Cynthia Wakeham's Money

by Anna Katharine Green

  XXII.

  STEEL MEETS STEEL.

  Up to this point Frank had read with an absorption which precluded thereceiving of all outward impressions. But the secret reached, he drew along breath and became suddenly conscious of a lugubrious sound breakingin upon the silence with a gloomy iteration which was anything butcheering.

  The fog-horn was blowing out on Dog Island.

  "I could have done without that accompaniment," thought he, glancing atthe sheets still before him. "It gives me a sense of doom."

  But the fog was thick on the coast and the horn kept on blowing.

  Frank took up the remaining sheets.

  * * * * *

  "Life for me was now at an end indeed, and not for me only, but forEmma. I had not meant to involve her in my fate. I had forgotten herpromise, _forgotten_. But when I saw her lying there I remembered, and asharp pang pierced me for all my devouring rage. But I did not recall mywords, I could not. I had uttered them with a full sense of what theymeant to me, and the scorn with which they were received only deepenedmy purpose to keep the threat I had made. Can you understand such adisposition, and can you continue to love the possessor of it?

  "My father, who was shocked at Emma's fall, knowing better than I didperhaps the real misery which lay behind it, cast me a look which didnot tend to soften my obduracy, and advanced to pick her up. When he hadcarried her to her own room, I went proudly to mine, and such was thedepth of my anger and the obstinate nature of my will that I really feltbetter able to face the future now that I had put myself into a positionrequiring pride and purpose to sustain it. But I did feel some relentingwhen I next saw Emma--such a change was visible in her manner. Meeknesshad taken the place of the merriment which once made the house to ring,and the eye which once sparkled now showed sadness and concern. I didnot, however suspect she had given up anything but freedom, and thoughthis was much, as I very soon began to find, I was not yet by any meansso affected by her devotion, that I could do more than beg her toreconsider her own determination and break a promise from which I wouldbe only too happy to release her.

  "But the answer with which she always met my remonstrances was, 'Yourfate shall be my fate. When it becomes unbearable to us both you willrelease me by releasing yourself.' Which answer always hardened meagain, for I did not wish to be forced to think that the breaking up ofour seclusion rested with me, or that anything but a relenting on myfather's part could make any change in my conduct.

  "Meanwhile that father maintained towards me an air of the utmostindifference. He worked at his experiments as usual, came and wentthrough the sombre house, which was unrelieved now by Emma's once brightsallies and irrepressible laughter, and made no sign that he saw anydifference in it or us. Aunt Lovell alone showed sympathy, and when shesaw that sympathy accomplished nothing, tried first persuasion and thenargument.

  "But she had iron and steel to deal with and she soon ceased her gentleefforts, and as the time of her visit was drawing to a close, returnedagain to those gentle expressions of silent sympathy more natural to hernature; and so the first week passed.

  "We had determined, Emma and I, that no one beside our four selvesshould ever know the secret of our strange behavior. Neighbors mightguess, gossips might discuss it, but no one should ever know why we nolonger showed ourselves in the street, went to any of the socialgatherings of the place, or attended the church from which we had neverbefore been absent. When, therefore, the ball came off and we were notseen there, many were the questions asked, and many were the surmisesuttered, but we did not betray our secret, nor was it for some timeafter this that the people about us awoke to the fact that we no longerleft our home.

  "What happened when this fact was fully realized, I will not pause torelate, for matters of a much more serious nature press upon me and Imust now speak of the bitter and terrible struggle which gradually awokebetween my father and myself. He had as I have already related, shownnothing at first but indifference, but after the first week had passedhe suddenly seemed to realize that I meant what I said. The result was aconflict between us from the effects of which I am still suffering.

  "The first intimation I received of his determination to make me breakmy word came on a Sunday morning. He had been in his room dressing forchurch, and when he came out he rapped at my door and asked if I wereready to go with him.

  "Naturally I flung wide the door and let him see my wrathful figure inits morning dress.

  "'Can you ask,' I cried, 'when you yourself have made it impossible forme to enjoy anything outside of this house, even the breath of fresh airto which all are entitled?'

  "He looked as if he would like to strike me, but he did not--onlysmiled. If I could have known all that lay under that smile, or beenable to fathom from what I knew of my own stubborn nature, the terribledepths which its sarcasm barely suggested!

  "'You would be a fool if you were not so wicked,' was all he said, andshuffled away to my sister's door.

  "In a few minutes he came back.

  "'Hermione,' he cried, 'put on your hat and come directly with me tochurch.'

  "I simply looked at him.

  "'Do you hear?' he exclaimed, stepping into the room and shutting thedoor after him. 'I have had enough of this nonsense, and to-day you goout with me to church or you never shall call me father again.'

  "'Have you been a father to me?' I asked.

  "He shook and quivered and was a picture of rage. I remembered as Ilooked at him, thinking, 'Behold the source of my own temper,' but Isaid nothing, and was in no other way affected by what I saw.

  "'I have been such a father to you as your folly and blindnessdeserved,' he exclaimed. 'Should I continue to treat you according toyour deserts, I would tell you what would lay you in shame at my feet.But I have promised to be silent, and silent will I be, not out ofconsideration for you, but because your punishment will some day be thegreater. Will you give up this whim and go with me, and so let yoursister go also, or will you not?'

  "'I will not.'

  "He showed a sudden change of manner. 'I will ask you the same questionnext Sunday,' said he, and left my presence with his old air ofindifference and absorption. No subject disconnected with his work couldrouse more than a temporary passion in him.

