CHAPTER XIX.
On the afternoon of the second day following the rescue of Dorothy,Mr. Thorpe, accompanied by his child, visited Mr. Harris by urgentinvitation. The trees were still dressed in their leafy glow of autumnglory and, with the luxuriant green velvety grass of the lawn, inviteda pause for contemplation of the entrancingly serene and happycondition earth intended her children to enjoy. Above was a clear,infinitely beautiful blue sky, through which the radiant orb of daypoured down its golden shafts of light in masses of exuberant splendorand warmth.
It was an environment singularly touching and persuasive in its appealto human nature for "Peace on earth and good will toward men."
As John Thorpe and his child walked up the path toward the house andarrived near the spot where his quarrel with Mr. Corway had takenplace, just one week previous, he could not but halt, sensitive to theinsidious influence so softly streaming about him--so gentle, yet sopowerful in contra-distinction to the unhappy change that had sorecently come into his life. Oh, for something to banish the bittermemories conjured up as his gaze riveted on the "damned spot" wherehis wife's inconstancy had been told to him.
And as he looked, a far-off dreamy stare settled in his eyes, as thereunrolled before his vision the sweet bliss of happy years fled--gone,as he thought, never to return.
"Oh, God!" he exclaimed, overwhelmed with sudden emotion, and heclapped his hand to his forehead as an involuntary groan of anguishwelled up from his heart.
His composure slowly returned to him, but the eroding effect of hissmothered anguish would not obliterate, and he found himself thinking,"It was unwise to come to this place--here where memory is embitteredby recollections of what has been. Terrible revelation! Terrible!Yet--I could not have been brought to credit it but for the evidence ofmy eyes."
These words seemed to startle him with a new light, for he paused, andthen in a voice almost reduced to a whisper, fruitful with eagerdoubt, said, "What have my eyes proved to me? Is there room for apossibility of a mistake? No, no! The ring is evidence of her guilt.Oh, Constance, when I needed you, the world owned no purer or moreperfect woman; but now--fallen, fallen, fallen!"
While deeply absorbed in sad reflection, Dorothy stole to his sideand, looking up, wistfully, in his face, said:
"Dear papa, isn't mama here, either?"
The question from the child, uppermost in her mind, aroused him fromhis heart-aching reverie. He looked at her sternly. "Mama," herepeated; "child, breathe that name no more! Banish it from yourmemory! Oh, no, no, no! I did not mean that!" and he turned his headaside with downcast eyes, shocked and ashamed at his passionateoutburst in the presence of his little child.
He sat down on a bench and put her on his knee, and as he did sobecame conscious of the child again looking wistfully in his eyes.
"Well, you are sorry for leaving mama in that old cabin, aren't you?"
It forced him to turn his eyes away from her, and with a tremor ofpain in his voice, muttered: "Twenty times the child has said that tome today," and, turning to her, he said gently and with infinitecompassion:
"Dorothy, you are too young to comprehend. It is my intention toremove you from the home of your birth, to take you East, and educateyou there. Now, don't trouble me with questions, dear," and he kissedthe fair young brow and, looking into her sweet innocent brown eyes,he saw reflected in them her mother's.
Then he turned his head aside and muttered: "So much like her mother!Oh, Constance! Constance! My judgment condemns you, but my heart--myheart will not leave you!"
Down from the house leisurely strolled Mr. Harris and Hazel.
"His Grace has just communicated to me the most amazing informationabout Virginia. It is so absurd that I felt quite angry with him formentioning it," Hazel said quite seriously.
"And what did he tell you?" inquired Mr. Harris. "If it is no secret?"
"He told me that it is common talk that she was found in the cabinwith Constance at the time of Dorothy's rescue by her father, havingjust rewarded the Italian for abducting the child, and that they bothswooned when uncle found them there."
"Lord Beauchamp must have been misinformed," broke in Mr. Harris, witha grave face. "If such were the case Sam would have told me. All idletattle--mischievous gossip!"
"Ah! Mr. Thorpe and Dorothy!"
"Oh, darling!" exclaimed Hazel, and she gathered the child in herarms, kissed her, and flew off to the house with her.
"Well, John, I am glad to meet you again," shaking his hand, "thoughto tell the truth, I did not expect you."
"It has cost me bitter memories, Mr. Harris."
"I have long since discovered," continued Mr. Harris, "that while timecannot heal a deep-rooted sorrow, it softens many of its asperities.When do you depart for the East?"
"I have made arrangements to leave tomorrow."
"You are doing just what would prompt any man in like position to do.I trust we shall hear from you occasionally."
"It is now my purpose, after arranging for Dorothy's education, totravel abroad for an indefinite period, but I shall endeavor to keepin communication with you."
