CHAPTER XXXIII.
DARK DAYS AT "SUNNYBANK."
As Marguerite received the congratulations of her friends, who can paint the suffering which the heroic maiden was trying to live through. With pallid lips and thoughtful brow she received her affianced, and permitted his endearments with a passiveness that piqued him sorely; yet he comforted himself with the thought that, like all other girls, she would soon get over it, and he would be the subject of her entire devotion.
Hubert Tracy knew full well that Marguerite had a secret recess within her heart, where was hid away a very dear picture, but he knew she was too conscientious to allow herself to look into that chamber when the step she had now taken forbade all communication.
He fully trusted her, and well he might. Marguerite had written her father informing him of her betrothal and asking for his blessing.
The letter was hopeful, and referred to the generosity of her future husband in such a manner that one not in the possession of such proof of Hubert Tracy's villainy would have gladly welcomed him with a "God bless you, my son. Take my child and keep her happy until death do you part."
Mr. Verne clutched the missive within his trembling hands and sat crouching over it an object of pity.
"My God! is it possible that my child loves the demon? Oh, heavens! am I spared to wreck her happiness as well as my own? Why did I not die ere this fatal news had reached me? It may be all for the best, but it is hard for me to bear. I must, and will, revenge the dreadful wrong done to Phillip Lawson, and I must save my child from what is worse than death! Death, did I say?" exclaimed Mr. Verne, in hysterical tones. "I could see her decked in the robes of the grave without a murmur, and strew flowers over her form without a sigh—but to give her up to that monster of deception. Oh, God! it is dreadful!" And the heart-broken man uttered a groan that would have aroused the pity of the most callous wretch that ever-breathed.
Dead silence reigned, and the affectionate spaniel looked into his master's face with a sympathetic look in his eyes, and then began to lick the weary trembling hands that were crossed upon the troubled breast.
"Poor brute, you feel for me," said Mr. Verne caressing the animal, and being aroused to a sense of feeling.
"It must never be—no never," and glancing at his watch he arose and staggered to the other side of the room.
"I shall see Phillip, God helping me. I now see the error in keeping the fact from him so long, but it may be all for the best God keep us faithful."
It was well that Mr. Verne made that prayer, for his faith was growing weak, and the words gave him strength, and as he wends his way to Phillip Lawson's office, smiling upon each acquaintance that he meets, none would suspect the desperate state into which he was so suddenly plunged.
"Phillip will help me," murmured he with a hopeful gleam in his eye. "Yes, Phillip will help me—he is my good angel, he will not forsake me now!"
Great was Mr. Verne's disappointment on hearing that the young lawyer had gone out of town on business, and would not return until the following day.
"God keep me faithful," again murmured the man, as he stole softly up to his chamber, and quietly shut himself in, giving strict orders that none be allowed to gain admission.
But how often do we deceive ourselves; how often do we find that all our plans come to naught, and we prove ourselves miserable failures—altogether unfitted to accomplish the great task we have so vainly aspired to.
Mr. Verne had a worthy project in view, but he was not equal to the effort.
A domestic of "Sunnybank" being engaged at work in the upper hall heard a faint noise in the direction of Mr. Verne's dressing room. With feelings of alarm she ran to the spot and summoning all her courage entered and found her much respected master in a swoon his eyes wide open and his face rigid as death.
Within a few moments the entire household were trying to administer such restoratives as they deemed proper while awaiting the family physician who had been telephoned for with all haste.
When Mr. Verne gained consciousness he did not gain speech and when his physician arrived it was found that he had been prostrated by paralysis.
"It is indeed a sad case," said the venerable looking physician as he stood beside the afflicted man and read in the passive face and benumbed limbs the story of an injured and cruelly outraged man.
It was not the first time that the sharp but kind bluish eyes looked down on such a wreck, and as they shed a silent tear we noiselessly steal away.
