Book: Honor Edgeworth

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"My mind is wandering; I am not a school-boy now."

The doctor knew there was a recognition, and taking the burning hand in
his, he said tenderly:

"Yes, Nicholas Bencroft, we will be school-boys again if you like. Those
were happy days; let us go over them together once more."

A strange, sad expression flitted across the invalid's face. He turned
completely round and peered into the face of his companion. Then
stretching out both feverish white hands, he cried out:

"Yes, thank God! Elersley, it's you; you have come just in time."

"Open the window and let me have a breath of fresh air," said the sick
man after their greetings were over. "I have something to tell you that
is weighing me down with grief, and promise me, dear old fellow, that
you will leave no stone unturned to do the right things, that I will
point out to you presently."

"If it is in human power, Bencroft, how can you doubt the eagerness of
one old chum to serve another?"

"But I have done an awful wrong and you may loathe me and desert me when
you see me self-condemned."

The despairing tones of the weak voice touched every sympathetic chord
in the heart of his listener.

"I don't care what you may have done," he cried, enthusiastically, "let
me help you all I can, you will not ask an impossibility I know."

The invalid heaved a labored sigh, and began his story.

"If I knew I had yet a year of health and life before me, I would not
trouble any one to undo the black and dishonorable knot, that these
guilty hands have tied, but I know too well that but little strength is
left me. To begin at the beginning, Guy," he said, looking eagerly into
the kind face of his listener, "boys make foolish attachments at school,
that they sometimes regret all their lives. This, as you know, was my
misfortune. Whatever diabolical attraction there was in that one man for
me, I never could tell. All you fellows ridiculed me for it, but some
evil fascination, though I did not so qualify it at that time, held me
to him in spite of myself. The rest of you, wiser than I, learned to
look upon his handsome face and polished manners as a clever mask, but I
was blinded and could not see like the rest. You know how many foolish
acts I did during those college years to serve him. Oh! if I had only
known then that I was laying the foundation of my future misery with my
own willing hands," and the speaker's large eyes flashed with a hatred
and defiance that made his plain face look grand and handsome.

"I left school a year before my father died, and I had just become
initiated in his business at the time of his demise. I admit it was
rather a heavy undertaking for one so young as I was then, to continue
the extensive business my father had so successfully carried on for
years.

"But I was encouraged by hopeful relatives and did not myself dread any
untoward consequences. Things went on quite smoothly, and I was making
money fast, when one day I was nearly stunned to death, on seeing my old
college chum walk in the office door. He looked handsomer than ever and
greeted me very cordially, with just a touch of the old condescension in
his manner. I was, of course, delighted to see him. We talked over old
days freely and familiarly. Finally I saw the drift of his visit. He
represented to me that he had invested largely, at the advice of some
friends, in the lands of the great North-West, but had lost a great deal
by the speculation. In his despair, the first friend he thought of was
myself. He got around me in his old way, and before he left my office
that morning I had loaned him, madman that I was, the sum of five
thousand dollars, without any question whatever of security. He swore to
me that I might rely on him to deal honestly with me, and, blinded by
the old infatuation, I gave him a cheque for the amount and sent him
away contented. Give me a drink, Guy, and fix up my pillows, please."
The young doctor did these things as gently as a woman, and without
interrupting the strain of confidence, sat down patiently again and
resumed his listening attitude.

"Months glided by," continued the invalid, "and no one was any the wiser
of the rash act I had committed, but now that I had leisure to repent,
it worried me greatly, and I could not shake off the depression it
caused. The time was approaching when a heavy payment would fall due and
I was in daily agony, waiting for the remittance of my loan, but,
needless to say, it never came. I wrote to the address he had left me,
but no answer was forthcoming.

"Within a few days of the date on which I had to meet this heavy
payment, the load of anxiety that pressed upon me was suddenly lightened
by the sudden re-appearance of my friend in my office. His smiles
succeeded in reassuring me once more, and in breathless suspense, I
drank in every word he uttered. He spoke of a great many unnecessary
things first, and then concluded by saying in the coolest manner
possible:

"'I fear you will be a little disappointed about your money, but I will
not be able to pay you for some time yet.'

