Book: Honor Edgeworth

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She therefore made a great stride towards another point, and now she
could hear very plainly the regular breaths coming and going as of one
in deep sleep. This suspense was worse than any. She laid herself out on
the floor, rested her elbows on the boards and buried her chin in her
palms. Wild thoughts of hatred and revenge chased one another through
her unsteady mind, but still she could discern nothing but this tranquil
respiration. She was weakening now. It must have been three hours from
the time she awoke first, and yet there was no sign of light or life,
nothing but this strange breathing, wherever it was. She was growing
drowsy and threw herself back on the floor, with one fair white arm
thrown over her head. She had advanced considerably to the left of the
room, though the impenetrable darkness did not allow her to know it. Her
breast heaved in great irregular sighs, and her long lashes drooped
wearily over her tired eyes. Another moment and sleep would have come in
its precious mercy to solace the poor afflicted soul, the wild staring
eyes had been subdued into drowsiness, and the angel of balm was coaxing
the tired limbs into repose, when a loud sigh broke upon the sleep-
inducing silence, and disturbed the unfortunate Fifine. She opened her
eyes suddenly again and waited for a repetition. This time she heard
several queer sounds, like scratching and eating. Overcome at last by
suspense, she started up, but in doing so, she knocked her head
violently against some object that stood close by her. In her madness
she never heeded the pain, but stretched out her hands for something to
lean against, when fortunately she laid one of them on a stumpy
candlestick, in the saucer of which she found a couple of greasy
matches. A cry of joy escaped her as she struck a light, as quickly as
her nervous fingers and glad excitement allowed her. At least now the
horrible spell of darkness and uncertainty was broken. The candle hardly
took at first, but as she watched it eagerly, with both hands around the
timid spark, it spluttered and flared up into a tall lanky flame that
made her surroundings look visible, if not bright.

It was the same little room to which Bijou had brought her for her
wedding, she did not know how long ago. Now that she looked at it in a
calm, keen scrutiny, she noticed that these stray pieces of homely,
furniture had been thrown around, merely to give the place the
appearance of being inhabited. No one had lived there for a long time,
anyone could see. Great tangled cobwebs hung all over the wall and
celling, and one corner of the miserable apartment was a perfect pool,
from rain that had dropped through the defective roof. When Fifine had
taken in these surroundings in her quick, searching glance, she tried to
discern the source of the noises she had heard. This was an easy matter.
Very near to where she stood, was a long dingy door that closed with a
latch, and from behind this Fifine heard the sounds still issuing.
Prepared for the worst, she got down on her knees and holding the candle
a little way above her head, she raised the latch and pushed the door
violently in. The next instant a great shaggy dog was bounding around
her, lashing his paws on the floor and attempting to lick her hands and
face. She smiled a little first when she remembered her fear, but her
next feeling was one of joy, at the new and strange companionship, which
might yet prove of service to her. Laying the candle down upon the
floor, she drew the animal towards her and began to examine him. He was
a large, well-built, glossy-haired fellow, with earnest eyes and a long,
loose tongue, that hung a great way out of his mouth. Around his shaggy
neck was a silver collar, on which was engraved "Sailor," and the two
large initials, "N.B.," and after further scrutiny, she deciphered on
the margin of the band, "I. Kennedy, Engraver, St. Paul St, Montreal."
She threw her arms wildly about the animal and hugged him
affectionately. At least she had a clue. In her new joy she quite
forgone very precaution she had planned before, but now she was brought
back from her ecstasy by remarking that her candle was almost burnt out.
She had no other, and she must be content to sit there and await day
break, or escape while there was yet a spark of light. She seized this
last hope, for taking the dog by the collar, she dragged him towards the
door of exit, and as she tried to undo the fastenings, she talked wildly
to herself and to him. The door was fastened on the outside, proof
positive, that she had been knowingly and heartlessly bound within those
wretched walls. This excited all her latent hatred again, and with the
mad strength of defiance and revenge, she tried to tear the fastenings
apart with her naked fingers. She toiled bravely and fast. The light of
the candle was leaping up and down, threatening to expire. Only once or
twice did she pause to fling back the dishevelled hair that blinded her
eyes, but at last she was rewarded, for with one supreme effort she
succeeded in dragging in the door, and opening for herself a passage
into the outside world.

