An Original Belle

by Edward Payson Roe

  LEFT to herself Marian soon threw down the book she tried to read,and thought grew busy with her father's later words. Was there thena knight--a man--somewhere in the world, so unknown to her thatshe would pass him in the street without the slightest premonitionthat he was the arbiter of her destiny? Was there some one, towhom imagination could scarcely give shadowy outline, so real andstrong that he could look a new life into her soul, set all hernerves tingling, and her blood coursing in mad torrents throughher veins? Was there a stranger, whom now she would sweep with acasual glance, who still had the power to subdue her proud maidenhood,overcome the reserve which seemed to reach as high as heaven, andlay a gentle yet resistless grasp, not only on her sacred form, buton her very soul? Even the thought made her tremble with a vagueyet delicious dread. Then she sprung to her feet and threw back herhead proudly as she uttered aloud the words, "If this can ever betrue, my power shall be equal to his."

  A moment later she was evoking half-exultant chords from the piano.These soon grew low and dreamy, and the girl said softly to herself:"I have lived more in two days than in months of the past. Trulyreal life is better than a sham, shallow existence."

  The door-bell rang, and she started to her feet. "Who can know Iam in town?" she queried.

  Fenton Lane entered with extended hand and the words: "I was passingand knew I could not be mistaken in your touch. Your presence wasrevealed by the music as unmistakably as if I had met you on thestreet. Am I an intruder? Please don't order me away under an houror two."

  "Indeed, Mr. Lane, truth compels me to say that I am here in deepretirement. I have been contemplating a convent."

  "May I ask your motive?"

  "To repent of my sins."

  "You would have to confess at a convent. Why not imagine me avenerable father, dozing after a good dinner, and make your firstessay at the confessional?"

  "You tax my imagination too greatly. So I should have to confess;therefore no convent for me."

  "Of course not. I should protest against it at the very altar, andin the teeth of the Pope himself. Can't you repent of your sins insome other way?"

  "I suppose I shall have to."

  "They would be a queer lot of little peccadilloes. I should liketo set them all under a microscope."

  "I would rather that your glass should be a goblet brimmed fromLethe."

  "There is no Lethe for me, Miss Marian, so far as you are concerned."

  "Come, tell me the news from the seat of war," she said, abruptly.

  "This luxurious arm-chair is not a seat of war."

  "Papa has been telling me how Southern girls make all the menenlist."

  "I'll enlist to-morrow, if you ask me to."

  "Oh, no. You might be shot, and then you would haunt me all mylife."

  "May I not haunt you anyway?" said Lane, resolutely, for he haddetermined not to let this opportunity pass. She was alone, and hewould confirm the hope which her manner for months had inspired."Come, Miss Marian," he continued, springing to his feet andapproaching her side, his dark eyes full of fire and entreaty; "youcannot have misunderstood me. You know that while not a soldier Iam also not a carpet-knight and have not idled in ladies' bowers.I have worked hard and dreamed of you. I am willing to do all thata man can to win you. Cowardice has not kept me from the war, butyou. If it would please you I would put on the blue and shouldera musket to-morrow. If you will permit more discretion and time,I can soon obtain a commission as an officer. But before I fightother battles, I wish to win the supreme victory of my life. Whateverorders I may take from others, you shall ever be my superior officer.You have seen this a long time; a woman of your mind could not helpit. I have tried to hope with all a lover's fondness that you gaveme glimpses of your heart also, but of this nothing would satisfya man of my nature but absolute assurance."

  He stood proudly yet humbly before her, speaking with strong,impassioned, fluent utterance, for he was a man who had both thepower and the habit of expression.

