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Marguerite Verne

A >> Agatha Armour >> Marguerite Verne




"It was a sight I shall never forget," said Helen, with a peculiar
earnestness. "I stood long in the grand tesselated vestibule and
took in the scene, and as I did so, I noticed a young gentleman who
seemed spell-bound; he was wrapped in deep enthusiasm, and on making
enquiries learned that the dreamer was an artist--a native artist--
in fact I could almost see the poetic glow overspreading each
feature of the expressive face."

"And thus it ended that Helen Rushton went to the Celestial and fell
in love with a Celestial artist. Amen, so let it be!"

"Josie Jordan, how irreverent!"

"Forgive me, Madge! I forget that I am in the presence of High
Church people. Now dear, I will be ever so humble."

Josie's contrition was of short duration. Within a few moments she
had to be reproved for interrupting Helen in the midst of a short
but clearly-defined picture of the University and the pretty groves
and avenues.

"I am determined to see those places later in the season."

"Then you will be repaid a thousand times, Helen," said Madge, a
smile resting upon the madonna-like face and throwing a halo around
her. "Last summer a number of friends were staying at the 'Barker,'
and in the meantime Cousin Jennie and I found ourselves in Uncle
William's care and registered at the 'Queen.' It was a lovely
morning in August, and as we were engaged to attend a garden party
on the self-same evening, we set off in the direction of Mr.
Bebbington's garden, to get some of his choice roses. I was somewhat
ahead of the party, and on turning the corner of Queen and Church
streets the scene was truly enchanting. I was pleased to be alone to
drink in the grandeur. I never could half describe that picture, it
was as one brief glimpse of some paradise that appears only in
dreamland. Not a sound marred the effect. All was calm and peaceful
indeed. Stretching out in graceful curves lay the river, looking
indeed like living silver; the soft, green sward and grassy bank;
then the Cathedral in its sombre Gothic dress, its leafy grove, its
hallowed associations. I looked further, and there stood the
outlying hills crowned with lovely foliage, and above all the soft,
fleecy clouds chasing each other through the blue sky. Soft and
beautiful as an Italian landscape! And the neat, suburban cottages
with artistically-arranged flower gardens in front. All was in
keeping with the scene.

'No sound of busy life was heard.'

"As I stood in wrapt admiration, the Cathedral clock chimed out in
soft, silvery tones, summoning the worshipper to the morning matin.
Presently a figure emerges from the doorway of a neat residence and
crosses the street. It is the Lord Bishop, who for so many years has
crossed the same well-beaten path. The calm serenity of the place,
the hour and the solemnity of the scene was overpowering. I dared
not wait until the ethereal sweetness of the music would cease. I
took one lingering gaze and murmured: This is indeed Elysium--a step
nearer Heaven, and with feelings of reverential awe set forth on my
errand."

"It must indeed have been grand!" cried the listeners in concert.

"I can never forget it," said Marguerite, "and if you should ever
happen to see the same picture, you can imagine my emotions at the
time."

"It is growing late, and I must attend to business," said Josie,
taking up the package and setting off for the post office, while
Helen and Marguerite stood on the balcony throwing tokens of
affection, and as the coquettish form was lost in the distance,
Helen, turning towards her companion, said:

"If Josie could only remain as she is--a grown-up child!"




CHAPTER XVI.

MRS. ARNOLD AS A DIPLOMATIST.


Some evenings later Phillip Lawson found his way to "Sunnybank." He
was received by the stately mistress with more than usual courtesy.

"You have surely forgotten us of late, Mr. Lawson," exclaimed she,
in a playful and remonstrating style. "Are we to attribute your
delinquency to business or total neglect?"

"I must plead business to a certain extent, Mrs. Verne," said the
young man with a quaint dignified reserve.

"I understand that you intend spending your vacation at 'Gladswood'
Mr. Lawson. Really I envy you the prospect, for it is a truly
delightful spot."

Mrs. Verne had seated herself upon the sofa. She wore a rich black
moire robe which, with the addition of a magnificent display of
garnets with setting of gold, made an elaborate costume.

"I am sorry that circumstance has cancelled my engagement in that
direction. In fact I regret it deeply, I was anticipating too much
and was justly punished."

"It must be weighty business that would thus interfere, Mr. Lawson.
I am inclined to believe that you are already becoming too worldly."
Mrs. Verne had raised her jewelled fingers and rested them upon her
forehead.

