GONE FOR GOOD.
One hurried kiss, one last, one long embrace,
One yearning look upon her tearful face.
And he was gone, and like a funeral knell
The winds still sighed—Beloved, fare thee well!—MRS. ESLING.
Suppressing all her mortification and sorrow at the cold reception her
husband had given her sweet news, Drusilla took him through the
renovated house and showed him all its new improvements.
As if to make up for the previous surliness, he admired everything he
saw and praised his little housekeeper for her taste.
Then he said he would go to the stable and look at the horses; and he
asked her to get her bonnet and come with him.
She ran up stairs, calling Pina to follow her. And while she was putting
on her thick shoes and her bonnet and mantle, she gave the girl
particular directions about the dinner. For as Mr. Lyon had so short a
time to stay, Drusilla did not wish to leave him long enough to pay a
visit to the kitchen.
Then she went down stairs and joined her husband. And they walked
together to the stable.
Everything there was found in a satisfactory condition and the horses
were in fine order. Evidently Leo had done his duty, as well as, or
better than, so young a groom could be expected to do it.
Then Drusilla invited Alexander to walk through the ground, that she
might show him the new garden she had laid out. And, as before, he
expressed delight in all he saw, and approbation of her skill as a
landscape gardener.
“You take so much pains to beautify this place, and find so much
pleasure in the task, that I hope you will be very happy here, little
Drusa,” he said, as they turned to go back to the house.
“I shall be very happy here, or anywhere else, dear Alick, when you have
got through that troublesome business and can come and stay at home with
me,” she replied.
He shrugged his shoulders, but made no answer. She did not see his
questionable gesture, so she continued:
“For indeed, Alick, you and I live now more like mere acquaintances than
like a married couple. And you seem less the master of the house than
the occasional guest of the mistress.”
He laughed at this conceit, and then sighed as he replied:
“I don’t see how it can be helped, little Drusa. I wish it could be, in
some way. Heaven knows how it pains me to part with you.”
And Mr. Alick thought of Joe Smith and the Mormon Bible and wished that
one had been a true prophet and the other a divine revelation.
“Oh, dear Alick, it is selfish in me, I know, but I am glad it pains you
to part with me; and I hope it may hurt you so badly that you may not be
able to stay away,” said Drusilla, with a sweet smile.
“Ah, little Drusa! however distressing it may be to me to absent myself
from you, I must do so when duty requires the sacrifice,” sighed
Alexander, piously. Then, to change the subject, he inquired—“You have
seen nothing more of the face at the window, little Drusa?”
“No, nothing at all. But then the windows, since you left, have always
at nightfall been closed and curtained,” she answered.
“Nor heard anything of the man lurking about here?”
“No, not a word.”
“Nor gained any clue to his identity?”
“No, none.”
“Then you have not been annoyed by any such intrusion since I left you?”
“No, not by any.”
“I am very glad to hear it, little Drusa.”
As he spoke she recollected the disorderly party who had followed her
carriage from the city; and thought that truth required her to mention
the circumstance, so she added:
“Oh, Alick, yes. I didn’t write to you about it, because I knew it would
only make you anxious to no good purpose, and besides I only wished to
write you good news——”
“What now, Drusa? What is it? What have you been keeping from me, it is
very wrong for you to keep any secret from me, let me tell you,”
anxiously exclaimed Alexander, looking searchingly in her face.
“Oh, Alick, it was no secret at all. It was only a little rudeness I was
made to bear.”
“Rudeness! From whom?”
“From people who were scarcely responsible for their actions, Alick.”
“Who were they? What rudeness did they offer you?”
“You remember those officers that came into our box at the opera?”
“Yes—vagabonds! vulgar wretches! what about them?”
“They saw me in at a Ladies’ Tea Room in the city, one day when I went
shopping.”
“In a Ladies’ Tea Room! Drusilla, I am shocked that you should have gone
into such a place unattended. I am annoyed beyond measure that you
should have done so! No modest young woman, not to say lady, ever goes
alone to such a place!”
“Alick dear, it was the very room you used to take me to, whenever you
took me to the city in the first days of our marriage. And I saw ladies
there and young ladies and little girls, and even babies and nurses—and
one always feels right and safe where there are babies, you know.”
“No; I don’t know it. And besides the ladies and children you speak of
were family parties; you went _alone;_ no wonder you were insulted.
Which of the villains insulted you—or did both?”
“Neither did, Alick dear. Please don’t be angry. One of the officers
came up and spoke to me, calling me ‘Miss’ and claiming my acquaintance.
But as you had not introduced him to me I would not know him.”
“And—then?”
“I left the Tea Room and got into the carriage and drove home.”
“And was that all?”
“No; the two officers and the two women that were with them jumped into
a hack and followed me.”
“Ten thousand demons!—_Home?_” burst forth Mr. Lyon.
“Ah Alick dear, no; don’t be so violent. There was no harm done. I
wouldn’t even have mentioned the matter, only you asked me a question
that I was bound to answer truthfully,” pleaded the gentle creature.
“How far did they follow you?”
“Only to the gate of the road leading through the woods to our house—”
“To our—” Here Alexander burst into an explosion of oaths and expletives
that caused his wife to shudder with horror.
“Oh, Alick, Alick, don’t, dear! don’t! It is a sin! Oh, Alick, hush! You
frighten me so!” she pleaded almost breathlessly, clinging to his arm.
