CHAPTER XXIX.
"OUR WAYS PART HERE, NEVER TO CROSS AGAIN."
Gerald Goddard arose from his chair, and stared at the woman inunfeigned astonishment.
"Really, Mrs. Weld! this is an unexpected meeting--I had no thought ofseeing you here, or even that you were acquainted with Mrs. Stewart,"he remarked, while he searched his recent housekeeper's face withcurious eyes.
"I have known Isabel Haven all her life," the woman replied, withoutappearing in the least disconcerted by the gentleman's scrutiny.
"Can that be possible?" exclaimed her companion, but losing some ofhis color at the information.
"Yes."
"Then I presume you are familiar with her history."
"I am; with every item of it, from her cradle to the present hour."
"And were you aware of her presence in Boston when you applied foryour position at Wyoming?"
"I was."
"Perchance it was at her instigation that you sought the place," Mr.Goddard remarked, a sudden suspicion making him feel sick at heart.
"Mrs. Stewart certainly knew that I was to have charge of your house,"calmly responded Mrs. Weld.
"Then there was a plot between you--you had some deep-laid scheme inseeking the situation."
"I do not deny the charge, sir."
"What! do you boldly affirm it? What was your object?" demanded theman, in a towering rage, but growing deathly white at the explanationthat suggested itself to his mind.
"I perceive that you have your suspicions, Mr. Goddard," coollyremarked the woman, without losing an atom of her self-possession inview of his anger.
"I have. Great Heavens! I understand it all now," cried her companion,hoarsely. "It was you who stole that certificate from my wife's room!"
"Yes, sir; I was fortunate enough to find it, two days previous to theball."
"You confess it!--you dare own it to me, madam! You are worse than aprofessional thief, and I will have you arrested for your crime!" andGerald Goddard was almost beside himself with passion at her cooleffrontery.
"I hardly think you will, Mr. Goddard," was the quiet response. "Iimagine that you would hesitate to bring such a charge against me,since such a course would necessitate explanations that might be toyou somewhat distasteful, if not mortifying. You would hardly like toreveal the character of the document, which, however, you have made amistake in asserting that I stole--"
"But you have admitted the charge," he excitedly interposed.
"I beg your pardon, I have not acknowledged the crime of theft--Isimply stated that I was fortunate enough to find the document inquestion."
"It seems to me that that is a distinction without a difference," hesneered.
"One can hardly be accused of stealing what rightly belongs to one'sself," Mrs. Weld composedly said.
"What--what on earth can you mean? Explain yourself."
"Certainly; that is exactly what I came here to do," she answered, as,with a dexterous movement, she tore the glasses from her eyes, andswept the moles from her face, after which she snatched the cap andwig from her head, and stood before her companion revealed as IsabelStewart herself.
"Good Heaven!" he gasped, then sank back upon his chair, staring inblank amazement at her.
Mrs. Stewart seized this opportunity to again slip from the room, andwhen she returned, a few minutes later, her superabundance of cellulartissue (?) had disappeared and she was her own peerless self oncemore.
She quietly resumed her seat, gravely remarking, as she did so:
"A woman who has been wronged as you have wronged me, Gerald Goddard,will risk a great deal to re-establish her good name. When I firstlearned of your whereabouts I thought I would go and boldly demandthat certificate of you. I tried to meet you in society here, but,strange to say, I failed in this attempt, for, as it happened, neitheryou nor your--Anna Correlli frequented the places where I wasentertained, although I did meet Monsieur Correlli two or three times.Then I saw that advertisement for a housekeeper to go out to Wyoming,to take charge of your house during a mid-winter frolic; and, promptedby a feeling of curiosity to learn something of your private life withthe woman who had supplanted me, I conceived the idea of applying forthe situation and thus trying to obtain that certificate by strategy.How did I know that it was you who advertised?" she interposed, as Mr.Goddard looked up inquiringly. "Because I chanced to overhear some onesay that the Goddards were going out of town for the same purpose asthat which your notice mentioned. So I disguised myself, as you haveseen, went to your office, found I was right, and secured theposition."
"Now I know why I was so startled that day, when you dropped yourglasses in the dining-room," groaned the wretched man.
"Yes; I saw that you had never forgotten the eyes which you used tocall your 'windows of paradise,'" responded his companion, with quietirony, and Gerald Goddard shrank under the familiar smile as under ablow.
