Part 15 (2/2)
You are so calm. How cold your hands are! oh--”
”Are they? I did not notice. Oh well, no matter; it is an old trick of theirs, you know.”
Florence Campbell's voice was very steady now. Her words were slow and deliberate--they sounded as if she was very tired; and her step, as she climbed the stairs, had lost its spring and lightness.
The next morning Nellie's breakfast was carried to her room, with a message from Florence not to get up until she came to her at their usual hour for reading together.
About noon, as the girl lay thinking for the hundredth time that she must get up and face life again--that she must somehow stop this blinding headache, and go away--that she must die--Florence swept into the room, trailing her soft, long gown behind her, and gently closed the door. She had put on a gay pink tea-gown, with ma.s.ses of white lace and smart little bows in unexpected places.
”Feel better, dear?” she asked, gayly. ”Griggs told me your head ached, and that you had not slept well. I confess I did not either--not very.
Tom and I talked rather late; you know he sails for Liverpool at noon.
Sure enough, you didn't know. Well, no matter. The vessel is just about sailing now. Yes, it is _rather_ sudden. We talked so much of it last night that it seems quite an old story to me to-day, though. You know he was to go in two weeks, anyway. It seemed best to go earlier, so I helped him pack, and saw him to the steamer two hours ago. You know a man doesn't have to take anything but a tooth-brush and a smoking-cap.
We thought it would be best for his health to go at once. Tom has not seemed quite himself of late.” She did not look at her friend as she talked and her white face was turned from the light. She talked so fast, it seemed as if she had rehea.r.s.ed and was repeating a part with a desire to have it over as soon as might be. ”His Travelling Ancestor, the one who wants change--change--change in all things, has had hold of him of late. I'm sure you have noticed how restless he was.”
The girl sat up and listened with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. She had known many unexpected and unexplained things to be done in the house of this friend, who had given her a home and a warm welcome a year before, when she had left school, an orphan and homeless. But this sudden departure she had not heard even mentioned before. She thought she understood it.
”O Florence! Florence!” she cried, pa.s.sionately. ”It is _my_ fault! I have separated you! I have brought sorrow to you! You, who are so good, _so good;_ and I--oh, how _can_ you be so kind to me? _Hate_ me! _Hate me!_ Thrust me from your house, and tell the world I tried to steal your husband! Tell that I am vile and wicked! Tell--and now I have sent him away from you, who love him--whom he loves! Why do you not blame me? Why do you never blame anyone? Why--”
There was a pause; the girl sobbed bitterly, while the older woman seemed afraid to trust her voice. After a while in a tired, solemn tone, Nellie went on:
”Do you think you can believe a word I say, Florence? Is there any use for me to tell you the truth?”
Her friend nodded slowly, looking her steadily in the eyes. Her lips were tightly drawn together, and her hands were cold and trembling.
”Then, Florence, I will tell you, truly--truly--truly, as I hope for--”
She was going to say ”your forgiveness,” but it seemed too cruel to ask for that just now. ”I did not understand, not at first, either him or myself. I thought he was like you”--she felt Florence shudder--”and loved me, as he said, as you did. I was so glad and proud, until--until--O Florence! how can I tell you that I let him _beg_ me to go away with him! After I understood what he meant, my heart _did_ leap, even in its utter self-abas.e.m.e.nt and wretchedness. I let him beg me twice, and kiss me, _after_ I understood! It must have been my fault; he said it was”--Florence took her friend's hand in hers--”and he said that no one else had ever taken his thoughts away from you.”
The girl thought she saw the drawn lips before her curl; but she must free her whole heart now, and lay bare her very soul.
”He said that he had always been true to you, Florence, even in thought, until I--O Florence! I must be worse than anyone one earth. I--he said--”
Florence Campbell sprang to her feet. ”Yes, I know, I know!” she exclaimed, breathlessly, ”and you _believed_ him! Poor little fool!
Women do. Sometimes a second time, but not a third time, dear--not a third time! Do not blame yourself any more.” She stopped, then hurried on as one will do when danger threatens from within. ”If it had not been you, it would, it might--my G.o.d! it might have been worse! Some poor girl--”
She stopped again as if choking. The two women looked at each other; the younger one gave a long, shuddering moan, and buried her face in her hands.
Presently Florence said slowly: ”All ancestors were not thieves. Some were simply fickle, and light, and faithless.”
Nellie raised a face full of pa.s.sionate suffering: ”Florence! Florence!
how can you excuse either of us? How _can--_”
Suddenly, with a great sob, Florence Campbell threw herself into the girl's outstretched arms, and with a wail of utter desolation cried: ”Hush, Nellie, hus.h.!.+ Never speak of it again, never! Only _love_ me, _love me--love me!_ I need it so! And _no_ one--no one in all the world has ever loved me truly!” It was the only time Nellie ever saw Florence Campbell lose her self-control.
FLORENCE CAMPBELL'S FATE.
_”'Tis the good reader that makes the good book; a good head cannot read amiss; in every book he finds pa.s.sages which seem confidences or asides hidden from all else and unmistakably meant for his ear...._”
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