The Old Man's Bride CHAPTER 20.
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Not until this unlooked-for meeting with Henry Wellford, did Helen fully comprehend the nature of the passion with which she loved him. As we have said, his image lay enshrined far away, in the most sacred recesses of her heart; not dust-covered, nor dimmed with gathering mold — yet as she had believed, forever hidden from the light. An image, before which, if her spirit sometimes bowed in its weakness, it bowed with a consciousness of sin, and, in bowing, prayed to Heaven for strength ever to stand upright.
Now that she had looked upon his living face for the first time since their last sad meeting in the street, she felt that she was unequal to the trial. More than an hour had glided away since her eyes rested upon him, and from that time, while she compelled herself to act even more skillfully, than at first, her part, ever and always, her glances would go searching after him, and when espied, linger on his form for moments, as if she were spell-bound. A strange feeling, almost suffocating in its intensity, seized upon the unhappy woman, when she saw that Wellford remained by the side of Fanny Milnor, much of the time engaged in earnest conversation. Was it a spirit of jealousy that, constricting her chest, gave to respiration a quickened impulse? — or, did she shrink from the personal detraction of herself, which she had good reason to believe would be poured into the ear of her former lover!
However this might be, the good understanding and mutual interest which seemed to exist between Wellford and Fanny Milnor, were to her a source of most exquisite pain. Yet for all this, she hid beneath the garment of a well-assumed exterior — the fox that was tearing her very vitals! A few, more observant than the rest, noticed occasionally the manner in which she regarded these two people; but no one dreamed of the agony that was veiled by her winning smiles, or concealed under the buoyant tones of her rich mellow voice. What a task had she imposed upon herself! The only wonder is that she was able to sustain her part.
An hour had glided away since she became aware of Wellford's presence; and now, for the first time, she found herself about coming into immediate personal contact with him. This was not accidental, but from design on his part, as she plainly saw. A gentleman with whom she had been conversing, had just left her side, and she was sitting alone. This opportunity, Wellford seized for the renewal of an acquaintance, broken off under such painful circumstances, nearly two years before. As he approached her, the heart of Helen fluttered, and then grew still, as if overpowering emotions were actually about extinguishing her life. He bowed with considerable formality, and showed an embarrassed manner.
"I am pleased to meet you again," said he, with less steadiness of voice than he had hoped to maintain.
The lips of Helen moved, but no words came therefrom. There was a welcome, however, in her eyes; and Wellford failed not to see this. He sat down by her, forced a smile to conceal the real agitation he felt, and made some common-place remark, to which she now found voice to reply. How soon each would have regained an easy self-possession, we cannot say. A third party joined them almost immediately — the husband of Helen.
The two men, who had met in business circles, and had a slight business acquaintance, bowed formally, as each gave utterance to the other's name. It was at once apparent to Wellford, that the old man was disturbed from some cause; and he did not fail to observe, that with a singular lack of good breeding, he seated himself on the narrow portion of the sofa which intervened between him and Helen.
A few unimportant remarks were made by Wellford, to which Mr. Bullfinch gave constrained answers. Perceiving that his presence was, from some cause, disagreeable — the former soon retired to a distant part of the room, and from an unnoted point of observation, saw that sharp words were passing between the young wife and her husband. Another might not thus have interpreted the manner of Mr. and Mrs. Bullfinch; but his knowledge of the past, as well as his peculiar state of mind, gave to Wellford a more than ordinary keenness of vision.
"Did you see that?" said the young man, who had so unwisely, and, we might say, wickedly, awakened in the heart of Mr. Bullfinch, the spirit of jealousy. He addressed the friend with whom a previous conversation had been held.
"See what?" asked the other.
"Mr. Wellford, only a moment ago, took a seat near Mrs. Bullfinch; but, scarcely had they entered into conversation, before the old man came up and coolly thrust himself between them."
"Indeed!"
"That tells the story, doesn't it?"
"What story?"
"Of a young lover — and a jealous old husband. I thought there was something peculiar in the way Mrs. Bullfinch looked at Wellford, when he sat talking so earnestly with her husband's niece."
"You seem to take a singular interest in their affairs," said his friend, "an evil interest, I am afraid. Pardon me for plain speaking."
"I'm a student of human nature you know, and this is one of its phases."
"It is one thing to study human nature — and another to mar its beauty. I'm afraid the lover was more in your imagination than anywhere else, and that all the cause for jealousy which exists — you created. This is hardly to be justified on any plea."
"Oh, as to that," was replied with indifference, "I act pretty much as fancy prompts. As for self-justification, I rarely give it a thought."
"Some people would say," remarked the friend, half seriously and half in earnest, "that you had either a wrong head — or a bad heart."
"People will say almost anything that suits their fancy. For one, I never give much heed to the opinions of others regarding myself. The worst is usually judged of our actions. I seek compensation for these things, in saying and doing pretty much as I desire; and I presume the world thinks quite as well of me, as if I were guarded about the effect of my words, and over precise as to the consequences of my actions."
"There is something more to be desired, than the world's opinion."
"So I think."
"Our own self-respect, and consciousness of right actions."
The other merely shrugged his shoulders.
"If we can do no good — let us do no harm. The casting of an evil seed may seem a light thing; but, the small acorn becomes, in time, a giant oak. Think of this. You have carelessly sown a seed of jealousy in the mind of Mr. Bullfinch. Already it has germinated. The fruit, which must be eaten, will be bitter to the taste; nay, may poison the whole system. Will it add anything to your pleasure in life, to know that you have made others inconceivably wretched? I would think not."
