CHAPTER XIV.
BIDIANE RECEIVES A SHOCK.
"Whate'er thy lot, whoe'er thou be,-- Confess thy folly, kiss the rod, And in thy chastening sorrow, see The hand of God."
MONTGOMERY.
Bidiane flashed around upon her companions. Rose--pale, trembling,almost unearthly in a beauty from which everything earthly and materialseemed to have been purged away--stood extending her hands to thewanderer, her only expression one of profound thanksgiving for hisreturn.
Agapit, on the contrary, sat stock-still, his face convulsed withprofound and bitter contempt, almost with hatred; and Bidiane, inspeechless astonishment, stared from him to the others.
Charlitte was not dead,--he had returned; and Rose was notsurprised,--she was even glad to see him! What did it mean, and wherewas Mr. Nimmo's share in this reunion? She clenched her hands, her eyesfilled with despairing tears, and, in subdued anger, she surveyed thevery ordinary-looking man, who had surrendered one of his brown hands toRose, in pleased satisfaction.
"You are more stunning than ever, Rose," he said, coolly kissing her;"and who is this young lady?" and he pointed a sturdy forefinger atBidiane, who stood in the background, trembling in every limb.
"It is Bidiane LeNoir, Charlitte, from up the Bay. Bidiane, come shakehands with my husband."
"I forbid," said Agapit, calmly. He had recovered himself, and, with aface as imperturbable as that of the sphinx, he now sat staring up intothe air.
"Agapit," said Rose, pleadingly, "will you not greet my husband afterall these years?"
"No," he said, "I will not," and coolly taking up his pipe he lightedit, turned away from them, and began to smoke.
Rose, with her blue eyes dimmed with tears, looked at her husband. "Donot be displeased. He will forgive in time; he has been a brother to meall the years that you have been away."
Charlitte understood Agapit better than she did, and, shrugging hisshoulders as if to beg her not to distress herself, he busied himselfwith staring at Bidiane, whose curiosity and bewilderment had culminatedin a kind of stupefaction, in which she stood surreptitiously pinchingher arm in order to convince herself that this wonderful reappearancewas real,--that the man sitting so quietly before her was actually thehusband of her beloved Rose.
Charlitte's eyes twinkled mischievously, as he surveyed her. "Were youever shipwrecked, young lady?" he asked.
Bidiane shuddered, and then, with difficulty, ejaculated, "No, never."
"I was," said Charlitte, unblushingly, "on a cannibal island. All therest of the crew were eaten. I was the only one spared, and I was leftshut up in a hut in a palm grove until six months ago, when a passingship took me off and brought me to New York."
Bidiane, by means of a vigorous effort, was able to partly restore hermind to working order. Should she believe this man or not? She feltdimly that she did not like him, yet she could not resist Rose'stouching, mute entreaty that she should bestow some recognition on thereturned one. Therefore she said, confusedly, "Those cannibals, wheredid they live?"
"In the South Sea Islands, 'way yonder," and Charlitte's eyes seemed totwinkle into immense distance.
Rose was hanging her head. This recital pained her, and before Bidianecould again speak, she said, hurriedly, "Do not mention it. Our Lord andthe blessed Virgin have brought you home. Ah! how glad Father Duvairwill be, and the village."
"Good heavens!" said Charlitte. "Do you think I care for the village. Ihave come to see you."
For the first time Rose shrank from him, and Agapit brought down hiseyes from the sky to glance keenly at him.
"Charlitte," faltered Rose, "there have been great changes since youwent away. I--I--" and she hesitated, and looked at Bidiane.
Bidiane shrank behind a spruce-tree near which she was standing, andfrom its shelter looked out like a small red squirrel of an inquiringturn of mind. She felt that she was about to be banished, and in thepresent dazed state of her brain she dreaded to be alone.
Agapit's inexorable gaze sought her out, and, taking his pipe from hismouth, he sauntered over to her. "Wilt thou run away, little one? We mayhave something to talk of not fit for thy tender ears."
"Yes, I will," she murmured, shocked into unexpected submission by thesuppressed misery of his voice. "I will be in the garden," and shedarted away.
