CHAPTER IV.
JEALOUSY.
All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven—
'Tis gone!
Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell!
Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne
To tyrannous hate!——
——Of one, whose hand,
Like the base Judean, threw a pearl away
Richer than all his tribe.—SHAKSPEARE'S OTHELLO.
IT would seem to have been the plainest duty of Dr. Carollyn to have asked his wife, at once, how the miniature of his friend chanced to be in her possession, and to have received from her such explanations as she had to give, from which he might judge for himself. But when men are beside themselves with anger, love, jealousy, or any other mastering passion, they rush away from the simple, straight-forward dictates of common sense, striking blindly at whatever impedes them.
When he left the house his heart was on fire. He walked distractedly up one street and down another. No sooner would the vision of his wife, all purity, rise before him in its matchless beauty, than the memory of her hesitation, her blushes, and all the suspicious incidents of this evening would rush before it. A jealousy, before which all previous developments of it had been like the breath of morning before the midnight whirlwind, swept through him, leaving every thing joyful in his nature a prostrate ruin.
Yet he would be calm! He would not misjudge his friend, much less would he misjudge his own wife! He would be calm—as cool and dispassionate as if he were a juryman on trial of a stranger. He would wait, watch, and not in any manner change his usual ways, so as to excite the surprise of the interested parties. Oh no! he would not distrust his Annie, until the certainty of her deception made further trust in her impossible! And with feelings the gall of whose bitterness proved that he had already prejudged her, he set to himself the task of spy upon his wife.
It was midnight when he returned from his tramp through the chilly streets. Annie was sitting up for him, in their chamber, a loose robe thrown about her, and her bright hair, all unbound, rippling over her shoulders. His melting heart was hardened again, as he observed that her writing desk had just been pushed away from her, and that the locket lay in a half-closed drawer, with a letter she had just sealed. He had not known of her having any correspondents, aside from occasional complimentary notes to and from friends in the city. The face of the envelope lay up, and his lightning glance devoured the address—Mademoiselle Victoire Gurnell.
"There is no Gurnell of that name," he cried to himself. "Maurice's sisters are both married, and he has no cousins in this country. Of course I should know of them. What a flimsy disguise! A secret correspondence under an assumed name! Was ever man so betrayed?"
"I have been so lonely," said the young wife, closing the drawer with one hand, as she laid the other on his own. "It's the first evening you have left me so long; but I presume you and Maurice were talking over old times—so I excuse you. Why, Leger, your hand is as cold as ice!"
"Your constancy will warm it," he said, with a laugh.
It was a hollow laugh, with a strange ring to it; but the pretty wife was sleepy, though she would not have owned it possible, and she did not observe its peculiarity. In ten minutes she was slumbering peacefully. Her husband had laid himself by her side; as soon as her regular breathing announced that she was sleeping, he slipped from the bed. Twice and thrice he paced the room, approaching the little writing-desk at every turn, and again shrinking away. Never in his life had Dr. Carollyn done a dishonorable act; yet now he was hesitating about a deed from which his honor recoiled. The jealousy which mastered him soon put an end to the mental contest; he softly opened the unlocked drawer, drew forth the letter, carefully broke the seal, took out the folded sheet, and read:
"DEAR VICTOIRE—Be patient and hopeful. All is going well. You will soon be the happiest of the happy. I will meet you to-morrow afternoon at the place we appointed.
"ANNIE."
He returned the note to the envelope and resealed it with such caution as to leave no trace of what had occurred to it.
Mrs. Carollyn would certainly have noticed the haggard appearance of her husband, carefully as he strove to appear well and happy, if her own mind had not been unusually preoccupied. When they came to the breakfast-table, she forgot to put sugar in his coffee, and made several little mistakes about which he should have rallied her, if they, also, in his mind had not been "trifles light as air," which were, to him, "confirmation strong as proofs of Holy Writ."
"I've been thinking," she said, as she followed him into the study, where he usually spent an hour after breakfast before going to his office, "that it would be pleasant and proper to give a party in honor of Maurice Gurnell. We expected to give one soon, in return for the abundance showered upon us, and this appears to me a charming occasion. What do you say, Leger?"
