Honor Edgeworth; Or, Ottawa's Present Tense Part 11

The thin compressed lips parted slightly in a nervous motion, and Honor thought she could see a struggle for ascendancy in the workings of the usually calm face. Suddenly, a tear dropped from each downcast lid, and then the die was cast. Jean d'Alberg drew her chair closer to the young girl, and clasped her hands over her pile of work; then, looking straight at the fire, she began--

"Whatever power has inspired you, you have touched a spring over which the cobwebs of wilful neglect have lain during twenty years. It must be because you are so good and pure, that the truth, such as I am striving to hide, is so plain to you. You have uttered the secret of my life in the simple words you spoke. Twenty years ago, I was a young and beautiful girl, with a heart as full of susceptibilities and a mind as full of ambition as any one of you to-day. My face was beautiful, and I knew it; my figure was faultless, I knew that too. But vanity never entered into my heart for a moment. I had a dream that kept such trifling thoughts away. I wanted to endear myself to some one. I wanted to make some one so utterly dependent on me, that a separation should be almost death to him. Where I got this crazy longing I could not tell exactly, but it seized me like a mania. I felt that such must be my fate, or a lifelong of misery instead. While I was in the heat of this emotion my father told me to prepare myself, that I was to appear with him at the grand military ball of the season. This was the great event of the year in our town, for a detachment of British troops always stayed over for the occasion. The girls of the old country, at that time, were different from what they are now on this continent. Most of us had, as a rule, those conservative fathers, whose ideas of maidenly propriety had been handed down to them from unknown ages, and from constant preaching on the subject, I, like most others, grew into their way of thinking, but I did not, all the same, ever censure an impulsive girl who, by gratifying her own caprice, violated these stern views of her father's."

It was getting dark in the little sitting room. At this point of her story Jean d'Alberg rose, and going over towards the window that faced the west she rolled up the blind to let in the last wintry rays of the setting sun. Then, coming back, she rang for the maid to bring more coals, for the fire was dying out.

CHAPTER XIII.

"Alas, how easily things go wrong, A sigh too much or a kiss too long, And there comes a mist and a blinding rain, And life is never the same again."

--_George McDonald_

When all was comfortably arranged once more, Jean d'Alberg resumed her seat and her story:

"The eventful night of the ball came at last, and I know not what nervous presentiment caused me to fasten my palest crush roses in my hair, and to take from their old resting place the diamonds set in heavy gold, that my maternal grandmother had worn ages before. I knew full well, as I leaned on the arm of my tall, dignified father that night, that he recognized in me more strongly than ever, the likeness to his dead wife, my mother. The only feeling of pride that visited me was when I knew that my father was proud of me as his daughter and his dead wife's living image. My father was an officer in the --th regiment and, as a matter of course, I was to be treated with more than ordinary courtesy. When we entered the ballroom at the lower end I could hear suppressed whispers on all sides. It was my first appearance in any public place, and even if I had not been there, all eyes would have been riveted on my handsome father, who looked the embodiment of manliness and n.o.bility in his regimentals. Perhaps it was the haughty tone of his voice, when he introduced his 'daughter' to the hostess of the evening, that caused them to look upon me with no little wonder. Any way I became painfully conscious that we were isolated, as it were, from all the others, and the blush of confusion and excitement that suffused my face, was, as they told me afterwards, my finest feature. I had scarcely finished paying my respects to the hostess, when my father was surrounded by friends who greeted him earnestly, yet distantly. To each of these I was presented in turn, and agreed to dance once with each of them.

"But I had not yet ceased to feel that nervous presentiment that had haunted me all the evening. Suddenly, the low, sweet strains of a waltz vibrated through the room, and gay, laughing couples wheeled off into its dizzy maze. Among my many partners, none had secured the first waltz and I was beginning to congratulate myself that I could take a good view of everything and everybody before commencing my first dance. While I was scanning the room--'

Here a large coal fell into the ashes causing both ladies to start.

