MOLLIE'S DESPAIR.
Dr. Oleander descended the stairs, passed through the lower hall, and
entered the kitchen--a big, square room, bleak and draughty, like all
the rest of the old, rickety place, but lighted by a roaring fire.
Old Sally was bustling about over pots and stew-pans, getting supper;
old Peter stood at the table peeling potatoes. In an arm-chair before
the fire sat another old woman with snaky-black eyes, hooked nose, and
incipient black mustache.
Old Sally was volubly narrating what had transpired upstairs, and cut
herself short upon the entrance of her master.
"How are you, mother?" said Dr. Oleander, nodding to the venerable party
in the arm-chair. "Sally's telling you about my patient, is she?"
His mother's answer was a stifled scream, which Sally echoed.
"Well, what now?" demanded the doctor.
"You look like a ghost! Gracious me, Guy!" cried his mother, in
consternation; "you're whiter than the tablecloth."
Dr. Oleander ground out an oath.
"I dare say I am. I've just had a scare from that little, crazy imp that
would blanch any man. I thought, in my soul, she was going to spring
upon me like a panther and choke me. She would have, too, by Jove, if
I hadn't cleared out."
"Lor'!" cried Sally, in consternation, "and I've just been a-telling the
missis how sweet, and gentle, and innocent, and pretty she looked."
"Innocent and gentle be--hanged!" growled the doctor. "She's the old
Satan in female form. If you don't look out, Sally, she'll throttle you
to-morrow when you go in."
Sally gave a little yelp of dismay.
"Lor' a massy, Master Guy! then I'll not go near her. I ain't a-going
to be scared out of my senses by mad-women in my old age. I won't go
into her room a step to-morrow, Master Guy. If you wants to turn honest
people's houses into lunatic asylums, then set lunatic-keepers to see
after them. I shan't do it, and so I tell you."
With which short and sharp ultimatum Sally began vigorously laying the
cloth for supper.
Before Dr. Oleander could open his mouth to expostulate, his mother
struck in:
"I really don't think it's safe to live in the house with such a violent
lunatic, Guy. I wish you had taken your crazy patient elsewhere."
"Oh, it's all right, mother. She's only subject to these noisy fits at
periodical times. On certain occasions she appears and talks as sanely
as you or I. Sally can tell you."
"That I can," said Sally. "You'd oughter heerd her, missis, when she
fust came in, a-pleading, you know, with me to assist her, and not help
to keep her a prisoner here. I declare, it quite went to my heart. And
she looked so little, and so young, and so helpless, poor creature!"
"You're sure her room's all safe and secure, Sally--windows and all?"
"Sure as sure, master. Jack the Giant Killer couldn't remove them 'ere
bars."
"Because," said Dr. Oleander, "she is quite capable, in her mad fits, of
precipitating herself out of the window and breaking her neck. And be
careful, Sally, you cut up her food when you take it to her. Don't bring
her any knives or forks."
"I said I wouldn't go near her," said old Sally, facing him resolutely;
"and I won't! And what's more, Peter won't! And if you fetches mad-women
here, Doctor Guy, you've got to 'tend onto 'em yourself, sir. I won't be
'sassynated in my old age by crazy lunatics; and no more my old man
won't, neither. There now!"
Sally finished with a shower of resolute nods. Dr. Oleander knew her a
great deal too well to remonstrate. When Sally "put her foot down" all
the powers of earth and Hades couldn't put it up again.
"You will be here yourself to-morrow, Guy," said his mother, decisively.
"Wait upon her yourself, then."
"But I must return to New York to-morrow afternoon."
"Very well; get an attendant for your crazy patient and send her down.
If the young lady's friends are as wealthy as you say, they will surely
let her have a keeper."
"They will let her have a dozen if necessary; that is not the question."
"What, then?"
"Have you accommodation for another in this old barn? Can you put up
with the trouble?"
"We'll endeavor to do so for your sake. It is easier to put up with
another person in the house than be at the beck and call of a lunatic
ourselves. Send one from New York capable of taking care of your crazy
young lady, and Sally and I will take care of her."
"Thanks! And meantime?"
"Meantime, I will wait upon her myself--if you will assure me she will
not be violent."
"I think I can. She is only violent with me, poor soul. She has got an
idea into her weak, deranged little head that she is as sane as you or
I, and that I have carried her off by force and keep her prisoner here.
She goes raving mad at sight of me, but with you she may probably be
cool enough. She will tell you a piteous story of how she has been
entrapped and carried off from home, if you will listen to her. You
had better not; it only encourages her unfortunate delusion."
Mrs. Oleander shrugged her broad shoulders. She was an old woman of
strong mind and iron resolution, and nothing in the way of heart to
speak of. Her accomplished son took after her in these admirable
qualities.
"I have other fish to fry than listening to the empty babble of a
maniac. By the bye, what did you say her name was?"
