Was It Right to Forgive? by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr (classic book list txt) 📕

own duty, to do another duty I know not who for? No. I will not do that. It is very well for Miss Van Hoosen, who has no duties such as I have, to look after the poor Dutch women and children, and the stranger Dutch who come here and who have no friends. I say it is right for Miss Van Hoosen, and for you also, Adriana, if you are not going to marry yourself to some good man. What for do you not marry yourself?"

"Good men are now scarce, Augusta."

"It is now, as it ever was, and always will be; good and bad men, and good and bad women, and as many good as bad. In our family, it is so, is it not? Theodore got himself a very good wife, and I have got myself a very good husband."

"But what of Gertrude?"

"Gertrude does very well. She does not see more faults than she can help. Wives should remember they have eyelids as well as eyes."

"Is Gertrude's husband kind to her?"

"Can I know? If Gertrude has picked up a crooked stick, she does not go about telling everybody so."

"Then there is brother George. He is making money, but you can tell from his letters that he is not happy with his wife."

"I am not sorry for George," answered Augusta. "When you were at college, George came here, and he told my John about his wife. He thought she had money, and she thought he had money, and both of them were mistaken; so--as my John said to me--when the rag doll and the stuffed elephant got married, they found each other out. But John and I married for love; and so must you marry, Adriana."

"There is so much trouble in any marriage, Augusta." And Augusta again waved her hands over her boys and girls, and answered with unspeakable pride: "There are the children! Husbands you must take your chance with; but the little children! You make of them what you will."

"Then you will not join Cousin Alida's club?"

"I will not. John has three clubs; and the money is spent, and the time is spent, and who is the better for it? I have my own club with my boys and girls; and for them, all I can do is too little."

As soon as the short winter afternoon began to close in, Adriana bade her sister "good-bye," and turned westward. She took the quietest streets, and felt a little thrill of vague wonder and fear, as she puzzled her way through Gramercy Park and Madison Square to Fifth Avenue. There she encountered life and bustle, and the confusion of many vehicles of many kinds going northward. As she waited for an opportunity to cross the street, some one came to her side; some one said:

"Yanna! Dear Yanna!"

"Harry!"

The recognition was instant; they met before they knew it, in each other's eyes; hand slipped into hand, and almost unconsciously Harry led her across the street. Then he leaned towards her and whispered:

"At last, dear Yanna! At last!"

"But why not before, Harry? It is your fault."

"Ah, I have been so weak! I have been so wicked, Yanna. Pass it by without a word. No words can explain or justify me. I have nothing to trust to but your gentleness and love. Do you yet love me?"

She looked at him, and he understood the light on her face, and the heavenly smile on her lips. It grew dark, but they knew it not; it grew cold, but they felt it not; the busy thoroughfare became empty and still, but they were aware of nothing but the song in their hearts. What they said to each other they could not afterwards remember at all. In the delicious, stumbling patois of love, so much was said, and so much understood that was beyond their power to reduce to mere syllables. Only, when at last they parted, a great weight had been rolled from each heart.

For Harry had spoken freely, as soon as he found Yanna willing to listen. All his burdens and temptations, his remorses, his resolutions, and his inevitable slips again and again into sensual mire were confessed; and in spite of all, he had been made to feel that life still had the lustre of divine dignity around it, and of divine duty before it. He left Adriana full of hope, and she stood a minute at the door to listen to the clear ring of his steps on the pavement; for steps are words, and Harry's steps were those of a man who has been turned into the right road, confident and purposeful.

Then she ran lightly to her own room. She stood quiet there, with clasped hands and radiant face, and told herself in so many audible words: "He loves me yet! He loves me yet! Oh, fluttering heart, be still! Be still!" And constantly, as she bathed her face and dressed her hair and put on her evening gown, she chided herself as tenderly as a mother the restless babe she loves, saying softly, "Be still! Be still!" And she was lovelier that night than she had been for a long time, for since her parting with Harry at Woodsome, her life had been out of harmony; but now heart and life were in tune, and she could live melodious days once more.

After leaving Adriana, Harry walked rapidly towards his home. He did not think of calling a cab; there was a necessity for motion in his condition, and walking is the natural tranquillizer of mental agitation. He had not gone far before he met Antony Van Hoosen. Now, the young men were still warm friends, though the exigencies of society had kept them more apart than at first seemed necessary. But Harry affected a set of young men outside of Antony's toleration; and their social engagements very rarely brought them together. At this hour, however, Harry was particularly delighted to meet Antony, and as they were in the neighborhood of a good hotel, he urged him to enter.

