James Oliver Curwood - "The Valley Of Silent Men"

Calvin Coolidge - "State of the Union Addresses of Calvin Coolidge"

Unknown - "The Augsburg Confession"

Thorstein Veblen - "The Theory of the Leisure Class*"

The Woman Hater

C >> Charles Reade >> The Woman Hater




_"Struck down by the very hand that was vowed to protect me!"_ said she.
Then was silent again. Then began to cry, and sob, and wring her hands.

Zoe put her hand to her heart and moved feebly toward the door. However,
she stopped a moment to say, "I am no use here. You would soon have me
raving in the next bed. I will send Fanny." Then she drew herself up.
"Miss Gale, everybody here is at your command. Pray spare nothing you can
think of to save--_my brother's guest."_

There came out the bitter drop.

When she had said that, she stalked from the room like some red Indian
bearing a mortal arrow in him, but too proud to show it.

But when she got to her own room she flung herself on her sofa, and
writhed and sobbed in agony.

Fanny Dover came in and found her so, and flew to her.

But she ordered her out quite wildly. "No, no; go to _her,_ like all the
rest, and leave poor Zoe all alone. She _is_ alone."

Then Fanny clung to her, and tried hard to comfort her.

This young lady now became very zealous and active. She divided her time
between the two sufferers, and was indefatigable in their service. When
she was not supporting Zoe, she was always at Miss Gale's elbow offering
her services. "Do let me help you," she said. "Do pray let me help. We
are poor at home, and there is nothing I cannot do. I'm worth any three
servants."

She always helped shift the patient into a fresh bed, and that was done
very often. She would run to the cook or the butler for anything that was
wanted in a hurry. She flung gentility and humbug to the winds. Then she
dressed in ten minutes, and went and dined with Vizard, and made excuses
for Zoe's absence, to keep everything smooth; and finally she insisted on
sitting up with Ina Klosking till three in the morning, and made Miss
Gale go to bed in the room. "Paid nurses!" said she; "they are no use
except to snore and drink the patient's wine. You and I will watch her
every moment of the night; and if I'm ever at a loss what to do, I will
call you."

Miss Gale stared at her once, and then accepted this new phase of her
character.

The fever was hot while it lasted; but it was so encountered with tonics,
and port wine, and strong beef soup (not your rubbishy beef tea), that in
forty-eight hours it began to abate. Ina recognized Rhoda Gale as the
lady who had saved Severne's life at Montpellier, and wept long and
silently upon her neck. In due course, Zoe, hearing there was a great
change, came in again to look at her. She stood and eyed her. Soon Ina
Klosking caught sight of her, and stared at her.

"You here!" said she. "Ah! you are Miss Vizard. I am in your house. I
will get up and leave it;" and she made a feeble attempt to rise, but
fell back, and the tears welled out of her eyes at her helplessness.

Zoe was indignant, but for the moment more shocked than anything else.
She moved away a little, and did not know what to say.

"Let me look at you," said the patient. "Ah! you are beautiful. When I
saw you at the theater, you fascinated me. How much more a man? I will
resist no more. You are too beautiful to be resisted. Take him, and let
me die."

"I do her no good," said Zoe, half sullenly, half trembling.

"Indeed you do not," said Rhoda, bluntly, and almost bitterly. She was
all nurse.

"I'll come here no more," said Zoe, sadly but sternly, and left the room.

Then Ina turned to Miss Gale and said, patiently, " I hope I was not rude
to that lady--who has broken my heart."

Fanny and Rhoda took each a hand and told her she could not be rude to
anybody.

"My friends," said Ina, looking piteously to each in turn, "it is her
house, you know, and she is very good to me now--after breaking my
heart."

Then Fanny showed a deal of tact. _"Her_ house!" said she. "It is no more
hers than mine. Why, this house belongs to a gentleman, and he is mad
after music. He knows you very well, though you don't know him, and he
thinks you the first singer in Europe."

"You flatter me," said Ina, sadly.

"Well, he thinks so; and he is reckoned a very good judge. Ah! now I
think of it, I will show you something, and then you will believe me."

She ran off to the library, snatched up Ina's picture set round with
pearls, and came panting in with it. "There," said she; "now you look at
that!" and she put it before her eyes. "Now, who is that, if you please?"

"Oh! It is Ina Klosking that was. Please bring me a glass."

