CHAPTER V.
Andrew remained away three days. They seemed the longest three days in all his life. He longed to be near Victoria, to hear her voice, to watch her changing face, even if she did show weariness at his presence, and treat him with scorn. His perseverance must win in the long run, and then how sweet the victory. He doubted if he would have loved her with half the fervor, if she had willingly thrown herself into his arms, but her scornful half-averted looks, only made the blood course faster through his veins, and the chase was twice as fascinating. As he rode up the broad avenue that quiet summer evening, he was as positive of victory, as though Victoria were already his wife, and he anticipated the swift look of disdain which would shoot from her eyes, with as much ardor as a favored lover longs for his mistress’s most enchanting smile. To his enamored fancy her coldness was only a sure sign of a complete conquest for him. As he drew near the house he heard voices, and then a laugh which he knew could only belong to one person, Victoria. The happy, joyous ring of her voice told that she was enjoying her companion’s society. Andrew wondered who it could be. A pang of jealousy shot through him, as he descried a tall, manly form with his arm passed through Victoria’s, slowly pacing in front of him. “Ah!” he thought, “so we have a visitor. Very familiar, I must say. I’ll soon put an end to that.” He savagely thrust his spurs into the animal’s sides, causing the poor creature to rear and plunge madly, while Victoria who had not heard Andrew approaching, screamed and jumped to one side, dragging Roger with her, as the horse dashed by. Andrew wheeled and returned, glancing quickly at Victoria’s companion, and when he saw the blindfolded figure of his brother, he uttered an exclamation which sounded very much like “damn.” He had forgotten Roger, or if he had thought of him, it was of his being in a darkened room shut away from everything joyous, and bemoaning his fate. Instead, Andrew saw him apparently happy, with a jest on his lips, entertaining his fair guide in a manner peculiarly Roger’s own, and “evidently very pleasing to Victoria,” Andrew thought bitterly, for he had never been able to beguile such laughter from those sweet lips. In another moment he was smiling at his foolishness, at being for even a second jealous of a blind man. “Of course she is doing her best to cheer him,” he thought. “Poor Roger. Why should I begrudge him a few moments of happiness? It’s all he’ll ever get, I fancy.”
He alighted and grasped Roger by the hand. “Hello, old chap,” he said heartily. “I’m glad to see you out, and more like your old self than when I went away. How are the eyes progressing?” To Victoria he merely raised his hat, who acknowledged his salutation by a silent bow.
“Hello, yourself,” cried Roger, taking his arm from Victoria’s. “I’m right glad to see you back again, Andrew. My eyes are doing fine, thank you. I think it nonsense to keep all this fol-de-rol around them. I’m sure they would get well much quicker without the bandage. I fancied I could see a ray of light this morning, as Richard dressed them.”
Andrew started, and glanced toward Victoria, but she stood a little apart, with her eyes on the ground, and as he slipped his horse’s bridle over one arm, he offered the other to Roger, saying: “Come, brother, let me perform the pleasant duty of guiding you, although I may not be so apt as your fair companion. I hope it will not be long now that any one shall have to be eyes for you.” While in his heart he was saying: “Can it be possible that the doctor was wrong in saying that his eyesight was totally destroyed? Doctors make mistakes sometimes, as well as other people. Well, if such be the case my goose will be cooked; I can see that with half an eye. Victoria would never look at me twice, after gazing into the laughing eyes of Roger, for he is far superior to me, and I know it. Well, may the best fellow win. I can hold my own with a man without eyes, but, ah yes, there is a but in every case, I reckon, and if Roger regains the sight of those melting orbs, good-bye, Andrew Willing, and exaunt from the scene.”
He followed his mother from the dining-room after their evening meal, and when they were alone, he said: “Is there any hope of Roger regaining his sight?”
“None whatever, Andrew.”
“But he told me he fancied he could see a ray of light this morning, when his attendant was dressing his eyes.”
Mrs. Willing began to weep. “Poor boy, he fancies that every day; perhaps he can distinguish light from darkness, but what is that? I had a letter from Dr. Kohler last night. He is coming—as he promised to do—when it is time to remove the bandage. Then he will break the news to Roger. It is better that he should hear it from a stranger.”
