An American Story of Real Life CHAPTER 14.
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We must now pass over the events of the next five years, and introduce our characters at the end of that period. It is unnecessary to tell the reader, that the marriage of Bell Martin has been an unhappy one. Scarcely a week elapsed, before some act or word from her husband had chilled the warm current of joyous affection that was gushing out toward him. How could it be otherwise? She, young, innocent and confiding, with her woman's heart full of tenderness and truth--and he, all uninfluenced by a feeling or a principle which was not purely selfish. The coldness with which he received, from the very first, her acts of exuberant fondness, which were but the natural expressions of the love she felt for him, soon taught her one of the hardest lessons a young wife has to learn; and many months had not passed away before this lesson, if forgotten in a moment of warmer feelings, was enforced by words.
It is not often that the young wife, even when regarded with the deepest and purest affection--finds that affection manifested toward her in what her heart recognizes as its true expression. Nor does she ever, or, at least, but rarely indeed, meet that warm reciprocation in word and act, for which her heart yearns. This is the natural consequence of differences in mental makeup between male and female. But where the affection that exists is a genuine one--the husband gradually learns to manifest more in word and act, the love he feels, and the wife to perceive far more in a look or word, or tone, or action--than she did in the first months, or years of wedded life. But, alas! Where, as in the case of Bell, not the first pure emotion of love, has even stirred the icy surface of a husband's feelings--how sad must be the condition of a wife!
The coldness which soon manifested itself in her case, was followed by neglect, and a seeming, as it was a real, indifference toward her. This came earlier, from the fact, that the revelations on the trial of Pandora, the gambler, destroyed Mr. Martin's confidence in Ware--though it did not weaken Bell's affection for her husband. Indeed, she took Henry's own version of the matter as the true one, which version made him an innocent victim of circumstances.
Following these revelations, came the open and avowed determination of the young man not to bind himself down to the plodding duties of a petty lawyer, as he expressed it; accompanied by requests for liberal sums of money, which were refused. Finding that Henry had, in a most heartless and cruel manner, deceived them, and that he was now disposed to act out his real, but, for a few months, concealed character--both his own father and the father of Bell, felt called upon to restrict him in the use of money, to the end that he might feel compelled to apply himself to his profession.
But this result did not follow. He was too deeply and thoroughly corrupted, and had, in his friend Thomas Handy, too ready a prompter to evil. Money he wanted--and money he must have. Through the influence of Bell with her mother, and by taking from her hands, freely given it is true, nearly every dollar which she received for her own use--he obtained small supplies. These furnished the means of resort to the only way of filling his purse that he could think of--the gaming table. Of course, he was, for some time, a constant loser in the main--temporary and permitted success--being followed, surely, by the entire loss of his little capital, and, very frequently, by his becoming involved in debts of honor--to pay which, gave him no little trouble.
For five years, had he persevered in his evil courses, growing all the while more and more indifferent, or openly unkind toward his wife. Having no further cause for the concealment of his real character and feelings, he took little pains to appear what he was not, or to regulate his conduct by the rule of appearances. As neither his father nor the father of Bell would support the young couple in an establishment of their own, and for the very best of reasons--Ware continued to reside with his wife at the house of Mr. Martin. But even this constant mingling with her family, failed to influence his conduct toward her. Rarely did he accompany her abroad, and never did he pretend to deny himself anything for her sake, or seem to feel drawn toward home, even though two pleasant children had come to light it up with their sweet smiles, and to fill it with the music of their happy voices. Rarely did he come in before one, two, and sometimes three, in the morning, and then, frequently, in a state of partial intoxication. Added to this, he had grown, of late, abstracted and sullen in his manner, rarely joining in any conversation with the family, and, sometimes, not coming home for two or three days at a time, and then much under the influence of liquor.
One day, about the period indicated in the opening of this chapter. Lane, the chief clerk of Mr. Martin, who had been engaged in settling the Bank account for the previous three months, came up to him, holding five checks in his hand, each for a thousand dollars, and said--
"Mr. Martin, I find a difference in our accounts with the Bank, of just five thousand dollars--and here are five cancelled checks, of one thousand dollars each, for which I find no corresponding dates or numbers in our check-book. What can this mean?"
