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bia
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Her characters are true to life, many of them are quaint,
and all are so admirably delineated that their conduct
and peculiarities make an enduring impression
upon the reader’s memory.”
The following is a list of Mary J. Holmes’ Novels:
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} > A MARRIAGE ABOVE ZERO.
4
A Novel.
BY
NEVADA.
NEW YORK:
: CoPpynriaut, 1894, BY
G. W. Dillinzham, Publisher,
Successor to G. W. Carieton & Co.
MDCCCXCIV.
[Ail Rights Reserved.]
CONTENTS.
—_—
Chapter
i:
Fi
III.
IV.
Ve
Vi.
VIL.
Vill.
IX.
X.
XI.
XI.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
AVIIT
XIX.
XX.
Thomas Haddon, Jr. .
Aimée St. Clair . : :
Good-bye :
The Song-bird of the Seminary
The Introduction ;
Love 2
Russell Romera .
The Meeting
Was it Lover
The Defeat of Berae tee
His Letter
Success and Ardor
The “ First Night” in New York
The Fatal Letter . : :
The Interview
Disenchantment
Hate and its Terminus
Bitter Reality
Reggio Dealry
Fame and Sorrow j ;
[v]
100
115
128
140
152
171
181
188
193
206
vi
Chapter
XXI.
XXII.
AXILI.
XXIV.
XXV.
XXVI.
XXVII.
XXVIII.
Contents.
Page
The Visit to the Home of Her
Childhood . ; ; « *2TO
Discovery . ¢ 223
The Land of love. ce. Ay ase
Aimée’s Father . F : peas
Aimée’s Mother . ‘ ; eb
Revelation . 4 ‘ : 20%
Bessie Earl . F ‘ ‘ eels
Conclusion . : : : yA 8295
PREFACE.
This is a story of life. Romera still lives.
Aimée, having made her name immortal, died in
the zenith of her fame, only.a short time ago.
The discovery of her parentage is all absolutely
true.
The writer has endeavored to portray vividly
all the emotions and internal conflicts of the two
hearts. Ifanything seems at first reading unreal,
read again, and endeavor to apply it to yourself,
put yourself in a similar position or place, and
see if the reality does not blossom for you.
See if the conflict of a man of honor with his
first powerful love is not heroic.
Forgive the impulsive Aimée when you read
of her pathetic return to the home of her child-
hood, and her broken-hearted prayers, wild, but
intense and fervid.
The writer has portrayed nature—has_pic-
tured lives. “ But,” you say, “one place Romera
loves Aimée, 01 Aimée loves Romera, and in the
next emotional utterance they say just the con-
trary.”
[vii]
vill Preface.
Exactly asitisinlife! When strongly moved,
persons scarcely know what they say—when
still more strongly moved, they scarcely know
what they think.
Aimée, in the depths of her despairing prayers,
prayed precisely as incoherently as a young
nineteenth century girl of to-day would, under
like circumstances.
It is no small, every-day, weak emotion improp-
erly called love, but the grand, noble passion of
two great souls. |
The book is not intended for the masses—they
could not understand it in a thousand years.
A MARRIAGE ABOVE ZERO.
CHAPTER I..
THOMAS HADDON, JR.
‘At first he seemed a child of cheerful yesterdays,
And confident to-morrows.”’
In the county of Norfolk, England, in a ram-
bling, beautiful and historical old mansion called
Haddon Hall, lived Sir Thomas Haddon and his
wife Margaret. Like the ‘ Blumine” of Sartor
Resartus, this lady was fair complexioned, softly
elegant, softly grave, witty and comely. Sucha
charming, respected and happy couple was the
black-haired aristocrat, and his fresh-faced Saxon
wile, that people in the village were wont to say
to strangers who inquired for the famous Hall,
“ Walk up that hill inthe early evening until you
meet the handsomest couple you ever saw, and
follow them. That’s Sir Thomas and Lady
Margaret.”
[9]
Cae
10 A Marriage Above Zero.
Sir Thomas belonged to the landed gentry ; his
estate was large, and he lived his life through
with no knowledge or thought of those economic
questions which prematurely age most men of
to-day. For his large family of boys, splendid
healthy fellows, with the best blood of England
in them, and for his golden-haired daughter,
Polly, the best of tutors were employed.
In the year 1852 a beautiful, black-eyed, chubby
baby was born at Haddon Hall. As he grew he
proved to be the best-natured child possible, and
so remarkably different from the others that they
loved him accordingly. He hada smile, at the
age of eight, which the proud mother was wont
to call his “thousand guinea grin,” and which
could win him anything. And so he grew, happy
in his youthful vocations; and knowing nothing
of life, outside of his father’s estate, until 1862,
when Sir Thomas was found dead in his bed,
His affairs were in a deplorable condition, which
necessitated the immediate sacrifice of every-
thing to the creditors, who swarmed like buz
zards to the battle-field after a Napoleonic
victory.
The grandfather of the deceased gentleman
had distinguished himself as a scholar, compiled
an English dictionary, and written an English
grammar long used in all the schools and
academies throughout the country. He died at
Thomas Fladdon, Jr. 11
the age of eighty-nine, and was buried with great
ceremony in one of the old English cathedrals.
His only son, the father of Sir Thomas, inherited
the same astute mind, which, because of the con-
dition of his country during his development
and education, led him into politics and Parlia-
ment.
At the age of ten, when his father died, the
baby boy of Lady Margaret was good to look
at. He had soft shining eyes, and the most
remarkable silky hair. His clothes were, as yet,
still of velvet, with broad cuffs and collars, and
he was an extraordinary child in more ways
than one. He had, for example, a way of grasp-
ing things, understanding and divining situa-
tions, that would have been remarkable in a much
older child. In short, he gave evidence of a
great mind.
Lady Margaret was prostrated by grief, and
her eldest son, James,took a humble home for
his mother and Polly, then went into law with
the vigor of necessity, backed by loveand youth,
which speedily won him success and fortune.
The others, being old enough and well equipped
mentally, were well started by friends of Sir
Thomas, except the youngest. He, of course,
lived with Lady Margaret fora year. Then he
went to her side one day and laying his soft,
smooth cheek against hers, told her in his child-
12 A Marriage Above Zero.
ish way that he felt his dependence. “Of
course,” he said, “l’m not very old, but I see
James has enough to take care of without me,
and it isn’t right for me to stay here.” The
mother did not let him say more, but smiled her
sad smile and caressed the wonderful silky
hair. ‘“ You are only a baby,” she said, taking
him in her lap and passionately hugging him to
her—* my lovely baby and the image of your
father ; now, be good,” and she kissed him again
and again. “You must not think such naughty
thoughts.”
But a week passed, and the thing still weighed
on his mind. He had saved upa little money—a
very little, however, but. still enough, he knew,
to get to London; and thither he went.
The anxiety and labor of starting, and his long
walk to the station, so tired the little fellow that
he fell asleep almost as soon as the train started.
He had a bag containing a half-dozen beautiful
Irish point cuffs and collars, another velvet suit,
a pair of soft felt slippers, and w ‘apped round
these, an embroidered flannel night-dress. With
this outfit, and what would be equal to about
twenty-five cents of our money, he entered the
world’s metropolis—a boy, a mere lad, who had
never before seen a city.
He felt lost among the crowds and noises as he
got off the train, and his first impulse was to cry.
Thomas Haddon, Jr. bs
He was hungry and dazed, but it never occurred
to him to go back. A great big fellow in a high
white hat, pompous and pleased with himself,
accidentally knocked his bag out of his hand with
a big cane, and while the little fellow was pick-
ing it up, someone’s coat brushed his hat from his
head, exposing his hair, which was long, and fell
in jetty ringlets, like finest floss, over his shoul-
ders.
“ Better be careful, youngster, or you'll get
killed.” He was a dirty-faced boot-black who
spoke, but the boy had never heard so welcome a
voice. ‘“’Ere, sitdown’ere,” he continued, push-
ing his box toward the child. He set down, the
precious bag by his side, and began to brush the
dirt from his cap, and to think. As he was debat
ing as to whether he should ask this boy to let him
help shine, or go to the Bank of England (he had
heard his father speak of that as the store-house
for money), a boy came by selling hot rolls, cakes
and fruit. Thomas looked hungrily at them, and
asked for some, giving all the money he had in
exchange for all he could eat. Then he tried to
learn the trade of boot-black by practising on his
own pretty shoes, but when, after vigorous rub-
bing, and after getting his white cuffs soiled, the
shoes looked worse than when he began, he told
the boy he thought he would go on to the Bank,
“ W’at Bank ?” the boot-black asked,
i4 A Marriage Above Zero.
“ The Queen’s Bank where the money is kept,”
replied the lad. “ Why, don't you know,” he
went on, in a contemptuous tone of voice, “ there
is so much money there, that they have to keep
a guard to watch it ?”
While this conversation was going on, a
stranger dressed ina suit of dull tweed, listened
with a twinkle in his eye, and seeing that the
sturdy little fellow was a gentleman’s son, and
suspecting at once the state of affairs, stepped to
him and said:
“My boy, I'll take you to the Bank, if you
want to go.” Thomas looked up and saw the
man in the white hat, who had been the cause of
his misfortune upon leaving the train.
“Oh,” the stranger continued, “ you're that
little chap,” evidently also recalling the episode.
The child was not malicious, and liked the
idea of going with such a big man. Besides, he
thought of his money being all gone and told
the man about it. So he forgave the injury done
his cap.
“That’s all right. You just come with me
and I'll take you to dinner and you can tell me
all about yourself, and where you came from.”
They got into a cab, and it seemed only a short
time to the busy, thinking boy until they stopped
in front of a great prison-like and windowless
stone building, and crowds of hurrying people,
Thomas Haddon, Jr. 15
He felt sorry there were so many people ; he had
not expected that. The cab stopped and he
eagerly jumped out, and the man handed him his
bag. Then the horses started away at a fearful
pace before the stranger could join him, and they
never met again.
And so he was there alone in London! What
did he do? Why, the genius of his ancestors
had descended to this well-bred, fine-haired
English boy, and he began to think in earnest.
He did not then know that the low-browed,
massive, soot-covered structure, without even a
window to its outer walls, that gigantic strong
box covering four acres in the very heart of Lon-
don—he did not know that it had a life blood of
its own which regulated the pulse of the
financial world, and that it had at least one hun-
dred and twenty-five millions of dollars in bullion
alone ; consequently, he did not look upon it with
the awe he would, had he known that what was
done there would be felt in the antipodes. But
he did sit down to think in its dull gray shadows.
To him it was a massive, stately, dirty building,
and he wondered why they had built up all the
windows, and how they could see without them.
There he sat on the curbstone, his head on his
hand, and elbows on his knees, the soft curls
caressing his fingers and temples as if animated.
Perhaps they were. Why should not the first
16 A Marriage Above Zero.
intense thought of a child affect the sensitive
exterior ?
But actions are much influenced by surround-
ings and trifling circumstances. And so it
happened that while the wholesome looking
little fellow, with one cuff soiled, and his bag by
his side, sat looking intently at the gloomy
building before him, a young man of the Dick
Swiveller order approached him, sat down, and
commenced a conversation. He was good-
natured and garrulous, and into the child’s recep-
tive mind he poured tale after tale of that wonder-
ful country called America. How great, gigantic
fortunes were made there. All the questions
asked by the eager little fellow, Heman (that
was his name) answered much as if he were an
agent sent out to boom America.
“He told the child that he was going to
Liverpool early the next morning, and from
there sail to a place called New York, in this
same America, and he asked the boy if he did
not want to go along, telling him that he might
as well, as he could travel to Liverpool on his
ticket, free of charge, and then they would both
have to work their passage across the ocean.”
Thomas Haddon, Jr., had not many years of
schooling, but he knew where America was far
better than this rustic swag, cane and all. He
knew it was very far from his mother, and across
Thomas Haddon, Jr. 17
a great ocean of water from England, so he hesi-
tated, and told the sportive Mr. Heman that he
had not expected to go any farther than London,
but if money was plentiful in America, and they
could get there, he was not afraid to start.
Pretty plucky for a youngster, was Thomas,
and the companion of his voyage never knew
what that quick decision had cost; what a
struggle with the childish affection for the land
of his birth and, above all, his mother, ~ But he
thought he would soon return and make her rich
and happy, perhaps take her with him to America
some day if it was really such a beautiful
country.
The story of his voyage, his life in the strange
country, his desertion by Heman, who joined a
circus, is a tale of great suffering and hardship ;
it is the struggle of a child against his inevitable
failure. At the age of fourteen, he felt that he
was no longer capable of sustaining his ambi-
tion. Everything seemed to have gone wrong
with him. He would have to give it up. He
would not return to England, even if he had pas-
sage money. Never could he, child as he was,
acknowledge all to his mother, what he had
expected, and how he had failed. He had lost
all interest in life, thrown as he was in the family
of an illiterate, coarse, New England farmer.
