Infelice | Page 2

girl died at eight o'clock, and I sat awhile with the stricken mother,
trying to comfort her. Poor Susan! it is a heavy blow, for she idolized
the child. Be quiet, Biörn."
Mr. Hargrove was leisurely divesting himself of his heavy overcoat,
and the terrier ran up and down the hall, holding his nose high in the air,
and barking furiously.
"Biörn'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