A Terrible Temptation: A Story of To-Day
ha!--'take the world as it is; Belgravian mothers would not break
_both_ their hearts for what is past and gone.' What hard good sense! a
thing I always _did_ admire: because I've got none. But her _heart_ is
not hard; after all her words of fire, that went so straight instead of
beating the bush, she ended by crying for me. Oh! oh! oh! Bless her!
Bless her! If ever there was a good woman in the world, that is one.
She was not born a lady, I am afraid; but that is nothing: she was born
a woman, and I mean to make her acquaintance, and take her for my
example in all things. No, dear papa, women are not so pitiful to women
without cause. She is almost a stranger, yet she cried for me. Can you
be harder to me than she is? No; pity your poor girl, who will lose her
health, and perhaps her life. Pity poor Charles, stung by an anonymous
viper, and laid on a bed of sickness for me. Oh! oh! oh!”
“I do pity you, Bella. When you cry like this, my heart bleeds.”
“I'll try not to cry, papa. Oh! oh!”
“But most of all, I pity your infatuation, your blindness. Poor,
innocent dove, that looks at others by the light of her own goodness,
and so sees all manner of virtues in a brazen hussy. Now answer me one
plain question. You called her 'the Sister!' Is she not the same woman
that played the Sister of Charity?”
Bella blushed to the temples, and said, hesitatingly, she was not quite
sure.
“Come, Bella. I thought you were going to imitate the jade, and not
beat about the bush. Yes or no?”
“The features are very like.”
“Bella, you know it is the same woman. You recognized her in a moment.
That speaks volumes. But she shall find I am not to be made 'a dupe and
a tool of' quite so easily as she thinks. I'll tell you what--this is
some professional actress Sir Charles has hired to waylay you. Little
simpleton!”
He said no more at that time; but after dinner he ruminated, and took a
very serious, indeed almost a maritime, view of the crisis. “I'm
overmatched now,” thought he. “They will cut my sloop out under the
very guns of the flagship if we stay much longer in this port--a lawyer
against me, and a woman too; there's nothing to be done but heave
anchor, hoist sail, and run for it.”
He sent off a foreign telegram, and then went upstairs. “Bella, my
dear,” said he, “pack up your clothes for a journey. We start
to-morrow.”
“A journey, papa! A long one?”
“No. We shan't double the Horn this time.”
“Brighton? Paris?”
“Oh, farther than that.”
“The grave: that is the journey I should like to take.”
“So you shall, some day; but just now it is a _foreign_ port you are
bound for. Go and pack.”
“I obey.” And she was creeping off, but he called her back and kissed
her, and said, “Now I'll tell you where you are going; but you must
promise me solemnly not to write one line to Sir Charles.”
She promised, but cried as soon as she had promised; whereat the
admiral inferred he had done wisely to exact the promise.
“Well, my dear,” said he, “we are going to Baden. Your aunt Molineux is
there. She is a woman of great delicacy and prudence, and has daughters
of her own all well married, thanks to her motherly care. She will
bring you to your senses better than I can.”
Next evening they left England by the mail; and the day after Richard
Bassett learned this through his servant, and went home triumphant,
and, indeed, wondering at his success. He ascribed it, however, to the
Nemesis which dogs the heels of those who inherit the estate of
another.
Such was the only moral reflection he made, though the business in
general, and particularly his share in it, admitted of several.
Miss Somerset also heard of it, and told Mr. Oldfield; he told Sir
Charles Bassett.
That gentleman sighed deeply, and said nothing. He had lost all hope.
The whole matter appeared stagnant for about ten days; and then a
delicate hand stirred the dead waters cautiously. Mr. Oldfield, of all
people in the world, received a short letter from Bella Bruce.
“Konigsberg Hotel, BADEN.
“Miss Bruce presents her compliments to Mr. Oldfield, and will feel
much obliged if he will send her the name and address of that brave
lady who accompanied him to her father's house.
“Miss Bruce desires to thank that lady, personally, for her noble
defense of one with whom it would be improper for her to communicate;
but she can never be indifferent to his welfare, nor hear of his
sufferings without deep sorrow.”
“Confound it!” said Solomon Oldfield. “What am I to do? I mustn't tell
her it is Miss Somerset.” So the wary lawyer had a copy of the letter
made, and sent to Miss Somerset for instructions.
Miss Somerset sent for Mr. Marsh, who was now more at her beck and call
than ever, and told him she had a ticklish letter to write. “I can talk
with the best,” said she, “but the moment I sit down and take up a pen
something cold runs up my shoulder, and then down my backbone, and I'm
palsied; now you are always writing, and can't say 'Bo' to a goose in
company. Let us mix ourselves; I'll walk about and speak my mind, and
then you put down the cream, and send it.”
From this ingenious process resulted the following composition:
“She whom Miss Bruce is good enough to call 'the brave lady' happened
to know the truth, and that tempted her to try and baffle an anonymous
slanderer, who was ruining the happiness of a lady and gentleman. Being
a person of warm impulses, she went great lengths; but she now wishes
to retire into the shade. She is flattered by Miss Bruce's desire to
know her, and some day, perhaps, may remind her of it; but at present
she must deny herself that honor. If her reasons were known, Miss Bruce
would not be offended nor hurt; she would entirely approve them.”
Soon after this, as Sir Charles Bassett sat by the fire, disconsolate,
his servant told him a lady wanted to see him.
