Infelice | Page 3

my objections by producing the license, which he said exonerated me from censure, and relieved me of all responsibility. With that morning's work I have never felt fully satisfied, and though I know that any magistrate would probably have performed the ceremony, I have sometimes thought I acted rashly, and have carefully kept that license as my defence and apology."
"Thank God, that it has been preserved. Give it to me."
"Pardon me if I say frankly, I prefer to retain it. All licenses are recorded by the officer who issued them, and by applying to him you can easily procure a copy."
"Treachery baffles me there. A most opportune fire broke out eighteen months ago in the room where those records were kept, and although the court house was saved, the book containing my marriage license was of course destroyed."
"But the clerk should be able to furnish a certificate of the facts."
"Not when he has been bribed to forget them. Please give me the paper in your possession."
She wrung her slender fingers, and her whole frame trembled like a weed on some bleak hillside, where wintry winds sweep unimpeded.
A troubled look crossed the grave, placid countenance of the pastor, and he clasped his hands firmly behind him, as if girding himself to deny the eloquent pleading of the lovely dark eyes.
"Sit down, madam, and listen to----"
"I cannot! A restless fever is consuming me, and nothing but the possession of that license can quiet me. You have no right to withhold it,--you cannot be so cruel, so wicked,--unless you also have been corrupted, bought off!"
"Be patient enough to hear me. I have always feared there was something wrong about that strange wedding, and your manner confirms my suspicions. Now I must be made acquainted with all the facts, must know your reason for claiming the paper in my possession, before I surrender it. As a minister of the Gospel, it is incumbent upon me to act cautiously, lest I innocently become auxiliary to deception, --possibly to crime."
A vivid scarlet flamed up in the girl's marble cheeks.
"Of what do you suspect, or accuse me?"
"I accuse you of nothing. I demand your reasons for the request you have made."
"I want that paper because it is the only proof of my marriage. There were two witnesses: my grandmother, who died three years ago on a steamship bound for California, where her only son is living, and Gerbert Audr��, a college student, who is supposed to have been lost last summer in a fishing smack off the coast of Labrador or Greenland."
"I am a witness accessible at any time, should my testimony be required."
"Will you live for ever? Nay,--just when I need your evidence, my ill luck will seal your lips, and drive the screws down in your coffin lid."
"What use do you intend to make of the license? Deal candidly with me."
"I want to hold it, as the most precious thing left in life; to keep it concealed securely, until the time comes when it will serve me, save me, avenge me."
"Why is it necessary to prove your marriage? Who disputes it?"
"Cuthbert Laurance and his father."
"Is it possible! Upon what plea?"
"That he was a minor, was only twenty, irresponsible, and that the license was fraudulent."
"Where is your husband?"
"I tell you, I have no husband! It were sacrilege to couple that sacred title with the name of the man who has wronged, deserted, repudiated me; and who intends if possible to add to the robbery of my peace and happiness, that of my fair, stainless name. Less than one month after the day when right here, where I now stand, you pronounced me his wife in the sight of God and man, he was summoned home by a telegram from his father. I have never seen him since. General Laurance took his son immediately to Europe, and, sir, you will find it difficult to believe me, when I tell you that infamous father has actually forced the son by threats of disinheritance to many again,--to----"
The words seemed to strangle her, and she hastily broke away the ribbons which held her bonnet and were tied beneath her chin.
Mr. Hargrove poured some water into a goblet, and as he held it to her lips, murmured compassionately:
"Poor child! God help you."
Perhaps the genuine pity in the tone brought back sweet memories of the bygone, and for a moment softened the girl's heart, for tears gathered in the large eyes, giving them a strange quivering radiance. As if ashamed of the weakness she threw her head back defiantly, and continued:
"I was the poor little orphan, whose grandmother did washing and mending for the college boys--only little unknown Minnie Merle, with none to aid in asserting her rights;--and she--the new wife--was a banker's daughter, an heiress, a fashionable belle,--and so Minnie Merle