Collins_The_Law_and_the_Lady.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']
and humor, its fantastic
gayety, cruelty, and vanity--ran its destined course, and faded
out like a dream!
for ! had lived for the --what more could she
do, now the was gone? could die for him.
had mercifully allowed her to attend the funeral of
--in the hope that the ceremony might avail to
convince her of his death. anticipation was not realized; she
still persisted in denying that "the " had left her.
were obliged to restrain the poor creature by force when the
coffin was lowered into the grave; and they could only remove her
from the cemetery by the same means when the burial-service was
over. that time her life alternated, for a few weeks,
between fits of raving delirium and intervals of lethargic
repose. the annual ball given in the asylum, when the strict
superintendence of the patients was in some degree relaxed, the
alarm was raised, a little before midnight, that was
missing. nurse in charge had left her asleep, and had yielded
to the temptation of going downstairs to look at the dancing.
the woman returned to her post, was gone. presence
of strangers, and the confusion incidental to the festival,
offered her facilities for escaping which would not have
presented themselves at any other time. night the search for
her proved to be useless. next morning brought with it the
last touching and terrible tidings of her. had strayed back
to the burial-ground; and she had been found toward sunrise, dead
of cold and exposure, on 's grave. to
the last, had followed the ! to the last,
had died on the 's grave!
written these sad words, turn willingly to a less
painful theme.
had separated me from -, after the date of
the dinner-party which had witnessed my memorable meeting with
. that time heard little or nothing of the
; and am ashamed to say had almost entirely forgotten
him--when was reminded of the modern by the amazing
appearance of wedding-cards, addressed to me at my
mother-in-law's house! had settled in life at last.
, more wonderful still, the had chosen as the lawful
ruler of his household and himself--"the future of ,"
the round-eyed, overdressed young lady with the strident soprano
voice!
paid our visit of congratulation in due form; and we really
did feel for -.
ordeal of marriage had so changed my gay and gallant admirer
of former times that hardly knew him again. had lost all his
pretensions to youth: he had become, hopelessly and
undisguisedly, an old man. behind the chair on which his
imperious young wife sat enthroned, he looked at her submissively
between every two words that he addressed to me, as if he waited
for her permission to open his lips and speak. she
interrupted him--and she did it, over and over again, without
ceremony--he submitted with a senile docility and admiration, at
once absurd and shocking to see.
"'t she beautiful?" he said to me (in his wife's hearing!).
" a figure, and what a voice! remember her voice? 's a
loss, my dear lady, an irretrievable loss, to the operatic stage!
you know, when think what that grand creature might have
done, sometimes ask myself if really had any right to marry
her. feel, upon my honor feel, as if had committed a fraud
on the public!"
for the favored object of this quaint mixture of admiration
and regret, she was pleased to receive me graciously, as an old
friend. was talking to the , the bride drew me
aside out of their hearing, and explained her motives for
marrying, with a candor which was positively shameless.
" see we are a large family at home, quite unprovided for!"
this odious young woman whispered in my ear. "'s all very well
about my being a ' of ' and the rest of it. bless
you, have been often enough to the opera, and have learned
enough of my music-master, to know what it takes to make a fine
singer. haven't the patience to work at it as those foreign
women do: a parcel of brazen-faced -- hat e them! !
no! between you and me, it was a great deal easier to get the
money by marrying the old gentleman. am, provided for--and
there's all my family provided for, too--and nothing to do but to
spend the money. am fond of my family; 'm a good daughter and
sister--__ am! how 'm dressed; look at the furniture:
haven't played my cards badly, have ? 's a great advantage to
marry an old man--you can twist him round your little finger.
? , yes! 'm quite happy; and hope you are, too.
are you living now? shall call soon, and have a long gossip
with you. always had a sort of liking for you, and (now 'm as
good as you are) want to be friends."
made a short and civil reply to this; determining inwardly that
when she did visit me she should get no further than the
house-door. don't scruple to say that was thoroughly
disgusted with her. a woman sells herself to a man, that
vile bargain is none the less infamous (to my mind) because it
happens to be made under the sanction of the and the .
sit at the desk thinking, the picture of the and his
wife vanishes from my memory--and the last scene in my story
comes slowly into view.
place is my bedroom. persons (both, if you will be
pleased to excuse them, in bed) are myself and my son. is
already three weeks old; and he is now lying fast asleep by his
mother's side. good is coming to to
baptize him. . will be his godmother; and his
godfathers will be and . . wonder whether my
christening will pass off more merrily than my wedding?