Andrew went out from his mother’s presence with almost rejoicing in his heart. He knew he ought to mourn with her at this affliction which had come upon his twin brother, but instead, he felt a wicked satisfaction in knowing that Roger would be shorn of his greatest strength as long as he lived. The care of the plantation, all money matters which had once been Roger’s prerogative, would now revert to the younger brother; younger by one short hour, but who had been made to feel all his life, that Roger was his superior in everything, and now,—now that a new love had sprung up in his heart, and for a moment, a fierce jealousy as well, he knew that if Roger by any chance should regain his eyesight, he should hate him with bitterer hatred than ever Cain displayed toward his brother. All else he might relinquish in Roger’s favor, but Victoria never.
For several days he watched the pair with Argus eyes. Not a motion made by either escaped him. Victoria was soon conscious of his espionage, and became guarded in her actions, never betraying by word or look the deep interest she felt in Roger, so that Andrew finally concluded, that Roger was fast falling in love with Victoria, but that she cared nothing for the blind man, nor would she ever. He soon tried his power over Victoria, and to his delight found it as strong as ever. One day he was sitting in the little rustic summer-house, when he saw her going down the avenue toward the lodge gates. He never took his eyes off of her figure, but slowly put out both hands toward her. Presently she turned, and came rapidly back directing her steps to where he was sitting. There were two doors to the summer-house, and as she approached, he quietly slipped out behind an acacia bush, taking care not to turn his back to her, keeping his eyes fixed steadily upon her. She entered by the opposite door and sat down, with a vacant expression in her eyes, languidly leaning her head against the lattice work. A few seconds passed, and Andrew stole out from behind the bush, and seated himself beside her, taking her passive hand in his, and patting it gently.
“Are you happy, Victoria,” he whispered.
“Oh, so happy,” she answered dreamily.
“Do you love?”
“Ah yes,” with a sigh, “I love.”
He passed his hand over her face and her eyes closed. “Do you love me, Victoria darling?”
“Yes, I love you.”
“Then kiss me. Kiss my hands, my hair, my face!”
Victoria complied, and different to that other time when he had forced her, there was now a passionate abandonment in her caresses, which caused the blood to course through his veins like fire, and he caught her to his breast, pressing his face to the one not whiter than his own.
“God in heaven, how I love her!” he cried. A moment later he was again behind the bush, and Victoria slowly opened her eyes, yawned, and looked about her, bewildered. “Strange,” she said dreamily, “very strange. How came I here? I started for the lodge. Oh, I know. I felt so sort of weak and trembling, that I decided to rest for a moment. I must have dropped asleep.” She arose and passed out.
As soon as she had disappeared, Andrew entered the summer-house, flung himself down on the seat so lately occupied by Victoria, and remained buried in thought for some time. He dared not try his power too often, and only then when he was safe from detection. He knew that if Victoria’s suspicions should be again aroused, she would flee from the house, and he would lose her forever; so when in her presence he was most circumspect, and veiled his eyes when he knew they betrayed too dangerous a fire.
Meanwhile Roger’s eyes had ceased to pain him, and he chafed at having to still wear the bandage. One day his ill-humor and impatience got the upper hand of him, and he took Victoria by surprise by suddenly tearing the bandage from his face. She had been reading Ivanhoe to him. They were out in their favorite stone seat by the lake. A quick gesture caused her to glance up, and she uttered a faint cry, for she saw him for the first time without the disfiguring cloth.
“Oh, Cousin Roger! What made you?” she cried. “You must let me bandage your eyes again.”
“Never,” he replied, catching her hand as he felt it touch his face. “I have waited for that confounded doctor to come till I’m tired. My eyes must get accustomed to the light or I’ll never see, and Victoria, I have heard your voice, your laugh, have felt your presence until I am wild to see your face.” He groped for her face, and took it between his hands, drawing it close until it nearly touched his own.
“Can you see me?” she asked eagerly. He sadly dropped his hands.
“No, Victoria. I cannot see even an object. Oh, God! the thought that perhaps I may be totally blind is maddening. Victoria!” His voice as he spoke her name ran the whole gamut of love, hope, despair, misery.
Victoria quickly placed her hand upon his. “What is it, dear Roger?”
“Victoria, I cannot live if I am blind. When the doctor comes, if he tells me there is no hope, I shall end my useless life—there.” He pointed toward the lake.