The two ladies looked at each other. Miss Gale made a negative signal,
and Fanny said, "By-and-by. This will do instead, for it is as like as
two peas. Now ask yourself how this comes to be in the house, and set in
pearls. Why, they are worth three hundred pounds. I assure you that the
master of this house is _fanatico per la musica;_ heard you sing Siebel
at Homburg--raved about you--wanted to call on you. We had to drag him
away from the place; and he declares you are the first singer in the
world; and you cannot doubt his sincerity, for _here are the pearls."_

Ina Klosking's pale cheek colored, and then she opened her two arms wide,
and put them round Fanny's neck and kissed her: her innocent vanity was
gratified, and her gracious nature suggested gratitude to her who had
brought her the compliment, instead of the usual ungrateful bumptiousness
praise elicits from vanity.

Then Miss Gale put in her word--"When you met with this unfortunate
accident, I was for taking you up to my house. It is three miles off; but
he would not hear of it. He said, 'No; here she got her wound, and here
she must be cured.'"

"So," said Fanny, "pray set your mind at ease. My cousin Harrington is a
very good soul, but rather arbitrary. If you want to leave this place,
you must get thoroughly well and strong, for he will never let you go
till you are."

Between these two ladies, clever and cooperating, Ina smiled, and seemed
relieved; but she was too weak to converse any more just then.

Some hours afterward she beckoned Fanny to her, and said, "The master of
the house--what is his name?"

"Harrington Vizard."

"What!--_her_ father?"

"La, no; only her half-brother."

"If he is so kind to me because I sing, why comes he not to see me? _She_
has come."

Fanny smiled. "It is plain you are not an Englishwoman, though you speak
it so beautifully. An English gentleman does not intrude into a lady's
room."

"It is his room."

"He would say that, while you occupy it, it is yours, and not his."

"He awaits my invitation, then."

"I dare say he would come if you were to invite him, but certainly not
without."

"I wish to see him who has been so kind to me, and so loves music; but
not to-day--I feel unable."

The next day she asked for a glass, and was distressed at her appearance.
She begged for a cap.

"What kind of a cap?" asked Fanny.

"One like that," said she, pointing to a portrait on the wall. It was of
a lady in a plain brown silk dress and a little white shawl, and a neat
cap with a narrow lace border all round her face.

This particular cap was out of date full sixty years; but the house had a
storeroom of relics, and Fanny, with Vizard's help, soon rummaged out a
cap of the sort, with a narrow frill all round.

Her hair was smoothed, a white silk band passed over the now closed
wound, and the cap fitted on her. She looked pale, but angelic.

Fanny went down to Vizard, and invited him to come and see Mademoiselle
Klosking--by her desire. "But," she added, "Miss Gale is very anxious
lest you should get talking of Severne. She says the fever and loss of
blood have weakened her terribly; and if we bring the fever on again, she
cannot answer for her life."

"Has she spoken of him to you?"

"Not once."

"Then why should she to me?"

"Because you are a man, and she may think to get the _truth_ out of you:
she knows _we_ shall only say what is for the best. She is very deep, and
we don't know her mind yet."

Vizard said he would be as guarded as he could; but if they saw him going
wrong, they must send him away.

"Oh, Miss Gale will do that, you may be sure," said Fanny.

Thus prepared, Vizard followed Fanny up the stairs to the sick-room.

Either there is such a thing as love at first sight, or it is something
more than first sight, when an observant man gazes at a woman for an hour
in a blaze of light, and drinks in her looks, her walk, her voice, and
all the outward signs of a beautiful soul; for the stout cynic's heart
beat at entering that room as it had not beat for years. To be sure, he
had not only seen her on the stage in all her glory, but had held her,
pale and bleeding, to his manly breast, and his heart warmed to her all
the more, and, indeed, fairly melted with tenderness.

Fanny went in and announced him. He followed softly, and looked at her.

Wealth can make even a sick-room pretty. The Klosking lay on snowy
pillows whose glossy damask was edged with lace; and upon her form was an
eider-down quilt covered with violet-colored satin, and her face was set
in that sweet cap which hid her wound, and made her eloquent face less
ghastly.

She turned to look at him, and he gazed at her in a way that spoke
volumes.

"A seat," said she, softly.

Fanny was for putting one close to her. "No," said Miss Gale, "lower
down; then she need not to turn her head."

So he sat down nearer her feet.

"My good host," said she, in her mellow voice, that retained its quality,
but not its power, "I desire to thank you for your goodness to a poor
singer, struck down--by the hand that was bound to protect her."

Vizard faltered out that there was nothing to thank him for. He was proud
to have her under his roof, though deeply grieved at the cause.

She looked at him, and her two nurses looked at her and at each other, as
much as to say, "She is going upon dangerous ground."

