ARTHUR AND NINA.
It was rather late in the evening when Arthur returned, looking
more than usually pale and weary, and still there was about him an
air of playful pleasantry, such as there used to be, when Edith
first knew him. During the long ride to Tallahassee, Victor,
either from accident or design, touched upon the expected marriage
of his master, and although Arthur would not ask a single
question, he was a deeply-interested auditor, and listened
intently, while Victor told him much which had transpired between
himself and Edith, saying that unless some influence stronger than
any he or Grace could exert were thrown around her, she would keep
her vow to Richard, even though she died in keeping it.
"Girls like Edith Hastings do not die easily," was Arthur's only
comment, and Victor half wished he had kept his own counsel and
never attempted to meddle in a love affair.
But if Arthur said nothing, he thought the more, and the warfare
within was not the less severe, because his face was so unruffled
and his manner so composed. Thought, intense and almost
bewildering, was busy at work, and ere the day was done, he had
resolved that he would help Edith if all else forsook her. He
would not throw one single obstacle across her pathway. He would
make the sacrifice easier for her, even if to do it, he suffered
her to think that his own love had waned. Nothing could more
effectually cure her, and believing that she might be happy with
Richard if she did not love another, he determined to measure
every word and act so as to impress her with the conviction that
though she was dear to him as a sister and friend, he had
struggled with his affection for her and overcome it. It would be
a living death to do this, he knew--to act so contrary to what he
felt, but it was meet that he should suffer, and when at last he
was left alone--when both wore lost to him forever--Edith and his
child-wife Nina, he would go away across the sea, and lose, if
possible, in foreign lands, all rememberance of the past. And this
it was that made him seem so cheerful when he came in that night,
calling Edith "little sister," winding his arm around Nina,
kissing her white face, asking if she had missed him any, if she
were glad to have him back, and how she and Miggie had busied
themselves during the day.
"We talked of you, Arthur, and of Richard," Nina said. "Miggie has
promised to many him! Did you know it?"
"Yes, I know it," was Arthur's reply; "and there is no person in
the world to whom I would sooner give her than to Richard, for I
know he will leave nothing undone to make her happy."
There was no tremor in Arthur's voice, and Nina little guessed how
much it cost him thus to speak, with Edith sitting near. Looking
up into his face with a startled, perplexed expression, she said,
"I did not expect this, Arthur boy. I thought you loved Miggie."
"Nina, please don't," and Edith spoke entreatingly, but Nina
answered pettishly, "I ain't going to please, for everything has
got upside down. It's all going wrong, and it won't make a speck
of difference, as I see, whether I die or not."
"I think I'd try to live then," Arthur said, laughingly, while
Edith hailed the appearance of Marie as something which would put
a restraint upon Nina.
It had been arranged that Edith should take Arthur's place in the
sick room that night, but Nina suddenly changed her mind,
insisting that Arthur should sleep there as usual.
"There's a heap of things I must tell you," she whispered to him;
"and my head is clearer when it's darker and the candles are on
the stand."
So Edith retired to her own room, and after a time Arthur was
alone with Nina. He was very tired, but at her request he sat down
beside her, where she could look into his face and see, as she
said, if he answered her for true. At first it was of herself she
spoke--herself, as she used to be.
"I remember so well," she said "when you called me your Florida
rose, and asked for one of my curls. That was long ago, and there
have been years of darkness since, but the clouds are breaking
now--daylight is coming up, or rather Nina is going out, into the
daylight, where there is no more buzzing, no more headache. Will I
be crazy in Heaven, think?"
"No, darling, no," and Arthur changed his seat from the chair to
the bed, where he could be nearer to the little girl, who
continued,
"I've thought these many weeks how good you've been to me--how
happy you have made my last days, while I have been so bad to you,
but you musn't remember it against me, Arthur boy, when I'm dead
and there isn't any naughty Nina anywhere, neither at the Asylum,
nor Grassy Spring, nor here in bed, nothing but a teenty grave,
out in the yard, with the flowers growing on it, I say you must
not remember the wicked things I've done, for it wasn't the Nina
who talks to you now. It was the buzzing Nina who tore your hair,
and scratched your face, and bit your arm. Oh, Arthur, Nina's so
sorry now; but you musn't lay it up against me."