Among the many weaknesses of Mrs. Verne was her vain and
uncontrollable desire to show off her beautifully shaped hands--fit
models for the sculptor's chisel--rivals for those of, the Venus of
Cnidos by Praxiteles.

The young barrister had kept his negotiations quiet and had no
intention to gratify the woman's curiosity.

Marguerite now entered accompanied by Louise Rutherford. The latter
had returned from Montreal and was making her first call at
"Sunnybank."

"Mr. Lawson has just been receiving a slight reproof, young ladies,
and I think you have arrived in time to assist me," said Mrs. Verne
glancing at Louise with a bewitching smile.

"I for one always think that when Mr. Lawson neglects any part of
his duties it is wholly from inability to perform them," said
Louise.

"Duties! That is the great trouble. It is to duty that we attribute
the true source of our complaint. To the stern goddess is sacrificed
every would-be pleasure."

"Forgive me Mrs. Verne, I believe that Mr. Lawson is right, and
forgetful of every presence Louise exclaimed:--

"Stern daughter of the voice of God,
O duty, if that name thou love,
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove--
Thou, who art victory and law,
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free,
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity."

"Noble girl," thought the young man, "those words give me greater
strength."

Little did Marguerite Verne dream of the thoughts passing through
Mr. Lawson's mind as he bowed acknowledgment to her companion's
quotation.

The rising blush betrayed Louise Rutherford's embarrassment.

"Really Mr. Lawson, I beg to be excused. I have a habit of
committing to memory any subject that I admire and it sometimes
makes me seem very ridiculous when they unconsciously repeat
themselves."

"Not in this particular, I assure you, Miss Rutherford," said the
young man very earnestly, and as Marguerite fancied, with a hidden
meaning in their depths.

"I presume you are aware that Mr. Tracy has sailed for Europe?" said
Mrs. Verne, casting a meaning glance at Marguerite and watching the
effect upon Mr. Lawson.

"Yes; I was somewhat surprised when he called at the office to make
his adieu. It must surely have been an impromptu arrangement. Within
a fortnight he had been planning a different course," said Mr.
Lawson, quite cheerily.

"Sooner or later he will join Mr. and Mrs. Arnold," said Mrs. Verne,
referring to the newly wedded pair with proud delight.

"That will be very pleasant, indeed," said Mr. Lawson.

"Would you not like to be one of the party, Madge?" cried Louise,
with all the honest enthusiasm of her nature."

"I cannot say that I would," replied Marguerite.

"Oh! you are such an old-fashioned home body, Madge; I might know
your answer without asking the question. Suppose I might ask
_you_, Mr. Lawson," ventured Louise, persistent in getting a
favorable reply.

The young barrister smiled, and that smile was a conquest in itself.
It had powers to enable a mild and _spirituelle_ maiden to form
a resolve that was as unyielding as the marble hearthstone beside
her, while on the other hand it exercised a spirit in the
calculating matron that no human influence could brook.

Mr. Lawson had little thought of the agencies at work in those two
beings of widely different natures, and of which time alone will
interpret the result.

Marguerite Verne was sweetly irresistible. Her dress was simple--a
sweet simplicity in every look, motion and gesture. The pure white
draperies gave to the _spirituelle_ face the radiance of a
Madonna, and placed the maiden in striking contrast to the sparkling
bright and witty Louise--a striking and high-spirited brunette, with
a mind of no common order.

As Mr. Lawson sat in the Verne drawing-room with the being that he
idolized so near him, a deadly struggle was going on within. What a
conflict--what doubt, what irresolution!

It was worse than ever to give up all earthly hope, all earthly
happiness.

What prevented the young man--aye, every inch a man--from falling on
his knees and declaring his love, and begging a slight return for
such love?

Go ask the weird sisters upon whose spindles hang the threads of
every human life! Go ask the winds that echo the wails of human
hearts and often carry them along with a cruel insatiable spirit of
revenge, until all is hushed in the stillness of death.

Mrs. Verne dwelt with pride upon the adulation which her firstborn
was receiving in them other country. Mrs. Arnold's beauty had been
commented upon in the journals; her face was sought after in all the
fashionable resorts, and her queenly torso was the subject of every
artist.

"They are going to remain for some weeks in Paris, and I am really
afraid that Evelyn will be intoxicated with gaiety. She is such a
lover of society, the dear girl, and Montague is just as fond of
gaiety as Eve. What a happy couple they must be--they write such
sweetly interesting letters. Really, Mr. Lawson, it would do one
good to read them."