  She listened with something like dismay. Her heart, instead ofkindling, grew only more heavy and remorseful. Her whole natureshrunk, while pity and compunction wrung tears from her eyes. Thiswas real life in very truth. Here was a man ready to give up safe,luxurious existence, a career already successful, and face deathfor her. She knew him well enough to be sure that if he could wearher colors he would march away with the first regiment that wouldreceive him. He was not a man to be influenced by little things,but yielded absolutely to the supreme impulses of his life. Ifshe said the word, he would make good his promise with chivalrous,straightforward promptness, facing death, and all that death couldthen mean to him, with a light, half-jaunty courage characteristicof the ideal soldier. She had a secret wonder at herself that shecould know all this and yet be so vividly conscious that what heasked could never be. Her womanly pity said yes; her woman's heartsaid no. He was eager to take her in his arms, to place the kiss oflife-long loyalty on her lips; but in her very soul she felt thatit would be almost sacrilege for him to touch her; since the divineimpulse to yield, without which there can be no divine sanction,was absent.

  She listened, not as a confused, frightened girl, while he spokethat which she had guessed before. Other men had sued, althoughnone had spoken so eloquently or backed their words by such weightof character. Her trouble, her deep perplexity, was not due to amere declaration, but was caused by her inability to answer him.The conventional words which she would have spoken a few days beforedied on her lips. They would be an insult to this earnest man,who had the right to hope for something better. What was scarcelyworse--for there are few emergencies in which egotism is whollylost--she would appear at once to him and to herself in an odiouslight. Her course would be well characterized by the Irish servant'slover, for here was a man who from the very fineness of his nature,if wronged, might easily go to the devil.

  His words echoed her thought, for her hesitation and the visibledistress on her face led him to exclaim, in a voice tense withsomething like agony: "O Marian, since you hesitate, hesitatelonger. Think well before you mar--nay, spoil--my life. For God'ssake don't put me off with some of the sham conventionalities currentwith society girls. I could stand anything better than that. Iam in earnest; I have always been in earnest; and I saw from thefirst, through all your light, graceful disguises, that you were nota shallow, brainless, heartless creature,--that a noble woman waswaiting to be wakened in your nature. Give me time; give yourselftime. This is not a little affair that can be rounded off accordingto the present code of etiquette; it is a matter of life or deathto me. Be more merciful than a rebel bullet."

  She buried her face in her hands and sobbed helplessly.

  He was capable of feeling unknown depths of tenderness, but therewas little softness in his nature. As he looked down upon her, hisface grew rigid and stern. In her sobs he read his answer,--theunwillingness, probably the inability, of her heart to respond tohis,--and he grew bitter as he thought of the past.

  With the cold, quiet tones of one too strong, controlled, andwell-bred to give way violently to his intense anger, he said:"This is a different result from what you led me to expect. Allyour smiles end in these unavailing tears. Why did you smile sosweetly after you understood me, since you had nothing better instore? I was giving you the homage, the choice of my whole manhood,and you knew it. What were you giving me? Why did your eyes drawout my heart and soul? Do you think that such a man as I can existwithout heart and soul? Did you class me with Strahan, who cantake a refusal as he would lose a game of whist? No, you did not.I saw in your very eyes a true estimate of Strahan and all hiskind. Was it your purpose to win a genuine triumph over a man whocared nothing for other women? Why then don't you enjoy it? Youcould not ask for anything more complete."

  "Trample on me--I deserve it," she faltered.

  After a moment's pause, he resumed: "I have no wish to trampleon you. I came here with as much loyalty and homage as ever a manbrought to a woman in any age. I have offered you any test of mylove and
truth that you might ask. What more could a man do? As soonas I knew what you were to me, I sought your father's permissionto win you, and I told you my secret in every tone and glance. Ifyour whole nature shrunk from me, as I see it does, you could havetold me the truth months since, and I should have gone away honoringyou as a true-hearted, honest girl, who would scorn the thought ofdeceiving and misleading an earnest man. You knew I did not belongto the male-flirt genus. When a man from some sacred impulse of hisnature would give his very life to make a woman happy, is it toomuch to ask that she should not deliberately, and for mere amusement,wreck his life? If she does not want his priceless gift, a womanwith your tact could have revealed the truth by one glance, by oneinflection of a tone. Not that I should have been discouraged soeasily, but I should have accepted an unspoken negative long sincewith absolute respect. But now--" and he made a gesture eloquentwith protest and despair.

