Kitabı oku: «The House of the White Shadows», sayfa 12

CHAPTER VI
THE GRAVE OF HONOUR

"The birth of the heir was now the most important event; everything gave way to it. Congratulations poured in from all quarters, and it really seemed as if a better era had dawned. I believe I was the only one who mistrusted appearances; I should have been easier in my mind had M. Gabriel left the villa. But he remained, and as long as he and my lady were near each other I knew that the storm-clouds were not far off.

"In a few weeks my lady got about again; she was never strong, and now she was so delicate and weak that the doctors would not allow her to nurse her child. I was very sorry for this; had her baby drawn life from her breast it might have diverted her attention from M. Gabriel.

"It is hard to believe that so joyful an event as the birth of her first child should not have softened her heart towards her husband. It is the truth, however; they were no nearer to each other than they had been before. Mr. Almer was not to blame; he did all in his power to win his wife to more affectionate ways, but he might as well have hoped for a miracle as to hope to win a love that was given to another.

"The child throve, and it was not till he was a year old that the portrait of his mother was finished-the picture that is hanging on the wall before me. It was greatly admired, and my master set great store upon it.

"'It is in every way your finest work,' he said to M. Gabriel. 'Were it not that I object to my wife's beauty being made a subject of criticism, I should persuade you to exhibit the portrait.'

"Not long afterwards, M. Gabriel was called away. I thanked God for it. The danger I feared was removed; but he returned in the course of a few weeks, and began to paint again in the summer-house. While he was absent my lady fell into her former habits of listlessness; when he returned she became animated and joyous. Truly he was to her as the sun is to the flower. This change in her mood, from sadness to gaiety, was so sudden that it frightened me, for I felt that Mr. Almer must be the blindest of the blind if it did not force itself upon his attention. It did not escape his notice; I saw that, from a certain alteration in his manner toward his wife and his friend. It was not that he was colder or less friendly; but when he looked at them he seemed to be pondering upon something which perplexed him. He said nothing to them, however, to express disapproval of their intimacy. He was not an impulsive man, and I never knew him to commit himself to an important act without deliberation.

"In the midst of his perplexity the storm burst. I was an accidental witness of the occurrence which led to the tragic events of which I have yet to speak.

"There was at this time among our guests an old dowager, who did nothing but tittle-tattle from morning till night about her friends and acquaintances, and who seemed to be always hunting for an opportunity to make ill-natured remarks. A piece of scandal was a great delight to her. Heaven save me from ever meeting with another such a lady.

"I was in one of the wooded walks at some distance from the house, gathering balsam for a fellow-servant whose hand had been wounded, when the voice of this old dowager reached my ears. She was speaking to a lady companion, and I should not have stopped to listen had not Mrs. Almer's name been mentioned in a tone which set my blood tingling.

"'It is scandalous, my dear,' the old dowager was saying, 'the way she goes on with M. Gabriel. Of course, I wouldn't mention it to another soul in the world but you, for it is not my affair. Not that it is not natural, for she is young, and he is young, and Mr. Almer is old enough to be their father; but they really should be more discreet. I can't make up my mind whether Mr. Almer sees it, and considers it best to take no notice, or whether he is really blind to what is going on. Anyway, that does not alter the affair, so far as his wife and M. Gabriel are concerned. Such looks at each other, my dear! – such pressing of hands! – such sighs! One can almost hear them. It is easy to see they are in love with each other.'

"And a great deal more to the same effect until they walked away from the spot and were out of hearing.

"I was all of a tremble, and I was worrying myself as to what it was best to do when I heard another step close to me.

"It was my master, who must also have been within hearing. His face was stern and white, and there was blood on his lips as though he had bitten them through.

"He walked my way and saw me.

"'How long have you been here, Denise?' he asked.

"I could not tell him a falsehood, and I had not the courage to answer him.

"'It is enough,' he said; 'you have heard what I have heard. Not to a living being must a word of what you have heard pass your lips. I have always believed that you had a regard for the honour of my house and name, and it is for that reason I have placed confidence in you. I shall continue to trust you until you give me cause to doubt your good faith. Hasten after that lady and her companion who have been conversing here, and ask them to favour me with an interview. While I speak to them, remain out of hearing.'

