Marguerite Verne; Or, Scenes from Canadian Life Part 50

"There is just such a mixture of poetry and romance as is appreciable," said Mr. Lawson, a slight color betraying his interest.

"Though I am a practical, matter-of-fact woman, I really admire the vein of superst.i.tious fervour that gives coloring to her many daily acts."

"I remember one day," added Mrs. Montgomery, "of asking her why she wore such an ugly looking bracelet when she had so many pretty ones.

I can see the graceful figure, and the sweet smiling face, as the girl turned upon me the full force of her powerfully magnetic eyes, and with great earnestness replied: 'Dear Auntie, there is a story attached to that bracelet, and you shall hear it," and taking a seat beside me she began----

"Mamma always told us that you were an apt student in history, and of course you know the story of James the Fourth of Scotland and his iron belt, and how each year he added an ounce to its weight, that it might inflict the greater penance."

"I then said that when I was twelve years of age I had read the Lady of the Lake for the sixth time, and that I had made Fitz James my greatest hero, and notwithstanding his many short-comings, I yet looked upon the benefactor of the n.o.ble Douglas, and the lovely Ellen, with fond admiration."

"What a glow kindled in Marguerite's cheek," added Mrs. Montgomery, as she listened, and then with exclamation of delight she cried, "Aunt Hester, I really adore Scott, and I think that I outdo you, for I have committed to memory nearly all of the Lady of the Lake."

"But about the bracelet," I said, remindingly.

"Well, you know, Aunt Hester, I was not at all times a very good girl," said Marguerite, with a sympathetic glance, "and, indeed, found opportunity to make myself very disagreeable. It is indeed true, Auntie. Well, one day papa brought in a very handsome bracelet as a birthday present for Evelyn. It was a cl.u.s.ter of garnets in gold setting, and at night time, when the light fell upon it, shone brilliantly. I envied Eve her pretty bauble, and as I saw my sister, many admirers glanced upon it. I felt uncharitable. Why could papa not have given me one as well, I thought; and bitter feelings were cherished against my dear papa, and indeed, Aunt Hester," exclaimed the girl in all humility, "they might have rankled there, and made me worse than I would care to acknowledge, when a little circ.u.mstance, or trivial accident, came to my aid and taught me to rise above it. Like you, Aunt Hester, I am fond of history, and being out of reading matter, came across a volume ent.i.tled Tales from Scottish History."

"The very thing I have been seeking for months," I exclaimed, taking down the work from the bookshelf, and admiring the substantial binding of heavy dark blue morocco. Then I thought of the donor. I turned to the t.i.tle page and saw my name neatly inscribed in papa's own handwriting.

"My darling papa, I exclaimed he sees every want. Not a wish of mine but is gratified; he has overheard me saying I should like just such a work, and has lost no time in getting it.

"I secured my favorite nook in the library and sitting down, the first thing that caught my eye was an adventure of James the Fourth--Scotland's Coeur-de-Lion in very deed. I read the story, and it filled me with remorse. The prince, was guilty of rebellious acts against his father, and I am guilty of rebellious _thoughts_.

He wore an iron belt as a reminder of the sad fact. Well, my dearest and best of fathers, I shall have something likewise to remind me of my ingrat.i.tude."

"And you bought that homely bracelet, my child?" I said smiling at her earnestness.

"I did Aunt Hester, and when I feel that I am not doing what is right I just run to my dressing case and slip that on my arm,"

pointing at the same moment to the curious construction of bronze and steel that encircled her alabaster-like arm.

"And why are you wearing it to-day, my dear?" I asked.

"I felt inclined to be moody, Aunt Hester."

"I never remember of seeing such a bracelet worn by Miss Verne,"

ventured Mr. Lawson who had hitherto remained a silent listener.

"The occasion to which I refer, happened more than three years ago.

I remember sometime afterward of asking Marguerite if she had her moody fits yet, and she smilingly said that the bracelet had been consigned to a resting place among her store of relics."

"Miss Verne now looks to a higher source. She needs no such talisman," said Mr. Lawson with an air of deep reverence.

"Yes, I believe Marguerite Verne is a Christian, though she makes no loud demonstration of the fact. No one possessing the sweet simplicity of character, the truly charitable spirit, and that universal good will to her fellow creatures can be otherwise than a Christian."