The coast was now clear for any action the new arrival might choose totake. His first proceeding was to stare hard at Agapit, as if he wishedthat he, too, would take himself away; but this Agapit had no intentionof doing, and he smoked on imperturbably, pretending not to seeCharlitte's irritated glances, and keeping his own fixed on the azuredepths of the sky.
"You mention changes," said Charlitte, at last, turning to his wife."What changes?"
"You have just arrived, you have heard nothing,--and yet there would belittle to hear about me, and Sleeping Water does not changemuch,--yet--"
Charlitte's cool glance wandered contemptuously over that part of thevillage nearest them. "It is dull here,--as dull as the cannibalislands. I think moss would grow on me if I stayed."
"But it would break my heart to leave it," said Rose, desperately.
"I would take good care of you," he said, jocularly. "We would go to NewOrleans. You would amuse yourself well. There are young menthere,--plenty of them,--far smarter than the boys on the Bay."
Rose was in an agony. With frantic eyes she devoured the cool, cynicalface of her husband, then, with a low cry, she fell on her knees beforehim. "Charlitte, Charlitte, I must confess."
Charlitte at once became intensely interested, and forgot to watchAgapit, who, however, got up, and, savagely biting his pipe, strolledto a little distance.
"I have done wrong, my husband," sobbed Rose.
Charlitte's eyes twinkled. Was he going to hear a confession of guiltthat would make his own seem lighter?
"Forgive me, forgive me," she moaned. "My heart is glad that you havecome back, yet, oh, my husband, I must tell you that it also cries outfor another."
"For Agapit?" he said, kindly, stroking her clenched hands.
"No,--no, no, for a stranger. You know I never loved you as a womanshould love her husband. I was so young when I married. I thought onlyof attending to my house. Then you went away; I was sorry, so sorry,when news came of your death, but my heart was not broken. Five yearsago this stranger came, and I felt--oh, I cannot tell you--but I foundwhat this love was. Then I had to send him away, but, although he wasgone, he seemed to be still with me. I thought of him all the time,--thewind seemed to whisper his words in my ear as I walked. I saw hishandsome face, his smiling eyes. I went daily over the paths his feetused to take. After a long, long time, I was able to tear him from mymind. Now I know that I shall never see him again, that I shall onlymeet him after I die, yet I feel that I belong to him, that he belongsto me. Oh, my husband, this is love, and is it right that, feeling so, Ishould go with you?"
"Who is this man?" asked Charlitte. "What is he called?"
Rose winced. "Vesper is his name; Vesper Nimmo,--but do not let us talkof him. I have put him from my mind."
"Did he make love to you?"
"Oh, yes; but let us pass that over,--it is wicked to talk of it now."
Charlitte, who was not troubled with any delicacy of feeling, was aboutto put some searching and crucial questions to her, but forbore, moved,despite himself, by the anguish and innocence of the gaze bent upon him."Where is he now?"
"In Paris. I have done wrong, wrong," and she again buried her face inher hands, and her whole frame shook with emotion. "Having had onehusband, it would have been better to have thought only of him. I do notthink one should marry again, unless--"
"Nonsense," said Charlitte, abruptly. "The fellow should have marriedyou. He got tired, I guess. By this time he's had half a dozen otherfancies."
Rose shrank from him in
speechless horror, and, seeing it, Charlittemade haste to change the subject of conversation. "Where is the boy?"
"He is with him," she said, hurriedly.
"That was pretty cute in you," said Charlitte, with a good-naturedvulgar laugh. "You were afraid I'd come home and take him from you,--youalways were a little fool, Rose. Get up off the grass, and sit down, anddon't distress yourself so. This isn't a hanging matter, and I'm notgoing to bully you; I never did."
"No, never," she said, with a fresh outburst of tears. "You were alwayskind, my husband."
"I think our marriage was all a mistake," he said, good-humoredly, "butwe can't undo it. I knew you never liked me,--if you had, I mightnever--that is, things might have been different. Tell me now when thatfool, Agapit, first began to set you against me?"
"He has not set me against you, my husband; he rarely speaks of you."
"When did you first find out that I wasn't dead?" said Charlitte,persistently; and Rose, who was as wax in his hands, was soon saying,hesitatingly, "I first knew that he did not care for you when Mr. Nimmowent away."
