Cynthia Wakeham's Money

by Anna Katharine Green

  XXIII.

  A GROWING HORROR.

  "There are some men who fill you from the beginning with a feeling ofrevulsion. Such a one was Antony Harding. When he came into the parlorwhere I sat, I felt it difficult to advance and greet him with thenecessary formalities, so forcibly did I shrink from his glance, hissmile, his bow of easy assurance. Not that he was ugly of feature, orpossessed of any very distinguishing marks in face or form to render himpersonally repulsive. He was what some might have called good-looking,and many others a gentlemanly-appearing man. But to me he was simplyrevolting, and I could not then or now tell why, for, as far as I know,he has never done anything incompatible with his standing as a gentlemanand a man of family and wealth.

  "He had some claim upon my father, and desired very much to see him. I,who could not dispute that claim, was going to call my father, when Mr.Harding stopped me, thinking, I really believe, that he would not see meagain, and I was forced, greatly against my will, to stand and answersome half-dozen innocent enough questions, while his eyes roamed over myfeatures and took in the scar I turned towards him as a sort of defence.Then he let me go, but not before I saw in him the beginning of thatfever which made me for a while hate the very name of love.

  "With a sense of disgust quite new to me, I rushed from the room to thelaboratory. The name by which he had introduced himself was a strangeone to me, and I had no idea my father would see him. But as soon as Iuttered the word Harding, the impatience with which he always met anyinterruption gave way to a sudden and irresistible joy, and, jumping upfrom his seat, he cried:

  "'Show him up! show him up. He is a rich man and interested inchemistry. He cannot but foresee the fame which awaits the man whobrings to light the discovery I am seeking.'

  "'He says he has some claim on you,' I murmured, anything but pleased atthis prospect of seeing a man whose presence I so disliked, inveigledinto matters which might demand his reappearance in the house.

  "'Claims? claims? Perhaps he has; I cannot remember. But send him up; Ishall soon make him forget any claims he may have.'

  "I did as my father bade me. I sent the smiling, dapper, disagreeablyattentive man to the laboratory, and when this was done, went to thewindow and threw it up with some vague idea of cleansing the room froman influence which stifled me.

  "You may imagine then with what a sense of apprehension I observed thatmy father fairly glowed with delight when he came to the supper-table.From being the half-sullen, half-oblivious companion who had latelychilled our board and made it the scene of anything but cheer orcomfort, he had brightened at once into a garrulous old man, ready withjests and full of condescending speeches in regard to his greatexperiments. Emma, to whom I had said nothing, looked her innocentpleasure at this, and both of us started in amazement when he suddenlyturned towards me, and surveyed me with something like interest andpleasurable curiosity.

  "'Why do you look at me like that?' I could not help saying. 'I shouldthink you had never seen me before, father.'

  "'Perhaps I never have,' he laughed. Then quite seriously: 'I waslooking to see if you were as handsome as Mr. Harding said you were. Hetold me he had never seen so beautiful a woman in his life.'

  "I was shocked; more than that, I was terrified; I half-rose from thetable, and forgetting everything else which made my life a burden to me,I had some wild idea of rushing from the house, from the town, anywhereto escape the purpose I perceived forming itself in my father's mind.

  "'Father,' I cried, with a trembling in my tones that was not common tothem, even in the moments of my greatest displeasure; 'I hate that man,and abominate the very idea of his presuming to admire me. Do not evermention him to me again. It makes my very soul turn sick.'

  "It was an unwise speech; it was the unwisest speech I could have made.I felt this to be so the moment I had spoken, and stole a look of secretdismay at Emma, who sat quite still and helpless, gazing, in silentconsternation, from my father to myself.

  "'You will hate no one who can help me perfect my experiments,' heretorted. 'If I command you to do so, you must even love him, though wehave not got so far as that yet.'

  "'I will never love anybody again,' I answered bitterly. 'And I wouldnot love this man if your discoveries and my own life even hung uponit.'

  "'You would not?' He was livid now. 'Well, we shall see. He is cominghere to dinner to-morrow, and if you dare to show him anything but therespect due to an honored guest you will live to rue it as you havenever rued anything yet.'

  "Threats that are idle on some lips are anything but idle on ours, as Ithink you have already begun to perceive. I therefore turned pale andsaid no more, but all night the tormenting terror was upon me, and whenthe next day came I was but little fitted to sustain the reputation forbeauty which I had so unfortunately earned from a distasteful man's lipsthe day before.