Linking his arm in that of his guest, Mr. Harris said: "Come, John,let us join Mrs. Harris on the piazza. She is anxious to have a chatwith you."
Turning in the direction of the house, to their surprise theyconfronted Virginia. Mr. Thorpe at once withdrew his arm from that ofMr. Harris, and stepping aside with an offended dignity, remarkedreproachfully:
"I was not aware of having merited the honor you do me."
Mr. Harris threw up his hands deprecatingly. He understood the purportof the allusion and was dumb. He had been quite unaware of thepresence of Virginia, and knowing of the estrangement between brotherand sister, felt embarrassed. He was rescued from his dilemma byVirginia, who addressed him in a grave voice.
"Please leave us, Mr. Harris."
His respect and esteem for her was sincere and great. Her good senseand becoming modesty had often impressed him as a woman of sterlingqualities. Utterly disbelieving and discrediting the insinuations andinnuendoes which Rutley had set afloat to his own advantage concerningher antagonistic relation with her brother, he conceived her to be theunhappy subject of a combination of circumstances over which she hadno influence. A prey to anxiety, she retained little of the color andless of the vivacity formerly so conspicuously her heritage; yet herbroad brow glistened white with an intellectuality that beautified herwith spiritual chastity.
He was struck, too, with her very serious and pallid face, and hisheart went out to her. He bowed low in answer to her request, andwithout a word gravely turned away and left them.
John Thorpe saw that Virginia was suffering from some great mentalstrain, nevertheless he chose to appear icily indifferent. Heattributed her contrite appearance to the fact that he had surprisedher and Constance in the cabin with the abductor of his child. Hecould conceive of no reason for them being there other than collusionwith the Italian, for he believed they were cognizant of Dorothy'splace of imprisonment all the time, and while it was possible theItalian held the child for ransom, they kept her place of concealmentsecret, under the belief that she was safer from seizure by Thorpethan at home or with friends, and also that it would draw the sympathyof acquaintances to Constance, and though Dorothy told him in herchildish way that Virginia had given George Golda money, a minutesearch of his clothes and about the cabin failed to disclose it, andJohn Thorpe interpreted her defense of Dorothy as an unexpectedcontingency arising from the frenzied fury of the Italian to savehimself from capture when he found escape cut off.
When Virginia swooned, it mercifully relieved her from a mostembarrassing and painful position.
Such were his thoughts as he directed a stony stare of freezinghaughtiness upon her--the woman, his sister, whom he now regarded asbeyond the pale of blood relationship.
"I did not expect to meet you here," he said in a voice grave with asense of the worry from which he was suffering and from which wrong hecould not, no
matter how he reasoned, disassociate the name of hissister.
"I have tried to find you--to meet you--to--in short, to demand anexplanation of this affair; but until now I have been unsuccessful."
She spoke hesitatingly and with a slight tremor in her voice,otherwise there was no indication of the great emotion that she waslaboring under. In short, her demeanor, while firm and of simpledignity, was of the gravest character imaginable.
"You have broken all ties between us," he answered slowly.
"John, John! Don't turn away! Stop!" and she held up a warning fingeras, stepping in front of him, she barred his way.
"You shall hear me. For I believe what I have to tell you is of theutmost importance. But first, what cause have you for divorcingConstance?"
"You ask that question?" he slowly emphasized.
"Yes, I ask that question," as steadily and definitely she regardedhim.
"If on my return from China you had not concealed from me herinfatuation for that man--that fellow Corway--this unhappy trouble wouldhave been over long ago."
"I have concealed nothing from you! John, I am sure it is all amistake."
"All a mistake?" he angrily repeated. "You concealed nothing from me!When her notoriety was of such common gossip that strangers werefamiliar with details!"
"If you had not degraded Constance by so meanly believing the palpableartifice of a--a stranger," quietly and gravely replied Virginia--"ifyou had but given her an opportunity to defend herself, you would havefound no cause for divorce; no cause even to fear the tainted breathof scandal could ever attach to Constance. Oh, John, it is all wrong!Constance is innocent! She has never been untrue to you!"
Excitedly he turned to her, his face ablaze with the fervor of hisamazement, as he repeated:
"Innocent--Constance! Constance innocent!"
"Yes," promptly responded Virginia. "I who know it, swear it istrue--swear it is the truth in the sight of that high throne beforewhich we shall all stand in the Judgment Day.
"It was I who originated the dreadful insinuations against Mr.Corway."
"Yes, yes! That may be true--but--" and Thorpe's manner again relapsedto a heart-aching resignation, as he sadly added: "He wore my wife'sring!"
