"Nor am I yours, Mrs. Grey. You and I can live as strangers without being enemies."
"Live as strangers! Oh, but that is just what would break my heart utterly! Why should we live as strangers? If all love is over between us, and if we are still not enemies, if we have forgiven each other, why should we two live as strangers in this little town? Why may we not meet at least as the common friends of every day?"
"Because the memory of the past would preclude the possibility of our meeting pleasantly or profitably."
"Oh, Alden, you are very hard! You have not forgiven me!"
"I have utterly forgiven you."
"But you cherish hard thoughts of me?"
"Mrs. Grey, I must regard your actions--the actions that separated us--as they really are," answered Alden, sadly and firmly, as he arose and took his hat to leave the room.
"No, no, no; _don"t_ go yet! You _must_ hear me--you _shall_ hear me!
Even a convicted murderer is allowed to speak for himself!" she exclaimed, with pa.s.sionate tears.
Alden sighed and sat down.
"You must regard my actions as they really are, you say. Ah, but the extenuating circ.u.mstances, the temptations, the motives--aye, the motives!--have you ever thought of them?"
"I can see no motive that could justify your acts," said Alden, coldly.
"No, not justify--I do not justify them even to myself--not justify, but _palliate_ them, Alden--palliate them at least in your eyes, if in no others."
"And why in my eyes, Mrs. Grey?"
"Oh, Alden, all was planned for your sake!"
"For _my_ sake? I pray you do not say that!"
"Listen, then, and consider all the circ.u.mstances. I loved you and promised to be your wife at that far distant day when you should come into a living law practice. But I was homeless, penniless and helpless.
I had lost my situation in the school, and I had no prospect of getting another. The term of my visit to Emma Cavendish had nearly expired and I had nowhere to go. Governor Cavendish loved me with the idolatrous love of an old man for a young woman, and besought me to be his wife with such insane earnestness that I thought my refusal would certainly be his death, especially as it was well known that he was liable to apoplexy and that any excitement might bring on a fatal attack. Under all these circ.u.mstances I think I must have lost my senses; for I reasoned with myself--most falsely and fatally reasoned with myself thus: Why should not I, who am about to be cast out homeless and penniless upon the wide world--why should not I secure myself a home and save this old man"s life for a few years longer by accepting his love and becoming his wife?
It is true that I do not love him, but I honor him very much. And I would be the comfort of his declining years. He could not live long, and when he should come to die I should inherit the widow"s third of all his vast estates. And then, after a year of mourning should be over, I could marry my true love, and bring him a fortune too. There, Alden, the reasoning was all false, wicked and fatal. I know that now. But oh, Alden, it was not so much for myself as for others that I planned thus!
I thought to have blessed and comforted the old man"s declining years, and after his death to have brought a fortune to you. These were my motives. They do not justify, but at least they palliate my conduct."
She ceased.
Alden did not reply, but stood up again with his hat in his hand.
"And now, Alden, though we may never be lovers again, may we not meet sometimes as friends? I am so lonely here! I am, indeed, all alone in the world. We may meet sometimes as friends, Alden?" she asked, pathetically.
"No, Mrs. Grey. But yet, if ever I can serve you in any way I will do so most willingly. Good-afternoon," said the young man.
And he bowed and left the room.
As he disappeared her beautiful face darkened with a baleful cloud. "No fury like a woman scorned," wrote one who seemed to know. Her face darkened like a thunder-storm, and from its cloud her eyes shot forked lightning. She set her teeth, and clinched her little fist and shook it after him, hissing:
"He scorns me--he scorns me! Ah, he may scorn my love! Let him beware of my hate! He will not meet me as a friend, but he will serve me willingly! Very well; he shall be often called upon to serve me, if only to bring him under my power!"
CHAPTER XIII.
MARY GREY"S MANEUVER.
She"d tried this world in all its changes, States and conditions; had been loved and happy.
Scorned and wretched, and pa.s.sed through all its stages; And now, believe me, she who knew it best, Thought it not worth the bustle that it cost.
--MADDEN.
Mary Grey now set systematically to work. Partly from love or its base counterfeit, partly from hate, but mostly from vanity, she determined to devote every faculty of mind and body to one set object--to win Alden Lytton"s love back again and to subjugate him to her will.
To all outward seeming she led a most blameless and beneficent life.
She lived with the bishop"s widow, and made herself very useful and agreeable to the staid lady, who refused to take any money for her board.
And although the house was full of students, who boarded and lodged and spent their evenings there, with the most wonderful self-government she forebore "to make eyes" at any of them.
She now no longer said in so many words that "her heart was buried in the grave," and so forth; but she quietly acted as if it was.
She put away all her mourning finery--her black tulles and silks and bugles and jet jewelry--and she took to wearing the plainest black alpacas and the plainest white muslin caps. She looked more like a Protestant nun than a "sparkling" young widow. But she looked prettier and more interesting than ever, and she knew it.
She was a regular attendant at her church, going twice on Sunday and twice during the week.
On Sunday mornings she was always sure of finding Alden Lytton in his seat, which was in full sight of her own. But she never looked toward him. She was content to feel that he often looked at her, and that he could not look at her and remain quite indifferent to her.
She was also an active member of all the parish benevolent societies, a zealous teacher in the Sunday-school, an industrious seamstress in the sewing-circle, and a regular visitor of the poor and sick.
Her life seemed devoted to good works, apparently from the love of the Lord and the love of her neighbor.
She won golden opinions from all sorts of men, and women too. Only there was one significant circ.u.mstance about her popularity--_she could not win the love of children_. No, not with all her beauty and grace of person, and sweetness and softness of tone and manner, she could not win the children. Their sensitive spirits shrank from the evil within her which the duller souls of adults could not even perceive. And many an innocent child was sent in disgrace from the parlor because it either would not kiss "sweet Mrs. Grey" at all, or would kiss her with the air of taking a dose of physic.
But all the people in Charlottesville praised the piety and, above all, the prudence of Mrs. Grey--"Such a young and beautiful woman to be so entirely weaned from worldliness and self-love and so absorbed in worship and good works!"
All this certainly produced an effect upon Alden Lytton, who, of course, heard her praises on all sides, who saw her every Sunday at church, and who met her occasionally at the demure little tea-parties to which both might happen to be invited.
When they met thus by chance in private houses he would bow and say, quietly:
"Good-evening, madam;" a salutation which she would return by a grave:
"Good-evening, sir."
And not another word would pa.s.s between them during the evening.
But all the young man observed in her at such times was a certain discreet reserve, which he could but approve.
"She seems to be much changed. She seems to be truly grieved for the past. Perhaps I have judged her too harshly. And yet what a base part that was she proposed to play! may be that she herself did not know how base it was. Such ignorance would prove an appalling moral blindness.
But then, again, should she be held responsible for her moral blindness?