Every fibre in his strong body was against such
18 A Marriage Above Zero.
a life, and yet it meant existence to him. The
worst thought of all, however, was that he was
not being educated. When he had mentioned
to the surly old farmer that he would like to
attend the school if possible, he had been re:
buffed, and refused permission. Then it was
this remarkable and strange boy decided con-
clusively to change his name. © Never should the
proud name of his father be shamed or degraded
by him: About this time, when his mind was in
such a tumult, the old farmer found him one day
almost buried in the straw stack, reading a news-
paper. It was after working hours, but the
brutal German somehow did not like the boy,
especially since he had expressed a desire for
knowledge; that was against his principles; so
he took the paper roughly from the lad, and for-
bade his ever reading another.
That night Thomas started, and three weeks
later an old Quaker living in the Katterskills
engaged a hungry looking lad, called Russel
Romera, to work for his board and clothes. The
latter he needed very much. The reminiscence
of his appearance on that auspicious day, amused
the Romera of forty. He wore, as he related
afterward, what had once been boots, but which
were at that time little more than uppers and
heels. A remarkable pair of trousers with gray
and brown checks fully four inches square, the
Thomas [Taddon, Jr. 19
former property of his recent employer, gave
strange picturesqueness to the tight-fitting, short
sleeved coat of peculiar green and yellowish
brown reaching little more than half-way down
his back, and exposing the coarse gingham shirt.
He had carried wood one whole day for the coat
the week before, when it had suddenly turned
cold,and he had no place to sleep save outdoors.
Add to this, very fine and glossy hair, so wonder-
ful in its quality that the old Quaker asked him
what he put on it, now grown long and _ sur-
mounted by a torn felt hat of almost any, or
every shape, a frank, open face and smooth
cheeks, a little hungry despair in the fiery black
eyes, grown almost fierce in the four years, and
you will have the portrait of Russell Romera,
aged fourteen.
The Quaker sent him to school, and the great
politician, ten years later, did not forget it. He
was permitted to read whenever he had finished
his work, and often aloud to the good old man.
The news of the nation was what interested him,
and before he was seventeen, the county in which
he lived had heard of his extraordinary ability
to make political talks at campaign-meetings in
school-houses, etc., and he was called ‘“ The
Orator,” by boys his own age.
From that time, his career was marvelous.
He went right to the top by great bounds. His
20 A Marriage Above Zero.
mind was clear, and his intellect keen. He did
not have to be told results—he seemed rather to
divine them. The financial policy of each Presi-
dent from Washington down, he knew perfectly
well—had made a study of every one. At
pores
twenty-one he stood where most financiers do at _
thirty-five, or even forty.
In the same year that Russell Romera was
elected to the State Legislature, and married,
another important event was happening thou-
sands of miles away.
z . . . : . &
thrumming the guitar which was lying among
the sofa rugs, ever since his entrance, walked
.
-
over to the draped opening between the two —
rooms in order to ask the darkey when she was
expecting Aimée. He never made the inquiry,
but stood watching the old woman as. she,
ignorant of his presence, held aloft the various
soft garments—the underwear of his love. One
soft, silk night-dress she held to her black face
as if caressing it, because her sweet mistress
liked that special one.
Then it was put in place gently with the
others, and the dainty lace-betrimmed chemises
were shaken out and carefully packed one by
one, as she proceeded, all oblivious,
Romera was excited and his heart beating
rapidly, when he felt a slight fragrant breath
upon his hair, and turned to face Aimée’s laugh-
ing, questioning eyes.
“TI came here to ask when you were expected,”
he said, hastily. Then as he saw the color flash
suddenly into her face as she comprehended the
situation, he, too, blushed violently.
O24
Se ee ee
ae
The Defeat of Prudence. 93
A woman ora man—and especially the latter
—taken in an act flagrante delicto, conceives a
deadly hatred of the act itself, and a desire to
have revenge on the witness of it. It is not neces-
sarily a malicious desire, but it is one that craves
gratification. And so Romera’s provocation
arrived. And why should he not?—it was only
a little thing—why should he not bring her also
to his level and to fee] the same chagrin, by
some unforeseen indiscretion?
It is strange, the alacrity with which such
before unheard-of plots form a spirit. In far
less time than it has taken to tell it, Romera
rejected several and suddenly adopted one.
And first he said, just to have something to say:
“Tam disheartened and discouraged. Unhit,
soul and body, to come before you.”
“The latter is immaterial, but what troubles
your soul?” Aimée replied.
“T always thought it was the body that was
material,” he responded with the suspicion of a
smile lurking in the deepening corners of his
mouth, and they both burst out laughing, glad
to relieve their mutual embarrassment. .
“ Aimée,” he continued, placing one hand
upon her head and resting his elbow on the
piano, “I want you to dine with me this even-
ing, right away,” and then, as he followed her
glance over her dress, and saw her look anxiously
94 A Marriage Above Zero.
into the long mirror in front of her: “ You look
charming in that light Scotch wool, and, voild /
See how I tucked away that coquettish curl.
What becoming hats you wear. Are you not
sweet? Look!” And as they stood before their
reflected figures, he stole his strong arm around
her. She was trembling. Unused as she was
to flattery, it affected her strangely.
Then he repeated, standing in front of her and
laying his white hands on the heavy lace yoke
which covered her shoulders, and gazing into
the fathomless, burning eyes, those words so in-
toxicating to this young girl: “You ave the
dearest thing on earth!’ And there was an
unsuppressable fierceness in his voice.
Rachael gave her mistress fresh gloves and
kerchief, and tenderly passed a soft chamois over
the flushed face until the color was somewhat
modified, then gave her the unique love pat, a
good-bye movement entirely peculiar to, and
original with, the devoted slave, and they were
gone.
They arrived at the same hotel at which they
had breakfasted on that ever memorable morn-
ing when she had met him there, and in which
Romera was now living.
Being a man of honor, Romera would not have
taken this ignorantly imprudent Aimée to his
own apartments, without her consent. But he
The Defeat of Prudence. 95
did ask her, while standing in the reception-hall,
if she would not like to play for him while din-
ner was preparing. She felt a strong inclination
to play away her excitement, and did not attempt
to conceal her delight at his proposition, and they
walked up the low marble stair. At the door,
which was ajar, he told her that it was his pri
vate suite, but that the splendid Decker was the
best in the place. Incapable as she was of im-
pure thoughts, he might have spared his explan-
ation. With the simplicity of a child, never
dreaming she was doing anything imprudent, she
walked with him to the piano. She would have
done anything Romera said, or approved, such
was her confidence in him. She believed him
and was at ease in his presence. Her charming
naiveté almost distracted him.
And as she played his thoughts became
tumultuous. Who on earth was she? How
little he knew of her past; absolutely nothing.
He must. His love, growing stronger and
stronger, demanded it. What kind of an un-
sophisticated, or was it misguided or frivolous
being was this luring him out of his senses by
her music? And he thought of the German
legend of the siren who haunted a rock on the
right bank of the Rhine, about half way between
Bingen and Coblentz—she who combed her hair
with a golden comb and sang a wild song which
096 _A Marriage Above Zero.
enticed fishermen and sailors to destruction on
the rocks and rapids at the foot of the precipice.
Was Aimée Arno his Lorelei? He would have
had less conscience in the matter if she had
refused at first. But to go thus guilelessly and_
unhesitatingly toaman’sroom! ‘God, she must -
~
trust me!” he thought, half aloud. “T’ll never
deceive her,” and his love enraged him. How
she played; he had never heard so exquisite a_
touch. Now it was “ Longing,” by Jungmann,
a low, maddening, intricate thing; and he rose
and paced up and down the big room. When
he could stand it no longer he suddenly stopped
before her and raised her hands from the key-
board. The action hurt her hands.
Paros
lg tes
“ Good heavens!” he said. ‘ Youare a witch,
and a spirit, and I love you! Who are you?
Where did you come from? I must know. ~
Perhaps,” he went on vehemently, almost
angrily, “ you are merely amusing yourself with
the follies you are able to make a man twice
your age commit.” And he thought of the
lines:
“ But every woman is at heart a rake.”
But he stopped abruptly as he saw the expres-
sion of pain in her face, for he knew he had no
right to wound her so. She was no ordinary
person. No more was she capable of doing
such a thing as the act which he had mentioned.
—_———
The Defeat of Prudence. 97
At that moment the waiter tapped on the
door and spread the cloth for their dinner.
Aimée’s hands again, at Romera’s request,
sought the instrument, and a merry little air,
one never forgotten by him, tinkled through the
sensibilities. Years after he recalled vividly the
whole scene and every note of the melody—such
was the soul of her playing. Her genius was
wonderful. She had improvised the whole
_ thing then and there. Her music was from the
heart—its expression, her emotions.
He watched the pretty face for a few mo-
‘ments, almost divine inits reflected inspiration,
and then walked to the window, where he stood
looking thoughtfully into the street. Let us do
him the justice to say he was alarmed at him-
self, and was struggling against a love which
ever more steadily and powerfully asserted
itself. ;
When they were again alone, Aimée rose and
glided toward him. Her hat was off, and the
brown curls gleamed red in the mellow light,
and clung in bewitching disorder round the
pink ears and broad, smooth forehead.
“Mr. Romera”-—she always gave him his
full name—she said softly, and as he felt the
subtle, seductive influence of her near presence
he turned, and as he looked at her, suddenly,
like a great, strong, fierce tiger, caught her
98 A Marriage Above Zero.
-madly, crushingly to him. A tremor shook her
frame, and then with a long quivering sigh, she
lay passive in his arms.
“ You will tell me all about yourself,” he said.
“TJ will make you; love like this can have no
separate individuality. I have given you my
entire confidence. You, young as you are, know
my life and affairs far better than any living per-
son. That is how I love you. I did not care to
know before I loved you so, when I was just
beginning. Even when I thought I loved you
as much as possible, when I told you my pros-
pects and business, I did not care to know.
Now, I must! You are my life! What a bag.
atelle, a mere nothing, was that thing I had been
supposing was love before I knew you. Oh,
Aimée, Aimée, I love you and you are so good
and pure, and la man of honor. Why are you
good? Why did I not love someone who would
not regard my ties or her spirit—why ? because
1 could not love a woman without a soul!
“Tell me all, Aimée, and frankly—then we
will love and wait. Something will happen for
us. Forgive me for bringing you here. It was
a crime on my part, but I am punished. I
wanted you to commit an indiscretion, dear,
because | had. Iam not good enough for you,
—you who are so pure and innocent with your
angel white rose lips. I would trust my life to
a
The Defeat of Prudence. 99
you. Be my comrade—my most precious thing
in life, and let me enter your heart—its inner-
most recesses.”
She raised her facile head and with a face
alight and glowing with the inexpressible sublim-
ity of a divine and holy fove, allowed her fine
eyes to melt into his as she said simply:
“My life is yours.”
CHAPTER, 22
HIS LETTER.
“ All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,
And feel his sacred flame.”
—COLERIDGE.
The dinner was perfect. It was natural for
Romera to do everything well, and after it was”
over Aimée lighted a cigar for him and knelt on
an elaborate Oriental pillow by his side as he.
half-reclined in a deeply-cushioned, crimson,
easy-chair. Her arm was round his neck, and
occasionally, as she talked, her pretty fingers”
involuntarily caressed his beautiful hair; and_
thus she told him the story of her birth and_
her past history, concealing nothing save the
“opera,” her bosom secret. He _ kissed her
again and again as she grew excited over cer-
tain passages of her story and said he loved i
better than ever.
4
‘
5
4
eee
‘Pray understand, my love,” he said. “I am
afraid you do not think seriously enough of it. —
It is my life, my soul, a thing”
Think of it!
[ 100}
fis Letter. IOI
that might inextricably involve me without a
moment’s warning, and necessitate my sacrificing
everthing for you. Don’t imagine it is only a
trivial affair—but what am I talking? a girl-like
you could not even understand a small love.
You darling, dear, independent, lovely, little
thing. You are a love!” And his eyes spoke
as well as the words—better to Aimée, who
loved their wonderful gleams.
Then she told him that one amdction, just a
trifle, she pretended to him, was still her own
secret—hers and Mr. Dryden's, but that she
preferred not telling Romera until it had
amounted to something. He was at first inclined
to be a little displeased that she had confided in
the Senator and not in himself, but soon forgot
his displeasure and told her she could have all
the little mysteries she wanted, and need not tell
him until she was ready.