Madame d'Alberg poked the glowing embers into a cheerful blaze, and moved closer to the work-table, and as her fingers traced imaginary patterns on its surface, she resumed her story in the same sad monotonous voice.

"I said I raised my eyes to scan the room, but as I did so the blush faded quickly out of my face, and a cold s.h.i.+ver crept through me. I felt for the first time the sensation which all persons experience at some interval in their lives. It was the same as when we know without looking, that someone is watching our movements, the same that causes us to _feel_ the approach of someone, though we may have been persuaded that such a one was far away. I felt that I was being stared at, and following a sudden impulse, I looked towards the shaded recess of a large window, and there I saw the tall figure of a man dressed in uniform, with medals and stars upon his breast; his eyes, the largest, deepest, and most pa.s.sionate blue I have ever seen, were riveted upon me. As soon as he perceived that I was conscious of his attention he left the recess, and though my eyes did not follow him, I felt that his every step brought him closer to where we stood. At last my heart seemed to give one great leap, for I heard him address my father in a low sad voice full of meaning and pathos. The next instant I was bowing at the sound of both our names, to the handsome stranger. The first glances we exchanged must have told a tale, for I read in the limitless depths of his sad blue eyes, all that mysterious, silent pain that entreats and commands a woman's sympathy; he in his turn must have seen in mine the ready response to the calm pleading of his own.

"I cannot remember the first words that pa.s.sed between us. It was the mute language of soul speaking unto soul that had charmed me, and the next thing I realized was, that we had glided in with the laughing throng of merry dancers, among them, but not of them.

"Our steps suited exactly, and as fate would have it, the music was the dreamiest and most suggestive I had ever heard. We never spoke a word, but he must have felt my heart throbbing against his breast, like a captive bird, struggling for its freedom. For once, when all was excitement and pleasure, he pressed my hand ever so little, and I felt his warm breath very near my flushed cheek. All the emotion that had ever rested latent within me, struggled through the fetters that moment, and I felt that now I loved, madly and hopelessly, and that as it had all been born of a second, so might one other second break my heart.

"While such reflections chased one another through my confused brain, my partner led me mechanically into the long narrow conservatory to the left. Outlines of rich and delicately fragrant plants were visible in the soft hazy light that pervaded the spot, and we were near enough to the ball room to hear the subdued strains of orchestra music that yet filled the air. I dared not trust myself to silence, so I said, trying to a.s.sume the most indifferent tone.

"'How pleasant it is in here!'

"I'll never forget the distracted far-away look in his eyes as he answered in that dangerously, low, sweet voice.

"'Pleasant? Yes, when the heart is young and untried, all that is beautiful touches it with pleasure, but the heart that is withered and dead, gets its sweetest pain from the very same source.'

"To say I did not understand him would not be quite true. We English girls, who have lived with stern fathers, and with no mother for the best part of our lives, seem to learn by intuition, the saddest phases of a life's experience. We personify the heroes of our old books, until the worst of written fates, become as natural to us as though such had been items of our own existence. And so I knew immediately, that this man's life had been blighted bitterly. Some awful storm cloud had shaded the sunniest portion of his life, and the memory of that affliction would cast an immortal gloom over the rest.

"After he had uttered those strange words he looked calmly into my face.

What could I do? I had too often persuaded myself that a woman is the weakest of all things, under the influence of a first love I could summon no moral courage now to my a.s.sistance, and, childlike, I thought this great, sad looking man would never betray to another how efficaciously he had worked his influence over me. Yielding to these resistless impulses, I drew a little closer to his stalwart form, and then he took my hand in both of his, and I could not help showing what all the pa.s.sion of a lifetime was, when concentrated into one awful moment of existence. I only looked up into those full dreamy eyes, and said, 'Why are you so sad?'