"Let us dine together, Antony," he said. "I want to tell you something particularly good--for me. I have just left Yanna."

Antony heard him with singular indifference. "Harry," he answered, "I will go with you, for indeed I have something particular to tell you. I wish I could say it was good, but it is not."

"Then do not tell me anything about it, Antony. I am so happy to-night."

"But I ought to tell you. It relates to your sister."

Harry was instantly speechless.

"Will you come back with me to Miss Van Hoosen's? We can reach my room without disturbing the ladies."

"No. If you are not cold, we will walk here. What have you to tell me about Rose?"

"You know that I love her?"

"I have known that a long time."

"Well, every man loves in his own way; and mine is a way you may not understand. However, I cannot live if Rose is long out of my sight; and so I have seen some things--Oh, dear Harry! need I tell you?"

Harry shook his head, and was gloomily silent.

"I saw Rose go into Delmonico's this afternoon, after the matinee. There was a person with her who has often been with her lately--that is, when Rose is without Mrs. Filmer's company."

"Who is he?"

"I do not know him. I have not liked to ask any questions about him. He is tall, with a supple, languid figure. He has the face of a fallen angel, handsome and wicked. I have noticed his eyes particularly, because, though he is dark as a Mexican, the eyes are a calm frosty blue--cold and cruel."

"I know whom you mean. His name is Duval. So Rose was with him to-day?"

"You see what a position this confidence places me in--an informer against the girl I would die for. But I do not speak without good reason. I followed them into the restaurant. They had a bottle of champagne; then this scoundrel rang for another, though it was evident Rose had already taken quite enough."

"Well, Antony? Speak out, man."

"I went up, then, to Rose. I said, 'Miss Filmer, I am sent for you. You must return at once. There is no time to lose.'"

"Well?"

"She trembled, and asked: 'Is my father ill? Has anything happened to Harry? What is the matter, Mr. Van Hoosen?' And I said, 'You had better hasten home, Miss Filmer.'"

"What did Duval say?"

"He bowed and palavered, and got out of the way as quickly as possible. Poor little Rose was sick and white with fear; he understood my meaning well enough. I left Rose at her own door. I did not wish to explain to Mrs. Filmer then. But I must speak to you, Harry, for Rose is in danger. I love her, and will devote my life to her welfare. She loves me, though she will not trust her heart when it tells her so. To-morrow I am going to see your father and mother, and make an offer for your sister's hand. But I find it impossible to point out the danger in which this dear little Rose lives. Yet they should know it, for, oh, Harry! her salvation may depend upon their knowledge, and their willingness that she may be taken out of temptation."

"Can you do this?"

"I can."

"Will you do it?"

"I will. I shall live for her, and her alone."

"Pardon me, Antony, if I suggest that cash may have a great deal to do with this proposal."

"I am rich. I shall spend all I have to save her. I shall take her to Europe for a year. All that love and money can do to make her strong shall be done."

Then Harry let his hand seek Antony's hand, and they understood each other, without words. But Harry was very unhappy and also very angry. His betrothal to Adriana had been interfered with because it was supposed to be inimical to the social interests of his sister; and now the joy of his reconciliation to his love was shadowed by Rose's misconduct. Yet he felt that some steps must be taken at once to prevent the evils which would certainly result from her selfish weakness, if it were unchecked. For, after all, the sin resolved itself into the black one of selfishness; Rose was determined to have the pleasure she desired, though she should tear it through, the hearts of all who loved her, though it should bring her personally only misery and shame.

Such thoughts were natural enough to Harry, and they irritated as well as wounded him. It scarcely needed his mother's look of reproach and querulous question as to "why he had forgotten the dinner hour," to make him speak the truth, with almost brutal frankness.

"Where is father?" he asked, impatiently.

"Your father has been all day hard at work in the Astor Library. He came home perfectly worn out, and had his dinner served in his study. He did not feel able to dress for the table to-night."

"It is perfectly absurd. Father has some duties to his family, I think. For instance, if he would remember he had a daughter. Where is Rose?"

"Rose is with that angelic young person, Miss Van Hoosen. And it is not your place to call your father 'absurd.' Some day, you will be proud of him."

"My dear mother, Rose is not