"Gerald," she went on, after a moment of painful silence, but with anote of pity pervading her musical tones, "a man can never escape thegalling consciousness of wrong that he has done until he repents ofit; even then the consequences of his sin must follow him throughlife. Yours was a nature of splendid possibilities; there was scarcelyany height to which you might not have attained, had you lived up toyour opportunities. You had wealth and position, and a physique suchas few men possess; you were finely educated, and you were a superiorartist. What have you to show for all this? what have you done withyour God-given talents? how will you answer to Him, when He calls youto account for the gifts intrusted to your care? What excuse, also,will you give for the wreck you have made of two women's lives? Youbegan all wrong; in the first place, you weakly yielded to the selfishgratification of your own pleasure; you lived upon the principle thatyou must have a good time, no matter who suffered in consequence--youmust be amused, regardless of who or what was sacrificed to subservethat end--"
"You are very hard upon me, Isabel; I have been no worse than hundredsof other men in those respects," interposed Gerald Goddard, whosmarted under her searching questions and scathing charges as under alash.
"Granted that you 'are no worse than hundreds of other men,'" sheretorted, with scornful emphasis, "and more's the pity. But how doesthat lessen the measure of your responsibility, pray tell me? Therewill come a time when each and every man must answer for himself. Ihave nothing to do with any one else, but I have the right to call youto account for the selfishness and sins which have had such a banefulinfluence upon my life; I have the right, by reason of all that I havesuffered at your hands--by the broken heart of my youth--the loss ofmy self-respect--the despair which so nearly drove me to crime--and,more than all else, by that terrible renunciation that deprived me ofmy child, that innocent baby whom I loved with no ordinaryaffection--I say I have the right to arraign you in the sight ofHeaven and of your own conscience, and to make one last attempt tosave you, if you will be saved."
"What do you care--what does it matter to you now whether I am savedor lost?" the man huskily demanded, and in a tone of intensebitterness, for her solemn words had pierced his heart like adouble-edged dagger.
"I care because you are a human being, with a soul that must liveeternally--because I am striving to serve One who has commanded us tofollow Him in seeking to save that which is lost," the fair womangravely replied. "Look at yourself, Gerald--your inner self, I mean.Outwardly you are a specimen of God's noblest handiwork. How does yourspiritual self compare with your physical frame?--has it attained thesame perfection? No; it has become so dwarfed and misshapen by yourindulgence in sin and vice--so hardened by yielding to so-called'pleasure,' your intellect so warped, your talents so misapplied thateven your Maker would scarcely recognize the being that He Himself hadbrought into existence. You are forty-nine years old, Gerald--you mayhave ten, twenty, even thirty more to live. How will you spend them?Will you go on as you have been living for almost half a century, oris there still a germ of good within you that you will have strengthand resolution to
develop, as far as may be, toward that perfectsymmetry which God desires every human soul to attain? Think!--choose!Make this hour the turning point in your career; go back to yourpainting, retrieve your skill, and work to some purpose and for someworthy object. If you do not need the money such work will bring, foryour own support, use it for the good of others--of those unfortunateones, perchance, whose lives have been blighted, as mine was blighted,by those 'hundreds of other men' like you."
As the beautiful woman concluded her earnest appeal, theconscience-smitten man dropped his head upon the table beside which hesat, and groaned aloud.
For the first time in his life he saw himself as he was, and loathedhimself, his past life, and all the alluring influences that hadconspired to decoy him into the downward path which he had trodden.
"I will! I will! Oh, Isabel, forgive and help me," he pleaded, in avoice thrilling with despair.
"I help you?" she repeated, in an inquiring tone, in which there was anote of surprise.
"Yes, with your sweet counsel, your pure example and influence."
"I do not understand you, quite," she responded, her lovely colorwaning as a suspicion of his meaning began to dawn upon her.
He raised his face, which was drawn and haggard from the remorse hewas suffering, and looked appealingly into hers. But, as he met thegaze of her pure, grave eyes, a flush of shame mounted to his brow ashe realized how despicable he must appear to her in now suing sohumbly for what he had once trampled under foot as worthless.
Yet an unspeakable yearning to regain her love had taken possession ofhim, and every other emotion was, for the moment, surmounted by that.
"I mean, come back to me! try to love me again! and let me, under theinfluence of your sweet presence, your precepts and noble example,strive to become the man you have described, and that, at last, my ownheart yearns to be."
His plea was like the cry of a despairing soul, who realized, all toolate, the fatal depths of the pit into which he had voluntarilyplunged.
Isabel Stewart saw this, and pitied him, as she would have pitied anyother human being who had become so lost to all honor and virtue; buthis suggestion, his appeal that she would go back to him, live withhim, associate with him from day to day, was so repulsive to her thatshe could not quite repress her aversion, and a slight shiver ran overher frame, so chilling that all her color faded, even from her lips;and Gerald Goddard, seeing it, realized the hopelessness of his desireeven before she could command herself sufficiently to answer him.
"That would not be possible, Gerald," she finally replied. "Truthcompels me to tell you plainly that whatever affection I may once haveentertained for you has become an emotion of the past; it was killedoutright when I believed myself a deserted outcast in Rome. I shoulddo sinful violence to my own heart and nature if I should heed yourrequest, and also become but a galling reproach to you, rather than ahelp."