Mr. Martin took the checks from the hand of his clerk, and, after examining them attentively for a moment or two, said with a look of alarm--
"These are forgeries, Mr. Lane!"
"So I feared," was the clerk's reply, in a voice of concern.
A silence of some moments ensued, when Mr. Martin asked--
"Do your suspicions fall upon anyone?"
"They do not. The discovery of this discrepancy between the two accounts, and the fact of your pronouncing the checks to be forgeries, are so recent, that I have not had time to think beyond the mere circumstance that a forgery has been committed."
"Do not, then, allude, in any way to the fact; I will inform the Bank, and leave its officers to take their own measures, as the loss will fall upon the institution."
It was about eleven o'clock on the next day, that Mr. Martin was sent for, in great haste, by the runner of the Bank in which his account was kept. He repaired at once to the banking house, and was shown into the private room of the Cashier.
"For what purpose am I summoned?" he asked, a feeling of alarm coming over him as he looked steadily into the officer's face, and saw that it wore a painful expression.
"We have already detected the forger of your check!" the Cashier said.
"And secured him?"
"Yes."
"Who is he?"
"Sorry, indeed, am I to say, Mr. Martin--that it is your own son-in-law!"
"Henry Ware!" ejaculated the merchant, his face blanched to an ashy paleness.
"It is, alas! too true, Mr. Martin. The unhappy young man is now in the custody of an officer of the police."
At this news, Mr. Martin sunk into a chair, and shading his face with his hand, sat for some time before his agitated feelings were sufficiently calmed to allow his thoughts to come into distinct forms. At length he said--
"And so the matter is already in the hands of the police?"
"Yes, sir. A check was presented for five thousand dollars, which the teller at once detected as a forgery. The young man was detained, and an officer sent for."
"I am sorry for this," replied Mr. Martin, with a troubled countenance. "Why did you not first send for me."
"That course would have been pursued, had I known the young man at the moment of his detection. The fact that it was the son of old Mr. Ware, and the husband of your daughter--came to my knowledge too late."
"Where is he now?"
"He was taken to the Mayor's office a few minutes before you came in."
"Has Mr. Ware been informed of the facts?"
"Not through me."
Mr. Martin waited to hear no more, but hurried away to the Mayor's office, where he found the young man undergoing an examination. The testimony of the teller was clear as to the fact of his having presented the check pronounced a forgery, and the Mayor was only waiting the arrival of Mr. Martin, for whom an officer had been despatched, to have the check pronounced genuine or spurious. Reluctantly he was compelled to say that the check had been forged. An order for Ware's commitment to prison, to await his trial at the Quarter Sessions, followed next in order. To prevent this, Mr. Martin entered into a recognizance in the sum often thousand dollars, for his appearance at Court.
This done, the old man turned away sternly, without letting his eyes rest upon the unhappy young man. From the Mayor's office, he went to his store. After informing Mr. Lane of the painful discovery that had been made, he bent his steps homeward, with a troubled and heavy heart. On entering the family sitting-room, he found no one in but Bell, and one of his little grandchildren, a beautiful boy, who was playing about in happy unconsciousness of the guilt of one parent, and the wretchedness of the other.
"Where is your mother, Bell?" he asked with an expression of countenance which made the blood feel cold about the heart of his child.
"She has gone out," was the reply, while his daughter looked earnestly and inquiringly into his face. Then followed a long silence, during which Mr. Martin was debating the question whether he should at once, and plainly, unfold to his child the conduct of her husband--or leave her to discover it in some other way.
The manner of her father convinced Bell that something was wrong, and her thoughts turned instinctively to her husband. His long continued silence, at length became so distressing, filling her mind as it did with vague and terrible fears--that she could bear it no longer.
"Father," she said, in a tone of forced calmness, "something is the matter, I know. If it concerns me, do not keep me in suspense! I can bear painful news from your lips, better than from another's."