"Not, bad Fifine," she laughed, as the night air swept in on her
feverish head, "we'll get _le beau Bijou_ yet. He'll say Fifine is mad,
but we'll see--Fifine is not mad--she hates him though, and she will
kill him, ha! ha!"

She walked about chattering wildly, holding Sailor by his collar, and
saying senseless things to him every now and then. At last, when she had
gone a long way without being able to discern a path, she sank down to
rest near a clump of trees. Twining her arms round Sailor's shaggy neck,
she laid her head on his warm body and soon fell into a heavy dreamless
slumber.



CHAPTER XXV.


Yes! there are real mourners--I have seen
A fair, sad girl, mild-suffering; and serene.
--Crabbe.

The gray of the morning was stealing out from behind the tree-tops,
filling the woodland with a dim uncertain light. The tall spectral forms
and great crouching figures of the darkness, now proved to be the limbs
and broken trunks of gigantic trees. With the misty light of the morning
all the ghouls and goblins of the night left the lonely forest and
retreated to their secret abodes until dusk would come again.

A cold cheerless change was coming over the earth and two equestrians
trotting silently through the wood, at this early hour, shivered and
shook in the raw air of the morning. They spoke very little. The elder
one was smoking, the other was looking moodily on before him. Presently
the former stretched himself far on one side of his horse and thrust his
head enquiringly forward. He took his pipe from his mouth and looked
again.

"Philip, my son, what do you see there?"

"Where?" the other asked indifferently.

"Inside those twisted trees."

Philip glanced in the direction indicated, and in an instant was
dismounted. He gave the reins to his companion and walked briskly to the
spot that had excited their attention. When he reached the place he
halted suddenly and looked aghast. An exclamation of horror escaped his
lips. He bent over the object and beheld the figure of a human being,
clad in female attire, sleeping on the crouched body of a great
Newfoundland dog. But the arms and fingers that encircled and clutched
the faithful animal were daubed with blood, and here and there on the
fretful face of the sleeper were dried patches of crimson. The matted
hair fell loosely round the regular features, but the picture on the
whole was at once the strangest and most touching one it was possible to
see. Philip turned silently and beckoned his companion to approach. Then
both of them bent curiously over the form of the girl to ascertain
whether she slept a temporary or an eternal sleep, and when her distinct
breathing convinced them that life was not extinct, they called her and
tried to awaken her. For a long time their efforts were vain. Nothing
seemed capable of dispelling the stupor that had settled over her. She
only tossed her head wearily from one side to the other when they spoke,
and frowned peevishly, as though their words annoyed her. Once she
raised her blood-stained hand and the two men saw with renewed surprise
that she wore a wedding ring on her slender finger. This touched them
anew, and they resolved to move her between them to the village, where a
doctor could be consulted and her wants be carefully attended to.

But when they laid their hands upon her the dog showed his teeth
threateningly, growling angrily in their faces. At the sound of her
defender's voice, the girl lifted her eyelids and glared wildy at the
two figures standing above her. She tightened her greedy hold around the
animal's neck and screamed:

"Don't touch him, don't dare--he--and my revenge--all that's
left--revenge! Ha, ha, ha.--"

Her voice died out and her eyes closed drowsily again. The two men
stared at one another in mute surprise. Then the younger of the two,
making a last effort, bent over her and said coaxingly:

"Let me take you off the damp ground, you'll have your death of cold,"

She started and looked strangely at him.

"Not death," she said in a tone of defiance, "not death until I have
done my work."

"Tell us your name, good woman," the older man put in, not heeding her
last remark.

"Name? I have no name now--outcast--_jolle_-if you like. But I will win
my name back, I will--"

"Of course you will," sad one consolingly, looking at his companion and
tapping his forehead knowingly.

"Come, we will begin right away; let us go now," and he raised himself
up to start.

With a little coaxing and reassurance, they persuaded her to lean on
them and rise up, but the poor little face became distorted and the eyes
closed languidly as if she suffered intensely. She stood bravely up
however, but in a moment she tottered and sank back again. Her
companions saw that their efforts were useless in her present condition,
so it was decided that while the elder man remained to watch her, the
younger one should gallop to the village and secure the assistance
necessary to transport her from this lonely spot.