"I obeyed him in silence, and conducted the ladies to my master's presence. I am in ignorance of what he said to them, but that evening an excuse was made for their sudden departure from the villa. They left, and did not appear again.

"Grateful as I was at the removal of this source of danger, I soon saw that the time I dreaded had arrived. My master was in doubt whether his wife was faithful to him.

"A more cruel suspicion never entered the mind of man, and as false as it was cruel. Mrs. Almer was a pure woman; basely wronged as she had been, she was a virtuous wife. As I hope for salvation this is my firm belief.

"But how can I blame my master? Smarting with a grief which had sucked all the light out of his days, which had poisoned his life and his hopes, trusting as he had trusted, deceived as he had been deceived, with every offer of love refused and despised, and with, as he believed, dishonour staring him in the face-he might well be pardoned for the doubt which now took possession of him.

"He planned out a course, and steadily followed it. Without betraying himself, he watched his wife and his friend, and he could not fail to see that the feelings they entertained for each other were stronger than the ordinary feelings of friendship which may properly be allowed between a man and a woman. I know, also, that he discovered that my lady, before she married him, had accepted M. Gabriel as her lover. This in itself was sufficient for him.

"Under such circumstances it was, in his opinion, a sin for any woman to plight her faith and duty to another. To my master the words used at the altar were, in the meaning they conveyed, most sacred, solemn and binding. For a woman to utter them, with the image of another man in her heart, was a fearful and unpardonable crime.

"These perjuries are common enough, I believe, in the great world which moves at a distance from this quiet spot, but that they are common does not excuse them. Mr. Almer had strict and stern views of the duties of life, and roused as he was roused, he carried them out with cruel effect.

"Gradually he got rid of all his guests, with the exception of M. Gabriel; and then, one fatal morning, he surprised my lady and M. Gabriel as they sat together in the summer-house. There was no guilt between them; they were conversing innocently enough, but my lady was in tears, and M. Gabriel was endeavouring to console her. Sufficient, certainly, to work a husband into a furious state.

"None of us knew what passed or what words were spoken; something terrible must have been uttered, for my lady, with a face like the face of death, tottered from the summer-house to this very room, where she lay in a fainting condition for hours. Her husband did not come near her, nor did he make any inquiries after her, but in the course of an hour he gave me instructions to have every sketch and painting made by M. Gabriel taken from the walls of the villa, and conveyed to the summer-house. I obeyed him, and all were removed except this portrait of my lady; it seemed to me that I ought not to allow it to be touched without her permission, and she was not in a fit condition to be disturbed.

"While this work was being accomplished no servant but myself was allowed to enter the studio. Two strange men carried the pictures into the summer-house, and these men, who had paint-pots and brushes with them, remained with Mr. Almer the whole of the afternoon.

"Dinner was served, but no one sat down to it. My lady was in her chamber, her husband was still in the summer-house, and M. Gabriel was wandering restlessly about. In the evening he addressed me.

"'Where is Mr. Almer?' he asked.

"'In the summer-house,' I replied.

"'Go to him,' he said, 'and say I desire to have a few words with him.'

"In a few minutes they confronted each other on the steps which led to the studio.

"'Enter,' said my master; 'you also, Denise, so that you may hear what I have to say to M. Gabriel, and what he has to say to me.'

"I entered with them, and could scarcely believe my eyes. The walls of the studio had been painted a deep black. Not only the walls, but the woodwork of the windows which gave light to the room. The place resembled a tomb.

"M. Gabriel's face was like the face of a corpse as he gazed around.

"'This is your doing,' he said to my master, pointing to the black walls.

"'Pardon me,' said my master; 'it is none of my work. You are the artist here, and this is the picture you have painted on my heart and life. Denise, are all M. Gabriel's sketches and paintings in this studio?'

"'They are all here, sir,' I replied.

"There was a sense of guilt at my heart, for I thought of my lady's portrait. Fortunately for me my master did not refer to it.

"'M. Gabriel,' said my master to the artist, 'these paintings are your property, and are at your disposal for one week from this day. Within that time remove them from my house. You will have no other opportunity. At the end of the week this summer-house will be securely locked and fastened, and thereafter, during my lifetime, no person will be allowed to enter it. For yourself a carriage is now waiting for you at the gates. I cannot permit you to sleep another night under my roof.'