  "But Antony Harding was not one to easily change his first impressions.He had made up his mind that I was beautiful, and he kept to thatopinion to the last. I had dressed myself in my most expensive but leastbecoming gown, and I wore my hair in a way to shock the taste of mostmen. But I saw from the first moment that his eyes fell on my face thatthis made no difference to him, and that I must take other means todisillusionize him. So then I resorted to a display of stupidity. I didnot talk, and looked, if I looked at all, as if I did not understand.But he had seen glimpses of brightness in me the day before, and thisruse succeeded no better than the other. He even acted as if he admiredme more as a breathing, sullen image than as a living, combative woman.

  "My father, who watched us as he never had watched anything before butrising bubbles of gas or accumulating crystals, did not show thedispleasure I feared, possibly because he saw that I was failing in allmy endeavors; and when the meal over, he led the way to the parlor, heeven smiled upon me in a not altogether unfriendly way. I felt a sinkingof the heart when I saw that smile. Better to me were his frowns, forthat smile told me that, love or no love, liking or no liking, I was tobe made the bait to win this man's money for the uses of chemistry.

  "Walking steadfastly into the parlor, I met the stranger's admiring eye.

  "'You would not think,' I remarked, 'that my life at present wasenclosed within these four walls.'

  "It was the first sentence I had voluntarily addressed him, and it musthave struck him as a very peculiar one.

  "'I do not understand what you mean,' he returned, with that unctuoussmile which to me was so detestable. 'Something interesting, I have nodoubt.'

  "'Very interesting,' I dryly rejoined. 'I have taken a vow never toleave this house, and I mean to keep it.'

  "He stared at me now in some apprehension, and my heart gave a bound ofdelight. I had frightened him. He thought I was demented.

  "My father, seeing his look of astonishment, but not knowing what I hadsaid, here advanced and unconsciously made matters worse by remarking,with an effort at jocularity:

  "'Don't mind what Hermione says; for a smart girl and a good one, shesometimes talks very peculiarly.'

  "'I should think so,' my companion's manner seemed to assert, but hegave a sudden laugh, and made some observation which I scarcely heard inmy fierce determination to end this matter at once.

  "'Do you not think,' I persisted, 'that a woman who has doomed herselfto perpetual seclusion has a right to be peculiar?'

  "'A woman of such beauty possesses most any rights she chooses toassert,' was his somewhat lame reply. He had evidently received a shock,and was greatly embarrassed.

  "'I laughed low to myself, but my father, comprehending as in a flashwhat I was attempting, turned livid and made me a threatening gesture.'

  "'I fear,' said he, 'that you will have to excuse my daughter forto-night. The misfortune which has befallen her has soured her temper,and this is not one of her amiable days.'

  "I made a curtsey deep as my disdain. 'I leave you to the enjoyment ofyour criticisms,' I exclaimed, and fled from the room in a flutter ofmingled satisfaction and fear.

 
"For though I had saved myself from any possible persecution on the partof Mr. Harding, I had done it at the cost of any possible reconciliationbetween my father and myself. And I was not yet so hardened that I couldcontemplate years of such life as I was then living without a pang ofdread. Alas! if I had known what I was indeed preparing for myself, andhow much worse a future dwelt in his mind than any I had contemplated!

  "Emma, who had been a silent and unobtrusive witness to what hadoccurred, soon followed me to my room.

  "'What have you done?' she asked. 'Why speak so to a stranger?'

  "'Father wants me to like him; father wants me to accept his attentions,and I detest him. I abhor his very presence in the house.'

  "'But----'

  "'I know he has only been here but twice; but that is enough, Emma; heshall not come here again with any idea that he will receive the leastwelcome from me.'

  "'Is he a person known to father? Is he----'

  "'Rich? Oh, yes; he is rich. That is why father thinks him an eligibleson-in-law. His thousands would raise the threatened discovery into afact.'

  "'I see. I pity you, Hermione. It is hard to disappoint a father in hisdearest hopes.'

  "I stared at her in sudden fury.

  "'Is that what you are thinking of?' I demanded, with recklessimpetuosity. 'After all the cruel disappointment he has inflicted uponme----'

  "But Emma had slipped from the room. She had no words now with which tomeet my gusts of temper.

  "A visit from my father came next. Though strong in my resolve not to beshaken, I secretly quaked at the cold, cruel determination in his face.A man after all is so much more unrelenting than a woman.

