Was It Right to Forgive? A Domestic Romance

“But, my dear Henry, if she does, it will not do; it really will not be prudent to leave New York till the proper time. I promise you to go with Rose wherever she goes.”

“I shall take her out of the way of temptation. When a poor, weak soul is in temptation, it is too late to reason or entreat; and Rose will not be frightened again. She must marry Mr. Van Hoosen, or else we shall return to Woodsome to-morrow. That is all about it.”

“I cannot be ready to-morrow. It is impossible to move at a moment’s notice.”

“I was at Woodsome last week, and the house is warm and comfortable. Every necessity can be procured in an hour. I will stay with Rose, and you can return and arrange for the transmission of your dresses and such other things as you wish to remove. You know how to manage well enough, Emma.”

“To overdo is always a man’s way; and I tell you in this matter, to overdo is to underdo.”

“I am sure I am right, Emma. Ask your heart, and tell me honestly if you think Rose is in danger or not?”

“I will watch her carefully.”

“Then you think she is in danger?”

“Oh, Henry! Henry! What can I say? How can I tell? I love Rose so dearly! I love her so dearly!”

“So do I love her! I am sorry that I have not looked better after our little treasure.”

“But I cannot – I cannot let her marry. I cannot give her up – and to that man!”

“If we have been recreant to our duty, Emma, and he is willing to assume our arrears, and do it for us in the future, we deserve to endure loss and obligation because we did not honor our office as parents.”

“I am sure I have never had a single thought but for my children.”

“Well, well! In the morning we shall perhaps understand things better. Trouble, like a turbid river, runs itself clear in the night.”

They talked thus for hours, but nothing further was reached. And Rose was just as wretched and restless. As they passed through the dining-room, which was under Rose’s room, they heard her slowly pacing up 158 and down the floor, though it was then long past midnight. For Rose’s conscience was still very quick, and she was quite capable of estimating the sin and folly of her afternoon’s escapade, so that the tide of self-reproach went on rising, until she could not struggle against it. A disgust of all things, but especially of herself, darkened both the past and the future; and she felt the wretchedness of a combat where defeat had followed defeat, until her thoughts were all remorse. Those few hours of the past afternoon – dull enough while she possessed them – returned to her memory only to make her feel how much more they might have given. She had disappointed and deceived her mother to obtain them, and what had they brought her? Nothing but an intolerable shame and remorse.

Spiritually, she felt a prostration worse than death. She told herself that she had prayed, that she had asked God to help her, and that he had not done so. If God had so willed, it need not have been thus with her. But alas! accusing God brought her no comfort; her conscience continually reminded her of what she had done, and what she had left undone – of her selfishness – her lost time – her idle languors – her hypocrisy – her rebellion against God, – all these sins she realized, and she hated herself for them.

Still, this very activity of despair was hopeful; for it is not despair, but the sombre inertia of despondency, that is fatal to improvement. It was the happiest thing in the world for Rose that she was capable of being unhappy. For when she met with herself thus, she felt the need of meeting with God. If she had suffered less, she might have been content to leave God in heaven; but this utter sense of misery and weakness made her at last fall humbly before “the Father 159 which is in heaven,” and murmur, “Have mercy upon me!” And with that prayer, she slept.

Very early in the morning Antony called on Mr. Filmer. But there was no need to apologize for the hour. Mr. Filmer was possessed by the necessity for rapid action, and he welcomed Antony the more warmly for his promptitude.

“I am a lover, Mr. Filmer,” said Antony, “and you know lovers run ahead of the clock. I love Miss Filmer most sincerely, and I desire to make her my wife. Of course, this desire implies the means to support her in the position to which she has been accustomed, and I have therefore brought you this schedule of my income to examine.”

Mr. Filmer lifted the paper and read its contents with the caution and respect the circumstances warranted. He laid it down with an air of pleasure and astonishment. “This is an extraordinary record of property for so young a man as you are, Mr. Van Hoosen.”

“I have had extraordinary good fortune, sir. As you see, my share in the hotel, of itself, insures Miss Filmer’s adequate support; and I am desirous to make over to her absolutely, for her own use in any way she wishes, the income from the Aladdin Reef mine. It is now worth from eight to ten thousand dollars yearly. I only ask that our marriage may not be delayed, as I desire to go to Europe early in April; and if I could take Rose with me, I should count myself the most fortunate man in the world.”