"I stood petrified at his audacity. My first impulse was to seize him by
the throat and pay myself in blood, but when I looked at his handsome
face my determination vanished. He looked curiously at me in return, and
asked in a tone like one who is feeling his way:

"'Are you safe in your business?'

"'Good God!' I cried, exasperated, 'I was until I saw your face. You
will be my ruin.'

"He seemed to look sorry all at once, then brightening a little he said:

"'There is only one way in which I can help you, but you must lend a
hand yourself.'

"'What is it?' I cried, eagerly, hopefully.

"'I am going to be married,' he answered gravely, 'to a wealthy heiress,
and as soon as her money is in my possession, I will pay you back your
own.'

"There was nothing repulsive to me in this prospect. I was awake only to
the vital interests of the welfare of my mother and family, that
depended on my faithful discharge of the duties of my responsible
position.

"Seizing him eagerly by the arm, I asked him, 'When will she marry you?'

"'There's the rub,' he answered perplexedly. 'When do you want the
money?'

"'I must choose between my money and absolute ruin on Thursday,' I said,
'and this is Tuesday; I leave the rest to your honor and your heart.'

"'Well, the case is this,' he said, looking at me fixedly, 'she will not
marry me in her own town; we will therefore take a trip elsewhere, but
the difficulty is, I don't know yet where to go. If, however'--and he
leaned on the railing of my desk and looked at me with a searching
glance,--'if you want your money badly you can have it in this way:
There is a small vacant house, distant some miles from her residence,
and thither we could drive at any time. Why could'nt you, robed as a
curate, perform the marriage ceremony, and secure your money? We could
be properly married at any other time, though you are as good a one to
tie the knot as any other.'

"The villain looked at me steadily. He was turning his old power of
fascination to account. What was the whole blighted life of this
unfortunate heiress to the ruin and disgrace that my failure would bring
down on myself, my mother and sisters. I did not hesitate, with this
thought uppermost in my mind.

"'I will do this thing,' I said determinedly, 'whatever it costs me.'

"He directed me accordingly to leave Montreal, the seat of my business,
in the morning and reach the little village in the townships, where his
other victim lived, before noon. We would meet there, he would drive me
out to the parsonage, _pro tem_, and give it a look of habitation before
bringing his bride there. We purchased a few dilapidated pieces of
furniture from neighboring farmers and laid our little plot
successfully. It surprised me to think of him as capable of doing such a
villainous thing, and looking so calm and collected all the time. He
smoked inveterately, and occasionally sang or whistled some careless
tune, as though his heart felt not a feather-weight of care or sin. In
the evening I was installed in the vacant house, with no living creature
near but the great black dog I had brought with me from home, and who
had always followed me for years, everywhere I went. However, I stowed
even him into a dark recess, that was guarded by a little rickety door
that fastened with a rusty lock. It was a black awful night, nature gave
vent to her just indignation in every way I sat there, feeling already
guilty and remorseful, until near nine o'clock. Then hearing the roll of
a distant carriage, I tried to busy myself around, and look as
domesticated as possible under the circumstances. I thought I should
give up and lose all at the sight of the pretty, innocent, trustful
child for whom he had planned this hideous deception. But I was as
pitiable a victim myself as she, and the thought of my impending ruin
drove every feeling of humanity out of my heart. We began the mock
ceremony, slowly and solemnly. We had just reached the most critical
part when a great flash of lightning leaped in at the broken window,
stunning both of us and prostrating the girl. The candle went black out,
leaving us in total darkness. When I recovered from the shock, the noise
and elemental din were such that I could distinguish nothing. I waited a
moment or two and then spoke. I received no answer. Half maddened, I got
up and struck a fresh light, and looked around me. The traitor, the
doubly-dyed villain had gone, he had taken the horse, and there was not
a trace of him left. He had secured the unfortunate girl's money through
the instrumentality of one who had violated every principle of honor and
justice, to save the name and social standing of those who were
dependent on him. I suppose I did not deserve to die then. I was given
days and nights of endless duration in which to live over and over
again, the agony and despair of that bitter experience. What was I to
do? I had not secured my money, but I had this additional misfortune on
my conscience: I had wrecked the life of a fair young girl, and had the
hitherto spotless page of my dealings with my fellow-creatures, stamped
with a foul indelible stain, that cried shame and retribution on my
whole generation. I fled--of course--when the hasty realization of my
misdeeds forced itself into my mind. I was frantic and desperate as I
tried to make my way through the thicket, and at last on arriving at the
village, I took the midnight train and travelled to a town in the State
of Maine. From this place I wrote to my creditors, confessing my
financial difficulties, and begging of them not to seek me out, nor take
any further interest in me, as I had resolved to begin my blighted life
over again, in a strange land among strange people. I tried O, Elersley!
God knows how hard, to earn honest bread, but I did not deserve success,
and so God refused to bless my labor. I left Maine, and came here to New
York, two years ago. I turned my hand to everything, but the bitter
sting of misfortune was at the bottom of all. I tried my pen, recently,
for my limbs seemed incompetent for any active service, but sitting here
in this little narrow room, through the long night, trying to invent
some gay little snatch of fiction out of the store of a mind so crushed
and oppressed, was too bitter a mockery to last very long. My fair
fashionable heroines looked at me in my dreams with eyes blood-shot and
revengeful, saying, 'This is what you have brought me to.' For I
suppose, Elersley, that girl never did a day's good since. Her fate has
been constantly preying on my mind. I have spent a life of wretched
expiation already in this world, God only knows what awaits me in the
next. I have studiously avoided the sex I have outraged by this deed,
feeling myself an outcast and a traitor in their presence. I have turned
my back on the few haunts of pleasure that were open to me, for the
sound of my own voice in gaiety, frightened and reproached me. As for
_him_ Elersley, though I have not seen him, nor heard of him, since, yet
I know he is revelling in the luxury of his ill-gotten wealth."

