Nothing but Money! CHAPTER 7.
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The heart never loses its memory. Every experience records itself so indelibly, that, always, what has preceded in our lives — throws its shadows or sunshine on following states. We cannot forget, if we would.
Lydia could not forget. Alas, no! The record of that day, when she awoke, suddenly, to the truth in regard to her husband's character, was an ineffaceable record, engraved, as with a pen of iron on her heart; and, in all her after life, from the sad, disheartening page, not a line or word was obliterated. And other records followed — sadder and more painful — followed in quick succession, as Adam Guyton put off concealments, and let his true character and ends of life appear without disguise. He was a hard, resolute man, and trampled on all weaknesses as obstructions in his way.
In his first conflict with Lydia he saw that she possessed certain traits of character that might be difficult to manage, and had a certain reactive force, the ground of which was not understood. But it was no part of his system to study a case, and with shrewd diplomacy, adapt himself thereto, gaining his ends by Jesuitical craft. He moved forward in more direct lines, bearing down opposition by the force of an imperious will. He knew only the bend or break system. And so, the conflict begun, there was on his side no furling of banner, nor sheathing of sword. It was war to the bitter end!
During the first year of Adam and Lydia's married life, reactions on her part were, from the out-reaching necessities of her nature, frequent; but always she had to retire, with a heart bruised, bleeding, and palsied, from the contest. If she gained in anything, it was at a cost so far beyond the gain, that conquest was a defeat instead of a victory.
Day by day, and week by week, Guyton became more and more absorbed in money-making. Sooner than he had expected, an interest in their business had been offered by his employers, and he was throwing himself into the vortex of trade with an abandonment of thought and purpose that dwarfed all other considerations. In the beginning they visited old friends, and had evening visitors in return. A concert, a lecture, or some public entertainment, was, now and then, added as recreation, though the cost of these made Adam rather indifferent to them as sources of pleasure. As thought hovered, more steadily, in circles around his leading end of life — he grew more and more indifferent toward all things not ministrant to his avarice, and, before six months had passed away, rarely stepped beyond his own threshold, after coming home from the day's employment.
"I'm too tired to go out," was the stereotype reason offered, when Lydia suggested the return of some friendly visit. Indifference was the true reason. Sometimes he would utter expressions of dislike toward the people mentioned. In fact, this dislike of people was a feeling that gained on him steadily. Lack of thrift in a man, condemned him utterly. No matter what other qualities he possessed — no matter how gifted or useful in the exercise of his talents, or kind of heart, or self-denying for the good of others — if he lacked the quality of thrift — our young merchant despised him.
It can readily be seen how, with such feelings as Adam Guyton possessed — that he would naturally separate himself from all close friendships. These might be entangling! Few men were as self-dependent, and as earnestly given up to the work of money-making as he was — and, therefore, nearly all around him were in danger of stumbling by the way; and he did not care to have relations with anyone of a character, to warrant applications for a helping hand in emergency.
Doctor Hofland, his old friend, called in now and then, with his wife, to sit an hour or two in the evening. While the meetings between Lydia and Diane were tender and cordial — seasons of real heart-enjoyment — Adam held the doctor more and more at a distance, and rarely made any response when the latter spoke of his profession and prospects. His own business, Adam never intruded, and if the conversation led him to make any reference thereto, it was of a vague and rather discouraging character. He did not wish to have the doctor know that he was beginning to accumulate wealth — lest he should need some help.
"We must go around and see Doctor Hofland and his wife," said Lydia one evening, several months after the date on which our story opened. "It's more than eight weeks since we were there, and they've called twice during the time."
"I don't feel like going out," was Guyton's answer.
"We mustn't let feeling always influence us," replied his wife. "Come! I want to see Diane to night. And I know you will enjoy an hour with the doctor. He's always so bright and cheerful."
"It's more than I know, then," replied Adam. "The fact is, I don't like the doctor half so much as I once did. He's getting wearisome."