They were right. But she had not the courage, or, perhaps, as most women
are a little cat-like in this, that they go away once or twice from the
subject nearest their heart before they turn and pounce on it, she must
speak of other things first. Said she, "But if I was unfortunate in that,
I was fortunate in this, that I fell into good hands. These ladies are
sisters to me," and she gave Miss Gale her hand, and kissed the other
hand to Fanny, though she could scarcely lift it; "and I have a host who
loves music, and overrates my poor ability." Then, after a pause, "What
have you heard me sing?"

"Siebel."

"Only Siebel! why, that is a poor little thing."

"So _I_ thought, till I heard you sing it."

"And, after Siebel, you bought my photograph."

"Instantly."

"And wasted pearls on it."

"No, madam. I wasted it on pearls."

"If I were well, I should call that extravagant. But it is permitted to
flatter the sick--it is kind. Me you overrate, I fear; but you do well to
honor music. Ay, I, who lie here wounded and broken-hearted, do thank God
for music. Our bodies are soon crushed, our loves decay or turn to hate,
but art is immortal."

She could no longer roll this out in her grand contralto, but she could
still raise her eyes with enthusiasm, and her pale face was illuminated.
A grand soul shone through her, though she was pale, weak, and prostrate.

They admired her in silence.

After a while she resumed, and said, "If I live, I must live for my art
alone."

Miss Gale saw her approaching a dangerous topic, so she said, hastily,
"Don't say _if_ you live, please, because that is arranged. You have been
out of danger this twenty-four hours, provided you do not relapse; and I
must take care of that."

"My kind friend," said Ina, "I shall not relapse; only my weakness is
pitiable. Sometimes I can scarcely forbear crying, I feel so weak. When
shall I be stronger?"

"You shall be a little stronger every three days. There are always ups
and downs in convalescence."

"When shall I be strong enough to move?"

"Let me answer that question," said Vizard. "When you are strong enough
to sing us Siebel's great song."

"There," said Fanny Dover; "there is a mercenary host for you. He means
to have a song out of you. Till then you are his prisoner."

"No, no, she is mine, said Miss Gale; "and she shan't go till she has
sung me 'Hail, Columbia.' None of your Italian trash for me."

Ina smiled, and said it was a fair condition, provided that "Hail,
Columbia," with which composition, unfortunately, she was unacquainted,
was not beyond her powers. "I have often sung for money," said she; "but
this time"--here she opened her grand arms and took Rhoda Gale to her
bosom--"I shall sing for love."

"Now we have settled that," said Vizard, "my mind is more at ease, and I
will retire."

"One moment," said Ina, turning to him. Then, in a low and very meaning
voice, _"There is something else."_

"No doubt there is plenty," said Miss Gale, sharply; "and, by my
authority, I postpone it all till you are stronger. Bid us good-by for
the present, Mr. Vizard."

"I obey," said he. "But, madam, please remember I am always at your
service. Send for me when you please, and the oftener the better for me."

"Thank you, my kind host. Oblige me with your hand."

He gave her his hand. She took it, and put her lips to it with pure and
gentle and seemly gratitude, and with no loss of dignity, though the act
was humble.

He turned his head away, to hide the emotion that act and the touch of
her sweet lips caused him; Miss Gale hurried him out of the room.

"You naughty patient," said she; "you must do nothing to excite
yourself."

"Sweet physician, loving nurse, I am not excited."

Miss Gale felt her heart to see.

"Gratitude does not excite," said Ina. "It is too tame a feeling in the
best of us."

"That is a fact," said Miss Gale; "so let us all be grateful, and avoid
exciting topics. Think what I should feel if you had a relapse. Why, you
would break my heart."

"Should I?"

"I really think you would, tough as it is. One gets so fond of an
unselfish patient. You cannot think how rare they are, dear. You are a
pearl. I cannot afford to lose you."

"Then you shall not," said Ina, firmly. "Know that I, who seem so weak,
am a woman of great resolution. I will follow good counsel; I will
postpone all dangerous topics till I am stronger; I will live. For I will
not grieve the true friends calamity has raised me."





Of course Fanny told Zoe all about this interview. She listened gloomily;
and all she said was, "Sisters do not go for much when a man is in love."

"Do brothers, when a woman is?" said Fanny.

"I dare say they go for as much as they are worth."

"Zoe, that is not fair. Harrington is full of affection for you. But you
will not go near him. Any other man would be very angry. Do pray make an
effort, and come down to dinner to-day."

"No, no. He has you and his Klosking. And I have my broken heart. I _am_
alone; and so will be all alone."

She cried and sobbed, but she was obstinate, and Fanny could only let her
have her own way in that.

Another question was soon disposed of. When Fanny invited her into the
sickroom, she said, haughtily, "I go there no more. Cure her, and send
her away--if Harrington will let her go. I dare say she is to be pitied."

