Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 20

by A Double Life (v1. 1)

  “Never!” she answered, leaning there as pale and passive as if she were in truth a marble woman. “I vowed obedience at the altar, nothing more. I did not love you; I could not honor you, but I felt that I might learn to obey. I have done so, be content.”

  “Not I! Colder women have been taught love as well as obedience; you, too, shall be a docile pupil, and one day give freely what I sue for now. Other men woo before they wed, my wooing and my winning will come later — if I live long enough.”

  He turned her face towards him as he spoke and scanned it closely; but no grateful sign of softness, pity or regret appeared, and, with a broken exclamation, he put her from him, locked both hands across his eyes and lav silent, till some uncontrollable paroxysm of emotion had passed bv. Presently he spoke, and the words betrayed what the pain had been.

  “My mother — heaven bless her for her tenderness! — used to pray that her boy’s life might be a long and happy one; it is a bitter thing to feel that the only woman now left me to love prays for the shortening of that same life, and can bestow no look or word to make its failing hours happv.”

  The unwonted tone of filial affection, the keen sorrow and the mournful acknowledgment of an inevitable doom touched Ursula as no ardent demonstration or passionate reproach had ever done. She softly lifted up the folded hands, saw that those deep eyes were wet with tears, and in that pallid countenance read the melancholy record of a life burdened with a sad heritage of pain, thwarted by unhappy love and darkened by allegiance to a superstitious vow. Great as her sacrifice had been, deep as the wound still was, and heavily as her captivity weighed on her proud heart, it was still womanly, generous and gentle; and, despite all wrongs, all blemishes, all bitter memories, she felt the fascination of this wild and wayward nature, as she had never done before, and yielded to its persuasive potency. Laying her cool hand on his hot forehead, she leaned over him, saying, with an accent of compassion sweeter to his ear than her most perfect song:

  “No, Felix, I pray no prayers that heaven would refuse to grant. I only ask patience for myself, a serener spirit for you, and God’s blessing upon Evan, wherever he may be.”

  Before the words of tender satisfaction which rose to Stahl’s lips could be uttered, a noiseless servant brought a black-edged card. Ursula read and handed it to her husband.

  “Mrs. Heath. Shall we see her, love?” he asked.

  “As you please,” was the docile answer, though an expression of mingled pain and sorrow passed across her face in speaking.

  He half frowned at her meekness, then smiled and bade the man deny them, adding, as he left the room,

  “I am too well content with this first glimpse of the coming happiness to be saddened by the lamentations of that poor lady over her wilful daughter, who had the bad taste to drown herself upon our wedding-day.”

  “Felix, may I ask you a question?”

  “Anything of me, Ursula.”

  “ Fell me what you whispered in Kate’s ear on the evening which both of us remember well.”

  Questions were so rare, and proving a sign of interest, that Stahl made haste to answer, with a curious blending of disdain and pity, “She bade me tell her the most ardent desire of her life, and I dared to answer truly, ‘To win my heart.’”

  “A true answer, but a cruel one,” Ursula said.

  “That cruel truthfulness is one of the savage attributes which two generations of civilization cannot entirely subdue in my race.

  Those who tamely submit to me I despise, but those who oppose me I first conquer and then faithfully love.”

  “Had you made poor Kate happy, you would not now regret the possession of a cold, untender wife.”

  “Who would gather a gav tulip when they can reach a royal rose, though thorns tear the hand that seizes it? for even when it fades its perfume lingers, gifting it w ith an enduring charm. Love, I have found mv rose, so let the tulip fade — ”

  There he paused abruptly in his flowerv speech, for with the sw ift instinct of a temperament like his, he was instantlv conscious of the fact when her thoughts w andered, and a glance showed him that, though her attitude w as unaltered, she was listening intentlv. A far-off bell had rung, the tones of a man’s voice sounded from below , and the footsteps of an approaching servant grew audible. Stahl recognised the voice, fancied that Ursula did also, and assured himself of it bv an unsuspected test that took the form of a caress. Passing his arm about her waist, his hand lay lightly above her heart, and as her cousins name was announced he felt the sudden bound that glad heart gave, and counted the rapid throbs that sent the color to her cheeks and made her lips tremble. A black frown lowered on his forehead, and his eyes glittered ominously for an instant, but both betrayals were unseen, and nothing marred the gracious sweetness of his voice.