The sick man stopped a moment, and let the tired lids droop languidly
over the dark eyes, then opening them again, he looked full into Guy's
pale face. When he resumed his voice was nervous and weak.

"You have now the truthful story of my woe," he said, brokenly, "are you
still willing to help me?"

The question brought Elersley back from his wanderings.

"Do you tell me truthfully that this is the villany of the boy we
pampered so at school?"

"That is the story of Vivian Standish's cowardly conduct," said
Bencroft, in a tone of deep resentment.

"Good Heavens!" muttered Guy, "who can tell what more he has been able
to do? Give me your hand Bencroft. As you have been the dupe of a
blackguard who disguised his villany under the mask of friendship, I
will stand to you. Will you allow me to write down this confession over
your own signature, lest a nuncupative testimony be not sufficient to
condemn him. We will call in Mrs. Pratt to witness the signing of the
paper." Guy's suggestion was immediately followed out. The invalid
grasped the pen with wonderful strength, and signed his name in a firm
legible hand to the document. Mrs. Pratt, looking as dignified as the
occasion required, affixed her mark, and so did the widow Brady, who
just happened to "drop in." Guy rose and looked at his watch. It was
past eleven now, and he had still other duties to attend to before
keeping his word with Mrs. Belford.

"Are you going," the invalid asked impatiently, making an effort to rise
in his narrow bed. "Look here Elersley," he cried, "I want to thank you,
to praise you, if I could, but my poor voice is shattered and weak. If I
could only crawl on my knees before you in gratitude, how gladly I would
do it, but I will never leave this poor little home of mine alive; my
heart is broken and my spirit is worn out. Only tell me you will search
the world for the pretty French girl he called 'Fifine,' and tell her
the story of my life, my grief and remorse. Punish her deceiver as he
deserves and come to my lonely grave at the last and whisper to me that
retribution has come. Until then I cannot rest. Oh Guy! there is no
misery like the misery of a life whose dark shadows haunt it's victim
perpetually. Look at her!--there she is now--oh! so angry and sullen;
ugh!--she is cursing me--threatening me--tell her, for God's sake, Guy,
tell her to spare the sick, wasted man--see--she is coming nearer to
me--save me--save me--" and in wild shrieks and tossings, Nicholas
Bencroft plunged back again into the mad delirium of the fever.



CHAPTER XXIX.


"Love is a great transformer."
--_Shakespeare._

The reader must understand what it is to experience sensations such as
flitted through Guy Elersley's breast at this period of his life's
_denouement_. Any of us who have fallen in with the tide of the great
living world, know that the draughts of gall and the drops of nectar
reach our lips from the same chalice: our noblest love has often been
the parent of our most sinful hatred, and we have cursed in despairing
tones the very scenes, days, persons and associations that once
constituted the fondest memories of our hearts.

