St. Elmo Part 65

"To what do you allude?"

"Why did you not tell me that my son loved you, and wished to make you his wife? I never knew what pa.s.sed between you until about a month ago, and then I learned it from Mr. Hammond. Although I wondered why St. Elmo went as far as Chattanooga with you on your way North, I did not suspect any special interest, for his manner betrayed none when, after his return, he merely said that he found no one on the train to whose care he could commit you. Now I know all--know why you left Le Bocage; and I know, too, that in G.o.d's hands you have been the instrument of bringing St. Elmo back to his duty--to his old n.o.ble self! Oh! Edna, my child! if you could know how I love and thank you! How I long to fold you in my arms--so! and call you my daughter! Edna Murray--St. Elmo's wife! Ah! how proud I shall be of my own daughter! When I took a little bruised, moaning, homespun-clad girl into my house, how little I dreamed that I was sheltering unawares the angel who was to bring back happiness to my son's heart, and peace to my own!"

She lifted the burning face, and kissed the quivering lips repeatedly.

"Edna, my brave darling! how could you resist St. Elmo's pleading?

How could you tear yourself away from him? Was it because you feared that I would not willingly receive you as a daughter? Do not s.h.i.+ver so--answer me."

"Oh! do not ask me! Mrs. Murray, spare me! This is a subject which I cannot discuss with you."

"Why not, my child? Can you not trust the mother of the man you love?"

Edna unwound the arms that clasped her, and rising, walked away to the mantelpiece. Leaning heavily against it, she stood for some time with her face averted, and beneath the veil of long, floating hair Mrs. Murray saw the slight figure sway to and fro, like a reed shaken by the breeze.

"Edna, I must talk to you about a matter which alone brought me to New York. My son's happiness is dearer to me than my life, and I have come to plead with you, for his sake, if not for your own, at least to--"

"It is useless! Do not mention his name again! Oh, Mrs. Murray! I am feeble to-day; spare me! Have mercy on my weakness!"

She put out her hand appealingly, but in vain.

"One thing you must tell me. Why did you reject him?"

"Because I could not respect his character. Oh! forgive me! You force me to say it--because I knew that he was unworthy of any woman's confidence and affection."

The mother's face flushed angrily, and she rose and threw her head back with the haughty defiance peculiar to her family.

"Edna Earl, how dare you speak to me in such terms of my own son?

There is not a woman on the face of the broad earth who ought not to feel honored by his preference--who might not be proud of his hand.

What right have you to p.r.o.nounce him unworthy of trust? Answer me!"

"The right to judge him from his own account of his past life. The history which he gave me condemns him. His crimes make me shrink from him."

"Crimes? take care, Edna! You must be beside yourself! My son is no criminal! He was unfortunate and rash, but his impetuosity was certainly pardonable under the circ.u.mstances."

"All things are susceptible of palliation in a mother's partial eyes," answered the governess.

"St. Elmo fought a duel, and afterward carried on several flirtations with women who were weak enough to allow themselves to be trifled with; moreover, I shall not deny that at one period of his life he was lamentably dissipated; but all that happened long ago, before you knew him. How many young gentlemen indulge in the same things, and are never even reprimanded by society, much less denounced as criminals? The world sanctions duelling and flirting, and you have no right to set your extremely rigid notions of propriety above the verdict of modern society. Custom justifies many things which you seem to hold in utter abhorrence. Take care that you do not find yourself playing the Pharisee on the street corners."

Mrs. Murray walked up and down the room twice, then came to the hearth.

"Well, Edna, I am waiting to hear you."

"There is nothing that I can say which would not wound or displease you; therefore, dear Mrs. Murray, I must be silent."

"Retract the hasty words you uttered just now; they express more than you intended."

"I cannot! I mean all I said. Offences against G.o.d's law, which you consider pardonable--and which the world winks at and permits, and even defends--I regard as grievous sins. I believe that every man who kills another in a duel deserves the curse of Cain, and should be shunned as a murderer. My conscience a.s.sures me that a man who can deliberately seek to gain a woman's heart merely to gratify his vanity, or to wreak his hate by holding her up to scorn, or trifling with the love which he has won, is unprincipled, and should be ostracized by every true woman. Were you the mother of Murray and Annie Hammond, do you think you could so easily forgive this murderer?"

"Their father forgives and trusts my son, and you have no right to sit in judgment upon him. Do you suppose that you are holier than that white-haired saint whose crown of glory is waiting for him in heaven?? Are you so much purer than Allan Hammond that you fear contamination from one to whom he clings?"

"No--no--no! You wrong me! If you could know how humble is my estimate of myself, you would not taunt me so cruelly; you would only--pity me!"

The despairing agony in the orphan's voice touched Mrs. Murray's proud heart, and tears softened the indignant expression of her eyes, as she looked at the feeble form before her.

"Edna, my poor child, you must trust me. One thing I must know--I have a right to ask--do you not love my son? You need not blush to acknowledge it to me."

