Chapter LXVIII: Mrs. Wilson Forbes Has a Visitor

Mrs. Wilson Forbes was preparing to go South. Her brother Egbert had written so feelingly of his loneliness, and with such general depression, that her kind heart was seized with an affectionate desire to brighten up his old home again with her presence. With the quick intuition of a loving woman, she had guessed at the bitter disappointment which Bertha’s engagement had been to her brother Fletcher; but there existed no direct confidence between them, and the young man knew nothing whatever of the entanglement which had made her so long nothing more nor less than Russell Waldon’s slave. Now, being both a free woman and a happy wife, she could afford to carry a little of her own bright sunshine down to the old Southern homestead where Fletcher lived alone, and was so unhappy.

“A lady, Mrs. Forbes, who wishes to see you.”

Mrs. Forbes was presiding over a huge Saratoga trunk, in which her maid was buried head and shoulders, pressing down, folding up, and doing her very best to make a Noah’s ark of it in the way of compactness and variety.

“A lady, did you say, Julia? and I looking like this. Tell her I am not at home—sick, dead. No, one may as well give the truth now and then. Say that I am packing up for a journey, and wouldn’t see my own grandmother, if she were going to make her will this very day. There, there—come back. What kind of a lady is it? Where’s the card?”

“She did not give me any—only said, ‘Tell her a lady wants to see her very much.’”

“Ah, some one in distress, poor thing—young or old?”

“Young, and a real lady—you could see that in spite of her black veil—awful deep mourning, but genteel. In trouble, too, one made sure of that by her voice.”

“That will do; I’ll go down. Help me off with this wrapper—that black silk, leave it out. I will go down, Julia; but go on with the packing, I shall not let any one keep me long.”

Directly Mrs. Forbes was rustling down-stairs, fastening the coral buttons of her dress as she went. When she entered the reception room, a lady came forward, darkening the room with her coal black garments as she moved.

“Mrs. Forbes, I—”

Mrs. Forbes retreated a step; she was taken by surprise.

“Miss Canfield—Bertha!”

“You are surprised to see me—no wonder.”

“I am surprised and sorry to see you in mourning, Bertha,” said the lady, with tender interest.

“My mother is dead!”

The words sounded abrupt, but the voice that uttered them shook with emotion.

Mrs. Forbes, greatly shocked, was about to ask some question, when Bertha interrupted her:

“I wronged you once—will you pardon me for it? When you would have warned me, I refused to take it kindly. In my arrogant self-confidence, I struck the hand that would have saved me.”

“I do not understand you, Bertha.”

“I thought that you had once loved Waldon yourself, and would not forgive him that he turned to another.”

“And so I did, or rather thought I did,” answered the lady, gravely. “I fear it lasted some time after I knew him to be unworthy any good woman’s love; but I had no jealousy of you, Bertha—only profound pity, for I knew the man.”

“You warned me; you doubted then if he would not change.”

“No, I simply dreaded that he might prove faithful, and drag you down into his life; but I should have known better. What girl in the fever of her first love ever took advice?”

All at once Bertha threw back her veil, and fell at Mrs. Forbes’ feet.

“I asked your forgiveness, but that is not enough. In all the wide world, you are the only one to whom my heart turns in its misery. Read that, then tell me how I am to act. Advise anything but patience and silence, and I will do it.”

Mrs. Forbes took Waldon’s letter, threw her arms around Bertha’s neck, and kissed her.

“Poor girl! poor child! was not that one trouble enough—must he strike you when your heart was sore?”

Bertha answered nothing, but laid her head down on Mrs. Forbes’ lap, and moaned a little as that lady read the letter.

“The ingrate! the villain!” she exclaimed, folding the letter with an irate twist of her fingers. “Who is this other one?”

“My school-mate, my bosom friend,” answered Bertha, with a thrill of bitter antagonism in her voice. “A girl that I would have died for; who insisted upon taking an oath that we should be true friends forever. This is how she keeps her oath.”

“Do not blame her; that man would lure an angel from Heaven, and tire of the poor thing before it got through the first drift of clouds. Is this Mary Noel rich?”

“Very rich.”

“That accounts for it. I remember now who her father was—a very wealthy man indeed. I think Waldon may prove tolerably faithful to an estate like that.”

“But he does not love her. Did you read that sentence where he almost says it was her love for him? It is pity, avarice, anything but love.”

“That I believe.”

“Oh, he did love me!” cried the girl, with a thrill of pathetic regret. “I know he did! I know he did! This girl has not separated us, but something else which he will not tell me of. But he shall! he shall! Did you not see that in the letter?”

“Yes, I saw an attempt at romantic mystification. There may be something in it, but I think not.”

“I must know—I will know—there _is_ something! Poor mamma held several private conversations with him before we left Virginia, and seemed to wither after them. Mrs. Forbes, I think she did not like him and wanted me to break it off. She was so persistent, so anxious to learn about my feelings. Perhaps she discouraged him.”

“Possibly. Your mother was a sensitive woman, who must have felt the unworthiness of this man.”

“Something has been done to separate us. Oh, tell me how I can ever find out what it is! I have no father nor brother to demand the reason, but I have a right to know it. Oh, Mrs. Forbes, help me! Help me, or I shall die of this awful suspense! If I only knew what it was!”

“Poor girl, do you love him so yet?”

