Victor's Triumph Part 18

It sometimes requires suffering to teach the nature of sin. A child does not know that fire is dangerous until it burns itself. _Her_ suffering must have opened her eyes to the 'exceeding sinfulness of sin.' For her own sake I hope it is so. As for myself, it does not matter. I have ceased to regard her with any other feeling than pity and charity. And although she would become a saint I could never love her again," he said to himself one night, after pa.s.sing an evening with her at one of the professor's houses.

And his thoughts reverted to that lovely maiden whose golden hair formed an appropriate halo around her white brow, and whose pure soul looked frankly forth from her clear blue eyes.

He was not in love with Miss Cavendish, he said to himself, but he could not help feeling the difference between radiant frankness and dark deceit.

One evening, about this time, they met at a strawberry festival, held in the lecture-room of the church, for the benefit of the Sunday-school.

While the festival was at its height a thunder-storm came up, with a heavy shower of rain. But the company at the festival cared little about that. They were housed, and enjoyed themselves with light music, fruits, flowers and friends. And before the hour of separation the storm would probably be over, and carriages, or at least water-proof cloaks, overshoes and umbrella's, would be in attendance upon every one.

So they made merry until eleven o'clock, when the storm was pa.s.sing away with a steady light rain.

Every lady who had a carriage in waiting offered to give Mrs. Grey a seat and to set her down at her own door.

Mary Grey thanked each in succession and declined the kind offer, adding that she expected some one to come for her.

At last nearly everybody had left the room but the treasurer of the festival, who was counting the receipts, and the s.e.xton, who was covering the tables, preparatory to closing for the night.

Alden Lytton had lingered to make a quiet donation to the charity, and he was pa.s.sing out, when, he saw Mary Grey standing s.h.i.+vering near the door.

As he came up to her she stepped out into the darkness and the rain.

He hastened after her, exclaiming:

"Mrs. Grey! I beg your pardon! Are you alone?"

"Yes, Mr. Lytton," she answered, quietly.

"And you have no umbrella!" he said, quickly, as he hoisted his own and stepped to her side. "Permit me to see you safe to your door. Take my arm. It is very dark and the walking is dangerous. The sidewalks are turned to brooks by this storm," he added, as he held his umbrella carefully over her.

"I thank you very much, Mr. Lytton; but indeed I do not wish to give you so much trouble. I can go home quite well enough alone. I have often to do it," she answered, shrinking away from him.

"It is not safe for you to do so, especially on such a night as this.

Will you take my arm?" he said; and, without waiting for her answer, he took her hand and drew it through his arm and walked on with her in silence, wondering at and blaming the heartlessness of the ladies of her circle who had carriages in attendance, and had, as he supposed, every one of them, gone off without offering this poor lonely creature a seat, leaving her to get home through the night and storm as she could.

As they walked on he felt Mary Grey's arm trembling upon his own, and involuntarily he drew it closer, and, in so doing, he perceived the tremor and jar of her fast-beating heart, and he pitied her with a deep, tender, manly pity.

"I am afraid you feel chilled in this rain," he said, by way of saying something kind.

"No," she answered, softly, and said no more.

They got to the door of her dwelling, and he rang the bell and waited there with her until some one should come.

"I am very much indebted to you, Mr. Lytton," she said, softly and coolly; "but I am also very sorry to have given you so much trouble."

"I a.s.sure you it was no trouble; and I beg that you will not again attempt to go alone at night through the streets of Charlottesville," he answered, sadly.

"But why?" she asked. "What harm or danger can there be in my doing so?"

"Ladies never go out alone at night here. Many of the wild students are on the streets at night and are not always in their senses."

"Oh, I see! Well, I will try to take care of myself. I hear the page coming to open the door. Good-night, Mr. Lytton. You have been very kind. I thank you very much," said Mrs. Grey, coldly.

He touched his hat and turned away just as the door was opened.

Alden Lytton went back to the college with somewhat kinder thoughts of Mary Grey.

And Mrs. Grey went into the house and into the back parlor, where the bishop's widow was waiting up for her.

"Why, my dear, your shoes are wet through and your skirts are draggled up to your knees! Is it possible you walked home through the rain?"

inquired the lady.

"Yes, madam; but it will not hurt me."

"But how came you to walk home when Mrs. Doctor Sage promised faithfully to bring you home in her carriage?"

"Oh, my dear friend, the storm came up, and so many people were afraid of wetting their feet that I gave up my seat to another lady," answered Mary Grey.

"Always the same self-sacrificing spirit! Well, my dear, I hope your reward will come in the next world, if not in this. Now go upstairs and take off your wet clothes and get right to bed. I will send you up a gla.s.s of hot spiced wine, which will prevent you from taking cold," said the hospitable old lady.

Mary Grey kissed her hostess, said good-night, and ran away upstairs to her own cozy room, where, although it was May time, a bright little wood fire was burning in the fire-place to correct the dampness of the air.

"Well," she said, with her silent laugh, as she began to take off her sodden shoes, "it was worth the wetting to walk home with Alden Lytton, and to make one step of progress toward my object."

And the thought comforted her more than did the silver mug of hot spiced wine that the little page presently brought her.

A few days after this she met Alden Lytton again, by accident, at the house of a mutual friend. Alden came up to her and, after the usual greeting, said:

"I have received a short note from Miss Cavendish inquiring of me whether I had delivered her letter to you, and saying that she had received no answer from you, and indeed no news of you since your departure from Blue Cliffs. Now if I had not supposed that you would have answered Miss Emma's letter immediately I should certainly have written myself to relieve her anxiety on your account."

"Oh, indeed I beg her pardon and yours! But I have sprained the fore-finger of my right hand and can not write at all. Otherwise I am quite well. Pray write and explain this to Emma, with my love, and my promise to write to her as soon as my finger gets well," said Mary Grey.

And then she arose to take leave of her hostess, and, with a distant bow to Alden Lytton, she left the house.

Two days after this she received a very kind letter from Miss Cavendish expressing much regret to hear of her disabled hand, and affectionately inquiring of her when she should return to Blue Cliffs, adding that Mrs.

Fanning had arrived, and was then domiciled at the house; and, though a widow and an invalid, she was a very agreeable companion.

This letter also inclosed a check for the amount of the quarterly allowance Emma Cavendish wasted upon Mary Grey.

"For whether you abandon us or not, dear Mrs. Grey, or wherever you may be, so long as I can reach you I will send you this quarterly sum, which I consider yours of right," she wrote. And with more expressions of kindness and affection the letter closed.

This letter was a great relief to Mary Grey's anxiety; for now that this wors.h.i.+per of mammon was sure of her income she had no fears for the future.

But she dared not herself answer the letter. While Mrs. Fanning should remain at Blue Cliffs, Mary Grey must not let her handwriting go there, lest it should be seen and recognized by Frederick Fanning's widow.

But the next day was Sunday, and Mrs. Grey went to church, taking Emma's letter in her pocket.

Usually she avoided Alden Lytton on these occasions, refraining even from looking toward him during the church service or afterward, for she did not wish him to suppose that she _sought_ his notice.

But now she had a fair and good excuse for speaking to him; so when the service was over and the congregation was leaving the church she waited at the door of her pew until Alden pa.s.sed by, when she said, very meekly and coolly: