Rose à Charlitte

by Marshall Saunders

  CHAPTER XVII.

  THE SUBLIMEST THING IN THE WORLD.

  "Ah, tragedy of lusty life! How oft Some high emprise a soul divinely grips, But as it crests, fate's undertow despoils!"

  THEODORE H. RAND.

  Mrs. Nimmo was better the next morning, and, rising betimes, gave herson an early audience in her room.

  "You need not tell me anything," she said, with a searching glance athim. "It is all arranged between you and the Acadien woman. I know,--youcannot stave off these things. I will be good, Vesper, only give metime,--give me time, and let us have no explanations. You can tell herthat you have not spoken to me, and she will not expect me to gush."

  Her voice died away in a pitiful quaver, and Vesper quietly, but withintense affection, kissed the cold cheek she offered him.

  "Go away," she said, pushing him from her, "or I shall break down, and Iwant my strength for the journey."

  Vesper went down-stairs, his eyes running before him for the sweetpresence of Rose. She was not in the dining-room, and with suppresseddisappointment he looked curiously at Celina, who was red-eyed anddoleful, and requested her to take his mother's breakfast up-stairs.Then, with a disagreeable premonition of trouble, he turned hisattention to Agapit, whose face had turned a sickly yellow and who wastoying abstractedly with his food. He appeared to be ill, and, refusingto talk, waited silently for Vesper to finish his breakfast.

  "Will you come to the smoking-room?" he then said; and being answered bya silent nod, he preceded Vesper to that room and carefully closed thedoor.

  "Now give me your hand," he said, tragically, "for I am going to makeyou angry, and perhaps you will never again clasp mine in friendship."

  "Get out," said Vesper, peevishly. "I detest melodrama,--and say quicklywhat you have to say. We have only an hour before the train leaves."

  "My speech can be made in a short time," said Agapit, solemnly. "Yourfarewell of Sleeping Water to-day must be eternal."

  "Don't be a fool, Agapit, but go look for a rope for my mother's trunk;she has lost the straps."

  "If I found a rope it would be to hang myself," said Agapit,desperately. "Never was I so unhappy, never, never."

  "What is wrong with you?"

  "I am desolated over your engagement to my cousin. We thank you for thehonor, but we decline it."

  "Indeed! as the engagement does not include you, I must own that I willtake my dismissal only from your cousin."

  "Look at me,--do I seem like one in play? God knows I do not wish totorment you. All night I walked my floor, and Rose,--unhappy Rose! Ishudder when I think how she passed the black hours after my cruelrevealings."

  "What have you said to Rose?" asked Vesper, in a fury. "You forget thatshe now belongs to me."

  "She belongs to no one but our Lord," said Agapit, in an agony. "Youcannot have her, though the thought makes my heart bleed for you."

  Vesper's face flushed. "If you will let it stop bleeding long enough tobe coherent, I shall be obliged to you."

  "Oh, do not be angry with me,--let me tell you now that I love you foryour kindness to my people. You came among us,--you, an Englishman. Youdid not despise us. You offer my cousin your hand, and it breaks ourhearts to refuse it, but she cannot marry you. She sends you thatmessage,--'You must go away and forget me. Marry another woman if you socare. I must give you up.' These are her words as she stood pale andcold."

  Vesper seated himself on the edge of the big table in the centre of theroom. Very deliberately he took out his watch and laid it beside him. Sointense was the stillness of the room, so nervously sensitive andunstrung was Agapit by his night's vigil, that he started at therattling of the chain on the polished surface.

  "I give you five minutes," said Vesper, "to explain your attitudetowards your cousin, on the subject of her marriage. As I understand thematter, you were an orphan brought up by her father. Of late years youarrogate the place of a brother. Your decisions are supreme. Youannounce now that she is not to marry. You have some little knowledge ofme. Do you fancy that I will be put off by any of your trumperyfancies?"

  "No, no," said Agapit, wildly. "I know you better,--you have a will ofsteel. But can you not trust me? I say an impediment exists. It is likea mountain. You cannot get over it, you cannot get around it; it wouldpain you to know, and I cannot tell it. Go quietly away therefore."

  Vesper was excessively angry. With his love for Rose had grown a certainjealousy of Agapit, whose influence over her had been unbounded. Yet hecontrolled himself, and said, coldly, "There are other ways of gettingpast a mountain."

  "By flying?" said Agapit, eagerly.

  "No,--tunnelling. Tell me now how long this obstacle has existed?"

  "It would be more agreeable to me not to answer questions."

  "I daresay, but I shall stay here until you do."

  "Then, it is one year," said Agapit, reluctantly.

  "It has, therefore, not arisen since I came?"

  "Oh, no, a thousand times no."

  "It is a question of religion?"

  "No, it is not," said Agapit, indignantly; "we are not in the MiddleAges."

  "It seems to me that we are; does Rose's priest know?"

  "Yes, but not through her."

  "Through you,--at confession?"

  "Yes, but he would die rather than break the seal of confession."

  "Of course. Does any one here but you know?"

  "Oh, no, no; only myself, and Rose's uncle, and one other."

