The morning following the great Goddard ball at Wyoming, found Edith much better, greatly to the surprise of every one.
She was quite weak, as was but natural after such a shock to her system, both physically and mentally; but she had slept very quietly through the night, after the housekeeper had gone to her and thrown the protection of her presence around her.
At Emil Correlli's request, the physician had remained in the house all night, in case he should be wanted; and when he visited her quite early in the morning, he expressed himself very much gratified to find her so comfortable, and said she would do well enough without any further medical treatment, but advised her to keep quiet for a day or two.
This Edith appeared perfectly willing to do, and lay contentedly among her pillows, watching her kind nurse while she put the room in order, making no remarks, asking no questions, but with a look of grave resolve growing in her eyes and about her sweet mouth, which betrayed that she was doing a good deal of thinking upon some subject.
Mrs. Goddard came to her door immediately after breakfast, but Edith refused to see her.
She had told Mrs. Weld not to admit any one; there[120]fore, when the lady of the house sought admittance, the housekeeper firmly but respectfully denied her entrance.
"But I have something very important to say to Edith," madam persisted.
"Then it had best be left unsaid until the poor girl is stronger," Mrs. Weld replied, without moving her portly proportions and holding the door firmly in her hand.
"I have a message from my brother for her—it is necessary that I should deliver it," Mrs. Goddard obstinately returned. Mrs. Weld looked back into the room inquiringly.
"I do not wish to see any one," Edith weakly responded, but in a voice of decision which told the listener outside that the girl had no intention of yielding the point.
"Very well; then I will wait until she feels stronger," said the baffled woman, whereupon she beat an ignominious retreat, and the invalid was left in peace.
Mrs. Weld spent as much time as possible with her, but she of course had her duties below to attend to; so, at Edith's request, she locked her in and took the key with her when she was obliged to go downstairs.
Once, while she was absent, some one crept stealthily to the door and knocked.
Edith started up, and leaned upon her elbow, a momentary look of fear sweeping her face; but she made no response.
The knock was repeated.
Still the girl remained motionless and voiceless, only her great blue eyes began to blaze with mingled indignation and contempt, for she knew, instinctively, who was seeking admission.
"Miss Al—Edith, I must speak with you—I must have an interview with you," said the voice of Emil Correlli from without.
Still no answer from within; but the dazzling gleam in the girl's eyes plainly showed that that voice had aroused all the spirit within her in spite of her weak condition.
"Pray grant me an interview, Edith—I have much to[121] say to you—much to explain—much to entreat of you," continued the voice, with a note of earnest appeal.
But he might as well have addressed the walls for all the effect he produced.
There was a moment or two of silence, then the man continued, with something of authority:
"I have the right to come to you, Edith—I have a right to demand that you regard my wishes. If you are not prepared to receive me just now, name some time when I can see you, and I will wait patiently your pleasure; only speak and tell me that you will comply with my request."
It was both a pretty and a striking picture behind that closed door, if he could but have seen it—the fair girl, in her snowy robe, over which she had slipped a pretty light blue sack, reclining upon her elbow, her beautiful hair falling in graceful confusion about her shoulders; her violet eyes gleaming with a look of triumph in her advantage over the man without; her lips—into which the color was beginning to flow naturally again—parted just enough to reveal the milk-white teeth between them.
When the man outside asserted his right to come to her, the only sign she had made was a little toss of her golden-crowned head, indicative of defiance, while about the corners of her lovely mouth there lurked a smile of scorn that would have been maddening to Emil Correlli could he have seen it.
At last a discontented muttering and the sound of retreating steps in the hall told her that her persecutor had become discouraged, and gone. Then, with a sigh of relief, she sank back upon her pillow feeling both weak and weary from excitement.
Left alone once more, she fell into deep thought.
In spite of a feeling of despair which, at times, surged over her in view of the trying position in which she found herself, the base deception practiced upon her, aroused a spirit of indomitable resistance, to battle for herself and her outraged feelings, and outwit, if possible, these enemies of her peace.
"They have done this wicked thing—that woman and[122] her brother," she said to herself; "they have cunningly plotted to lure me into this trap; but, though they have succeeded in fettering me for life, that is all the satisfaction that they will ever reap from their scheme. They cannot compel me, against my will, to live with a man whom I abhor. Even though I stood up before that multitude last evening, and appeared a willing actor in that disgraceful sacrilegious scene, no one can make me abide by it, and I shall denounce and defy them both; the world shall at least ring with scorn for their deed, even though I cannot free myself by proving a charge of fraud against them. But, oh—"
The proud little head suddenly drooped, and with a moan of pain she covered her convulsed face with her hands, as her thoughts flew to a certain room in New York, where she had spent one happy, blissful week in learning to love, with all her soul, the man whom she had served.