“If I catch one of those villains I will blow his brains out. If I
don’t, may the—” And here Alexander sealed his oath by invoking a
terrible imprecation on his own soul if he failed to keep it.
“Oh, my love, my dear, don’t, don’t. Heaven will never forgive you!”
wept Drusilla.
“Stop whimpering, you provoking little fool, and tell me. Did they
attempt to follow you through the gate?”
“Yes, Alick, but they couldn’t do it, because Leo closed it and locked
it—”
“Oh! let me only lay my eyes on them—that is all! If they get off with
life may I be——”
“_Hsh-sh!_ Oh, Alick, dear, this is awful!”
“Hold your tongue, and take your hand from my lips! And now, if you can
speak to some purpose, do so! How long was this ago that they dared to
pursue you?”
“About nine days since, Alick. But they scarcely knew what they were
about. Indeed they did not, Alick love!”
“Have they troubled you since?”
“No, not once. I have neither seen nor heard of them since, nor has any
one else annoyed me.”
“That is well so far. But now I am convinced that one of those villains
was identical with the spy who frightened you by looking through the
window. I wish I had not to hurry back to Richmond to-night. If I could
only remain in the city one day, I might settle accounts with these
gentlemen!”
“Oh, Alick, then for the first time I am—what I never thought I should
be—glad that you are going away so soon! Ah, my own dear husband,
absence is bitter, but not so bitter as sin and its consequences! Oh, my
dear, dear Alick, I shall pray day and night that Heaven may keep you
from blood guiltiness.”
By this time they had reached the house, which they soon entered.
But Alick did not get over his fit of fury until some hours later, when
dinner was served and he had eaten a hearty meal, and drank several
glasses of fine wine, and was luxuriating in the sedative vapors of a
real Havana.
The fragrant fumes of the good cigar did not drive Drusilla away. She
sat near him with a little piece of crochet work in her fingers.
“I want you to promise me one thing, Drusa,” said Alick, taking the weed
from his lips.
“I will promise you anything in the world,” she answered.
“I dare say! But would you perform it?”
“Yes, indeed, Alick.”
“If you could.”
“Oh, of course that is understood! Providence permitting, I will do
whatever you wish.”
“Well, the promises I wish you to make me will not be very hard to keep.
In the first place, I want you to give me your word that you will not go
into Washington unless in case of necessity.”
“You have my word for that, Alick.”
“And when obliged to go, that you will show yourself as little as
possible; that you will never recognize or speak with any acquaintance,
old or new, whom you may happen to meet.”
“I give you my word for these also, Alick.”
“And that you will never under any circumstances whatever, or to any
person whoever, give your name or address, or mine.”
“Take my word for that, too. I promise—solemnly promise to remember and
obey all your directions, Alick.”
“That is right,” he said. And he resumed his cigar, and smoked in
comfort for some minutes, and then threw away the stump, and got up,
saying:
“I must see about going.”
“Oh, Alick! So soon, dear!” she exclaimed, in dismay.
“So soon? Why, it is seven o’clock now, and the boat leaves at nine. I
have but two hours to get it.”
“Leo can drive you there easily in one hour, Alick. The horses are quite
fresh, and will go like the wind. And besides, I want you to take tea
with me before you leave,” she said, touching the bell.
“Well, I can take a cup of tea while Leo is putting the horses to the
carriage, I suppose,” he admitted, resuming his seat.
Pina came in to answer the bell.
Drusilla told her to set the table for tea. And Mr. Lyon directed her to
tell Leo to put the horses to the carriage and bring it around to the
door, and to get himself ready to drive to town.
Pina went out to obey both her orders.
“You will not be long absent this time, will you, Alick?” inquired
Drusilla.
“I do not know, Drusa; but not a day longer than is necessary,” he
evasively replied.
“But—can’t you give me some little idea, Alick, just to comfort me while
you are away? Will you be gone a week, ten days, a fortnight—or how long
do you think, dear Alick?”
“Now, Drusa, my child, you must not seek to bind me by any promise to
return at any fixed time. See how it has inconvenienced me on this
occasion, and without giving you much gratification either. Here,
because I felt bound by the promise I had given you, I was compelled to
drop my business at a most important crisis, and hurry on here just to
see you for a few hours, and then hurry back. If you had not bound me by
that promise, I _might_ possibly, by staying a few days longer in
Richmond, and putting my business in a better state of progress, have
been enabled to come and stay longer with you. But as it is, I must be
off at once. So you see the evil of binding a man to any fixed time.”
“Yes, Alick. I don’t wish to bind you to anything, dear. I will only
trust that you will come back to me as soon as you can,” she meekly
replied.
“As soon as it shall be proper to do so, I will come back,” he answered
evasively.
Pina came in and set the table, and brought in the tea service and
arranged it.
They—the faithful wife and faithless husband sat down together for the
last time at that table.
She filled his cup and handed it to him, and urged upon him the delicate
dainties that she had prepared for him.
And Alick, whose appetite seldom suffered under any circumstances,
enjoyed the luxuries of the tea-table as much as if he had not dined
sumptuously a few hours previous.
But as soon as he heard the carriage approaching the door, he got up,
went into the hall, followed by Drusilla.
Here he put on his overcoat and gloves, snatched his wife to his bosom
for one hasty embrace and adieu; then took his hat, ran out of the
house, jumped into the carriage, and ordered the coachman to drive fast
towards town.
The carriage started.
And this time Alexander was gone for good.