"'I had no intention of doing so,' said M. Gabriel, 'nor should I have remained here so long had it not been that I was determined not to leave without an interview with you.'

"'What do you require of me?'

"'Satisfaction.'

"'Satisfaction!' exclaimed my master, with a scornful smile. 'Is it not I rather should demand it?'

"'Demand it, then,' cried M. Gabriel. 'I am ready to give it to you.'

"'I am afraid,' said my master coldly, 'that it is out of your power to afford me satisfaction. Were you a man of honour events might take a different course. It is only lately that I have seen you in your true colours; to afford you the satisfaction you demand would be, on my part, an admission that you are my equal. You are not; you are the basest of cowards. Depart at once, and do not compel me to call my servants to force you from my gates.'

"'Endeavour to evade me,' said M. Gabriel, as he walked to the door, 'in every way you can, you shall not escape the consequences of your conduct.'

"He carried it with a high hand, this fine gentleman who had brought misery into this house; had I been a man I should have had a difficulty in preventing myself from striking him.

"When he was gone my master said:

"'You are at liberty to repeat to your lady what has passed between me and M. Gabriel.'

"I did not repeat it: there was such a dreadful significance in the black walls, and in my master's words, that that was the picture M. Gabriel had painted on his heart and life, that I could not be so cruel to my lady as to tell her what had passed between the two gentlemen who held her fate in their hands.

"But she herself, on the following day, questioned me:

"'You were present yesterday,' she said, 'at an interview between M. Gabriel and my husband?'

"'Yes, my lady,' I answered.

"'Did they meet in anger, Denise?'

"'M. Gabriel was angry, my lady,' I said.

"'And my husband?' she asked.

"'Appeared to be suffering, my lady.'

"'Did they part in anger?'

"'On M. Gabriel's side, my lady, yes.'

"'Is M. Gabriel in the villa?'

"'No, my lady. He departed last night.

"'Of his own accord?'

"'My master bade him go, and M. Gabriel said he intended to leave without being bidden.'

"'It could not be otherwise. My husband is here?'

"'Yes, my lady.'

"That was all that was said on that day. The next day my lady asked me again if her husband was in the villa and I answered 'Yes.' The next day she asked me the same question, and I gave the same reply. The fourth day and the fifth she repeated the question, and my reply that my master had not been outside the gates afforded her relief. The fear in her mind was that my master and M. Gabriel would fight a duel, and that one would be killed.

"During these days my lady did not leave her chamber, nor did her husband visit her.

"From the window of this room the summer-house can be seen, and my lady for an hour or two each day sat at the window, gazing vacantly out.

"On the evening of the fifth day my lady said:

"'Denise, there have been workmen busily engaged about the summer-house. What are they doing?'

"I bore in mind my master's remark to me that I was at liberty to repeat to my lady what had been said by him and M. Gabriel in their last interview. It was evident that he wished her to be made acquainted with it, and it was my duty to be faithful to him as well as to my lady. I informed her of my master's resolve to fasten the doors of the summer-house and never to allow them to be opened during his lifetime.

"'There are only two more days,' she said, 'to-morrow and the next.'

"I prayed silently that she would not take the fancy in her head to visit the summer-house before it was fastened up, knowing the shock that the sight of the black walls would cause her.

"The next day she did not refer to the subject, but the next, which was the last, she sat at the window watching the workmen bring their tools and bars and bolts to complete the work for which they had been engaged.

"'Come with me, Denise,' she said. 'A voice whispers to me that there is something concealed in the summer-house which I must see before it is too late.'

"'My lady,' I said, trembling, 'I would not go if I were in your place.'

"I could not have chosen worse words.

"'You would not go if you were in my place!' she repeated. 'Then there is something concealed there which it is necessary for me to see. Unless,' she added, looking at me for an answer, 'my husband prohibits it.'

"'He has not prohibited it, my lady.'

"'And yet you would not go if you were in my place! Cannot you see that I should be false to myself if I allowed that place to be sealed forever against me, before making myself acquainted with something that has taken place therein? You need not accompany me, Denise, unless you choose.'

"'I will go with you, my lady,' I said, and we went out of the villa together.

"We entered the summer-house, my lady first, I a few steps behind her.

