As General Harrington was dining at
his club that day, a note was sent up to him; and,
as his meal had reached the last stage of a luxurious
dessert, he quietly broke open the envelope, and read:
“James Harrington has found
means to see Lina, and she has told
him everything. I shall await you here during
the next hour.
ZILLAH.”
The General crushed this note slowly
in his hand, a quiet smile stole over his face, and
sipping his wine with great complacency, he murmured:
“Well? but the life deeds are
safe, what is his anger to me?”
But, directly a less pleasant thought
forced itself on his mind; he remembered that the
deeds he exulted over, were only binding so long as
Mabel Harrington remained contentedly beneath his roof.
What if James should take advantage of the knowledge
obtained from Lina, as a counterbalancing power against
him? What if Mabel should at once use that knowledge
to protect herself, and by suing out a divorce, cast
all the shame he had threatened to heap upon her,
back upon his own head? Certainly, James Harrington
would not fail to inform her of the powers of retaliation
that lay within her grasp; perhaps even now she knew
everything.
He started up from the table, calling
for his furred paletot, and gave orders that his sleigh
and horses should be brought round. The well-bred
waiters, whose duty it was to be surprised at nothing,
were evidently astonished at these signs of agitation
in the most urbane and reposeful visitor at the club-rooms.
With a hurried step he descended to the street, stepped
into his sleigh, buried himself to the chin in furs,
and the driver dashed off with a ringing of bells
and a flourish of the whip around his horses’
ears, that made them dance like Russian leaders.
The day was growing dusky, and General
Harrington urged the driver on, for he was eager to
reach home and have an interview with his wife, before
the younger Harrington could reveal his secret.
Trusting much to Mabel’s noble powers of forgiveness,
and more to the allurements of his own eloquence,
which should so word his contrition that it would be
sure to touch a nature like hers, he was only anxious
to forestall her anger by what would appear to be
a frank confession of his fault; thus, by throwing
himself upon her mercy, and challenging the generosity
which had never yet failed him, he hoped to retain
control of the wealth which had become doubly important
from the lavish expenditure of the last few weeks.
Thus, full of anxiety and terror regarding
a revelation that James Harrington would have died
rather than make to Mabel, the old gentleman dashed
on toward home, eager to be in advance with his disgraceful
news.
The house was very still when he entered
it; faint lights broke through the library windows
and from the balcony in front of Mabel’s boudoir,
but the rest of the house was dark and quiet as death.
General Harrington had left his sleigh at the stables,
which were some distance from the house thus
the noise of his arrival was lost on the inmates;
and, as he let himself in at the front door with a
latch-key, no one was aware of his presence.
Flinging off his wrappers in the hall,
he looked into the usual sitting-room to assure himself
that it was empty; then going to his own room long
enough to change his boots for a pair of furred slippers,
he went at once to Mabel’s boudoir. A fire
burned dimly on the hearth, and over the table hung
a small alabaster lamp, that seemed full of imprisoned
moonlight, but was not brilliant enough to subdue the
quiet shadows that lay like a mist all around the
room. Mabel was not there, and the General sought
for her in the bed-chamber adjoining, but all was
still; the faint light that stole in from the alabaster
lamp, revealed a snowy night-robe laid upon the bed,
and everything prepared for rest, but the lady was
absent.
“Well, well,” muttered
the old gentleman, drawing Mabel’s easy-chair
to the hearth, and warming his hands by the pleasant
fire, “she cannot be gone far, and, at any rate,
my hopeful step-son will find himself too late for
an interview to-night; so I will quietly await her
here. What a dreamy place it is, though; I did
not think that she possessed so much of the philosophy
of life; but the strangeness reminds me that I have
been rather too negligent of late. No matter,
she will only be the more ready to welcome me; for,
with all her romance and journalizing, the woman loves
me: I was sure of that, even while pushing the
hard bargain with her cavalier. Faith,”
he continued, rubbing his velvety palms together,
and leaning toward the fire, “I am glad she did
not happen to be present! A little warmth and
calm thought will do everything towards preparing
me for the interview.”
With these thoughts running through
his mind, the old man for he was old, spite
of appearances began to feel the effects
of a long ride in the cold. The bland warmth
of the fire overcame him with luxurious drowsiness,
and he would have dropped to sleep in his chair, but
that it afforded no easy rest for his head, which
fell forward, whenever he sank into a doze, with a
jerk that awoke him very unpleasantly.
“I wonder Mrs. Harrington does
not select more comfortable chairs for her room,”
he muttered, looking around uneasily for something
more commodious to rest in. “I will call
at King’s to-morrow, and order one of his latest
inventions a Voltaire or Sleepy Hollow;
no wonder she wanders off for better accommodation.
The fire is down in my library, so I must wait for
her here. Let me see if there is anything more
promising in the next room.”
He went into the sleeping chamber
as he spoke, and threw himself upon a couch near the
window; but it was so remote from the fire that he
soon grew cold, and started up again. Removing
Mabel’s night robe from the bed, he flung himself
upon it, gathering the counterpane over him, and burying
his head in the frilled pillows.
“She cannot come in without
waking me, that is certain,” he murmured, dreamily;
“so this is the best place to wait in. I
did not think the cold could have chilled me through
all those furs. Ah! this is comfortable; I can
wait for madam with patience now, with, wi”
Spite of his anxiety, the old gentleman
dropped off to sleep here, with a luxurious sense
of comfort. That was a quiet and profound sleep,
notwithstanding the old man had many sins unrepented
of.