BY NEVADA. Price 50 Cents. bia Mrs. Mary J. Holmes’ Novels Over a MILLION Sold. THE NEW BOOK ; MARGUERITE jus T. Orr “As a writer of domestic stories which are extremely interesting without being extravagant, Mrs. Mary J. Holmes is uurivalled. 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: TEMPEST AND SUN= DAISY THORNTON. ETHELYN’S Juiz. SHINE. CHATEAU D’OR. TAKE. ENGLISH ORPHANS. QUEENIE HETHER= MILLBANKk. HOMESTEAD ON THE TON. EDNA BROWNING. HILLSIDE. DARKNESS AND WEST LAWN. "LENA RIVERS. DAYLIGHT. MILDRED. MEADOW BROOK. HUGH WORTHING= FORREST HOUSE. DORA DEANE, TON. MADELINE. COUSIN MAUDE. CAIWERON PRIDE. CHRISTMAS STORIES. MARIAN GREY. ROSE MATHER. BESSIE’S FORTUNE. EDITH LYLE. GRETCHEN. MARGUERITE. Ali handsomely printed and bound in cloth, sold everywhere, and sent by mail, postage free, on receipt of price ($1.50), by G. W. DILLINGHAM, Publisher, SUCCESSOR TO LS G. W. CARLETON & COMPANY, 83 WEST 23rd STREET, NEW YORK. } > 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. 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.