Part 13 (1/2)
As he thus spoke, as if to avoid the possibility of any further discussion, he turned abruptly from her, and left the room.
The extreme agitation which she had just undergone combined with her physical delicacy to bring on an hysterical attack; and poor Mrs.
Marston, with an aching head and a heavy heart, lay down upon her bed.
She had swallowed an opiate, and before ten o'clock upon that night, an eventful one as it proved, she had sunk into a profound slumber.
Some hours after this, she became in a confused way conscious of her husband's presence in the room. He was walking, with an agitated mien, up and down the chamber, and casting from time to time looks of great trouble toward the bed where she lay. Though the presence of her husband was a strange and long unwonted occurrence there, at such an hour, and though she felt the strangeness of the visit, the power of the opiate overwhelmed her so, that she could only see this apparition gliding slowly back and forward before her, with the pa.s.sive wonder and curiosity with which one awaits the issue of an interesting dream.
For a time she lay once more in an uneasy sleep; but still, throughout even this, she was conscious of his presence; and when, a little while after, she again saw him, he was not walking to and fro before the foot of the bed, but sitting beside her, with one hand laid upon the pillow on which her head was resting, the other supporting his chin. He was looking steadfastly upon her, with a changed face, an expression of bitter sorrow, compunction, and tenderness. There was not one trace of sternness; all was softened. The look was what she fancied he might have turned upon her had she lain there dead, ere yet the love of their early and ill-fated union had grown cold in his heart. There was something in it which reminded her of days and feelings gone, never to return. And while she looked in his face with a sweet and mournful fascination, tears unconsciously wet the pillow on which her poor head was resting. Unable to speak, unable to move, she heard him say--”It was not your fault, Gertrude--it was not yours, nor mine. There is a destiny in these things too strong for us. Past is past--what is done, is done forever; and even were it all to do over again, what power have I to mend it? No, no; how could I contend against the combined power of pa.s.sions, circ.u.mstances, influences--in a word, of fate? You have been good and patient, while I--; but no matter. Your lot, Gertrude, is a happier one than mine.”
Mrs. Marston heard him and saw him, but she had not the power, nor even the will, herself to speak or move. He appeared before her pa.s.sive sense like the phantasm of a dream. He stood up at the bedside, and looked on her steadfastly, with the same melancholy expression. For a moment he stooped over her, as if about to kiss her face, but checked himself, stood erect again at the bedside, then suddenly turned; the curtain fell back into its place, and she saw him no more.
With a strange mixture of sweet and bitter feelings this vision rested upon the memory of Mrs. Marston, until, gradually, deep slumber again overcame her senses, and the incident and all its attendant circ.u.mstances faded into oblivion.
It was past eight o'clock when Mrs. Marston awoke next morning. The sun was s.h.i.+ning richly and cheerily in at the windows; and as the remembrance of Marston's visit to her chamber, and the unwonted manifestations of tenderness and compunction which accompanied it, returned, she felt something like hope and happiness, to which she had long been a stranger, flutter her heart. The pleasing reverie to which she was yielding was, however, interrupted. The sound of stifled sobbing in the room reached her ear, and, pus.h.i.+ng back the bed-curtains, and leaning forward to look, she saw her maid, Willett, sitting with her back to the wall, crying bitterly, and striving, as it seemed, to stifle her sobs with her ap.r.o.n, which was wrapped about her face.
”Willet, Willett, is it you who are sobbing? What is the matter with you, child?” said Mrs. Marston, anxiously.
The girl checked herself, dried her eyes hastily, and walking briskly to a little distance, as if engaged in arranging the chamber, she said, with an affectation of carelessness--
”Oh, ma'am, it is nothing; nothing at all, indeed, ma'am.”
Mrs. Marston remained silent for a time, while all her vague apprehensions returned. Meantime the girl continued to shove the chairs. .h.i.ther and thither, and to arrange and disarrange everything in the room with a fidgety industry, intended to cover her agitation. A few minutes, however, served to weary her of this, for she abruptly stopped, stood by the bedside, and, looking at her mistress, burst into tears.
”Good G.o.d! What is it?” said Mrs. Marston, shocked and even terrified, while new alarms displaced her old ones. ”Is Miss Rhoda--can it be--is she--is my darling well?”
”Oh, yes, ma'am,” answered the maid, ”very well, ma'am; she is up, and out walking and knows nothing of all this.”
”All what?” urged Mrs. Marston. ”Tell me, tell me, Willett, what has happened. What is it? Speak, child; say what it is?”
”Oh, ma'am! Oh my poor dear mistress!” continued the girl, and stopped, almost stifled with sobs.
”Willett, you must speak; you must say what is the matter. I implore of you--desire you!” urged the distracted lady. Still the girl, having made one or two ineffectual efforts to speak, continued to sob.
”Willett, you will drive me mad. For mercy's sake, for G.o.d's sake, speak--tell me what it is!” cried the unhappy lady.
”Oh, ma'am, it is--it is about the master,” sobbed the girl.
”Why he can't--he has not--oh, merciful G.o.d! He has not hurt himself,”
she almost screamed.
”No, ma'am, no; not himself; no, no, but--” and again she hesitated.
”But what? Speak out, Willett; dear Willett have mercy on me, and speak out,” cried her wretched mistress.
”Oh, ma'am, don't be fretted; don't take it to heart, ma'am,” said the maid, clasping her hands together in anguish.
”Anything, anything, Willett; only speak at once,” she answered.
”Well, ma'am, it is soon said--it is easy told. The master, ma'am--the master is gone with the Frenchwoman; they went in the traveling coach last night, ma'am; he is gone away with her, ma'am; that is all.”
Mrs. Marston looked at the girl with a gaze of stupefied, stony terror; not a muscle of her face moved; not one heaving respiration showed that she was living. Motionless, with this fearful look fixed upon the girl, and her thin hands stretched towards her, she remained, second after second. At last her outstretched hands began to tremble more and more violently; and as if for the first time the knowledge of this calamity had reached her, with a cry, as though body and soul were parting, she fell back motionless in her bed.
Several hours had pa.s.sed before Mrs. Marston was restored to consciousness. To this state of utter insensibility, one of silent, terrified stupor succeeded; and it was not until she saw her daughter Rhoda standing at her bedside, weeping, that she found voice and recollection to speak.