Part 27 (1/2)

Then he asked me how I liked the name of Nina St. Claire. _I_ HATE IT!” and the blue eyes flashed as Edith had never seen them flash before. ”I won't be his wife! I'd forgotten all what it was that happened that night until he told it to you in the woods. Then it came back to me, and I remembered how we went to Richard, because he was most blind, and did not often come to Geneva. That was Sarah Warren's plan I believe, but my head has ached and whirled so since that I most forget. Only this I know, nothing ever came of it; and over the sea I loved Charlie Hudson, and didn't love Arthur. But, Miggie he's been so good to me so like my mother.

He's held me in his arms a heap of nights when the fire was in my brain; and once, Miggie, he held me so long, and I tore so awfully, that he fainted, and Dr. Griswold cried, and said, 'Poor Arthur; poor boy!' That's when _I_ BIT HIM!--bit Arthur, Miggie, right on his arm, because he wouldn't let me pull his hair. Dr.

Griswold shook me mighty hard, but Arthur never said a word. He only looked at me so sorry, so grieved like, that I came out of my tantrum, and kissed the place. I've kissed it ever so many times since then, and Arthur knows I'm sorry. I ain't a fit wife for him. I don't blame him for wanting you. I can't see the WRONG, but it's because I'm so thick-headed, I suppose! I wish I wasn't!” And fixing her gaze upon the window opposite, Nina seemed to be living over the past, and trying to arrange the events of her life in some clear, tangible form.

Gradually as she talked Edith had softened toward Arthur--poor Arthur, who had borne so much. She might, perhaps, forgive him, but to FORGET was impossible. She had suffered too much at his hands for that, and uttering a faint moan as she thought how all her hopes of happiness were blasted, she turned on her pillow just as Nina, coming out of her abstracted fit, said to her,

”Did I tell you we are going to Florida--Arthur and I--going back to our old home, in two or three days, Arthur says it is better so. Old scenes may cure me.”

Alas, for poor human nature. Why did Edith's heart throb so painfully, as she thought of Nina cured, and taken to Arthur's bosom as his wife. She knew SHE could not be that wife, and only half an hour before she had said within herself, ”_I_ HATE HIM.”

Now, however, she was conscious of a strong unwillingness to yield to another the love lost to her forever, and covering her head with the sheet, she wept to think how desolate her life would be when she knew that far away, in the land of flowers, Arthur was learning to forget her and bestowing his affection upon restored, rational Nina.

”Why do you cry?” asked Nina, whose quick ear detected the stifled sobs. ”Is it because we are going? I told him you would, when he bade me come and ask if you would see him before he goes.”

”Did he--did he send me that message?” and the Edith, who wouldn't for the world meet Arthur St. Claire again, uncovered her face eagerly. ”Tell him to come to-morrow at ten o'clock. I am the strongest then; and Nina, will you care if I ask you to stay away?

I'd rather see him alone.”

Edith's voice faltered as she made this request, but Nina received it in perfect good faith, answering that she would remain at home.

”I must go now,” she added. ”He's waiting for me, and I do so hope you'll coax him to stay here. I hate old Florida.”

Edith however felt that it was better for them both to part. She had caught a glimpse of her own heart, and knew that its bleeding fibres still clung to him, and still would cling till time and absence had healed the wound.

”I will be very cold and indifferent to-morrow,” she said to herself, when after Nina's departure, she lay, antic.i.p.ating the dreaded meeting and working herself up to such a pitch of excitement that the physician declared her symptoms worse, asking who had been there, and saying no one must see her, save the family, for several days.

The doctor's word was law at Collingwood, and with sinking spirits Edith heard Richard in the hall without, bidding Mrs. Matson keep every body from the sick room for a week. Even Nina was not to be admitted, for it was clearly proved that her last visit had made Edith worse. What should she do? Arthur would be gone ere the week went by, and she MUST see him. Suddenly Victor came into her mind.

She could trust him to manage it, and when that night, while Mrs.

Matson was at her tea he came up as usual with wood, she said to him, ”Victor, shut the door so no one can hear, and then come close to me.”

He obeyed, and standing by her bedside waited for her to speak.

”Victor, Mr. St. Claire is going to Florida in a day or two. I've promised to see him to-morrow at ten o'clock, and Richard says no one can come in here, but I must bid Arthur good-bye and Nina, too. Can't you manage it, Victor?”

”Certainly,” returned Victor, who, better than any one else knew his own power over his master. ”You shall see Mr. St. Claire, and see him alone.”

Victor had not promised more than be felt able to perform, and when at precisely ten o'clock next day the door bell rang, he hastened to answer the summons, admitting Arthur, as he had expected.

”I called to see Miss Hastings,” said Arthur, ”I start for Florida to-morrow, and would bid her good-bye.”

Showing him into the parlor, Victor sought Richard's presence, and by a few masterly strokes of policy and well-worded arguments, obtained his consent for Arthur to see Edith just a few moments.

”It was too bad to send him away without even a good-bye, when she had esteemed him so highly as a teacher,” Richard said, unwittingly repeating Victor's very words--that a refusal would do her more injury than his seeing her could possibly do. ”I'll go with him. Where is he?” he asked, rising to his feet.

”Now, I wouldn't if I was you. Let him talk with her alone. Two excite her a great deal more than one, and he may wish to say some things concerning Nina which he does not care for any one else to hear. There is a mystery about HER, you know.”

Richard did not know, but he suffered himself to be persuaded, and Victor returned to Arthur, whom be conducted in triumph to the door of Edith's chamber. She heard his well known step. She knew that he was coming, and the crimson spots upon her cheeks told how much she was excited. Arthur did not offer to caress her--he dared not do that now--but be knelt by her side, and burying his face in her pillow, said to her,

”I have come for your forgiveness, Edith. I could not go without it. Say that I am forgiven, and it will not be so hard to bid you farewell forever.”