II.

Mrs. Glendinning walked her chamber; her dress loosened.

"That such accursed vileness should proceed from me! Now will the tongued world say--See the vile boy of Mary Glendinning!--Deceitful!

thick with guilt, where I thought it was all guilelessness and gentlest docility to me. It has not happened! It is not day! Were this thing so, I should go mad, and be shut up, and not walk here where every door is open to me.--My own only son married to an unknown--thing! My own only son, false to his holiest plighted public vow--and the wide world knowing to it! He bears my name--Glendinning. I will disown it; were it like this dress, I would tear my name off from me, and burn it till it shriveled to a crisp!--Pierre! Pierre! come back, come back, and swear it is not so! It can not be! Wait: I will ring the bell, and see if it be so."

She rung the bell with violence, and soon heard a responsive knock.

"Come in!--Nay, falter not;" (throwing a shawl over her) "come in. Stand there and tell me if thou darest, that my son was in this house this morning and met me on the stairs. Darest thou say that?"

Dates looked confounded at her most unwonted aspect.

"Say it! find thy tongue! Or I will root mine out and fling it at thee!

Say it!"

"My dear mistress!"

"I am not thy mistress! but thou my master; for, if thou sayest it, thou commandest me to madness.--Oh, vile boy!--Begone from me!"

She locked the door upon him, and swiftly and distractedly walked her chamber. She paused, and tossing down the curtains, shut out the sun from the two windows.

Another, but an unsummoned knock, was at the door. She opened it.

"My mistress, his Reverence is below. I would not call you, but he insisted."

"Let him come up."

"Here? Immediately?"

"Didst thou hear me? Let Mr. Falsgrave come up."

As if suddenly and admonishingly made aware, by Dates, of the ungovernable mood of Mrs. Glendinning, the clergyman entered the open door of her chamber with a most deprecating but honest reluctance, and apprehensiveness of he knew not what.

"Be seated, sir; stay, shut the door and lock it."

"Madam!"

"_I_ will do it. Be seated. Hast thou seen him?"

"Whom, Madam?--Master Pierre?"

"Him!--quick!"

"It was to speak of him I came, Madam. He made a most extraordinary call upon me last night--midnight."

"And thou marriedst him?--d.a.m.n thee!"

"Nay, nay, nay, Madam; there is something here I know not of--I came to tell thee news, but thou hast some o'erwhelming tidings to reveal to me."

"I beg no pardons; but I may be sorry. Mr. Falsgrave, my son, standing publicly plighted to Lucy Tartan, has privately wedded some other girl--some s.l.u.t!"

"Impossible!"

"True as thou art there. Thou knowest nothing of it then?"

"Nothing, nothing--not one grain till now. Who is it he has wedded?"

"Some _s.l.u.t_, I tell thee!--I am no lady now, but something deeper,--a woman!--an outraged and pride-poisoned woman!"

She turned from him swiftly, and again paced the room, as frantic and entirely regardless of any presence. Waiting for her to pause, but in vain, Mr. Falsgrave advanced toward her cautiously, and with the profoundest deference, which was almost a cringing, spoke:--

"It is the hour of woe to thee; and I confess my cloth hath no consolation for thee yet awhile. Permit me to withdraw from thee, leaving my best prayers for thee, that thou mayst know some peace, ere this now shut-out sun goes down. Send for me whenever thou desirest me.--May I go now?"

"Begone! and let me not hear thy soft, mincing voice, which is an infamy to a man! Begone, thou helpless, and unhelping one!"

She swiftly paced the room again, swiftly muttering to herself. "Now, now, now, now I see it clearer, clearer--clear now as day! My first dim suspicions pointed right!--too right! Ay--the sewing! it was the sewing!--The shriek!--I saw him gazing rooted at her. He would not speak going home with me. I charged him with his silence; he put me off with lies, lies, lies! Ay, ay, he is married to her, to her;--to her!--perhaps was then. And yet,--and yet,--how can it be?--Lucy, Lucy--I saw him, after that, look on her as if he would be glad to die for her, and go to h.e.l.l for her, whither he deserves to go!--Oh! oh! oh!

Thus ruthlessly to cut off, at one gross sensual dash, the fair succession of an honorable race! Mixing the choicest wine with filthy water from the plebeian pool, and so turning all to undistinguishable rankness!--Oh viper! had I thee now in me, I would be a suicide and a murderer with one blow!"

A third knock was at the door. She opened it.

"My mistress, I thought it would disturb you,--it is so just overhead,--so I have not removed them yet."

"Unravel thy gibberish!--what is it?"

"Pardon, my mistress, I somehow thought you knew it, but you can not."

"What is that writing crumpling in thy hand? Give it me."

"I have promised my young master not to, my mistress."

"I will s.n.a.t.c.h it, then, and so leave thee blameless.--What? what?

what?--He's mad sure!--'Fine old fellow Dates'--what? what?--mad and merry!--chest?--clothes?--trunks?--he wants them?--Tumble them out of his window!--and if he stand right beneath, tumble them out! Dismantle that whole room. Tear up the carpet. I swear, he shall leave no smallest vestige in this house.--Here! this very spot--here, here, where I stand, he may have stood upon;--yes, he tied my shoe-string here; it's slippery! Dates!"

"My mistress."

"Do his bidding. By reflection he has made me infamous to the world; and I will make him infamous to it. Listen, and do not delude thyself that I am crazy. Go up to yonder room" (pointing upward), "and remove every article in it, and where he bid thee set down the chest and trunks, there set down all the contents of that room."

"'Twas before the house--this house!"

"And if it had not been there, I would not order thee to put them there.

Dunce! I would have the world know that I disown and scorn him! Do my bidding!--Stay. Let the room stand; but take him what he asks for."

"I will, my mistress."

As Dates left the chamber, Mrs. Glendinning again paced it swiftly, and again swiftly muttered: "Now, if I were less a strong and haughty woman, the fit would have gone by ere now. But deep volcanoes long burn, ere they burn out.--Oh, that the world were made of such malleable stuff, that we could recklessly do our fieriest heart's-wish before it, and not falter. Accursed be those four syllables of sound which make up that vile word Propriety. It is a chain and bell to drag;--drag? what sound is that? there's dragging--his trunks--the traveler's--dragging out. Oh would I could so drag my heart, as fishers for the drowned do, as that I might drag up my sunken happiness! Boy! boy! worse than brought in dripping drowned to me,--drowned in icy infamy! Oh! oh! oh!"

She threw herself upon the bed, covered her face, and lay motionless.