Then they told each other, in that first delight-
ful freedom of acknowledged love, how foolish
they had been to struggle againstit. Both had
tried so hard, in the first place, to banish thoughts
of the drive; then they had individually vowed to
meet each time no better acquainted than mere
social formalities permit. Whata farce it hadall
been. They might have known love would assert
itself ; and they exchanged confidences in true boy
and girl fashion, of how they had thought pri
102 A Marriage Above Zero.
vately, and doubtfully, and fearfully, and had at.
times prayed vaguely, scarcely knowing what to
ask, save to be good. Love was good, and they
said this many times and abandoned themselves to
its power. Yes, they wou/dloveand wait. It would
be only a short time, Romera told her, he was
certain. Only a few months, and then he asked
her if she would be willing to give up everything
for him, and if she would love him enough to
compensate his relinquishing all for her? But
she did not reply.
The next evening she wrote a long letter to
Mrs. Dryden, telling her, she (Aimée) would go
on West, where business called Mr. Dryden soon
after their Southern trip, and they could join her
when they came afew weeks later. She then
wrote to the Senator, and told him it was her
opera that was taking her before them, and asking
him not to allow Mrs. Dryden to wonder or
worry about it. Shehad plenty of money saved
from her salary and would stop at the Richelieu,
and be there when they arrived, and she hoped
to have good tidings to tell him about the secret.
Then this strange girl—so surely did she feel
success within her—resigned her position, and
spent the following happy day with Romera.
Sometimes reading to him, sometimes writing
for him, and again playing choice bits of selec-
tions from her opera to see their effect upon one
fT¢vs Letter. 103
ignorant of what he was hearing. And she was
wild with delight when he asked her to play one
of them over and over, finally rising from the
comfortable cushions and standing near her,
humming it softly—he had a charming voice—
and trying to make words fit it. Finally he
found them, and sitting down at the gilt desk,
singing the while, in his characteristic hand,
well-nigh illegible to most people, but clear and
distinct, even beautiful, to the eyes of the girl,
wrote:
To AIMEE,
“ You're looking as fresh as the morn, darling,
You're looking as bright as the day,
But while on your charm I’m dilating
You're stealing my poor heart away.
“But keep it and welcome,
Its loss I’ll not mourn,
Yet one heart’s enough for a body,
So pray give me yours in return.
“You're smiling, and that’s a good sign, darling,
Say yes, and you'll never repent ;
Or if you would rather be silent,
Your silence I'll take for consent.
“That good-natured dimple’s a tell-tale,
Now all that I have is your own ;
This week you are Kitty Tyrell,
Next week you'll be Mrs. Malone,
104 A Marriage Above Zero.
“I'll build me a little cot, darling,
I’ve pigs and potatoes in store ;
I've twenty good pounds in the bank,
And maybe a pound or two more.
“ Tt’s all very well to have riches,
But I’m such a covetous elf,
I can’t help still sighing for something,
And, darling, that something's yourself.”
Aimée bent over his shoulder and caressed his
hair as he finished, and then they both sang,
laughing the while, for it went splendidly. She
could scarcely resist her desire to tell all, but she
did not. She knew he would be proud of her,
but he would be more proud, if he should recog-
nize the tune on the stage—find out for himself.
The object of her journey to Chicago was to
bring out her opera. Romera never dreamed of
the truth, and insisted that she promise never to
play that tune for anyone else—“ never !” he had
said, violently, and she saw he was strangely
moved. It was an air she had revised the day
after their first ever-memorable drive; it had
gone straight from her heart and was now enter.
ing his. She evaded the promise by handing
him ‘‘Kipling’s Parliamentary Ditties,” and
begging him to read “ Fuzzy Wuzzy”’ to her.
He read beautifully. His voice hada delightful,
bewitchingly pure and natural English accent,
and she piled up the dull silk pillows and knelt
>
Hits Letter. 105
in her favorite attitude at his side, turning the
pages for him.
“Tam sure no one can read Kipling like you,”
she said when he had finished.
“Read ‘Gingo Dim’ yet, and then we will
lunch and get ready to go to the dépét,” and she
touched one of the electric buttons and spokea
- few low words to the servant who answered the
~summons.
But Romera did not read the poem. He rose
and clasped the pretty black clad figure in his
arms and implored her not to go away Why
~ must she go? he had asked her, and was surprised
to hear that it related to the little mystery she
had before mentioned to him. He was sure in
his heart it was only some childish affair, and
_ this strengthened his protestations against the
proposed journey. But the spell of his uncon-
scious approval, evinced by his admiration of
the melody and of her faith in her own powers,
~ was upon Aimée and she could not be dissuaded.
As they went through the oak-paneled hall to
- the dining-room—she had luncheon served in the
little cosy room off the big, stately dining-room
proper—he kissed her, and said, “ My own ambi-
tious love, I love even your eccentricities, and I
will write you every séugle day,” and there was
such an original delicious charm in the way he
dwelt lingeringly on the words “ every single.”
106 A Marriage Above Zero.
“You will write often, dear?” he added, question-
ingly.
“Ves, Mr. Romera, I'll write whenever I have ~
anything good to tell you,” she responded.
Luncheon with Aimée was never stiff nor
formal. On this occasion she banished all the
help, poured the tea and waited on her lover
herself. There were delicious pézé de fots gras,
sandwiches, and cakes, fruit, and some sparkling
wine. It was only poor pretense of eating
though, after all. Tears would spring unbid-
den, and when Romera went over to Aimée’s
chair, took her pretty face between his hands
and kissed her red lips, they gave up the effort
and went to one of the broad draped windows,
where they stood, his arm around her shoulder
and her head thrown back. As Romera looked
at her he saw again that imperious hauteur in
the curve of her lips which always pleased him
—why he could not have said. He called them
her “handsome moments.” Just then the pon-
derous, old-fashioned enemy of lovers standing
in the corner of the hall chimed merrily as if
there were never a parting, and their quick ears
heard the wheels of the carriage which was to
convey them to the dépét. Rachael had already
gone to see to the baggage, and as Romera envel-
oped the graceful Aimée in her traveling cloak
and buttoned the neat gloves, he felt a fearful
Fizs Letter. 107
and oppressive lonesomeness stealing over him.
What would he do without her, and he drew
her to him passionately, pressed burning kisses
upon her forehead, eyes and lips, and led her,
almost breathless, to the carriage. He did not
talk much during the drive, but only rubbed his
smooth cheek affectionately against hers, mur-
muring a low “darling ” every now and then.
With an impulse equal to some of Aimée’s own,
he boarded the train, which, to his dismay, was
exactly on time, and—wen¢ with them some dis-
tance.
When Miss Arno and maid registered at the
Richelieu, they found a letter awaiting Aimée.
It was from Romera, and in the privacy of her
room she looked lovingly at the bold, scrawling
address, and, girl-like, pressed it to her breast.
It was a remarkable love letter, that has never
been equaled. It said:
« AtMKE:—You have entered my life, my soul.
Your bright mind, your pure, lovely soul, seems
to have become part of me and have taken pos-
session of my heart. The ties that bind us
together are so strange that they must ever
remain a secret known only to you and to me.
Once divulged, and the beautiful spell is broken
which seems now to bind two lives in the truest,
purest, most spiritual form of love known to
ne aaennael
108 A Marriage Above Zero.
human beings. Little did you think when you
inadvertently discovered that tiny baby dress
that it would be the talisman which would open
to you the door of true, invigorating, ennobling
love. Poor dear, it unfolded in one sense a sad
story to you, and yet when rightly understood
it was so much better that you should know the
truth and not live to wonder at the gulf which
seemed to separate you from those whom you
supposed were your parents. Itis far better that
it should be as it is. Though separations may
bring long hours of sadness and even sorrow, I
cannot regret for your sake, my dear Aimée,
that we love each other.
‘My love for you is so great and so far above
ordinary love that it shall never stand inthe way
of your happiness. I shall always love and admire
you so long as you are true to your own nobler
instincts and so long as you continue to fight the
battle of life with the force and power you have
thus far displayed. Indeed, my admiration and
respect for you are profound; they are greater
than for any other woman. Your career up to
this time has been grand. No other woman can
show such courage, such ability, such a grasp of
things, such a passion for study, for reading, and
such indomitable will power. Think ofit! You
have earned your own living since you were
fourteen. You have educated yourself by pay-
Firs Letter. 109
ing your way through college. You have mas-
tered all ordinary knowledge. You are accom-
plished—you are a natural born musician—a
genius. And more, you have a brain capable of
grasping anything, and—what most all women
Jack—-capacity for work. Capacity—that is the
stumbling-block of your sex. A woman with
your accomplishments, with your attainments,
and with capacity, can do anything. True, she
is mistress of the situation; and with this all,
my dear Aimée, you havea gentle, loving, refined,
true heart; a soul as spotless and pure as a
child’s; a nature sweet and sympathetic, and, I
believe, a love as steadfast as a rock. Believe
me, dear one, when I say these are not idle
words. Iam capable of a great love; I am part
of this true, tender love which, as the world
~ goes, is unusual ; and it is J who see all this in
you now, as you are hardly twenty years old.
If you make no mistakes, if you only keep on,
swaying neither to the right nor to the left, you
will indeed some day become one of our great-
est women. Literature, poetry, music, are all
blended so beautifully in you that I believe you
are the completest human being I have ever
known or ever imagined. No novelist would
dare depict you at twenty. No human being
save myself knows or appreciates you for all
your qualities. Lovers you have, but they know
110 A Marriage Above Zero.
you not. Poor fools! they only see the beauti-
ful Aimée, or the brilliant Aimée, or the clever
Aimée, or the generous, sympathetic Aimée, or
the amiable Aimée, or even the frivolous Aimée —
(forgive me). They know you not; they have
never sounded the depths; they have never been
admitted into the recesses of a beautiful soul, a
loving heart, a well-stored, splendidly-trained
mind. They have never had the sweet pathetic
secret of your life laid before them; they know
not of your wonderful struggles; they guess not
of the hours and hours of monotonous toil; they
are unacquainted with your hopes; they have
never shared in a small degree your fears; they
have neither rejoiced at your success, nor wept
with you over your sorrows and trials. To
them you are beautiful, strange, perhaps attract-
ive and captivating; but they know you not.
Do they ? Does anyone save one in this world?
I am not speaking now of the beasts of prey.
They are too horrible to speak or think of in this
connection. They haunt the footsteps of all
young women. They are vile; they see or think
of nothing but the sensuous side. Draw the
curtain; I cannot speak of them.
“Dear, but one knows all the sunshine of
your nature; but one knows your life, your
thoughts, your hopes, your aspirations, : your
true nature, your pure soul, your well-trained
His Letter. rit
mind, your powers of endurance, your capacity
for work, your determination and your every
emotion, and that one will always cherish the
knowledge—until death. It may be in after
years some one will appear more capable of
understanding you than | am. If so, your hap-
piness alone must be considered. My life has
been settled, my career laid out; yours isalmost
wholly before you. My hope and aim will ever
be to see you appreciated, to see you where you
belong, with the highest minds of this country,
and there you will some day be, I am certain,
unless you make some mistake; but you will,
not. You must see the right even now; you
must realize the folly, after surviving the tem-
pestuous Atlantic, of being engulfed ina stag-
nant pool. Mever/ You are as far removed
from danger as any honest American girl.
Every drop of blood in your body would rebel,
every nerve shudder, at any horrible proposi-
tion, should such be forced upon you by bes-
tial creatures incapable of understanding you.
A mind like yours is not content with ordinary
knowledge, but reaches out oftentimes for
information that the ordinary feminine mind
dreams not of. Crush them under you like
worms. Heed them not; avoid them; they
could not understand you in a century. The
day will come, when you are older, when these
nah gel
112 A Marriage Above Zero.
words will ring in your ears, when you will be |
silent with their truth. | could write much
more. Perhaps I may be misunderstood, but,
nevertheless, I must write the truth; you must
hear the truth once about yourself. Pray heed
this! Notas coming from a lover, but from a_
true friend—one who understands you, appreci-
ates you, and has ambition for you ; who believes
you have a mission in this world to fulfill and
wants you to fulfill it. A mission worth fulfill-
ing. One who loves you, not because you area
woman, but for your mind, and soul, and heart—
for all three; who will always cherish you and
always be true to you in the highest sense, and
in so doing will not be false to himself. Be of
good cheer, my dear Aimée, you will be appre-—
ciated. Your ambition will be fulfilled; you will
be happy. Keep on in the true way, the noble
way, and you will win. A good woman is all
the grander, all the nobler, for having passed
through the fiery furnace without the smell of
fire on her garments. The virtue of being good
because you can’t be bad is not great. Good-
night, and remember you have one soul who
knows you, loves you and appreciates you.
“ Your true admirer,
“RUSSELL ROMERA.”