  "But now," she said, wearily, "I see it all in the light in whichyou put it. Be content; you have spoiled my life as truly as I haveyours."

  "Yes, for this evening. There will be only one less in yourdrawing-room when you return."

  "Very well," she replied, quietly. Her eyes were dry and hot now,and he could almost see the dark lines deepening under them, andthe increasing pallor of her face. "I have only this to say. I nowfeel that your words are like blows, and they are given to one whois not resisting, who is prostrate;" and she rose as if to indicatethat their interview should end.

  He looked at her uneasily as she stood before him, with her pallidface averted, and every line of her drooping form suggesting defeatrather than triumph; yes, far more than defeat--the apathetichopelessness of one who feels himself mortally wounded.

  "Will you please tell me just what you mean when you say I havespoiled your life?" he asked.

  "How should I know? How should anyone know till he has lived outits bitterness? What do you mean by the words? Perhaps you willremember hereafter that your language has been inconsistent as wellas merciless. You said I was neither brainless nor heartless; thenadded that you had spoiled my life merely for one evening. Butthere is no use in trying to defend myself: I should have littleto urge except thoughtlessness, custom, the absence of evilintention,--other words should prove myself a fool, to avoid beinga criminal. Go on and spoil your life; you seem to be wholly bentupon it. Face rebel bullets or do some other reckless thing. Ionly wish to give you the solace of knowing that you have made meas miserable as a girl can be, and that too at a moment when I wasawakening to better things. But I am wasting your valuable time.You believe in your heart that Mr. Strahan can console me with hisgossip to-morrow evening, whatever happens."

  "Great God! what am I to believe?"

  She turned slowly towards him and said, gravely: "Do not use thatname, Mr. Lane. He recognizes the possibility of good in the weakestand most unworthy of His creatures. He never denounces those whoadmit their sin and would turn from it."

  He sprung to her side and took her hand. "Look at me," he pleaded.

  His face was so lined and eloquent with suffering that her own lipquivered.

  "Mr. Lane," she said, "I have wronged you. I am very sorry now.I've been sorry ever since I began to think--since you last called.I wish you could forgive me. I think it would be better for us bothif you could forgive me."

  He sunk into a chair and burying his face in his hands groaned aloud;then, in bitter soliloquy, said: "O God! I was right--I knew I wasnot deceived. She is just the woman I believed her to be. Oh, thisis worse than death!"

  No tears came into his eyes, but a convulsive shudder ran throughhis frame like that of a man who recoils from the worst blow offate.

  "Reproach--strike me, even," she cried. "Anything is better thanthis. Oh, that I could--but how can I? Oh, what an unutterable foolI have been! If your love is so strong, it should also be a littlegenerous. As a woman I appeal to you."

  He rose at once and said: "Forgive me; I fear that I have beenalmost insane,--that I have much to atone for."

  "O Mr. Lane, I entreat you to forgive me. I did admire you; I wasproud of your preference,--proud that one so highly thought ofand coveted by others should single me out. I never dreamt thatmy vanity and thoughtlessness could lead to this. If you had beenill or in trouble, you would have had my honest sympathy, and fewcould have sacrificed more to aid you. I never harbored one thoughtof cold-blooded malice. Why must I be punished as if I had committeda deliberate crime? If I am the girl you believe me to be, whatgreater punishment could I have than to know that I had harmed aman like you? It seems to me that if I loved any one I could sufferfor him and help him, without asking anything in return. I couldgive you honest friendship, and take heart-felt delight in everymanly success that you achieved. As a weak, faulty girl, who yetwishes to be a true woman, I appeal to you. Be strong, that I maybe strong; be hopeful, that I may hope; be all that you can be,that I may not be disheartened on the very threshold of the betterlife I had chosen."

