Part 50 (1/2)
”You told me once, you remember, that not even a wife should separate you and your sister, and now you will allow a low, degraded woman, who is not your wife, and has no claim on you, to again disgrace our home.”
”Hush, June, you do not exactly understand the situation. When you understand the matter you will think as I do.”
”I do not see how you can love her again.”
”I have only pity for her, June.”
”Why does she come to you for pity?”
”As a last resort.”
”Scott, I do not see how you can have the patience to allow her to remain.”
”My good little sister, you never had the heart to turn any one away who was in distress. Irene is ill, and were you to see her you would pity her as I do.”
”Perhaps I would,” said June, ”but I never want to look on her face again, she has caused us so much trouble.”
”That is true,” said Scott, ”but it should not debar us from doing our duty.”
June could not see that it was their duty to help a woman who had brought so much misery to their home, and wrecked the life of her n.o.ble brother, but she knew upon a moment's reflection that Scott was right, and she concluded that she must be lacking in charity. She stood for a moment in deep thought, and then stepping to Scott's side, and laying her hand on his arm, she said:
”Scott, I did not wish to wound you, and I am sorry if I have done so, and whatever you think best I will try to do, but, ah, I never can love Irene or call her my sister again.”
”I neither ask nor expect it, but it is our duty to care for her while she lives, and the most painful duty of life is often the most necessary to perform. I have neither love nor respect for the false woman who has come to me for shelter, but, G.o.d helping me, I will try to do my duty, whatever it may be, and if it be necessary for me to battle with the scoffs of the world in order to do my duty, my strength shall be sufficient to enable me to bear it.”
”Oh, mother,” said June, ”it seems to me that if there is a just G.o.d He will find some way to remove the cause of my n.o.ble brother's sorrow.”
”June,” said Scott, ”there is but one way. Do not even think about that. Come, Irene is very tired, and it is quite necessary that you attend to her wants by giving her every attention. Give her the room she used to have, and let her retire.”
June followed Scott to his room, where she found Irene waiting.
”Dear June,” she said as she started forward, as though to embrace her, but a look from Scott checked the movement.
”Irene,” said Scott, ”please bear in mind that you are a Wilmer only in name, and June is acting only from a sense of duty.”
”Mrs. Wilmer,” June said, in a voice as formal as though she were speaking to a stranger, ”my brother has requested me to show you to your room. Will you come?”
”Oh, June,” Irene sobbed, as she arose to her feet, and stood trembling before her; ”you used to be so good to me; can't you forgive me, either?”
”Irene,” she said, ”I can be kind to you still, and I can do all that my n.o.ble brother requests me to do for you, but I never can overlook the terrible wrong you have done him. If he asks me to bring you a cup of cold water I can do it willingly, but I cannot say that I forgive you when I do not. I cannot be a hypocrite even for Scott. I do pity you, and will do all I can for you, but _I cannot say that I forgive you_.”
She led Irene to her room--the same that she had occupied before she left their home, then she arranged the pillows, and turning down the snowy spread, bade Irene good-night, and left her to her own reflections.
”This is my reception. I know I have no right here, but I did think that June and mama would forgive me if Scott did not,” Irene said as she slowly undressed herself. ”June was always so tender hearted. I thought perhaps Scott might take me back, for some men will forgive anything for a beautiful face, but,” she added, as she glanced in the tall mirror before her, ”my beauty is fading; oh, dear, and I have lost it all through my own foolishness; and now I know that I might as well give up all hope of ever being loved by Scott again, for the look that he gave me meant even more than the words he uttered, though they were decided enough, Heaven knows, and there is no hope for me here--only to have a shelter. It is strange that my father acts as he does; but, oh, dear, I could neither live nor die with him. Well, I may as well make up my mind that there is nothing left for me but to lie here and die. Oh, G.o.d, how I dread it. I wish I could put it off a few years, but, oh, I can't. I must meet it. Oh, I could curse the man who brought me to this. After all, it was my own foolishness.”
”Paul, Paul,” she heard a voice calling.
”Come, Bob,” said June, ”Paul is not here; it is time to go to bed, too. What has started you to calling his name?”
Rene listened as the voice grew fainter; it kept calling: ”Paul, Paul.”