doctor has just left the house, in some little perplexity
about me. has found me reclining as usual (latterly) in my
arm-chair; but on this particular day he has detected symptoms of
exhaustion, which he finds quite unaccountable under the
circumstances, and which warn him to exert his authority by
sending me back to my bed.
truth is that have not taken the doctor into my confidence.
are two causes for those signs of exhaustion which have
surprised my medical attendant--and the names of them
are-- and .
this day have at last summoned courage enough to perform the
promise which made to my husband in . is informed, by
this time, how his wife's was discovered. knows (on
. 's authority) that the letter may be made the means,
if he so will it, of publicly vindicating his innocence in a
of . , last and most important of all, he is now
aware that the itself has been kept a sealed secret
from him, out of compassionate regard for his own peace of mind,
as well as for the memory of the unhappy woman who was once his
wife.
necessary disclosures have communicated to my
husband--not by word of mouth; when the time came, shrank from
speaking to him personally of his first wife--but by a written
statement of the circumstances, taken mainly out of my letters
received in from and . . has now had
ample time to read all that have written to him, and to reflect
on it in the retirement of his own study. am waiting, with the
fatal letter in my hand--and my mother-in-law is waiting in the
next room to me--to hear from his own lips whether he decides to
break the seal or not.
minutes pass; and still we fail to hear his footstep on the
stairs. doubts as to which way his decision may turn affect me
more and more uneasily the longer wait. very possession of
the letter, in the present excited state of my nerves, oppresses
and revolts me. shrink from touching it or looking at it.
move it about restlessly from place to place on the bed, and
still cannot keep it out of my mind. last, an odd fancy
strikes me. lift up one of the baby's hands, and put the letter
under it--and so associate that dreadful record of sin and misery
with something innocent and pretty that seems to hallow and to
purify it.
minutes pass; the half-hour longer strikes from the clock on
the chimney-piece; and at last hear him! knocks softly, and
opens the door.
is deadly pale: fancy can detect traces of tears on his
cheeks. no outward signs of agitation escape him as he takes
his seat by my side. can see that he has waited until he could
control himself--for my sake.
takes my hand, and kisses me tenderly.
"!" he says; "let me once more ask you to forgive what
said and did in the bygone time. understand nothing else, my
love, understand this: proof of my innocence has been
found; and owe it entirely to the courage and the devotion of
my wife!"
wait a little, to enjoy the full luxury of hearing him say
those words--to revel in the love and the gratitude that moisten
his dear eyes as they look at me. rouse my resolution, and
put the momentous question on which our future depends.
" you wish to see the letter, ?"
of answering directly, he questions me in his turn.
" you got the letter here?"
"."
" up?"
" up."
waits a little, considering what he is going to say next
before he says it,
" me be sure that know exactly what it is have to decide,"
he proceeds. " insist on reading the letter--?"
interrupt him. know it is my duty to restrain myself.
cannot do my duty.
" darling, don't talk of reading the letter! , pray spare
yourself--"
holds up his hand for silence.
" am not thinking of myself," he says. " am thinking of my dead
wife. give up the public vindication of my innocence, in my
own lifetime--if leave the seal of the letter unbroken--do you
say, as . says, that shall be acting mercifully and
tenderly toward the memory of my wife?"
", , there cannot be the shadow of a doubt of it!"
" be making some little atonement for any pain that may
have thoughtlessly caused her to suffer in her lifetime?"
"! yes!"
", --shall please ?"
" darling, you will enchant me!"
" is the letter?"
" your son's hand, ."
goes around to the other side of the bed, and lifts the baby's
little pink hand to his lips. a while he waits so, in sad and
secret communion with himself. see his mother softly open the
door, and watch him as am watching him. a moment more our
suspense is at an end. a heavy sigh, he lays the child's
hand back again on the sealed letter; and by that one little
action says (as if in words) to his son--" leave it to !"
so it ended! as thought it would end; not perhaps as
you thought it would end. do we know of our own lives?
do we know of the fulfillment of our dearest wishes?
knows--and that is best.
shut up the paper? . is nothing more for you to
read or for me to say.
this--as a postscript. 't bear hardly, good people, on
the follies and the errors of my husband's life. _me_ as
much as you please. pray think kindly of for my sake.