Vashti Part 63

"No, sir; your sister's sneers, and the petty slights and persecutions for which I am indebted to her friend, Miss Sutherland, have not sufficient importance to affect me in any degree. My decision is based upon the unfortunate fact that I do not love you."

"No woman can withstand such devotion as I bring you, and time would soon soften and deepen your feelings."

"Sir, you unduly flatter yourself. Neither time nor eternity would change me, and you would do well to remember that it is my voice, sir,--not my hand and heart,--that I offer for sale."

"Your stubborn rejection is explicable only by the supposition that you have deceived me,--that you have already bartered away the heart I long to call my own."

"I am a miller's child,--you a millionaire, but permit me to remind you that I allow no imputation on my veracity. Why should I condescend to deceive you?"

She petulantly s.n.a.t.c.hed her scarf from the fingers that still stroked it caressingly; but an instant later a singular change swept over her countenance, and pressing her hands to her heart, she said in a proud, almost exultant tone,--

"Although I deny your right to question me upon this subject, you are thoroughly welcome to know that I love one man so entirely, so deathlessly, that the bare thought of marrying any one else sickens my soul."

Mr. Minge turned pale, and grasped the carved bal.u.s.trade against which he rested.

"O Salome! you have trifled."

"No, sir. Take that back. I never stoop to trifling; and the curse of my life has been my almost fatal earnestness of purpose. If I ever deliberated one moment concerning the expediency of clothing myself first with your aristocratic name, afterwards with satin, velvet, and diamonds,--if I ever silenced the outcry of my heart long enough to ask myself whether _gilded misery_ was not the least torturing type of the epidemic wretchedness,--at least I kept my parley with Mammon to myself; and if you obstinately cherished hopes of final success, they sprang from your vanity, not my dissimulation. Mark you, I here set up no claim to sanct.i.ty,--for indeed my sins are 'thick as leaves in Vallombrosa'; but my pedigree does not happen to link me with Sapphira, and deceit is not charged to me in the real Doomsday Book.

Theft would be more possible for me than falsehood, for while both are labelled 'wicked,' I could never dwarf and shrivel my soul by the cowardly process of mendacity. Mr. Minge, had I been a trifle less honest and true than I find myself, I might have impaired my self-respect by trifling."

"Forgive me, Salome, if the pain I endure rendered me harsh or unjust.

My dearest, I did not intend to wound you, but indeed you are cruel sometimes."

"Yes; truth is the most savagely cruel of all rude, jagged weapons, and leaves ugly gashes and quivering nerves exposed, and these are the hurts that never cicatrize--that gape and bleed while the heart throbs to feed them."

"Tell me candidly whether the heart I covet belongs to that Mr.

Granville, who paid you such devoted attention in Paris."

A short, scornful, mirthless laugh rang sharply on the air, and turning quickly, Salome exclaimed contemptuously,--

"I said I loved a man,--a true, honest, brave, n.o.ble man,--not that perfumed, unprincipled, vain, foppish automaton, who adorns a corner of the diplomatic apartment where _attaches_ of the American emba.s.sy 'most do congregate'! Gerard Granville is unworthy of any woman's affection, for maugre the indisputable fact that he is betrothed to a fond, trusting girl, now in the United States, he had the effrontery to attempt to offer his addresses to me. If an honest man be the n.o.blest work of G.o.d, then, beyond all peradventure, the disgrace of creation is centred in an unscrupulous one, such as I have the honor to p.r.o.nounce Mr. Granville."

Seizing her hands, Mr. Minge carried them forcibly to his lips, and said, in a voice that faltered from intensity of feeling,--

"Is it the hope that your love is reciprocated which bars your heart so sternly against my pleadings? Spare me no pangs,--tell me all."

