For Woman's LoveSouthworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
General
For Woman's Love
Southworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
Fiction
"Alone! Alone! My granddaughter left alone on the morning after her
marriage? What do you mean by that? Where is your master?
"Show me in to your mistress at once. I will get at the bottom of this
mystery, or this villainy, as it is more likely to prove, before I am
through with the matter. And if my granddaughter's husband is not to be
found before the day is out, I will have all concerned in the plot
arrested for conspiracy!" exclaimed Mr. Rockharrt, with that utter
recklessness of assertion to which he was addicted in moments of
excitement.
The dismayed negro lowered his eyes and led the way. Aaron Rockharrt
strode on, followed by his timid and terrified old wife, his stalwart
sons, his mocking grandson, and the members of the committee. But the
old man, not liking such an escort, turned upon them, and said, with
sarcastic politeness and dignity:
"Gentlemen, permit me. It is expedient, under existing circumstances,
that I should first see my granddaughter alone."
The members of the committee bowed with offended dignity and withdrew to
the front of the hall.
Meanwhile Aaron Rockharrt sent back the members of his own family, and
strode solemnly into the drawing room, which was half darkened by the
closed window shutters.
"Now leave the room, sir; shut the door after you and stand on the
outside to keep off all intruders," commanded Mr. Rockharrt to the
servant who had admitted him.
When the door was closed upon him, Aaron Rockharrt discerned his
granddaughter, who sat in an easy chair in a dark corner of the back
drawing room, which was divided from the front by blue satin and white
lace portieres. Her deadly pallid face gleamed out from the shadows in
startling contrast to her jet black hair and the black dress which,
against all precedent, she wore on this the morning after her marriage.
The old man of iron went up and stood before her, looking at her in
silence for a few moments.
"Corona Rothsay," he began, sternly, "what is the meaning of this
unparalleled situation?"
"I--I--do not know."
"You do not know where your husband is on the morning after his marriage
and on the day of his expected inauguration?"
"No; I do not know."
"You seem to take this desertion or this death very quietly."
"What would be gained by taking it any other way?" she murmured, though
indeed she was not taking the situation quietly, but controlling
herself.
"How dare you say so to me?" severely demanded the old man, scarcely
able to control his wrath, though at a loss to know against whom to
direct it.
"You ask me a direct question. I give you a truthful answer."
"Answer me, truly!" rudely exclaimed Aaron Rockharrt, giving way, in his
blind egotism, to utter recklessness of assertion, to gross injustice
and exaggeration. "What have you done to him, Corona? Tell me that!"
She started violently and looked up quickly; her face was whiter, her
eyes wilder than before.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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