MRS ROSSITER LAMAR.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume IX, Issue 17, 23 April 1892, Page 432

MRS ROSSITER LAMAR.

By Caroline Atwater Mason, Author of ‘A Daughter of Dune ' etc., etc. oNORA WHITNEY lived with her brotherin-t-zLsd*- “ was he who ha< * *i> ort ‘ ene '* her name 10 ‘ Honor-' To even her closest friends she was known only by her contraction which, aKji' however, fitted her character most admirably. We ail know that a brother in law is an ex_cellent thing, and James Carnochan had excellent points. He was generous of money, honest, sensible : fond of his wife. Honor's younger sister, especially so of himself, and moderately fond of his wife s sister. He bad not reached the age of thirty-five without firm and well-defined opinions. His respect for these opinions was even firmer than the opinions themselves. He lacked perhaps in fineness of perception and delicacy of expression, but never in emphasis or directness. To call a spade a spade was to him the highest intellectual achievement, and he prided himself on achieving much in this line. Mr Carnochan’s ideas of women were, it must be confessed, <'riental in Mr Ibsen’s sense. He petted his wife, and poked fun. after his own fashion, at his wife's sister.

Honor lived with the Carnochans. A cardinal point, in his opinion regarding women, was that marriage was the end and aim of their existence. Honor was nearly twenty-six years old and unmarried. She was, in the eyes of her brother-in-law. an ‘old maid. Her cArmces were growing less from year to year, according to his ideas, and it was altogether likely that she would be left for life on bis hands. She was not to teach —that he would not allow ; he had money enough to support her, and never objected to handing her out five or ten pounds when she needed it. She did not expect him to keep her in sealskin and sable as he did his wife. No : Honor must not teach, neither must she go elsewhere to live—that would make Delia, his wife, miserable, and Delia must not be made miserable under any consideration. Accordingly, Honor had her home in the big brick house on the main street of Milldale. She ha 1 her own room, her place at the handsome table, her seat in the carriage behind the stylish horses, and her own particular and private tribulations. Of these she did not speak. But when James Camochan felt moved, as not infrequently happened, to call an old maid, an old maid, and to express his sympathy for the unhappy beings who had not succeedei in securing what Delia' had—a husband to adore an Ibe adored by—at these times Honor would show signs of distress. Her cheeks would flush, and a certain hardness would come into her eyes to be softened only by hit tears when alone in her own room. ‘James, dear,' Delia would say on these occasions, when Honor had left them ; ‘ I almost think sister doesn't quite like those things you say about old maids and all that.' ‘ Maybe she doesn t, maybe she doesn't ’ But I must say what I think : and it's a good thing for Honor to know how men feel about these matters. It may have its effect. And it did. For it was hard upon one of these conversations Honor made a memorable call upon Mrs Frank Arnold. She tied on her little grey bonnet, and buttoned her gloves, with her eyes smarting with nnshed tears, and an unspeakable soreness of spirit, and betook herself to the charmingly pretty yellow, brick cottage on Laurel Terrace. Not that Mrs Arnold was Honor's most intimate or cherished friend : she had none in Mdldale. though many elsewhere. It was a sudden impulse which led her there that afternoon : a vagne feeling that Mrs Arnold’s perfect manner and quiet voice would be a rest after James Carnochan's rude insistence. When Honor entered the drawing room she found Mrs Arnold engaged in bidding a complex and protracted farewell to an earlier caller, one of Milldale’s literary ladies, Miss Osborne. Honor understood perfectly that it was Miss Osborne who prolonged the leave taking, not Mrs

