The Honorable Miss: A Story of an Old-Fashioned Town

  CHAPTER XXXIII.

  THE MORNING OF THE WEDDING.

  Beatrice had seen Mr. Ingram. She had gone to him, but not to stay.

  "You must go to Mrs. Bertram's," she said; "she has a trouble on hermind. Get her to tell it to you. She will be better afterwards. Shefears much. I guess a little of what she fears. She does not know thatby to-morrow night all her anxieties will be over."

  "And the wedding is really to take place in the morning, Beatrice?"

  "Really and truly. I will be present as bride's-maid, not as bride."

  Beatrice went home, and Mr. Ingram hastened to the Manor.

  There was much confusion there. Mrs. Bertram was very ill; she would notsee her daughters, she would allow no doctor to be summoned. Mabel wascrying in the drawing-room. Catherine was pacing up and down thecorridor outside her mother's room.

  The Rector came. Bertram saw him for a few moments alone; then he wentinto Mrs. Bertram's room. He stayed with her for some hours; it was longpast midnight when he left her. Catherine and Mabel had gone to bed, butBertram met the Rector outside his mother's door.

  "Come home with me," said Mr. Ingram; "I have a message to give you. Ihave something to say."

  "How is my mother, sir?"

  "She is better,--better than she has been for years--she will sleepnow--she has carried a heavy burden, but confession has relieved it. Shehas sent you a message; come to my house, and I will give it to you."

  The Rector and Bertram went quickly back to the cozy Rectory study. Mr.Ingram began his story at once.

  "Have you any early recollections?" he asked. "Cast your memory back.What are the first things you can recall?"

  Bertram raised his eyebrows in astonishment.

  "I was born in India," he said; "I was sent home when I was little morethan a baby."

  "You don't remember your Indian life, nor your--your--father?"

  "Of course I remember my father, sir. I was over twenty when he died."

  "Ah, yes, your reputed father. You cannot possibly recall, you have noshadowy remembrance of another who bore the name?"

  "Good God, Mr. Ingram! what do you mean?"

  "Have you any memory? Answer me."

  "No, sir, not the faintest. Is this a dream?"

  "My poor lad, I don't wonder that you are staggered. Your mother couldnot bring herself to tell you. She has borne much for your sake,Bertram; you must be tender to her, gentle. She committed sin, she hasgone through terrible hours for you. She was wrong, of course; but hermotive--you must respect her motive, Loftus Bertram."

  "I am in a dream," said Bertram. "General Bertram not my father! Whoseson am I then? What is my name? Who am I? Good God, sir, speak! Get meout of this horrible nightmare."

  "Bertram, I have a good deal to tell you. You have a very strange storyto hear. You must listen as quietly as you can. You must take in thefacts as well as you can. The story concerns you deeply--you andanother."

  "Do you mean my mother?"

  "No, I mean Josephine Hart."

  "Josephine? This story concerns Josephine. Rector, my brain iswhirling."

  "Sit down, keep still, listen."

  Bertram restrained his impatience with an effort. He sank into a chair;in a moment he rose to his feet.

  "I can't keep still," he said. "This story concerns Nina. Does my motherknow Nina?"

  "I will tell you the whole story, Bertram; I will tell it briefly, andyou must listen with patience. You must remember, as you hear, that thewoman who played this sorry part is your mother, that she did the wrongout of mistaken love for you, that she has suffered bitterly for hersin."

  "Go on, sir; I am listening."

  "Remember that the story is about your mother."

  "I don't forget."

  The Rector poured out a glass of water from a jug which stood on thetable, drank it off, and began to speak.

  "Your mother, Bertram, was twice married. Her first husband--my poorboy, I am sorry for you--was a scoundrel, a thief, a blackleg. He diedin prison. You are his son. Your father died in a Bombay prison; youwere in England at the time."

  "Stop, sir," said Bertram. "What was my--my--what was the name of theman to whom I owe my being?"

  "Your mother has not told me. She says she will never reveal his name.She says that your stepfather gave you legally the name of Bertram.That, at least, need never be disturbed."

  "Then Catherine and Mabel are not my sisters."

  "They are your half-sisters; that is a small matter."

  "True. Everything in the world is a small matter in comparison with theawful fact that I am the son of a felon."

  "I am deeply pained for you, Bertram. Your mother knew how this wouldstrike home. Hence her sin."

  "I forgot. I have to hear of that. Go on, Mr. Ingram."

  "At the time of your father's death she was, she tells me, a verybeautiful young woman. She was alone and peculiarly defenceless; MajorBertram, he was a Major at the time, made her acquaintance in Calcutta.You will be startled, Bertram, at the way in which these two madefriends. She was asked to take care of Major Bertram's baby daughter."