The subjects of those remarks were in the meantime enjoying life at
a hotel in Picadilly. They had seen the sights of the great French
metropolis, but were they really enjoying life as it should be. Was
there real true happiness existing between these two hearts--"this
happy couple?"

This is a question to be answered in due time, and which will be
"sweetly interesting" to know.

When Mr. Lawson rose to take leave he was uncomfortably conscious of
the patronage bestowed upon him. Mrs. Verne was radiant in smiles
and gave her hand to the departing guest with the grace of a
dowager.

"You must not stay away so long again, Mr. Lawson. Remember if you
do, I shall be very angry, and, perhaps, not so easily conciliated."

It did, indeed, seem a coincidence that at the very moment that
Louise Rutherford had asked Marguerite if she did not wish to be one
of the tourists that a thought flashed through Mrs. Vernes' head
with the rapidity of lightning, and in less time than is conceivable
was formed into high and daring resolve.

And more surprising still is the fact that some hours previous the
same bent of thought was being cherished by the wily Mrs. Montague
Arnold.

The latter was determined that through her influence upon her
worldly mother that Marguerite should wed Hubert Tracy, heir to Sir
Peter Tracy's grand estates.

"Mamma will accomplish her end if any person on earth can do it, and
Marguerite is too good, too conscientious, to disobey."

Was this peerless beauty so fond of Hubert Tracy? Did she entertain,
such high opinion of this fashionable young man? No! He had riches--
that was all in all. That was one reason; and another, it would be
the means of outwitting Philip Lawson, whom she hated with a bitter
hate.

When Evelyn Verne gave her hand to Montague Arnold she never gave
her heart.

Her marriage was in the eyes of the world a good match, and that was
all that was necessary. Mr. Arnold was a man of the world, addicted
to many habits that were not what the better side of life would
approve of; but his wife had her failings, likewise, and she availed
herself of the license thus given her--the liberties of fashionable
folly. Mrs. Arnold being a beauty, was courted by the gay and
fashionable world. She flirted without restraint, and took delight
in making conquests among the degenerated nobility, and lost no
opportunity of displaying her charms. Excitement was as necessary to
Mrs. Arnold's nature as the air is necessary for the support of
animal life. She was buoyed up by excitement and kept alive by
excitement. Life was one giddy round of delights--the dejeuner fete,
opera, and ball-room.

It matters not to know whether this woman of fashion ever gave one
thought to the real object of life--whether she even dreamed that
God gave man an intellect, with mind-power capable of being brought
nearer that state from which he fell ere he lost the impress of the
Divine; but it matters us to know that she strove to bring every one
whom she met on a level with her own superficial mind.

"Madge must marry Hubert Tracy; once with us she is perfectly safe.
Papa will be beyond reach, and his counsel or suggestions will not
come in time."

Such was the comment of Mrs. Arnold as she stood opposite the
elegant plate mirror which reflected a life-size portrait of
herself.

"I am beautiful, and it is but in justice to myself that 'I improve
the shining hour.' Oh, Montague Arnold, you were a lucky man to wed
such a prize," murmured the woman, clasping her hands over her head
in an attitude often seen upon the stage when the actress is
exhibiting much feeling: then looking into the depths of the
brilliant dark eyes, exclaimed, "What jewels can compare with thee,
my priceless orbs?"

The elegant evening costume was a marvel in itself--creamy lace,
shining satin, and flowing draperies, while bright jewels gleamed
from the dusky hair and burned upon the heaving bosom.

"Evelyn, my queen, you are ready for the conquest!" cried the
beauty, taking one long gaze, and then picking up the jewelled fan
that fell at her feet went forth at the summons of the waiting-maid
to receive a visitor in the drawing-room.

"The Hon. Cecil Featherstone! The man is my slave! Why is he here at
such an early hour?--it is too bad! What shall I do with poor
Huntington, my latest flame? Oh, dear! I wish the men were not so
incorrigible! Featherstone--it ought to be Featherhead, for I
believe his head is sadly light of brains. Featherhead--Hon. Cecil
Featherhead!--ha! ha! ha!"

Had not the grand drawing-room been at the other end of the spacious
hall the latter part of Mrs. Arnold's speech would have been heard
by the subject of these remarks. Be it said, to that gentleman's
ease of mind, that he was in the meantime admiring some choice
paintings and counting the minutes hours until the fair hostess
should arrive.

"This is an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Featherstone! I was really
wondering what I should do with myself until the opera--and how kind
of you, Mr. Featherstone, to think of me! I believe that I am one
of the most favored of mortals!"