Arnold, and yet the hostess wore a winning smile and an air of marked attentiveness. Miss < rsborne laughed a great deal and fluttered even more than she laughed. She underscored every fifth word when she wrote, and every third one when she spoke. ‘ Oh ! did you see that wonderful brother of yours while you were away, Mrs Arnold ? she was saying now, as she rose to leave, and Honor sat turning over the leaves of • Thackeray's Letters ’ on a table beside her. • Yes ; I spent two days in Du abridge.' • And is he just as wonderful as rr-’r ' Oh, Mrs Arnold, I really have the greatest admiration for him —fairly heroworship, don’t you know ? He is to me the typical scholar. Is it so, that he dreams in Sanskirt, and thinks in—oh ! what is it ?— Syro Phoenician, or some other archaic tongue?’ Mrs Arnold quietly disclaimed such practices on her brother's part. ‘ Poor man !' I this was very nearly final •. ‘ I suppose he is perfectly inconsolable. I always heard be was so devoted to Mrs Lamar. Such natures feel so deeply I Mrs Arnold, soon after this, re entered the room, lifted Honor’s chin between her slender, white hands and kissed her forehead. • Child,' she said, gently, ‘ it rests me to look at yon.' They talked for a little of various things, and then Mrs Arnold said—- • < >h. Honor, I do want to talk with you abont my brother ! knew how constantly you have been in my mind of late you would understand how glad I am to see you.’ A faint colour ro e in Honor's cheeks. ‘lt is so pitiful there at Dunbridge, dear, you cannot think. Rossiter is lonely, and the house is desolate : and the children —it would break your heart to see them so pallid and comfortless, some way. You cannot tell exactly what is the trouble. They are looked after, of course, but you know children do not thrive with only a man and servants to care for them. Honor murmured assent. ‘ I do not think that Rossiter is grieving bitterly. Truly, my dear, Flora was a sweet little woman and he was devoted to her, but she was in no sense a companion to him,

and he misses the care of her more than anything else. I fancy. She was always an invalid after Gwendolen was born". That was almost three years ago. She lived, you know, a year and a half after that.’ ‘Yes, I know.' ‘ Honor,’ Mrs Arnold spoke very low and with evident agitation. ‘ I wish I dared to tell you the desire of my heart. Guess it. Honor ; it is easier than for me to say it. Honor's face had become strangely white. The room grew dim for a minute to her, but she still heard Mrs Arnold's low voice. Now it was saying—- • For he thinks of you, my child ! he remembers you and speaks of you as he does of no other woman Oh, Honor, my poor brother could not make you a “ braw wooer —it would not be his way. You know his extreme reserve. But if youjvould let him he would give you the highest place a woman can have—the queen of a good man's heart and home.'

It was a strange wooing. Mrs Arnold did most of it, ably seconded by James Carnochan. Professor Lamar, indeed, visited Milldale once and wrote punctual and pleasant letters during the six weeks’ engagement which followed, but the element of tenderness and sentiment on his side was supplied by his sister. The demands of the situation brought Mrs Arnold's matchless finesse into full play. So well did she succeed that Honor lived and moved during those weeks in an atmosphere of homage and devotion, and of delicate and flattering attentions t<> which she herself failed to realize how littie Professor Lamar himself contributed. Honor had a measureless capacity for love and self devotion which since her young lover died, when she was a girl in her teens, had been held back and repressed. Other men had sought her but had not touched her heart. Professor Lamar, whom she had met a few times at his sister's and whose scholarly fame was well known to her, bad impressed her as the most distinguished and the most interesting man she had ever met, high bred high minded, grave and gentle of manner and speech. She had looked up to him with the delicate admiration and reverence which a pure-minded, imaginative girl often feels for a mature and intellectual man. When Mrs Arnold said : ‘He thinks of you ; he remr mber* you, and speaks of you as of no other woman,' Honor was overwhelmed. It was as if Olympian Jove bad descended to her side in flame and clouds. Did she love this man ? She could not have told. She could love him—ah, yes, that she knew I Honor was a graceful woman with sweet grey eyes, a quiet face and way, but with a capacity of spiritual and emotional illumination which at moments made her rarely beautiful. She knew her own power to charm those who loved her, and she did not fear when she promised to be Rossiter Lamar’s wife. They were married at nine o'clock in the morning in church, and were driven at once to the train. Only the Arnolds and Carnochans witnessed the marriage. James Carnochan was oppressively proud and pleased. Delia remarked behind a very damp and very expensive handkerchief as she drove home : ‘ I should think he would have kissed her when it was over. You kissed me, James, and we were married in church, and it was packed too, and everybody said how lovely and chivalrous it was. Don't you remember?’ Honor found herself established in a private compartment of the Pullman car for the long day’s journey to Dunbridge. ■ Now,' she thought, ‘ at last, and almost for the first, we are alone together. Now my husband will tell me of when he saw me first, and how and why he remembered me so