And inclosed was this quotation:
fis Letter. 113
“ Angel through love, witch through fancy,
child by faith, aged by experience, man in brain,
woman in heart, strong by hope, poet in thy
dreams,—to ¢hee belongs this letter, in which thy
love, thy fancy, thy sorrow, thy hope, thy dreams
are the warp through which is shot a woof less
brilliant than is the poesy of thy soul, whose
expression, when it shines upon thy countenance,
is, to those who love thee, what the characters
of a lost language are to scholars.”
And so they came. Every day something—
perhaps a new picture; perhaps a bundle of
newspaper clippings, or some malicious outburst
of enemy editor. Once it was a dainty leather
panel which folded like a tiny hand purse, but
opened to display an exquisitely painted minia-
ture of Romera. All his prospects and projects
he discussed freely with her, and as he frequently
spoke of his Wall Street affairs, in the love of
her heart she began going each morning to the
Board of Trade, in order to familiarize herself
with the methods and plans of operations, about
which she was not, however, wholly ignorant.
And so it was she soon became, quietly, quite a
successful speculator in wheat. But she rarely
wrote to Romera save to tell him she was well
and to invite his confidence, but everything she
did, every thought which entered her mind was
114 A Marriage Above Zero.
of him. If she interviewed a playwright at the
parlors of the hotel, or dictated to the type-
writer the words for the opera, or watched
“puts”? and “calls,” it was all that Romera
might appreciate her. She promised herself
when she acknowledged her unlawful love that
he should be proud of her—more proud than he
had ever dreamed. Somehow,she felt the world
would be more lenient if she were famous, and
she was determined to win him fairly and openly,
and if possible with its sanction. Of the wife
she never thought, save kindly and pityingly ;
but the children she grew to love, and often
looked at their pictures and recalled Romera’s
tales of their funny sayings. There were times
when she grew desperate to see him, however
busy she might have been; and on these occa-
sions she would write him a letter from the
depths of her soul.
age
CHAPTER XII.
SUCCESS AND ARDOR.
« All love is sweet,
Given or returned. Common as light is love,
And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
° . . e . e
They who inspire if are most fortunate,
As Iam now; but those who feel it most
Are happier still.” —SHELLEY.
A month had passed. The Drydens had been
to Chicago and returned to Washington, but
Aimée begged to stay longer. Mrs. Dryden
objected mildly at first, as she needed the girl-——
now prettier than ever to her fond eyes—to help
her receive, and the season would soon com-
mence. Her husband, however, finally induced
her to consent to Aimée’s remaining in Chicago,
and so the matter ended, and Aimée knew down
in her heart that she would never see her Wash-
ington home again. Her own fine distinctions
of honor and conscience would never permit her
to be their child as of old, unless they knew of
her love, so strangely placed, and that, she knew,
[115]
116 A Marriage Above Zero.
they would never forgive—besides, she could not
tell them; it would be profanation.
And so she threw life and strength into the
opera, and her ambitions all now centered about
one object.
Romera was worried. He did not feel happy.
His love for this girl was growing, because of
her unaccountable silence, or the brevity of her
replies to imperative questions. He had written
her that he was about to join his family in New
York, giving her his new address and beseech-
ing areply. And so it was at the end of her
first month in Chicago, he received the follow-
ing letter:
“My DEAR Mr. ROMERA :—Yes, I feel that I
must write to you once just as I feel—only thts
once! Have you ever, in early June, when the
roses were being tossed about so carelessly by
the fitful breeze, wondered to yourself how many
and which of them would find the pollard willow ?
Asa child, among rose-trees, a garden of them,
[ have. That mysterious, inexplicable wind of
well drove me to you, just as the tempest I could
not understand carried the blossoms to the
willow. Can you blame me? It was nature’s
will, and we were powerless. Tell me you have
never for an instant censured my going to you
and with you, when your heart whispered to my
5 sv Yano Ail Ale NAAR AS AM BE IO
Se ee ed
ing et et teh pee RP th Ae’
Success and Ardor. 117
waiting one, ‘Come.’ I implore you to tell me.
Before | met you my soul was torpid; but now
_it seems like the morning-glory expanding to
the life-giving rays of the sun, and kissed by the
delicious morning dews. Do you understand
me? You spoke to me through ‘ Modeste Mig-
non,’ but even she could not love as I do, for she
was reared and nurtured by affection from child-
hood, and perhaps was, on that account, more
romantic, than passionately starving for someone
to love.
“JT think you must know—must feel, far better
than I can tell you the love you inspire; it
involves my life. Vulgar minds have loved and
forgotten. Mine for you is eternal, even though
we were doomed never to meet again. I can
love you secretly, and if honored with your
innermost thoughts, those sources of greatness of
a truly great man, can I not help you? It
would be my greatest happiness. Confide in
me! And when you are tired and careworn,
come to me and let me caress your beautiful
bair. We will build the temple of our love
higher than the Eiffel, beyond the reach of mis-
fortune. Iam young, I know, but do not smile
at my ardor, for oh, [ have lived so long!
“To you alone in all the world has been
revealed my true character. If my tumultuous
nature at times appals you (and I cannot see
118 A Marriage Above Zero.
how, with the beating, throbbing fervor of our
strong young blood, our friendship could have
been devoid of love), if I have obeyed an impulse —
I should have repressed, remember that I know
no law but my heart. \tis talking to you now.
In my other letters it was Aimée Arno.
“We know by heart-throbs, when we are near
each other, even though no words are spoken.
And sometimes I almost feel that you are an
essential part of me. Oh, yours isa soul, a ten-
der, warm, expansive soul that I may allow my-
self unblushingly to adore. I could never have
loved a commonplace nature, nor permitted the
caresses of a person of plebeian instinct, and no
mind capable of soaring higher; but to you my
pure soul flew like a bird to its home, rapidly
and eagerly, as if certain of a gentle welcome.
In its first throes ] gave you my whole tempest-
uous being, intoxicated by the fragrance of the
blossoms of passion perhaps, and it is yours for-
ever. Those who live about me cannot feel as
Ido. There is one delicious, vibrating chord
of sweetest music always in my soul, and yours
contains its refrain.
“My fondness for poetry has not made me
sentimental. Why should it? Sentiment is
usually supposed to take the place of love. You
are my living poem! and nothing—not the
er
Success and Ardor. 119
fabled fires nor the Cerberus of Hades—can
prevent my adoring you !
« An inner consciousness tells me, at times, that
my birth-blood is equal to your own. But, even
were it not, even if I never discover my parent-
age—that very obscurity would indicate that
such a child would not be ordinary. If I had
been, would I have loved a distinguished man
like you?
“Love me. Love me more than you thought
you ever could any woman! Some time you
may be proud of that love. You shall never be
regretful. Let us not be faint-hearted. I sight
halcyon days through the telescope of our
mutual powers.
“Let us ot be patient! we must make our
lives what we want them, and patience seems to
me the virtue of an ox, that meekly treads along
beneath its burden, and is gucet. I cannot be.
My very soul rebels. Our happiness must come
soon—its pathway bordered with flowers—gor-
geous roses, and pale, sweet lilies. My soul shall
develop and expand in the rays of its sun, and
we shall live our lives through, and then. go—
Whither? And be one to the end !
“ Let this letter stir the very depths of your
heart. Be true to measl shall ever be to you, and
remember that as I write [ am almost mad to seé
you! Need I sign myself ? AIMEE,”
120 A Marriage Above Zero.
And he loved her as never before for its ring-
ing sincerity and modesty, strength and hope.
Another month passed. Romera had been to —
Chicago and spent several delightful days with —
his love, who was even then rehearsing the —
opera, which had been accepted for trial on con- —
dition that she would herself sing the leading ©
réle, and not take out the one air which she —
seemed inclined to omit. But she did not even
then tell Romera. He should not be cumbered
with her anxiety, she thought, and when he
asked her why she would never permit him to —
call in the evening, why her eyes sparkled so
unnaturally whenever he asked her that, she
made some evasive reply about needing plenty —
of rest and said, “Never mind; you will know —
all some day, Mr. Romera.” And the “Mr. }
Romera” jarred on his senses, filled as was his
heart with the memory of her glowing letter.
She was relieved when he went East, and he
was sad. He had anticipated her being eager to
go with him. He knew it would be most unwise;
but he loved, and her firm refusal, even while
tremblingly clasped to his heart, pained him —
more than she knew. .
So he went to New York alone,and very —
thoughtful. He wished he did not care so
much for Aimée Arno. He still wrote to her
Success and Ardor. 121
every day; it inspired him to do that, and ina
few days after his return wrote her concerning
a gigantic speculation he was about to make ;
and, much to his surprise, she answered him
intelligently and valuably. He went into it
boldly, and with success. Three days later the
following letter arrived, showing so undisguis-
edly the child-woman, and that something al-
ways so inexpressible in her:
“To RUSSELL ROMERA:—AIl the words this
letter could contain would be inadequate to
express my delight at your success. You are
wonderful, and I adore the confidence in your
own powers which supports you. It so often
characterizes genius of the highest order. And
could anything be more noble than the way you
boldly grappled with such an arduous undertak-
ing? Do not consider my opinion “entirely yal-
ueless, nor yet think I flatter when I say you are
splendidly equipped for the work of contending
with the high tides of the commercial world
with meritorious rénown and success of the
highest and rarest order. You have boundless
health and vigor, the buoyant elasticity of youth;
rare mental ability, and, if you will, the pure love
of a woman who éves only when with you, and
who has implicit confidence in your powers.
122 A Marriage Above Zero.
You have created within me a_ feeling that
demands you eternally, and will never be satis-
fied save by absolute possession of you. I have
ever felt during the eternity since you departed
that I am living in torture trying to quell my
impetuous desire for love—that sublime form of
love to which I was a stranger, except by book-
lore, until I met you. This is the situation: I
am free; but once gave myself for love; am
therefore neither righteous nor bad; among
others (friends) I neither love nor repulse ; my
whole life has been mysterious, and every fibre of
my heart tells me I live very much apart from
humanity; is it hell, or the border of a terres-
trial paradise? It is just which ever it is made,
and conscience is an infallible guide so long as
we do not kill it. Mine is not yet dead, and I
shall never injure others, even though I may be
devoid of any high moral aim, as regarded from
a Christian standpoint.
“Tf | might only, in the course of a year,
relieve you financially to the amount of what
would make you easy, and then steal you away
to myself forever! Just be true—true as only
such natures as yours can be, and trust in me.
Iam worthy your love, and I trust, some day,
your respect. Have I your confidence? I
would not have you think of any woman but me,
A eS
— +
Success and Ardor. 124
« Did you ever think that in every large city,
and especially in this one, there exists a layer of
people in the crust that forms what is called
society, who have no religion, and who have
grown dead to their instincts? They have no
faith in anything but the prosaics of life. They
are so in the majority that they have ceased to
feel their own individuality, and have lost track
of the beautiful mystery in them, hidden in their
very souls. The best of them, not unlike the
fabled eel, wriggle around in every light, trying
to make you believe that they go in for rain-
bows and hot water, when all the time your
inner sensibilities tell you they are forever black,
and love a slimy pool. The men show vulgar
haste in expressing admiration, but Tloathe them.
Not a chord in my{nature responds to their
brusque and diabolically sudden overtures.
“True, they have admirable traits. Eheir
immense energy, for example, which the marvel-
ous growth of their city attests.
“Tf I could assimilate with them, perhaps |
would be happier, du¢ J cannot. 1 have indeed
tried.
“JT want you. You have that sort of sup-
pressed fire in your making which suggests a
brain so prolific, if I may use that word, of
thoughts that the utmost care has to be taken
124 A Marriage Above Zero.
or exercised to keep them from overcrowding —
each other, and that is why I love you. You
know; don’t you? Quick, not scornful of a_
noble impulse, capable of doing wonderful
things, and yet human enough to respond, to
one not even (perhaps) of supreme origin. When ~
[ start to writing like this I can scarcely stop or —
write legibly. «
“Let me help you always. J wall do anything
you ask, for lam
“ Sincerely yours,
“ AIMEE.”
The world is against a love like this, especially
on the part of Aimée, and yet some strong —
power, and why not that of a good God, favored ~
it, for its growth was wonderful. Romera was
inspired by this letter, so filled with the heart
thoughts of the young girl. He well knew that
had she been an ordinary person, he would have
despised himself for the effect of a few written
sentences upon a man in his position. But she
was not ordinary. Such a man as he could not
have been even interested in one less worthy.
And so, urged by a mind that seemed as
aggressive as the heart was lovable, he folded
the pale, heavy sheets of the ardent missive, and
decided to go again to her, if just to look once
Success and Ardor. 125
more into those deepest blue-black eyes, and see
the reflection of the beautiful soul which had
dictated the tender rapture. Their hearts were
doubtless so akin that Romera had read all the
words the girl had sent him in exactly the same
spirit in which they were written.