Having made this speech, Mrs. Arnold cast upon Mr. Featherstone one
of her duly-organized smiles--a smile that was magnetic, and that
set the heart of the luckless visitor into a flutter beyond recall.

"My dear Mrs. Arnold, you certainly do me the highest honor that can
be bestowed upon a human being"--Mr. Featherstone felt considerable
difficulty in getting off this speech, but another glance at the
fair creature and he continued--"for you are certainly born to be
worshipped at a distance--a something too lovely to be approached by
anything this side of paradise!"

"Oh, Mr. Featherstone, spare me this flattery--I cannot really
receive such, and from you-one endowed with such intellectual power,
such ability and such genius! The thought is really dreadful!"

Mrs. Arnold's assumed earnestness of manner was indeed flattery of
the seventh degree to the superficial Mr. Featherstone. He was
transported to empyrean air. Mrs. Arnold had insight and her opinion
was something to cherish. Poor Mr. Featherstone!

The conversation that followed was extravagant to the highest
degree, and he went away that evening in a state of great
disquietude, wondering why it was that it had not been his good
fortune to meet his ideal of female loveliness ere she was wedded to
another.

"That miserable bore! I am late in writing mamma's letter. I really
wonder what she would say if she saw me flirting with the Hon. Cecil
Featherstone! but I must be cautious, for I want the simple-minded
Madge to share my blissful fate."

A servant in livery entered in answer to the summons of the
bell-rope.

"Has James gone for the evening mail, Watkins?" demanded Mrs. Arnold
in an imperious tone.

"He has not gone yet, my lady."

"Go and see how long before he does."

"Yes, my lady," said the servant, bowing very low, and with an air
that seemed to say he was in the presence of royalty. The said
Watkins had seen service in distinguished families, and the habit,
though a ridiculous one, had become second nature, he invariably
addressing every woman of fashion as "my lady."

Mrs. Arnold was pleased to learn that she could put her plan into
execution without a moment's delay, and being a rapid writer she
wrote and sealed a formidable-looking document, which she styled
"mamma's letter," and within a few minutes saw it safe in the
mail-bag awaiting the arrival of James, the trustworthy footman.

What the letter contained and its effects upon the different members
of her family will follow in another chapter.




CHAPTER XVII.

MR. SPRIGGINS MAKES A DISCOVERY.


It is indeed, a warm July day--a fine hay day--and the people of
Mill Crossing are taking advantage of the occasion. They are turned
out _en masse_. Mowing machines are called into active service,
and the new inventions--reapers, binders, etc.--are also at hand.
The farmers of this favored locality are pretty well to do, and
conspicuous among the number is our friend Mr. Spriggins.

The Spriggins farm was well cultivated. A good frame house and
commodious barns speak of the industry of the Sprigginses.

There was also a heavy stock upon the farm, and that fact alone is
sufficient proof of its thrift.

On the day in question we see the healthy, beaming face of Mr. Mose
Spriggins in the doorway. He had been very busy in the earlier part
of the morning, but now had a few moments to talk to the young man
who had been hired to help in haying time.

The homestead, like many others that we see in country districts,
had a snug room on each side of the narrow entrance--the one on the
northeast side being fitted up for the best room, and used only on
state occasions, such as weddings, quarterly meetings, etc. Into
this apartment Moses peeped with an air of great caution, as much as
to say "I must be keerful the old lady don't spy me in here with my
big boots on."

But important business was on hand. The mantel piece must be
reached! The old clock that didn't go stood there, and within, its
sheltering recess was a valuable document.

"Well, I never; if this eer room isn't as dark as Egypt," exclaimed
Moses, going to the end window and hitching up the blind in that
remarkable style peculiar only to the sterner sex.

The light sun streamed in and brought out each article of furniture
in bold relief.

There was a brand new set of cane-seat chairs that the old lady had
bought at Stewart & White's the last time she had been to town. A
woollen carpet from A. O. Skinner's had lately taken the place of
the home-made one which now graced the spare bedroom up stairs. A
motto, "God Bless our Home," hung over the mantel, and a few chromos
relieved the walls. A large, beautifully bound Bible lay on the
table, and beside it a photograph album, which had been subscribed
for a few days previous by the persistent, efforts of an
indefatigable canvasser. A white tidy covered the back of the
rocking-chair, and another the back of the lounge. An old-fashioned
pitcher filled with sweet-brier and some of the old-time flowers,
such as bachelors' buttons, London pride, blue rocket and
jump-up-johnnie stood on a kind of sideboard and showed a desire
to make the room attractive and inviting.