well ; now we shall have a glimpse each into the other s heart’ But Rossiter Lamar simply sat with a face which showed a strange pallor and weariness, silent and abstracted, looking out at the monotonous, flying landscape. He had made sure that she was comfortable, and after that Honor became sure that be had forgotten her very presence. Suddenly her husband turned towards her, and as if rallying his forces from a sense of necessity, said with formal politeness. • Let me see. Miss— ’ here he stopped himself, struck by a sudden recollection—• I mean Mrs—yes, certainly—what 1 starred to say—l met you, did I not. several years ago at my sister's?' Plainly the Professor did not know how to address her. It struck keenly on Honor's sense of humour that he should call his wife ‘ Miss.' But she replied quietly : ‘ Yes ; it was at a reception, the first time, I remember.' ‘ Was it, indeed ? I cannot recall it, but Mrs Arnold told me that we did meet on such an occasion. And 1 think I have a vague recollection of seeing you on another visit. Honor made no reply. Something great and high was crashing down abont her. She seemed to herself just then as likely to be buried beneath the ruins. Had not her engagement, her marriage, been built upon Mrs Arnold s representation that R rssiter Lamar bad remembered and cared for her? And now—here was bis side of the story I What did it all mean ? She was silent ; she must take time to find the truth. ‘ How did you happen to think of me, Professor Lamar V she asked, directly. He looked fully into her face, surprised at the question and at the change to something like sternness in her eyes, usually so gentle, as she added, • Your sister gave me the impression that you had had an especial interest in me, dating from years past.’ ‘ Uh no, not at all, not at all !' be replied hastily, and with agitation, and then seeing in Honor's face that this was not the happiest possible response, he continued — ‘That is—no, I can hardly claim that, though it might easily have been. No, it was simply my sister's description of your character and qualifications and my very great need, or rather that of ray little children—you understand?

To tell the truth, something of this kind seemed forced upon me. I hope you will not find your new cares too arduous.' Plainly, Rossiter Lamar bad none of his sister's strategy. Honor looked straight with her true grey eyes into his. ■ I understand.' she said, simply. Her lips trembled as she spike ; an awful indignation was rising within her. Soon after this the Professor left the car, and returning handed her a magazine. Then, taking a volume from his satchel he settled himself in the farthest corner of the compartment and apparently forgot everything around him until poor Honor, who was so commonplace as to become

desperately hungry, in spite of her anguish, was fain to remind him that she would like her dinner. Such was Honor s wedding journey. At six o'clock they had to wait for an hour in a pleasant town, and at Honor's suggestion they went out for a walk. When they found themselves in a quiet, rural street where it was easily possible to talk without interruption, the results of Honor's all-day thinking were produced. ‘ May I ask you one or two very direct questions?' she asked. • You may.’ ‘ Is it the'case that you have not succeeded in obtaining satisfactory service in the care of your bouse and of your children ?' • That is perfectly true.’ ‘ Is it also true that your sister convinced you that the only way out of your difficulties was marriage, and that she suggested me as a suitable person ?' • You are quite correct in these deductions. Honor smiled a little bitterly. • Then it is certainly true that our marriage is merely a business contract, entered into from purely practical considerations, on your side, and hence in the sight of God no marriage at all.’ The Professor bowed his head in silence. ‘ I cannot deny it,’ he said at length. * I have aroused to the perception of what I fear is almost a crime. Forgive me, if you can. I have suffered inexpressibly all day from the perception of the indignity I have brought upon you. How can I atone for it ?' ‘ It would be impossible for you to atone,' returned Honor, sadly, * and yet you are not alone to blame. The solution of our trouble is perfectly clear to me. Let our relations continue to rest upon the same business basis that they have hitherto. Sentiment is out of the question. You need a housekeeper and a governess for your children. I am competent to serve in these capacities. 1 can remain in your family on the understanding that I shall receive a fair compensation for my service, and shall do my best, but that I am as completely independent and mistress of myself as before what is called my marriage.' Professor Lamar looked relieved. Here was a woman with a clear head and a firm hand. • I wiil conform to any plan you wish to suggest,' he said. ‘ Very well. I will make this proposition : I retain your name - I suppose that is unavoidable—l will sit at the bead of your table, receive your guests, go with you into society when it is a ! «solutely necessary. 1 will take the domestic management and care of the children into my own hands, subject, of course, to your direction. As this will consume all of my time and attention, it will perhaps not be exorbitant to place my salary at £l3O a year. Beyond this, I ean accept nothing from yon.’ Honor's voice was so cold that the Professor fairly shivered. ‘ Oh, I beg of you,' he exclaimed, ‘ do not talk of a salary. Everything I have is yours. I want you to feel that you have only to name your wishes and they will be satisfied.' ‘ I beg your pardon. Let us confine ourselves to business, Professor Lamar. If agreeable to you, I would like my salary paid monthly, in advance.’