“You have my full consent to all you desire, Mr. Van Hoosen. Perhaps I ought to say something about Rose. Do you know my daughter well enough to make her your wife? She is not without faults, sir.”

“Neither am I without faults, Mr. Filmer. I think perhaps those who have something to forgive may love the best. If Rose will take me with my faults, I shall be most favored and fortunate.”

“Then, Mr. Van Hoosen, go and ask her.”

“Sir, I will call this afternoon for her answer. It may be that in the interim you can say a word in my favor; and I must not lose a single aid to success. I had hoped to have won her without calling in the question of my wealth, but there are now reasons which seem to make delay inadvisable. Therefore, I must gain all I can from any circumstance.”

“I shall say everything in your favor that is possible, sir; but at the last, you know, it is Rose that must decide.”

Still Mr. Filmer was well aware that Antony had acted with great discrimination. No one is insensible to the power of wealth and all that wealth can give, and Antony’s fortune was sufficiently large to command respect. When Mrs. Filmer followed the suitor, she found her husband walking excitedly about the room.

“Do you know, Emma,” he said, “that Rose has the opportunity to make a stupendously fortunate marriage? The man is worth a couple of millions, and his property is of that kind that grows while he sleeps and plays. He owns half of one of the largest hotels in this country, ranches and cattle, and a good deal of excellent mining stock. He has real estate in most of the growing towns on the Pacific coast, and a lot of property in San Francisco. Why, the man actually proposes to settle about ten thousand dollars yearly on Rose, to simply do as she likes with. I am amazed! I am grateful beyond measure!”

“The idea! Who could have imagined that man owning anything of consequence? And yet, he always had that air of sublime indifference which rests itself upon a good bank account. I do hope Rose will be reasonable.”

“He wishes to marry immediately, for he desires to take Rose to Europe early in April, for a year’s travel. The prospect for the dear girl is all we could desire – and such a good, honorable, strong man, Emma! He will be Rose’s salvation. I am sure he is a lover that even her good angel would approve.”

“We shall see. Rose will need some management. She is often very cross in the morning, and disposed to dislike every one.”

This morning, however, Rose was in her sweetest and most obliging mood. Something of the night’s struggle yet lingered in her subdued and conciliating manner; and Mrs. Filmer fortunately chose the subject most suitable for the condition – her daughter’s weary look, and the necessity for some rest. “Your father was talking seriously about going back to Woodsome,” she said. “I never saw him more determined about anything.”

“That would be so ridiculous! You never would do such a thing, mamma, not for two or even three months?”

“He spoke of going in a day or two. He finds the city’s noise and exigencies very trying. But you need not go, unless you desire.”

“And pray, who would chaperon me?”

“Perhaps Miss Alida Van Hoosen.”

“Oh, mamma! You know she has Yanna with her; and besides, their way of living is unutterably dull and stupid – lectures and concerts, and such 162 things. I could not endure it, and they could not endure me.”

“Your father had an offer for your hand this morning; but, of course, you will refuse it.”

“Of course I shall if the offer came from Antony Van Hoosen, as I suspect it does.”

“The man really thought that his enormous wealth would count with you; for he must have known it could not affect your father.”

“His enormous wealth! Pray, when did Antony become enormously wealthy?”

“He must have been rich for some time. Your father says he brought him the evidences of millions – fancy it, Rose, of millions! And he offered to settle a large yearly income on you, just to do as you please with.”

“He did?”

“Yes.”

“Hum – m – m!”

“Your father was quite firm with him. He said the decision was yours entirely, and that he would have to take your ‘yes’ or ‘no’ in the matter.”

“I should think so! The idea of going to father at all!”

“As for that, it was right to show your father his position. Money is such a wonderful thing! I am sure I wish I had some of his millions! For, do you know, Rose, Harry’s rapid life lately has been a dreadful thing for us. I relied upon Harry doing as much as he always has done, but my hopes have all been vain. He talks about the depression of business; but, my dear, it is the expansion in his own life. Club after club, and all of them cost a living. And then he has other expenses, which I do not care to 163 name to you. I think Harry has been cruelly forgetful of us. Just look at that pile of bills on my table. They make me sick.”

