Part 4 (1/2)
In a roundabout way we have heard that Mr. McDonald is going away with his wife and daughter. When the facts of the divorce were known, they brought him into such disgrace with the citizens of Indianapolis, who were perfectly indignant, and showed that they were in every possible way, that he thought best to leave for a time till the storm was over, and so they will go to South America, where there is a cousin Tom, who is growing rich very fast. I cannot help certain thoughts coming into my mind, any more than I can help being glad that Daisy is going out of the country. Guy never mentions her now, and is getting to look and act quite like himself. If only he _could_ forget her, we might be very happy again, as Heaven grant we may.
CHAPTER VII.-FIVE YEARS LATER.
”Married, this morning, at St. Paul's church, by the Rev. Dr. --, a.s.sisted by the Rector, Guy Thornton, Esq., of Cuylerville, to Miss Julia Hamilton, of this city.”
Such was the notice which appeared in a daily Boston paper one lovely morning in September five years after the last entry in Miss Thornton's journal. Guy had reached the point at last, when he could put Daisy from his heart and take another in her place. He had never seen her, or heard directly from her since the night she brought him the marriage settlement and tore it in pieces, thinking thus to give him the money beyond a doubt. That this did not change the matter one whit he knew, for she could not give him the ten thousand settled upon her until she was of age. She _was_ of age now, and had been for a year or more, and to say the truth he had expected to hear from her when she was twenty-one. To himself he had reasoned on this wise: ”Her father told her that the tearing up that paper made no difference, that she was powerless of herself to act until she was of age, so she will wait quietly till then before making another effort.” And Guy thought how he would not take a penny from her, but would insist upon her keeping it.
Still he should respect her all the more for her sense of justice and generosity, he thought, and when her twenty-first birthday came and pa.s.sed, and week after week went by, and brought no sign from Daisy, there was a pang in his heart and a look of disappointment on his face which did not pa.s.s away until October hung her gorgeous colors upon the hills of Cuylerville, and Julia Hamilton came to the Brown Cottage to spend a few weeks with his sister.
From an independent, self-reliant, energetic girl of twenty-two, Julia had ripened into a n.o.ble and dignified woman of twenty-seven, with a repose of manner which seemed to rest and quiet one, and which told insensibly on Guy, until at last he found himself dreading to have her go, and wis.h.i.+ng to keep her with him always. The visit was lengthened into a month; and when in November he went with her to Boston, he had asked her to take Daisy's place, and be his second wife. Very freely they talked of the little golden-haired girl, and Julia told him what she had heard through a mutual acquaintance who had been on the same vessel with the McDonalds when they returned from South America. Cousin Tom was with them, a rich man then, and a richer now, for his gold mine and his railroad had made him almost a millionaire, and it was currently reported and believed that Mr. McDonald meant him to marry his daughter.
They were abroad now, the McDonalds and Tom, and Daisy, it was said, was even more beautiful than in her early girlhood, and that to her natural loveliness was added great cultivation and refinement of manner. She had had the best of teachers while in South America, and was now continuing her studies abroad with a view to further improvement. All this Julia Hamilton told Guy, and then bade him think again before deciding to join his life with hers.
And Guy did think again, and his thoughts went across the sea after the beautiful Daisy, and he tried to picture to himself what she must be now that education and culture had set their seal upon her. But always in the picture there was a dark background, where cousin Tom stood sentinel with his bags of gold, and so, with a half unconscious sigh for what ”might have been,” Guy dug still deeper the grave where, years before, he had buried his love for Daisy, and to make the burial sure this time, so that there should be no future resurrection, he put over the grave a head-stone, on which was written a new hope and a new love, both of which centered in Julia Hamilton.
And so they were engaged, and after that there was no wavering on his part,-no looking back to a past, which seemed like a happy dream, from which there had been a horrible awaking.
He loved Julia at first quietly and sensibly, and loved her more and more as the winter and spring went by, and brought the day when he stood again at the altar, and for the second time took upon him the marriage vow. It was a very quiet wedding, with only a few friends present, and Miss Frances was the bridesmaid, in a gown of silver gray; but Julia's face was bright with the certainty of a happiness long desired; and if in Guy's heart there lingered the odor of other bridal flowers, withered now and dead, and the memory of other marriage bells than those which sent their music on the air that September morning, and if a pair of sunny blue eyes seemed looking into his, he made no sign, and his face wore an expression of perfect content as he took his second bride for better or worse, just as he once had taken little Daisy. In Daisy's case it had proved all for the worse, but now there was a suitableness in the union which boded future happiness, and many a hearty wish for good was sent after the newly-married pair, whose destination was New York.