With the next day came the well tried friend Phillip Lawson. Sadly he stood and watched the half-conscious man. A gentle pressure of the hand was the only recognition, yet the young lawyer cherished hopes that were solely attributive to himself. "He will yet come around all right, sir?" said Phillip questioningly, but a grave shake of the hoary head was the physician's only reply.
Mrs. Montgomery (dear good soul) had now arrived and her presence seemed to bring cheer into the house of gloom.
At intervals the patient would watch her as she flitted noiselessly in and out unceasing in her labors of love, and a faint smile would light up his pallid face as if in recognition of such devotion.
It was the hour preceding midnight and Mrs. Montgomery had been persuaded to take a few hours rest while Phillip Lawson took her place beside the bedside.
Something in the wan face arrested the watcher's attention and stooping closely down he saw that the man was trying to communicate something that was on his mind.
"Is it anything that I know of," cried Phillip in almost desperate tones; "anything that I can do for you?"
Mr. Verne gazed wildly upon him, then tried to raise his hand, but he was unable for the task, and relapsed into his former state of unconsciousness.
"I will make another trial," thought Phillip, "when he becomes himself again. Poor man! whatever it may be I'm afraid the secret will die with him," and the silent watcher was indeed sad at the thought.
The young man's reverie was indeed a painful one. It had lasted for more than an hour when he was aroused by a servant who now approached him, bearing a tray upon which was a cup of delicious coffee and some tempting cakes, which Mrs. Montgomery had thoughtfully ordered ere she sought repose.
"Such women are never half appreciated," thought Phillip as he sat over the contents of the tray wondering why it was that two sister could be of such opposite nature; then he thought of the still great difference between mother and child—Mrs. Verne and the peerless Marguerite. It were well known that he knew not of the circumstances which had been the cause of the sudden prostration.
Providence had been kind to Philip Lawson through the sacrifice of a friend, yet the former knew it not, and when he had puzzled his brains in every conceivable manner to assist Mr. Verne in communicating to him the important message, he little knew it was the hand of mercy that kept it back.
What fervent prayers went up at that bedside; what supplications to the throne of God; what anxious enquiries.
Day after day found Phillip Lawson wending his way to "Sunnybank." What a mockery the name seemed to convey. The golden sunshine was afraid to enter, save by stealthy glimpses through the barred windows and closed doors.
"If Marguerite can only get here soon," said Mrs. Montgomery in impatient tones. "You know Mr. Lawson it is the only remedy. Poor man, it will either kill or cure. Poor Stephen, we must hope for the best, but I'm afraid he has seen the best of his days," and the corner of the linen handkerchief stayed the falling tears.
"Poor girl," replied the young man, "she will take it very hard, but
Miss Verne is not one who will easily succumb."
"Far from it, Mr. Lawson. She has the spirit of a martyr. I am not afraid to say that Marguerite Verne would put us all to shame. Many a time I have studied her character, and each time I found some new beauties to admire."
"There is just such a mixture of poetry and romance as is appreciable," said Mr. Lawson, a slight color betraying his interest.
"Though I am a practical, matter-of-fact woman, I really admire the vein of superstitious fervour that gives coloring to her many daily acts."
"I remember one day," added Mrs. Montgomery, "of asking her why she wore such an ugly looking bracelet when she had so many pretty ones. I can see the graceful figure, and the sweet smiling face, as the girl turned upon me the full force of her powerfully magnetic eyes, and with great earnestness replied: 'Dear Auntie, there is a story attached to that bracelet, and you shall hear it," and taking a seat beside me she began——
"Mamma always told us that you were an apt student in history, and of course you know the story of James the Fourth of Scotland and his iron belt, and how each year he added an ounce to its weight, that it might inflict the greater penance."
"I then said that when I was twelve years of age I had read the Lady of the Lake for the sixth time, and that I had made Fitz James my greatest hero, and notwithstanding his many short-comings, I yet looked upon the benefactor of the noble Douglas, and the lovely Ellen, with fond admiration."