"There must have been in those few words, eloquence enough to teach even his heart the truth, for he rose, and stooping over me, he said in a voice that sounded like a sigh, 'I am sad for the same reason that you will cause others to be some day, if not more careful and land. Do not sadden and ruin as worthy a heart as mine.' Then before I realized my position, there was but the memory in my heart of his lips having touched mine, followed by the feeling of secret dread and horror, that sprung from the awe in which I stood, of my father. I woke suddenly from the listless apathy that came over me. I looked up with all the emotion of fear, excitement and love visible in my face, looked to find the pale angry countenance of my father before me, with all the insulted dignity and slighted authority he felt, pictured therein.

"He did not say much just then. He trusted to the power of his look to wither the heart within me. He told me sternly, to procure my wraps, that I must leave immediately, we could pa.s.s out unnoticed by the side door. In a few moments we were in our carriage, rolling in solemn silence along the road that led to our homestead. My father spoke not a word, and I could not imagine any fate ill enough to befall me, before his wrath would subside. I planned no excuses; I promised myself not to vacillate in any way when accused, I knew that neither attempt would blind my rigid parent for an instant. When we reached our home, my father with all his usual courtesy, helped me to dismount, and gathering my superfluous wraps himself, he gave me his arm and led me into the house. But all this only foreboded the determination, changeless and cruel, that comes from the cold deliberate anger of a just, stern man.

When I reached my room, I heard the bell rung for Donnelly, our old housekeeper, and then my heart quaked in earnest with its fearful presentiment. I could not stand it any longer, so I stole down stairs, dressed as I was in my white brocaded ball-dress, and hid myself behind the folding-doors that stood half open between the drawing-room, which was in darkness, and my father's study, where a single gas-jet was lighting. I had scarcely gathered in my skirts in breathless terror, when I heard the cold, sonorous voice of my father speaking in low grave tones. Our faithful old housekeeper standing by him, looked scared and white. I strained my ears to overhear the conversation, but failed to do so. Only as the old servant pa.s.sed out I heard her say, 'It is not for me to dictate sir, but I hope you'll think better of this before it is too late--for her dead mother's sake.'

"I was mortified beyond expression. A servant was pleading for me, before my own father, and he refusing to listen! No wonder I felt the blood rus.h.i.+ng hotly to my face. No wonder that I was too proud to wait quietly there for him to punish me at will. He had been severe and exacting all his life, but there was a limit to his authority. The very worst possible antic.i.p.ations crowded into my brain, when I saw the tears falling unrestrained from poor Donnelly's eyes, as she turned to leave the man with whom all remonstrance was vain. I stole out from my hiding-place again, and on reaching the hall I saw the bundle of shawls my father had carried in for me. A sudden impulse inspired me, I wrapped myself in their woollen folds as best I could, I turned the great bolts of the front door noiselessly, and went out into the cold, chilly starlight, without a friend or a home, s.h.i.+vering, and not having where to lay my head."

Here she paused, and the intense malice and scorn that sparkled in her fine black eyes almost frightened Honor Edgeworth. When she resumed her story, her tone was more calm and subdued.

"I walked on," she continued, "until my feet and hands were numb with cold. The north-east wind pierced its bitterness through my bared breast; I pulled the shawl tighter around me, clutching as I did so, a circlet of diamonds, that would have purchased all the comforts in the land for me, and yet I was alone and freezing. He was comfortable and warm, whose cruelty had driven me into the street, and yet I was his own flesh and blood. He could listen to the wailing of the winter wind, and know that it was the pitiful cry of his child--his daughter, and yet remain unmoved. It was then I missed the tender solicitude of a mother, and I looked up into the cold silence of the stars, seeking in their still, watchful expression, some stimulus, for I thought I must go mad, or lie down to die on the earth's frozen bosom. I did not rashly censure anyone for my misfortune, but that night the coldness and cruelty of life, as it unravelled itself to me, blighted every womanly sentiment within my heart. From that moment dates the cynicism that marked my after life. My old self died out, and the flickering flame that started afresh into existence, was no longer the quiet subdued one of older days I had pa.s.sed from a gay happy girl, into a hardened reckless woman, and I have never regretted it.