Perhaps the choicest perception which flut-
tered in Aimée’s soul was her worship of all that
was noble in Romera. She appreciated his
genius, and saw the great possibilities qt his: lite:
For him she saw a future. And such a future!
Far, far beyond that of the usual mere politician
of renown, and she longed to guide him to the
inestimable goal. And Romera asked himself
again and again, as he thought of all these things,
if it were wise to try to resist.
Aimée, after one of those violent outbursts
which resulted in the letters, would exist more
easily, as if relieved of the suppressed enthusiasm,
and she sang much and spent many long hours of
toil in order to make the success of her produc-
tion. After she had decided to sing the leading
réle herself, she was determined that the entire
opera should be as near flawless as it was possi-
ble for her well-nigh indomitable energy and
will to make it. To Rose Fialge (the stage
‘name she now assumed), success meant a love
and happiness she would never accept with-
er
126 A Marriage Above Zero.
out it. Ardently as she loved Romera, she
placed her ambition temporarily above that love.
It might have been, in the solitary consciousness
of her inner soul, in order to palliate that still
living, long ago doubt as to the goodness of lov-
ing one bound as was her lover—the doubt they
had both banished in their first mutual embrace,
and which they had called as foolish as their love
was irresistible.
But the following brief letter, as if Aimée had
divined his very thoughts, which he received
onlya few moments after his decision to seek
her again, made him change his mind, and he
waited :
“My Drar Mr. RoMERA:—Will be in New
York soon. Donotcome. Need I repeat how I
almost suffer for you? That my whole life is
yours and yours alone? That my only hope is,
that we may some time never be separated?
And that [am just as certain that all will turn
out my way—our way—as if some power divine
had told me so?
“The words you sang to me that day in the
music-room were very sweetly sentimental, and
| hope I may be able to sing them to you soon
again. Very soon.
“After all, is not sentiment the foundation of
Success and Ardor. 127
emotion, and are they not together the essence
of living?
“TI had rather live one moment with you, than be
assured of immortality.
“ Most truly,
“ AIMEE.”
CHAPTER XIII.
THE “FIRST NIGHT” IN NEW YORK.
“Tf to her share some female errors fall,
Look in her face and you'll forget them all.”
Aimée Arno was known to her manager as
Rose Fialge. Of her former history they knew
nothing. Managers and zmpressarios do not stop
to inquire when the song birds of genius fly their
way; they simply take them. They cage them
if they can, and are generally well-mannered
enough not to torment their winged captives
about their origin and previous course of flight.
It thus happens that prima donnas escape the
tortures of inquiry, and retain alike in the public
glare and the private parlor a large measure of
individuality and freedom.
The opera was wonderful, and could scarcely
vt ee
be accredited to one so young ; so, little was said —
about its composer, Aimée Arno, and the lead-
ing lady, Rose Fialge, was widely advertised.
Financially it was a great success, and was soon —
taken to New York.
1128]
The “first Night” in New York, 129
During over two months’ playing in Chicago,
the girl had considered every day the subject of
writing all to Romera, but now that she had
Success, it seemed such a trifling thing. He
really had no reason to be proud of her, after
all. Many people—the number constantly
increasing—had done far more than she. So she
wrote him occasionally, as usual, and let events
shape themselves. She felt a strange temerity
about going to New York. Romera would be
sure to find her out there; and perhaps—a hor-
rible thought, which had not before occurred to
her—perhaps he did not approve of actresses.
And that was the first time Aimée Arno had
ever really thought of herself in that rdle, or by
that title. The stage had made no difference in
her life at all. She still lived quietly with the
ugly old mammy, and had made no intimate
friends. True, she went nightly before the foot-
Jights in a short dress, but it was the very
~charm of the simplicity of this act, and her easy,
clear singing that won her such uproarious fame
and spread her name like wildfire over the
country.
The day after Romera received the short let-
ter, the company left for the East. Aimée was
almost consumed by impatience. She loved him
so, and would soon be near him again. All the
pent-up forces of her nature were awake, and all
130 A Marriage Above Zero.
her pleasant memories of his love rushed over
her like an avalanche. How had she stayed
away so long? And she became so animated
and excited that she talked with her manager
for an hour or more about the city of New
York, where she had never been, and discussed
the respective merits of comic opera and comedy
in a way that astonished that worthy gentleman.
* * * * %
Eagerly she scanned the audience as she went
on the stage upon the opening night amid the
tremendous outburst of applause. She looked
beautiful. She wore the copper-colored hair in
simple waves which gave distinction to the out-
line of her face, and to her white throat, which
quavered deliciously as she sang. The plump,
smooth arms and dimpled hands were in becom-
ing relief against the black velvet background of
her costume. The small, arched foot in its high
heeled patent leathers,and the slender ankle just
above, were not lost on the audience. Her dress
was short, and when she danced showed the vol-
uminous masses of white lace underskirts. The
bodice was laced over filmy, fine, white mull and
the lithe, supple waist, giving her an almost
childlike appearance.
The boxes were all filled excepting one, but e
was not there, She was disappointed, for it wasa
splendid house, and she felt certain the opera
The “Furst Night” in New York. 131%
would makea hit. Andsoit did. The first song
she sang received a wonderful excore, which
could not be refused, although such a thing had
never before been permitted in that particular’
part of the play, and when the curtain fell on the
first act all went wild with enthusiasm, and it
had to be raised again and again. New Yorkers
like anything new and novel, and the unassumed
modesty of this refined young songstress pleased
them. Most actresses, having been before the
public years and years, have become, by the time
they are famous, or have a recognized name,
rather boldand stagey—youth and innocence was
the key to Aimée’s marvelous success.
The next scene was moonlight; a warm sum-
‘mer night; and while the favorite was sitting
‘upon some pretty rocks on a smooth lawn, sing-
‘ing to the moon, and her head thrown back in
that manner so peculiarly her own, the occupants
of the empty box arrived. Romera and his wife,
and several others. He could not for an instant
exactly see the new singer’s face, but the mel-
ody—that air, and he passed his hand over his
forehead as if to brush away something. It was
the same, the very same, Aimée Arno had sung
to his own words the last time he saw her before
she went West. What memories it brought with
it; and he hung his head in thought. They were
not his words; but what did it mean? Who
132 A Marriage Above Zero.
could this wonderful singer, he had been noticing
talked of in the papers, be? He looked up, and
at that moment, as if by common impulse, she
* turned her eyes full upon him, and they recog-—
nized each other.
Romera was torn by conflicting emotions. At
first he almost hated her for bringing a part of
their love before the public. How could she, a
girl of such innate refinement ? And then as in
a flash he saw it all. It was her opera, and she
did not dare leave the charming aria out. And
as the magnetic melody of her voice stole over
him as of old, he felt like clasping her to him
right then and there, and smiled at her from his
box, saying to the lady near him: “She's
pretty, and modest, and natural: she will makea
great hit among us.” And he was grateful that
his wife had never known her. That woman,
having only a few months before returned from
a six months’ European tour, was resplendent in
a Worth gown, and ablaze with diamonds. In
her opinion the actress was ‘ too babyish,” but
her voice was marvelously clear and her high
notes “simply heavenly,” she gushed, rudely
looking into the various boxes through her
lorgnettes.
The last verse, in response to an encore in-
which Aimée had observed Romera to take ener-
a ee ee ee ne ee ee Se ee
getic part, she sang directly to him, fearlessly, ~
Lhe“ First Night” in New York. 133
dauntlessly. As the last cadence died gently
away, it seemed to soothe his senses like a mourn-
ful pzean, and he knew, he felt, from that weird,
strange, inexplicable undercurrent of each ex-
quisite tone, that the new star still loved him.
How provoking his blindness was to him now.
How had he ever thought the ambition of which
she spoke childish and naught.
And as the curtain fell, this remark also fell in
the Romeras’ box, and horrible to at least one of
its members: “ She’s a brazen thing.” But Mrs.
Romera was a disagreeable woman, and _ her
husband attributed it to malice.
The next day the opera was discussed by hun-
dreds of people, and all pronounced it the most
brilliant success of the season. Papers were
filled with pictures of the beautiful leading lady.
The manager arranged to play indefinitely.
Romera was eager to see her. He would have
excused himself from his party and gone back of
the scenes at once; but some visitors to his box
during one of the intermissions, had told them
that it was a fact that this young actress. never
received anyone there, and was positively averse
to making acquaintances. Reporters got their
facts elsewhere—usually from the manager; if
about costumes—-from her maid.
Rose Fialge, her maid, and her manager were
at the Plaza Hotel. Romera called early in the
134 A Marriage Above Zero.
following day, leaving flowers and fruit as of
old. And so it chanced when Aimée opened —
her eyes for the first time in the big city, they
fell with glad surprise on the sweetly odorous”
lilies of the valley. She eagerly asked the
thoughtful maid for the note, for she knew there _
must be one. It gratified her, as she read, to”
learn that he had taken them to her himself, and
was very sorry she had not been awake to
receive him. The letter said: ;
“My Own DaRLING:—You are a genius!
Wonderful! And I love you! Accept the’
flowers which | have brought hoping to deliver
them into your own fair hands. Let me know ~
at once when I may see you alone. |
“ Your true friend,
“ RUSSELL ROMERA.”
:
q
Li
She was overjoyed, and immediately des.
' patched a most thrilling and tender reply. Her
very heart was laid bare before him in its con-
|
tents. She told him how it all had been sonal
4
g
i
for him, and then how little it seemed in return
for his great and noble love, and then, after men-_
tioning her pleasure at seeing his flowers, she
signed herself, “ Yours, till death, Aimée Arno.” i
Of the future she did not think. She only —
lived a day at atime. If some one had asked ©
her at this time if she intended marrying
—_
Beier: 5
The “First Night” in New York, 135
Romera, she would perhaps have said Yes; but
the question would have surprised her. She
only knew that she wanted him near her always.
Reared as she had been, marriage seemed a
vague form of some sort—not much. Up to
this time she had never seen a wedding and had
rarely thought of the subject. Of course, it was
the usual outcome of love, but of far minor im-
portance. To her, love was the highest form
of life. Romera, so did she love him, became
her ze, not in the usual way in which the word
is carelessly used; but her very being and all,
the moment his lips first met hers, and they
loved, as two hearts never can but once in this
world.
And so she sent the innocent, love-laden mis-
Sive, and as she gayly sang her “ morning ora-
torio,” as she called it, the faithful old Rachael
mumbled to herself, “’Pears like Miss Aimée
moighty happy,’ and the strong black hands
carried the flowers gently, as if she knew they
were the cause of her mistress’ joy, and placed
them before her on the instrument.
_ Aimée was thinking not of what she was sing-
ing, but she was in fancy watching her lover as
he opened and read the tender words intended
for no one save himself. How beautiful the day
was. She did not know that soon the sunshine
of her hopes would be blasted as if the contents
136 A Marriage A bove Zero.
of the ill-fated, harmless blue envelope addressed
so plainly to Russell Romera, had been dynam-
ite. And even as she sang, so happy that she
trembled with her joy and the expectation of
soon seeing him, soon feeling the clasp of his
beautiful white hand, even then a dark, ominous
cloud—so dark that all the grief of her discovery
years ago in the old chest, should be as bright-
est June in comparison—was hovering, ready to
swoop down and eager to destroy her.
She had told him to come to her at five o’clock.
As the hour approached she dressed in one of
the very gowns she had worn in Washington,
the clinging, voluminous white he had admired
so much, and which held such pleasant memories
for them. And she noted as she looked in her
mirror that there was a glad shining light in her
eyes, and for perhaps the first time in her short
life she realized and was glad she was beautiful.
Then she walked to the window and, with one
white arm onthe broad shoulders of her mammy,
stood idly looking out. She noticed a cloud
rising, not very large, way over in the distant
sky, and the darkey, following her eyes as she
always did her every movement, remarked,
“ They’s go’ to be a big storm, chile.”
Only a few hours later the mere recalling of
those words, which she scarcely heeded at the
time, almost killed the young girl.
The “First Night” in New Vork. 137
Romera did not come. A terrific storm broke,
and the lightning flashed and the thunder seemed
to shake even the massive building. Aimée hid
her bright head in the servant's bosom and shiv-
ered with terror. in A mai ala
The Intervrew. 153
love is like the ravages of some loathsome dis-
ease which forever scars a dainty complexion.
The coarse skin does not show the defect,
because the contrast is not so great; but the
superior brilliancy of purity is forever impaired.
A young girl, if she is pretty, may still curl her
love locks—may even live and live. It is hard
for a healthy body to die, and the soul is only
slain when hope fails to recruit its forces.
But the body may live years,and grow after the
heart is stone dead. To live with a dead thing!