The Professor nearly had a congestive chill. Decidedly, Honor was a new type I But her very remorselessness only made him admire her. He felt that lie deserved it alh ‘ It shall be done,' he almost gasped. • Perhaps I can have a week's vacation in the winter and two in the summer, if suitable arrangements ean be made for the children.’ ‘ Anything, anything,’ murmured the Professor. They were on their way back to the railway station now. ‘ Just one thing more,’ said Honor in her cold, clear tone, her face as white as marble. She had removed ber left glove. ‘ 1 have no further use for this,’ and she handed him the wedding ring which he had put upon her finger a few hours before. He stood still in the street, aghast. ‘ But we were manied this morning !’ he exclaimed. ‘Were we?’ Honor asked the question a little wearily. ‘ I think not, Professor Lamar. The home coming was not precisely festive, but it was the one bright spot of the day to Honor. Tbey went up the steps of the large, square house. The lights were turned low in the hail and drawing mom. The Professor opened the door with his latch key. No one was to be seen, but in a moment the sound of small, bare feet scampering overhead was heard, and three little figures in white nightgowns met them on the stairs. All three were in their father's arms at the same time. Presently Baby Gwen pointed to Honor and said : • n'ho dat !’

• That is mamma,’ replied the father softly, with a wistful glance at Honor as if imploring her not to reject this name. She smiled assent with her eyes, and took Gwen into her arms. The baby looked at her for a moment and then cuddled down on her shoulder. • Gwen s been awful bad, papa I’ Louise, two years older, was saying. ‘ She got the mooflage from your desk, and she painted the carpet wiv it, she did.’ • Dear me ’.’ exclaimed the Professor. • Yes,' shouted Arnold, the only son, ‘ and then she sat down in it, and after that she sat down on all the parlour chairs.' ‘ And she stuck just like a postage stamp,' put in Louise, ‘ without being licked, either. It was lots of fun pulling her off.’ • Yes, but she did get licked though !' cried Arnold. • Ellen gave it to her, didn't she, Baby ?’ Gwen nodded with a pensive sigh. ‘ Mamma whip Gwen now, won’t her?' she asked, looking up into Honor's face. There were tears in Honor's eyes, and the Professor's eyeglasses grew very dim. ‘ Darling child,’ whispered Honor, kissing the baby tenderly, ‘ mamma has come to help her baby to be good so that nobody shall whip ber any more.’ And with Gwen clinging round her neck, she went on upstairs to the great, cheerless guest-chamber to which Professor Lamar directed her. But Gwen's little arms were around her neck all night, and thongh her hurt was great and sore, she did not refuse to be comforted. • God knows about it,’ she said again and again, too tired to think or to pray, but with clasped hands outstretched on the pillow beyond Gwen's tumbled curls. God knew the prayer which those bands outstretched to him

meant. For Honor had needed love before, and strength and ■’nidance as we all must; but that night. for the first timeT she had the conscious need of the Divine pity.