"How did you know?"
"He broke your picture, my husband,--oh, do not make me tell what I donot wish to."
"How did he break it?" asked Charlitte, and his face darkened.
"He struck it with his hand,--but I had it mended."
"He was mad because I was keeping you from the other fellow. Then hetold you that you had better give him the mitten?"
"Yes," said Rose, sighing heavily, and sitting mute, like a prisonerawaiting sentence.
"You have not done quite right, Rose," said her husband, mildly, "notquite right. It would have been better for you to have given thatstranger the go by. He was only amusing himself. Still, I can't blameyou. You're young, and mighty fine looking, and you've kept on thestraight through your widowhood. I heard once from some sailors how youkept the young fellows off, and you always said you'd had a goodhusband. I shall never forget that you called me good, Rose, for thereare some folks that think I am pretty bad."
"Then they are evil folks," she said, tremulously; "are we not allsinners? Does not our Lord command us to forgive those who repent?"
A curious light came into Charlitte's eyes, and he put his tongue in hischeek. Then he went on, calmly. "I'm on my way from Turk's Island toSaint John, New Brunswick,--I've got a cargo of salt to unload there,and, 'pon my word, I hadn't a thought of calling here until I got up inthe Bay, working towards Petit Passage. I guess it was old habit thatmade me run for this place, and I thought I'd give you a call, and seeif you were moping to death, and wanted to go away with me. If you do,I'll be glad to have you. If not, I'll not bother you."
A deadly faintness came over Rose. "Charlitte, are you not sorry foryour sin? Ah! tell me that you repent. And will you not talk to FatherDuvair? So many quiet nights I think of you and pray that you mayunderstand that you are being led into this wickedness. That otherwoman,--she is still living?"
"What other woman? Oh, Lord, yes,--I thought that fool Agapit had hadspies on me."
Rose was so near fainting that she only half comprehended what he said.
"I wish you'd come with me," he went on, jocosely. "If you happened toworry I'd send you back to this dull little hole. You're not going toswoon, are you? Here, put your head on this," and he drew up to her asmall table on which Bidiane had been playing solitaire. "You used notto be delicate."
"I am not now," she whispered, dropping her head on her folded arms,"but I cannot hold myself up. When I saw you come, I thought it was tosay you were sorry. Now--"
"Come, brace up, Rose," he said, uneasily. "I'll sit down beside you forawhile. There's lots of time for me to repent yet," and he chuckledshortly and struck his broad chest with his fist. "I'm as strong as ahorse; there's nothing wrong with me, except a little rheumatism, andI'll outgrow that. I'm only fifty-two, and my father died at ninety.Come on, girl,--don't cry. I wish I hadn't started this talk of takingyou away. You'd be glad of it, though, if you'd go. Listen till I tellyou what a fine place New Orleans is--"
Rose did not listen to him. She still sat with her flaxen head bowed onher arms, that rested on the little table. She was a perfect picture ofsilent, yet agitated distress.
"You are not praying, are you?" asked her husband, in a disturbedmanner. "I believe you are. Come, I'll go away."
For some time there was no movement in the half prostrated figure, thenthe head moved slightly, and Charlitte caught a faint sentence, "Repent,my husband."
"Yes, I repent," he said, hastily. "Good Lord, I'll do anything. Onlycheer up and let me out of this."
The grief-stricken Rose pushed back the hair from her tear-stained faceand slowly raised her head from her arms.
It was only necessary for her to show that face to her husband. Soimpressed was it with the stamp of intense anguish of mind, of grief forhis past delinquencies of conduct, of a sorrow nobly, quietly bornethrough long years, that even he--callous, careless, andthoughtless--was profoundly moved.
For a long time he was silent. Then his lip trembled and he turned hishead aside. "'Pon my word, Rose,--I didn't think you'd fret like this.I'll do better; let me go now."
One of her hands stole with velvety clasp to his brown wrists, and whilethe gentle touch lasted he sat still, listening with an averted face tothe words whispered in his ear.
Agapit, in the meantime, was walking in the garden with Bidiane. He hadtold her all that she wished to know with regard to the recreanthusband, and in a passionate, resentful state of mind she was stormingto and fro, scarcely knowing what she said.
