Nothing but Money! CHAPTER 15.
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It was just one week after Doctor Hofland and his wife had taken their step downward, as to external things — but upward, as to the internal. They were alone, sitting in the plain little room on the second floor, which they now called their parlor. The mental discipline, humiliations and anxieties through which they had passed, left on each the sober hues of thought. But there was nothing of unhappiness — nothing of complaint visible on their countenances.
"I received an account of sales, today," said the Doctor, as he laid a folded paper on the table.
"Did you?" Expectation lit up the countenance of Mrs. Hofland — expectation, in which suspense, and a shade of anxiety, were visible.
"Yes, and the result is better than I had any good reason to anticipate."
"Oh Edward! What a relief!" Tears glistened in Diane's eyes.
The Doctor opened the paper, and running down his eyes to the last footing of a series of long columns of figures, said — "The sum realized is twenty-seven hundred and eighty-one dollars — within two hundred dollars of all I owe!"
"My dear husband! I am happier this hour than I have been for years!" Drops of gladness fell over Diane's cheeks. "Thank God for showing us the right path, and for giving us courage to walk in it!"
"Thank God, I say, for so brave, so true, so self-denying a wife!" responded the Doctor, as he caught Diane's hand and pressed it against his heart, where her head was lying a moment afterwards. "I was not strong enough, standing alone, for this," he added. "If you had faltered — our feet would still be in difficult ways — our sky clouded — our hearts in trouble. But now, there is no longer any fear. The way is plain before us. The sky is sunny. I can lift a brave head — I can look every man I meet steadily in the face. Oh, freedom! freedom! It is worth any struggle — any sacrifice. What joy is there in a large house; in pictures; in costly furniture; in the possession of rare books, the leaves of which are not turned once in a year; in decoration and ornament — if a nightmare of debt lies ever on the constricted bosom? How blind, how weak, how irrational I have been! I wonder and am ashamed of myself."
"The lesson is for all time," said Mrs. Hofland, smiling through tears of gladness, which still trembled in her eyes. "We shall not make this error again."
"Never again, Diane!" answered her husband. "What with one hand we take from the world — shall be paid for by the other. If our means are small — we will restrict our desires. Debt shall be an unknown element in our home economy. As for things of taste and ornament — now departed — they will be restored in time, and speak to our souls a higher and truer language than before. This discipline and self-denial, if rightly borne, will open our minds more, and give them a truer knowledge of the use that lies in the beautiful. Hitherto, a covetous desire to possess has deprived me of all love of art; and so robbed me of the higher delights it might have given. I see this clearly, and must strive against and overcome that evil in the mind which has been pronounced idolatry."
"And so," said Diane, "we are not really going down — but ascending in life. This change of position, is not a fall — but a rise. If we see in a clearer atmosphere, and have a more extended vision — we must be at a higher elevation than before."
"We are, Diane. Our embarrassing financial relations with the world were as clogs, holding us down. The soul sat, groveling, among the baser things of life; its vision clouded, its strength impaired. Thought dwelt more in the outward than the inward — in customs, usages, appearances, opinions and the like. But, in acting as we have done, from a principle of right and justice — we have emancipated ourselves. The thought of how this and that will appear, is removed, and questions of right or wrong must now determinate our actions. This is freedom; this is growth; this is the soul's true order of existence."
So they talked concerning their newly assumed relation to the world; and while they thus talked, this new relation formed the theme of remark in another household. Let us pass to that of Adam Guyton, the merchant.
"Our fast friends have gone over the precipice, as I predicted long ago." There was a gleam of satisfaction in Adam's cold eyes as he thus spoke to his wife.
"To whom do you refer?" asked Mrs. Guyton, rousing herself from a state of moody discontent in which she had been sitting for some time.
"Doctor Hofland and his wife." There was as much pleasure in his voice, as in his eyes.
"What of them?" Mrs. Guyton was all interest now.
"The Doctor had a night's experience in jail a week or two ago."
"More the shame for you!" was answered caustically. "I never could have believed that of my husband, Adam Guyton."