Unfortunately the path chosen by Bijou on the night of her elopement
with him, led to a succession of roads which wound almost interminably
through woods and fields adjoining another village, situated some miles
distant from the one they had left. This settlement was called "The
Lower Farms." It was to this place that Philip Campbell and his uncle
Douglas were travelling on that morning when they found Fifine in the
wood. Bijou had made a very round-about trip, bringing the girl at least
twenty miles from her own neighborhood, and leaving her in a spot where,
if found, she would be looked upon as a resident of the Lower Farms.

With all possible speed, Philip Campbell rode into the village, going
straight to the doctor of the place, to whom he confided their strange
_rencontre_. Half an hour later, the zealous man of medicine with his
attendant and Phil, were journeying back to the spot where Douglas
Campbell kept kindly watch over the unfortunate female.



CHAPTER XXVI.


"Jukes and earls, and diamonds and pearls
And pretty girls was spoorting there.
And some beside (the rogues) I spied,
Behind the winches coorting there."
--Thackeray.

"This is our waltz, Miss Edgeworth, are you prepared?" asked Vivian
Standish, as he bowed before the girl in black satin, who was conversing
gayly with a fine-looking elderly gentleman.

"So soon," Honor said, somewhat surprised, "why, I thought--"

"Yes, I know you did," he interrupted gayly, "but do listen to that
music."

Honor rose, thus appealed to, and smiling an adieu to her first
companion, she thrust her round white arm into Vivian's, as he led her
triumphantly into the ball-room, where many couples were already on the
floor.

"See, we have lost some of it already," he exclaimed, putting his arm
around her slender waist. They had to wait another minute thus, to allow
more formidable couples to move past them, recruits in "the
terpsichorean art" who were ploughing their ways agonizingly through the
crowd, leading their warm fat partners on the laces and frills of other
ladies' dresses. As Honor and Vivian joined the moving mass, they
attracted many admiring glances. They were well matched in size, both
good-looking, and remarkably fine dancers, and as they glided here and
there many criticizing whispers followed them.

Little Miss McCable, who has the reputation of being one of Ottawa's
best dancers, bites her lower lips sarcastically, as an admirer of Miss
Edgeworth's asks her, "does she not find her dancing faultless," and
declares she "kaunt see what there is so striking about her."

But heedless of those who surround them, Vivian leads his fair partner
through the crowd, as the strains of waltzes picked from "Olivette" and
"Patience," flood the ball-room. Any girl may boast of being free from
susceptibilities of a disastrous kind, but few girls _a la mode_ to-day
can overcome the resistless fascination of a dreamy waltz, and Honor
Edgeworth who was the very poetry of motion in herself, was lost to
everything else but her waltz at this moment--how well Vivian Standish
guided, she thought--how well he held himself! how _distingue_ he
looked!

He had begun to puzzle her a little, and though she certainly did not
like him, there was a sort of strange attraction for her in his voice,
appearance and manner. I wonder if men can know what there is in a
voice?

It is a precious talisman that serves at all times, and the one
infallible means a man has to find his way to a woman's heart, for a
woman never forgets the pathos, and sweetness of a voice that has called
her "his own."

Vivian Standish had a voice to covet and to envy, he said the most
matter-of-fact thing in a way that captivated the most careless
listener, and the girls declared that when he spoke to them they were
"perfectly distracted." Ottawa is the most interesting spot on earth for
a person of any extraordinary ability to gain notoriety. If it is a girl
the male element is effervescing all at once, men fall in love with her
in turns, she is almost devoured with attention at evening parties, and
visits all the suggestive nooks, and sits on the stairs with the
handsomest and toniest of Ottawa's "big boys;" even married men get the
craze, for Ottawa boasts of quite a little circle of benedicts, who are
not slaves to petty prejudices inflicted as a rule on the married, and
though not open advocates of "Free Love," they take all the privileges
that hang around the border limit, for they do not doubt, but that any
one might know when they are seen escorting pretty flirts, riding,
driving, or walking through such delightful walks as "Beechwood," or
"Richmond Road," that the topic of conversation is painfully appropriate
to their vocations, and as a proof if any one were to join them, at the
moment, they would be either admiring nature or art, or anything in fact
but each other.

