The Gold Brick Part 70

Mason grasped the little hand till Rose almost cried out with the pain, but she was a brave child, and gave no sign that she was hurt.

At last Mason addressed Rice more composedly, but still in a trembling voice.

"Where was this thing done, Rice?"

"In that house. The minister himself married them. All the family saw it, Jube and Paul among the rest."

"Is there a register?"

"Yes, you can read it."

"I will."

They went into the house together, slowly, like men walking at a funeral. Jube and the children followed with downcast looks, wondering what terrible thing had happened, when Rose ought to be so glad now that her father had come back.

The minister and his little wife were in great trouble when their guests came back to the house, she had evidently been weeping, and really felt as if some inevitable disgrace had fallen upon the sacred character of her husband. He was terribly bewildered, and with the fragments of a half finished sermon in his head, found great difficulty in comprehending the true state of the case. When it really got fastened on his intelligence, the shock was powerful in its effects; he could not be persuaded that some stain might not rest upon him, and that he ought not on the very next Sunday to acknowledge himself a grave sinner before the entire congregation.

It was a sad visit, both to the father and child. At the moment they sprang to each other's embrace, this fearful intelligence had thrust them apart, and after this, all their endearments were given in tears.

Rose felt as if there were something wrong in claiming the caresses of her own father, and it seemed as though her little heart would break when he put her aside, afraid that she would be terrified by the groans that no effort of his could entirely suppress.

They parted in sadness, for years, if not for ever. During all her sweet girlhood, the minister's wife was all the mother Rose must henceforth know; as for the father, how bitterly did he regret the kindness which had spared his life, and healed his wounds among the negroes of St.

Domingo. What was he now but a wronged, desolate man, worse than widowed, worse than childless, for to him the very memory of affection had become a pain.

As they went from the house, Rice wrung his captain's hand. "You will let me punish the man?" he said, pleading for the justice that was his by right.

"Punish him, but spare her--spare my child. Separate them quietly; and if it must be--if she is not willing to leave him--tell her that I am alive. If she falls dead at your feet, tell her the truth. But if she gives him up, leave her in peace."

CHAPTER LXV.

THE FANCY BALL.

The result of Mrs. Mason's latest reconciliation with the man she honestly believed to be her husband, was soon made visible in more lavish expenditure, and a display in her entertainments never attempted before.

An exuberant taste kept her always on the alert. The constant suggestion of some extravagant novelty became an habitual stimulant, now that home affection had become a hopeless thing with her.

During the season of moroseful discontent which we have described, Nelson had checked this wanton craving for display by less liberal supplies of money; but now that he was grateful and generous again, the fever burst forth in new vigor. One of her fas.h.i.+onable friends had just given a fancy ball, where the flowers alone cost a little fortune. Mrs.

Nelson was not to be distanced thus in extravagance. She would give an entertainment before which that of her rival should wither into insignificance, like the roses swept from her banqueting hall the morning after that great triumph. This had been a leading motive for the interview described in another chapter. With a few smiles and caressing words she had won a new hold upon the purse, which opened grudgingly only when she grew neglectful or insolent by a repletion of her wishes.

Mrs. Nelson's rival had given a fancy ball at one of the princ.i.p.al watering-places, which certainly had proved the great success of the season. She would do something better than that. Her ball should rival royalty. It should be quoted in our republican society as the charming entertainments of Maria Antoinette, in her little palace in the Park at Versailles, became the conversation of all France.

The weather was lovely. Summer had just melted into the golden autumn.

The atmosphere was delicious with fruity odors, in which the breath of late flowers mingled in sensuous richness. This was the season for her grand effort. Society had just come back from the springs and the fas.h.i.+onable watering-places, eager for something new. Her friends should be gratified; nay, astonished. She would throw that entire mansion open.

Its rich draperies, its statues and bronzes, the frescoed ceilings, and rare pictures. All should flash upon the world at once. She would illuminate the grounds, weigh down the old forest trees with a fruitage of lights, build pavilions and rustic bridges. Nothing should be omitted to turn her residence into a paradise.

This was all accomplished. As if to crown her triumph, a moon, just swelling from its crescent, came out among the bright stars, and shone with peculiar radiance that evening. Every thing smiled upon this woman.

Officious menials in livery crowded her halls--her supper room was one bower of blossoms; delicious fruits nestled in them, and mingled still more ruddy tints with their bloom; cut-gla.s.s shone through their leaves like gushes of water; silver glittered through them like frost work; and heavy garlands clambered up the pillars that supported the frescoed ceiling, forming light colonnades on each side, where mirrors reflected every thing, as lovely landscapes are seen sleeping in a lake--the shadows more beautiful than the substance.