"Wearisome? Why, Adam! I don't know a more interesting talker among all our acquaintances."
"He doesn't interest me. Very little that he converses about comes within the range of my interest. I grow silent in his presence."
"Why, Adam! How can you say that?"
"I do say it, and it's the truth. Doctor Hofland or I have changed very materially in the last year or two. The fact is, he's getting too wise — in his own conceit, I mean. He likes to show off what he knows — to talk largely; and that doesn't set well with me. I hate pretension, and always did."
Lydia felt a choking sensation in her throat. She made no reply, and her husband went on.
"And besides, I don't like the way he's living. It isn't honest."
"Why, Adam! How can you speak so of the doctor?" Her emotions sent a glow to Lydia's face.
"Because I believe just what I say. No one is honest, in the right meaning of the word honesty, who lives beyond his means, as he is doing. He's going behindhand every day, and knows it; and yet, denies himself nothing. Every time we've been there, he's had some elegant new books to show, or some costly engraving, or some silly trifle of a parlor ornament. Only yesterday I met him with a package in his hand, and he told me that he'd just been buying a choice English edition of some new book which I had never heard of. And then, I don't believe a week passes over their heads, that they are not at some place of amusement. All this costs money — and somebody will have to pay the piper. It won't be me, though, I can tell them! Adam Guyton knows better than that, how to take care of his money. Let them go their ways — and we will go ours, Lydia. Doctor Hofland is pretty nearly off of my books, and so is his wife. They're well mated, and will pull evenly to the edge of some precipice — and dash over together. Well, let them, if they like such episodes in life — it'll not trouble me. I've got my own way to make, and shall not bother myself with the insane conduct of other people."
Lydia sighed, and was silent. Every act and sentence of her husband had come to be the turning of a leaf, on which she read a phase of his character; and in all phases — the one likeness of a sordid regard for money was never absent. She saw it in every word, and sentence, and act. If she opposed this love of money — she was hurt in the contact, always. Love of money was his ruling purpose, that set aside every opposing thing, and ignored on bare suspicion.
They did not go to Doctor Hofland's on that evening, as Lydia had desired. Feebly she rallied to the argument in defense of Diane — but was borne down by an intensedogmatism that dealt in excessive condemnation.
The truth was, apart from Guyton's growing alienation of feeling toward Doctor Hofland, resulting from causes already apparent, he did not approve the influence of a character like that of Diane upon his wife. Diane, in his eyes, was a worldly, extravagant woman, with ideas wholly averse to true home enjoyment; and her influence over Lydia, who was strongly attached to her, could, in his eyes, only prove injurious. Already he had noticed a change in Lydia's state of mind whenever she received a visit from her friend, or spoke of having called to see her; and the change was adverse to contentment.
So little of a yielding spirit had Adam Guyton shown, after the honeymoon — so little of deference to her tastes, feelings, or wishes, where they impinged in the least upon his darling love of money — that Lydia had learned to be willful and persistent in some things — to require concessions that love, or thoughtful consideration for her husband, would not have made. Thus, in three or four months after their marriage, she spoke of hiring a single servant. There was no response on the part of Adam — he heard — but did not answer. His manner, however, was not to be mistaken. Lydia understood him fully. He could not approve. And yet, for all this, the servant was employed, and Adam had to submit. He took his revenge, however, after the manner of such men, by wearing a clouded brow, and putting on a chilling reserve toward his wife, which robbed her days of sunshine, and made the nights dewy with tears.
So in other matters of minor concern, appertaining to Lydia's domestic life, dress, friendships, and expenditures — she learned, by painful necessity, to act in open or concealedopposition to her husband in many things; yet, almost always, the opposition cost her only a little less suffering than submission. There were necessities of her nature, free impulses, tastes, that could not be wholly denied. Life would have gone out if some nourishment had not been furnished to these.
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