Part 12 (2/2)
”I am so much afraid of being tiresome to Miss Clifford.”
”That is a foolish idea,” said Sandow reprovingly. ”Tiresome to us! My niece will soon convince you of the contrary. She will make you a better offer than Mrs. Henderson's. Jessie is far too much alone, and needs a companion; it is not good for a young girl to be quite without one of her own s.e.x. Will you be this companion, Frida? Will you stay altogether with us?”
The girl raised her eyes to him; they were wet with tears, and there was something in them which looked like a prayer for forgiveness.
”If you agree to it, Mr. Sandow, I will gratefully accept Miss Clifford's kindness, but only if you wish me to remain.”
Over Sandow's face flashed a smile, slight, but it brightened like a ray of suns.h.i.+ne the dark, stern features.
”Am I, then, such a dreaded power in the house? Jessie has, then, already spoken of this project, and you feared my refusal. No, no, child! My niece is perfectly free to do as she pleases, and I will immediately talk the thing over with her, and settle it once for all.
Mrs. Henderson shall learn to-morrow morning that she must look for another companion.”
He rose, and waving her a slight, but friendly greeting, left the arbour.
Scarcely was he out of hearing when Gustave approached the girl.
”He is afraid that the Hendersons will kidnap you from him, and hastens to make sure of you!” said he triumphantly. ”Why do you look so terrified? Do you think I shall hand you over to Mrs. Henderson, who to-day certainly gave me the message to you, but who really deserves the character my brother has given her. I was obliged to learn how he would look on the idea of your leaving. He was quite beside himself about it. Bravo, child! You have managed your affairs capitally, and now, instead of the censure I first heaped upon you, must declare that I am thoroughly satisfied with you.”
Frida paid no attention to the eulogy. Her eyes followed Sandow, who was just disappearing behind the shrubbery. Now she turned and said--
”I can deceive him no longer. As long as he was hard and cold I might have done it; now, the falsehood crushes me to the earth!”
”Cast the whole responsibility on me,” said Gustave encouragingly. ”I have placed you in this position, have woven the 'intrigue,' as Miss Clifford so flatteringly expresses it; I will also bear the responsibility when the moment for explanation comes. But now the watchword is 'forward!' and we must not fail for a moment. When we are so near our aim, we must persevere. Think of that, and promise me that you will endure to the end.”
Frida drooped her head; she did not refuse, but neither did she give the required promise.
Gustave continued in a serious tone--
”Jessie, too, urges me to a declaration, and, I see, cannot comprehend my hesitation. She does not understand the circ.u.mstances, but believes that you are a stranger to her guardian, who has won his affection, and to whom he would gladly open his arms. But we”--here he seized Frida's hand, and grasped it firmly in his own--”we know better, my poor child!
We know that you have to struggle with a gloomy hatred which has already poisoned his life, and has rooted itself so firmly in that life that a few kind words cannot banish it. I struggled for your rights when my brother left Europe, have tried again and again, and have thus learnt how deeply grafted in him is this miserable idea. You must become still more to him if it is entirely to be torn from him. Can you think that without the most urgent necessity I would lay such a yoke upon you?”
”Oh, no, certainly not! I will obey you in everything, only it is so hard to lie.”
”Not to me!” declared Gustave. ”I would never have believed that the Jesuitical principle, 'the end justifies the means,' could have been such a perfect antidote to all the p.r.i.c.ks of conscience. I lie with a kind of peace of mind, or rather with a conscious sublimity. But you need not take a pattern by me. It is by no means necessary that a child like you should have attained such a height of objectivity. On the contrary, falsehood must and should be difficult to you, and it gives me the greatest satisfaction to know that such is the case.”
”But Jessie,” said Frida, ”may I not at least take her into our confidence? She has been so kind, so affectionate to me, a stranger, has opened her arms as if to a sister”--
”To get rid of me!” interrupted Gustave. ”Yes, that is why she received you with open arms. In order to escape my wooing she would have deceived the very old gentleman himself, if he would have delivered her from the unwelcome suitor. No, no, Jessie is out of the question. It is my special delight to be despised by her, and I must enjoy it a little while longer.”
”Because the whole thing is only play to you,” said Frida reproachfully, ”but she suffers from it.”
”Who? Jessie? Not at all. She is in the highest degree shocked at my wickedness, and I must give myself the one little satisfaction of leaving her still this sentiment.”
”You are mistaken; it gives her bitter pain to be obliged to judge you so. I know how she has wept over it.”
Gustave sprang up as if electrified.
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