“How can I help it? He was to have been my husband. I never dreamed of any future but that. To me there was no other man in existence. Oh, Mrs. Forbes, he does not really love Mary Noel! The cause of all this trouble lies deeper, I am sure it does! Help me to fathom it!”

“Trust me, Bertha, I will,” said the kind lady, with tears in her eyes. “For your sake I will endure the presence of this man; but I can scarcely think it doing a kindness.”

Bertha seized the white hand that caressed her, and pressed it to her lips again and again.

“I was busy packing when you came in. My brother Egbert lives near Mr. Noel’s plantation, you know,” said Mrs. Forbes.

“Yes—yes—I know. How could I forget to tell you? He saved my life and that of Mr. Waldon, but would not wait to be thanked. How ungrateful I am!”

“How blind!” said Mrs. Forbes. “But the time will come. There, there—don’t look so unbelieving. I was speaking of my journey. In an hour or two I shall be on my way to the James River. Edward Lane will join me there after he graduates. These two brothers may help us fathom this mystery, but since the strange death of Clara Anderson, Edward has not been so intimate with Waldon.”

“Clara Andersen! Oh, Mrs. Forbes, she was my friend—a noble, grand girl whom few people understood. If ever a poor girl was hunted into her grave, it was Clara. Your brother knew her worth and would have saved her, but it was not to be.”

Mrs. Forbes was walking the room, absolutely wringing her hands in the anguish of her repentance. At last she turned and came close to Bertha.

“You are right, Miss Canfield. It was an awful persecution, and I did my share of it. Poor girl, I thought her ambitious, a bold intriguing girl. Do not defend her, I know it all now. She never did encourage Edward. He made me his confidant at last. If he had done it earlier, much misery might have been spared, but he trusted no one but that arch-traitor Waldon, who ended in betraying him and making a merit of his treason with me.”

“Betraying him! Oh, Mrs. Forbes, what could Mr. Waldon have to do with Clara’s death?”

“What had he to do with your life and mine?”

“But he did not know Clara. She never mentioned him to me in her life.”

“Still she knew him well.”

“No, no, it is impossible. I remember giving her one of his books after she left school, and she said that to know him would be the greatest happiness of her life, but that she never expected to have so great a pleasure.”

“All this may be true, but it is equally true that he undertook to plead my brother’s cause with Clara Anderson; and went to her house for that avowed purpose. I reached my father’s home that day bitterly prejudiced against the girl. She had been represented to me as a needy adventuress in pursuit of my brother from greed of his wealth.”

“Poor Clara—poor, dear Clara! There never was a prouder or less mercenary person,” said Bertha.

“I can believe that now, but then she was described to me as the very reverse of all this. I met Waldon riding away from her house, and entreated him to watch over Edward. Without telling me that Edward already had his pledge of friendship, he promised all that I asked, but I never dreamed of suggesting the course he took.”

“What course?”

“That of coldly winning the girl’s love for himself.”

“Oh, Mrs. Forbes, this is terrible!”

“But it was his design, and I believe he carried it out, all the while pretending to plead my brother’s cause. Almost every day for weeks—I think it ran into months—his horse was seen at her gate, himself seated close by the window at which the poor girl worked. He brought her bouquets; he read to her hours together; but you know the man, as I know him. She believed in him, no doubt loved him. Once assured of a woman’s love, the demon always comes uppermost in this man.

“All at once he ceased to visit that house. His presence there had deeply injured the girl, but what did he care for that? She drooped visibly. Once and only once was she seen away from home after his horse ceased to be every day at her gate. That was when she rode through the village on her way to the Housatonic Falls.”

“The Housatonic Falls! Oh, Mrs. Forbes, are you sure that she knew Mr. Waldon before then?”

“I am certain that he had spent half his time with her for weeks, and suddenly gave up coming just before that ride. I know also that she saw Waldon with another lady, who had been thrown from her horse, in his arms.”

Bertha clasped her hands.

“Oh, Heavens! and I wrote that letter,” she thought. “The letter that perhaps killed her.”

“Edward came to a knowledge of his friend’s treason late and by slow degrees. At first he would not believe it.”

“How could he?” cried Bertha. “I cannot believe it. I do not.”

“Still, after what I have told you, do you wish to see this man again?”

Bertha fell into thought a moment, then lifting her head, answered,

“Yes.”

“Surely you would not go to Willow Bend now?”

Bertha shuddered.

“What? there? Mrs. Forbes, you scarcely know me yet. You have dared to tell the truth when it was very bitter, and have forgiven me for resenting it. I will trust you entirely. I cannot live here. A yearning wish to see that man again consumes me like a fever! I must go where something is to be learned! I must breathe near him, or not at all! This is killing me!”

“You shall go. I will arrange it.”

“Secretly; I must not be known.”

“You shall go secretly and safely. I was the slave of this man, once!” exclaimed Mrs. Forbes, in bitter self-abasement; “and suffered almost as much.”

“It is something besides love. Some terrible wrong has been done. I feel it in every sense of my being. There has been a great sacrifice, either in Waldon when he gave me up, or by some person I am yet to learn about. I must know two things: Does he love her, and did he break off our engagement entirely from waning affection? or is it the work of some slanderer? To believe him so entirely a villain, is worse than death. Help me! help me get at the truth!”

“Trust me, I will!”

“And this other matter?” said Bertha, bending her great, yearning eyes on the woman she had doubted.

“That, too, shall be accomplished. Now, good-by! The train never waits.”