"Oh, woman wronged can cherish hate More deep and dark than manhood may."
Whittier.
 
"And in that deep and utter agony—
Though then than ever most unfit to die—
She fell upon her knees and prayed for death."
I
t was not in human heart, much less in a heart that loved her still, to gaze on that death-like face unmoved; and Richmond's stern gaze relaxed, and his brow lost its cold severity, as he knelt beside her and said:
"Dearest Georgia, one would think you were dying. Deeply as you have mortified me, I have not the heart to see you thus wretched. Look up—smile—speak to me.[Pg 234] What! not a word? Good mercy, how deeply you seem to feel these things!"
 
"Let me go, Richmond; I am tired and sick, and want to be alone."
 
"Yes, you are sick; the fiery spirit within you is wearing out your body. Oh, Georgia! when are these storms of passion to cease?"
 
She lifted her melancholy black eyes to his face with a strange, prolonged gaze.
 
"When I am dead."
 
"Oh, Georgia, sooner than that! Oh, why did you insult my mother, disgrace me, and horrify all these people to-day! Are you going crazy, Georgia?"
 
"No; I wish I were."
 
"Georgia!" he said, shocked as much by her slow, strange tone as by her words.
 
"Perhaps I will be soon; you are all taking a good way to make me so."
 
"Georgia!"
 
"It will be better for you, you know—you can marry a lady then."
 
"Georgia!"
 
"Oh, you can marry your cousin—she will never disgrace you, Richmond," she said, with a strange, short laugh.
 
"Georgia!"
 
"Oh, Richmond, why did you marry me? Why did you ever marry me?" she cried, suddenly changing her tone to one of piercing anguish, and wringing her pale fingers.
 
"Because," he said, flushing deeply, "I mistook you for a noble-hearted, generous girl, instead of the vindictive,[Pg 235] rebellious one you have turned out to be. Because I made a mistake, as many another has done before me, and will do for all time. Are you satisfied now, my dear?"
 
She rose from her seat and paced up and down, wringing her hands.
 
"Oh, I thought I would have been so happy! You said you loved me, and I believed you. I did not know you wanted a wife to bear the brunt of your mother's sneers and your cousin's insults—some one to afford a subject of laughter to your friends. Oh, Richmond, I wish—I wish I had died before I ever met you!"
 
Richmond stood watching her in silence a moment, and the look of marked displeasure again settled on his face.
 
"Well, really, this is pleasant!" he said, slowly. "You can act the part of the termagant to the life, Mistress Georgia. I expected, and I believe so did all the rest, to see you knock my mother down a little while ago; that, I presume, will be the next exhibition. You have made out a long list of complaints against me during the past; take care that I do not turn the tables and accuse you of something worse than being a virago, my lady."
 
"Oh, I shall not be surprised. Say and do what you please; nothing will astonish me now. Oh, that it were not a crime to die!" she cried, passionately wringing her hands.
 
"Well, madam, you do not believe in hell, you know," he said, with a sneer, "so what does it matter?"
 
"Two months ago I did not, Richmond; now I know of it."
 
The frown deepened on his brow.
 
"What do you mean by that, Mrs. Wildair?" he said, hotly.[Pg 236]
 
"Nothing," she replied, with a cold smile.
 
"Have a care, my lady; your taunts may be carried too far. It ill becomes you to take the offensive after what has passed this afternoon."
 
"After what has passed! By that you mean, I suppose, my preventing your mother from making the servants turn my best, my dearest friend, into the street like a dog," she said, stopping in her walk and facing him.
 
"My mother mistook her for a beggar. How was she to know she was anything to you?"
 
Georgia broke into a scornful laugh, and resumed her walk.
 
"Positively, Mrs. Wildair," said Richmond, flushing crimson with anger, "this insulting conduct is too much. If I cannot command your obedience, I at least insist on your respect. And as we are upon the subject, I beg in your intercourse with one of my guests you will remember you are a wedded wife. You seem to have forgotten it pretty well up to the present, both of you."
 
