A Terrible Temptation: A Story of To-Day
“Very likely,” said Rhoda, with a gentleness that struck Polly as very
singular. “Good-night.”
Rhoda spent the night watching, and thinking harder than she had ever
thought before.
Next morning, early, Polly came into the sick-room. There sat her
sister watching the patient, out of sight.
“La, Rhoda! Have you sat there all night?”
“Yes. Don't speak so loud. Come here. You've set your heart on this
lilac silk. I'll give it to you for your black merino.”
“Not you, my lady; you are not so fond of mereeny, nor of me neither.”
“I'm not a liar like you,” said the other, becoming herself for a
moment, “and what I say I'll do. You put out your merino for me in the
dressing-room.”
“All right,” said Polly, joyfully.
“And bring me two buckets of water instead of one. I have never closed
my eyes.”
“Poor soul! and now you be going to sluice yourself all the same.
Whatever you can see in cold water, to run after it so, I can't think.
If I was to flood myself like you, it would soon float me to my long
home.”
“How do you know? _You never gave it a trial._ Come, no more chat. Give
me my bath: and then you may wash yourself in a tea-cup if you
like--only don't wash my spoons in the same water, for _mercy's sake!”_
Thus affectionately stimulated in her duties, Polly brought cold water
galore, and laid out her new merino dress. In this sober suit, with
plain linen collar and cuffs, the Somerset dressed herself, and resumed
her watching by the bedside. She kept more than ever out of sight, for
the patient was now beginning to mutter incoherently, yet in a way that
showed his clouded faculties were dwelling on the calamity which had
befallen him.
About noon the bell was rung sharply, and, on Polly entering, Rhoda
called her to the window and showed her two female figures plodding
down the street. “Look,” said she. “Those are the only women I envy.
Sisters of Charity. Run you after them, and take a good look at those
beastly ugly caps: then come and tell me how to make one.”
“Here's a go!” said Polly; but executed the commission promptly.
It needed no fashionable milliner to turn a yard of linen into one of
those ugly caps, which are beautiful banners of Christian charity and
womanly tenderness to the sick and suffering. The monster cap was made
in an hour, and Miss Somerset put it on, and a thick veil, and then she
no longer thought it necessary to sit out of the patient's sight.
The consequence was that, in the middle of his ramblings, he broke off
and looked at her. The sister puzzled him. At last he called to her in
French.
She made no reply.
“Je suis a l'hopital, n'est ce pas bonne soeur?”
“I am English,” said she, softly.
CHAPTER VI.
“ENGLISH!” said Sir Charles. “Then tell me, how did I come here? Where
am I?”
“You had a fit, and the doctor ordered you to be kept quiet; and I am
here to nurse you.”
“A fit! Ay, I remember. That vile woman!”
“Don't think of her: give your mind to getting well: remember, there is
somebody who would break her heart if you--”
“Oh, my poor Bella! my sweet, timid, modest, loving Bella!” He was so
weakened that he cried like a child.
Miss Somerset rose, and laid her forehead sadly upon the window-sill.
“Why do I cry for her, like a great baby?” muttered Sir Charles. “She
wouldn't cry for me. She has cast me off in a moment.”
“Not she. It is her father's doing. Have a little patience. The whole
thing shall be explained to them; and then she will soon soften the old
man. 'It is not as if you were really to blame.”
“No more I was. It is all that vile woman.”
“Oh, don't! She is so sorry; she has taken it all to heart. She had
once shammed a fit, on the very place; and when you had a real fit
there--on the very spot--oh, it was so fearful--and lay like one dead,
she saw God's finger, and it touched her hard heart. Don't say anything
more against her just now. She is trying so hard to be good. And,
besides, it is all a mistake: she never told that old admiral; she
never breathed a word out of her own house. Her own people have
betrayed her and you. She has made me promise two things: to find out
who told the admiral, and--”
“Well?”
“The second thing I have to do--Well, that is a secret between me and
that unhappy woman. She is bad enough, but not so heartless as you
think.”
Sir Charles shook his head incredulously, but said no more; and soon
after fell asleep.
In the evening he woke, and found the Sister watching.
She now turned her head away from him, and asked him quietly to
describe Miss Bella Bruce to her.
He described her in minute and glowing terms. “But oh, Sister,” said
he, “it is not her beauty only, but the beauty of her mind. So gentle,
so modest, so timid, so docile. She would never have had the heart to
turn me off. But she will obey her father. She looked forward to obey
me, sweet dove.”
“Did she say so?”
“Yes, that is her dream of happiness, to obey.”
The Sister still questioned him with averted head, and he told her what
had passed between Bella and him the last time he saw her, and all
their innocent plans of married happiness. He told her, with the tear
in his eye, and she listened, with the tear in hers. “And then,” said
he, laying his hand on her shoulder, “is it not hard? I just went to
Mayfair, not to please myself, but to do an act of justice--of more
than justice; and then, for that, to have her door shut in my face.
Only two hours between the height of happiness and the depth of
misery.”
The Sister said nothing, but she hid her face in her hands, and
thought.
The next morning, by her order, Polly came into the room, and said,
“You are to go home. The carriage is at the door.” With this she
retired, and Sir Charles's valet entered the room soon after to help
him dress.
