Darkness and Daylight by Mary J. Holmes (best ereader for manga .txt) đ
- Author: Mary J. Holmes
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âThey are letting the water on,â she cried, âLook, Richard! do look!â and she grasped his hand, while he said to her mournfully,
âHas Birdie forgotten that I am blind, and helpless, and oldâthat she must lead me as a child?â
There was a touching pathos in his voice which went straight to Edithâs heart, and forgetting the rainbow, she eat down beside him, still keeping his hand in hers, and asked what was the matter? She knew he was unusually disturbed, for seldom had she seen upon his face a look of so great disquiet. Suddenly as she remembered his unwillingness to come there alone, it flashed upon her that it might arise from an aversion to seem so dependent upon a weak girl in the presence of curious strangers. With Victor he did not mind it, but with her it might be different, and she asked if it were not so.
âHardly that, darling; hardly that;â and the sightless eyes drooped as if heavy with unshed tears. âEdith,â and he pressed the warm hand he held, âours will be an unnatural alliance. I needed only to mingle with the world to find it so. People wonder at your choiceâwonder that one so young as you should choose a battered, blasted tree like me round which to twine the tendrils of your green, fresh life.â
âWhat have you heard?â Edith asked, half bitterly, for since their engagement was known at the hotel, she had more than once suspected the truth of what he said to her. The world did not approve, but she would not tell Richard that she knew it, and she asked again what he had heard.
âThe ear of the blind is quick,â he replied; âand as I sat waiting in the stage this morning I heard myself denounced as a âblind old Hunks,â a selfish dog, who had won the handsomest girl in the country. Then, as we were descending to this ravine you remember we stopped at the foot of some stairs while you removed a brier from your dress, and from a group near by I heard the whispered words, âThere they comeâthe old blind man, who bought his ward with money and gratitude. âTwas a horrid sacrifice! Look how beautiful she is!â Darling, I liked to hear you praised, but did not like the rest. It makes me feel as if I were dragging you to the altar against your will. And what is worse than all, the verdict of the people here is the verdict of the world. Edith, you donât want me. You cannot wish to call one husband whose dependence upon you will always make you blush for your choice. It was gratitude alone which prompted your decision. Confess that it was, and I give you back your troth. You need not be the old blind manâs wife.â
For an instant Edithâs heart leaped up, and the sun spots dancing on the leaves were brighter than she had ever seen them, but the feeling passed away, and laying both her hands reverently in Richardâs, she said,
âI will be your wife. I care nothing for the world, and we wonât mingle in it any more to cause remarks. Weâll stay at Collingwood, where people know us best. Letâs go home to-morrow. Iâm tired of this hateful place. Will you go?â
Ere Richard could answer, Grace Atherton was heard exclaiming,
âAh, here you are, Iâve hunted everywhere. Mr. Russell,â and she turned to the dark man at her side, âthis is Mr. HarringtonâMiss HastingsâMr. Russell, from Tallahassee.â Edith did not at first think that Tallahassee was in Florida, not many miles from Sunnybank, and she bowed to the gentleman as to any stranger, while Grace, who had just arrived in another omnibus, explained to her that Mr. Russell was a slight acquaintance of Arthurâs; that the latter being in town, and accidentally hearing that he was coming North, had intrusted him with some business matters, which would require his visiting Grassy Springâhad given him a letter of introduction to herself, said letter containing a note for Edithâthat Mr. Russell had been to Shannondale, and ascertaining their whereabouts, had followed them, reaching the Mountain House in the morning stage.
âHe can spend but one day here,â she added, in conclusion, âand wishing him to see as much as possible of our northern grandeur I brought him at once to the Falls. Here is your note,â and tossing it into Edithâs lap she moved away.
A note from Arthur! How Edith trembled as she held it in her hand, and with a quick, furtive glance at sightless eyes beside her, she raised the dainty missive to her lips, feeling a reproachful pang as she reflected that she was breaking her vow to Richard. Why had Arthur written to herâshe asked herself this question many times, while Richard, too, asked,
âWhat news from Florida?â ere she broke the seal and read, not words of changeless and dark despair, but words of entreaty that for the sake of Nina, sick, dying Nina, she would come at once to Florida, for so the crazy girl had willed it, pleading with them the livelong day to send for Miggie, precious Miggie, with the bright, black eyes, which looked her into subjection, and the soft hands which drove the ugly pain away.