"What a glow kindled in Marguerite's cheek," added Mrs. Montgomery, as she listened, and then with exclamation of delight she cried, "Aunt Hester, I really adore Scott, and I think that I outdo you, for I have committed to memory nearly all of the Lady of the Lake."
"But about the bracelet," I said, remindingly.
"Well, you know, Aunt Hester, I was not at all times a very good girl," said Marguerite, with a sympathetic glance, "and, indeed, found opportunity to make myself very disagreeable. It is indeed true, Auntie. Well, one day papa brought in a very handsome bracelet as a birthday present for Evelyn. It was a cluster of garnets in gold setting, and at night time, when the light fell upon it, shone brilliantly. I envied Eve her pretty bauble, and as I saw my sister, many admirers glanced upon it. I felt uncharitable. Why could papa not have given me one as well, I thought; and bitter feelings were cherished against my dear papa, and indeed, Aunt Hester," exclaimed the girl in all humility, "they might have rankled there, and made me worse than I would care to acknowledge, when a little circumstance, or trivial accident, came to my aid and taught me to rise above it. Like you, Aunt Hester, I am fond of history, and being out of reading matter, came across a volume entitled Tales from Scottish History."
"The very thing I have been seeking for months," I exclaimed, taking down the work from the bookshelf, and admiring the substantial binding of heavy dark blue morocco. Then I thought of the donor. I turned to the title page and saw my name neatly inscribed in papa's own handwriting.
"My darling papa, I exclaimed he sees every want. Not a wish of mine but is gratified; he has overheard me saying I should like just such a work, and has lost no time in getting it.
"I secured my favorite nook in the library and sitting down, the first thing that caught my eye was an adventure of James the Fourth—Scotland's Coeur-de-Lion in very deed. I read the story, and it filled me with remorse. The prince, was guilty of rebellious acts against his father, and I am guilty of rebellious thoughts. He wore an iron belt as a reminder of the sad fact. Well, my dearest and best of fathers, I shall have something likewise to remind me of my ingratitude."
"And you bought that homely bracelet, my child?" I said smiling at her earnestness.
"I did Aunt Hester, and when I feel that I am not doing what is right I just run to my dressing case and slip that on my arm," pointing at the same moment to the curious construction of bronze and steel that encircled her alabaster-like arm.
"And why are you wearing it to-day, my dear?" I asked.
"I felt inclined to be moody, Aunt Hester."
"I never remember of seeing such a bracelet worn by Miss Verne," ventured Mr. Lawson who had hitherto remained a silent listener.
"The occasion to which I refer, happened more than three years ago. I remember sometime afterward of asking Marguerite if she had her moody fits yet, and she smilingly said that the bracelet had been consigned to a resting place among her store of relics."
"Miss Verne now looks to a higher source. She needs no such talisman," said Mr. Lawson with an air of deep reverence.
"Yes, I believe Marguerite Verne is a Christian, though she makes no loud demonstration of the fact. No one possessing the sweet simplicity of character, the truly charitable spirit, and that universal good will to her fellow creatures can be otherwise than a Christian."
Mrs. Montgomery had given emphasis to her speech, as she never was weary in extolling the virtues of her favorite niece.
A slight movement on the part of the prostrate man called Phillip to the bedside.
Mr. Verne had awoke to consciousness, and no doubt had listened to the words so lately uttered.
A smile was upon his face as he extended his left hand to Mr.
Lawson, and tried hard to regain his speech.
"Do not exert yourself, sir," said the latter putting his arm around the invalid with the tenderness of a woman. "All you must do is try to get a little stronger before Miss Verne arrives, after that you will be all right. It is enough to make any one sick to be alone in this big house."
Mrs. Montgomery watched the effect of the speech and felt sore at heart. "Poor man," thought she, "he will never live to see it," and as she looked a second time saw that Mr. Verne had suddenly relapsed into that comatose state sadly akin to death.
"Thy will be done," murmured the watcher, and tenderly replacing the coverlid committed the prostrate form to the mercy of an Almighty Father.