CHAPTER VII.
The parties left by the young couple in the dining-room separated without a word. Mary went to her own room in tears. She feared for Roger if Victoria should leave him. He had confided to his mother how nearly he had come to taking his life that day, and how he had been saved by an angel. For the first time in the friendship of over forty years, Mary felt her heart angered toward Lady Vale. She was taking the wrong course to so oppose two such hot-headed people as Victoria and Roger, and Mary resolved to go in search of her friend and lay the matter seriously before her.
As for Andrew, his whole being was in a state of torment. The announcement had come upon him so suddenly that he half doubted his own ears and eyes. “Victoria in love with his blind brother? Absurd! Did not he control her heart? Was he not gaining an influence over her whereby she would in time be all his own? And did Roger think for a moment that the prize was his? Well, he would soon let him know who held the whip hand. He would mesmerize Victoria when he knew Roger was where he could hear them, and then he would compel her to say things which should cause Roger to believe her false. Oh, this was not a losing game for him yet. Oh, no.”
He walked out of the house and toward the lake. As he neared the stone seat he espied the lovers clasped in each other’s arms. The sight maddened him. All the evil in his nature came to the surface. He turned on his heel muttering, “Ah! how dearly shall he pay for every kiss lavished upon her who is mine alone. Oh, how I hate him for coming between us, for she was beginning to love me, I know it, but she shall love me again, I swear it. Oh, if the devil were only here, so that I might make a compact with him. How quickly would I sell my soul for the price of her love.” He went into the summer-house and threw himself upon the wooden seat, and abandoned his thoughts to wicked nefarious schemes, whereby he might win Victoria from Roger.
Mary at once lent her ear to Victoria’s plans, but she first pleaded with Lady Vale to consent to an early marriage. Lady Vale coldly listened until Mary had pleaded her case, then she calmly answered that she should take Victoria with her Wednesday, and leave the matter entirely in the hands of Sir William, in whose wisdom and judgment she had perfect faith. Mary left the room in despair, and sought Victoria to whom she told her failure.
“I knew you would meet with no success,” replied Victoria. “Mamma is very determined. So am I. Now, come, dear Mrs. Willing, you must see about getting the necessary papers drawn up, as of course Roger cannot be of much assistance, only by being present, and the speedier our marriage is consummated the more at ease we shall feel.”
Andrew little thought, as he assisted Victoria to a seat in the family carriage the next day, that he had touched for the last time Victoria Vale’s hand. That when next he saw her she would be Victoria Willing. He would not have worn so confident an air as he watched the carriage disappear, in which were also his mother and Roger, if he had suspected that his brother was about to make his own the girl who he considered was already within his power.
The three occupants of the carriage were strangely silent for a wedding party. Mary held Roger’s hand within her own. He frequently raised the slender hand to his lips in mute silence. She knew his thoughts. They were full of gratitude for what she was doing, and although her heart misgave her, she would have dared much more for the pleasure of seeing her darling son happy.
Victoria looked out the carriage-window at the trees, whose branches seemed to wave her a friendly adieu. She could almost hear them sigh: “Farewell, Victoria Vale. Adieu, fair maiden. When next we see thee, thou shalt be a loved and loving wife. Thou wilt have taken upon thyself vows which God alone can’st break.” She glanced at Roger, whose sightless eyes were turned toward her, and whose face expressed the joy which was in his heart. Did she regret the step which she was about to take? Not at all. She felt no misgivings for the future, only an ecstatic joy; a sense of sweetest rest. She trusted that God’s blessing was resting upon her, although she was disobedient to her mother.
Two hours later as the sun was just sinking, leaving a trail of crimson glory on “the Five Gables,” the carriage deposited the three conspirators at the marble steps of the grand entrance. Victoria, immediately upon alighting, slipped her arm through Roger’s. “Come, my husband, let us go and make our peace with mamma.” She led him to her mother’s apartments. Lady Vale was superintending the packing of two huge boxes, and looked up as the door opened and the two culprits stood before her. Something in their faces warned her of what was coming. Her face became stern and cold. “Well, you two are married?” she said, before either could speak.
Victoria gave a little scream and cried: “Who could have told you?”
“Your faces are the tale bearers,” returned Lady Vale. “You do not need to utter a word. I am not going to heap reproaches upon your heads as you evidently expect, and then mildly pronounce a blessing over you. All that I might, can, or shall say, will be communicated to you by my lawyer. From this hour I have no child. Victoria has chosen a man whom she has known scarcely two months, in preference to the mother who bore her, and who has loved her devotedly. So let it be. I do not love her any more, and I warn her that God will visit his wrath justly upon her, as he does on all disobedient children. No good can spring from this hasty marriage. Nothing but evil.”
“Mother!” cried Victoria, springing toward Lady Vale, “you are not cursing me?”
“No, Victoria. God shall curse you; not I. Leave me now, I do not wish to see you again while I remain. Rachel will soon have all the boxes belonging to me filled. Then I shall start for New York.”
“No, no! dear mother, stay here with us. I cannot have you go away with such a bitter feeling in your heart toward Roger and me. Or if you go, let us go with you. Forgive us, darling mamma. See, I kneel to you.” Victoria sank upon her knees and threw her arms about Lady Vale. “I do not love you the less for loving Roger too, dear mamma. Will you not make us happy by giving us your blessing?”
Lady Vale disengaged her daughter’s clinging arms. “Arise, Victoria, your pleadings are but a mere form. No loving, obedient daughter, could have so disgraced her mother as you have done this day. Did I not tell you that I had no daughter?”