  "Then he, too, was married before."

  "Yes, he had a young wife, who died when the baby was born. Little Ninawas six months old when Major Bertram, who had to accompany his regimentup the country, asked your mother to look after her."

  "Nina, did you say Nina, Mr. Ingram?"

  "Yes. I need not conceal from you who that Nina was."

  Bertram covered his face with his hands.

  "I can't bear this," he said. "This story unmans me."

  "You must listen. I am making the narrative as brief as possible. Yourmother tells me that when the baby was given to her to care for shemeant to be very good to it. She was miserable at the time, for hersorrows with and about your father had almost maddened her. She was goodto the child, and very glad of the money which the Major paid her forgiving the little creature a home. She kept the baby for some months,nearly a year; and whenever he could Major Bertram called to see her.Soon the meaning of his visits dawned upon her. He had fallen in lovewith her. He was, in all respects, a desirable husband; he was of goodfamily; his antecedents were honorable, his own life stainless. Shethought of you, she was always thinking about you, you were at a poorlittle school in England. She thought what your lot might be, if youwere really the son of this honorable man. She tells me that at thistime her love for you was like a terrible passion within her. Beyond allthings in the world she dreaded your learning your father's history--sheshuddered as she fancied your baby lips asking her artless questionswhich she could never answer. Your father's name was, alas, notorious.Bearing that name, you must one day learn the history of your father'sruin, disgrace, dishonor."

  "Mr. Ingram," said Bertram, "you are crushing me. How much more must yousay about my--my father?"

  "Nothing more. I had to say this much to explain your mother's motive.One day Major Bertram called to see her. He was going away. Before heleft he asked her to marry him. She refused. He persisted. She told himher history. He said he knew it already. Then she put off her decision.He might speak to her again on his return to Calcutta. It was duringMajor Bertram's absence that the temptation which led to your mother'ssin came to her.

  "Little Josephine was now between a year and two years old. On hermother's side she was of low birth. Major Bertram had married beneathhim. He had fallen desperately in love with the beautiful daughter of astrolling minstrel. He had married her, found out his mistake when toolate, but still, being a chivalrous and honorable man, had done his dutyby his ignorant young wife; had never allowed her to guess at hisfeelings; and after her death had been filled with compunction for notloving her more, and had done everything he could to secure the welfareof their child.

  "One person, however, he forbade the premises; with one individual hewould have nothing to do. That person was his wife's father. From themoment he laid his young wife in her grave, he ignored the veryexistence of Hart. Your mother tells me, Be
rtram, that Hart was in allparticuars a disreputable person. He was nothing but a needy adventurer,and he only approached Major Bertram to sponge on him.

  "During the Major's absence your mother thought long and seriously ofhis proposals for her; the more she thought of them, the more desirabledid they seem. She thought of herself in the sheltered position of agood man's wife. Above all, she thought of you. This marriage might saveyou. Suppose Major Bertram, for love of her, consented to adopt you ashis son, to give you his name, and to present you to the world as hisown lawful child. She thought this might be done; and the onlydifficulty in the way was the little bright-eyed, fair-haired Nina.

  "Your mother did not wish to return to England calling Hart'sgranddaughter her child. She said she had an insuperable objection andrepugnance to the idea, and an aversion for the poor little creaturebegan to grow up in her mind."

  Bertram, who had sat during the greater part of this recital with hishand shading his eyes, now started up with an impatient and distressedexclamation. The Rector looked at him, sighed heavily, and said in avoice of sympathy:

  "My poor boy, this is a very hard story for you to listen to."

  "Go on, Mr. Ingram," said Bertram. "Get it over quickly; that is all Ihave to ask you."

  "While these thoughts were troubling your mother," continued the Rector,"she was one day surprised by a visit from Hart. He said he had come tosee his grandchild; and he took little Nina in his arms and kissed her.Your mother says she scarcely knows how it was, but she and Hart beganto talk about the child, and both simultaneously revealed to the otherhis and her real feelings.

  "Hart hated Major Bertram, and would like to do him an injury. Yourmother had no love for Nina. I nead not lengthily describe thisinterview. Suffice it to say that they made a plot between them. It wasa bad plot. I am sorry to have to use this word to a son about any actof his mother's, but the truth must be told at all hazards. The plot wasbad, bad at the time, bad subsequently.

  "Your mother arranged to give Nina to her grandfather. She would pay himfor delivering her from the child. After receiving his bribe Hart was toleave that part of India at once, When the Major returned your motherwould tell him that the child was lost. That she feared her grandfatherHart had stolen her. She would help Major Bertram to make inquiries.These inquiries, she would arrange beforehand, should turn out useless,for Hart was one of those clever individuals, who, when necessary, couldhide all trace of his existence.