“Why do you not carry them to papa?”

“They are bills for costumes and such things. Your father would take a fit over them. Harry has always helped me out of such dilemmas before. But he has been running an awful rig this winter.”

“It would have been better if he had married Yanna.”

“Do not name the girl. I wish I had never seen her. And now, her brother wanting to marry you! It is too absurd!”

“I – do – not – know – about – that. You say millions!”

“Millions! That is what your father told me, and he saw the vouchers for them. People like the Van Hoosens, with all that money! and we on the verge of bankruptcy!”

“Most of the Van Hoosens are rich. Look at Miss Alida. Father says no one can keep an acre of land for her. Where is Antony’s property?”

“It is in San Francisco, chiefly. My dear, he owns half an hotel, and has nothing to do but sit still in New York, or Paris, or anywhere, and get the results sent to him. And he has property in mines, and cattle, and land, and lots of real estate, all down the Pacific coast. The man is vulgarly rich.”

“Antony is not vulgar, mamma. One ought to give even the devil his due. I have often noticed him in a room, and he wears a dress suit as well as any one. Besides, you know, he really does belong to a very good old family.”

“Well, he is going to Paris, London, Vienna, St. Petersburg, Rome, and I know not where else; so he 164 will doubtless acquire some foreign polish. He is an old friend of the California grand dame who queens it over the American colony in Paris, so he is sure to be a great favorite at the French court. Oh, it takes Europeans to appreciate California millionaires.”

Rose was silent for a long time, and Mrs. Filmer took out her accounts, and laid a file of bills at her side, and then began to add up her check book, and to look very grave and hopeless over it.

“I do not wonder your father talks of Woodsome,” she said, “and I am sure we have had very few entertainments, and have been as economical as possible; yet I do believe my bank account is overdrawn. Can you remember the amount of your last check, Rose?”

“No, I cannot, mamma. Millions are a great deal of money.”

“I wish we had a quarter of only one million. We should be happy, and free from care.”

“Why does Antony want to be engaged when he is going away for a year? A girl would not wait that long for him, unless she were awfully in love – or had no other offer.”

“Well, Rose, it is funny, and presumptuous, and impatient, and thoroughly manlike, but this lover of yours wants to be married at once and take you to Europe with him. I suppose he thinks you will make a very lovely bride, and so add to his éclat.”

“Nothing as selfish as that ever entered Antony’s head, I am sure. He is not mean or conceited; he is just troublesome and interfering. I suppose I would make a lovely bride!”

“An exquisite one.”

“Some people think brides ought not to wear diamonds.”

“Diamonds and white satin would be the proper thing for you. I dare say you could outshine any bride that ever knelt in Grace Church, if you wished to do so; but there are lots of things that go to a wedding besides white satin and diamonds. I must go and talk with Madame Celeste about her bill. It is shameful! It is simply outrageous! Will you drive with me? You were saying you wanted a new pair of dancing shoes. We can get them if they are really necessary; if not, Rose, I must ask you to do without them; our shoe bill is already frightening me.”

“I do need them, mamma; but I shall not go out this morning; I have a slight headache, and I want to think a little.”

Mrs. Filmer then rose in a hurried, preoccupied manner, but at the door she turned, and with her eyes still on her shopping list said, “Do not wait lunch for me. I may go into Cousin Martha’s for lunch. I shall be near her house; and, Rose, I would not read much; your eyes look like one of your bad headaches.”

“Mamma cares for nothing but the house and the bills!” thought Rose, as the parlor door closed upon her. “One would imagine such an offer as Antony’s was worth a little talking about. But she always did dislike Antony – from the first – and I am sure I do not know why, unless because he is Yanna’s brother. Well, Yanna is tiresome; that is the truth! No wonder mamma does not like her. And what Harry sees in such a cold, stately, pious girl, I cannot understand! I think I will go and make myself look a little pretty. One likes to leave a fine impression, even on a lover that is to be refused. But shall I say ‘No’ to Antony? To have millions of money! and diamonds to my heart’s content! and the finest wedding of the 166 season! and a year’s European travel! and how the Greyson, and the Helper, and the Manton girls will envy me! and lots of others – and Dick! I do not care a cent for Dick! he sneaked away like a dog when Antony spoke to me. I hate Dick! I shall never notice him again. He will doubtless get an invitation to my wedding from some one, and if he feels heart-sick, it will serve him right.”