  "It has something to do with her first marriage," said Vesper, sharply."Did she promise her husband not to marry again?"

  Agapit would not answer him.

  "You are putting me off with some silly bugbear," said Vesper,contemptuously.

  "A bugbear! holy mother of angels, it is a question of the honor of ourrace. But for that, I would tell you."

  "You do not wish her to marry me because I am an American."

  "I would be proud to have her marry an American," said Agapit,vehemently.

  "I shall not waste more time on you," said Vesper, disdainfully. "Rosewill explain."

  "You must not go to her," said Agapit, blocking his way. "She is in astrange state. I fear for her reason."

  "You do," muttered Vesper, "and you try to keep me from her?"

  Agapit stood obstinately pressing his back against the door.

  "You want her for yourself," said Vesper, suddenly striking him a smartblow across the face.

  The Acadien sprang forward, his burly frame trembled, his hot breathenveloped Vesper's face as he stood angrily regarding him. Then heturned on his heel, and pressed his handkerchief to his bleeding lips.

  "I will not strike you," he mumbled, "for you do not understand. I, too,have loved and been unhappy."

  The glance that he threw over his shoulder was so humble, so forgiving,that Vesper's heart was touched.

  "I ask your pardon, Agapit,--you have worried me out of my senses," andhe warmly clasped the hand that the Acadien extended to him.

  "Come," said Agapit, with an adorable smile. "Follow me. You have agenerous heart. You shall see your Rose."

  Agapit knocked softly at his cousin's door, then, on receivingpermission, entered with a reverent step.

  Vesper had never been in this little white chamber before. Onecomprehensive glance he bestowed on it, then his eyes came back to Rose,who had, he knew without being told, spent the whole night on her kneesbefore the niche in the wall, where stood a pale statuette of theVirgin.

  This was a Rose he did not know, and one whose frozen beauty struck adeadly chill to his heart. He had lost her,--he knew it before sheopened her lips. She seemed not older, but younger. The look on her facehe had seen on the faces of dead children; the blood had been frightenedfrom her very lips. What was it that had given her this deadly shock? Hewas more than ever determined to know, and, subduing every emotion butthat of ste
rn curiosity, he stood expectant.

  "You insisted on an adieu," she murmured, painfully.

  "I am coming back in a week," said Vesper, stubbornly.

  The hand that held her prayer-book trembled. "You have told him that hemust not return?" and she turned to Agapit, and lifted her flaxeneyebrows, that seemed almost dark against the unearthly pallor of herskin.

  "Yes," he said, with a gusty sigh. "I have told him, but he does notheed me."

  "It is for the honor of our race," she said to Vesper.

  "Rose," he said, keenly, "do you think I will give you up?"

  Her white lips quivered. "You must go; it is wrong for me even to seeyou."

  Vesper stared at Agapit, and seeing that he was determined not to leavethe room, he turned his back squarely on him. "Rose," he said, in a lowvoice, "Rose."

  The saint died in her, the woman awoke. Little by little the color creptback to her face. Her ears, her lips, her cheeks, and brow were suffusedwith the faint, delicate hue of the flower whose name she bore.

  A passionate light sprang into her blue eyes. "Agapit," she murmured,"Agapit," yet her glance did not leave Vesper's face, "can we not tellhim?"

  "'AGAPIT,' SHE MURMURED, 'CAN WE NOT TELL HIM?'"]

  "Shall we be unfaithful to our race?" said her cousin, inexorably.

  "What is our race?" she asked, wildly. "There are the Acadiens, thereare also the Americans,--the one Lord makes all. Agapit, permit that wetell him."

  "Think of your oath, Rose."

  "My oath--my oath--and did I not also swear to love him? I told him onlyyesterday, and now I must give him up forever, and cause him pain.Agapit, you shall tell him. He must not go away angry. Ah, my cousin, mycousin," and, evading Vesper, she stretched out the prayer-book, "by ourholy religion, I beg that you have pity. Tell him, tell him,--I shallnever see him again. It will kill me if he goes angry from me."

  There were tears of agony in her eyes, and Agapit faltered as hesurveyed her.

  "We are to be alone here all the years," she said, "you and I. It willbe a sin even to think of the past. Let us have no thought to start withas sad as this, that we let one so dear go out in the world blaming us."

  "Well, then," said Agapit, sullenly, "I surrender. Tell you thisstranger; let him have part in an unusual shame of our people."

  "I tell him!" and she drew back, hurt and startled. "No, Agapit, thatconfession comes better from thee. Adieu, adieu," and she turned, in aparoxysm of tenderness, to Vesper, and in her anguish burst into hernative language. "After this minute, I must put thee far from mythoughts,--thou, so good, so kind, that I had hoped to walk withthrough life. But purgatory does not last forever; the blessed saintsalso suffered. After we die, perhaps--" and she buried her face in herhands, and wept violently.

  "But do not thou remember," she said at last, checking her tears. "Goout into the world and find another, better wife. I release thee, go,go--"

  Vesper said nothing, but he gave Agapit a terrible glance, and thatyoung man, although biting his lip and scowling fiercely, discreetlystepped into the hall.

