CHAPTER XXXVI.
TRUE TO HIS WORD.
It was true that Lucile and Marie, who, with their husbands, were now in Paris, had hardened their hearts absolutely against their brother and his lowly born bride.
They had joined their father at his hotel, but after they had heard the whole story of Berenice’s care and devotion that had saved his life, they were rebellious; they could not forgive.
The sisters remembered how beautiful and charming Berenice had been that one night upon the stage at Bonair, but the thought of that beauty only hardened their hearts, since it was this that had made their brother a traitor to Rosalind.
“Papa, we cannot look at it as you do; the cases are different,” they said to their father. “And if you want our advice it would be to give them a large sum of money rather than try to secure social recognition for them that would result in many unpleasant complications.”
“I did not think you could be so cruel to your only brother who loved you so well,” their father said rebukingly.
“He put that low-born actress before us and Rosalind in his heart,” was the answer.
“Rosalind, always Rosalind! I am sick of the very name! Do you owe no duty to others?” he cried angrily, and they started with surprise.
“Rosalind is to be your wife and our stepmother—we should consider her first,” they replied stubbornly.
“By Heaven, I wish I had never promised to marry the girl! I wish I could get honorably free of her claim, for my son is dearer to me than Rosalind can ever be, and I detest the thought that she is to stand forever between Charley’s heart and mine!” the senator stormed, in sudden desperation, outraged by their heartlessness.
Marie and Lucile listened in the greatest wonder, and they cried out simultaneously:
“We thought you loved Rosalind better than any of us!”
In his anger he replied truthfully:
“I have never pretended to love her, and I regret now I ever made the rash promise to marry her, for very likely she only desires it to get revenge on Charley and Berenice for their fault against her, which was not so dreadful, after all, for my son swears he confessed all to Rosalind first and asked release from his engagement to her, although afterward she denied it to us, and we rashly took her word against Charley’s. When I look back I remember that Rosalind really courted me first instead of my courting her, and through an old man’s flattered vanity and the wish to atone for Charley’s fault, I promised to make her my bride. But now I swear I am sorry for it, and wish I could retreat in honor, for I shrink from putting another in the place of your dead mother, my beloved wife; and, besides, I do not believe in the union of May and December.”
“But, papa, you cannot retreat from your bond. It would be unfair to Rosalind; it would be worse than Charley, for the wedding day is barely a month off,” they reminded him.
“No, I cannot retreat in honor. I must marry Rosalind and make the most of my life,” he replied bitterly, adding:
“Fortunately my private business and affairs of state engross most of my time, and as for her, I suppose she will be happy enough spending my money and flirting with younger men.”
“Oh, papa!” cried Lucile reproachfully.
“For shame, papa!” cried Marie indignantly.
But in their hearts they both knew he spoke truly.
Rosalind was extravagant to a fault, and a bold coquette—they could not deny either charge.
But Rosalind had been their schoolmate and chum; she was in their set, she was handsome in her way, and they would not be ashamed of her, as they must be of poor little Berenice, the lowly born bride of their only brother.
So they held out for Rosalind, declaring it was only loyal to do so, and beseeching their father not to jilt her as Charley had done.
He, on his part, promised faithfulness, and the interview ended, much to the relief of all parties, having been productive of no good on either side.
The young wives, having told everything to their proud and exceptionable husbands, were consoled and sympathized with, and told that they had acted right.
So Senator Bonair, who had almost promised Charley that they should have a family reunion and reconciliation at Paris, was obliged to write to his son that his sisters were obdurate and unforgiving and that when he came to bid him farewell, he could not meet the kindred he loved so well; because, in their loyalty to Rosalind, they would not forgive his folly nor recognize his bride.
It was cruelly hard on Charley, who had hoped so much from his father’s intercession, and when he showed the letter to Berenice, he said bitterly:
“They were sweet, loving girls before they came under Rosalind’s baleful influence, and I wish they could know her as well as I do, and realize her catlike, revengeful nature, then they would not harden their hearts against us any longer. It is by her cruel machinations I am sure that Marie and Lucile have become so heartless.”
“But, Charley, even if we could turn their hearts against her, by telling any harm we knew, it would not be right, because we have already injured her in her tenderest affections,” his lovely bride said gently.
“Affections!” laughed Charley scornfully. “All her love is for money and position, and in wedding my father she will gain more than she lost in me.”
He was wrong, but he had never realized in his indifference to Rosalind that the girl had doted on him with her whole heart, or that slighted love had driven her to madness. It is true she would not have looked at him twice had he been penniless, but having looked, she had truly loved.
Charley read on from his letter that his father was sailing soon for America, and he hoped they would not forget the promised visit to bid him farewell.
“We will go to-morrow,” the young man said eagerly. “I will tell my chauffeur to have everything ready for a fine automobile trip, so that we may go as fast as the wind, for there is nothing I enjoy so much.”
When the order had been given he returned to clasp her to his heart, and say, with passionate devotion:
“Do not think I am fretting because my sisters will have nothing to say to us. Although I love them well, I love you, my dearest, more than all the world besides. I can be happy without them, and perhaps it is best we should remain sundered from the family since Rosalind is to make one of it, and she would always be plotting against us. Henceforth we will live only for each other.”
Next day came the terrible accident, when the automobile, flying from Trouville to Paris, at a high rate of speed, came into collision with a huge rock that sent it flying upward as it exploded, its passengers being scattered upon the flinty ground, the chauffeur meeting instant death, and Charley and Berry such terrible injuries that it was pronounced impossible for either to survive the shock.
The next day the news was in all the newspapers of England, France, and America, and in the roadside cottage to which the victims had been tenderly carried after the terrible accident, a broken-hearted father and two remorseful sisters bent over the unconscious forms in agonies of grief, the father crying: “Thank Heaven I forgave them!” The sisters, weeping bitterly: “Heaven forgive our cruelty that we did not!”