"Of course she is. She is your fellow-victim, if you would only let
yourself see it."

"Unfortunately, instead of pitying her, I hate her. She has destroyed my
happiness, and done herself no good. He does not love her, and never
will."

Fanny found herself getting angry, so she said no more; for she was
determined nothing should make her quarrel with poor Zoe; but after
dinner, being _te'te-'a-te'te_ with Vizard, she told him she was afraid
Zoe could not see things as they were; and she asked him if he had any
idea what had become of Severne.

"Fled the country, I suppose."

"Are you sure he is not lurking about?"

"What for?"

"To get a word with Zoe--alone."

"He will not come near this. I will break every bone in his skin if he
does."

"But he is so sly; he might hang about."

"What for? She never goes out; and if she did, have you so poor an
opinion of her as to think she would speak to him?"

"Oh, no! and she would forbid him to speak to her. But he would be sure
to persist; and he has such wonderful powers of explanation, and she is
blinded by love, I think he would make her believe black was white, if he
had a chance; and if he is about, he will get a chance some day. She is
doing the very worst thing she could--shutting herself up so. Any moment
she will turn wild, and rush out reckless. She is in a dangerous state,
you mark my words; she is broken-hearted, and yet she is bitter against
everybody, except that young villain, and he is the only enemy she has in
the world. I don't believe Mademoiselle Klosking ever wronged her, nor
ever will. Appearances are against her; but she is a good woman, or I am
a fool. Take my advice, Harrington, and be on your guard. If he had
written a penitent letter to Mademoiselle Klosking, that would be a
different thing; but he ignores her, and that frightens me for Zoe."

Harrington would not admit that Zoe needed any other safeguard against a
detected scoundrel than her own sense of dignity. He consented, however,
to take precautions, if Fanny would solemnly promise not to tell Zoe, and
so wound her. On that condition, he would see his head-keeper tomorrow,
and all the keepers and watchers should be posted so as to encircle the
parish with vigilance. He assured Fanny these fellows had a whole system
of signals to the ear and eye, and Severne could not get within a mile of
the house undetected. "But," said he, "I will not trust to that alone. I
will send an advertisement to the local papers and the leading London
journals, so worded that the scoundrel shall know his forgery is
detected, and that he will be arrested on a magistrate's warrant if he
sets foot in Barfordshire."

Fanny said that was capital, and, altogether, he had set her mind at
rest.

"Then do as much for me," said Vizard. "Please explain a remarkable
phenomenon. You were always a bright girl, and no fool; but not exactly
what humdrum people would call a good girl. You are not offended?"

"The idea! Why, I have publicly disowned goodness again and again. You
have heard me."

"So I have. But was not that rather deceitful of you? for you have turned
out as good as gold. Anxiety has kept me at home of late, and I have
watched you. You live for others; you are all over the house to serve two
suffering _women._ That is real charity, not sexual charity, which
humbugs the world, but not me. You are cook, housemaid, butler, nurse,
and friend to both of them. In an interval of your time, so creditably
employed, you come and cheer me up with your bright little face, and give
me wise advice. I know that women are all humbugs; only you are a humbug
reversed, and deserve a statue--and trimmings. You have been passing
yourself off for a naughty girl, and all the time you were an extra good
one."

"And that puzzles the woman-hater, the cynical student, who says he has
fathomed woman. My poor dear Harrington, if you cannot read so shallow a
character as I am, how will you get on with those ladies upstairs--Zoe,
who is as deep as the sea, and turbid with passion, and the Klosking, who
is as deep as the ocean?"

She thought a moment and said, "There, I will have pity on you. You shall
understand one woman before you die, and that is me. I'll give you the
clew to my seeming inconsistencies--if _you_ will give _me_ a cigarette."

"What! another hidden virtue? You smoke?"

"Not I, except when I happen to be with a noble soul who won't tell."

Vizard found her a Russian cigarette, and lighted his own cigar, and she
lectured as follows:

"What women love, and can't do without, if they are young and healthy and
spirited, is--Excitement. I am one who pines for it. Now, society is so
constructed that to get excitement you must be naughty. Waltzing all
night and flirting all day are excitement. Crochet, and church, and
examining girls in St. Matthew, and dining _en famille,_ and going to bed
at ten, are stagnation. Good girls--that means stagnant girls: I hate and
despise the tame little wretches, and I never was one, and never will be.
But now look here: We have two ladies in love with one villain-- that is
exciting. One gets nearly killed in the house--that is gloriously
exciting. The other is broken-hearted. If I were to be a bad girl, and
say, 'It is not my business; I will leave them to themselves, and go my
little mill-round of selfishness as before,' why, what a fool I must be!
I should lose Excitement. Instead of that, I run and get thinks for the
Klosking--Excitement. I cook for her, and nurse her, and sit up half the
night--Excitement. Then I run to Zoe, and do my best for her--and get
snubbed--Excitement. Then I sit at the head of your table, and order
you--Excitement. Oh, it is lovely!"