  “Of course vou will see vour cousin, Ursula. I shall greet him in passing, and return when you have enjoyed each other alone.”

  “Alone!” she echoed, w ith a distrustful look at him, an anxious one about the room, as if no place seemed safe or sacred in that house where she was both mistress and slave.

  He understood the glance, and answered w ith one so reproachful that she blushed for the ungenerous suspicion, as he said, with haughty emphasis:

  “Yes, Ursula, alone. Whatever evil names I may deserve, those of spv and eavesdropper cannot be applied to me; and though my wife can neither love nor honor me, I will prove that she may trust me.

  W ith that he left her, and meeting Evan just w ithout, offered his hand franklv, and gave his welcome with a cordial grace that was irresistible. Evan could not refuse the hand, for on it shone a little ring which Ursula once wore, and yielding to the impulse awakened by that mute reminder of her, he betrayed exactly what his host desired to know, for instantaneous as was both recognition and submission, Stahl’s quick eye divined the cause.

  “Come often to us, Evan; forget the past, and remember only that through Ursula we are kindred now. She is waiting for you; go to her and remain as long as you incline, sure of a hearty welcome from both host and hostess.”

  Then he passed on, and Evan hurried to his cousin; eager, yet reluctant to meet her, lest in her face he should read some deeper mystery or greater change than he last saw there. She came to meet him smiling and serene, for whatever gust of joy or sorrow had swept over her, no trace of it remained; yet, when he took her in his arms, there broke from him the involuntary exclamation:

  “Is this my cousin Ursula?”

  “Yes, truly. Am I then so altered?”

  “This is a reflection of what you were; that of what you are. Eook, and tell me if I have not cause for wonder.”

  She did look as he drew a miniature from his bosom and led her to the mirror. The contrast was startling even to herself, for the painted face glowed with rosy bloom, hope shone in the eves, happiness smiled from the lips, while youthful purity and peace crowned the fair forehead with enchanting grace. The living face was already wan and thin, many tears had robbed the cheeks of color, sleepless nights had dimmed the lustre of the eyes, much secret suffering and strife had hardened the soft curves of the mouth and deepened the lines upon the brow. Even among the dark waves of her hair silver threads shone here and there, unbidden, perhaps unknown; and over the whole woman a subtle blight had fallen, more tragical than death. Silently she compared the two reflections, for the first time realising all that she had lost, yet as she returned the miniature she only said, with pathetic patience:

  “I am not what I was, but my heart remains unchanged, believe that, Evan.”

  “I do. Tell me, Ursula, are you happy now?”

  Her eyes rose to his, and over her whole face there shone the sudden magic of a glow' warmer and brighter than a smile.

  “I am supremely happy now.”

  It was impossible to doubt her truth, however past facts or present appearances might seem to belie it, and Evan was forced to believe, despite his disappointment.

  “He is kind to you, Ursula?
You suffer no neglect, no tyranny nor wrong from this strange man?” he asked, still haunted by vague doubts.

  She waved her hand about the lovely room, delieatelv dainty as a bride’s bower should be, and answered, w ith real feeling:

  “Does this look as if I suffered any neglect or wrong? Every want and whim is seen and gratified before expressed; I go and come unwatched, unquestioned; the winds of heaven are not allowed to visit me too roughly, and as for kindness, look there and see a proof of it.”

  She pointed to the garden where her husband walked alone, never quitting the wide terrace just below her window', though the sunshine that he loved had faded from the spot, and the autumn w inds he dreaded blew7 gustily about him. He never lifted up his eyes, nor paused, nor changed his thoughtful attitude, but patiently paced to and fro, a mute reproach for Ursulas unjust suspicion.

