"You seem to take a deep interest in this weak-minded person."
"I do,—the deepest. I am the man."
She rose to her feet, and, looking scornfully down upon him, exclaimed,—
"Then you acknowledge yourself a villain!—not from premeditation, which would give your baseness some dignity, but a weakly fool, so tossed about by Fate that he is made a villain without either desire or resistance!"
"You may overwhelm me with reproaches; I am prepared for them; I deserve them. But God only knows through what a season of torture I have passed to come to this determination."
"A very ingenious story, Mr. Greenleaf! Do you suppose that the world will believe it, the day after our losses? Do you expect me to believe it, even?"
"I told you that I had not heard of the failure. I am in the habit of being believed."
"For instance, when you vowed that you loved me, and me only!"
"You may spare your taunts. But, to show you how mercenary I am, let me assure you that the woman to whom my word is pledged, and to whom I must return, is without any property or expectations."
"Very well, Sir," said Marcia, rubbing her hands, in the endeavor to conceal her agitation; "we need not waste words. After what you have told me, I could only despise such a whiffler,—a scrap of refuse iron at the mercy of any magnet,—a miller dashing into every fight. A lover so helpless must needs have some new passional attraction—that is the phrase, I believe—with every changing moon. The man I love should be made of different stuff." She drew her figure up proudly, and her lips curled like a beautiful fiend's. "He should bury the disgraceful secret, if he had it, in his heart, and carry it to his grave. He would not cry out like a boy with a cut finger."
"Precisely, Miss Sandford. And for that reason you would be no mate for me. My wife must have no skeletons in her closet."
"Men generally claim the monopoly of those agreeable toys, I believe."
"Love is impossible where there are concealments. A secret is like a worm in the heart of an apple, and nothing but rottenness and corruption follow."
"Fortunately, you harbor none. You have turned your heart inside out, like a peddler's pack,—and a gratifying display it made! I am more than satisfied."
"The tone you have adopted is a warning to me to stop. I wish to bandy no epithets, or reproaches. I came sorrowfully to tell you what I have told. I had no fault to impute to you. But I must confess that this morning you have shown yourself capable of thoughts and feelings I never suspected, and I shall leave you with a far lighter heart than I came."
"You expected to see me at your feet, imploring your love and striving to melt you by tears,—did you? It would have been a pleasing triumph,—one that your sex prizes, I believe; but you have not been gratified. I know what is due to myself, and I do not stoop. But there may be ways to punish the betrayer of confidence," she said, with a heaving bosom and distended nostrils. "I have a brother; and even if he is forgetful, I shall not forget."
"I am obliged to you for putting me on my guard. I wished to part otherwise. Be it so, since you will."
He turned to leave the room. Swift as lightning, she ran to the front door and braced herself against it, at the same time calling loudly to her brother. Mr. Sandford came to the top of the stairs and listened with apparent apathy, while the maddened woman poured out her rage. He stood a moment like one in a dream, and then slowly came down.
"There is your cane," said Marcia, fiercely, pointing to the umbrella-stand.
"I give you fair warning," said Greenleaf, calmly, "that you will never strike more than one blow. No man shall assault me but at the risk of his life."
"What is the need of this fury?" asked Mr. Sandford. "I don't want to quarrel with a pauper. You are well rid of him. If you were to be married, you'd only have the pleasure of going to Deer Island for your bridal trip."
"Then you will see me insulted without lifting a finger? Coward! Broken down like a weed for the loss of a little money! I should be ashamed to have a beard, if I had such a timid soul!"
"I trust, Miss Sandford," said Greenleaf, "you do not wish to prolong this scene. Let me pass."
"Oh, yes,—you can go; can't he, brother?"
She opened the door, looking scornfully from the one to the other.
At that moment Mrs. Sandford came down, bringing a satchel, and asked Greenleaf to walk with her until she could get a carriage. He cheerfully promised his aid, and took the satchel. Her eyes were sadly beautiful, and still humid from recent tears; and her face wore a touching look of resignation. She did not speak to Mr. Sandford, who stood scowling at her; but, taking Marcia's hand, she said,—
"Good bye, sister! I never thought to leave you in this way. I hope we shall never see a darker hour. I shall send for my trunks presently. Good bye!"
"Good bye!" replied Marcia, mechanically. "You have a brave gallant! See to it that he is not compelled by Destiny to make love to you on the way!"
Greenleaf, with his companion, descended the steps to the street, making no reply to this amiable God-speed.
Marcia shut the door, and with her brother returned to the parlor. At the head of the stairs that led to the dining-room stood Number Two and Biddy, who in stupid wonder had witnessed the scenes just described.
"Bridget," exclaimed the enraged mistress, "what are you staring at?
Come here! Pah! you have been drinking! You, too, you creature!"
Number Two bowed with maudlin politeness.
"You-do-m'injustice, Ma'am. On'y a smallsup, a littlesup, ponmyhonorasgen'l'man."
"Bridget, do you pack up your baggage and be off! Rioting and feasting in the time of our trouble! Ungrateful hussy!"
"I'll do that same, Miss Marshy; but me waages, if ye plaze, Miss."
"Get your wages, if you can. You've broken more crockery and glass, and wasted more wines and preserves, than you ever earned."
"That's always the way, Miss, I've noticed, when missuses was o' mind to get claar of payin' the honest dues. But me brother"—
"Be off to your brother! But first go and cool your head under the water-faucet."
Muttering and whining, the disconsolate Biddy crept up to the attic for her scanty wardrobe.
"Here, fellow!" said Marcia to Number Two, whose foolish smiles at any other time would have been ludicrous,—"go into the kitchen and get sober."
He obeyed like a spaniel.
"Now, Henry," said Marcia, rather more composed, "let us do something at once. It's plain that we can't live here for the house will be stripped; and in our circumstances we would not stay, if we could. That fellow is so far stupefied that we can save what we can carry away. If you have any spirit left, help me pack our clothes and such things as can be put into our trunks. Come! are you dreaming?"
He started up and followed her like a child. With superhuman energy, she ransacked the house and gathered the most valuable articles. Plate, linen, dresses, Parian ware, books, furs, and jewelry were packed, as securely as the time allowed. A carriage and a baggage-wagon were ordered, and in an incredibly short period they were ready to start.
"We have forgotten Charles," said Mr. Sandford.
"True enough," said Marcia. "Go and call him; he is too handsome to be spared from our party just now. Tell him to bring his clothes."
The penitent came down, reluctantly; his nose was still puffy, and the crescent under his eye rather more livid; muffled and cloaked, he was led to the carriage. Mr. Sandford then remembered the cherished parchment certificates and votes of thanks,—his title-deeds to distinction.
"Leave them," said his sister, contemptuously. "What are they good for?
A few commonplace autographs in tarnished gilt frames."
Bridget,