"Miss Dane," responded the doctor, after a slight pause.
He knew he might as well tell the truth about it, or Mollie herself
would for him.
"And she is a relative of Blanche's husband?"
"A very near though unacknowledged relation. And now, mother mine, I'll
take my supper and turn in if you'll permit me. I've had a very long and
fatiguing drive this stormy night."
He sat down to the table and fell to work with an appetite. Old Sally
waited upon him, and gazed at his performance with admiring eyes.
"Won't your young lady want something, Guy?" his mother asked,
presently.
"Let her fast a little," replied the doctor, coolly; "it will take some
of the unnecessary heat out of her blood. I'll fetch her her breakfast
to-morrow."
Mrs. Oleander upon this retired at once, and the doctor, after smoking
old Peter's pipe in the chimney-corner, retired also.
Then the old man hobbled upstairs to bed, and Sally, after raking out
the fire, and seeing to the secure fastening of doors and windows, took
up her tallow candle and went after him.
Outside the door of the poor little captive she paused, listening in a
sort of breathless awe. But no sound came forth: the tumult of wind, and
sea, and rain had the inky night all to themselves.
"She's asleep, I reckon," said old Sally, creeping away. "Poor little,
pretty creeter!"
But Mollie was not asleep. When the door had closed after Dr. Oleander,
she had dropped on the floor like a stone, and had never stirred since.
She was not in a faint. She saw the ruddy blaze of the fire, as the
tongues of flame leaped like red serpents up the chimney; she heard the
wild howling of the night wind, the ceaseless dash and fall of the rain,
the indescribable roar of the raging sea; she heard the trees creak and
toss and groan; she heard the rats scampering overhead; she heard the
dismal moaning of the old house itself rocking in the gale.
She saw, she heard, but as one who neither sees nor hears; like one in
a drugged, unnatural stupor. She could not think; an iron hand seemed to
have clutched her heart, a dreadful despair to have taken possession of
her. She had made a horrible, irreparable mistake; she was body and soul
in the power of the man she hated most on earth. She was his wife!--she
could get no further than that.
The stormy night wore on; midnight came and the elemental uproar was at
its height. Still she lay there all in a heap, suffering in a dulled,
miserable way that was worse than sharpest pain. She lay there stunned,
overwhelmed, not caring if she ever rose again.
And so morning found her--when morning lifted a dull and leaden eye
over the stormy sea. It came gloomy and gray, rain falling still, wind
whispering pitifully, and a sky of lead frowning down upon the drenched,
dank earth and tossing, angry ocean.
All in a heap, as she had fallen, Mollie lay, her head resting on a
chair, her poor golden ringlets tossed in a wild, disheveled veil, fast
asleep. Pitifully, as sleep will come to the young, be their troubles
ever so heavy, sleep had sealed those beaming blue eyes, "not used to
tears at night instead of slumber." Tears, Mollie had shed none--the
blow that had fallen had left her far beyond that.
Nine o'clock struck; there was a tap at the prison door. Dr. Oleander,
thinking his patient's fast had lasted long enough, was coming with a
bountiful breakfast. There was no reply to the tap.
"Mollie," the doctor called, gently, "it is I with your breakfast. I am
coming in."
Still no response. He turned the key in the lock, opened the door and
entered.
What he had expected, Dr. Oleander did not know; he was in a little
tremor all over. What he saw was his poor, little prisoner crouched
on the floor, her face fallen on a chair, half hidden by the shower
of amber curls, sleeping like a very babe.
The hardened man caught his breath; it was a sight to touch any heart;
perhaps it even found its way to his.
He stood and looked at her a moment, his eyes getting humid, and softly
set down his tray.
"'The Sleeping Beauty,'" he said, under his breath. "What an exquisite
picture she makes! My poor little, pretty little Mollie!"
He had made scarcely any noise; he stood gazing at her spell-bound; but
that very gaze awoke her.
She fluttered like a bird in its nest, murmured indistinctly, her
eyelids quivered a second, then the blue eyes opened wide, and directly
she was wide awake.
"Good-morning, Mollie," said the doctor. "I'm afraid I awoke you, and
you were sleeping like an angel. You have no idea how lovely you look
asleep. But such a very uncomfortable place, my dear one. Why didn't you
go to bed like a reasonable being?"
Mollie rose slowly and gathered away her fallen hair from her face. Her
cheeks were flushed pink with sleep, her eyes were calm and steadfast,
full of invincible resolution. She sat down in the chair she had used
for a pillow, and looked at him steadily.
"You may take that away, Doctor Oleander," she said. "I will neither eat
nor drink under this roof."
"Oh, nonsense, Mollie!" said the doctor, in no way alarmed by this
threat; "yes, you will. Look at this buttered toast, at these eggs, at
this ham, at these preserves, raspberry jam. Mollie--'sweets to the
sweet,' you know--look at them and you'll think better of it."