‘Mrs I Amar, there’s a gentleman downstairs with Professor Lamar, and I heard him ask him to stay to dinner. Could 1 help you with your dress * It was the housemaid Maggie, who spoke, standing at Honor’s door one late afternoon in January. Honor was putting a few finishing touches on a new dress of creamy

* Yes, thank yon, Maggie : you may pnt the ruffles in for me.’ It is dinner time I see. Who did you say the gentleman wast’ * It sai l “ Mr Turner " on his eard, but Professor Lamar calls him Doctor. I think, ma'am.’ *Oh yes. Dr. Turner,' and Honor looked interested. • I am glad my gown is ready. ’ ‘ It be'* that l>ecoming to yon. Mrs Lamar, with the bits of pink about, I wisht you’d always go dressed in that way ! Gwen, deary, don’t hng your mamma so tight. Don't you see you cru-di her pretty dress,’ ‘ We don’t mind that Maggie, when Gwen wants mamma,* said Honor, taking the child up in her arms. ‘ Minima's so pitty dis day,' said Gwen, patting Honor's soft hair. A m rment later Honor ran down the st sirs and was about to enter the drawing room. A half smile of something very like happiness was on her lips, springing from the thought so common to happier women, but a new and daring one to Honor, that she might l>e fair to look upon in her husband's sight. She paused for an instant, hearing Dr. Turner say—- ‘ And so you have been married within the vear. Lamar ?' ■ Yes,’ her husband's voice replied, with a sudden change from free hearted cordiality to the reserve with « hich she was familiar. * The step was simply forced upon me by the necessities of the ease. The arrangement has proved entirely satisfactory.’ Poor Honor ! 1 The heart within her was ashes and dost.’ Her face grew fairly grey for a moment, all the sweet, bright gladness forsaking lips and eyes. ‘ Entirely satisfactory !’ K rssiter Lamar had no need of anything more at her hands than the year had brought him. It was not Aer, the woman with heart and soul and brain all his, that he cared for—it was only the domestic machine. A great hope had been stirring to life in Honor's heart. In that hour it died.

She received the gentleman at dinner a few moments later—a pale, proud woman, with a brilliant light in her eyes, and a bearing of shy, sweet dignity. Dr. Turner, an accomplished scholar and man of the world, addiessed himself to the wife of his friend—whom he inwardly characterised as an * exquisite woman ' —with the attentive and admiring deference which the relation of guest and hostess permitted. Before the soup was removed, Honor found herself deep in a discussion with him of Browning’s Paracelsus, enjoying—with a subtle sense of healing to her woman’s pride so long and sorely wounded—the perception that she could still please and charm. Professor Lamar was silent for the most part, looking on. Honor was a revelation to him that night. She had been to him hitherto, a pale, quiet, modest girl, who held herself under an intense reserve and avoided him persistently. Now he saw her with luminous eyes, cheeks delicately flushed, her whole face radiant with beauty of a rare order. He watched the swift play of thought and emotion and perception as she spoke and listened ; he saw for the first time the beautiful soul of the woman through the transparent face. He marvelled at the intellectual power, the wit, the fine discrimination shown in all that she said. ‘My wife is a brilliant and beautiful woman,’ he thought, but quickly followed the admonition : ‘ln reality she is not your wife at all. Yon have injured her beyond recovery. She will never be stirred to this high, magnetic word by you.’ It was as they rose from the table that Rossiter Lamar said this to himself, and before he had followed his wife and Dr. Turner into the library, he had felt for the first time in his life a pang of jealousy, fierce and strong, and even more amazing to himself th--n it would have been to them could they have guessed it. Dr. Turner left soon after dinner. Honor bade the Professor a cold good-night, and withdrew to her own room. He sat alone for bouts before the library fire. The next morning, entering her room, after breakfast. Honor found a quantity of exquisite pink roses on her dress-ing-table. They were replaced in a day or two by carnations, and these again by violets. A week demonstrated the intention that ‘my lady's bower’ was to be kept supplied with fresh flowers. Nor was this all. A set of Browning's Poems, with sumptuous binding, and enticing, nncut pages, was brought to her that same week, with a hastily pen cilied note :

I did not know that you read Browning. Will you not read to me some evening! Rossiter Lamar. Honor met the Professor at the foot of the stairs when he came home. He scanned her face eagerly, but it was cold and erave. * Do not send me any more flowers and books, please,’ she said quietly. * Ah, you reject my poor little peace offering That is not kind.’ „ *So it is in that sense you have sent them ’ It is useless. •• Lebanon is not sufficient to burn, nor the beasts thereof sufficient for a burnt offering.” Besides, to what purpose’ I heard yon say to Dr. Turner that the “arrangement’’—referring to our marriage—was “entirely satisfactory ”to you. Roses and poetry were not “ nominated in the bond.” Like Shylock, “Z stay here on my bond ’

* \on would do better as Portia, Mrs Lamar, than as Shylock.’ The Professor spoke sternly, and with a certain vibration of aroused will in his voice, which gave Honor an inner trembling.