"Then you repudiate me utterly, in spite of the fact that the law yetbinds us to each other? I am no more to you than any other humanbeing?" groaned the humbled man.
"Only in the sense that through you I have keenly suffered," shegravely returned.
"Then there is no hope for me," he whispered, hoarsely, as his headsank heavily upon his breast.
"You are mistaken, Gerald," his companion responded, with sweetsolemnity; "there is every hope for you--the same hope and promisethat our Master held out to the woman whom the Pharisees were about tostone to death when he interfered to save her. I presume to cast norevengeful 'stone' at you. I do not arrogantly condemn you. I simplysay as he said, 'Go and sin no more.'"
"Oh, Isabel, have mercy! With you to aid me, I could climb to almostany height," cried the broken-spirited man, throwing out his hands indespairing appeal.
"I am more merciful in my rejection of your proposal than I couldpossibly be in acceding to it," she answered. "You broke every moraltie and obligation that bound me to you when you left me and my childto amuse yourself with another. Legally, I suppose, I am still yourwife, but I can never recognize the bond; henceforth, I can be nothingbut a stranger to you, though I wish you no ill, and would not lift myhand against you in any way--"
"Do you mean by that that you would not even bring mortification orscandal upon me by seeking to publicly prove the legality of ourmarriage?" Mr. Goddard interposed, in a tone of surprise.
"Yes, I mean just that. Since the certificate is in my possession, andI have the power to vindicate myself, in case any question regardingthe matter arises in the future, I am content."
"But I thought--I supposed--Will you not even use it to obtain adivorce from me?" stammered the man, who suddenly remembered a certainrumor regarding a distinguished gentleman's devotion to the beautifulMrs. Stewart.
"No; death alone can break the tie that binds me to you," shereturned, her lovely lips contracting slightly with pain.
"What! Have you no wish to be free?" he questioned, regarding her withastonishment.
"Yes, I would be very glad to feel that no fetters bound me," sheanswered, with clouded eyes; "but I vowed to be true as long as lifeshould last, and I will never break my word."
"True!" repeated her companion, bitterly.
A flush of indignation mounted to the beautiful woman's brow at thereproach implied in his word and tone.
But she controlled the impulse to make an equally scathing retort, andremarked, with a quiet irony that was tenfold more effective.
"Well, if that word offends you, I will qualify it so far as to saythat, at least, I have never dishonored my marriage vows; I never willdishonor them."
Gerald Goddard threw out his hands with a gesture of torture, and fora moment he became deathly white, showing how keenly his companion'sarrow had pierced his conscience.
There was a painful silence of several moments, and then he inquired,in constrained tones:
"What, then, is my duty? What relations must I henceforth sustaintoward--Anna?"
"I cannot be conscience for you, Gerald," said Isabel Stewart, coldly;"at least, I could offer no suggestion regarding such a matter asthat. I can only live out my own life as my heart and judgment of whatis right and wrong approve; but if you have no scruples on thatscore--if you desire to institute proceedings for a divorce, in orderto repair, as far as may be, the wrong you have also done AnnaCorrelli--I shall lay no obstacle in your way."
She arose as she ceased speaking, thus intimating that she desired theinterview to terminate.
"And that is all you have to say to me? Oh, Isabel!" Gerald Goddardgasped, and realizing how regally beautiful she had become, howinfinitely superior, physically and morally, spiritually andintellectually, she was to the woman for whose sake he had trampledher in the dust. And the fact was forced upon him that she was one tobe worshiped for her sweet graciousness and purity of character--to bereverenced for her innate nobility and stanch adherence to principle,and to be exultantly proud of, could he have had the right to be--as aqueen among women.
"That is all," she replied, with slow thoughtfulness, "unless, as awoman who is deeply interested in the moral advancement of humanity ingeneral, I urge you once more to make your future better than yourpast has been, that thus the world may be benefited, in ever so slighta measure, because you have lived. As for you and me, our ways parthere, never to cross again, I trust; for, while I have ceased togrieve over the blighted hopes of my youth, it would be painful to bereminded of my early mistakes."
"Part--forever? I do not feel that I can have it so," said GeraldGoddard, with white lips, "for--I love you at this moment a thousandtimes more than I ever--"
"Stop!" Isabel Stewart firmly commanded. "Such an avowal from you atthis time is but an added insult to me, as well as a cowardly wrongagainst her who, in the eyes of the world, at least, has sustained therelationship of wife to you for many years."
The head of the proud man dropped before her with an air of humilityentirely foreign to the "distinguished" Gerald Goddard whom the worldknew; but, though crushed by a sense of sham
e and grief, he could butown to himself that her condemnation was just, and the faint hope thathad sprung up in his heart died, then and there, its tragic death.
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