
into the sightless eyes.
"No; I can't see," was the response, and satisfied that she was
safe, Nina made him write,
"--ARTHUR ST. CLAIRE AND NINA BERNARD, PERFORMED AT MY HOUSE, IN
MY PRESENCE, AND BY ME--"
Nina didn't know what, but remembering a phrase she had often
heard used, and thinking it might be just what was needed, she
said,
"Does 'NULL AND VOID' mean 'SCRATCHED OUT?'"
"Yes," he answered, smiling in spite of himself, and Nina added
with immense capitals,
"--NULL AND VOID," to what she had already written.
"I reckon it will be better to have your name," she said, and the
cramped fingers were compelled to add: "RICHARD HARRINGTON,
COLLINGWOOD, November 25th 18--"
"There!" and Nina glanced with an unusual amount of satisfaction
at the wonderful hieroglyphics which covered nearly an entire page
of foolscap, so large were the letters and so far apart the words.
"That'll cure her, sure," and folding it up, she hastened back to
Edith's chamber.
Old Rachel watched that night, but Nina had no difficulty in
coaxing her from the room, telling her she needed sleep, and
Miggie was so much more quiet when alone with her. Rachel knew
this was true, and after an hour or so withdrew to another
apartment, leaving Edith alone with Nina. For a time Edith slept
quietly, notwithstanding that Nina rattled the spoons and upset a
chair hoping thus to wake her.
Meanwhile Richard's curiosity had been thoroughly roused with
regard to the SCRATCHING OUT, and knowing Victor was still up, he
summoned him to his presence, repeating to him what had just
occurred and saying, "If you find that paper read it. It is surely
right for me to know what I have written."
"Certainly," returned Victor, bowing himself from the room.
Rightly guessing that Nina would read it aloud to Edith, he
resolved to be within hearing distance, and when he heard Rachel
leave the chamber he drew near the door, left ajar for the purpose
of admitting fresher air. From his position he saw that Edith was
asleep, while Nina, with the paper clasped tightly in her hand,
sat watching her. Once the latter thought she heard a suspicious
sound, and stealing to the door she looked up and down the hall
where a lamp was burning, showing that it was empty.
"It must have been the wind," she said, resuming her seat by the
bedside, while Victor Dupres, gliding from the closet where he had
taken refuge, stood again at his former post, waiting for that
deep slumber to end.
"Nina, are you here?" came at last from the pale lips, and the
bright, black eyes unclosed looking wistfully about the room.
Silent and motionless Victor stood, while Nina, bending over
Edith, answered, "Yes, Miggie, I am here, and I've brought you
something to make you well. HE wrote it--Richard did--just now, in
the library. Can you see if I bring the lamp?" and thrusting the
paper into Edith's hands she held the lamp close to her eyes.
"You havn't strength, have you?" she continued, as Edith paid no
heed. "Let me do it for you," and taking the crumpled sheet, she
read in tones distinct and dear:
"I, THE BLIND MAN, RICHARD HARRINGTON, DO HEREBY SOLEMNLY SWEAR
THAT THE MARRIAGE OF ARTHUR ST. CLAIRE AND NINA BERNARD, PERFORMED
AT MY HOUSE, IN MY PRESENCE, AND BY ME, IS NULL AND VOID. RICHARD
HARRINGTON, COLLINGWOOD, NOVEMBER 5TH, 18--"
Slowly a faint color deepened on Edith's cheek, a soft lustre was
kindled in her eye, and the great tears dropped from her long
lashes. Her intellect was too much clouded for her to reason
clearly upon anything, and she did not, for a moment, doubt the
validity of what she heard. Richard could annul the marriage if he
would, she was sure, and now that he had done so, the bitterness
of death was past,--the dark river forded, and she was saved. Nina
had steered the foundering bark into a calm, quiet sea, and
exulting in her good work, she held Edith's head upon her bosom,
and whispered to her of the joyous future when she would live with
Arthur.
As a child listens to an exciting tale only comprehends in part,
so Edith listened to Nina, a smile playing about her mouth and
dancing in her eyes, which at last, as the low voice ceased,
closed languidly as did the soft blue orbs above them, and when
the grey dawn stole into the room it found them sleeping in each
other's arms,--the noble-hearted Nina who had virtually given up
her husband and the broken-hearted Edith who had accepted him.
They made a beautiful tableau, and Victor for a time stood
watching them, wiping the moisture from his own eyes, and
muttering to himself, "Poor Edith, I understand it now, and pity
you so much. But your secret is safe. Not for worlds would I
betray that blessed angel, Nina." Then, crossing the hall with a
cautious tread, he entered his own apartment and sat down to
THINK.
Victor Dupres knew WHAT HAD BEEN SCRATCHED OUT!