• A on can hardly blame me for acting upon the line which you yourself !a d out for me, he eontinuAl. ‘The arrangement is entirely satisfactory to me, as I t»ld Dr. Turner. My housekeeper is a paragon, and my governess is perfection. Still lam not satisfied. ’

I pon which Honor with an intuition of danger ahead, moved on to the dining-room. ‘ Dinner is served, I believe. Professor Ijtniar,’ she said quietly.

The season passed with n<4tangible change in the relation of these two. Honor held herself quietly, but resolutely aloof, while Rossiter Lamar waited, biding his time with a patience which was bom of penitence. April came. Honor, standing by the library table Easter Eve, looking at a new review, did not hear the Professor enter the room behind her, until he closed the door. She looked up quickly then, laid down the magazine and started to leave the room, saying—

* I was j ust going upstairs. ’ ‘I ndonbtedly,'replied Professor Lamar,laughing merrily, * You always are when I appear.’

Honor had never seen him in this mood. There was a thrill of power and purpose in his voice, a firm decision in

his very step, a new light in his eyes as he confronted her now. saying—

‘ But this time I have captured you—you inexorable, yon relentless creature —and I shall hold you fast until I choose to let yon go.’ He had put an arm around her and drawn her gently to his side. Honor’s breath came quickly. A tumult of feeling seemed almost Winding her. She tried to telease herself but he held her firmly, saying — ‘Do not try to get away. I have something to tell you which yon must hear. Yon notice 1 say must. I have been studying St. Paul and the prayer book, and they both assure me that I have a certain authority over you. For lam here to remind yon—as the public s|>eakers say—that I ant yonr husband. Did that ever occur to you F ‘ Not that I remember ’

*So I have inferred. Well, it has to me. My girl, I love you with a love great enough to overflow and Mot out all the wrong of the past if you will only let it. Honor—how well the name fits vou—do you positively hate me?’ ‘ Not positively.’ ‘ Do you like me a little F ■ N no.’ ‘ Do you love me F ‘ Yon know 1 do, with all my heart,’ but with that she escaped from him and fled away to her own room. Easter morning ! Honor awoke early with the words, ‘ Rise, heart I Thy Lord hath risen.' on her lip«, and in her heart a great and solemn joyfulness. The Easter chimes seemed to ring out at two-fold gladness—the great Resurrection, glory unto all people, and for her—morning after the long night; light after darkness ; life full and glorious after the long death of hope and love. She had thought before of going to the sunrise communion service. Now, nothing could have kept her away. There, in the holy place she would present her-etf with her new life, a sacrifice, holy and acceptable nnto Him who had died for her and risen again. So she came down in the morning twilight, white lilies in her hand to becartied to the church, a radiance on her face as of a soul a hich had been very near to God.

Some one was standing at the foot of the stairs in the shadow, waiting for her. It was the master of the house. He guessed where she was going. Touching the lilies, he said gently, * Thou wert np at break of day and broughtest thy sweets along with thee. May Igo with you. Honor F >he did not speak but put her hand for a moment in his. • Together now, together always,’ he said as they walked through the silent streets. After that they hardly spoke. The church seemed strange in the dim, early light, with one or two long gold-coloured beams shining through the painted windows, and the few worshippers here and there in the hush and silence.

■ Christ the Lord is risen to-dav. Soos of men and angels say : Raise your songs and voices high, sing ye heavens ; thou earth reply

The Ea«ter hymn was sung, and Rossiter Lamar and Honor with faces awed but glad, walked together down the aisle and knelt side by side at the chance! rail to receive the communion. Only their own hearts knew what that moment meant, the hand that administered the elements did not guess that these two received a double sacrament. M ho but they could know that this was their marriage morning.

As they left the altar, Rossiter Lamar slipped upon Honor s finger the ring which she had given him back on that Jane evening, which now seemed so long ago : and so • filled with all spiritual benediction and grace ’ they left the church together, husband and wife. And no happier woman is there to day in this big and beautiful country of ours t&an Mrs Rossiter Lamar.