She turned her back upon him in bitter disdain.
"Mollie," the doctor said, beseechingly, "don't be so obstinately set
against me. You weren't, you know, until I removed my disguise. I'm no
worse now than I was before."
"I never thought it was you," Mollie said, in a voice of still despair.
"Oh, yes, you did. You dreaded it was me--you hoped it was that puppy,
Ingelow, confound him! Why, Mollie, he doesn't care for you one tithe
of what I do. See what I have risked for you--reputation, liberty,
everything that man holds dear."
"And you shall lose them yet," Mollie said, between her clinched teeth.
"I have made myself a felon to obtain you, Mollie. I love you better
than myself--than anything in the world. You are my wife--be my wife,
and forgive me."
"Never!" cried Mollie passionately, raising her arm aloft with a gesture
worthy of Siddons or Ristori; "may I never be forgiven when I die if I
do! I could kill you this moment, as I would a rat, if I had it in my
power, and with as little compunction. I hate you--I hate you--I hate
you! How I hate you words are too poor and weak to tell!"
"Of course," said the doctor, with ineffable calm: "it's perfectly
natural just now. But you'll get over it, Mollie, believe me you will,
and like me all the better by and by."
"Will you go?" said Mollie, her eyes beginning to blaze.
"Listen to me first," said the doctor, earnestly. "Listen to me, I
implore you, Mollie! I have taken a dangerous step in fetching you
here--in marrying you as I did; my very life is at stake. Do you think I
will stick at trifles now? No. You must either return to New York as my
wife, openly acknowledging yourself such, or--never return. Wait--wait,
Mollie! Don't interrupt. You are altogether in my power. If you were
hidden in a dungeon of the French Bastile you could not be more secure
or secluded than here. There is no house within five miles; there is
the wild sea, the wild woods, a stretch of flat, barren, marshy
sea-coast--nothing more. No one ever comes here by water or land. There
are iron bars to those windows, and the windows are fifteen feet from
the ground. The people in this house think you mad--the more you tell
them to the contrary the less they will believe you. In New York they
have not the slightest clew to your whereabouts. You vanished once
before and came back--they will set this down as a similar trick, and
not trouble themselves about you. You are mine, Mollie, mine--mine!
There is no alternative in the wide earth."
Dr. Oleander's face flashed with triumph, his voice rang out exultantly,
his form seemed to tower with victory, his eyes flashed like burning
coals. He made one step toward her.
"Mine, Mollie; mine you have been, mine you will be for life. The gods
have willed it so, Mollie--my wife!"
Another step nearer, triumphant, victorious, then Mollie lifted her arm
with a queenly gesture and uttered one word:
"Stop!"
She was standing by the mantel, drawn up to her full height, her face
whiter than snow, rigid as marble, but the blue eyes blazing blue flame.
"Back, Doctor Oleander! Not one step nearer if you value your life!" She
put her hand in her bosom and drew out a glittering plaything--a curious
dagger of foreign workmanship she had once taken from Carl Walraven.
"Before I left home, Doctor Oleander, I took this. I did not expect to
have to use it, but I took it. Look at it; see its blue, keen glitter.
It is a pretty, little toy, but it proves you a false boaster and a
liar! It leaves me one alternative--death!"
"Mollie! For God's sake!"
There was that in the girl's white, rigid face that frightened the
strong man. He recoiled and looked at the little flashing serpent with
horror.
"I have listened to you, Doctor Guy Oleander," said Mollie Dane, slowly,
solemnly; "now listen to me. All you say may be true, but yours I never
will be--never, never, never! Before you can lay one finger on me this
knife can reach my heart or yours. I don't much care which, but yours if
I can. If I am your wife, as you say, the sooner I am dead the better."
"Mollie, for Heaven's sake--"
But Mollie, like a tragedy queen, waved her hand and interrupted him:
"They say life is sweet--I suppose it is--but if I am your wife I have
no desire to live, unless, indeed, to be revenged on you. Put a dose of
arsenic in yonder coffee-cup and give me the draught. I will drink it."
Dr. Oleander grinned horribly a ghastly smile.
"I had much rather give you a love-philter, Mollie," he said, recovering
from his first scare. "Unhappily, the age of love-philters seems to have
passed. And now I will leave you for the present--time will work
wonders, I think. I must go back to New York; no one must suspect I have
left it for an hour. I will return in a day or two, and by that time I
trust you will no longer be in such a reckless frame of mind. I don't
want you to die by any means; you are a great deal too pretty and
piquant, and I love you far too well. Good-bye, my spirited little wife,
for a couple of days."
He bowed low and left the room, locking the door carefully. And when he
was gone Mollie drooped at once, leaning against the mantel, pale and
trembling, her hands over her face--alone with her despair.