"Yes, that is true, John, but unknown to her and most assuredlywithout her consent," eagerly asserted Virginia, and she related themanner Corway obtained the ring, and how she subsequently hadindiscreetly informed Beauchamp it was "your gift to Constance."
Those of poor wayward humanity who, in moments of great passion havedone a great wrong, know what torture is silently endured as day andnight, in moments awake and in dreams asleep, the crime haunts them,and knocks, knocks, knocks, without ceasing, upon the soul's door forrelease of the secret.
Such were Virginia's feelings, and the sweet happiness experiencedwhen she confessed her sin shone in her face with convincingtruthfulness.
John listened to her with ever increasing amazement, and when she hadconcluded, his cold, austere demeanor had perceptibly softened. YetThorpe breathed hard.
"You vilified Corway's character and I have heard recently of his--ofher mad infatuation for him and of his frequent visits to our homewhile I was away in China."
"The source of your information was a lie. You received itgratuitously from Beauchamp, did you not?"
"I have not mentioned the source of my information. Why do you thinkhe was my informant?"
"Because he hated Corway."
"And you conspired with him to ruin my home," quickly interruptedThorpe, and again coldly turned from her.
"You shall hear me!" and Virginia insistently gripped his coat sleeveand turned him toward her. "I have sought you too long to explain thisunhappy affair, and now that I have found you, you must hear me out."
Smothering his impatience, Thorpe said: "Well!"
"I loved Corway, oh, so fondly!--but, alas, too well, and I allowedmyself to cherish the belief that in his endearing manifestations hereciprocated my love. But on my premature return from the farm, Iunexpectedly heard him declare his passion for Hazel. Then an allabsorbing desire for revenge possessed me.
"I resolved to break their engagement and first endeavor to estrangehim--from your friendship. To accomplish that end I traduced hischaracter and created a suspicion that his attention to Hazel wasinsincere and mercenary, expecting that after Corway was denied accessto your home, I could smooth over the unpleasantness between you andHazel and eventually annul his betrothal to her. But your informantjuggled the names, made Constance the subject of Corway's affectioninstead of Hazel, and led you to believe the ring was a love tokenfrom her to him."
"He insisted and repeated that Constance was the guilty one and notHazel," dubiously commented Thorpe.
"I understand now, it was out of revenge," she laconically replied.
"Revenge! What wrong have I done Lord Beauchamp?" questioned Thorpe,amazed at Virginia's disclosures.
"You will understand when I disclose, as I have recently learned thathe is Philip Rutley, masquerading as Lord Beauchamp."
"God of our fathers!" exclaimed Thorpe, clapping his hand to his whiteforehead, to still the pain of sudden doubt of his wife's inconstancy,that had seized him.
"What punishment is this inflicted on me?"
Then turning to Virginia with fierce light in his eyes, he sprang ather. In one bound he clutched her by the wrist, glared in her eyes,and said:
"And you, my only sister, have known all this and permitted him towreak his vengeance upon my innocent wife, who never bore him malice,or did him wrong by thought, word or deed."
"I did not think that harm would fall on Constance." Yet even beforeshe had finished speaking, a change came over Thorpe, and his grip onher wrist loosened. A victim of doubt and suspicion, his moods were aschanging and variable as the coloring of a chameleon. Apparently hewas not yet satisfied of the complete innocence of his wife or of thetruthfulness of his sister, for he said, in a voice saddened byreflection: "That does not explain your connection with the abductionof Dorothy."
"I have them with me," she muttered, appreciating the importance ofclearing herself. "Yes, they are here," and she hastily produced fromher corsage an envelope having had the foresight to preserve them asmost precious testimony in case of need.
The moment had come and found her prepared. Handing him the two notes,with a winsome expression of thankfulness, she said:
"Read them, John, this one first, and you will know why I was in thecabin."
She had handed to him the two notes received from George Golda, thoughin reality they had been penned by his colleague, Rutley. The firstnote asked for a meeting in the City park. The second demanded theamount of ransom that night on penalty of removal of Dorothy.
"The time was urgent in the extreme," she continued. "Unable to securethe amount of ransom demanded, I resolved to go alone to the cabin,determined to rescue Dorothy."
"You entered then."
"But you were not alone; Constance was with you," he corrected.
"When I told her my purpose, she pleaded so hard. Oh, so hard to gowith me, that I could not deny her. I have told you all."