It makes as much difference in Ottawa as well as elsewhere, whether a
young lady be only an instructress of music, but exceedingly pretty, or
the daughter of a cabinet minister with a homely face and awkward gait.
A man is a man in spite of society's most binding laws; but
circumstances are so delightfully blended when a girl is rich,
good-looking, clever--and disengaged, it is the chance of a lifetime,
and were it not that such "chances" as these, usurp the opportunites of
Ottawa's patient and less endowed girls, there would be fewer of these
old young ladies, who haunt the drawing rooms and public balls of our
city, year after year with the same result. Two or three years ought to
satisfy any girl of ordinary ambition, and yet there are tireless
maidens who only remain in their ninth or tenth winter, because of some
petty constitutional ailing, that makes a better excuse than saying,
"there's no use trying any more, I'm a year older this year and have
less chance," and so they begin to settle into a sound resignation, and
snub the more presentable daughters of social inferiors; they either
turn into first-class Sunday school teachers, and denounce the pomps of
a world whose excess has brought them to solitary womanhood, or they
make unrivalled depositaries and disseminators of the local news of
their little sphere, but they are as admirable an invention as any
other, as they have many hours of leisure to engage in charitable and
other occupations. There are plenty of these amiable "everlastings" at
Mr. Bellemare's to-night, some of them apparently much appreciated, for
while their homely, ungainly figures are whirled around the room on the
arm of some calculating youth, fresh blooming girls must bite the ends
of their feathery fans in a passion of disappointment, as they stand
against the wall, or admire the pictures or statuary, or it does not
matter what, so long as they need not look straight into the fun they
cannot share. What a glorious epoch of womanly dignity, independence and
worthiness! It is a picture one likes to draw for the contemplative
admirers of the age.

A girl who makes up her mind to "go out" after leaving school, is I
think, the most foolish and wretched girl under the sun, unless her
parents or other relations have either a political, social or money
influence to strengthen her, for many a daughter looks regretfully back
upon the foolish steps which led her by contact into a world of fashion
and flummery.

The exquisite ball-dress came home one night with the little paper from
"Cheapside," or the "Argyle House," bearing its value represented in
high numbers; a big account was opened in those dangerous books, a
necessary affliction nevertheless, where the daughters will be
"fashionable" and persist in having the same indulgences as the
daughters of those who have less manners by far, but who can substitute
good breeding easily by an abundance of "filthy lucre." In a ball-room,
she is alone in a multitude, most often wishing heartily she were rolled
comfortably in the blankets of her cosy bed, she may be a nice girl, men
admire her as a rule, but men are too dependent in Ottawa to declare
their opinions openly, when they thereby tread upon society's corns.

Although this is naturally a democratic country, social ostracism is not
unknown amongst us. The daughter of any one who "keeps a window," or is
at all engaged in trade, is as effectually excluded from society as if
she were a moral leper, and although her attainments, intellectually and
otherwise, be far superior to those of her more favored sister, (who is
very frequently both stupid and uninteresting), her chances of an
invitation are small indeed, until her father is in a position to head a
subscription list or an election fund, and then, presto! all the
insuperable difficulties that previously existed, magically disappear.

The brainless families of representative men, must of course monopolise
attention, if all the rest went to eternal perdition, and what does it
matter how vexedly a fellow tugs his moustache over the insipid drawl of
some "powerful" man's daughter, while he eyes most enviously the form of
her less safely established sister, and wishes to--he was some other
fellow, and not himself.

Honor Edgeworth, strange to say, beautiful, and courted though she was
in Ottawa, failed to catch any sweetness therein. While such a thing was
new, it amused her, but already the shallow novelty had worn off, and it
had become monotonous. Perhaps, if things were different, she could have
entered with more relish into her world of gay distractions, but she
knew, beforehand, that there are voids and vacancies in the heart, that
can never be filled by the trivial pleasures of high life. When the eye
has begun to scan the world for a particular face and form that it loves
to look upon, it instinctively shuns both crowded rooms and festive
halls.

