Infelice | Page 2

the terrier ran up and down the hall, holding his nose high in the air, and barking furiously.
"Bi?rn's instincts rarely deceive him. A stranger is waiting in the library to see you. Before you go in, let me give you your supper, for you must be tired and hungry."
"Thank you, Elise, but first I must see this visitor, whose errand may be urgent."
He opened the door of the library, and entered so quietly that the occupant seemed unaware of his presence.
A figure draped in black sat before the table which was drawn close to the hearth, and the arms were crossed wearily, and the head bowed upon them. The dog barked and bounded toward her, and then she quickly rose, throwing back her veil, and eagerly advancing.
"You are the Rev. Peyton Hargrove?"
"I am. What can I do for you, madam? Pray take this rocking chair."
She motioned it away, and exclaimed:
"Can you too have forgotten me?"
A puzzled expression crossed his countenance as he gazed searchingly at her, then shook his head.
The glare of the fire, and the mellow glow of the student's lamp fell full on the pale features, whose exceeding delicacy is rarely found outside of the carved gems of the Stosch or Albani Cabinets. On camei and marble dwell the dainty moulding of the oval cheek, the airy arched tracery of the brows, the straight, slender nose, and clearly defined cleft of the rounded chin, and nature only now and then models them as a whole, in flesh. It was the lovely face of a young girl, fair as one of the Frate's heavenly visions, but blanched by some flood of sorrow that had robbed the full tender lips of bloom, and bereft the large soft brown eyes of the gilding glory of hope.
"If I ever knew, I certainly have forgotten you."
"Oh--do not say so! You must recollect me; you are the only person who can identify me. Four years ago I stood here, in this room. Try to recall me."
She came close to him, and he heard her quick and laboured breathing, and saw the convulsive quivering of her compressed lips.
"What peculiar circumstances marked my former acquaintance with you? Your voice is quite familiar, but----"
He paused, passed his hand across his eyes, and before he could complete the sentence, she exclaimed:
"Am I then so entirely changed? Did you not one May morning marry in this room Minnie Merle to Cuthbert Laurance?"
"I remember that occasion very vividly, for in opposition to my judgment I performed the ceremony; but Minnie Merle was a low-statured, dark-haired child----" again he paused, and keenly scanned the tall, slender, elegant figure, and the crimped waves of shining hair that lay like a tangled mass of gold net on the low, full, white brow.
"I was Minnie Merle. Your words of benediction made me Minnie Laurance. God--and the angels know it is my name, my lawful name,-- but man denies it."
Something like a sob impeded her utterance, and the minister took her hand.
"Where is your husband? Are you widowed so early?"
"Husband--my husband? One to cherish and protect, to watch over, and love, and defend me;--if such be the duties and the tests of a husband,--oh! then indeed I have never had one! Widowed did you say? That means something holy,--sanctified by the shadow of death, and the yearning sympathy and pity of the world; a widow has the right to hug a coffin and a grave all the weary days of her lonely life, and people look tenderly on her sacred weeds. To me, widowhood would be indeed a blessing, Sir, I thought I had learned composure, self-control, but the sight of this room,--of your countenance,--even the strong breath of the violets and heliotrope there on the mantle, in the same blood-coloured Bohemian vase where they bloomed that day,--that May day,--all these bring back so overpoweringly the time that is for ever dead to me,--that I feel as if I should suffocate."
She walked to the nearest window, threw up the sash, and while she stood with the damp chill wind blowing full upon her the pastor heard a moan, such as comes from meek, dumb creatures, wrung by the throes of dissolution.
When she turned once more to the light, he saw an unnatural sparkle in the dry, lustrous, brown eyes.
"Dr. Hargrove, give me the license that was handed to you by Cuthbert Laurance."
"What value can it possess now?"
"Just now it is worth more to me than everything else in life,--more to me than my hopes of heaven."
"Mrs. Laurance, you must remember that I refused to perform the marriage ceremony, because I believed you were both entirely too young. Your grandmother who came with you assured me she was your sole guardian, and desired the marriage, and your husband, who seemed to me a mere boy, quieted