âAll the summer,â Arthur wrote, âshe has been failing. The heat seems to oppress her, and several times Iâve been on the point of returning with her to the North, thinking I made a mistake in bringing her here, but she refuses to leave Sunnybank. Old sights and familiar places have a soothing effect upon her, and she is more as she used to be before the great calamity fell upon her. Her disease is consumption, hereditary like her insanity, and as her physical powers diminish her mental faculties seem to increase. The past is not wholly a blank to her now; she remembers distinctly much that has gone by, but of nothing does she talk so constantly as of Miggie, asking every hour if Iâve sent for youâ how long before youâll come; and if youâll stay until sheâs dead. I think your coming will prolong her life; and you will never regret it, I am sure. Mr. Russell will be your escort, as he will return in three weeks.â
To this note two postscripts were appendedâthe first in a girlish, uneven hand, was redolent of the boy Arthurâs âFlorida rose.â
âMiggie, precious Miggieâcome to Sunnybank; come to Nina. She is waiting for you. She wants you hereâwants to lay her poor, empty head, where the bad pain used to be, on your soft, nice bosomâto shut her eyes and know it is your breath she feelsâyour sweet, fragrant breath, and not Arthurâs, brim full of cigar smoke. Do come, Miggie, wonât you? Thereâs a heap of things I want to fix before I die, and I am dying, Miggie. I see it in my hands, so poor and thin, not one bit like they used to be, and I see it, too, in Arthurâs actions. Dear Arthur boy! He is so good to meâ carries me every morning to the window, and holds me in his lap while I look out into the garden where we used to play, you and I. I think it was you, but my brain gets so twisted, and I know the real Miggie is out under the magnolias, for it says so on the stone, but I canât help thinking you are she. Arthur has a new name for me, a real nice name, too. He took it from a book, he saysâabout just such a wee little girl as I am. âChild-wife,â thatâs what he calls me, and he strokes my hair so nice. Iâm loving Arthur a heap, Miggie. It seems just as if he was my mother, and the name âChild-wifeâ makes little bits of waves run all over me. Heâs a good boy, and God will pay him by and by for what heâs been to me. Some folks here call me Mrs. St. Claire. Why do they? Sometimes I remember something about somebody somewhere, more than a hundred years ago, but just as I think Iâve got hold of it right, it goes away. I lose it entirely, and my head is so snarled up. Come and unsnarl it, wont you? Nina is sick, Nina is dying, Nina is crazy. You must come.â
The second postscript showed a bolder, firmer hand, and Edith read,
âI, too, echo Ninaâs words, âCome, Miggie, come.â Nina wants you, and IâHeaven only knows how much I want youâbut, Edith, were you in verity Richardâs wife, you could not be more sacred to me than you are as his betrothed, and I promise solemnly that I will not seek to influence your decision. The time is surely coming when I shall be alone; no gentle Nina, sweet âChild-wifeâ clinging to me. She will be gone, and her Arthur boy, as she calls me, free to love whomsoever he will. But this shall make no difference. I have given you to Richard. I will not wrong the blind man. Heaven bless you both and bring you to us.â
The sun shone just as brightly in the summer skyâthe Kauterskill fell as softly into the deep ravineâthe shouts of the tourists were just us gayâthe flecks of sunshine on the grass danced just as merrily, but Edith did not heed them. Her thoughts were riveted upon the lines she had read, and her heart throbbed with an unutterable desire to respond at once to that pleading callâto take to herself wings and fly awayâaway over mountain and valley, river and rill, to the fair land of flowers where Nina was, and where too was Arthur. As she read, she uttered no sound, but when at last Richard said to her,
âWhat is it, Birdie? Have you heard bad news?â her tears flowed at once, and leaning her head upon his shoulder, she answered,
âNina is dyingâdear little, bright-haired Nina. She has sent for me. She wants me to come so much. May I, Richard? May I go to Nina?â
âRead me the letter,â was Richardâs reply, his voice unusually low and sad.
Edith could not read the whole. Arthurâs postscript must be omitted, as well as a portion of Ninaâs, but she did the best she could, breaking down entirely when she reached the point where Nina spoke of her Arthur boyâs goodness in carrying her to the window.
Richard, too, was much affected, and his voice trembled as he said, âSt. Claire is a noble fellow. I always felt strangely drawn toward him. Isnât there something between him and Ninaâsomething more than mere guardianship?â
âThey were engaged before she was crazy,â returned Edith, while Richard sighed, âpoor boy, poor boy! It must be worse than death. His darkness is greater than mine.â
Then his thoughts came back to Edithâs question, âMay I go to Nina?â and his first feeling was that she
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