  “How frail he looks; if life w ith you cannot revive him he must be past hope.”

  Evan spoke involuntarily, and Ursula’s hand half checked the words upon his lips; but neither looked the other in the face, and neither owned, even to themselves, how strong a hidden wish had grown.

  “He w ill live because he resolves to live, for that frail body holds the most indomitable spirit I have ever know n. But let me tell you why he lingers where every breath brings pain,” said Ursula, and having told him, she added:

  “Is not that both a generous and a gentle rebuke for an unkind doubt?"

  “It’s either a most exquisite piece of loverlike devotion or of consummate art. I think it is the latter, for he knows you well, and repays great sacrifices by graceful small ones, which touch and charm your woman’s heart.”

  “You wrong him, Evan, and aversion blinds you to the better traits I have learned to see. An all absorbing love ennobles the most sinful man, and makes it possible for some woman to forgive and cling to him.”

  “I have no right to ask, but the strange spirit that has taken possession of you baffles and disquiets me past endurance. Tell me, Ursula, what you would not tell before, do you trulv, tenderly love this man whom you have married?”

  The question was uttered with an earnestness so solemn that it forced a truthful answer, and she looked up at him with the old frankness unobscured by any cloud, as she replied:

  “But for one thing I should long ago have learned to love him. I know this, because even now I cannot wholly close my heart against the ardent affection that patiently appeals to it.”

  “And that one thing, that cursed mystery which has wrecked two lives, when am I to know it, Ursula?”

  “Never till I lie on my deathbed, and not even then, unless — ” She caught back the words hovering on her lips, but her eye glanced furtively upon the solitary figure pacing there below, and Evan impetuously finished the broken sentence:

  “Unless he is already dead — let it be so; I shall wait and yet prove his prophecy a false one by winning and wearing you when his baleful love is powerless.”

  “He is my husband, Evan, remember that. Now come with me, I am going to him, for he must not shiver there when I can give him the warmth his tropical nature loves.”

  But Evan would not go, and soon left her plunged in a new sea of anxious conjectures, doubts and dreads. Stahl awaited his wife’s approach, saving within himself as he watched her coming under the gold and scarlet arches of the leafv walk, w ith unwonted elasticity in her step, color on her cheeks and smiles upon her lips: “Good! I have found the spell that turns my snow' image into flesh and blood; I wdll use it and enjoy the summer of her presence while I may.”

  He did use it, but so warily and well that though Ursula and Evan were dimlv conscious of some unseen yet controlling hand that ruled their intercourse and shaped events, they found it hard to believe that studious invalid possessed and used such power. Evan came daily, and daily Ursula regained some of her lost energy and bloom, till an almost preternatural beauty replaced the pale loveliness her face had worn, and she seemed to glow and brighten w ith an inward fire, like some brilliant flower that held the fervor of a summer in its heart and gave it out again in one fair, fragrant hour.

  Like a watchful shadow Evan haunted his cousin, conscious that they were drifting dow n a troubled stream without a pilot, yet feeling powerless to guide or govern his own life, so inextricably was it bound up in Ursula’s. He saw that the vigor and vitality his presence gave her was absorbed by her husband, to whom she was a more potent stimulant than rare winds, balmy airs or costly drugs. He knew that the stronger nature subdued the weaker, and the failing life sustained itself by draining the essence of that other life, which, but for some sinister cross of fate, would have been an ever springing fountain of joy to a more generous and healthful heart.

  The blind world applauded Felix Stahl’s success, and envied him the splendid wife in whose affluent gifts of fortune, mind and person he seemed to revel with luxurious delight. It could not see the secret bitterness that poisoned peace; could not guess the unavailing effort, unappeased desire and fading hope that each day brought him; nor fathom the despair that filled his soul as he saw and felt the unmistakable tokens of his coming fate in hollow temples, wasting flesh and a mortal w eariness that knew no rest; a despair rendered doubly bitter by the knowledge of his impotence to prevent another from reaping what he had sown w ith painful care.

