Marguerite Verne; Or, Scenes from Canadian Life Part 51

"But Marguerite is not one of that cla.s.s," said the young man, lazily readjusting a cus.h.i.+on that had slipped out beneath his head.

"She is an exception so far as appearance is concerned, but that does not excuse her," said Mrs. Verne, with a haughty toss of the head, then suddenly changing her voice to a very tender and confidential tone, exclaimed, "My dear Hubert, I am going to give you a little bit of advice, and I know you will receive it kindly, as you value my child's happiness. I wish you to have a warm interest in everything that tends to her comfort; but above all things, do not encourage in her that desire to be in seclusion, and to mope and groan over imaginary grievances. It is, I am sorry to say, a failing which she has inherited from her father; and though I do not wish to speak disparagingly of my dear husband, I must say that he is in many respects a very peculiar man. It is, indeed, very discouraging for a woman to find that she has married a man who takes not the least interest in society and prefers to remain, night after night shut up in his own rooms, with no companion but a musty old ledger and a filthy pipe. Ugh! the very thought make me sick."

As Mrs. Verne's speech was accompanied by expressions of contempt and disgust, the impression made upon Hubert Tracy was not of the most flattering kind. He merely smiled, but gave no expression to his thoughts. They were not what would please his mother-in-law elect, and he had enough policy to conceal them.

And now for a second scene. The carriage had rolled away and Mrs.

Verne had ascended the lofty stairway. As she stood in the corridor to throw aside the heavy wrap that enfolded her, she heard a confused din of voices. It startled her and caused her heart to beat violently.

"What a fool I am to get in such a state for nothing," but just as the last word was uttered, a servant opened the door leading from the inner hall. It was Marguerite's waiting maid.

The girl's face spoke sad news.

"In heaven's name what is the matter, Maria?" cried Mrs. Verne, thinking that a murder had taken place in their midst.

"It is Miss Verne, ma'am; but she is some better now. Oh! I thought, ma'am, that you would never come--and she was asking for you."

The poor girl was deeply attached to her young mistress and was nearly bereft of her senses when she found the latter lying upon the sofa in an apparently lifeless condition.

A physician had been summoned, who p.r.o.nounced the girl in no imminent danger, but said that there was some anxiety to be feared as regards nervous prostration.

Marguerite had been quickly restored to consciousness, but she was white as the coverlid that overspread the luxurious bed upon which she lay so calm and still.

"My child, what has done this," exclaimed Mrs. Verne looking wildly around her as if for answer from some other than those that stood about.

"Don't be alarmed, mamma, I am better," said the girl, attempting to raise herself upon the pillow, but she fell back exhausted, and closed her eyelids, looking sad and wretched.

Mrs. Verne was ill at ease as she watched at Marguerite's bedside.

Remorse for once seized upon her as she pictured herself moving about the gay throng, and her child, perhaps, on the verge of death.

"I might have known that she did not look herself, for those great circles around her mouth and eyes ought to have told me of her illness; but I trust she will soon be all right."

Mrs. Verne took a second glance at the pale face to gain more a.s.surance and hope, and as she stood there tried hard to impute her daughter's present indisposition to every source, but the real one.

"The poor girl is fretting herself to death over her father's failure, for she knows that it will affect his reputation in society. She will not acknowledge it, but I am certain that she would feel the snubs of our most intimate friends more t.i.tan I would. Indeed, they would kill the poor sensitive Madge; and to think that Stephen Verne brought all this upon his family by his own slackness. Talk about honesty! It makes fools of people. A man who is so honest that he must trust every other man he meets is a fool, and worse than a fool, he's not only a fool towards himself, but a fool towards his family."

Such was an outline of the woman's soliloquy. She considered herself the most unfortunate woman in the whole world, and wondered why it was that some people are born to trouble while others never have a care to ruffle their placid brow.

The kind-hearted physician watched with deep interest the welfare of his patient.