"Cold, and miserable, and friendless, I went in search of a refuge, to an old nurse of mine, who lived at a short distance from the spot to which I had wandered. I reached the house and looked in the narrow window. A greasy looking candle burned on the rough table, casting flickering shadows around the low ceiling and walls, over the pewter dishes and s.h.i.+ning delf. It was a kind of comfort to my poor heart, when I saw old Nanny herself, seated on a rocking chair before the fire. I can never forget the expression of genuine horror that covered the old creature's face, as she saw me at the door of her little cottage, s.h.i.+vering in my ball dress.

"'Is it Miss Jean?' she said, with both hands up in consternation, 'sure I declare its more like the ghost of our dead sweet mother comin' to me this blessed night, as I just sat thinkin of her.'

"In silence I entered and crouched by Nanny's cheerful fire. Great Heavens! as I review the agony and pain of those moments of my existence, I wonder that I ever survived it. I did all that was left me under the circ.u.mstances. I made a truthful declaration to Nanny and then left it to her to do what she wished with me--but I weary you child, with these details," Mde. d'Albert said, hesitating slightly. But Honor, with the flush of excitement on her cheek, begged of her companion to continue. Thus pressed, she proceeded "Whether it was Nanny's intention to befriend me or not, I was thrust upon her, for a slow fever followed the chills and s.h.i.+vering that had seized me, and for seven long weeks I lay between life and death on Nanny's neat old bed. On the third morning of the seventh week I regained consciousness, experiencing all that vacant wonder at the strange surroundings of Nanny's little room. My memory was struggling with the confusion and exhaustion, brought on by my illness, but I did not care to think. I turned my head peevishly away, and closed my eyes again. When next I opened them it was growing dusk, large grey shadows were trooping out over the little room, leaving but the outlines of Nanny's old-fas.h.i.+oned furniture, visible through their mist. A small, broad clock was ticking out its monotonous notes from the mantle-piece, and the crackling noise of the fire somewhat relieved the great stillness.

"While I was thinking, Nanny's stooped figure cast a shadow across the doorway, and came stealthily over to my bed. I can yet see the look of relief and thanksgiving that came into her dear old face, when she saw that I recognized her. She bent over me smiling, and I stretched out my arms and clasped them around her neck. That night she sat at the foot of my bed, and we talked matters over. Despite all her arguments and entreaties to the contrary, I was determined to leave her as soon as my health allowed me. In the course of our conversation, Nanny alluded to the night of my separation from my father, to see how it would affect me. As I never changed nor moved a muscle, she came nearer and knelt before me. I knew by the strange look on her kind old face, that there were words on her tongue's end, awaiting utterance.

"'What is it, Nanny?' I said, 'speak it out, there is nothing now that can wound my heart--it is free to the worst treatment of fate. It is like the deserted nest in the tall pine tree. The summer of its life is over, now the wind may howl around it and the cold snowflakes fill it up. The birds it once cherished have deserted it, and left it to its fate alone.'

"Poor Nanny's eyes were overflowing, as with a faltering voice she said,

"'O, my poor child, to think your mother's daughter should ever come to this! But, there now, like a good girl, don't talk like that; it'll all blow over some day, and ye'll go back to the old house where I nursed you in my arms a tiny thing, and your mother before you, Now the big, tall man is gone far away, the troubles will cease, please G.o.d, and all will be right.'

"I looked sharply up 'What big tall man, Nanny?' I asked, and my heart beat violently as I waited for an answer.

"'Oh, sure,' said she, rising up, 'ye were too weak to tell ye of it, but wait a bit, an' I'll show ye now.'

"She went over to the old mantle-piece and pulled from behind a curious looking box, a small envelope. Then, bringing the candle nearer my bed, she handed me the letter and left the room.