  "Your mother sold some jewellery to raise the necessary money for Hart.He came the next day and carried off the child. Major Bertram returned.He believed your mother's story, he was wild with grief at the loss ofhis child, and did everything in his power to recover her. In vain. Yourmother and Hart were too clever for him.

  "After a time he renewed his proposals to your mother. She made herconditions. You were to be acknowledged as his son.

  "Soon after their marriage they returned to England, and Major Bertramretired from foreign service. His friends received them. The old storywas never raked up. No suspicion attached to your mother. All the worldbelieved you to be Major Bertram's son. No plot could have turned outbetter, and your mother rejoiced in her success.

  "Her daughters were born, and she began to consider herself the happiestof living beings. The serpent, however, which she fondly thought killed,was once more to awake and torment her. She got a letter from Hart, whowas then in Egypt. Nina was not dead, she was alive, and strong, andhandsome. He would bring her back to her father and all the past wouldbe known, if Mrs. Bertram did not buy his silence at a price.

  "For some years after this letter she had to keep the old man quiet withmoney. Then suddenly, with no apparent reason, he ceased to trouble her.She believed that his silence was caused by Nina's death. She assuredherself that the child must be dead, and once more her outwardprosperity brought her happiness.

  "Your father died, and his will was read. There was a codicil to hiswill which only his wife and the solicitors knew about. It was brieflyto the effect that if by any chance the child of his first marriage wasrecovered, and her identity proved, she was to inherit one-half of hispersonal estate. He left her this large share of his property ascompensation for the unavoidable neglect he had shown her all her life,and also in sorrow for having ever confided her to the care of another.

  "That codicil tortured your mother's proud spirit. She felt that herhusband had never really forgiven her for allowing his child to bestolen while under her care. Still she believed that the child now wasdead.

  "Her hour of terrible awakening came. Hart had returned to England. Acouple of months ago he wrote to her here. Knowing that Nina's fatherwas dead he had gone to Somerset House, paid a shilling and read a copyof the will. From that moment your mother knew no peace. Hart had allthe necessary letters to prove Nina's identity. He had a copy of herbaptismal certificate, and of the registration of her birth. Mrs.Bertram had now to bribe the old man heavily. She did so. She gave himand Nina a third of her income. Wretched, miserable, defiant, she yethoped against hope. To-night, for the first time, she tasted despair."

  The Rector ceased to speak. Bertram began to pace the floor.

  "I can't forgive my mother," he said, at last. "I shall marry Josephineto-morrow morning and take her away, but I never want to see my motheragain."

  "Then she will die. She is weak now, weak and crushed. If you refuseyour forgiveness you will have her death to answer for. I don'texonerate your mother's sin, but I do plead for your mercy. She sinnedto shield and save you. You must not turn from her. Are you immaculateyourself?"

  "I am not, Mr. Ingram. I am in no sense of the word good. I have beenextravagant, reckless, I have been untruthful. I have caused my mothermany a pang, and she has invariably been an angel of goodness andkindness to me. But her cruelty to Nina cuts me like a sword, and Icannot forgive her."

  The Rector went over to the window, drew up the blinds, and looked out.

  "Come here," he said to the young man. "Do you see that faint light inthe east?"

  "Yes, sir, the day is breaking."

  "The day of your wedding, and of your new life. To-day you realize whattrue love means. You take the hand of the girl who is all the world toyou, and you promise to love and reverence and defend her. To-day youput away the past life. You rise out of the ashes of the past, and puton manliness, and honor, and those virtues which good men prize, like anarmor, Beatrice tells me you have promised her all this."

  "Beatrice--God bless Beatrice:" Bertram's eyes were misty. "I will be agood husband, and a true man," he said with fervor. "I have been awretch in the past, and with God's help I'll show Nina, and Beatricetoo, what stuff they have made of me. I'll be a true man for theirsakes. But my mother--Mr. Ingram, you have given me a cruel shock on mywedding morning."

  "Bertram, all that you have said to me now will end in failure, willwither up like the early dew if you cherish hard feelings towards yourmother. Did she ever cherish them to you? What about that bill she hadto meet? That bill would have ruined her."

  "Beatrice met the bill."

  "Had there been no Beatrice?"

  Bertram turned his head away.

  "I have been a scoundrel," he said at last.

  The Rector laid his hand on his arm.

  "You have been something uncommonly like it, my dear fellow. And thespirit of revenge does not sit well on you. Come, your mother iswaiting. Change her despair to peace. Say some of the good things youhave said to me to her, and the blessing of God will descend on you,Bertram, and on the young girl whom you will call your wife to-day. Giveme your hand. Come."

  Bertram went.