To this soliloquy she slowly mounted the stairs to her room, and there she stood a few minutes, considering. The result of this reflection was the withdrawal from her drawers of an exquisite gown of pale gray cashmere, and a little tippet of Delhi mull and Valenciennes lace. The ineffable softness and repose of this combination pleased her. “I look my sweetest in this gown,” she thought, “and Antony has never seen it; but it will suit him, I know.”

Indeed, the dress affected Antony like a contrition and a confession. She looked, oh! she looked everything he could desire or imagine! And as Rose was always sensibly affected by the dress she wore, she naturally toned herself to her lovely and gentle appearance. The dress was in every way a fortunate one. It put Rose in the proper mood, and it gave Antony the proper courage. The one advantage reacted on the other; and Rose suffered her heart and her best instincts to lead her. For Antony brought to this question all the force of his character; he pleaded eloquently, with love in his eyes and on his tongue; nor did he neglect such material advantages as his wealth and his ability to grant her every one of her wishes gave him. He was perhaps disappointed that they had so much influence; but he was a patient, self-relying man, and he told himself that he must be grateful 167 for Rose as she was, and trust to the future for the Rose that he foresaw as possible.

So he took things on their present level, and talked so enthusiastically that Rose caught the mood from him, and their happy faces, leaning towards each other, shone with the thought of the joy before them. For Antony’s desire – like all strong hopes – had fulfilled itself by its own energy. His love found its way to his face and to his gestures, made him expressive and impressive, and gave him that quality few can resist, which we call “presence.”

So they knew not how time went, until Mrs. Filmer came home, weary and cold and heart-anxious from a round of profitless shopping and visits. The first glimpse of the lovers was joyfully reassuring. She gave a little gasp of relief, and had some difficulty to preserve her usual equanimity. Indeed, she could not do so, when Antony, holding Rose’s hand, came to her and begged a little love for himself and a blessing on her daughter’s love for him. She was compelled to sit down and cry a little, but she said her tears were tears of happiness; and she was very gentle, and lovable, and sympathetic.

Then they went together to Mr. Filmer’s study. But this day he was neither reading nor writing; he was simply waiting the logic of events. And oh, how welcome were the intruders! for when the load fell from his heart, he knew by the release how heavy it had been. He rose and met them half-way; he kissed his daughter and his wife, and shook hands with Antony; and then, while the tears were in his eyes, and the smile on his lips, he said, with a little dramatic gesture:

“Still in immortal youth, Arcadia smiles!”

CHAPTER VII

Rose’s happiness was now running at full tide, and she was carried with it, amid the sympathies of those who loved her and the congratulations of all her acquaintances. Mr. Filmer abandoned his great book until after the marriage. Harry took pride in introducing his future brother-in-law to his best club acquaintances, and then was agreeably surprised to find Antony’s financial standing well known to the magnates of the money world. Mrs. Filmer spoke with well controlled elation of their satisfaction in the intended marriage, of the bridegroom’s fine character and great wealth, and of the old Dutch ancestry which he shared with Miss Alida and the eminent Van Hoosen family.

On Antony’s side, the marriage gave equal satisfaction. Peter had a pleasant memory of the bright girl; and Adriana thought far more of Rose’s good points than of her evil ones. With Miss Alida, she planned all kinds of sweet surprises for the bride elect; and busied herself continually concerning the details of the ceremony and the preparations for it. And without a word to each other on the subject, there appeared to be a tacit agreement among all who loved Rose that she was not to be left to herself; and that all temptation must be kept out of her path. This was an easy thing to do under the circumstances; there was so much shopping to attend to; and there were the wonderful 169 wedding and travelling costumes to prepare, and the dresses of the eight maids to be decided on, and all the exact paraphernalia of a fashionable wedding to accomplish. Rose was wanted everywhere. She had suddenly become the most important person in her little world. Her tastes and inclinations settled all disputed points; and perpetual offerings, of many kinds, were made to her.