She had sunk on a sofa, her face hidden in the cushions, her hands clasped over her heart, as if to still the intolerable pain there. She made no reply to the words that had struck her ear, but conveyed no meaning, and after waiting in vain for an answer, he resumed, with a still deepening frown:
 
"You will not honor me with an answer, madam. Probably your smiles and answers are all alike reserved for the fascinating Captain Arlingford. How do you intend to meet my mother, Mrs. Wildair, after what has happened to-day?"
 
"Oh, Richmond, I do not know! Oh, Richmond, do, do leave me!"[Pg 237]
 
"Madam!"
 
"I am so tired, and so sick. I cannot talk to-night!" she cried out, lifting her bowed head, and clasping her hands to her throbbing temples.
 
"Be it so, then, madam. I shall not intrude again," said Richmond, as, with a face dark with anger, he turned and left the room.
 
Next morning at breakfast Georgia did not appear. There was an embarrassment—a restraint upon all present, which deepened when the unconscious Captain Arlingford, the only one who ventured to pronounce her name, inquired for Mrs. Wildair.
 
A dusky fire, the baleful fire of jealousy, flamed up in Richmond Wildair's eyes. Freddy and his mother saw it, and exchanged glances, and the old evil smile broke over the former's face.
 
"She was indisposed last night," said Mr. Wildair, with freezing coldness, "and I presume has not yet sufficiently recovered to be able to join us at table. You will have the happiness of seeing her at dinner, Captain Arlingford."
 
There was something in his tone that made Captain Arlingford look up, and Mrs. Wildair, fearing a public disagreement, which did not suit her purpose at all, said hastily in a tone of the most motherly solicitude:
 
"Poor, dear child. I am afraid that little affair of yesterday has mortified her to death. Freddy, love, do go up to her room, and see how she is."
 
Now Miss Freddy, who was a most prudent young lady, for sundry good reasons of her own, would have preferred at first not bearding the lioness in her den, but after an instant's thought, the desire of exulting over her proved too strong for her fears, and she rose with alacrity from[Pg 238] her seat, and with her unvarying smile on her face, passed from the room, and up stairs.
 
Upon reaching Georgia's door she halted, and discreetly peeped through the keyhole. Nothing was to be seen, however, and the silence of the grave reigned within. She softly turned the handle of the door, but it was locked, and after hesitating a moment, she rapped. Her summons was at first unanswered, and was repeated loudly three or four times before the door swung back, and Georgia, pale and haggard, with disordered hair and garments, stood before her. So changed was she that Freddy started back, and then, recovering herself, she drew a step nearer, folded her arms, and looked up in her face with a steady, insolent smile. But that smile seemed to have no effect upon Georgia, who, white, cold, and statue-like, stood looking down upon her from the depths of her great black eyes.
 
"Good-morning, my dear Georgia," she said, smiling. "Captain Arlingford sends his compliments, and begs to know how you are."
 
There was no reply to this insulting speech. The black eyes never moved in their steady gaze.
 
"What shall I tell the handsome captain, Georgia?" continued the little fiend. "He was inquiring most anxiously for you this morning. Shall I say you will relieve that anxiety by gracing our dinner table? Allow me to insinuate, in case you do, that it would be advisable to use a little rouge, or they will think a corpse has risen from the church-yard to take the head of Richmond Wildair's table. And, worse than all, the flame with which your red cheeks inspired the gallant captain will go out like a candle under an extinguisher at sight of that whitey-brown complexion. Say, Georgia, tell me in confidence how did you[Pg 239] get up that high color? As you and I are such near friends you might let me know, that I may improve my own sallow countenance likewise."
 
No reply—the tail form was rigid—the white face cold and set—the black eyes fixed—the pale lips mute.
 
"Mrs. Wildair and Mrs. Colonel Gleason used to insist it was liquid rouge, but Captain Arlingford and I knew better, and told them all country girls had great flaming red cheeks just like that. We were right, were we not, Georgia?"
 