"You make a serious matter of my little pleasant annoyance of Mr. Bullfinch," said the other, in a slightly changed tone.
"If I err not, it will prove more than a pleasant annoyance to the old gentleman and his young wife. The passion of jealousy, when once excited, rarely burns out. It makes fuel of everything within its reach. Ever suspicious, and prone to misjudge — it becomes insatiate and cruel. Ah! I fear you have put thorns in the already uncomfortable pillow, on which the head of that young wife uneasily reposes!"
"Oh, dear! Don't grow sentimental," was replied, with forced levity. "Her pillow is soft enough, I'll warrant you. She'll sleep sound, for all the thorns my hands have planted."
As this was said, the piano, which had been silent for some time, was touched by softly falling fingers, and, in a moment after, a clear, sweet, mellow voice arose and filled the room.
"Ah! who is that?" remarked one of the young men.
"It's Mrs. Bullfinch, as I live," said the other, as he moved half involuntarily towards the instrument.
There was an instant hush throughout the crowded and buzzing drawing-rooms. Every ear seemed penetrated with the unexpected melody. Several brilliant performers had, from time to time, during the evening, executed some of their best pieces; but, they had played only to a narrow, music-loving circle, while most of those present were rather annoyed than otherwise at the loud, incessant thrumming, which made conversation an effort. But now, an involuntary attention was awarded by all, and soon there was a crowd around the piano.
Piece after piece was played and sung, in accordance with the requests or suggestions of those who gathered near the singer. Yet, all the while, Mrs. Bullfinch played for the ear of only one — though he never asked for a song, nor even made one of the delighted group which clustered around her. It was not that she designed to play for Wellford; she could not help it. With every note she struck, every skillful modulation of her voice, every expression that was breathed forth — went also a thought as to how his ear would be effected! And so entirely was this the case, that it totally obscured her consciousness of the fact. She played for her old lover, yet knew it not.
Never had the old man been so struck with the charms of his young wife, as now. Never had he observed such a bewitchery in her voice. How proud of her he felt! Yet, with this pride, was a feeling of uneasiness not before experienced. The seed of jealousy was in his heart; it had already quickened into life, and was sending down its sharp, piercing rootlets. In the eyes of those who looked at her, his newly acquired vision perceived something deeper than mere admiration; and when he saw a mirthful, handsome young man, bending to her ear, and speaking in tones so low that he could not hear them, suspicion imagined the words that were uttered, and troubled the waters of his spirit to their deepest depths.
"The fact that Wellford did not join the listeners who had gathered around the piano, was not unobserved by Mr. Bullfinch. The meaning of this, he interpreted in his own way, and made it the nourishment on which to feed his jealousy.
At last Helen retired from the piano, receiving, as she did so, thanks and compliments from many voices, and accompanied by one or two young gentlemen, who were completely charmed with her. Mr. Bullfinch tried to get between these and his wife, as the latter was handed to a seat. The effort did not prove so successful as in the case of Wellford. But he remained standing near, unconscious that, in countenance and manner, he was betraying to all eyes, the real state of his mind.
Nor was this state rendered any the more endurable by parts of sentences, over-loudly spoken or whispered, which reached his ears, such as —
"She's a charming creature!"
"Old Bullfinch had better cage her up at home."
"Somebody will run off with her before a year."
"The grouchy old fellow — how she must despise him!"
"She can't love him."
"A wife, bought with gold."
At an early hour, Mr. Bullfinch suggested to his wife that it was time for them to return home.
"It is only twelve," said she, in reply, "and the carriage was not ordered until two."
"Two — two — so late as that?" he answered, in a confused manner, "I had forgotten."
Cotillions were now forming, and a young gentleman, whose attentions to Helen had not escaped the keen eyes of her husband, pressed forward, and asked if she would dance with him.
A graceful assent was given, and the couple took their places on the floor.
An ill-concealed gesture of impatience marked the effect of this upon Mr. Bullfinch, who, with a lengthened visage and contracted brow, took his place, moodily, among those who were too old, or disinclined, to dance.
Set after set were formed — in each of these, always with a new partner, Mrs. Bullfinch was to be found. With color warm from exercise, and eyes glittering with excitement, she looked as happy as she was beautiful. None noticed, as she went circling through the mazy evolutions, her quick glance thrown, ever and always, towards a point in the room, where, in close conversation, sat Henry Wellford and Fanny Milnor. Only once during the evening, had she been thrown into the immediate company of Fanny, when they met as strangers.
Nothing more dramatic than the incidents we have chronicled, took place during that evening. Once again Helen and Wellford met and exchanged a few words; but, in doing so, there was no betrayal of feeling on either side. At two o'clock, Mr. and Mrs. Bullfinch retired; each with sharper thorns in the pillows upon which their heads were to recline hereafter.
In Helen's Book of Life, a new leaf had been turned; and, as she brooded over the yet unwritten page, her heart trembled at thought of the probable record. She had tasted a new cup — the sweet and bitter exquisitely mingled — and she felt that she was destined to drink it to the very dregs!
"It was no seeking of mine," said she, gloomily, to herself, as she pondered the future. "The consequences rest with those who dragged me into a position fraught with trials and temptations beyond my power to sustain or resist. But the step has been taken, and I must now press onward in the new and dangerous path which opens before me. I have pride enough to enable me at least to tread it boldly. No one must see a step falter — and no one shall!"
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