An American Story of Real Life CHAPTER 15.
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Nearly a mile away from the fashionable neighborhood, in which the elegant mansion of Mr. Martin attracted every eye, stood a neat little dwelling, simple on the outside, and modestly arranged within. Here lived Mr. Lane and Mary, his pure-minded, loving wife. Two dear little ones made up the number of their household treasures--sweet, innocent children, who bore in their young countenances, the miniature image of their mother's face. Blessed indeed were they in the marriage union! Every passing day but endeared them more and more to each other, for almost every day developed in the character of each, some new moral beauty perceptible to the other.
In regard to external circumstances, they had no cause for complaint. The liberal salary which Mr. Martin paid to one in whom he had such good cause for reposing almost unlimited confidence, was a full five hundred dollars each year more than was required to meet all expenses incident to household economy. Already had he been able to purchase the pleasant little dwelling into which his dear ones were gathered, and now he was depositing the surplus of his salary in a savings bank, in view of accumulating a small capital with which, at some future time, to enter into business.
The discovery of Ware as the forger of Mr. Martin's checks pained him very deeply--not so much on the young man's account, for he had never regarded him in any other light than that of a cold-hearted, unprincipled villain, capable of this or any other act which would serve his selfish purposes; but for the sake of Mr. Martin, and especially for poor Bell, did he feel pained exceedingly.
"Mary," he said, on coming home at dinner time, "I have bad news to tell you. Henry Ware has been arrested for forgery, and the fact fully proved."
"Poor Bell!" exclaimed Mary, striking her hands suddenly together. "Poor Bell! It will kill her!"
"It may go hard now, Mary; but it will be better for her in the end."
"How so?"
"They will be permanently separated. He will have to go away from here before his trial comes on, and leave Mr. Martin to pay ten thousand dollars bail, which he was foolish enough to involve himself in--or be sentenced for four or five years imprisonment in the Penitentiary."
"If he goes away, as you say, cannot he return after the trial is over?"
"O no. The crime is one against the State, and nothing will do but the legal penalty. He can never return, if he goes away, without being subject to a revival of the prosecution. As I said before, I have no doubt but that it will be far better for her never to see him again."
"But you must remember that he is her husband, and the father of her children. That he called out the first ardent feelings of a young and affectionate heart; feelings that even cruel neglect and wrong have not been able to subdue. You must remember that she still looks up to and rests upon him as her husband."
"How can she thus rest, Mary, when there is not in his character a single healthy moral principle? I confess that I do not understand it. She I know, to be innocent and pure-minded. How, then, can she cling to one so utterly unprincipled as Henry Ware ?"
"He is her husband!" was Mary's emphatic reply.
"Still I do not understand it."
"The reason is plain."
"What is it?"
"You have not a woman's heart."
"True, Mary, and that may explain it. But I will not say that it does."
"How long will it be before the trial comes?" asked Mary, after a thoughtful pause.
"About a month, I think."
"A month? Until that time, he can, of course, remain in Philadelphia."
"Yes, if he chooses to do so."
"I wish, for the sake of Bell, that the trial would come on in a week."
"Why so!"
"Because in that case, she would the sooner be separated from him."
"My own impression is that she will never see him again."
"Why?"
"I cannot believe that Mr. Martin will permit Ware to enter his house. He was terribly incensed against him."
"That will not prevent Bell from seeing him. She loves him too well, even though he has broken her heart. If he is not allowed to come into her father's house, she will go to his father's, or any where else, for the purpose of meeting him. I wish she could give him up; but I fear that she cannot."
"She will have to give him up soon, Mary."
"I know it. But she will not do it until the last moment. Of that I am sure."
"Cannot you influence her in the matter?"
"Not so far as to prevent her meeting him. And, indeed, I could not urge her upon this subject. He is her husband, and she loves him deeply. Why should she not be permitted thesad pleasure of a few stolen interviews with him, before they are parted, perhaps forever?"
"Would it not be well for you to go over and see her this afternoon?"
"O, yes. I made up my mind to go as soon as I learned the painful news. Since Fanny's marriage and removal to New York, there has been no one but myself to whom she has felt free to tell all her feelings, and thus find relief in their expression."
It was about four o'clock, on the same afternoon, that a gentle tap at Bell's chamber door aroused her from a state of gloomy abstraction. Her low, half-reluctant "come in," was answered by the entrance of Mary. They were in each other's arms in a moment, the tears gushing from the eyes of both. For many minutes, they were together in silence. At last, the feelings of each became subdued.
"O Mary! is not this dreadful!" said Bell at length, the tears flowing afresh.
"It is indeed dreadful, Bell," replied Mary, as soon as she could command her voice. "And, as much as my heart yearns for the ability, I know not how to offer you words of comfort."
"That is in the power of no one, Mary! For me there is nothing left, but stern endurance. Oh, Mary! To think that Henry should have been so mad, so wicked, as to commit such a crime! I could have borne all his neglect of me, and still lived on, cherishing, as I have done, the hope that a day would come when all the attractions which won him away from me, would lose their power over him, and then he would be to me all that I could desire. That then, he would discover how deeply and fondly I had loved him, through neglect and unkindness, and be constrained to give me back his heart in return. But alas! alas! All these long and ardently cherished hopes, have been scattered, in a moment, to the winds! He has been guilty of crime, and must flee, like a hunted criminal--or, remaining, receive the stern sentence of the law for his crimes."
"Have you seen him since morning?" asked Mary, after a pause.
"No, Mary. And what is more, father says he shall never enter this house again. I cannot blame him, but I feel it to be very hard. He is my husband still, and I cannot give him up."
"But is it not better that you should not see him again, Bell? The interview would only have the effect to wound still deeper, your already crushed feelings."
"I must see him, Mary, and I will see him," replied Bell with a sudden energy. "Can you suppose, for a moment, that I would let him go away, never again to return--to be anoutcast in the world, a pursued and hunted man--and not give him a wife's parting blessing? No, no Mary! I must and will see him, and that many times before we part, perhaps, forever."
"Do not act too broadly against your father's desire, Bell," urged Mary.
"He is my husband!" was the firm reply; "and now, when all turn from him--shall his wife give him up? No, Mary! That would be a sin against nature. I cannot and I will not give him up!"
The manner of Bell showed that she was resolute in her determination, and therefore Mary did not urge her further upon a subject so painful to both.
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