Mrs. Montgomery had given emphasis to her speech, as she never was weary in extolling the virtues of her favorite niece.

A slight movement on the part of the prostrate man called Phillip to the bedside.

Mr. Verne had awoke to consciousness, and no doubt had listened to the words so lately uttered.

A smile was upon his face as he extended his left hand to Mr.

Lawson, and tried hard to regain his speech.

"Do not exert yourself, sir," said the latter putting his arm around the invalid with the tenderness of a woman. "All you must do is try to get a little stronger before Miss Verne arrives, after that you will be all right. It is enough to make any one sick to be alone in this big house."

Mrs. Montgomery watched the effect of the speech and felt sore at heart. "Poor man," thought she, "he will never live to see it," and as she looked a second time saw that Mr. Verne had suddenly relapsed into that comatose state sadly akin to death.

"Thy will be done," murmured the watcher, and tenderly replacing the coverlid committed the prostrate form to the mercy of an Almighty Father.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

DARK HOURS INDEED.

It is nearly midnight. Mrs. Verne had been prevailed upon (to use her own words) to attend a musical soiree given by a fas.h.i.+onable young matron in honor of her fifth wedding anniversary.

Hubert Tracy now danced attendance upon his mother-in-law, elect and on the present occasion was her beau chevalier.

He had taken leave of Marguerite with much reluctance. Her wearied and sadly pale face upbraided him but he kept stifling his conscience with the thought that she would be happier when the first impressions wore off.

"I am beginning to believe all women are alike," exclaimed he petulantly as he was awaiting Mrs. Verne's appearance, "made up of April showers and ready to transfer themselves into a vale of tears whenever they think of their boy lovers but when they've made a good haul in the matrimonial net once and forever they forget all their swains and live for one grand purpose--to impress their friends with the greatness of their position. And I'm not going to be fooled either I tell you, Miss Marguerite. You've got to toe the mark too.

None of your groaning over that chuckle-headed fool of a Lawson who has no more sense than he needs."

"I beg pardon Hubert, for the detention," exclaimed Mrs. Verne who now made her appearance rustling in gros grain silk and sparkling with superb brilliants, while the cleverly artistic touches administered to deface the inroad of merciless Time would lead one at first glimpse to suppose that the radiant matron was none other than a pretty woman of twenty.

"There is not the slightest need for apology," said the young man bowing to the lady with the grace of a Crichton.

"I grieve to leave Madge this evening, but you know, my dear Hubert, that society is a merciless tyrant. Its mandates are cruel in the extreme," and affecting the air of an injured woman Mrs. Verne ensconsed herself amid the luxuriant cus.h.i.+ons.

"Marguerite is not looking well," said the affianced glancing; at his companion to see that all was settled for her comforts.

"The poor child has such severe headaches, but in confidence, my dear, Hubert, I sometimes think she brings them on herself, for you know that she is too much given to reading, not that kind of reading that is needed or recreation, but works beyond what a woman should attempt."

Hubert Tracy was not altogether in a talking mood, and was glad that his companion had claimed the floor.

"I for one do not believe in women making such a display in the literary line. There is no sense in it, Hubert."

"You never yet saw a man in love with a literary star of the first magnitude. Literature is not for women, and when I see one setting up with an air of importance, and discussing science, history, biography, aye, and even religion, I just think, well, my lady, if you could see yourself as other see you, you would not get off your stuff in that style. To tell the truth I despise literary women, and if I had my way I would consign them to some seventh-cla.s.s place of refuge, where they could howl and shout until they become what they generally end in--nothing."

"I fear you would not make a bad attempt in that sort of business yourself," said the young man much amused at the adroit manner which Mrs. Verne sought to gain a compliment.

"Heaven forbid it my dear, Hubert. From a child I always had a holy horror of blue stockings, and when I looked upon their coa.r.s.e masculine faces I always experienced a feeling of disgust that I must confess increased with the years."

"And you have met many I presume."

"I merely refer to the works of the photographer or the artist, such, as you see on the vignette of their works. I am sure that they are ugly enough to frighten any sensitive child."