"To you, my dear, suffering child," replied the old man, in a voice that trembled, coming to her side as he spoke, "the news I have to tell, will be painful indeed."
"Does it concern Henry?" asked Bell, eagerly and quickly, looking up into her father's face with pale and quivering lips.
"It does concern that wretched young man, Bell."
"O, father! Speak out plainly! How does it concern him?"
"He has been detected in the crime of forgery!"
"Father! it cannot be--it is not true!" exclaimed Bell, starting suddenly to her feet, an indignant expression glancing across her face.
"Would to Heaven that it were not so, my child!--But it is, indeed, too true."
"Where--where is he, father?"
"I do not know, and but for your sake, I would say that I did not care. He was arrested this morning, and carried before the Mayor, where the crime was fully proved. I was present, and paid his bail to prevent his being taken to prison."
"Upon whom was the forgery committed?" asked Bell, in a firm tone, while her face was deadly pale.
"That is of no consequence, Bell."
"But I wish to know, father."
"You know enough, already, my child; more, I fear, than your poor afflicted heart can bear."
"Was it on you?" persevered the daughter.
"Bell!"
"Say, father! Was it upon you?"
"It was, my child," replied the old man, after a moment's hesitation. "But that does not change, in any way, the features of the case."
The half-expected, but dreaded reply of her father, smote heavily upon Bell's heart.
"Oh, how could he have done that! How could he have done that!" she murmured, in a low, indistinct tone, dropping her head upon her bosom. In a few moments the tears came gushing forth, while her whole body was convulsed with violent sobs. Her little boy, seeing the distress of his mother, ran to her side in alarm, and climbing up into her lap, threw his arms around her neck, and while his tears mingled with hers, begged her, in lisping accents, not to cry!
"Try and bear it as well as you can, my dear child," said Mr. Martin, after the violence of Bell's emotion had subsided in a degree.
"But, father, this is hard to bear."
"I know it Bell. But what we are compelled to bear, should be made as light as possible. Your husband has, from the first, shown himself not only to be an unprincipled man, but has treated you with a coldness and cruelty, that it seems to me ought long ago, to have utterly estranged your affections from him. It ought, then not to be hard to bear apermanent separation from him. To be to him--as if he were not."
"Father! Do not talk so about my husband, and the father of my dear little ones! I cannot bear it. If I am willing to endure all this coldness and estrangement, you ought not to complain. But why do you talk of a permanent separation?" And the face of the young wife grew paler still.
"Are you not aware, Bell, that the crime of forgery is punishable by long years of solitary confinement in the penitentiary? This must be your husband's inevitable fate, if his case should come to trial, which I presume will never take place."
"How can that be prevented?"
"By his going away, and leaving me to forfeit the ten thousand dollars bail."
To this Bell made no reply, but sat in a musing, dreamy attitude, forgetful of all around her. The cup of her misery seemed full.
As for old Mr. Martin, his mind was agitated by many conflicting thoughts and painful emotions. Family pride was, with him, a strong feeling. The unfortunate marriage of his daughter, besides its other painful concomitants, deeply wounded this feeling, and had caused him to cherish much bitterness toward Henry Ware. Now this pride was destined to receive a more powerful blow, in the publicity of the fact that the husband of his daughter had proved a forger!
Hurriedly, yet involuntarily, did both father and daughter, each almost entirely forgetful of the other's presence, review the past five or six years. Alas! how had they mocked all thebright promise of earlier days. Could there have been a more utter shipwreck of a young heart's best affections? Could the father's tender hopes for his child, have been more deeply and incurably blighted?
As for the latter, the more he thought about the conduct of his daughter's husband--the more his anger was aroused against him. The final conclusion of his mind was, that Henry Ware would never again cross the threshold of his house, nor Bell, if he could prevent it, ever see him again!
"No good can come out of it," he argued to himself, "and much harm in the necessary disturbance of my poor child's mind. Besides, he has not only violated every honorable principle in his fellowship and connection with my family, but stands, now, in the position of a criminal, who has deliberately broken the laws of his country. No, no. He shall never enter this house again!"
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