  For half a minute Rose lay unresistingly in Vesper's arms, then shegently forced him from the room, and with a low and bitter cry, "Forthis I must atone," she opened her prayer-book, and again dropped on herknees.

  Once more the two young men found themselves in the smoking-room.

  "Now, what is it?" asked Vesper, sternly.

  Agapit hung his head. In accents of deepest shame he murmured,"Charlitte yet lives."

  "Charlitte--what, Rose's husband?"

  A miserable nod from Agapit answered his question.

  "It is rumor," stammered Vesper; "it cannot be. You said that he wasdead."

  "He has been seen,--the miserable man lives with another woman."

  Vesper had received the worst blow of his life, yet his black eyes fixedthemselves steadily on Agapit's face. "What proof have you?"

  Agapit stumbled through some brief sentences. "An Acadien--MichelAmireau--came home to die. He was a sailor. He had seen Charlitte in NewOrleans. He had changed his name, yet Michel knew him, and went to theuncle of Rose, on the Bayou Vermilion. The uncle promised to watch him.That is why he is so kind to Rose, this good uncle, and sends her somuch. But Charlitte goes no more to sea, but lives with this woman. Heis happy; such a devil should die."

  Vesper was stunned and bewildered, yet his mind had never worked moreclearly. "Does any other person know?" he asked, sharply.

  "No one; Michel would not tell, and he is dead."

  Vesper leaned on a chair-back, and convulsively clasped his fingersuntil every drop of blood seemed to have left them. "Why did he leaveRose?"

  "Who can tell?" said Agapit, drearily. "Rose is beautiful; this otherwoman unbeautiful and older, much older. But Charlitte was always grosslike a pig,--but good-natured. Rose was too fine, too spiritual. Shesmiled at him, she did not drink, nor dance, nor laugh loudly. These arethe women he likes."

  "How old is he?"

  "Not old,--fifty, perhaps. If our Lord would only let him die! But thosemen live forever. He is strong, very strong."

  "Would Rose consent to a divorce?"

  "A divorce! _Mon Dieu_, she is a good Catholic."

  Vesper sank into a chair and dropped his head on his hand. Hot,rebellious thoughts leaped into his heart. Yesterday he had been sohappy; to-day--

  "My friend," said Agapit, softly, "do not give way."

  His words stung Vesper as if they had been an insult.

  "I am not giving way," he said, fiercely. "I am trying to find a way outof this diabolical scrape."

  "But surely there is only one road to follow."

  Vesper said nothing, but his eyes were blazing, and Agapit recoiled fromhim with a look of terror.

  "You surely would not influence one who loves you to do anything wrong?"

  "Rose is mine," said Vesper, grimly.

  "But she is married to Charlitte."

  "To a dastardly villain,--she must separate from him."

  "But she cannot."

  "She will if I ask her," and Vesper started up, as if he were about toseek her.

  "Stop but an instant," and Agapit pressed both hands to his foreheadwith a gesture of bewilderment. "Let me say over some things first toyou. Think of what you have done here,--you, so quiet, so strong,--sopretending not to be good, and yet very good. You have led Rose as agrown one leads a child. Before you came I did not revere her as I do atpresent. She is now so careful, she will not speak even the least ofuntruths; she wishes to improve herself,--to be more fitted for thecompany of the blessed in heaven."

  Vesper made some inarticulate sound in his throat, and Agapit went onhurriedly. "Women are weak, men are imperious; she may, perhaps, doanything you say, but is it not well to think over exactly what onewould tell her? She is in trouble now, but soon she will recover andlook about her. She will see all the world equally so. There are goodpriests with sore hearts, also holy women, but they serve God. All theworld cannot marry. Marriage, what is it?--a little living together,--aseparation. There is also a holy union of hearts. We can live for God,you, and I, and Rose, but for a time is it not best that we do not seeeach other?"

  Again Vesper did not reply except by a convulsive movement of hisshoulders, and an impatient drumming on the table with his fingers.

  "Dear young man, whom I so much admire," said Agapit, leaning acrosstowards him, "I have confidence in you. You, who think so much of thehonor of your race,--you who shielded the name of your ancestor lestdishonor should come on it, I trust you fully. You will, some day whenit seems good to you, find out this child who has cast off her race; andnow go,--the door is open, seek Rose if you will. You will say nothingunworthy to her. You know love, the greatest of things, but you alsoknow duty, the sublimest."

  His voice died away, and Vesper still preserved a dogged silence. Atlast, however, his struggle with himself was over, and in a harsh, roughvoice, utterly unlike his usual one, he looked up and said, "Have wetime to catc
h the train?"

  "By driving fast," said Agapit, mildly, "we may. Possibly the train islate also."

  "Make haste then," said Vesper, and he hurried to his mother, whosevoice he heard in the hall.

  Agapit fairly ran to the stable, and as he ran he muttered, "We are allvery young,--the old ones say that trouble cuts into the hearts ofyouth. Let us pray our Lord for old age."