“Oh, no, no, Roger! How can you think of anything so horrible? Have you no love for your mother who adores you, that you should grieve her so?”
“I shall soon be forgotten, Victoria. Better to die and end it all than to live a burden, and no comfort to anybody. Ah, Victoria, you do not know what hopes I have cherished. What visions I have seen. God grant they may be realized.” He grasped the hand which still lingered on his arm. “My angel of peace, my comforter, my eyes, it is a cruel question I am going to ask you. Could you sacrifice your youth, your fresh beauty, to become the companion for life of one who would be a constant care; who could not bear to have you from his side one moment?”
A glad light suffused Victoria’s face, but ere she could reply Andrew stood before them. She quickly withdrew her hand from Roger’s, whose sad countenance became still sadder.
“Ah, here you are,” said Andrew, noting with his keen eyes the disturbed faces before him. “What, Roger! Are you without the bandage?”
“Yes,” said Roger gloomily. “I can see as well without it, as with it. Darkness and daylight are as one with me now. God help me!” He rose and Andrew passed his arm through his brother’s.
“Dear old boy don’t give way like this. The doctor’s decision may be favorable. Don’t borrow trouble.”
“Oh no, I’m not borrowing,” said Roger, with a laugh, sadder than any tears. “It is thrust upon me free gratis. There is no need to borrow. Come, tell me of yourself Andrew. Mother tells me you are up for Governor. Do you stand the ghost of a chance, think you?”
“Not so much as the tenth part of a ghost, dear fellow. The Whigs will carry the day in spite of our heavy electioneering, and I hope they will. I’d never consented to run if I had dreamed of getting elected. I’d make a fine Governor, wouldn’t I?”
“You’d be far better than the present one I reckon, even if you are but twenty-two. Cousin Victoria?”
“Victoria is not here,” replied Andrew. “She is out of sight, gone toward the lodge.”
“Then let us go to the house, Andrew. Great God! what an affliction is mine if I never regain my sight. I had rather lost a limb, aye, all of them, than to have lost my eyes. Ah, my brother, the doctor’s decision means everything to me!”
“Were you making love to Victoria as I came up?” asked Andrew, darting a glance at Roger, which fortunately he could not see.
“Not exactly,” replied Roger rather ironically, remembering the recent conversation. “It takes two to make love generally.”
Andrew’s dark face lightened. “Then she was not agreeable?”
“How could a sensible woman listen to the wild ravings of an imbecile?” said Roger, bitterly. “What girl, young and beautiful, would willingly yoke herself to a cripple for life? I must have been an ass, a two-fold idiot, to let my feelings carry me away, but by heavens, Andy! if the doctor gives me hope—Hope! Oh, God, what a blessed word; if he gives me hope, I’ll win her, but——”
“If he tells you nothing can be done?” asked Andrew, eagerly.
“There will be but one course left for me,” replied Roger, again pointing to the lake.
“Ah, no, old boy, not that,” and Andrew placed his arm about Roger’s neck. “Mother would die heart broken. You are still her darling, and will always be. I’m content to take second place in her affections, and Roger you must not become morbid. It’s the worst thing you can possibly do. Come, let us go up to the house, and I will play on my violin, and so chase dull care away.”
Andrew scrutinized Victoria’s face when next he saw her, but it was serene and unconscious. “She does not care a rap for Roger,” he thought exultantly, “for she could never hide it so admirably. She would betray herself by word or action.” Which shows that Andrew knew but little of the sublime duplicity of woman.
That night the doctor came, and when morning dawned fair and rosy, Roger was told what to him seemed his death-warrant. Out under the nodding trees, arm and arm, the great oculist and Roger paced, while gently as a mother could have done, the man of science old in years, explained to the young man just on the threshold of a long life, why he could never again look upon the faces of those he loved, or study nature in all its varied forms. Roger listened in silence, then, as they approached the old stone seat, he said: “Leave me here, doctor, I would be alone.” The doctor was deceived by Roger’s calmness and left him. The stricken man buried his face in his hands, and listened to the doctor’s retreating footsteps. “He will soon be out of sight and hearing,” he murmured, “then I will go my way, and nobody will be the wiser until too late. Will she shed one tear for me, I wonder? Yes, I reckon she will. She is tender-hearted, and she will grieve with my mother. Poor mother, she loves me, but oh, I cannot live with this load at my heart. An object of pity, tolerated, where once I was the most sought after. Is it wicked, I wonder, to take one’s own life under such circumstances? God knows, and I will know soon. Let me think. I used to know just how many paces to take from this old stone to the lake. Ah, yes, it is fifteen. I was just that age when I fashioned this seat. I have a ’kerchief of Victoria’s which I stole one day. It is perfumed with vervaine. How I love the odor! How I love the owner of this little dainty square!”