"She placed her hands upon her eyes and shuddered, the moment she saw the black walls. She understood what was meant by this sign.

"But there was more to come, of which, up to that day, I had been ignorant. On one of the walls was painted in white, the words,

"'The Grave Of Honour.'

"It was like an inscription on a tomb.

"When my lady opened her eyes they fell upon these cruel words. For many minutes she stood in silence, with eyes fixed on the wall, and then she turned towards me, and by a motion of her hand, ordered me to leave the place with her. Never, never, had I seen such an expression of anguish on a face as rested on hers. It was as though her own heart, her own good name, her own honour, were lying dead in that room! There are deeds which can never be atoned for. This deed of my master's was one."

CHAPTER VII
HUSBAND AND WIFE

"Remain with me, Denise,' said my lady, as we walked back to the house. 'I am weak, and may need you."

"Then, for the first time, I noticed what gave me hope. She took her baby boy in her arms, and pressed him passionately to her bosom, murmuring:

"'I have only you-I have only you!'

"It was not that hitherto she had been wanting in tenderness, but that in my presence she had never so yearningly displayed it. It gladdened me also to think that her child was a comfort to her in this grave crisis.

"But the hope I indulged in was doomed to disappointment. In the evening my lady bade me ascertain whether her husband was in the villa.

"I went to him, and made the inquiry.

"'Tell my wife,' he said, in a gentle tone, 'that I am ready to wait upon her whenever she desires it.'

"It was late in the night when my lady called me to assist her to dress. I did so, wondering at the strange proceeding. She chose her prettiest dress, one which she had worn in her maiden days. She wore no ornaments, or flowers or ribbons of any colour. Simply a white dress, with white lace for her head and shoulders.

"'Now go to your master,' she said, 'and say I desire to see him.'

"I gave him the message, and he accompanied me to this room, where my lady was waiting to receive him, with as much ceremony as if he had been a stranger guest.

"I am here at your bidding,' he said, and turning to me, 'You can go, Denise.'

"'You will stay, Denise,' said my lady.

"The manner of both was stern, but there was more decision in my lady's voice than in his. I hesitated, not knowing which of them to obey.

"'Stay, then, Denise,' said my master, 'as your mistress desires it.'

"I retreated to a corner of the room, as far away from them as I could get. I was really afraid of what was coming. Within the hearts of husband and wife a storm was raging, all the more terrible because of the outward calm with which they confronted each other.

"'You know,' said my lady, 'for what reason I desired to see you.'

"'I know,' he replied,' that I expected you would send for me. If you had not, I should not have presented myself.'

"'You have in your mind,' she said, 'matters which concern us both, of which it is necessary you should speak.'

"'It is more than necessary-it is imperative that I should speak of the matters you refer to.'

"'The opportunity is yours. I also have something to say when you have finished. The sooner our minds are unburdened the better it will be-for you and me.'

"'It were preferable,' he added, 'that what we say to each other should be said without witnesses. Consider whether it will not be best that Denise should retire.'

"'There is no best or worst for me,' she rejoined; 'my course is decided, and no arguments of yours can alter it. Denise will remain, as I bade her, and what you have to say must be spoken in her presence.'

"'Be it so. Denise is the most trusted servant of my house; I have every confidence in her. Otherwise, I should insist upon her leaving the room.'

"'It is right,' said my lady, 'that you should be made acquainted with a resolution I have come to within the last few hours. After this night I will never open my lips to you, nor, willingly, will I ever listen to your voice. I swear most solemnly that I am in earnest-as truly in earnest as if I were on my death-bed!'

"I shuddered; her voice and manner carried conviction with them. My master turned to me, and said:

"'What you hear must never pass your lips while your mistress and I are alive.'

"'It never shall,' I said, shaking like a leaf.