This was why Honor looked so indifferent to the sensation she created
this evening at the Bellemare's, gliding through the ball-room on the
arm of the handsomest man present, but for all that her mind was not
lazy, she was thinking deeply enough the while, leaning on the stalwart
shoulder of Vivian Standish, drinking in the suggestive strains of the
music to which they danced. Honor was also yielding to the influence of
memory that had been awakened within her, that memory that pensively
turned backwards the unforgotten pages of her past, filling her with a
sad discontent, that soon betrayed itself in the wearied expression of
impatience which stole into her eyes and over her whole face, and while
so many girls around her, could have hated her for her luck, she sighed
heavily under her rich brocades, and whispered to herself, "others look
so completely happy, why need things be so different with me?"

Presently the arm that encircled her slender waist released its
pressure, and a sad earnest voice, said in a half anxious tone, into the
pretty pink ear:

"Why do you look so worried and fretful, are you tired?"

"No--yes--a little," she answered wearily.

"Let me get you some refreshment," was the solicitous rejoinder. "Come
in here, Miss Edgeworth, see how cosy and appropriate it looks."

Mechanically she yielded, and on the arm of her admirer passed into a
spot which was a veritable artificial summer. It may not seem consistent
with the rest of Honor Edgeworth's character, to say that, though
defiant and independent, with regard to every other influence in life,
she found herself unable to battle against the strange and unpleasant
feeling, that invariably filled her in the company of this man.

She had read and heard of "will power," and of the strength of the moral
character asserting itself, despite the most gigantic efforts on the
part of the victim, and though she was not inclined to raise this petty
instance to the dignity of such wonderful manifestations, it yet savored
of mystery to her, and thrust a repulsive consciousness of her own moral
weakness upon her.

She was a "good girl," in the broadest sense; there was no nest of
social vices inside that fair, honest face; the diplomacy and duplicity
of fashion were unknown to her guileless heart, she was solid worth in
every way, even while she sat under the broad leaves of rare branches,
toying with her silver spoon, and listening to the earnest voice beside
her. The wavy, chestnut braids that bound her shapely head, were natures
own great gift to her, and had never been stowed away in idleness during
the hours of her _deshabille_: the little tide of pink that ebbed and
flowed over her fair face had never lain condensed within box or bottle
upon her dressing-table, her face and form in all their loveliness were
genuine, the double row of white even teeth, that gave a great charm to
her pretty mouth, had never dreamed their early days away in dental
show-cases, nor bathed all night by a toothless maiden's bed-side in a
glass of water; much less did she ever tempt herself to encourage the
authors of those wonderful advertisements that grace our daily papers,
and which introduce to the world, renowned dimple makers, nose refiners,
and other improvers of personal deficiencies.

It was perhaps the freshness of her beauty and the originally of her
manner, that attracted her many satellites around her.

Lady Fullerton asks, "Is not beauty power?" and should I undertake to
interpret the answer of the multitude I could but say--"it is."

There was not one in creation who knew better how to wield his weapons
than did Vivian Standish. Many a time he had smiled inwardly at seeing
the fruitless struggles of his victims to appear unmoved by his winning
ways, but now, for once, he was balancing his precious judgment on a
doubt. He was not too sure, but that this frank, clear, virtuous girl
could read him through. Sometimes he felt uncomfortable. Just now, he
felt as dogged as any ambitious school-boy ever did over an obstinate
theorem in Euclid--here was a problem--there were all the rules for its
clear solution, yet the answer never would come right. Perhaps he was
preparing for another attempt, as he drew his chair closer to her and
looked into her face, while they sat in the spot of all spots, the most
flattering to his designs.

She greeted this new movement with a look of sudden surprise, but,
unheeding, he bent over her slightly and said in his same provokingly
sweet way:

"Why did you wear that cruel little rose-bud to-night, Miss Edgeworth?"

This is the sort of pleasant thing that Honor dislikes: whose memory or
anticipation is always sweeter than the actual experience. She did not
look at him this time, but still, toying with her spoon and glass, she
answered slowly:

"Because--I like it best of all the flowers--"

"On account of its--" interrupted Vivian, and then paused, looked at
her, and waited,

"Yes, exactly," Honor said, looking straight into his deep eyes, this
time. "It is on that very account."

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