“Where am I, James?”
“Miss Somerset's house, Sir Charles.”
“Then get me out of it directly.”
“Yes, Sir Charles. The carriage is at the door.”
“Who told you to come, James?”
“Miss Somerset, Sir Charles.”
“That is odd.”
“Yes, Sir Charles.”
When he got home he found a sofa placed by a fire, with wraps and
pillows; his cigar case laid out, and a bottle of salts, and also a
small glass of old cognac, in case of faintness.
“Which of you had the gumption to do all this?”
“Miss Somerset, Sir Charles.”
“What, has she been _here?”_
“Yes, Sir Charles.”
“Curse her!”
“Yes, Sir Charles.”
CHAPTER VII.
“LOVE LIES BLEEDING.”
BELLA BRUCE was drinking the bitterest cup a young virgin soul can
taste. Illusion gone--the wicked world revealed as it is, how unlike
what she thought it was--love crushed in her, and not crushed out of
her, as it might if she had been either proud or vain.
Frail men and women should see what a passionate but virtuous woman can
suffer, when a revelation, of which they think but little, comes and
blasts her young heart, and bids her dry up in a moment the deep well
of her affection, since it flows for an unworthy object, and flows in
vain. I tell you that the fair head severed from the chaste body is
nothing to her compared with this. The fair body, pierced with heathen
arrows, was nothing to her in the days of old compared with this.
In a word--for nowadays we can but amplify, and so enfeeble, what some
old dead master of language, immortal though obscure, has said in words
of granite--here
“Love lay bleeding.”
No fainting--no vehement weeping; but oh, such deep desolation; such
weariness of life; such a pitiable restlessness. Appetite gone; the
taste of food almost lost; sleep unwilling to come; and oh, the torture
of waking--for at that horrible moment all rushed back at once, the joy
that had been, the misery that was, the blank that was to come.
She never stirred out, except when ordered, and then went like an
automaton. Pale, sorrow-stricken, and patient, she moved about, the
ghost of herself; and lay down a little, and then tried to work a
little, and then to read a little; and could settle to nothing but
sorrow and deep despondency.
Not that she nursed her grief. She had been told to be brave, and she
tried. But her grief was her master. It came welling through her eyes
in a moment, of its own accord.
She was deeply mortified too. But, in her gentle nature, anger could
play but a secondary part. Her indignation was weak beside her grief,
and did little to bear her up.
Yet her sense of shame was vivid; and she tried hard not to let her
father see how deeply she loved the man who had gone from her to Miss
Somerset. Besides, he had ordered her to fight against a love that now
could only degrade her; he had ordered, and it was for her to obey.
As soon as Sir Charles was better, he wrote her a long, humble letter,
owning that, before he knew her, he had led a free life; but assuring
her that, ever since that happy time, his heart and his time had been
solely hers; as to his visit to Miss Somerset, it had been one of
business merely, and this he could prove, if she would receive him. The
admiral could be present at that interview, and Sir Charles hoped to
convince him he had been somewhat hasty and harsh in his decision.
Now the admiral had foreseen Sir Charles would write to her; so he had
ordered his man to bring all letters to him first.
He recognized Sir Charles's hand, and brought the latter in to Bella.
“Now, my child,” said he, “be brave. Here is a letter from that man.”
“Oh, papa! I thought he would. I knew he would.” And the pale face was
flushed with joy and hope all in a moment.
“Do what?”
“Write and explain.”
“Explain? A thing that is clear as sunshine. He has written to throw
dust in your eyes again. You are evidently in no state to judge. _I_
shall read this letter first.”
“Yes, papa,” said Bella, faintly.
He did read it, and she devoured his countenance all the time.
“There is nothing in it. He offers no real explanation, but only says
he can explain, and asks for an interview--to play upon your weakness.
If I give you this letter, it will only make you cry, and render your
task more difficult. I must be strong for your good, and set you an
example. I loved this young man too; but, now I know him”--then he
actually thrust the letter into the fire.
But this was too much. Bella shrieked at the act, and put her hand to
her heart, and shrieked again. “Ah! you'll kill us, you'll kill us
both!” she cried. “Poor Charles! Poor Bella! You don't love your
child--you have no pity.” And, for the first time, her misery was
violent. She writhed and wept, and at last went into violent hysterics,
and frightened that stout old warrior more than cannon had ever
frightened him; and presently she became quiet, and wept at his knees,
and begged his forgiveness, and said he was wiser than she was, and she
would obey him in everything, only he must not be angry with her if she
could not live.
Then the stout admiral mingled his tears with hers, and began to
realize what deep waters of affliction his girl was wading in.
Yet he saw no way out but firmness. He wrote to Sir Charles to say that
his daughter was too ill to write; but that no explanation was
possible, and no interview could be allowed.
Sir Charles, who, after writing, had conceived the most sanguine hopes,
was now as wretched as Bella. Only, now that he was refused a hearing,
he had wounded pride to support him a little under wounded love.
Admiral Bruce, fearing for his daughter's health, and even for her
life--she pined so visibly--now ordered her to divide her day into
several occupations, and exact divisions of time--an hour for this, an
hour for that; an hour by the clock--and here he showed practical
wisdom. Try it, ye that are very unhappy, and tell me the result.