Victoria gave a low wail as if struck to the heart, essayed to rise from her knees, but ere she could regain her feet she fell forward in a dead faint, breathing the name of “Roger” as she fell.
Lady Vale gazed upon the prostrate form of Victoria while Roger swiftly groped his way to her side. “Oh, God, if I could but see!” he cried. He kneeled and took his wife in his arms, softly stroking her face. Lady Vale pulled the bell cord, at the same time telling her maid Rachel to bring water.
Roger turned his sightless eyes in the direction of Lady Vale, his fine face aglow with indignation. “Madam,” he said slowly, “we may have incurred your displeasure, but we are not deserving of such bitter anger as you have shown. For myself I do not care. I shall endeavor to bear up against God’s wrath, which you seem to think will be so plentifully showered upon us; but my wife, by right of law, I am bound to honor and protect, you have used words toward her this day which I, for one, shall be slow to forget. In all courtesy to you as my mother’s guest, I cannot turn you from her house, but Victoria is mine. No earthly power can take her from me, and I advise you not to try it.”
At this moment Mary appeared at the door followed by two servants. “What has happened?” she cried, as she saw the agitated face of her son, with Victoria’s senseless form in his arms.
“Mother, I wish the servants to take Victoria to my apartments. I will explain matters when we are alone.”
Lady Vale turned suddenly toward Mary. “Did you have a hand in this scheme to rob me of my daughter, Mrs. Mary Willing?”
Mary started at the unwonted usage of her full name by one who had never called her anything but “Mary.” “I was present at the marriage of Victoria and my son. It was no scheme, and nobody has tried to rob you of your daughter.”
“You have said enough,” returned Lady Vale, shrugging her shoulders. “I have lost a friend as well as a daughter,” and with these words she passed into an adjoining room, closing the door after her.
Mary stood completely unnerved gazing at the closed door, while the servants who were supposed to be without eyes or ears at such times, tenderly lifted Victoria and bore her to Roger’s apartments. “Are you here, mother?” he asked. Mary roused herself from the semi-stupor which seemed to have taken possession of her. “Yes, my son.”
“Then give me your arm, and while we are walking through the halls I will tell you of Lady Vale’s unjust anger.”
Mary felt saddened at what Roger told her, and as she helped to restore Victoria to sensibility, she wondered if Lady Vale had ever possessed a heart, for to one of Mary’s gentle nature, the course which Victoria’s mother had taken, seemed cruel in the extreme; and when she witnessed Victoria’s grief, which even Roger’s loving words and caresses could not assuage, she went herself to plead her new daughter’s cause with the incensed mother; but Lady Vale’s door was barred against all intruders, and Rachel, with a dignity born of the quarrel between her superiors, told Mary that her mistress would see no one, and that in two hours she would be en route for New York. Lady Vale wished to leave the house as a stranger. With these words Rachel closed the door in Mary’s face, who walked sadly away. Ere she reached her room she met Andrew, who seemed much agitated. As he caught sight of his mother his dark face became more sullen and sinister, and he said as he grasped her arm: “What is this that I hear the servants gossipping over and commenting upon? Is it true that Victoria has married Roger, and that you and the coachman were the only witnesses of the ceremony?” Mary trembled, for so she had seen her husband many times when in a fury. “Speak, woman!”
Mary raised her eyes. “Woman!” she echoed. “Is it thus that you address your mother, Andrew?”
Andrew bent until his face nearly touched Mary’s. “Yes, woman!” he repeated. “By what other name shall I call you? Do you know that I am going mad? That a thousand demons are whispering horrible things into my ears? Do you know that you have helped to rob me of the only thing I ever loved on earth? Great God! What shall I do if I have lost her!”
Andrew’s mad ravings were too much for Mary’s already overtaxed nerves, and without a word, but with a horror in her eyes which Andrew never forgot, she fell as one dead at his feet. In an instant Andrew’s passion cooled. He took his mother in his arms and bore her to her room. The drawn look about her mouth frightened him. Something peculiar in the set lines of her face warned him that this was more than a mere fainting fit. He rang for assistance and sent a man on the swiftest horse for medical aid. When it came Mary was beyond all earthly cares and sorrows. Kind and willing hands labored unceasingly for hours over the still form, but to no purpose. Life had fled, and when Lady Vale left “The Gables,” she knew not that the soul of its beloved mistress had also left it never to return, nor did she know, until months had passed.
Roger seemed stupefied at this awful blow which had fallen without warning, and helplessly clung to Victoria, who roused herself to act when she divined the truth. It was she who thought of everything, proving herself such a treasure that Andrew’s admiration grew, and even in his sorrow at his mother’s death, his scheming brain was busily trying to divine how best to separate Roger from the girl who he would not acknowledge was his brother’s wife. She was his own still. He had proved that in Roger’s very presence, by merely taking her hand in his and stroking it gently, while he spoke of what great pleasure it gave him to welcome her as a sister. What comfort would be Roger’s with such a loving companion, and although their mother’s death had been most untimely, she must not regard it as an evil omen following so closely upon the marriage. All the while he talked he noticed with satisfaction that she did not shrink from his touch, but gradually leaned toward him until her head rested upon his shoulder, and she lay passive in his arms. He looked over to Roger whose sorrowful face and sightless eyes should have appealed to his heart, but Andrew had no heart, except where his own interests were concerned, and he looked at his brother, so unconscious of the wrong he was doing him, and thought how he would stab him through this fair creature who was controlled by his will to do his bidding, and who would not disobey him, even though he told her to kill the husband whom she adored.