She had believed, as we know, that her love for Royal Bryant was hopeless—at least she had told herself so, and that she could never link her fate with his, after learning of her shameful origin.
Yet, now that there appeared to have arisen an even greater barrier, she began to realize that all hope had not been quite dead—that, in her heart, she had all the time been nursing a tender shoot of affection, and a faint belief that her lover would never relinquish his desire to win her.
But these sad thoughts finally set her mind running in another channel, and brought a gleam of hope to her.
"He is a true and honorable man," she mused, "I will appeal to him in my trouble; and if any one can find a loop-hole of escape for me I am sure he will be able to do so."
When Mrs. Weld brought her lunch, she sat up and ate it eagerly, resolved to get back her strength as soon as possibly in order to carry out her project at an early date. While she was eating, she told her friend of Emil Correlli's visit and its result.[123]
"Why cannot they let you alone!" the woman cried, indignantly. "They shall not persecute you so."
"No, I do not intend they shall," Edith quietly replied, "but I think by to-morrow morning, I shall feel strong enough for an interview, when we will have my relations toward them established for all time," and by the settling of the girl's pretty chin, Mrs. Weld was convinced that she would be lacking in neither spirit nor decision.
"If you feel able to talk about it now, I wish you would tell me exactly how they managed to hoodwink you to such an extent. Perhaps I may be of some service to you, when the matter comes to a crisis," the woman remarked, as she studied the sweet face before her with kind and pitying eyes.
And Edith related just how Mrs. Goddard had drawn her into the net by representing that two of her actors had been called away in the midst of the play and that the whole representation would be spoiled unless she would consent to help her out.
"It was very cleverly done," said Mrs. Weld, when she concluded; but she looked grave, for she saw that the entire affair had been so adroitly managed, it would be very difficult to prove that Edith had not been in the secret and a willing actor in the drama. "But do not worry, child; you may depend upon me to do my utmost to help you in every possible way."
The next morning Edith was able to be up and dressed, and she began to pack her trunk, preparatory to going away. The guests had all left on the previous day, and everything was being put in order for the house to be closed for the remainder of the winter, while it was stated that the family would return to the city on the next day, which would be Thursday.
Edith had almost everything ready for removal by noon, and, after lunch was over, sent word to Mrs. Goddard that she would like an interview with her.
The woman came immediately, and Edith marveled to see how pale and worn she looked—how she had appeared to age during the last day or two.
"I am so glad that you have decided to see me,[124] Edith," she remarked, in a fondly confidential tone, as she drew a chair to the girl's side and sat down. "My brother is nearly distracted with grief and remorse over what has happened, and the attitude which you have assumed toward him. He adores you—he will be your slave if you only take the right way to win him. Surely, you will forgive him for the deception which his great affection led him to practice upon you," she concluded, with a coaxing smile, such as she would have assumed in dealing with a fractious child.
"No," said Edith, with quiet decision, "I shall never forgive either of you for your sin against me—it is beyond pardon."
"Ah! I will not intercede for myself—but think how Emil loves you," pleaded her companion.
"You should have said, 'think how he loves himself,' madam," Edith rejoined, with a scornful curl of her lips, "for nothing but the rankest selfishness could ever have led a person to commit an act of such duplicity and sacrilege as that which he and you adopted to secure your own ends. He does not desire to be pardoned. His only desire is that I should relent and yield to him—which I never shall do."
As she uttered these last words, she emphasized them with a decided little gesture of her left hand that betrayed a relentless purpose.
"Ah!" she cried, the next moment, with a start, the movement having attracted her eye to the ring upon her third finger, which until that moment she had entirely forgotten.
With a shiver of repulsion, she snatched it off and tossed it into the lap of her companion.
"Take it back to him," she said. "I had forgotten I had it on; I despise myself for having worn it even until now."
Madam flushed angrily at her act and words.
"You are very hard—you are very obdurate," she said, sharply.
"Very well; you can put whatever construction you choose upon the stand I have taken, but do not for a moment deceive yourself by imagining that I will ever[125] consent to be known as Emil Correlli's wife; death would be preferable!" Edith calmly responded.
"Most girls would only be too eager and proud to assume the position—they would be sincerely grateful for the luxuries and pleasures they would enjoy as my brother's wife," Mrs. Goddard coldly remarked, but with an angry gleam in her eyes.