"Believed what?"
"That you would have abandoned an old friend in such an extremity. Ninety dollars! It will be remembered against you!"
"Indeed!" Spoken contemptuously. And by whom?"
"People lay up these things."
"People! Bah! What do I care for people, one half of whom I can buy and sell?" And Guyton snapped his fingers scornfully.
"What were you going to say about the Hoflands?" asked Lydia, a feeling of disgust hindering any further remark in the direction her husband's thoughts were moving.
"I said, they had gone over the precipice at last; and no one cares, I reckon. People of their style don't make many substantial friends."
"Why don't they?"
"Fast living and fast friendship are incompatible things. Your eternal borrower wears out his welcome. You sit uneasily beside a friend whose thought is on your purse, rather than on the theme in which he affects an interest. I know. But the Doctor has found his level at last, and I'm glad of it."
"What has happened to him?"
"You remember that little bird box in which they first lived?"
"Yes."
"His sign is on the door again."
"Doctor Hofland's?"
"Doctor Hofland's. I passed there today, and read it with my own eyes. People who stand too high — are apt to fall. I saw, long ago, what the end would be. That night in jail did the work for him, I've no doubt. Creditors are a scary kind of people; when one of their number pounces down on a poor unfortunate, the rest are apt to follow on swift wings, so as to be in on the kill. They've made short work with the Doctor; that's plain. Ha! ha! How it must have surprised him! Well, let every tub stand on its own bottom, I say. Doctor Hofland has no more right to live off of other people, than your common pickpocket!"
"Don't, don't, Adam! I can't bear to hear you talk so about the Doctor. He may have been imprudent; but to compare him with a common pickpocket, is an outrage."
"There's no difference." Guyton spoke in a kind of savage ill-nature. "The Doctor's better education increases his responsibility. Men of his class are the respectable pickpocketsof society; and what is more in regard to them, their victims are often so tied hand and foot by friendship, blood kinship, social relations, or sympathies — that resistance is impossible. Your robber or burglar may be shot down; but these decent-faced robbers hold you gently by the hand, and pour honeyed words into your ears — while they rifle your purse! You understand it all — but can make no resistance. I'm always pleased when society spots them, writing 'rogue' on their backs. It has done so in Hofland's case — and I am glad of it!"
Mrs. Guyton did not answer — but turned herself partly away from her husband, bending close down over some needlework on which she was employed.
"I don't want you to go there," said Guyton, who, after finishing his conclusive declaration against his old friend, waited to hear what answer his wife would make. He knew that she had still a warm side towards Diane and her husband — though, through his management, social fellowship had long ago ceased — and uttered his sweeping condemnationsmore for the sake of annoying her than anything else. He saw from her manner that he had made no impression whatever against her friends, and that grief at their misfortunewas the only sentiment stirring in her heart. Remembering how, on learning the danger which threatened the Doctor a week or two before, she had yielded to the impulse, that — but for his interference, would have borne her with swift feet as a comforter to Diane, he had uttered the brief interdiction at the commencement of this paragraph.
"Go where?" asked Mrs. Guyton. Her thin, pale lips, closed tightly as the words left them. Her eyes were steady — her brows knit.
"To Dr. Hofland's!" The answer was emphatic. Adam saw down into his wife's thoughts. He was quick-sighted in all that came in opposition to his will or wishes.
"If you choose to desert a friend in misfortune — I shall not." Mrs. Guyton's utterance was slow, and her tones resolute. "I am going to call on Diane."
"Indeed you are not!" There was a quick, short rattle in the voice of Adam Guyton.
"We will bandy no words, Adam. You heard what I said." Mrs. Guyton's tone was unfaltering.
"I command you not to go!" Passion swept him away into a brutal violence of manner.
"And I shall disobey your command, because you have no right to lay it on me." Mrs. Guyton's color mounted, and her eyes flashed. He had struck the smarting spur too deeply.
"You are my wife, madam!"
"Not your slave, sir!"
They glared at each other for a few moments, in angry defiance.