"'When we are dead, Denise, you can please yourself.' He stood again face to face with his wife. 'Madame, it is necessary that I should recall the past. When I spoke to your lady mother on the subject of my love for you-being encouraged and in a measure urged to do so by herself-I was frank and open with her. There was nothing in my life which I concealed, which I had occasion to conceal. I had grave doubts as to the suitability of a marriage with you, doubts which did not place you at a disadvantage. I had not the grace of youth to recommend me; there was a serious difference in our ages; my habits of life were staid and serious. You were fit to be the wife of a prince; your youth, your beauty, your accomplishments, entitled you to more than I could offer-which was simply a life of ease and the homage of a faithful heart. Only in one respect were we equal-in respect of birth. Had I not been encouraged by your mother, I should not have had the temerity to give expression to my feelings; but I spoke, and for me there was no retreating. I begged your lady mother not to encourage me with false hopes, but to be as frank with me as I was with her. Of the doubts which disturbed me, one was paramount. You had moved in the world-you had been idolised in society-and it scarcely seemed possible that your heart could be disengaged. In that case, I informed your lady mother that no earthly consideration could induce me to step between you and your affections; nay, with all the force which earnestness could convey, I offered to do all in my power-if it were possible that my services could avail- to aid in bringing your life to its happiest pass. At such a moment as this, a solemn one, madame, which shall never be forgotten by you or by me, I may throw aside false delicacy, and may explain the meaning of these last words to your mother. Having had in my hands the settlement of your father's affairs, I knew that you were poor, and my meaning was, that if any money of mine could assist in bringing about a union between you and the object of your affections-did any such exist-it was ready, cheerfully offered and cheerfully given for such a purpose. I made but one stipulation in the matter-that it should never, directly or indirectly, be brought to your knowledge.'

"He paused, in the expectation that his wife would speak, and she said coldly:

"'You are doubtless stating the truth.'

"'The simple truth, madame, neither more nor less; and believe it or not, as you will, it was your welfare, not mine, that was uppermost in my mind. Your lady mother assured me that before you came to the villa your heart was entirely free, but that since you honoured me by becoming my guest, you had fixed your affections upon myself. My astonishment was great; I could scarcely believe the evidence of my senses. I entreated your lady mother not to mislead me, and she proved to me-to me, to whom the workings of a woman's heart were as a sealed book-in a hundred different ways, which she said I might have discovered for myself if I had had the wit-that you most truly loved me. She professed to be honoured by my proposal, which she accepted for you, and which she said you would joyfully accept for yourself. But she warned me not to be disappointed in the manner in which you would receive me; that your pride and shame might impel you to appear reluctant instead of joyful, and that it behoved me, as a wise man-Heaven help me! – to put a right and sensible construction on the natural maidenly reserve of a young girl. The rest you know. The wise man, madame, has been sadly at fault; it has been fatally proved to him that he knows little of the workings of the human heart.'

"She held up her hand as a sign that she wished to speak, and he paused. A little thing struck me at the time, which has never passed out of my mind. She held up her hand in front of the lamp, and the light shone through the thin, delicate fingers. Seldom do I think of my lady without seeing that slight, beautiful hand, with the pink light shining through it.

"'My mother,' she said, 'did not speak the truth. M. Gabriel and I were affianced before I became your guest.'

"'Your information comes too late,' said my master; 'you should have told me so much when I offered you my name. It would have been sufficient. I should not have forced myself upon you, and shame and sin would have been avoided.'

"'There has been no sin,' said my lady, 'and who links me with shame brings shame upon himself. I have been wronged beyond the hope of reparation in this life. Before you spoke to me of marriage I wrote to M. Gabriel frequently from this villa. My letters were intercepted-'

"He interrupted her. 'To my knowledge no letters were intercepted; I had no suspicion of such a proceeding.'

"I do not say you had; I am making you acquainted with a fact. Hurt and vexed at receiving no reply to my letters, and being able to account for it only on the supposition that they had not come into his possession, I wrote one and gave it to Denise to post for me. That also, as I learnt after my mother's death, was intercepted, and never reached its destination. In the meantime, false information was given to me respecting M. Gabriel; shameful stories were related to me, in which he was the principal actor. He was vile and false, as I was led to believe; and you were held up to me as his very opposite, as noble, chivalrous, generous, disinterested-'

"'In all of which you will bear in mind, I was in no way inculpated, being entirely ignorant of what was going on under my roof.'

"'And I was, besides, led to believe by my mother that you had laid us under such obligations that there was but one repayment of them-'

"'Plainly speaking,' he interposed, 'that, in any kindness I had shown, I was deliberately making a purchase, that in every friendly office I performed, I had but one cowardly end in view. It needed this to complete the story.'