He took the ’kerchief from his breast pocket and kissed it. Then holding it tightly in one hand, he began to measure off the paces toward the lake, counting them aloud as he paced. When he had reached the thirteenth, a pair of arms were suddenly thrown around him, and Victoria’s voice cried: “Roger, what would you do? Destroy two lives instead of one?”
“Victoria, you here!” exclaimed Roger. “Why did you come so soon? If you had only waited a few moments—just a few moments.”
“Ah, but I could not wait, dear Roger; something compelled me to seek you, and having found you in the act of self-destruction, I have detained you long enough to say, that if you are still bent on drowning, go ahead; but I warn you that you will have to answer to God for two lives.”
“What do you mean?” gasped Roger, clutching Victoria’s arm.
“I mean that if you go, I go too.”
“Victoria!”
“Well, I am here.”
“Did I hear aright?”
“I am within good hearing distance. You could not have misunderstood me very well.”
“Are you willing to brave death with me?”
“Yes, if you are still bent on suicide, but I would much prefer to live with you on good solid pork and potatoes. We could get more fun out of it. Oh, Roger, if you only knew how ridiculous you looked measuring off those fifteen paces.”
Now no person about to commit suicide likes to be laughed at, and as Victoria’s gay laugh rang out, Roger’s face looked uncommonly silly.
“Um,” he said gloomily, “how long had you been here before you spoke, Victoria?”
“Oh for quite a while, sir knight of the rueful countenance. I saw the doctor returning alone, so as I had something to whisper into your ear when no one was by, I hastened down to the old stone seat.”
“Were you there when I kissed your ’kerchief?”
“Right behind you, and I didn’t admire your taste at all. I considered the kisses wasted when you might have had the owner. Oh, you stupid, silly boy, must I do all the courting?”
Roger grasped Victoria’s hands and held them tightly, while a great hope shone in his face.
“Victoria, you are not trifling with me? What means this sudden change in you? Yesterday you drew your hand away as if in displeasure at what I said, and you have seemed to avoid me ever since. I have not dared to hope.”
Victoria laughed. “Do you not remember, Roger, that Andrew came upon the scene just as you asked me that question? Do you suppose I cared to make a third party an interested listener? I am here to give you my answer, which I hope will please you. It is, that I love you, eyes or no eyes; that I am willing to face anything so long as you are by my side.”
Roger drew her to him, and laid her sunny head upon his shoulder. “My loved one, dare I take this blessed hope to my bosom? Are you sure that it is not pity which prompts you, and that you are not making a sacrifice for my sake?”
Victoria took his face in her hands and kissed his sightless eyes. “It is no sacrifice on my part, dear Roger. I worshiped your picture before I ever knew you. I have loved you always, I think. Just because you are blind, should I cease to love you?”
“Oh, God, I thank Thee!” cried Roger. “I thank Thee for the gift of a true, pure woman’s love, which Thou has sent me in this my hour of need.” He bared his head, and turned his sightless eyes toward the heavens. Then placing an arm about Victoria’s neck, he kissed her reverently upon the forehead. “What a magic healer is this divine love, dear sweetheart. An hour ago I longed for death. Now I long to live, for I have been given new life by one who loves me. Ah, how blessed am I to be made the recipient of such an affection. God bless you, my own.”
Victoria gently led him to the old stone seat. “Then you have entirely given up the idea of a watery grave?” she asked, banteringly, as they were seated.
He placed both arms around her, and laid his head upon her shoulder. “Don’t mention it again, dear love. Think if you had come too late.”
“Ah, but I determined yesterday not to leave you for one moment alone. I watched the doctor and you. I was not far behind you when he left you. I had you in surveillance, young man, and from this moment I constitute myself your private detective.”