We have a great antithetical existence before us, but the beauty of
experience can only be seen by the backward glance, 'tis when we turn
our sad and tear-dimmed eyes to look over our bended shoulders at the
thorny way that bears the impress of our weary feet, that we can feel
what a grand and salutary prayer our lips might make by substituting the
murmur and the cry of pain by a holy accent which should be a "fiat."

The strain of mournful confidence that had passed between these reunited
friends brought its own bitterness to Guy Elersley's heart. How
unfortunate it was that on the eve of his departure from his former
home, Vivian Standish should have been the one of all others he had
trusted with his little message of love!

Guy passed over in silent, painful review, the details of his recent
career. How well he remembered the pain and disappointment that had
driven him away from Ottawa city.

He had thought once that such a conflict of emotions would kill a
stronger man than he, but

"Nothing in the world beside,
Is stronger than the heart when tried."

To begin a new life on the wreck of an old one is a very hard and
painful task, and one that Guy Elersley, above every other living
creature, would never have attempted unless when influenced by so strong
and pushing and stimulating a power as the love of a good woman--this
alone, it was that worked reformation in Guy Elersley: from
contemplating her pure and noble soul, he had been seized with an
ambition to grow like her, her word and example sickened him of his old
pursuits until he wondered and wept over the sacrifice he had so
heedlessly made of his youth and character.

He left the scene of his temptations, and in close, quiet study in the
great, stirring city of New York, he slowly, but surely and steadily
rebuilt the wreck and ruin of his younger days. He had devoted himself
once before to the study of medicine, but had given it up in a moment of
foolish frivolity for an occupation far less worthy, but now he returned
to his volumes of science with a vow of perseverance on his lips and a
dogged determination in his heart.

He had been fortunate enough to form the acquaintance of Dr. Belford,
who, taking a fancy to the studious boy, offered to receive him under
his special charge and instruct him more fully in the profession he had
adopted.

Guy attributed each new phase of luck that overtook him now to the same
unseen power which seemed to sway his life of late. Under Dr. Belford he
worked diligently and well and finished the career in medicine he had so
recklessly interrupted before for other pursuits.

Through all the trials and difficulties of his new life, Guy felt
himself sustained by a lingering hope that seemed to buoy him up against
every depression, and thus for many long months he toiled assiduously
under the influence of that shallow hope until each day seemed to prove
to him more clearly than another, that all the best endeavors of a
lifetime cannot restore a trust once broken, or a confidence once
shattered.

Even this bitter realization he strove to gather into his resignation;
he had grown prematurely wise and learned, and had taught himself to
accept in submission the apparently unjust decree of destiny.

But sometimes when he came home tired and weary at nightfall and laid
his head, full of aching thoughts, on his pillow to rest, capricious
fate released him from his skeptic views of life; the hard lines faded
from around his handsome mouth, and a slow smile, as of old, crept back
there from its exile, for when he was tired or sad, a fair vision
invariably stood beside him and smoothed away the traces of care from
his face. He could feel the velvety touch of her dainty hands, and see
the beauty of her consoling smile whenever he closed his eyes in a weary
doze on the reality of his present life, but when he raised his lids the
spell broke suddenly, and New York and Ottawa were a hopeless distance
of cruel miles apart.

He had never once doubted that Vivian Standish would deliver his parting
message, and the only bitterness of his better life had been her
silence, cold and cruel, after that appeal his heart had made, before
leaving. But now the thought struck him all at once: may be she had
never received this little messenger of his devotion. Could any man so
base as Vivian Standish had proved himself to be, commit, by the merest
chance, an honest or a just action? He doubted it; at least he gave
himself the benefit of the new uncertainty, and resolved to work out
this intricate problem to its bitter end or die in the attempt.

* * * * *

"Because I love you," said the low sweet voice of Vivian Standish, as he
paced very slowly, with Honor Edgeworth, by his side, up and down
through the crowd that had assembled on Carder's Square, to enjoy the
excellent music of the Governor-General's Foot Guards' Band which was
filling the evening air with its dreamy strains.

These two, were like every other couple present, in a crowd and yet
isolated: the "band night" is one, so full of generous encouragement, to
the growing sentiment of our young city, that one is forced into an
appreciation of its benefits, whether one is inclined or not.