  Ursula’s hard won submission deserted her when Evan came, for in reanimating the statue Stahl soon felt that he had lost his slave and found a master. The heart which had seemed slowly yielding to his efforts closed against him in the very hour of fancied conquest. No more meek services, no more pity shown in spite ot pride, no more docile obedience to commands that wore the guise of entreaties. The captive spirit woke and beat against its bars, passionately striving to be free, though not a cry ^scaped its lips. Very soon her recovered gaiety departed, and her life became a vain effort to forget, for like all impetuous natures she sought oblivion in excitement and hurried from one scene of pleasure to another, finding rest and happiness in none. Her husband went with her everywhere, recklessly squandering the strength she gave him in a like fruitless quest, till sharply checked by warnings which could no longer be neglected.

  One night in early spring when winter gaieties were drawing to a close, Ursula came down to him shining in festival array, with the evening fever already burning in her cheeks, the expectant glitter already kindling in her eyes, and every charm heightened with that skill which in womanlv women is second nature. Not for his pride or pleasure had she made herself so fair, he knew that well, and the thought lent its melancholy to the tone in which he said:

  “Ursula, I am readv, but so unutterably weak and weary that I cannot go.”

  “I can go without you. Be so good,” and quite unmoved by the suffering that rarely found expression, she held her hand to him that he might clasp her glove. He rose to perform the little service with that courtesy which never failed him, asking, as he bent above the hand with trembling fingers and painful breath,

  “Does Evan go with you?”

  “Yes, he never fails me, he has neither weakness nor weariness to mar my pleasure or to thwart my will.”

  “Truly a tender and a wifely answer.”

  “I am not tender nor wifely; why assume the virtues which I never shall possess? They were not set down in the bond; that I fulfilled to the letter w hen I married you, and beyond the wearing of your name and ring I owe you nothing. Do I?”

  “Yes, a little gratitude for the sincerity that placed a doomed life in your keeping; a little respect for the faith I have kept unbroken through all temptations; a little compassion for a malady that but for you would make my life a burden I would gladly lav down.”

  Time was when words like these would have touched and softened her, but not now, for she had reached the climax of her suffering, the extent of her endurance, and turning on him she gave vent to the passionate emotion which could no longer he restrained: “I should have given you much gratitude if in helping me to save o
ne life you had not doomed another. I should honestly respect the faith you boast of if such costly sacrifices were not demanded for its keeping. I should deeply pity that mortal malady if you had bravely borne it alone instead of seeking a selfish solace in bequeathing it to another. I tell you, Felix, you are killing me swiftly and surely by this dreadful life. Better end me at once than drive me mad, or leave me a strong soul prisoned in a feeble body like yourself.”

  For the first time in his life Stahl felt the touch of fear, not for himself but for her, lest that terrible affliction which so baffles human skill and science should fall upon the woman whom he loved with a selfish intensity which had tangled two lives and brought them to this pass.

  “Hush, Ursula,” he said, soothingly, “have patience, I shall soon be gone, and then — what will you do then?”

  The question leaped to his lips, for at the word “gone” he saw the gloom lift from her face, leaving an expression of relief that unmistakably betraved how heavily her burden had oppressed her. Undaunted by the almost fierce inquiry she fixed her eyes upon him, and answered steadily:

  “I shall put off my bridal white, wear widow’s weeds for a single year, and then” — there she, too, paused abruptly; but words were needless, for as Evan’s step sounded on the stair she turned and hurried towards him, as if love, liberty and life all lav waiting for her there. Stahl watched them with a jealous pang that pierced the deeper as, remembering Ursula’s taunt, he compared the young man with himself; the one rich in the stature, vigor, comeliness that make a manly man; the other, in sad truth, a strong spirit imprisoned in a ruined body. As he looked he clenched his pale hand hard, and muttered low between his set teeth: