For some time Ida Mayhew neither heeded nor heard the choral music in the parlor below,but at last a clearer,louder strain,in which Van Berg's voice was pre-eminent,caught her attention and she started up and listened at the window.
"He is singing songs of Heaven with Jennie Burton,and I--can there be any worse perdition than this?"she said in a low,agonized tone.
As if by a sudden impulse she quietly unfastened the door that led to her father and mother's room.Perceiving that her mother was not there,she stole noiselessly in,and turned up the lamp.
Mr.Mayhew reclined upon a lounge in the deep stupor of intoxication,his dark hair streaked with gray falling across his face in a manner that made it peculiarly ghastly and repulsive.
"This is my work,"she groaned."Jennie Burton made a noble-looking man of him last evening.I have made him this."She writhed and wrung her hands over his unconscious form,appearing as might one of Milton's fallen angels that had lost Heaven and happiness but not the primal beauty of his birth-place.
"Well,"she exclaimed with the sudden recklessness which was one of her characteristics,"if I have caused your degradation I can at least share in it;"and she took an opiate that she knew would produce speedy and almost as deep a lethargy as that which paralyzed her father;then threw herself,dressed,upon her couch,and did not waken until late the following day.
Stanton was sorely troubled over his rash promise that he would meet Sibley at daylight on Monday morning.After Miss Burton's words he felt that he could not keep his appointment,and yet he shrank from the ridicule he believed Sibley would heap upon him.
His perturbation was so great that he hunted up Van Berg before retiring,and told him of his dilemma.The artist greatly relieved his mind by saying:
"I think we both have had a lesson,Stanton,in regard to quarreling with such fellows as Sibley,although I hardly see how we could have acted differently.But villains are usually cowards after their passion cools and they become sober.The case in hand is no exception.Burleigh tells me he has just learned that Sibley took a late boat to the city,and so does not mean to keep the appointment to-morrow.Therefore,sleep the sleep of the just,old fellow.
Good-night."
The throbbing pain in Ida's head was so great when she awoke on Monday that she half forgot the ache in her heart.She found that her father had gone to the City and that the day was well advanced.
Her mother sat looking at her with an expression in which anxiety and reproach were equally blended.
The unhappy woman had learned from her husband's habits to know what remedies to employ,and so was able gradually to relieve her daughter's physical distress;but Ida's weary lassitude and reticence were proof against all her questions and reproaches.It seemed as if nothing could rouse or sting her out of the dull apathy into which she had reacted after the desperate excitement of the preceding day.
She pleaded illness,and stubbornly refused to go down to dinner.
At last her mother,much to her relief,left her to herself,and went out to drive with Stanton,hoping that she might hit upon some plan of action in regard to the two difficult problems presented in her husband and daughter.
Towards evening Ida slowly and languidly dressed for supper,and then sauntered down to the main piazza for a little fresh air.
The poor girl did not exaggerate the shadow that had fallen upon her association with Sibley,and her supposed grief and resentment at his treatment.Two or three whom she met bowed coldly and distantly,and one passed without recognition.Even Jennie Burton had been indignant all day that one of her sex could be infatuated with such a fellow;and in her charitable thoughts she would be glad to explain such perversity as the result of a disordered and uncurbed fancy,rather than of a depraved heart.
It was not strange,however,that she should suppose Ida's manner and indisposition were caused by Sibley's ignominious ejectment from the house,when her own mother and cousin shared the same view.
What an unknown mystery each life is,even to the lives nearest to it!
As with slow,heavy steps,Ida approached the main entrance,she noted the distant manner of those she met,and divined the cause;but her apathy was so great that neither anger nor shame brought the faintest color to her cheeks.
She stood in the doorway and looked out a few moments;but the lovely summer landscape,with the cool shadows lengthening across it,was a weariness,and she turned from it as the miserable do from sights that only mock by their pleasant contrast.
The piazza was nearly empty,but before she stepped out upon it she saw not far away a gentleman reading,who at last did cause the blood to rush tumultuously into her face.
At another time she would have turned hastily from him;but in her present morbid mood she acted from a different impulse.The artist had not observed her approach,and standing a little back in the shadow of the hall-way she found a cruel fascination in comparing the man she loved with the low fellow whose shadow now fell so darkly across her own character.She looked steadily at his downcast face until every line and curve in his strong profile was impressed on her memory.In the healthful color of his finely-chiseled features there were no indications of that excess which already marred Sibley's countenance.The decided contour corresponded with the positive nature.The unhappy girl felt instinctively that if he were on her side,he would be a faithful ally;but if against her,she would find his inflexible will a granite wall against all the allurements of her beauty.The face before her indicated a man controlled by his higher,not lower nature;and in her deep humiliation she now felt that even if he knew all that was passing in her heart,he would bestow only transient pity,mingled with contempt.