“Who is it?”
“Don't know, Sir Charles; but it is a kind of a sort of a nun, Sir
Charles.”
“Oh, a Sister of Charity! Perhaps the one that nursed me. Admit her, by
all means.”
The Sister came in. She had a large veil on. Sir Charles received her
with profound respect, and thanked her, with some little hesitation,
for her kind attention to him. She stopped him by saying that was
merely her duty. “But,” said she, softly, “words fell from you, on the
bed of sickness, that touched my heart; and besides I happen to know
the lady.”
“You know my Bella!” cried Sir Charles. “Ah, then no wonder you speak
so kindly; you can feel what I have lost. She has left England to avoid
me.”
“All the better. Where she is the door cannot be closed in your face.
She is at Baden. Follow her there. She has heard the truth from Mr.
Oldfield, and she knows who wrote the anonymous letter.”
“And who did?”
“Mr. Richard Bassett.”
This amazed Sir Charles.
“The scoundrel!” said he, after a long silence.
“Well, then, why let that fellow defeat you, for his own ends? I would
go at once to Baden. Your leaving England would be one more proof to
her that she has no rival. Stick to her like a man, sir, and you will
win her, I tell you.”
These words from a nun amazed and fired him. He rose from his chair,
flushed with sudden hope and ardor. “I'll leave for Baden to-morrow
morning.”
The Sister rose to retire.
“No, no,” cried Sir Charles. “I have not thanked you. I ought to go
down on my knees and bless you for all this. To whom am I so indebted?”
“No matter, sir.”
“But it does matter. You nursed me, and perhaps saved my life, and now
you give me back the hopes that make life sweet. You will not trust me
with your name?”
“We have no name.”
“Your voice at times sounds very like--no, I will not affront you by
such a comparison.”
“I'm her sister,” said she, like lightning.
This announcement quite staggered Sir Charles, and he was silent and
uncomfortable. It gave him a chill.
The Sister watched him keenly, but said nothing.
Sir Charles did not know what to say, so he asked to see her face. “It
must be as beautiful as your heart.”
The Sister shook her head. “My face has been disfigured by a frightful
disorder.”
Sir Charles uttered an ejaculation of regret and pity.
“I could not bear to show it to one who esteems me as you seem to do.
But perhaps it will not always be so.”
“I hope not. You are young, and Heaven is good. Can I do nothing for
you, who have done so much for me?”
“Nothing--unless--” said she, feigning vast timidity, “you could spare
me that ring of yours, as a remembrance of the part I have played in
this affair.”
Sir Charles colored. It was a ruby of the purest water, and had been
two centuries in his family. He colored, but was too fine a gentleman
to hesitate. He said, “By all means. But it is a poor thing to offer
_you.”_
“I shall value it very much.”
“Say no more. I am fortunate in having anything you deign to accept.”
And so the ring changed hands.
The Sister now put it on her middle finger, and held up her hand, and
her bright eyes glanced at it, through her veil, with that delight
which her sex in general feel at the possession of a new bauble. She
recovered herself, however, and told him, soberly, the ring should
return to his family at her death, if not before.
“I will give you a piece of advice for it,” said she. “Miss Bruce has
foxy hair; and she is very timid. Don't you take her advice about
commanding her. She would like to be your slave! Don't let her. Coax
her to speak her mind. Make a friend of her. Don't you put her to
this--that she must displease you, or else deceive you. She might
choose wrong, especially with that colored hair.”
“It is not in her nature to deceive.”
“It is not in her nature to displease. Excuse me; I am too fanciful,
and look at women too close. But I know your happiness depends on her.
All your eggs are in that one basket. Well, I have told you how to
carry the basket. Good-by.”
Sir Charles saw her out, and bowed respectfully to her in the hall,
while his servant opened the street door. He did her this homage as his
benefactress.
When admiral and Miss Bruce reached Baden Mrs. Molineux was away on a
visit; and this disappointed Admiral Bruce, who had counted on her
assistance to manage and comfort Bella. Bella needed the latter very
much. A glance at her pale, pensive, lovely face was enough to show
that sorrow was rooted at her heart. She was subjected to no restraint,
but kept the house of her own accord, thinking, as persons of her age
are apt to do, that her whole history must be written in her face.
Still, of course, she did go out sometimes; and one cold but bright
afternoon she was strolling languidly on the parade, when all in a
moment she met Sir Charles Bassett face to face.
She gave an eloquent scream, and turned pale a moment, and then the hot
blood came rushing, and then it retired, and she stood at bay, with
heaving bosom--and great eyes.
Sir Charles held out both hands pathetically. “Don't you be afraid of
me.”
When she found he was so afraid of offending her she became more
courageous. “How dare you come here?” said she, but with more curiosity
than violence, for it had been her dream of hope he would come.
“How could I keep away, when I heard you were here?”
“You must not speak to me, sir; I am forbidden.”
“Pray do not condemn me unheard.”
“If I listen to you I shall believe you. I won't hear a word. Gentlemen
can do things that ladies cannot even speak about. Talk to my aunt
Molineux; our fate depends on her. This will teach you not to be so
wicked. What business have gentlemen to be so wicked? Ladies are not.
No, it is no use; I will not hear a syllable. I am ashamed to be seen
speaking to you. You are a bad character. Oh, Charles, is it true you
had a fit?”
“Yes.”