  "'Hermione,' he cried, 'you have disobeyed me. You have insulted myguest, and you have shaken the hopes which I thought I had a right toform, being your father and the author of your being. I said if you didthis you should suffer, but I mean to give you one more chance. Mr.Harding was startled rather than alienated. If you show yourself infuture the amiable and sensible woman which you can be, he will forgetthis foolish ebullition and make you the offer his passion inspires.This would mean worldly prosperity, social consideration, and everythingelse which a reasonable woman, even if she has been disappointed inlove, could require. While for me--you cannot know what it would be forme, for you have no capability for appreciating the noble study to whichI am devoted.'

  "'No,' I said, hard and cold as adamant, 'I have no appreciation for astudy which, like another Moloch, demands, not only the sacrifice of theself-respect, but even the lives of your unhappy children.'

  "'You rave,' was his harsh reply. 'I offer you all the pleasures oflife, and you call it immolation. Is not Mr. Harding as much of agentleman as Dr. Sellick? Do I ask you to accept the attentions of aboor or a scape-grace? He is called a very honorable man by those whoknow him, and if you were ten times handsomer than you are, ten timesmore amiable, and had no defect calculated to diminish the regard ofmost men, you would still be scarcely worthy to bear the name of sowealthy, honorable, and highly esteemed a young man.'

  "'Father, father!' I exclaimed, scarcely able to bear from him thisallusion to my misfortune.

  "'Why he has taken such a sudden, and, if I may say it, violent fancyto you, I find it hard to understand myself. But he has done this, andhe has not scrupled to tell me so, and to intimate that he would likethe opportunity of cultivating your good graces. Will you, then--I askit for the last time--extend him a welcome, or must I see my hopesvanish, and with them a life too feeble to survive the disappointmentwhich their loss must occasion.'

  "'I cannot give any sort of welcome to this man,' I returned. 'If I did,I would be doing him a wrong, as well as you and myself. I dislike him,father, more than I can make you understand. His presence is worse thandeath to me; I would rather go to my coffin than to his arms. But if Iliked him, if he were the beau-ideal of my dreams, could I break the vowI made one day in your presence? This man is not Dr. Sellick; do notthen seek to make me forget the oath of isolation I have taken.'

  "'Fool! fool!' was my father's furious retort. 'I know he is not Dr.Sellick. If he were I should not have his cause to plead to _you_.'

  "How nearly his secret came out in his rage. 'If I could make youunderstand; make you see----'

  "'You make me see that I am giving you a great and bitterdisappointment,' I broke in. 'But it only equalizes matters; you havegiven me one.'

  "He bounded to my side; he seized my arm and shook it.

  "'Drop that foolish talk,' he cried. 'I will hear no more of it, nor ofyour staying in the house on that account or any other. You will go outto-morrow. You will go out with Mr. Harding. You will----'

  "'Father,' I put in, chill as ice, 'do you expect to carry me out inyour arms?'

  "He fell back; he was a small man, my father, and I, as you know, amlarge for a woman.

  "'You vixen!' he muttered, 'curses on the day when you were born!'

  "'That curse has been already pronounced,' I muttered.

  "He stood still, he made no answer, he seemed to be gathering himselftogether for a final appeal. Had he looked at me a little longer; had heshown any sympathy for my position, any appreciation for my wrongs, orany compunction for the share he had taken in them, I might have shownmyself to have possessed some womanly softness and latent gentleness.But instead of that he took on in those few frightful moments such alook of cold, calculating hate that I was at once steeled and appalled.I hardly knew what he said when he cried at last:

  "'Once! twice! thrice! Will you do what I desire, Hermione?'

  "I only knew he had asked something I could not grant, so I answered,with what calmness I could, in the old formula, now for some months goneinto disuse, 'I will not,' and sank, weary with my own emotions, into achair.

  "He gave me one look--I shall never forget it,--and threw up his armswith what sounded like an imprecation.

  "'Then your sin be upon your own head!' he cried, and without anotherword left the room.

  "I was frightened; never had I seen such an expression on mortal facebefore. And this was my father; the man who had courted my mother; whohad put the ring upon her finger at the altar; who had sat at her dyingbed and smiled as she whispered: 'For a busy man, you have always been agood husband to me.' Was this or that the real man as he was? Had thesedepths been always hidden within him, or had I created them there by myhardness and disobedience? I will never know."