She waited awhile, but there was no reply, and softly her arm stole around the girl's waist.

"My daughter, you need not be ashamed of your affection for St.

Elmo."

Edna lifted her face from the mantel, and clasping her hands across her head, exclaimed:

"Do I love him? Oh! none but G.o.d can ever know how entirely my heart is his! I have struggled against his fascination--oh! indeed I have wrestled and prayed against it! But to-day--I do not deceive myself- -I feel that I love him as I can never love any other human being.

You are his mother, and you will pity me when I tell you that I fall asleep praying for him--that in my dreams I am with him once more-- that the first thought on waking is still of him. What do you suppose it cost me to give him up? Oh! is it hard, think you, to live in the same world and yet never look on his face, never hear his voice? G.o.d only knows how hard! If he were dead, I could bear it better. But, ah! to live with this great sea of silence between us-- a dreary, cold, mocking sea, crossed by no word, no whisper, filled only with slowly, sadly sailing ghosts of precious memories! Yes, yes! despite all his unworthiness--despite the verdict of my judgment, and the upbraiding of my conscience--I love him! I love him! You can sympathize with me. Do not reproach me; pity me, oh!

pity me in my feebleness!"

She put out her arms like a weary child and dropped her face on Mrs.

Murray's shoulder.

"My child, if you had seen him the night before I left home, you could not have resisted any longer the promptings of your own heart.

He told me all that had ever pa.s.sed between you; how he had watched and tempted you; how devotedly he loved you; how he reverenced your purity of character; how your influence, your example, had first called him back to his early faith; and then he covered his face and said, 'Mother! mother! if G.o.d would only give her to me, I could, I would be a better man!' Edna, I feel as if my son's soul rested in your hands! If you throw him off utterly, he may grow desperate, and go back to his old habits of reckless dissipation and blasphemy; and if he should! oh! if he is lost at last, I will hold you accountable, and charge you before G.o.d with his destruction! Edna, beware! You have a strange power over him; you can make him almost what you will. If you will not listen to your own suffering heart, or to his love, hear me! Hear a mother pleading for her son's eternal safety!"

The haughty woman fell on her knees before the orphan and wept, and Edna instantly knelt beside her and clung to her.

"I pray for him continually. My latest breath shall be a prayer for his salvation. His eternal welfare is almost as precious to me as my own; for if I get to heaven at last, do you suppose I could be happy even there without him? But, Mrs. Murray, I can not be his wife. If he is indeed conscientiously striving to atone for his past life, he will be saved without my influence; and if his remorseful convictions of duty do not reform him, his affection for me would not accomplish it. Oh! of all mournful lots in life, I think mine is the saddest! To find it impossible to tear my heart from a man whom I distrust, whom I can not honor, whose fascination I dread. I know my duty in this matter--my conscience leaves me no room to doubt-- and from the resolution which I made in sight of Annie's grave, I must not swerve. I have confessed to you how completely my love belongs to him, how fruitless are my efforts to forget him. I have told you what bitter suffering our separation costs me, that you may know how useless it is for you to urge me. Ah! if I can withstand the wailing of my own lonely, aching heart, there is nothing else that can draw me from the path of duty; no, no! not even your entreaties, dear Mrs. Murray, much as I love and owe you. G.o.d, who alone sees all, will help me to bear my loneliness. He only can comfort and sustain me; and in His own good time He will save Mr.

Murray, and send peace into his troubled soul. Until then, let us pray patiently."

Flush and tremor had pa.s.sed away, the features were locked in rigid whiteness; and the unhappy mother saw that further entreaty would indeed be fruitless.

She rose and paced the floor for some moments. At last Edna said:

"How long will you remain in New York?"

"Two days. Edna, I came here against my son's advice, in opposition to his wishes, to intercede in his behalf and to prevail on you to go home with me. He knew you better it seems than I did; for he predicted the result, and desired to save me from mortification; but I obstinately clung to the belief that you cherish some feeling of affectionate grat.i.tude toward me. You have undeceived me. Mr.

Hammond is eagerly expecting you, and it will be a keen disappointment to the old man if I return without you. Is it useless to tell you that you ought to go and see him? You need not hesitate on St. Elmo's account; for unless you wish to meet him, you will certainly not see him. My son is too proud to thrust himself into the presence of any one, much less into yours, Edna Earl."

"I will go with you, Mrs. Murray, and remain at the parsonage--at least for a few weeks."

"I scarcely think Mr. Hammond will live until spring; and it will make him very happy to have you in his home."

Mrs. Murray wrapped her shawl around her and put on her gloves.

"I shall be engaged with Estelle while I am here, and shall not call again; but of course you will come to the hotel to see her, and we will start homeward day after to-morrow evening."

She turned toward the door, but Edna caught her dress.

"Mrs. Murray, kiss me before you go, and tell me you forgive the sorrow I am obliged to cause you to-day. My burden is heavy enough without the weight of your displeasure."