A little smile of contempt curled the corners of Edith's red mouth; but otherwise she did not deign to notice these boasting comments, a circumstance which so enraged her companion that she felt, for a moment, like strangling the girl there and then.
But there was far more to be considered than her own personal feelings, and she felt obliged to curb herself for the time.
If scandal was to be avoided, she must leave no inducement untried to bend Edith's stubborn will, and madam herself was too proud to contemplate anything so humiliating; she was willing to do or bear almost anything to escape becoming a target for the fashionable world to shoot their arrows of ridicule at.
"Edith, I beg that you will listen to me," she earnestly pleaded, after a few moments of thought. "This thing is done and cannot be undone, and now I want you to be reasonable and think of the advantages which, as Emil's wife, you may enjoy. You are a poor girl, without home or friends, and obliged to work for your living. There is an escape from all this if you will be tractable; you can have a beautiful house elegantly furnished, horses, carriages, diamonds, and velvets—in fact, not a wish you choose to express ungratified. You may travel the world over, if you desire, with no other object in view than to enjoy yourself. On the other hand, if you refuse, there will be no end of scandal—you will ruin the reputation of our whole family—Emil will become the butt of everybody's scorn and ridicule. I shall never be able to show my face again in society, either in Boston or New York; and my husband, who has always occupied a high position, will be terribly shocked and humiliated."
Edith listened quietly to all that she had to say, not[126] once attempting to interrupt her; but when madam finally paused, in expectation of a reply, she simply remarked:
"You should have thought of all this, madam, before you plotted for the ruin of my life; I am not responsible for the consequences of your treachery and crime."
"Crime! that is an ugly word," tartly cried Mrs. Goddard, who began to find the tax upon her patience almost greater than she could bear.
"Nevertheless, it is the correct term to apply to what you have done—it is what I shall charge you with—"
"What! do you dare to tell me that you intend to appeal to the courts?" exclaimed madam, aghast.
She had fondly imagined that, the deed once done, the girl having no friends whose protection she could claim, would make the best of it, and gracefully yield to the situation.
"That is what I intend to do."
Anna Goddard's face was almost livid at this intrepid response.
"And you utterly refuse to listen to reason?" she inquired, struggling hard for self-control.
"I utterly refuse to be known as Emil Correlli's wife, if that is what you mean by 'reason,'" said Edith, calmly.
"Girl! girl! take care—do not try my patience too far," cried her companion, with a flash of passion, "or we may have to resort to desperate measures with you."
"Such as what, if you please?" inquired Edith, still unmoved.
"That remains to be seen; but I warn you that you are bringing only wrath upon your own head. We shall never allow you to create a scandal—we shall find a way to compel you to do as we wish."
"That you can never do!" and the beautiful girl proudly faced the woman with such an undaunted air and look that she involuntarily quailed before her. "It is my nature," she went on, after a slight pause, "to be gentle and yielding in all things reasonable, and when I am kindly treated; but injustice and treachery, such as you have been guilty of, always arouse within[127] me a spirit which a thousand like you and your brother could never bend nor break."
"Do not be too sure, my pretty young Tartar," retorted madam, with a disagreeable sneer.
"I rejected Monsieur Correlli's proposals to me some weeks ago," Edith resumed, without heeding the rude interruption. "I made him clearly understand, and you also, that I could never marry him. You appeared to accept the situation only to scheme for my ruin; but, even though you have tricked me into compromising myself in the presence of many witnesses, it was only a trick, and therefore no legal marriage. At least I do not regard myself as morally bound; and, as I have said before, I shall appeal to the courts to annul whatever tie there may be supposed to exist. This is my irrevocable decision—nothing can change it—nothing will ever swerve me a hair's breadth from it. Go tell your brother, and then let me alone—I will never renew the subject with either of you."
And as Edith ceased she turned her resolute face to the window, and Anna Goddard knew that she had meant every word that she had uttered.
She was amazed by this show of spirit and decision.
The girl had always been a perfect model of gentleness and kindness, ready to do whatever was required of her, obliging and invariably sweet-tempered.
She could hardly realize that the cold, determined, defiant, undaunted sentences to which she had just listened could have fallen from the lips of the mild, quiet Edith whom she had hitherto known.
But, as may be imagined, such an attitude from one who had been a servant to her was not calculated to soothe her ruffled feelings, and after the first flash of astonishment, anger got the better of her.
"Do you imagine you can defy us thus?" she cried, laying an almost brutal grip upon the girl's arm, as she arose to abandon, for the time, her apparently fruitless task. "No, indeed! You will find to your cost that you have stronger wills than your own to cope with."
With these hot words, Anna Goddard swept angrily from the room, leaving her victim alone.
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