Indeed, each day brought her some token of remembrance or congratulation from relatives and acquaintances; and Antony’s gifts realized all of even Rose’s exacting ideas concerning the proper evidences of love. Certainly, if jewels could typify affection, Antony’s must have been very great; for when at length the bridal satin and lace were assumed, her favorite gems fastened its veil, and glittered in her ears, and sparkled round her throat, and clasped her snowy belt. There was a crowded church to witness the wedding, and the atmosphere was sensitive with interest and pleasure, with the odors of flowers, and the bright reverberations of joyful music. Antony, also, on this occasion, was singularly handsome – as a man ought to be on his wedding day; he walked as if he were all spirit, and too happy for words. And yet many remarked his emphatic speech in the bridal ceremony; his serious assumption of all it demanded; and the proud tenderness with which at its close he turned to Rose and said, “My wife!”

So the affair was handsomely and happily over, and Peter Van Hoosen – who stood by his son’s side – admitted that it was “a very pretty spectacle.” And yet, even while it was in progress, his memory had gone back with a graver pleasure to his own marriage with Antony’s mother. He remembered her as 170 young and as fair as Adriana, standing in her gown of white muslin, with no ornaments but the white roses in her hair and the pretty Bible in her hand. Loving and proud as Antony was that day, he had been equally so; and the bare kirk, and the solemn charge of the minister, and the kindly smiles of the friends who stood by them, seemed even at this hour just the kind of marriage he would prefer, if he were a young man again with Antony’s mother beside him.

There was a grand wedding breakfast, at which Miss Alida took a prominent part; and then the young couple went off to sea together; and the company sighed and departed; and when the sun set, the bridal day was quite over. Mr. and Mrs. Filmer sat talking, a little sad, and yet gratefully satisfied. Harry was with Miss Alida and Adriana, and disposed to talk of his own marriage. Nobody wanted dinner; they had a cup of tea by the parlor fire, and as they were drinking it and talking over the events of the day, Professor Snowdon came in.

“Well, well!” he cried, rubbing his hands gleefully, “the great performance is over; and it is evident the modern bride and bridegroom profit by the old stage direction: ‘Flourish of trumpets! Alarum! Exeunt!’” Then he looked at Peter, who was Miss Alida’s guest for the night, and Adriana said: “This is my father, Professor.”

“I am glad to see you, sir. What were you talking of? Do not let me interrupt the conversation.”

“I was talking, as old men will talk, of their youth, and of my own marriage in the old Dutch kirk at Woodsome.”

“I thought so. I meet many old men, and all of them, no matter how successful their later years have 171 been, like best of all to talk of their life in childhood and early youth upon some farm; to recall the

‘ – whistling boys and lowing cows,And earthy sounds of cleaving ploughs;’

or the

‘Youthful love and maidens gay,And bliss that found its wedding day,’

and when they do so, a different look comes into their faces, and their laugh grows young again – that is the strange thing. And I myself, I too, remember love in my sweet youth.”

“If any one has ever loved,” said Peter, “he cannot forget. Nothing goes to heaven but love.”

“Is it not heaven? We have a way of inferring that heaven is far off and walled in, but really all eternal things are so very near to us that a single step, a sudden ‘accident’ brings the disembodied spirit into an immediate recognition of them.”

“Then,” said Harry, clasping Adriana’s hand, “let us live now, for time is short.”

“No, sir,” answered the Professor, promptly, “man has forever.”

“If in spiritual things, we could only see with our eyes and hear with our ears!” said Miss Alida.

“And if so, madame, what grace would there be in believing?”

“Who does believe?” asked Harry. “The great German philosopher, Frederick Gotfield, says, all religions are alike dead, and there is no faith left in the heart of man; no, nor yet capacity for faith.”

“Well, Mr. Filmer, the disciple is not above his master. If you sit at the feet of Mr. Frederick 172 Gotfield, you cannot rise above his doubts and scoffing.”

“Harry does not sit at the feet of any such master, sir,” explained Adriana.

“I am glad of it; for Mr. Gotfield is not in search of salvation; his way leads – but we will not talk of him. Oh, for a generation perplexed with no vague fears, worn with no infinite yearnings, perfectly happy and healthy, and aiming at the noblest ends! How good it would be!”