In this apartment the young man stood for about five minutes' time,
then exclaimed:

"By golly! I must soon git; for if the old lady catches me I'm a
goner."

Suiting the action to the words Moses made his exit, carrying in his
hand a sheet of paper which, on gaining the door, he folded and
thrust into his bosom.

"Where's N'h'miar gone, Bill?"

"He's up to Widder Smith's; Ned was here a few minnits ago and said
he was a' wantin', so off he sot; but he said to tell you he would
be back less 'n ten minnits."

"The 'tarnal fool, to be a runnin' arter the Smithses every time
they want him," exclaimed Mr. Spriggins, seating himself under a
tree to take the afternoon lunch which now had arrived.

"Why didn't mother send a bushel more?" exclaimed Moses, eyeing the
basket of bread and butter, cakes and pie--real raspberry pie.

A slice of bread was followed by a mug of milk. Then Moses took a
glance at the document, probably as a means of facilitating
digestion.

"Great scott! what's this? Well, if I'm not one of the darnd'st
fools on this side the crossin'. Well, if that ar' lawyer won't
think me a nice 'un, and like as not a thief."

Mr. Spriggins had been at Mr. Lawson's office some days' before, and
bore away some advice, written down, that he "might not forgit."

The barrister had received several visits from his client, and each
time had treated the said client with considerable favor.

Mr. Lawson somewhat admired the honest-hearted young farmer, and
really was interested in him, and felt a sympathy which was
unaccountable.

"One good turn deserves another, Mr. Lawson, and I may throw
something your way some day."

There really did appear to be little value in this remark; but
strange to say, in it were bound up Phillip Lawson's hopes,
happiness, yes, all that was dearer than life. The sturdy son of
toil proved his truest friend, and to the hour of his death he will
ever cherish the thought wholly sacred.

But of Mr. Spriggins' surprise!

He had opened the letter to read the advice on trespass (which
sooner or later is the experience of every farmer), when to his
dismay another letter dropped out. It bore the address of the
Winnipeg solicitor, and evidently was some private correspondence of
his respected counsellor, Mr. Lawson.

"Ginger, I must git to town soon, for it must be something
important! Darned if I know whether to read it or not. P'raps I'd
better not. I couldn't go and tell a lie and say I didn't when I
did. It would make a feller feel kinder streaked when he thought
on't."

Mr. Spriggins reasoned thus, and the upshot of it was that next
morning, after he had got a man to take his place, set off to town,
a distance of twenty-two miles.

A pallor overspread the countenance of Mr. Lawson as he glanced at
the missive which Mr. Spriggins placed in his hand, with the
impression that it was business.

"Yes, it is indeed business, Mr. Spriggins, and I am your debtor for
life," said the young man, extending his hand to the obliging Moses
and giving him that hearty shake which often betokens lasting
gratitude.

"Call on me at any time, Mr. Spriggins; you will be in again soon, I
presume."

"After hayin', sir."

"Very well," and bowing the visitor out the lawyer once more took up
the letter and read it slowly through.

"Heavens!" exclaimed the young man, excitedly. "I have it in my
power to bring the scoundrel to justice. Thank God, I have not
fallen a victim to the villains. And to think of the simple way by
which it is brought about. Oh! Heavenly Father! to Thee I am truly
grateful." The speaker raised his eyes upwards, and a light shone
upon the broad manly brow--a light that seemed really to descend
from Heaven.

Phillip Lawson buried his face in his hands and remained thus for
some time.

During these moments what a rush of thought passed through the busy
brain. What a change from the last fortnight, when he had made up
his mind to leave for a distant town in the far West.

"And yet, if it had not been for the second part of the offence, I
could have borne it; aye, it might have been better for me in the
end. But the dreadful pit into which I was inevitably to fall--God
forgive them. Hubert Tracy--we may never meet again, and if we do,
you shall never know. And all engaged in it were of the profession.
No wonder lawyers are denounced in the holy writ--"

"My dear old brother looks as if he had lost every friend in the
world."

Looking up Phillip Lawson saw a _petite_ figure in white
cambric frock standing at his elbow. The child put her arms around
her brother's neck and looked steadily into the honest grey eyes, so
full of thought and so striking in their depths.

"Phillip, you are troubled, and you are hiding it from me. Dearest
and best of brothers, can I not help you? I am not the little child
you think me. Oh! Phillip; I can be a woman when I am needed," and
the large bright eyes filled with tears.

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