  "He kept his word. Every Sunday morning he came on the same errand tomy door, and every Sunday he went forth alone. During the week days hedid not trouble me. Indeed, I do not know as he thought of me then, oreven of Emma, who had always been dearer to him than I. He was engagedon some new experiment, some vital discovery that filled him withenthusiasm and made every moment passed out of his laboratory a trialand a loss to him. He ate that he might work, he slept that he mightgather new strength and inspiration for the next day. If visitors camehe refused to see them; the one visitor who could have assisted him atthe retort and crucible had been denied the door, and any other was ahindrance. Our troubles, our cares, our schemes, or our attempts tosupply the table and dress ourselves upon the few and fewer dollars henow allowed us, sank into insignificance before the one idea with whichhe was engrossed. I do not think he even knew when we ceased having meatfor dinner. That Emma was growing pale and I desperate did not attracthis attention as much as a speck of dust upon a favorite jar or a crackin one of his miserable tubes.

  "That this deep absorption of his was real and not assumed was madeevident to me the first Sunday morning he forgot to come to my door. Itwas a relief not to have to go through the usual formula, but it alarmedme too. I was afraid I was to be allowed to go my own way unhindered,and I was beginning to feel a softness towards Emma and a longing forthe life of the world, which made me anxious for some excuse to break aresolution which was entailing upon me so much more suffering than I hadanticipated. Indeed, I think if my father had persisted in his practiceand come but two or three Sunday mornings more to my door, that my pridewould have yielded at last, and my feet in spite of me have followed himout of a house that, since it had become my prison, had
become more thanever hateful to me. But he stopped just as a crisis was taking place inmy feelings, and my heart hardened again. Before it could experienceagain the softening effects of Emma's uncomplaining presence the newscame that Dr. Sellick had left the town, and my motive for quitting thehouse was taken from me. Henceforth I felt no more life or hope orambition than if I had been an automaton.

  "This mood received one day a startling interruption. As I was sittingin my room with a book in my hand I felt too listless to read, the dooropened, and my father stood before me. As it was weeks since he hadappeared on a Sunday morning and months since he had showed himselfthere on a week day, I was startled, especially as his expression wasmore eager and impatient than I had ever seen it except when he wasleaning over his laboratory table. Was his heart touched at last? Had hegood news for me, or was he going to show his fatherhood once more byproffering me an invitation to go out with him in a way which my pridewould allow me to accept? I rose in a state of trembling agitation, andmade up my mind that if he spoke kindly I would break the hideous bondswhich held me and follow him quickly into the street.

  "But the words which fell from his lips drove every tender impulse backinto my heart.

  "'Have you any jewels, Hermione? I think I gave your mother some pearlswhen we were married. Have you them? I want them if you have.'

  "The revulsion of feeling was too keen. Quivering with disappointment, Icried out, bitterly:

  "'What to do? To give us bread? We have not had any too much of itlately.'

  "He stared, but did not seem to take in my words.

  "'Fetch the pearls,' he cried; 'I cannot afford to waste time like this;my experiments will suffer.'

  "'And have you no eye, no heart,' I asked, 'for the sufferings of yourdaughters? With no motive but an arbitrary love of power, you robbed meof my happiness. Now you want my jewels; the one treasure I have lefteither in the way of value, or as a remembrance of the mother who lovedme.'

  "Of all this he heard but one word.

  "'Are they valuable?' he asked. 'I had hoped so, but I did not know. Getthem, child, get them. The discovery upon which my fame may rest willyet be made.'

  "'Father, father, you want to sell them,' I screamed. 'My mother'sjewels; my dead mother's jewels!'

  "He looked at me; this protest had succeeded in entering his ears, andhis eye, which had been simply eager, became all at once dangerous.

  "'I do not care whose they were,' he hissed, 'so long as they are nowmine. It is money I want, and money I will have, and if they will get itfor me you had better be thankful. Otherwise I shall have to find someother way to raise it.'

  "I was cowed; he did not say what other way, but I knew by his look Ihad better not drive him into it, so I went to the place where I keptthese sacred relics, and taking them out, laid them in his trembling,outstretched hand.

  "'Are these all?' he asked. And I wondered, for he had never shown theleast shrewdness in any matter connected with money before.

  "'All but a trivial little locket which Emma wears,' said I.

  "'Is it worth much?'

  "'Scarcely five dollars,' I returned.

  "'Five dollars would buy the bit of platinum I want,' he muttered. Buthe did not ask for the locket, for I saw it on Emma's neck the next day.

  "This was the beginning of a fresh struggle. My father begrudged useverything: the food we ate; the plain, almost homely, clothes we wore.He himself wellnigh starved his own body, and when in the midst of anexperiment, his most valuable retort broke in his hand, you could haveheard his shriek of dismay all over the house. The following Sunday hedid not go to church; he no longer had a coat to wear; he had sold hisonly broadcloth suit to a wandering pedlar.

  "Our next shock was the dismissal of the man who had always kept ourgarden in order. Doris would have been sent away also, but that fatherknew this would mean a disorder in the household which might entailinterruption in his labors. He did not dare to leave himself to thetender mercies of his daughters. But her pay was stopped.

  "Meanwhile his discovery delayed. It was money that he needed, he said,more money, much more money. He began to sell his books. In the midst ofthis a stranger came to visit him, and now the real story of my miserybegins."