"No, my darling, God forbid that I, who have wronged you so
terribly, should remember aught against you," and Arthur kissed
the slender hands which had done him so much mischief.
They were harmless now, those little waxen hands, and they
caressed Arthur's face and hair as Nina went on.
"Arthur boy, there's one question I must ask you, now there's
nobody to hear, and you will tell me truly. Do you love me any--
love me differently from what you did when I was in the Asylum,
and if the buzzing all was gone, and never could come back, would
you really make me your wife just as other husbands do--would you
let me sit upon your knee, and not wish it was some one else, and
in the night when you woke up and felt me close to you would you
be glad thinking it was Nina? And when you had been on a great
long journey, and were coming home, would the smoke from the
chimney look handsomer to you because you knew it was Nina waiting
for you by the hearth-stone, and keeping up the fire? Don't tell
me a falsehood, for I'll forgive you, if you answer no."
"Yes, Nina, yes. I would gladly take you as my wife if it could
be. My broken lily is very precious to me now, far more so than
she used to be. The right love for her began to grow the moment I
confessed she was my wife, and when she's gone, Arthur will be so
lonely."
"Will you, Arthur boy? Will you, as true as you live and breathe,
miss poor, buzzing Nina? Oh, I'm so glad, so glad," and the great
tears dimmed the brightness of the blue eyes, which looked up so
confidingly at Arthur. "I, too, have loved you a heap; not exactly
as I loved Charlie Hudson, I reckon, but the knowing you are my
husband, makes Nina feel kind of nice, and I want you to love me
some--miss me some--mourn for me some, and then, Arthur, Nina
wants you to marry Miggie. There is no buzzing; no twist in her
head. It will rest as quietly on your bosom where mine has never
lain, not as hers will, I mean, and you both will be so happy at
last--happy in knowing that Nina has gone out into the eternal
daylight, where she would rather be. You'll do it, Arthur; she
must not marry Richard, and you must speak to her quick, before
she goes home, so as to stop it, for New Year's is the time. Will
you, Arthur?"
There was an instant of silence in the room--Nina waiting for
Arthur to speak, and Arthur mustering all his strength to answer
her as he felt he must.
"My darling," laying his face down upon her neck among her yellow
curls, "I shall never call another by the dear name I call you
now, my wife."
"Oh, Arthur," and Nina's cheeks flushed with indignant surprise,
that he, too, should prove refractory. Everything indeed, was
getting upside down. "Why not?" she asked. "Don't you love
Miggie?"
"Yes, very, very dearly! but it is too much to hope that she will
ever be mine. I do not deserve it. You ask me my forgiveness,
Nina. Alas! alas! I have tenfold more need of yours. It did not
matter that we both wearied of our marriage vows, made when we
were children--did not matter that you are crazy--I had no right
to love another.
"But you have paid for it all a thousand times!" interrupted Nina.
"You are a better Arthur than you were before, and Nina never
could see the wrong in your preferring beautiful, sensible Miggie,
to crazy, scratching, biting, teasing Nina, even if Richard had
said over a few words, of which neither of us understood the
meaning, or what it involved, this taking for better or worse. It
surely cannot be wrong to marry Miggie when I'm gone, and you
will, Arthur, you will!"
"No, Nina, no! I should be adding sin to sin did I seek to change
her decision, and so wrong the noble Richard. His is the first,
best claim. I will not interfere. Miggie must keep her word
uninfluenced by me. I shall no raise my voice against it."
"Oh, Arthur, Arthur!" Nina cried, clasping her hands together;
"Miggie does not love him, and you surely know the misery of a
marriage without love. It must not be! It shall no be! you can
save Miggie, and you must!"