John Thorpe was not the only listener to Virginia's pleading.Intensely interested, neither of them noticed Sam Harris approach, andwith him the little Scotch terrier, which had completely recoveredfrom its painful experience on the launch at Ross Island. When hefirst caught sight of them confronting each other, he gave a lowwhistle of surprise, and then, as he drew near to address them,involuntarily he heard her last words. His eyelids twitched withpleasure as he listened to the idol of his heart vindicate Constance.Smothering a cry of joy, he turned and at once withdrew, muttering tohimself: "Lord, how light my heart feels! Virginia is doing the rightthing now, I guess. Come, Doctor"--the name he had given to thedog--"we'll leave them for awhile, eh?" And the brown eyes of thegrateful canine looked up at him with almost human intelligence andaffection.
John Thorpe's demeanor had undergone a great change in the few minutes
he had listened to Virginia. His frigid haughtiness had softened,through successive stages, to a gentleness bordering on compassion.
"I will take care of these," said he, in a voice of tenderness, as heplaced the notes in his pocket. "But, oh, God in Heaven! What shall Isay to my beloved wife?"
"You believe me, John?" Virginia cried, in a tone of heartfeltthankfulness--her eager gaze fastened on his face. Her pleading touchedhim deeply. He took her in his arms, gently kissed her fair brow, andin a broken voice, said:
"Virginia, we are only human, with human failings; but in your honorand truthfulness of this dreadful affair, God bear witness to myfaith!"
A devout joy flushed the pallor of her beautiful face, as sheresponded with a thankful heart, purified as gold with fire: "Myprayers are answered, and my brother is himself again."
"Yes, Virginia," he continued, with the fervor of family pride, as hethought of the part she had taken in Dorothy's rescue--"And in thatbook which shall be opened in the last great day, there will bepointed out by the Recording Angel--my sister's atonement." Then,without releasing her, he went on in an altered, anxious voice: "Andmy darling wife! Where is Constance? Tell me, Virginia, that I may goto her at once and plead her forgiveness."
"What shall I say?" she whispered, awestruck, caught in a moment offorgetfulness of the woman who suffered for it all. "I must not tellhim where she is. No, no, no! Not yet!" and she battled to subdue heragitation that she might invent some plea to postpone the meeting withhis wife. "Not now; not now, John," and drawing away from him,unconsciously put out her hand as though to ward off some impendingevil.
"Why not?" he asked in surprised tones. "I must see her. I must knowwhere my darling wife is at once!"
A flash of pain shot athwart the girl's features as she muttered underher breath: "Oh, dear! What shall I tell him, what shall I say? Whatshall I do now?"
Thorpe hastily stepped forward to her assistance, and with concern inhis voice, said: "Virginia, you are ill!"
"Let me rest for a moment or two"--trying her utmost to appearunperturbed, and as she sank on a bench, continued brokenly: "I shallbe all right presently. The long walk--the terrible strain"--
"My dear sister, you need assistance," interrupted Thorpe. "You mustlet me help you to the house and obtain proper care for you," and hetenderly attempted to lift her to her feet.
"No, no, no!" she quickly responded; "I--shall be better in a fewmoments. Just a little--quiet rest, John, and alone, please. I shallsoon be well again."
"As you desire, Virginia; but I shall tell Mrs. Harris."
"No, no, John! Don't tell her! I wish to be alone for awhile."
"Very well, dear; as I have a message for Mr. Harris, shall seek himat the house; but I will return in a few moments," and then,considerate for her wish to be alone, he left her.
Helpless to resist the impetus of her consuming desire to reunite Johnand his wife, Constance, she yet dreaded the aftermath of the shockhis discovery must surely produce. Virginia knew not which way to turnor what course to pursue.
"Oh, Auntie! Auntie! I'm so glad you've come. Mamma is coming to seeme, too. Isn't she?" and Dorothy, having caught sight of Virginia, ranto her, and then, not to be denied, in her childish way climbed up onthe bench beside her and affectionately clasped her little arms abouther neck.
"Papa doesn't like her," she proceeded, in a low, serious,confidential manner, "and wants me not to like her, too. But I shalllike her. I shall always love-dear mamma-as-long-as-I-live!" The lastfew words were uttered in a quivering voice, but with a decision thatappeared marvelous in one so young.
Folding her arms about the child, Virginia fondly looked into hereyes. "God bless you, sweet, winsome soul!" And then they kissed.
"Aunty, won't you take me to mamma?" pleaded the child. A ray of lighthad at last unexpectedly illumined a path for Virginia to pursue.Suddenly releasing the child, she arose to her feet and said, withanimation: "Some good may come of it. I will seek Mrs. Harris and haveher detain John while I bring Constance--and Dorothy together--before hemeets her. Yes, darling," she said, taking Dorothy's hand; "you shallsee your mother."
An Oregon Girl: A Tale of American Life in the New West Page 25