"I say so too, Annie. Give him a party, by all means!"
"Shall we have it a splendid affair, darling? Do you give me carte blanche? Sit down here, and tell me something of how you would like it to be, for I'd like to get out my invitations to-day—we ought to have it as soon as possible."
"I've no time to spend on such matters. There are the sick and dying waiting for my advice. Arrange your festival as you please. Only have it as magnificent as it should be—don't fail to have it magnificent! When the burning building crushes to its fall it always gives out the brightest blaze of splendor." And he left his paper unread, hurrying from the house.
"Leger is certainly a little distrait this morning. He's worried to death with his practice; he doesn't get rest enough. Oh dear, I wish he were not so good a physician—or else that so many people wouldn't get sick," and the young wife knitted her fair brow, perplexed to think people would fall ill in this bright, beautiful world, and wondering what she should first set on foot to bring affairs out right in the briefest time.
"If Leger only knew my object in giving this party! But Maurice wishes to surprise him as well as the rest of the world. I don't wonder they accuse women of being unable to keep a secret; I'm sure it's hard for me to keep mine away from my darling. Ah, if he only knew—I've two secrets—but I shan't tell him the dearest one until all this confusion of the party is over," and with a blush too lovely to have been wasted in that solitude, she lost herself in a smiling reverie.
"I've been so busy," she cried, as she flew to meet her husband, as he came home to tea—he had not been in since morning—"and have accomplished so much! I had the notes all written by four o'clock, with a lady friend to help me. I sent Stephen out at noon with the first half of them, and the others are delivered by this time I presume. I was glad Mr. Gurnell did not come in until that part of the work was done, as I wished to get them out to-day. He's just gone, five minutes ago. It's set for Thursday evening—only two days; but I've ordered the refreshments from Thompson's, and we've nothing to do but arrange the rooms. Shall we have real flowers?"
"Real flowers? Oh, yes; nothing false about our entertainment—no mockery of pleasure! I believe in having things what they seem to be; don't you, Annie St. John? These snow-white lilies and japonicas—they will be most appropriate."
"Yes, for a bride, they will be," was the innocent answer. "How like old times it sounded to hear you call me by my maiden name!" guessing little that he had called her that, because he had denied her the name he had bestowed upon her.
As she leaned her head against his breast, he smoothed the hair which glittered beneath his hand. If every separate shining strand had thrilled him with electric fire, he could not have been more profoundly moved. He loved this woman—this wife of his—loved her more desperately than before he doubted her; he could not refrain his hand from that caress if he had known that she was steeped in falsehood. The next moment he tore it away, as if the touch of that silken head had burned him.
"Then you did not go out this afternoon?" he asked, presently.
"No; I was intending to, but I had not time. I sent for Thompson to come here for my orders."
"It would be better for your health if you went out every day."
He was glad when company came in, after tea. It prevented Annie from noticing his mood—it freed him from her distracting endearments. Maurice Gurnell was among the visitors. He staid until the others had all gone, giving his friend a vivid and eloquent account of what had befallen him, what he had seen, done and heard in the last year-and-a half. Dr. Carollyn's manner was always so quiet, that the young man noticed nothing unusual about him; but when he had nearly exhausted his resources of foreign gossip, he rose, with a gay laugh.
"You look tired, Leger, and I don't wonder, the way I've rattled on. I must beg Mrs. Carollyn's pardon for engrossing you so long. It seemed so pleasant to be talking away at you again. I say talking at him, Mrs. Carollyn, for I always had to do all the active part of our conversations."
How easy and graceful was his manner—how free from any appearance of acting a part! Leger looked at the radiant face, the enchanting smile of his handsome friend, so bright, so changeful, so fitted to win the admiration of women, and cursed himself as a dark, severe, repelling man, whom the fickle sex could find nothing in to really love.
As Maurice gave his hand to Mrs. Carollyn in saying good-night, Leger, standing apart, and seeming to be arranging a book on the table, was certain that he heard a whispered sentence, though he could not make out its import.