Still dumb. Her silence was beginning to startle even Freddy's admirable equanimity.
 
"And now, my dear Georgia, I must really tear myself away from you. When shall I say we are to be honored by your charming presence again?"
 
The white lips parted, one hand was slightly raised.
 
"Are you done?" she said, in a voice so husky that it was almost inaudible.
 
"Ye—yes," said Freddy, startled in spite of herself. "I only await your answer, my dear."
 
For all answer, Georgia stepped back, closed the door in the very face of the insolent girl, and locked it.
 
For one moment Freddy stood transfixed, while her sallow face grew sallower, and her thin lips fairly trembled with impotent rage. Turning a look of concentrated spite and hatred toward the door, she descended the stairs.
 
"Well, Freddy," said Mrs. Wildair, when she re-entered the parlor, "how is Georgia?"
 
"Not very well, I should say, by her looks—how she felt, she did not condescend to tell me," unable for once to suppress the bitterness she felt.
 
Richmond, who was chatting with Miss Reid and Miss[Pg 240] Harper, started, and a faint tinge of color shone on his cheek.
 
"When is she coming down?" asked Mrs. Wildair.
 
"My dear aunt, Mrs. Georgia, for some reason of her own, saw fit to answer none of my questions. She closed the door in my face by way of reply."
 
Richmond began talking rapidly, and with so much empressement, to his two companions that languid Miss Reid lifted her large sleepy-looking eyes in faint wonder, and a malicious smile curled the lips of Miss Harper.
 
A sleighing party was to be the order of the day, and, after breakfast, the ladies hurried to their rooms to don their furs and cloaks; and Richmond, seizing the first opportunity, hurried to Georgia's room and knocked loudly and authoritatively at the door.
 
It did not open; all was silent within.
 
"Georgia, open the door, I command you!" he said, in a voice of suppressed passion. "Open the door this instant; I insist."
 
It opened slowly, and he saw the collapsed and haggard face of his wife, but he was too deeply angry to heed or care for her looks at that moment. Entering the room, he closed the door, and with a light in his eyes and a look in his face that, with all his anger, he had never worn hitherto, he confronted her.
 
"Madam, what did you mean by your conduct to my cousin this morning?" he said, in a tone that he had never used to her before.
 
A spasm shot across her face, and she reeled as if she had received a blow.
 
"Oh, Richmond! oh, my husband! do not say that[Pg 241] you knew of her coming this morning!" she cried in tones of such anguish as he had never heard before.
 
"I did know it, madam! And when she was generous and forgiving enough to forget your insolent treatment, and come to ask how you were, she should have been treated otherwise than having the door slammed in her face," he said in a voice quivering with passion.
 
She did not speak—she could not. Dizzily she sat down with her hands over her heart, always her habit when the pain there was most acute.
 
He knew, then, of this last deadly insult—he sanctioned it—he encouraged it. His cousin was all the world to him—she was nothing. It only needed this to fill the cup of her degradation to the brim. Her hands tightened involuntarily over her heart, she could not help it; she felt as though it were breaking.
 
"And now, madam, since you will persist in your insolent course, listen to me. You shall not any longer slight the guests, who do you too much honor—yes, madam, I repeat it, who do you too much honor, by residing under the same roof with you. Since my requests are unheeded, listen to my commands! We are all now going out to drive; in four hours we will return, and see that you are dressed and in the drawing-room ready to receive us when we come. I do not ask you to do this. I command you, and you refuse at your peril! Leave off this ghastly look, and all the rest of your tantrums, my lady, and try to act the courteous hostess for once. Remember, now, and try to recall your broken vow of wifely obedience for the first time; for, as sure as Heaven hears me, if you dare disobey you shall repent it! I did not wish to speak thus, but you have compelled me, and now that I have been aroused you[Pg 242] shall learn what it is to brave me with impunity. Madam, look up; have you heard me?"
 
She lifted her eyes, so full, in their dark depths ............