"Its contents were only what helped me towards action. I had not expected this, and yet it had not surprised me in the least. It informed me that my hero had left for the continent; that owing to a series of unfortunate events in his early life he had vowed solemnly never to marry. The worst troubles that had ever befallen him had been on account of a woman he had loved, and he had voluntarily cast the s.e.x out of his life for evermore. In that letter he bade me a strange and last farewell."

When Jean d'Alberg finished speaking her face wore an expression of half indifference and half regret, as though the very last flicker of an old smouldering flame had suddenly darted up, and then died out in the ashes and the darkness. As the sound of the last echo of her voice ceased vibrating in the silent room, she awoke from the revival of memory's lethargy, and her face resumed all its wonted coldness and calmness. She looked at Honor almost suspiciously, and said in a low breath,

"I cannot explain how I have been coaxed into this confiding mood with you, child as you are."

She seemed to be awakening from a stupid dream, and she was tangled in a strange mystery. Honor recognized the feeling as a very common one. It is the doubt that often interrupts us in our confidences, lest the depository of our secret be not a safe one. It is generally a proof of the importance, greater or less, of what we confide.

Honor sat upright, and womanlike, took both Jean's hands in hers, saying--

"Do not be uneasy; I know your heart. I have not a great experience such as yours, but the experience of thought and emotion are not unknown to me. You have been miserable, and even to-day it is not too late to sympathize with you."

Jean d'Alberg laughed--a low, incredulous, skeptical laugh, that half-frightened Honor.

"Do not talk of sympathy any more," she said, "such things are soap bubbles, beautiful to look at from a little distance, but stretch your hand out to grasp them, and what remains? No, no, Honor, give up that foolish game. You see by my tale that I have gone through the fire. I need scarcely tell you with what result. I rose from my bed of sickness with a heart of flint and a will of iron. I worked honorably and honestly to bring myself to this country, where there is true encouragement for industry and perseverance, to this Canada, which is the pride and glory of England, and whose arms are extended in an admirable hospitality to the homeless exiles and fugitives of the world.

Here there is labor for all honest hands, and gratification for all honest hearts, and G.o.d cannot but bless and cause to prosper, a country so just, so encouraging and so kind.

"I was not long here when I first met Mr d'Alberg. He seemed taken with me, but my heart felt not the slightest pa.s.sing emotion towards him. In the end he became satisfied to accept me as I was, and though I never wore out my sleeves caressing him, still I made him a tolerably good wife, until death wooed and won him from me, leaving me to live on the plenty he had acc.u.mulated in a lifetime. I am now neither happy nor miserable, I neither despair nor hope, I am waiting for time to do its best or worst, I am prepared for either. Life or death offer me equal fascinations, I seek nothing but what chance sends me, I have comforts, and in my way I enjoy them, that is all I want. Let me give you now one word of advice; live, act, and die, independently of every other person and circ.u.mstance but yourself and your own immediate concerns, for the mask of life is very deceptive, and we are not always strong enough to bear the stroke when it falls."

A heavy sigh followed these last words and then all was over. The long, intricate story of a lifetime, had been breathed out. The shadows of the wintry evening were trooping noiselessly from the corners of the room, and to the quiet observer there was nothing extraordinary to be read from the surroundings. Honor looked serious, but this was nothing new with her. Jean d'Alberg looked sadder than usual, though not with such a bitter sadness as one finds in the face of an ordinary heroine, who reviews the mockeries of her past for another woman. Were the verdict just, it should call them both sensible women.

It seemed such an unnatural and inconsistent sound when the demure old woman-servant appeared in the doorway and announced supper.

But these two women rose and went to the dining-room as mechanically as though they had just been discussing the last "poke" bonnet or Mother Hubbard mantle, in the most usual way imaginable. However, a new tie bound them together now, and though no direct allusion, was afterwards made by either party to the strange narrative, yet their sympathy so strong, though new-born, manifested itself in the look and actions of each, and they became what the world called "staunch friends."