A dead heart. And so Aimée prayed to die.
She was so young, and she might have twenty,
thirty, forty years of such torture as memory
fed her daily, hourly, every moment. The
humiliation of the day when she implored him, her
eyes brimming, shining with tears, to take her;
protect her; keep her near him. Only that she
might see him! To give up his wife at any cost!
She, too, could make friends for him, and then
she loved him so!
“Oh, my darling, my darling, I cannot live
without you!” she cried, in the depths of her
despair. And then even pride was down-trodden
for a moment in her wild and vehement affection
for him, and she had pleaded with him to let the
world know of her sin; they would together be
so happy and good that everybody else would
reflect their happiness, and none blame them.
«
154 A Marriage Above Zero. |
‘ol cannot marry anyone else,” she said, ina con-
strained voice. “Iam not bad, only Lf love you
so/ I hate myself, hate myself for saying these
things to you. No,” she cried, ina deep, bitter
tone, “I hate you for making me say them!
Couldn’t you foresee this? You who are
older than I? Why did you lead me on to this?”
Why make me love you? My home—friends— _
even acquaintances—I have given up for you.
You were my life, my God, my hope! [ have
only lived through you, and for such a little
while. Must my life end, or can so glorious a
love be turned to hatred? Oh, why was I born?
Then,” and she almost gasped as she said it, “I
have never had a mother, and no father. You
were my—” then she paused and whispered— —
“my all. The other woman has her children, |
and relatives, and friends, and does not, could :
not, love as I do. Why,” she went on, and the —
tightly clutched hands trembled, as it all came _
back to her so distinctly, “I would die for you, :
:
oA Teint, aOR Gt el 1A EOLA
but I cannot live away from you. Has ever any
woman loved you like that?” All this, too, she
had said to him on that last walk, and then he —
had said, “It is entirely out of the question!” —
and each word twisted like a dagger in her ©
heart, and fastened a bolt; was it of hatred ?
Then Romera, as if conscious of the brutality —
:
’
of which he had been guilty, for he had always
The Interview. 155
been gentle with her, and knew of the wound he
was inflicting, had begged her to smile. She
tried, she would have tried to swim the Pacific
for him, and the mechanical grimace made them
both laugh. Then the carriage came. It was a
dirty, busy thoroughfare, the last place in the
world for such a scene, save for the virtue of
oblivion in a throng.
«“ Now I must go,” she remarked, very quietly,
for she was lost to feeling, and to save her life
could not have analyzed her heart at that
moment. She had not entertained the vaguest
apprehension of his attitude toward her. Had
he not always been good to her—done every-
thing she asked, and only two days before when
he wrote her of the fatal, awful catastrophe, said
he would do just as she wished? What kind of
4 man was he, and were they all so? If she had
only known that in some masculine hearts other
things are of more vital importance than love.
She had known illustrious people from child-
hood, had studied their public life and character ;
even physiognomy and handwriting, but never
“had occasion to know their hearts. Women
never know men’s hearts except through love.
As she rode back home by herself she had not
even turned to look after him. She was think-
ing—rampant, mad thoughts that crimsoned
her face and burned her eyes. And $he prayed
156 A Marriage Above Zero.
—she must do something, and she dared not talk
to a tiving creature— Oh, Jesus, of my baby.
hood, I don’t believe you! You are not good,
One more thing I shall ask of you. Make me
hate him, or I shall hate you. Hate him as I
have loved him. Hate himas he has humiliated
me. Hate him with so refined a fire that he shall.
feel my cool lips whenever he should not—my
dead heart on his in the night time so heavy that
he shall wake all rigid and pale. Make him
think of his injustice to me, and my love and
trust, when he most tries to be happy. Oh, I
cannot, Lord, stoop to revenge, for I have given
him my soul, all that was good in me. Take it
from him, do not let my purity be contaminated
by such a possessor. I don’t want it back,
Jesus,” she said, feverishly; “I was happy in
loving, but it was so brief—so short. Why did
you let me think his love as great and strong as
mine? He told me it was stronger. He swore
with his hand on my neck that he never loved
like that before; that I had entered his soul;
that he was as true as heaven, and was so fears
ful lest I should not understand how deep his
fervor. Is heaven, too, brutally false? Oh,
God, if I am_ wicked in this, I am mad—mad!
Did I love ?”
The sudden stopping of the Carriage roused
her. She'was pale as death. So pale that the -
otha
The Interview. 157
cabman walked by her up the steps, an uneasy
look on his face, and left her in the care of a
man-servant who saw her to her rooms.
* * * *
Romera had insisted upon her going to see his
wife, and she went. For hours she had paced the
floor of her room, fighting her unwillingness.
Was it kind for him to expose her to the remarks
of one who for successive days would be near
him?—-With him?—His? And the thought
almost crazed her. Then, when she was away
from the city—far away—then they would talk
about her. It would be so natural. The woman
would think in her mind, ‘‘ Poor little fool, she
shall never have him,” and would always speak
of her as curious, and never fail to remember
and tell him all the mean things she should read
of people who in any way resembled her. And
she would pretend to admire hideous heads of
copper hair. She would tell him, that Aimée
was only a child, that the tears were in her eyes
almost all the time they talked, carefully omit-
ting to tell him what called them forth; and that,
like all babies, she would forget. That she did
not have any idea the girl really and truly loved”
him, for she was too young, and would soon
have another sweetheart. Then she might even
make remarks about her costume, and tell him
her gloves wrinkled. Oh! All this she pictured,
158 A Marriage Above Zero.
and then the pretty chime of the clock jarre
upon her ears, and she knew it was six o'clock,
and that in fifteen minutes she would be endur
ing the ordeal of her life. She would be in th
presence of a woman of that class who could
break the Decalogue and feel no reproach. She
did not go down at once, and tried to calm her.
self with the thought that the woman would be
kind. Romera had said she would be kind to
her, and not say rude things and wound her.
And when she had asked him to be there, he had
promised, so really it would not be so bad after
all; she felt somehow that he must hear all that
Was said—that he would.
And under the most tense nervous strain,
accentuated by sleeplessness and a tonic, she
took a cab and was soon at their flat. Had it
not been for the delay occasioned by a slight mis-
take on the part of the footman who answered
the bell, she would certainly have fainted.
They met, and Romera was not there. Why?
Her courage sank and her heart failed.
His wife! This woman was the wife of the
man Aimée loved. She wore a rich, trailing
house-gown of deep red velvet and white lace,
meant to be impressive. But the girl noticed,
perhaps maliciously, that the style was old, and
although she was Romera'’s wife her face was
homely and her hair coarse. The latter she
The Interview. 159
could scarcely believe. Her figure was short,
round and expressionless. Yet how she tried
to like her! She must; she would! Did not
Romera? Why was he not therer And the
great tear-drops came. Oh, how wretched she
was. Ifshe only had not come; why had she
not died on the way? But Romera had said the
woman was kind, and thus reassuring herself
she sank into the chair near the door, and as far
away from the woman as possible.
“Tam guilty,” she said, in a low, tremulous
voice, “of loving the husband of another
woman.” And then she paused, her head down-
cast. ‘Since babyhood I have known right
and wrong,” she continued. “I know it is
wrong—wicked—but, somehow, | kept forget-
ting it, and oh, I love him so!” and she raised
her eyes luminous with fever and the passion of
unshed tears to those of the woman she felt
she had wronged. “ Forgive me,” she pleaded,
and as the stony face did not relax a muscle, she
went on in a low voice, but with a burning
fervor amounting almost to wildness, “I love
him more than you could in ten thousand eter-
nities. I know Iam not old and wise like you,
but I will grow older, and [ do love him! I
sometimes think I have loved him since the first
time I ever looked upon his face. He is all I
have in the world,” she continued piteously,
160 A Marriage Above Zero.
“Believe me, I did not think of his ties; even
when he mentioned them, they did not seem
serious to me; we were so happy, and I never
could think of the future in anything. That
was left out of my nature. It is nogirl’s fancy—
do not degrade me by even dreaming such a
thing. I will love him forever. It was my first
love, and will be my only one. A woman loves
one man once in her life, and she never loves
another.” All this she said rapidly, her face
turned from the woman who watched her nar-
rowly, and when she had finished, and turning
.
her head, saw how little impression her words —
had made by that hard, unfeeling stare, the color
fled from her face and she sank back in the chair,
deathly pale. |
Romera had told his wife something of Aimée’s
life and its trials, which the girl had never
acknowledged as such, even to him, and strange
viscissitudes, and he really was not to blame for _
having her talk with his wife; he thought she
would be kind to her, especially when she saw
her young, fair and of gentle birth. Perhaps
she meant it when she told him she would. But
when the girl had finished this most natural out-
burst of emotional affection, considering her years
and inexperience, she felt sucha profound hatred
for her that it was uncontrollable.
She was a woman, and she knew well that
The Interview. 161
Aimée’s nervous condition and the submitting
to an interview showed inherent courage on the
part of the girl, and that it proved the virtue
and truth of her budding womanhood. But—
she had called her old; and then what would the
world say if her husband should desert her for
anyone else ?
So, regardless of humanity, promises to her
husband, and all save her own selfishness and
ire, she chose her course. It would be unjust to
say that this course was entirely unpremeditated ;
she had insisted upon her husband absenting him-
self from the interview, and for these very
reasons.
Therefore, the very first words that fell on the
tender, bared heart of her sensitive victim like
molten lead, were, ‘So you deliberately planned
to drag him down, did your”
= This, in reply to Aimée’s penitent, truthful
confidences, shocked every fibre of her being,
and made her turn cold with horror. Was she
a human being? A woman? Romera’s wile?
It could not be. And she experienced a sharp
pain at the thought of his having said she would
be kind, and not ask any questions. She knew
well-bred people never do the latter, and had
wondered at the time why he even mentioned
that. 3
162 A Marriage Above Zero.
And unconsciously, even her idol became the —
least bit human by the thought.
“Oh, no, no, no, no,” she cried inagony, which
must have pleased her torturer. ‘ Oh, no, no;
Iam good and pure! I never thought at all—_
just only loved and loved! I could not resist!
It was such a beautiful thing to enter my soli-
tary life. How could I resist? I had no mother
to warn me, and no father to protect or advise;
no one save my old black mammy. Go to her
and learn of her that she has kept me and been
at my side my whole life. Oh, is this love ?” she
cried. Then indignantly raising her proud head,
“T will not believe | have dragged him down. —
Love cannot do that.” And she thought of his
love for her, how he had called her his good
angel, and said he felt purer every time he
touched her cool white rose lips. But she did not
tell the woman these thoughts. They were too—
sacred, and she could not have understood them.
Aimée tried her best to make herself believe
she had degraded her love, reviewing everything
she had ever said or done; for she was a just
and honorable person all through her whole
body. For why should such things be said to |
her unjustly ? Poor child; she had yet to learn
her first lesson in the unkindness of the world.
This was only the beginning.
LSE diel wale teh cM
1 No a th WL
The Interview. 163
Then the woman continued almost brutally,
inflicting woundafter wound: ,
“No one but me would believe, after reading
your letter to him, that you were a good woman.
It is just such a letter as a bad woman of the
world would write, to the man she was trying to
ensnare. He does not love you; he told me to
have you come here, and to save him from you;”
and she smiled a malicious smile as she saw
Aimée’s bosom swell, and the fine lace kerchief
cover the eyes. “ He told me to ask you—I am
only telling you what he desires me to, what he
has told me to say as coming from him—to leave
the city. And the children! I have been his
wife for years and borne him in agony his chil-
dren; would you take him from them? There
they are,” and she pointed to a group picture of
the sweet little darlings Aimée had so often
kissed before she knew the mother, because they
were his, and he carried the picture—that very
picture. And she was almost frantic with the
apparent enormity of the crime she had done in
loving. She could not speak; she was too
wretched. It seemed her heart was growing icy,
and she could not endure the presence of her
false accuser any longer. But when she at-
tempted to rise to go, the woman only drew her
chair nearer and kept on talking, as if she could
never pain her victim enough.
164 A Marriage Above Zero.
Long afterward, when Aimée thought the
interview over, it seemed too fearful to believe,
yet she knew it had been just so.
And she asked the girl what she was doing in
the city alone. Aimée told her frankly that she
was a singer, and was singing the leading réle in
her own opera at the Opera House. She
did not apologize nor state why, but the woman >
was furious,
“So you are the one, are you? JI thought I
had seen you before. Perhaps you will confess
that you sang to my husband on the opening
night ; you were trying then, I suppose, to charm
him. I said you were brazen at the time.”