"Go at your peril," said Guyton, in a husky, threatening voice.
"At a thousand, perils, I will go!" The poor, weak frame of Mrs. Guyton was beginning to tremble under the pressure of excitement; but her spirit was strong. Contempt of her husband's mean, cruel, selfish spirit, more of which was apparent to her in his sentences than any reader can perceive — made her spurn his unwarrantable interdiction, as though it were a child's command. "Content yourself with deserting a friend in trouble; but don't ask me to do the same."
"Silence! I won't have such language!" The foot of Adam Guyton struck the floor with a quick jar.
"As you please," was answered, and Lydia, who had turned towards her husband, turned herself away again, and bent down once more over her needlework; but her hands trembled so that she could not make the stitches, and so she let them fall idly in her lap.
Money is a great power. Out in the world, and among men, its selfish possessor feels himself to be a little emperor in his sphere. He says to this man, "Go," and he goes; and to that man, "Come," and he comes; and few there are who set themselves in opposition to his will. He feels that money has invested him with personal importance, and that from this, comes obedience and compliance. While the truth is, men flow in with his conceits, his plans, his arbitrary will, even — in the hope of some advantage. The man himself is nothing. Abstract the money, and he will be of little more account than a sucked orange. It is at home, that these mere money-men find the current of their lives obstructed — here, that baffling winds flutter among the sails of their goodly ships, and bear them back from promised havens. Women and children are not so easily managed; particularly when the rich father and husband, not only withholds too much — but exacts too much. He is dealing outside of his dwelling — with material interests; inside his dwelling — withhuman souls. Love of gain, of power, of place — all these are potent ministers on the outside. But, on the inside, "I won't," and "I will," clamor against him with an undying persistence. He is not wise enough to govern these home elements, and so sets them at defiance. Unceasing war is the consequence — war kept up to the very last. The children gird on their armor, and learn to handle sword and spear even from the beginning. As they grow older, they gain skill and strength, and the time comes, always, sure as fate, when the battle turns in their favor. But alas! what wreck, what ruin, what desolation, mark the way, and the final victory — is but a final disaster to all!
As great as Mr. Guyton found the power of money on the outside — inside of his home, the daily conviction grew upon him that he was losing power. His will, yielded to in the beginning, was often now disputed, the ground being maintained on the part of his wife, with a persistence and success that made him feel bitter against her. In the present contest — he was in opposition to the stronger elements. The misfortunes had come upon Diane's old friend, and this so quickened the sentiment of love, that her husband's opposition only fanned it into a blaze. She must see Diane, and the hand of Adam Guyton was not strong enough to hold her back. If she sat with fingers too weak to carry the needle — silent, shrinking, and trembling in nervous exhaustion — her will did not give way for an instant. Her heart was drawing her towards Diane with the old strong impulses — and she meant to go as she had said. Comprehending the height and depth, the length and breadth of consequences, Adam Guyton had power to visit on her head — she was ready in this cause to brave them. Many feelings that once writhed in anguish when his foot trampled on them ruthlessly — now gave no response. They were dead — to him. The bond which united them was external only. Internally, there was repulsion instead of attraction — and aversion instead of love.
No further word passed between Lydia and her husband during the evening. Guyton sat for most of the time with brows drawn down, and mouth shut tightly, musing, scheming, pondering — and miserable as he almost always felt when at home, for only at home did he find his will thwarted, and his commands set at naught. Lydia passed the hours as she usually passed them, with busy hands, and oppressed feelings. All the outreaching impulses and desires of her woman's nature, had been crushed back, and lay bruised, broken, and helpless, against her heart — which ached, and ached, with a dull, deep, unmitigated pain.
Poor wife! The pleasant hopes which, in the far away years when life and love threw hues of rosy promise on the future, had long ago passed through fire to the golden molochset up by her husband — and were dead! Mourning them, her spirit refused to be comforted — but sat, tear-eyed and white-faced, in Rachel-like sorrow. Alas, poor wife! Time can never restore these lost hopes. They have faded from the earth, and will return no more.
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