He admired the sweet, pure face and the _spirituelle_ eyes awaiting his coming with eager antic.i.p.ation.

"You must have brooded over some mental trouble my child, and you know _that_ is not what brings the roses to a maiden's cheek,"

and the disciple of Aesculapius once more patted the pale cheek to force back the roseate blush of youth and beauty.

"Doctor, you surely cannot say that I am to remain here many days longer when I am so anxious to see my father. I know that he will get better if I can only be near him to become his nurse."

"I see where part of the trouble is, but there is a greater one beneath that," thought the doctor as he sat writing out a prescription.

But like that great student of human nature he could not help exclaiming, though in undertone, "'who can minister to a mind diseased.' This is indeed one of the stubborn cases that I often have to deal with--administer drugs and pills _ad infinitum_ when the gentle pressure of a sympathetic hand or the soft tender glances of a bright eye would act more effectually than all the compounds which the London dispensaries can boast of."

A bouquet of exquisite beauty had arrived and with it a nicely folded note.

Marguerite took the flowers within her trembling fingers and inhaled the rich fragrance with a sort of reverence. Nature claimed a large share of the girl's sympathies. She wors.h.i.+pped it as only the student of nature should. She

"Looked from Nature up to Nature's G.o.d."

But when she had unfolded the delicate looking missive and looked at the neatly formed letters not a ray of feeling was emitted from the expressive face.

"I see how it is," mused the man of experience; "poor child your's has not been the only aching heart. You think one way and your aspirations run another, or worse than that they accord and leave you to the tender mercies of worldly and narrow-minded parents whose sole motive is the accomplishment of their own sordid ends."

Mrs. Verne's entrance solved the problem, to the entire satisfaction of the physician. She had been detained in the drawing-room, and now came to offer apology for delaying in the sick chamber.

"Don't worry, mamma. I really am not so ill as you imagine," said the girl, hopefully.

"The invigorating New Brunswick breeze is the best tonic I can prescribe," exclaimed the doctor, eyeing Mrs. Verne with close study, "but this one must be taken first."

A merry twinkle of the keen blue eye was directed upon Marguerite, who now took the proffered slip of paper, and, to the very great amus.e.m.e.nt of the pract.i.tioner, noted the Latin abbreviation.

"Don't be too modest over it," said the latter, laughing. "I begin to think my patient has been drawn into the mysteries of our lore."

Marguerite reached out her hand to receive the kind goodbye, and how pale and wan that little hand?

Poor child, murmured the genial-hearted man as he shut the door so softly and went forth in his daily rounds whenever and anon the sweet face would rise up before him and shut out all the visible surroundings.

"The old, old story--poor thing--many such have I prescribed for in vain, but it has been so from the beginning, and I suppose, will be so to the end."

But Dr. Refern's soliloquy was lost upon a desert air, and as he p.r.o.nounced Miss Verne convalescent he felt a tender pity in his large, warm heart, and fervently prayed that the girl's future might be made brighter and happier, and that she yet might return thanks for his interest in her recovery.

"My Father!"

What a scene.

Marguerite is once more with her idolized parent, but the poor girl is almost overcome with grief as she looked upon the altered looks of the prostrate form.

"My darling father," she murmurs, and vainly attempts to gain a look of fond recognition.

"Oh! father! try to speak to me," she cried, sobbing like a child, "speak to your own Marguerite."

It was a scene too sacred for other eyes, and Mrs. Montgomery turned away.

"Father in heaven," prayed the girl with arms uplifted and her eyes raised in devout supplication, "forsake me not now; oh, give me back my father--the father to whom I owe so much; Oh, grant that his senses be restored, and I can hear his voice once more." Marguerite threw herself prostrate beside the bed, and remained for some moments in fervent meditation.

The silence was indeed impressive, when suddenly Marguerite cast a glance at the loved form, and a half-smothered cry burst from her lips.

Another glance and a murmured "Thank G.o.d," Marguerite Verne's prayer was answered.

"Marguerite."