"'My heart was almost broken,' she continued, making no comment on his bitter interruption; 'but it was pointed out to me that I could at least answer the call of gratitude and duty. Doubly did my mother deceive me.'

"'And doubly,' said my master, 'did you deceive me.'

"'When, some time after our unhappy marriage, you introduced M. Gabriel into this house, I was both angry and humiliated. It looked as though you intended to insult me, and Denise was a witness of my agitation. It was not unnatural that, remaining here, your guest-bidden by you, not by me-for so long a time explanations should pass between M. Gabriel and myself. Then it was that my eyes were really opened to the pit into which I had been deliberately dragged.'

"'Not by me were you dragged into this pit.'

"'Let it pass for a moment,' she said, in a disdainful voice. 'When my eyes were opened to the truth, how was I to know that you had not shared in the plot against me? How am I to know it now?'

"'By my denial. Doubt me if you will, and believe that I tricked to obtain you. I shall not attempt to undeceive you. No good purpose would be served by a successful endeavour to soften your feelings towards me; I do not, indeed, desire that they should be softened, for no link of love can ever unite us. It never did, and never can, and I am not a man to live upon shams. If I tricked to obtain you, you will not deny that I have my reward-a rich reward, the rank fruit of which will cling to me and abide with me till the last moment of my life.'

"'I went into the summer-house this afternoon,' she said.

"'I know it.'

"'It was your intention that I should visit it.'

"'It was not exactly my intention; I left it to chance.'

"'You have made it a memorial of shame, of a cruel declaration against me!'

"'I have made it a memorial of my own deep unhappiness. That studio will never again be opened during your life and mine. Madame, in all that you have said-and I have followed you attentively-you have not succeeded in making me believe that I have anything to reproach myself for. My blindness was deplorable, but it is not a reproach. My actions were distinguished at least by absolute candour and frankness. Can you assert the same? You loved M. Gabriel before you met me-was I to blame for that? You were made to believe he was false to you-was I to blame for that? You revenged yourself upon him by accepting my hand, and I, unversed in woman's ways, believed that no pure-minded woman would marry a man unless she loved him. I still believe so. When we stood before the altar, I was happy in the belief that your heart was mine; and certainly from that moment, your faith, your honour, were pledged to me, as mine was pledged to you. M. Gabriel was my friend. I was a man when he was a boy, and I became interested in him, and assisted him in his career. We had not met for years: he knew that I had married-'

"'But he did not know,' interrupted my lady, 'that you had married me!'

"'Granted. Was I to blame for that? After our marriage you fell into melancholy moods, which I at first ascribed to the tragic fate of your parents. Most sincerely did I sympathise with you. Day after day, night after night, did I ponder and consider how I could bring the smile to your lips, how I could gladden your young heart. Reflect upon this, madame, in the days that are before you, and reflect upon the manner in which you received my attentions. At one time, when I had invited to the villa a number of joyous spirits in the hope that their liveliness and gaiety would have a beneficial effect upon you, I received a letter from M. Gabriel with reference to a picture he was painting. I invited him here, and he came. What was his duty, what was yours, when you and he met in my presence, when I introduced you to each other, for the first time as I thought? Madame, if not before him, at least before you, there was but one honest course. Did you pursue it? No; you received M. Gabriel as a stranger, and you permitted me to rest in the belief that until that day you had been unconscious of his existence. Without referring to my previous sufferings-which, madame, were very great-in what position did I, the husband, stand in relation to my wife and friend, who, in that moment of introduction, tacitly conspired against my honour, and who, after explanations had passed between them, met and conversed as lovers? Their guilt was the more heinous because of its secrecy-and utterly, utterly unpardonable because of their treachery towards him who trusted in them both. A double betrayal! But at length the husband's suspicions were aroused. In a conversation which he accidentally overheard between two ladies who were visiting him-the name of his wife-your name, madame-was mentioned in connection with that of M. Gabriel; and from their conversation he learnt that their too friendly intimacy had become a subject for common talk. Jealous of his honour, and of his name, upon which there had hitherto been no blot, he silenced the scandal-mongers; but from that day he more carefully observed his wife and his friend, until the truth was revealed. Then came retribution, and a black chapter in the lives of three human beings was closed-though the book itself is not yet completed.'