We need not dwell minutely upon the two days of intolerable torture which intervened between this and the evening of the party. Dr. Carollyn had wrestled with himself, and had almost thrown the demon of jealousy which was invisibly tearing him. The last few hours he had enjoyed comparative peace. He could have gone down on his knees and begged pardon of the wife he had been wronging in his thoughts, when she came into the study to look for him, to get his opinion of her dress, and to tell him it was time to take his place beside her in the front saloon, to receive their guests.
Whether it was because her apparel was really so becoming, or whether the intensity of his feelings hightened every effect, certain it is that she had never appeared so beautiful to him—not even on the wedding-day. She wore a blue velvet dress, with the pearls which had been his bridal gift. A wreath of matchless japonicas circled the golden coils of hair at the back of her head, while a few glimmering ringlets shadowed her cheeks and throat, exquisite in contour and color.
He had reason to remember every minutest detail of dress, looks and action, for the picture at that moment stamped upon his heart was destined to glow there during long and desolate years, unobscured by any more recent impressions. He sprung to his feet and kissed her.
"You admire me, then?" she said, with a happy smile.
"You are looking beautifully, Annie."
The bell rung, and they hurried through the glittering and perfumed vista of rooms, to take their place at the upper end. For a couple of hours a stream of gay people poured into the saloons. It was destined to be a brilliant party; for, in addition to the luxury of the apartments, the host and hostess were in just that mood which made their guests most delightful.
"A wife improves Dr. Carollyn. I never saw him so brilliant," remarked everybody.
When the tide of pleasure was at its hight; when all had arrived and the music was loudest, the dancers whirling; when the heat and light had called out the full perfume of the flowers not yet beginning to wither, a shadow fell upon Dr. Carollyn. His wife had disappeared; so had Maurice Gurnell, who had been flashing his wit and mirth amidst the company collected in his honor. Striving to conquer his uneasiness, Leger waited, while moment after moment rolled away, to him like hours.
"Perhaps they have gone to look at the supper-table;" and unable to resist his maddening suspicions, but trying to believe that he was not suspicious, he descended to the supper-room, where the last touches were being given by skillful servants to the elegant table.
Again he passed through the thronged apartments, through the dancing saloons, into the conservatory, the little study, out upon a little balcony, chill with the winter twilight. They were in none of these. He ascended to the dressing-rooms, passing on until he reached his wife's chamber—that sacred, secluded room, into which he never entered unbidden. He paused before the door with an icy heart and hand. He heard voices—his voice and hers in earnest conversation; he heard him say:
"And now, Annie, before we go, let me thank you again and again for all you have done for me."
"Let us hasten," was the low reply, "before Leger misses us. Oh, dear! he will be so surprised."
The chill left the listening husband, and a hot fever of rage took its place. Flinging the door wide open, he stepped in.
"Not so surprised, madam, as you may think. I have guessed at your secret days ago."
Annie was about to make some answer to this; but when she met his eyes, she grew white and said nothing.
"As for you, Maurice Gurnell, I will not kill so mean a man as you. I will not even strike so base a thing. Only take her with you, and get out of my presence forever;" and with a slight, contemptuous gesture toward his wife, he turned upon his heel.
"Stay!" cried Maurice; "you are mad, Leger. Let us explain;" but he continued down the hall, till Annie, with a faint cry, sprung to his side, grasping his arm.
"Leger Carollyn!"
He flung off her hand, and she shrunk back into her chamber; but before he had reached the turn in the hall which led to the dressing-rooms, a slight figure, robed in white, with a long vail sweeping about the floating drapery, sprung before him, seized both his hands, and commenced talking rapidly in French—so rapidly, that he, not of late days very familiar with the sounds, hardly understood her, but he was compelled to hear enough to rivet his attention.
"Ah! you do not understand," she cried, half-laughing, half in tears. "I am Victoire. Maurice is not a bad man—no, no, you must not call him so. He is my husband—ah me, this very day. Your sweet, angel wife, she help us—it was her own good pastor marry us this day. It was your wife who kept it secret—because, you see, I was in the convent—and I run away. I run away and came across the sea to wait for Maurice—that is it, because we love each other so. He was my cousin. Come; your sweet, pretty wife said we should have a wedding-party, and surprise them all. Come; we must go down. Ah me! I tremble so, to think of it!"