  He took her hand, and said: "I am not unresponsive to your words.I feel their full force, and hope to prove that I do; but there isa tenacity in my nature that I cannot overcome. You said, 'if youloved'--do you not love any one?"

  "No. You are more to me--twice more--than any man except my father."

  "Then, think well. Do not answer me now, unless you must. Is therenot a chance for me? I am not a shadow of a man, Marian. I fearI have proved too well how strong and concentrated my nature is.There is nothing I would not do or dare--"

  "No, Mr. Lane; no," she interrupted, shaking her head sadly, "I willnever consciously mislead a man again a single moment. I scarcelyknow what love is; I may never know; but until my heart promptsme, I shall never give the faintest hope or encouragement of thisnature. I have been taught the evil of it too bitterly."

  "And I have been your remorseless teacher, and thus perhaps havedestroyed my one chance."

  "You are wrong. I now see that your words were natural to one likeyou, and they were unjust only because I was not deliberate. Mr.Lane, let me be your friend. I could give you almost a sister'slove; I could be so proud of you!"

  "There," he said. "You have triumphed after all. I pledge you myword--all the manhood I possess--I will do whatever you ask."

  She took his hand in both her own with a look of gratitude henever forgot, and spoke gladly: "Now you change everything. Oh, Iam so glad you did not go away before! What a sad, sleepless nightI should have had, and sad to-morrows stretching on indefinitely! Iask very much, very much indeed,--that you make the most and bestof yourself. Then I can try to do the same. It will be harderfor you than for me. You bring me more hope than sadness; I havegiven you more sadness than hope. Yet I have absolute faith in youbecause of what papa said to me last night. I had asked him how Icould cease to be what I was, be different, you know, and he said,'Develop the best in your own nature naturally.' If you will dothis I shall have no fears."

  "Yet I have been positively brutal to you to-night."

  "No man can be so strong as you are and be trifled with. I understandthat now, Mr. Lane. You had no sentimentality to be touched, andmy tears did not move you in the least until you believed in myhonest contrition."

  "I have revealed to you one of my weaknesses. I am rarely angry,but when I am, my passion, after it is over, frightens me. Marian,you do forgive me in the very depths of your heart?"

  "I do indeed,--that is, if I have anything to forgive under thecircumstances."

  "Poor little girl! how pale you are! I fear you are ill."

  "I shall soon be better,--better all my life for your forgivenessand promise."

  "Thank God that we are parting in this manner," he said. "I don'tlike to think of what might have happened, for I was in the devil'sown mood. Marian, if you make good the words you have spokento-night, if you become the woman you can be, you will have a powerpossessed by few. It was not your beauty merely that fascinated me,but a certain individuality,--something all your own, which givesyou an influence apparently absolute.
But I shall speak no morein this strain. I shall try to be as true a friend as I am capableof becoming, although an absent one. I must prove myself by deeds,not words, however. May I write to you sometimes? I will directmy letters under the care of your father, and you may show them tohim or your mother, as you wish."

  "Certainly you may, and you will be my first and only gentlemancorrespondent. After what has passed between us, it would beprudery to refuse. Moreover, I wish to hear often of your welfare.Never for a moment will my warm interest cease, and you can see mewhenever you wish. I have one more thing to ask,--please take upyour old life to-morrow, just where you left off. Do nothing hastily,or from impulse. Remember you have promised to make the most andbest of yourself, and that requires you to give conscience andreason fair hearing. Will you also promise this?"

  "Anything you asked, I said."

  "Then good-by. Never doubt my friendship, as I shall not doubtyours."

  Her hand ached from the pressure of his, but the pain was thusdrawn from her heart.

  CHAPTER VI.

  A SCHEME OF LIFE.