"It is abominable, treacherous!--and we stand idly here. Go and drivehim away, Agapit. He should not be allowed to speak to our spotlessRose. I should think that the skies would fall--and I spoke to him, thetraitor! Go, Agapit,--I wish you would knock him down."
Agapit, with an indulgent glance, stood at a little distance from her,softly murmuring, from time to time, "You are very young, Bidiane."
"Young! I am glad that I am young, so that I can feel angry. You arestolid, unfeeling. You care nothing for Rose. I shall go myself andtell that wretch to his face what I think of him."
She was actually starting, but Agapit caught her gently by the arm."Bidiane, restrain yourself," and drawing her under the friendly shadeof a solitary pine-tree that had been left when the garden was made, hesmoothed her angry cheeks and kissed her hot forehead.
"You condone his offence,--you, also, some day, will leave me for somewoman," she gasped.
"This from you to me," he said, quietly and proudly, "when you know thatwe Acadiens are proud of our virtue,--of the virtue of our womenparticularly; and if the women are pure, it is because the men are so."
"Rose cannot love that demon," exclaimed Bidiane.
"No, she does not love him, but she understands what you will understandwhen you are older,--the awful sacredness of the marriage tie. Think ofone of the sentences that she read to us last Sunday from Thomas aKempis: 'A pure heart penetrates heaven and hell.' She has been in ahell of suffering herself. I think when in it she wished her husbandwere dead. Her charity is therefore infinite towards him. Her sins ofthought are equal in her chastened mind to his sins of body."
"But you will not let her go away with him?"
"She will not wish to go, my treasure. She talks to him, and repent,repent, is, I am sure, the burden of her cry. You do not understand thatunder her gentleness is a stern resolve. She will be soft and kind, yetshe would die rather than live with Charlitte or surrender her child tohim."
"But he may wish to stay here," faltered Bidiane.
"He will not stay with her, _cherie_. She is no longer a girl, but awoman. She is not resentful, yet Charlitte has sinned deeply againsther, and she remembers,--and now I must return to her. Charlitte haslittle delicacy of feeling, and may stay too long."
"Wait a minute, Agapit,--is it her money that he is after?"
"No, little one, he is not mercenary. He would not take money from awoman. He a
lso would not give her any unless she begged him to do so. Ithink that his visit is a mere caprice that, however, if humored, woulddegenerate into a carrying away of Rose,--and now _au revoir_."
Bidiane, in her excited, overstrained condition of mind, bestowed one ofher infrequent caresses on him, and Agapit, in mingled surprise andgratification, found a pair of loving arms flung around his neck, andheard a frantic whisper: "If you ever do anything bad, I shall kill you;but you will not, for you are good."
"Thank you. If I am faithless you may kill me," and, reluctantly leavingher, he strode along the summit of the slight hill on which the housestood, until he caught sight of the tableau on the lawn.
Charlitte was just leaving his wife. His head was hanging on his breast;he looked ashamed of himself, and in haste to be gone, yet he paused andcast an occasional stealthy and regretful glance at Rose, who, with aface aglow with angelic forgiveness, seemed to be bestowing a partingbenediction on him.
The next time that he lifted his head, his small, sharp eyes caughtsight of Agapit, whereupon he immediately snatched his hand from Rose,and hastily began to descend the hill towards the river.
Rose remained standing, and silently watched him. She did not look atAgapit,--her eyes were riveted on her husband. Something within herseemed to cry out as his feet carried him down the hill to the brink ofthe inexorable stream, where the bones of so many of his countrymen lay.
"_Adieu_, my husband," she called, suddenly and pleadingly, "thou wiltnot forget."
Charlitte paused just before he reached the bridge, and, little dreamingthat his feet were never to cross its planks, he swept a glance over thepeaceful Bay, the waiting boat, and the beautiful ship. Then he turnedand waved his hand to his wife, and for one instant, they rememberedafterwards, he put a finger on his breast, where lay a crucifix thatshe had just given him.
"_Adjheu_, Rose," he called, loudly, "I will remember." At the sameminute, however, that the smile of farewell lighted up his face, an oathslipped to his lips, and he stepped back from the bridge.