"Shall you not be sorry when they both get well, and Routine
recommences?"

"Of course I shall. That is the sort of good girl I am. And, oh! when
that fatal day comes, how I shall flirt. Heaven help my next flirtee! I
shall soon flirt out the stigma of a good girl. You mark my words, I
shall flirt with some _married man_ after this. I never did that yet. But
I shall; I know I shall. --Ah!--there, I have burned my finger."

"Never mind. That is exciting."

"As such I accept it. Good-by. I must go and relieve Miss Gale. Exit the
good girl on her mission of charity--ha! ha!" She hummed a _valse 'a deux
temps,_ and went dancing out with such a whirl that her petticoats, which
were ample, and not, as now, like a sack tied at the knees, made quite a
cool air in the room.

She had not been gone long when Miss Gale came down, full of her patient.
She wanted to get her out of bed during the daytime, but said she was not
strong enough to sit up. Would he order an invalid couch down from
London? She described the article, and where it was to be had.

He said Harris should go up in the morning and bring one down with him.

He then put her several questions about her patient; and at last asked
her, with an anxiety he in vain endeavored to conceal, what she thought
was the relation between her and Severne.

Now it may be remembered that Miss Gale had once been on the point of
telling him all she knew, and had written him a letter. But at that time
the Klosking was not expected to appear on the scene in person. Were she
now to say she had seen her and Severne living together, Rhoda felt that
she should lower her patient. She had not the heart to do that.

Rhoda Gale was not of an amorous temperament, and she was all the more
open to female attachments. With a little encouragement she would have
loved Zoe, but she had now transferred her affection to the Klosking. She
replied to Vizard almost like a male lover defending the object of his
affection.

"The exact relation is more than I can tell; but I think he has lived
upon her, for she was richer than he was; and I feel sure he has promised
her marriage. And my great fear now is lest he should get hold of her and
keep his promise. He is as poor as a rat or a female physician; and she
has a fortune in her voice, and has money besides, Miss Dover tells me.
Pray keep her here till she is quite well, please."

"I will."

"And then let me have her up at Hillstoke. She is beginning to love me,
and I dote on her."

"So do I."

"Ah, but you must not."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Well, why not?"

"She is not to love any man again who will not marry her. I won't let
her. I'll kill her first, I love her so. A rogue she shan't marry, and I
can't let you marry her, because, her connection with that Severne is
mysterious. She seems the soul of virtue, but I could not let _you_ marry
her until things are clearer."

"Make your mind easy. I will not marry her--nor anybody else--till things
are a great deal clearer than I have ever found them, where your sex is
concerned."

Miss Gale approved the resolution.

Next day Vizard posted his keepers, and sent his advertisements to the
London and country journals.

Fanny came into his study to tell him there was more trouble--Miss
Maitland taken seriously ill, and had written to Zoe.

"Poor old soul!" said Vizard. "I have a great mind to ride over and see
her."

"Somebody ought to go," said Fanny.

"Well, you go."

"How can I--with Zoe, and Mademoiselle Klosking, and you, to look after?"

"Instead of one old woman. Not much excitement in that."

"No, cousin. To think of your remembering! Why, you must have gone to bed
sober."

"I often do."

"You were always an eccentric landowner."

"Don't you talk. You are a caricature."

This banter was interrupted by Miss Gale, who came to tell Harrington
Mademoiselle Klosking desired to see him, at his leisure.

He said he would come directly.

"Before you go," said Miss Gale, "let us come to an understanding. She
had only two days' fever; but that fever, and the loss of blood, and the
shock to her nerves, brought her to death's door by exhaustion. Now she
is slowly recovering her strength, because she has a healthy stomach, and
I give her no stimulants to spur and then weaken her, but choice and
simple esculents, the effect of which I watch, and vary them accordingly.
But the convalescent period is always one of danger, especially from
chills to the body, and excitements to the brain. At no period are more
patients thrown away for want of vigilance. Now I can guard against
chills and other bodily things, but not against excitements--unless you
co-operate. The fact is, we must agree to avoid speaking about Mr.
Severne. We must be on our guard. We must parry; we must evade; we must
be deaf, stupid, slippery; but no Severne--for five or six days more, at
all events."

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