Long before the appointed hour for playing, animated couples form a
solemn procession, along the streets and grounds which surround our
dignified "Drill Shed," but it is just as the twilight begins to draw
itself into the corners of the far-off sky, and over the half distinct
gables, and chimney tops of the imposing buildings that rear up their
solemn spires, against the sky, that the suggestive strains of a "Blue
Alsatian," or "Loved and Lost" act, powerfully as a third agent of
affinity, in bringing the hitherto shy and reticent couples nearer than
ever, and in linking the obstinate little hands of a moment before,
firmly in that of the love-sick adorer.

Every one goes to hear the band, big and little, men and women, young,
and old, though, what old people, and little brothers or sisters want
there, is more than half the "grown up" sons and daughters can tell.

It is all well enough to coax your uninteresting little brother of
fifteen, with a double supply of sponge cake at tea, if you have no one
else in view to escort you to the "band," but why in the name of all
that is provoking, does he not know, that his duty is done, when he is
supplanted by some one's bigger brother, who has a moustache and smokes
cigars.

Honor Edgeworth had no unsophisticated youthful kin, to try their
clinging propensities on her, her "aunt Jean" brought her everywhere,
and everywhere they went, they found Vivian Standish. It gratified the
old lady immensely to see how Honor "took" among her friends, it
gratified her, in proportion, as it stung, a great many mature young
ladies, who rather disliked, in any emphatic way, to see a new source of
attraction deposited in their midst.

Ottawa has come to a deplorable state of depression, with regard to
"matrimonial transactions;" it is now of vital importance to young
ladies, who have an ambition to distinguish themselves at the altar of
Hymen, that they take "masculine tastes," as the axis around which is to
revolve, in graceful motion, the actions of their daily lives; but for
this no one need think of censuring Ottawa's noble women, their conduct
is not so servile or dependent as the unfair critic would like to paint
it. We must not forget, the truth of the little by-word, that
"circumstances alter cases," what is perfectly justifiable in Ottawa
would be "abominably atrocious" in many other Canadian cities.

Every one knows, that in the capital of our splendid Dominion, there is
the finest collection of young men, that creation can afford--they are
numerous, handsome, wealthy, sensible, specimens of what youth should
be, (in their own opinion), and with the knowledge of all their
qualities combined, these precious creatures, are just conceited enough,
to make sure, that there will always be, at least one for each in the
whole city, who will appreciate such a display of accomplishments and
qualities, as they monopolize.

One can easily understand therefore, how flattered a girl must feel,
even, though she is the daughter of a wealthy father, and enjoys a
comfortable home, when one of these distinguished beings comes to invade
her heart, with his abundance of personal charms and scarcity of
personal wealth; some girls never survive it; they die of ecstatic
emotion in a week, and are consigned to a premature grave; others
outlive it into the practical phases of wedded life, to the intense
mortification of their husbands.

We will now return to the groups of unfettered maidens, from Upper Town,
Centre Town, Sandy Hill and Lower Town, that are enlivening the band
scene to-night, many have given Honor Edgeworth, a pardonable word of
very reserved criticism, of course they know her numerous advantages,
men spoke of them right to their faces, but that never made them feel
badly; who ever met a girl yet who felt the least put out, if one rival
of hers, had a dozen admirers or more to her none?

But Honor was most undeserving of all the attention she received, for
she neither appreciated the gallant endeavors of her male admirers to
make themselves agreeable to her, nor cared an iota for the jealousies
or slighting remarks that passed the lips of her girl contemporaries.

It was Jean d'Alberg who saw it all, and feasted maliciously on the
"sour grapes" looks and words of Honor's less fortunate acquaintances.
Honor had hoped that Vivian Standish would not join them that evening,
for she amused herself as well with a great many others, and even found
him uninteresting at times, but Aunt Jean would not support her at all
here. She had assured herself long ago that Vivian and Honor were well
made and mated, and that nothing could be more harmonious than their
union. With this idea uppermost, she did everything in her power (which
was a great deal) to throw them together, and she had not made any
mistake, as far as her calculations of the man's character went--she was
perfectly right in imagining that he was one who knew thoroughly how to
"improve an opportunity."

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