And as she looked at her and saw what a pure-
minded Southern girl she was, and realized that
she was in truth alone and traveling with her
old mammy, and that she was loveable, her hatred
increased. |
Aimée did not deny having sung the song, but
she did not explain at all. Then the woman
inquired about her birth and parentage, and
when she learned from the girl’s frank statement
that she possessed neither, the clue was at last
found which opened the doors to Aimée’s pride, |
and by which this unprincipled woman drove
her from the man who loved her.
“ And you would marry a man and bring him
no name! A man of the public; a man of
The Interview. 165
honor?” she questioned through the sinister,
small eyes. ‘‘ Not content with dragging him
down, you would have him make you—a name-
less actress, perhaps ‘illegitimate’ (you have
told me no details, so I may suppose so)——Mrs.
Romera—giving you one of the best names in
America. If you had an illustrious name, such
presumption might be pardonable, but an ac-
tress,”—she never said musician,—“ whose _par-
ents have never been heard of,’ and she seemed
inspired by demons of torment.
“ And the picture—I believe you have his pic-
ture,’ she said, but still Aimée said nothing,
She could not.
That, too! oh! that all her precious treasures
should be thus dragged before this woman; and
she shuddered, and a great, bold tear fell on her
black glove.
“T am not emotional,” the woman went on,
as if sympathizing with her, galling to Aimée,
who unconsciously moved back a little from her.
“Mr. Romera told me that you were clever, and
a musician ” (this in a tone as if Aimée had just
taken her first music-lesson). ‘Why don’t you
go away and study more? and by a few months
you will be over this, and he will have forgotten
you long before that.” Oh, how it stirred wick-
edness in her heart; she had never felt such
queer feelings toward anyone before. “ He was
166 A Marriage Above Zero.
only making believe he loved you because I was
not here. You ave handsome, and have a sweet
face. Whata little fool you are. Why, he told
me he did not love you.” And so she continued
for an hour.
Then Aimée rose in all the dignity of her
young womanhood and filled with the indigna-
tion of her wrongs. Her face was like marble,
and its flashing eyes gleamed almost as black
as her dress. She was strangely and suddenly
strong. Very strong. Must she believe he did
not love her? Hard as it was, she did not shrink,
and the matron cowered before the fire of the
beautiful eyes.
“ Woman,” she said ina low, intense voice, but
still musical, ‘““you are not worthy the love of so
noble a man as your husband. [ will do any-
thing he desires, and as it is to leave the city, I
will go at once.” That was all.
“ When?” asked the woman.
“To-morrow,” Aimée replied, and even such a
woman knew she would keep her word.
But as if forlack of anything else to say, she
said: “I suppose you'll want your letter; I'll
mail it to you as soon as you leave; where will
you go, where shall I address it ?”
“1 do not know,” Aimée truthfully answered,
for at that moment she had not even the vaguest
a
Te ee ee ee ee Pe oo
The Interview. 167
taken any train anywhere rather than break her
word, or fail to please the man she had loved.
“ And about the children,” Aimée said abrupt-
ly, as if eager to vindicate herself; “I loved
their faces; I love all children. Besides, I have
kissed that very picture and loved them because
he did, and they were his. I loved everything
he loved or had loved,” she said, and then, im
petuously—‘“ even you, before I saw you.” It
was most innocently said, but it scored heavily
against her with this woman. “It is for the
sake of the ‘ babies,’ as he calls them, that I go,
and for his sake.
“Then the picture,” she continued. “TI asked
him for the picture, and had it framed in sucha
pretty white enamel frame. You can have it—
I'll send it to you. Only take good care of it,”
she pleaded, almost childishly. “I wanted it
because I liked the eyes; they had in them
that charming gleam of merriment that always
jumped into them when told him he was hand-
some, or when he sang comic songs to my impro-
vised music. I somehow—forgive me—felt I
had a right to that special expression. It was
mine; I never saw him smile so to anyone else,
only when alone with me, and I fancied he must
have been thinking of me when the artist caught
it. 1 know it all seems foolish to you, but I do
a great many foolish things. You can haye it,
168 A Marriage Above Zero.
.
and everything else you want that he has given
me. Oh!” she exclaimed, as if pained, and the
woman never knew why she held her left hand
on her throat during the remainder of the inter-
view. It was as if to protect the tiny heart set
in diamonds, his first gift,and containing his
hair, and which she had never unclasped since
he placed it round her white throat; and her
ring with the date of their first acquaintance, and
his name for her engraven in it. She could never
part with them.
She had told a falsehood about the picture.
Romera had surprised her with it,and it was
like tearing away her flesh to part with it—to
give it to her, but she wanted to protect him.
If he desired to live with this woman, Aimée
should never tell her anything but that he had
always been true to the woman who had married
him. What if he had been true to her all the
time, and deceiving Aimée as she had said.
No, he loved her best—his Aimée—he had told
her so only yesterday.
Then, as if from one extreme to the other, her
mind reverted to that one sentence, “ dragged —
him down,” and she felt an undisguised con.
tempt asserting itself. Hea grown man; twice
her age! And the thought suddenly dawned
upon her that perhaps he did not love her,
because if he had, the fatal letter would have
The Interview. 169
afforded him an excellent opportunity to declare
for her and protect and defend her. And then
his not being present, as he promised, rose as in
evidence against him, but he had said something,
in that horrid street, she remembered vaguely—
something about walking home with her after
it was over. Perhaps he was waiting for her at
the door. These thoughts flashed through her
mind as she said ‘“ Good-evening.”
At the door the woman extended her hand,
and asked Aimée to write to her. “ Write to
her?” Never, she thought, with all the hauteui
of her twenty years. She said nothing, and did
not take the proffered hand. She could not, for
she knew in her heart she hated a woman who
could make such a proposition after the events
of that evening. And somehow it detracted
from all she had said, and made her doubt its
truthfulness. Asthe heart-broken girl descended
the steps, she murmured to herself, “ from envy,
hatred and malice, and all uncharitableness.”
Romera was in the next room. He was rest-
less and unquiet. He knew how Aimée would
feel at his apparent neglect, and could see the
reproach in her eyes when he should next meet
her. ‘She is such a tender, sensitive little
thing,” he said to himself, as he paced up and
down. ‘God! any man would love her.” He
could not hear her voice, and it seemed to him
170 A Marriage Above Zero.
his wife would never cease talking. What was
she saying? Of courseit was kindly. He never
for an instant doubted that. No one could be
cruel to Aimée, she was sweet and ladylike.
When at last he heard the door close, he felt an
almost. irresistible desire to rush out and take
her in his arms and kiss away all her perplext-
ties and doubts, but his wife joined him shortly
after the girl left.
CHAPTER XVI.
DISENCHANTMENT.
“ Philosophy will clip an angel’s wings.”
KEATS.
Aimée went alone to the cab which was wait-
ing, and to her hotel. Rachael came into the
hall to tell her she had company, the manager
and friends, as she entered, and a strange lady,
putting her arm round the black-robed figure,
ushered her into the parlor before a crowd of
people who all, after introductions were over,
urged her to play. Andshe did not care what
became of her or what she did. She rather
wanted to play ; since childhood she had driven
away her little troubles by music. Perhaps if
she refused to play they would want her to talk
or recite, or, worse still, play whist, so she
went at once to the piano when she felt they
really wanted to hear her. And such playing!
Wild, passionate strains of melody followed by
soothing, prayer-like chords that were almost
sublime. She never knew what she had played.
It had come to her then and there. She forgot
[171]
172 A Marriage Above Zero.
the people, and when the last sad pzean died away,
and some one asked for a song, she found every
body still and quiet, and one old man in tears.
The manager, a perfect gentleman, who had
been so kind to her in her illness, thanked her in
behalf of the company, whereupon all insisted on
“more music ’—“‘a song.” But he saw she was
laboring under some kind of a strain, and had
‘intuition enough to know it was no slight cause
that had inspired such music as the fragile con-
- valescent with alarmingly bright eyes had just
played. He was a reader of human nature. As
soon as possible he told them she had been quite
ill, and he feared they were taxing her strength.
Rose Fialge gave him a grateful glance, and the
company soon left.
Then she threw herself upon her bed, and
spent another night of dry-eyed agony.
For three days after the interview she was
unconscious. Girls never forget a thing like
this. A day dropped froma life marks a turning
point. Saw you ever a rose pulled up by its
rootsand thrownaway fora day. Then did you
see the kind stranger gather it up and carefully
and tenderly replant it. He gets the richest new
earth, straightens the clinging tendrils so deli-
cately, and plants it upright and firm. He cares
for it every day until he almost loves it—yet—yet
—do not the beautiful big leaves fall off, and are
Disenchantment. ys
not the bright petals a little dry and warped at
the edges? They never come right. The bud
was blighted forever.
When Aimée again opened her eyes to con-
sciousness, she found strange faces all around.
They were kindly, and one sweet woman kissed
her forehead as she felt for the pulse. She lay
quiet a few minutes, then asked if anyone had
inquired for her, and was told no. And _ she
wondered how she could ever have loved a man
who did not have it in his soul to feel her illness,
and, for humanity’s sake alone, interest himself
in her grief. And the demon of hate slowly
advanced a pace, and breathed to the melody of
Verdi's Aria, very gently to her weak senses,
“Hate, hate, hate; Ob, you hate your love; ha-
a-a-a-a-te,” her breath following every quaver,
and she slept in the arms of a fiend that cannot
be easily vanquished. It was the first time she
had voluntarily slumbered since the last night
she slept with her finger tips resting in fancy
lightly on Romera’s beautiful head.
The next day, like a smiling, gay ghost, she
insisted on being dressed, and tried to be well
and grow strong again. She knew now she
must work.
She told the manager they would leave New
York at once, absolutely refusing to give any
reason. They would go abroad, and when he
174 A Marriage Above Zero.
suggested returning later, she would not think
of such a thing. He would have been very
angry, only he knew she was passing through
something terrible, she was so white and quiet,
He liked the young actress. He had found her
so different from any he had ever known, and so
the matter ended by his doing exactly what she
wished. The four nights now lost had cost them
heavily, and Aimée Arno left New York in debt,
as well as in sorrow.
And can you wonder at her unspeakable an-
guish? From the Alpine pinnacle of anticipa-
tion, in sight of all its alluring trophies, she had
fallen precipitously into the slimy Swamp of
doubt. Its stiff, cruel barb like grasses of con-
tempt, fed by the thick green foam of jealousy
at each root, had pierced her tender flesh and
tortured her very soul.
After feeling the soles of her feet too tender
to tread the broken glass of reality, imagina-
tion—which in that delicate bosom united the
whole of womanhood, from the violet-hidden
reveries of a chaste young girl to the passionate
desires of the sex—had led her into enchanted
gardens where, oh, bitter sight! she now saw,
springing from the ground, not the sublime
flower of her fancy, but the hairy, twisted limbs
of the black mandragora.
She believed most of the horrible things told
a tee eee
Disenchantment. 175
her at the interview, for she, so truthful and open-
hearted herself, never doubted others, but natur-
ally regarded all as.equally far removed from
petty falsifications and intrigue.
But bruised and broken as she was by the
sudden fall, involving as it did the shattering of
her only idol, she did not dare despair, and her
unrecognized royal blood stood her well. Nature,
however, asserted itself, and she fell into a state
of comatose numb depression lasting for hours
that was pitiful to see. The very flowers in her
room, big-hearted Jacques, seemed to hang their
heads as if it were rude to witness her grief.
Like all beings subject to extremes, she had
mounted high and her dejection was as low.
She drank even too deeply of the cup of disillu-
sion. She was crushed, but as flowers are by
the summer rain which makes them all the
stronger to revive and glow with greater beauty.
And so she raised her proud head, and although
she may have felt the heavy yoke, her neck was
not bent, and none knew.
She well knew that her sorrow had been caused
by the largeness of her hope, and that it would
have proved fatal, had she allowed it to become
a disease. Sometimes she tried to imagine she
had succumbed to grief for good and all—had
become yellow with melancholy, and ceased to
176 A Marriage Above Zero.
sing, and then she was so happy to know she
had not been so cowardly.
But how did she feel toward Romera? Ah,
she asked herself that same question more than
once! In the months that followed she answered
it in many ways.
She knew too well for her happiness that she
would never, never, marry him without a name.
Her pride would not permit it after the mocking
words of the woman called his wife (who was her-
self, although Aimée never knew it, born in the
worst kind of obscurity) no, never! And so she
lost hope, too, temporarily, for she had no way of
ever finding her parents. Poor girl! Life was
hard.
If she only might see him once more, she
thought, as she pressed her throbbing temples.
He must not see her, but she had loved him well
and might never see him again. And the desire
grew.
In the afternoon, before she took the train, the
manager, in pity for her nervousness and anxiety,
although he had no suspicion of its cause, insisted
upon her walking with him, to which she reluct-
antly consented. She disliked toleave the hotel,
for she somehow felt Romera would come to
her ; would know of her grief and come to help
her, and tell her it was only a horrid dream and
that it would be all right.