It was nearly dark when they reached the hotel, and quite dark before dinner was over. Then Julia suddenly remembered that an old friend of hers was boarding in the house, and suggested going to her room.
”I'd send my card,” she said, blus.h.i.+ngly, ”only she would not know me by the new name, so if you do not mind my leaving you a moment, I'll go and find her myself.”
Guy did not mind, and Julia went out and left him alone. Scarcely was she gone when he called to mind a letter which had been forwarded to him from Cuylerville, and which he had found awaiting him on his return from, the church that morning. Not thinking it of much consequence, he had thrust it in his pocket and in the excitement forgotten it till now.
He had dressed for dinner and worn his wedding-coat, and he took the letter out and looked at it a moment, and wondered whom it was from, as people often wait and wonder, when breaking the seal would settle the matter so soon. It was post-marked in New York, and, felt heavy in his hand, and he opened it at last, and found that the outer envelope inclosed another one, on which his name and address were written in a handwriting once so familiar to him, and the sight of which made him start and breathe heavily for a moment as if the air had suddenly grown thick and burdensome.
It was Daisy's handwriting, which he had never thought to see again; for after his engagement with Julia he had burned every vestige of a correspondence it was sorrow now to remember. One by one, and with a steady hand, he had dropped Daisy's letters into the fire and watched them turning into ashes, and thought how like his love for her they were when nothing remained of them but the thin gray tissue his breath could blow away. The four sc.r.a.ps of the marriage settlement which Daisy had brought him on that night of storm he kept, because they seemed to embody something good and n.o.ble in the girl; but the letters she had written him were gone past recall, and he had thought himself cut loose from her forever,-when, lo! there had come to him an awakening to the bitterness of the past in a letter from the once-loved wife, whose delicate handwriting made him grow faint and sick for a moment, as he held the letter in his hand and read:
”_Guy Thornton, Esq._, ”Brown Cottage, ”Politeness of Mr. Wilkes. Cuylerville, Ma.s.s.”
Why had she written, and what had she to say to him? he wondered, and for a moment he felt tempted to tear the letter up and never know what it contained.
Better, perhaps, had he done so,-better for him, and better for the fond new wife whose happiness was so perfect, and whose trust in his love was so strong.
But he did not tear it up. He opened it, and another chapter will tell us what he read.
CHAPTER VIII.-DAISY'S LETTER.
It was dated at Rouen, France, and it ran as follows:
”_Dear, Dear Guy_:-I am all alone here in Rouen, with no one near me who speaks English, or knows a thing of Daisy Thornton, as she was, or as she is now, for I am Daisy Thornton here. I have taken the old name again and am an English governess in a wealthy French family; and this is how it came about: I have left Berlin and the party there, and am earning my own living, for three reasons, two of which concern cousin Tom, and one of which has to do with you and that miserable settlement which has troubled me so much. I thought when I brought it back and tore it up that was the last of it, and felt so happy and relieved. Father missed it, of course; and I told him the truth and that I could never touch a penny of your money if I was not your wife. He did not say a word, and I supposed it was all right, and never dreamed that I was actually clothed and fed on the interest of that ten thousand dollars.
Father would not tell me, and you did not write. Why didn't you, Guy? I expected a letter so long and went to the office so many times and cried a little to myself, and said Guy has forgotten me.
”After the divorce, which I know now was a most unjust and mean affair, the people in Indianapolis treated us with so much coldness and neglect that at last we went to South America,-father, mother and I,-went to live with Tom. He wanted me for his wife before you did, but I could not marry Tom. He is very rich now, and we lived with him, and then we all came to Europe and have traveled everywhere, and I have had teachers in everything, and people say I am a fine scholar, and praise me much; and, Guy, I have tried to improve just to please _you_; believe me, Guy, just to please _you_. Tom was as a brother,-a dear, good big bear of a brother, whom I loved as such, but nothing more. Even were you dead, I could not marry Tom after knowing you; and I told him so when in Berlin he asked me for the sixth time to be his wife. I had to tell him something hard to make him understand, and when I saw how what I said hurt him cruelly and made him cry because he was such a great big, awkward, dear old fellow, I put my arms around his neck and cried with him, and tried to explain, and that made him ten times worse. Oh, if people only would not love me so much it would save me a great deal of sorrow.
”You see, I tell you this because I want you to know exactly what I have been doing these five years, and that I have never thought of marrying Tom or anybody. I did not think I could. I felt that if I belonged to anybody it was you, and I cannot have Tom, and father was very angry and taunted me with living on Tom's money, which I did not know before, and then he accidently let out about the marriage settlement, and that hurt me worse than the other.