Every word was fainter than the preceding, and, when the last was
uttered, Nina's head dropped from Arthur's shoulder to the pillow,
and he saw a pinkish stream issuing from her lips. A small blood
vessel had been ruptured, and Arthur, who knew the danger, laid
his hand upon her mouth as he saw her about to speak, bidding her
be quiet if she would not die at once.
Death, however long and even anxiously expected is unwelcome at
the last, and Nina shrank from its near approach, laying very
still, while Arthur summoned aid. Only once she spoke, and then
she whispered, "Miggie," thus intimating that she would have her
called. In much alarm Edith came, trembling when she saw the
fearful change which had passed over Nina, whose blue eyes
followed her movements intently, turning often from her to Arthur
as If they fain would utter what was in her mind. But not then was
Nina St. Claire to die. Many days and nights were yet appointed
her, and Arthur and Edith watched her with the tenderest care;
only these two, for so Nina would have it. Holding their hands in
hers she would gaze from one to the other with a wistful, pleading
look, which, far better than words, told what she would say, were
It permitted her to speak, but in the deep brown eyes of Arthur,
she read always the same answer, while Edith's would often fill
with tears as she glanced timidly at the apparently cold, silent
man, who, she verily believed, had ceased to love her.
But Nina knew better. Clouded as was her reason, she penetrated
the mask he wore, and saw where the turbulent waters surged around
him, while with an iron will and a brave heart he contended with
the angry waves, and so outrode the storm. And as she watched them
day after day, the purpose grew strong within her that if it were
possible the marriage of Edith and Richard should be prevented,
and as soon as she was able to talk she broached the subject to
them both.
"Stay, Miggie," she said to Edith, who was stealing from the room.
"Hear me this once. You are together now, you and Arthur."
"Nina," said the latter, pitying Edith's agitation, "You will
spare us both much pain if you never allude again to what under
other circumstances might have been."
"But I must," cried Nina. "Oh, Arthur, why won't you go to Richard
and tell him all about it?"
"Because it would be wrong," was Arthur's answer, and then Nina
turned to Edith, "Why won't you, Miggie?"
"Because I have solemnly promised that I would not," was her
reply.
And Nina rejoined, "Then I shall write. He loved little Snow Drop.
He'll heed what she says when she speaks from the grave. I'll send
him a letter."
"Who'll take it or read it to him if you do?" Arthur asked, and
the troubled eyes of blue turned anxiously to Edith.
"Miggie, sister, won't you?"
Edith shook her head, not very decidedly, it is true, still it was
a negative shake, and Nina said, "Arthur boy, will you?"
"No, Nina, no."
Hia answer was determined, and poor, discouraged Nina sobbed
aloud, "Who will, who will?"
In the adjoining room there was a rustling sound--a coming
footstep, and Victor Dupres appeared in the door. He had been an
unwilling hearer of that conversation, and when Nina cried "who
will?" he started up, and coming into the room as if by accident,
advanced to the bedside and asked in his accustomed friendly way,
"How is Nina to-night?" Then bending over her so that no one
should hear, he whispered softly, "Don't tell them, but I'll read
that letter to Richard!"
Nina understood him and held his hand a moment while she looked
the thanks she dared not speak.
"Nina must not talk any more" Arthur said, as Victor walked away,
"she is wearing out too fast," and with motherly tenderness he
smoothed her tumbled pillow--pushed back behind her ears the
tangled curls--kissed her forehead, and then went out into the
deepening night, whose cool damp air was soothing to his burning
brow, and whose sheltering mantle would tell no tales of his white
face or of the cry which came heaving up from where the turbulent
waters lay, "if it be possible let this temptation pass from me,
or give me strength to resist it."
His prayer was heard--the turmoil ceased at last--the waters all
were stilled, and Arthur went back to Nina, a calm, quiet man,
ready and willing to meet whatever the future might bring.