Disenchantment. 177
She thought as they walked, If she might only
kiss him good-bye. Only just once. Good-bye
forever. With the courage of a despairing
woman who realizes she must kill a love that has
been her life, she resolved she would. She
thought it all out while the kind-hearted man-
ager talked to her in the cool park. Though
she heard him, her mind was busy with her
plans.
When they returned to the house they found
Romera had called twice and had just left.
Maybe it was as well she had not talked with
him. Did not the fact of his living with the
other woman prove that he had never loved
Aimée? Could it be possible? But her love
had been very, very deep, and the fact of his
calling waked it all.
The train at which her maid was to meet her
was to leave at one o’clock at night. She was to
sing in Philadelphia a week, while arranging to
go abroad. She left the house in a carriage
alone, refusing company, at eleven. She gave
orders to the cabman, alter he had turned the
first corner, to drive toa large key factory in a
little, old street, a place she had often heard
about, and to bring some one to the carriage, as
she would not get out. She would pay him
well.
They found everything closed up, but the cab-
178 A Marriage Above Zero.
man, impressed by Aimée’s earnestness, roused
the keeper, and soon she had a key which she
was so certain would fit the lock she had in
mind, that she only took two others in case it
should fail; paid and thanked the man, and
drove rapidly uptown.
The reader is probably anxious to know her
plan of action. It was a bold and daring feat,
but she was a rash young girl relinquishing a
Jover, and nothing could daunt her. It was a
comparatively easy matter.
The night of the interview, while waiting on
his doorstep for her heart to stop beating
so loud, she had nervously and thoughtlessly
applied the keys on her ring which she held in
her hand, and laughed as the lock yielded to one
of them. Then she had pulled the bell, and
thought no more about it until walking with the
manager. She knew Romera’s room; he had
pointed it out to her, and as she passed its door
after the never-to-be-forgotten talk with his
wife, so attentive had she been to all that was
his, that she knew the exact shape of the lock.
They arrived at the stopping place at ten min-
utes after midnight. She gave the mana dollar,
and told him to wait for her. Agsshe approached
the house she saw a faint light in Romera’s room
She was glad of that, for she would not stumble
over anything and wake the household, and she
Disenchantment. 179
- smiled at the thought. It did not seem to her
she was doing anything wonderful or daring.
On the contrary, what was more natural than
that she should want to kiss her lover good-bye?
Was it not forever ?
The lock yielded. The next one yielded, and
she was on the stair leading to his room. With
a little click the last lock, too, yielded to her
new key. She was perfectly calm and possessed,
and not at all surprised. Midnight hush and
silence was allaround her. There was the bed, a
massive affair of heavy mahogany, and in the
dim light she could see his face on the pillow.
One plump wrist and beautiful hand, and she
even noted the tiny red quilling of the silk night-
shirt covering the arm, was thrown over his hand-
some head in the careless grace of profound
slumber. His face wore a troubled look, and as
she stealthily approached the bed he moved
and murmured—/er name. How she wanted
to fling her arms round his neck and tell him
she was there; that she loved him, and always
would; that she had stolen away and come to
him to say good-bye; to kiss him once more.
But she restrained herself by burying her blush-
ing face in the bedclothes at his feet. Then she
knelt by his side and prayed softly in a light ~
whisper, her breath moving his silky hair:
“Oh, Lord, if | have done this great and noble
180 A Marriage Above Zero.
man any wrong, forgive me. Keep me good
and pure,and make him happy.” Then she
merely touched her soft lips to his, but he
opened his eyes and smiled to see her there,
closed them dreamily, framing her name with
his lips, while one hand fell and rested gently its
taper finger tips upon her brown curls, as if in
farewell benediction, and she left him smiling in
his sleep.
CHAPTER XVII.
HATE AND ITS TERMINUS.
“ But hushed be every thought that springs
From out the bitterness of things.”
— WORDSWORTH.
Aimée Arno attached more value to words,
looks, and even thoughts, than do ordinary peo-
ple. As one of Romera’s looks had been a trea-
sure beyond all price, so did the slightest doubt
of his sincerity become deadly poison. But it
did not act instantaneously; her love did not
die, but became what she tried to believe was
hatred. And so it was his image was called
before her by trifling circumstances, such as the
movement of the heart along its chain over the
smooth, white throat, or by some thoughtless
remark about the absence of all rings on her
hands. She had never taken the heart off; “ No
one knows it is here, and why should I?” she
thought to herself. And rings? When she had
lived and loved, her delight was to wear great
solitaires and flashing marquises, but now she
could not bear to see anything save the one glis.
[181]
182 A Marriage Above Zero.
tening, pure band; and though sometimes she
imagined it hurt her, scorched her flesh, she
never removed it. And when his face rose
before her, it was tenderly she first glanced at it,
in recollection of the beautiful, inexpressible ©
sweetness of their first love. Then, with won- —
derful and cruel alacrity, thoughts would en-
velop her. Different things would demand
explanation. Unmercifully and without sparing
her one demon of doubt would ask her why
Romera had failed to be at the interview—
broken his promise to share her torture—that
was the hardest of all and usually first to appear.
Then another would drag forth its creaking
skeleton demanding a reason for his ever speak- —
ing toa third person of what had been so dear —
and sweetly sacred between themtwo. And yet
another livid-faced imp held aloft as on a scroll
and reviewed every detail of the result of the
fatal letter. And when the “ He told me to say
he does not love you” came back to her with its
every intonation of that woman’s voice, the
zenith of her despairing doubt was reached, and
she would declare with hot, burning cheeks, how
she hated him. “Hate him! I hate him!” she
would say aloud. Then, as wave after wave of —
humiliation swept over her soul, she was almost
mad. “IJ do not see how I ever loved such a
man,” she would say. And as the wild thought —
> Fate and its Terminus. 183
of how she had, in her nervous excitement,
pleaded—yes, even quenched her innate pride,
and cast her bared soul literally at his feet, only
to be met by a practical, cool, calculating—she
could not say those fearful words, but with an
agonized O-/-h-h-h, she would end—this sensitive
young creature—by throwing herself on her
face and abandoning herself completely to mis-
ery. And then, at these times, her good angels
would send sweet, oblivious sleep to the tired
mind, and she would awake able to banish all
thoughts of her lost love for hours at a time, and
perhaps it would be days and even wecks before
she would again think of him except to say over,
as if to make it more certain, to convince herself,
“Ves [ do hate him,” and then, perhaps, she
would add, childishly, “ Anyone that could do
such things toa trusting, simple person like me.”
And the blood would almost burn her in its mad
deluge over face, throat and breast, as she
thought, “ What if he laughs about it all now ?”
If she believed all the heartless woman had
told her, can it be marveled at? But perhaps
the next time—the very next—her happy past
would overwhelm and cover up all the goblins
of despair save the consciousness that he had not
evinced the slightest interest or concern in her
last illness, just before she lelt New York. No
one had told her, and she had never known that
> aerate
184 A Marriage Above Zero.
he, too, strong man as he was, had been prostrated
by the rapid succession of disasters, and she did
not know until long after that he had written to
her hotel again and again. On the contrary, she
was quite sure he had not even, as she told her-
self, written a line or expressed as much interest
as she would have done the merest acquaintance
alone in a strange city. “Yes, I hate him!” and
she felt almost angry. Then a spirit of revenge
would try and rear its snaky head, and she would
even sometimes go so far as to formulate wild
plans in order to make him humiliate himself
before her. She fancied she should never be
satished until she had heard him again beseech,
implore even with tears, entreat her to be his,
as he had in order to lead her to that frank, fool-
ish statement of her wishes and desires. And
she would try to apologize to herself by saying
that she had not slept, and she was sure he had
always meant all he said to her. He had always
borne an honorable reputation, and she had had
implicit confidence in him. But she thought,
“I believe everybody, and why not? What
object could anyone have in trying to deceive
me or tell me a falsehood? And, oh, horrible
thought! what if he had only been amusing him-
self with her all the time? And so she would
continue spending hours to discipline herself in
a hatred that one second’s sight of Romera’s
flate and tts Terminus. 18s
noble face would dissipate. It would vanish as
mist before the first reflected ray of his love.
And in these spasms she would conclude that
she could never, never love him again. No mat-
ter what he should do, what he should tell her
by way of palliating his crime, it would only
increase her hatred.
She was not one of those women who delight
to send men by their coquetry into that state of
exquisite purgatory which poets try to delight
in singing ; she had given herself without doubts
or deceptions to a man she had never even
dreamed was unworthy; had existed for weeks
in the perfect infantile and infinite security of
his love. Every hole and corner of her pride
was offended by whatshe now knew. If Romera
had only talked lightly of love, or jested of devo-
tion, or sneered at sentiment, or anything to have
prepared her a little for the awful fate which her
love had met, she felt she might have forgiven
him. But he had dwelt with such fervor on the
beauties of eternal union, and life-long comrade-
ship. “He is almost a fiend,” she would say
indignantly, ‘Yes, he has lived so long with
that woman that he has become like her. What
I knew and loved was his young boyish self, his
boy soul nearest the enchanted fountain spark-
ling at the brim of life. It must have returned
186 A Marriage Above Zera
for a little while in his absence from her dire and
dreadful influence.
“ And now that 1 know all this, I] cannot love —
him. My life is ended, even if all were proven —
untrue; even if after that she should die and |
find parents, I could not.”
It would be like cutting away the wings of a
bird and expecting it to hover over you. She
felt that her wings had been cut and the powers
of her spirit broken. It pleased her to think and
say she had lost all confidence in human nature.
Poor child; still a child. She forgot that the
wings of young birds soon grow out again more
beautiful than ever, and that the proof of love
lies intwo things, suffering and happiness.
“Yes, I hate him!’ and she would say it before
her mirror, and curl her lips and smile. “I
never really loved him, I was only pretending,
just trifling with him!’ Then with a peculiar
light in her eyes she would walk to one of the
windows, or where she could see the sky, and
gazing into it untila tender light diffused itself
in the melting eyes, and irradiated her whole
countenance. “ Oh,” she would murmur in intens-
est emotion, and clasping her hands to her
breast or over her face, “Oh, my heart, my
heart, I do love him!” while dry sobs con
vulsed her frame.
Romera had kept the whiteness of his soul,
ges Bl get
Hatred and tts Terminus. 187
and that was why Aimée had loved him. Now
she felt a contemptuous scorn for one who could
forget. Wasit possible she had loved such a
man—one who had sworn he adored her, and had
talked of their marriage so confidently, and one
who could forget all when the unforeseen climax
came? Had her young affections run to waste,
or watered but the desert? The pleasure of
love is in loving. We are happier in the passion
we feel than in that we excite, and she felt, at
times, that she could never again even respect
the man who had thus wounded her, let alone
Jove him. And her thoughts were so deep—as
much deeper than speech, as feeling is than
thought. And she seemed to talk with all her
past hours with Romera, and to ask them what
report they bore to heaven, and to ask them, so
greatly wise, if she had done unpardonable
wrong. Then she questioned herself. If her
lover had told her of love and felt none, was she
not justified in detesting him? And first her
delicate heart would glow with resentment, then
burn with love. Ah! Aimée,
“ Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell,”
CHAPTER XVIII.
BITTER REALITY.
** The light of love, the purity of grace
The mind, the music breathing from her face,
The head whose softness harmonized the whole,
And oh! that eye was in itself a Soul.”
—BYRON,
Russell Romera was a strong man. The trials
and hardships of his early life in his adopte
country, had left him with a wonderful constitu-
tion. Nevertheless, the experience with Aimé
prostrated him, and it was not strange. He had
never before loved, and the recent fatalities had
been so sudden, and although he had written a
best he could again and again, and had receive
no reply, he did not wonder, for what woman
could write another letter under the circum
stances? He did not know at that time that Rose
Fialge had been forced by his wife to leave the
city ; indeed, he had heard very little about the
interview. And even in his mind it would have
been difficult to imagine any person so heartless
as to send a young girl, especially one situated as
[188]
Bitter Reality. 189
was his Aimée, into the world in the manner
attributed to him. During his illness he feared
for her—feared she, too, might be ill, and when
he saw by the papers a few days later that the
young genius was creating a great furore in
Philadelphia, he was relieved, for it told him she
was well, or at least strong, and he loved her
better for such strength. Again he wrote her,
and had his valet mail the scrawly missive with
the utmost care; and only a few hours later
learned that she had sailed, and he grew rapidly
worse, until his inexplicable malady became
newspaper talk, none dreaming of its character,
or ever even accidentally striking the truth in
their daily surmises, as papers sometimes do.
Romera had forgiven Aimée everything.