Down from her dressing-room, rustling in white silk, embroidered with silver flowers, that s.h.i.+mmered like moonlight among the heavy folds, came the mistress of this festival, superb in her own beauty, with jewels flas.h.i.+ng on her bare neck and arms, and lighting up her heavy tresses like cl.u.s.tering stars.

Nelson met her on the broad staircase. He was grave and sad. These ostentatious entertainments were against his taste, and always displeased him. This evening a heavier weight than usual fell upon his spirits; even the rare loveliness of his wife failed to win a smile to his lips.

She held out her hand, smiling radiantly upon him. Her triumph was certain. Nothing like the scene that broke upon her through the open door had met her eye before. She could afford to smile on the man whose gold had opened this paradise to her ambition. He made no response, but sighing heavily, turned at her request and walked by her side through the sumptuous rooms. She was exultant; the effect surpa.s.sed her expectations. The tread of her silken-clad feet on the marble floor and moss-like carpets was like that of an empress, but it annoyed her that Nelson took no part in her joy. She observed that he turned away with uneasiness whenever she lifted her arm to point out a beautiful object or some peculiar effect. She did not know that the flash of those jewels which clasped her snow-white arm was like the glitter of a serpent to him. A thousand times he had wished those diamonds at the bottom of the ocean.

Those jewels reminded him of so much that he would have given worlds to forget. They brought to his mind that palace home at Port au Prince, where he had stolen at night in search of the treasures which, in the end, tempted that woman to become his wife. He remembered the horrid scene in that cellar. He remembered the descent of Captain Mason upon him just as he was breaking open the vault where the wealth of many a rich man lay buried--the honest indignation of that n.o.ble face--the cold protest. Then the crowd of negro fiends that rushed upon them, reeling with drunkenness, gnas.h.i.+ng their white teeth, and emitting gleams of hatred from their bloodshot eyes. He remembered how the crowbar had fallen from his hands, and felt anew the thrill with which he had pointed out Captain Mason to the vengeance of these demons.

No wonder he shuddered and turned away sick with loathing of the jewels.

By eternal tortures, such as pressed upon him now, he had bought them, and, through them, the woman whose cold beauty they adorned.

They were the embodiment of his crimes. Why would she wear them? Could she not guess that every rainbow flash that came from her person filled his brain with pictures of blood? Would she never permit him to forget the riot of that awful night, when the brave man, whose wife she had been, was dragged lifeless along the muddy floor of the cellar, and carried off to be flung in the heaps of slain humanity which blocked up the streets of Port au Prince after the carnage which makes men shudder yet, even in remembrance?

She wanted him to be happy, and yet persisted in wearing those things.

True, he had never dared to object, they were hers. He had bought her with them; what excuse could he make for the loathing with which he regarded their display?

She saw the pallor of his countenance and laughed.

"How strange," she said, surveying herself in a mirror, and changing one of the ornaments in her hair, "how strange, Nelson, that you never can accustom yourself to society. The very expectation of doing the honors of your own house to a fas.h.i.+onable crowd makes a coward of you; while I--well, it is true we ladies do adapt ourselves to circ.u.mstances better than men. Confess this, husband, and I will permit you to tie the laces of this slipper; see, they have broken loose."

Nelson, still grave and sad, dropped on one knee, and tied the laces around that exquisitely turned ankle. She laughed at his awkwardness, and spurned him playfully with her foot when the task was done.

"Come, now, I hear a carriage. It is early, but our guests are impatient, I suppose. No wonder; it is not often they will see any thing like this. Come, you must help me receive, or people will think I am ashamed of my husband."

CHAPTER LXVI.

STRANGE GUESTS.

She was very playful and charming that night. He looked into her eyes as they flashed down upon him, and forgot the jewels. They walked together into the vast drawing-rooms, and waited for the guests, whose footsteps could be heard plainly on the marble floor of the entrance hall. The steps were heavy, and seemed out of place in that dwelling. The master of all that splendor was strangely impressed by the sound of those footsteps. His breath came slowly and his restless eyes sought the door with a species of vague dread in their glance.

His wife stood careless and smiling, always graceful and ready to enjoy the surprise of her first guests. They came forward slowly, the heavy footsteps smothered in the carpets, and looking around in vague wonder, as if frightened at finding themselves in the midst of such splendor.

"Who can they be, dressed in that fas.h.i.+on?" muttered the lady. "I do not know them!"

Nelson watched the two men anxiously as they approached. They were strangers, and certainly could not be invited guests. The men saw him, and advanced up the room.

"Is your name Nelson?" inquired the foremost, speaking almost in a whisper, for he was awed by the splendor around him.

"Yes," answered Nelson; "that is my name."

"Nelson Thrasher?"

The woman by his side gave a little scream as the words fell on her ear, but controlled herself instantly, though the smile left her lips, and the gorgeous fan trembled in her grasp.