The pretty creature, all childish animation, pushed him back with eager gesture, to the chamber he had left in such a tumult. An infant could have led him, the reaction had left him so unresisting. Maurice met him at the threshold, saying, gravely:
"I forgive your too hasty words, Leger. It was foolish of me to try to keep my little plan a secret from you; but I thought the surprise would be pleasant. In five moments I can tell you all that is now necessary with regard to Victoire. She is my cousin once removed. Her mother's family live in Paris. When I went to see them, Victoire was at school in a convent. Her mother was extremely religious, and, having married two daughters comfortably, had resolved that this one should enter a nunnery. She gave me permission to call upon my cousin at the convent. I did so. Notwithstanding the icy presence of the lady-superior, we contrived to fall in love with each other. Look at her, Leger, and you will not wonder! I went back and proposed to my aunt for her daughter's hand. She rejected the idea. I could not soften her. Of course, the more I was opposed, the more passionate became my resolution. I contrived to correspond with Victoire; I laid a plan for her to escape from the convent, and take passage in the vessel which was to sail the month before I left. This I did to avert suspicion and pursuit. Of course if they saw me still in Paris, they would know she had not fled with me; and if they looked for her in connection with me at all, they would confine their search to the city. She accomplished her flight in safety; the captain of the vessel, a friend of mine, took her in charge. Not wishing to send her to my own family (knowing they would oppose the match bitterly, and probably return her to her mother), I bethought me of Annie St. John, the woman of all my acquaintance I most respected and admired, and I gave Victoire letters to her in which I begged her to take charge of my poor little blossom and keep our secret in her own breast until I arrived, and our marriage was safely consummated. She found the lady married, but she had heard me speak of you too often not to feel the same confidence in her as before. She came to your house with her letters, and her poor little lonely heart frightened and trembling; but she was not willing Mrs. Carollyn should even tell you her story, which was a little foolish. Mrs. Carollyn obtained board for her with the same lady in whose family she herself resided before her marriage, keeping watch and ward over her until I arrived to relieve her of the charge. She thought it a pretty plan to give us a wedding-party. With the sanction of her presence and approval, your pastor married us privately this afternoon. And now we are ready to face the whole curious, condemnatory, applaudatory and astonished world, are we not, little girl?" And with a look of tender fondness Maurice turned to the young creature, shy but happy, clinging to his arm. "Come, Dr. and Mrs. Carollyn, give us the support of your countenance through this trying ordeal."
Leger offered his arm to his wife. She did not take it, but walked by his side, with a strange luster in her pale face—a fixed, resolute expression, that did not change through the evening. With admirable dignity she introduced the bride and bridegroom to the surprised assemblage, his own relatives included.
The supper was a marvel of costly luxury. It was late when the dancers tired, the music faltered, and the house was gradually left to solitude. Mr. and Mrs. Gurnell had been previously invited to spend a week with their hostess, and their chamber awaited them. Mrs. Carollyn left them at its door with a pleasant good-night.
When the Doctor knocked at his wife's door, his heart drenched in tears of humble regret, she did not respond to the summons, and he retired to await the subsiding of her just displeasure.
But when she was summoned to the late breakfast, her room was found empty. Nothing was disturbed. The blue velvet dress lay on the bed. A traveling-dress and bonnet was gone from the wardrobe. The casket of pearls was on the bureau. Of all her wealth she had taken nothing but a sum of money—amounting to a few hundred dollars, which had come in from her property—and her wedding-ring. Since she was a wife, and might possibly some time become a mother, she had kept her wedding-ring—and, yes, her marriage-certificate. One of the servants said he had heard the door open and close, very early in the morning, but he was very sleepy, from having been up so late, and had paid no attention to it.
And from that time, for weary, heart-withering years, Dr. Carollyn obtained no clue to the fate of his wife.