She freed her fingers from his grasp, and retreating a few steps, answered with a pa.s.sionate mournfulness which he never forgot,--

"If I were dowered with that precious hope, not all the crown jewels in Christendom and Heathendom could purchase it. Not the proudest throne on that continent of empires that lies yonder to the north, could woo me one hour from the only kingdom where I could happily reign,--the heart of the man I love. No--no--no! That hope is as distant as the first star up there above us, which has rent the blue veil of heaven to gaze pityingly at me; and I would as soon expect to catch that silver sparkle and fold it in my arms as dream that my affection could ever be returned. The only man I shall ever love could not bend his n.o.ble, regal nature to the level of mine, and towers beyond me, a pinnacle of unapproachable purity and perfection. Ah, indeed, he is one of those concerning whom it has been grandly said: '_The truly great stand upright as columns of the temple whose dome covers all,--against whose pillared sides mult.i.tudes lean, at whose base they kneel in times of trouble._' Mr. Minge, it is despair that crouches at my heart, not hope that shuts its portals against your earnest pet.i.tion; for a barrier wider, deeper than a hundred oceans divides me from my idol, who loves, and ere this, is the husband of another."

She did not observe the glow that once more mantled his cheek, and fired his eyes, until he exclaimed with unusual fervor,--

"Thank G.o.d! That fact is freighted with priceless comfort."

Compa.s.sion and contempt seemed struggling for mastery, as she waved him from her, and answered, impatiently,--

"Think you that any other need hope to usurp my monarch's place,--that one inferior dare expect to wield his sceptre over my heart? Pardon me,--

'If there were not an eagle in the realm of birds, Must then the owl be king among the feathered herds?'

Some day a gentler spirit than mine will fill your home with music, and your heart with peace and suns.h.i.+ne; and, in that hour, thank honest Salome Owen for the blessings you owe to her candor. I must bid you good-night."

She drew the scarf closer about her head and throat, and turned to leave the terrace.

"Will you not allow me to drive you to-morrow afternoon on the Marino?

Do not refuse me this innocent and inexpressibly valued privilege. I will not be denied! Good-night, my--Heaven s.h.i.+eld you, my wors.h.i.+pped one! Hus.h.!.+--I will hear no refusal."

He stooped, kissed the folds of the scarf that covered her head, and hurried down the steps of the terrace.

The glory of a Sicilian sunset bathed the face and figure that stood a moment under the lemon-boughs, watching the retreating form which soon disappeared behind cl.u.s.tering pomegranate, olive, and palm; and a tender compa.s.sion looked out of the large hazel eyes, and sat on the sad lips that murmured,--

"G.o.d help you, Merton Minge, to strangle the viper that coils in your heart, and gnaws its core. My own is a serpent's lair, and I pity the pangs that rend yours also. But after a little while, your viper will find a file,--mine, alas! not until death arrests the slow torture.

To-morrow afternoon I shall be--where? Only G.o.d knows."

She s.h.i.+vered slightly, and raised her beautiful eyes towards the west, where golden gleams and violet shadows were battling for possession of a reef of cloud islets, which dotted the azure upper sea of air, and were reflected in the watery one beneath.

"Courage! courage!

'Those who have nothing left to hope, Have nothing left to dread.'"

CHAPTER XXIX.

"Muriel, where can I find Miss Dexter?"

"She went out on the lawn an hour ago, to regale herself with what she calls, 'atmospheric hippocrene,' and I have not heard her come in, though she may have gone to her room. Pray tell me, doctor, why you wish to see my governess?--to inquire concerning my numerous peccadilloes?"

Muriel adroitly folded her embroidered silk ap.r.o.n over a package of letters that lay in her lap, and affected an air of gayety at variance with her dim eyes and wet lashes.

"I shall believe that conscience accuses you of many juvenile improprieties, since you so suspiciously attack my motives and intentions. Indeed, little one, you flatter yourself unduly, in imagining that my interview with Miss Dexter necessarily involves the discussion of her pupil. I merely wish to enlist her sympathy in behalf of one of my patients. Muriel, I would have been much more gratified if I had found you walking with her, instead of moping here alone."

"I am not moping."

The girl bit her full red lip, and strove to force back the rapidly gathering tears.

"At least you are not cheerful, and it pains me to see that anxious, dissatisfied expression on a face that should reflect only suns.h.i.+ne.

What disturbs you?--the scarcity of Gerard's letters?"

Dr. Grey sat down beside his ward, and throwing her arms around his neck, she burst into a pa.s.sionate flood of tears. The sudden movement uncovered the letters, which slipped down and strewed the carpet.

"Oh, doctor! I am very miserable!"

"Why, my dear child?"

"Because Gerard does not love me as formerly."