University of Virginia Library

34. CHAPTER XXXIV.
MURRAY BRADSHAW PLAYS HIS LAST CARD.

“HOW can I see that man this evening, Mr. Lindsay?”

“May I not be Clement, dearest? I would not see
him at all, Myrtle. I don't believe you will find much
pleasure in listening to his fine speeches.”

“I cannot endure it. — Kitty, tell him I am engaged,
and cannot see him this evening. No, no! don't say engaged,
say very much occupied.”

Kitty departed, communing with herself in this wise: —
“Ockipied, is it? An' that 's what ye cahl it when ye 're
kapin' company with one young gintleman an' don't want
another young gintleman to come in an' help the two of
ye? Ye won't get y'r pigs to market to-day, Mr. Bridshaw,
no, nor to-morrow, nayther, Mr. Bridshaw. It 's
Mrs. Lindsay that Miss Myrtle is goin' to be, — an' a big
cake there 'll be at the weddin', frosted all over, — won't
ye be plased with a slice o' that, Mr. Bridshaw?”

With these reflections in her mind, Mistress Kitty delivered
her message, not without a gleam of malicious intelligence
in her look that stung Mr. Bradshaw sharply.
He had noticed a hat in the entry, and a little stick by
it which he remembered well as one he had seen carried
by Clement Lindsay. But he was used to concealing his
emotions, and he greeted the two older ladies who presently
came into the library so pleasantly, that no one who
had not studied his face long and carefully would have

suspected the bitterness of heart that lay hidden far down
beneath his deceptive smile. He told Miss Silence, with
much apparent interest, the story of his journey. He gave
her an account of the progress of the case in which the
estate of which she inherited the principal portion was
interested. He did not tell her that a final decision which
would settle the right to the great claim might be expected
at any moment, and he did not tell her that there
was very little doubt that it would be in favor of the heirs
of Malachi Withers. He was very sorry he could not see
Miss Hazard that evening, — hoped he should be more
fortunate to-morrow forenoon, when he intended to call
again, — had a message for her from one of her former
school friends, which he was anxious to give her. He exchanged
certain looks and hints with Miss Cynthia, which
led her to withdraw and bring down the papers he had
intrusted to her. At the close of his visit, she followed
him into the entry with a lamp, as was her common custom.

“What 's the meaning of all this, Cynthia? Is that
fellow making love to Myrtle?”

“I 'm afraid so, Mr. Bradshaw. He 's been here several
times, and they seem to be getting intimate. I could n't
do anything to stop it.”

“Give me the papers, — quick!”

Cynthia pulled the package from her pocket. Murray
Bradshaw looked sharply at it. A little crumpled, —
crowded into her pocket. Seal unbroken. All safe.

“I shall come again to-morrow forenoon. Another day
and it will be all up. The decision of the court will be
known. It won't be my fault if one visit is not enough. —
You don't suppose Myrtle is in love with this fellow?”

“She acts as if she might be. You know he 's broke

with Susan Posey, and there 's nothing to hinder. If you
ask my opinion, I think it 's your last chance: she is n't a
girl to half do things, and if she has taken to this man it
will be hard to make her change her mind. But she 's
young, and she has had a liking for you, and if you manage
it well there 's no telling.”

Two notes passed between Myrtle Hazard and Master
Byles Gridley that evening. Mistress Kitty Fagan, who
had kept her ears pretty wide open, carried them.

Murray Bradshaw went home in a very desperate state
of feeling. He had laid his plans, as he thought, with
perfect skill, and the certainty of their securing their end.
These papers were to have been taken from the envelope,
and found in the garret just at the right moment, either by
Cynthia herself or one of the other members of the family,
who was to be led on, as it were accidentally, to the discovery.
The right moment must be close at hand. He
was to offer his hand — and heart, of course — to Myrtle,
and it was to be accepted. As soon as the decision of the
land case was made known, or not long afterwards, there
was to be a search in the garret for papers, and these were
to be discovered in a certain dusty recess, where, of course,
they would have been placed by Miss Cynthia.

And now the one condition which gave any value to
these arrangements seemed like to fail. This obscure
youth — this poor fool, who had been on the point of
marrying a simpleton to whom he had made a boyish promise
— was coming between him and the object of his long
pursuit, — the woman who had every attraction to draw
him to herself. It had been a matter of pride with Murray
Bradshaw that he never lost his temper so as to interfere
with the precise course of action which his cool judgment

approved; but now he was almost beside himself
with passion. His labors, as he believed, had secured the
favorable issue of the great case so long pending. He had
followed Myrtle through her whole career, if not as her
avowed lover, at least as one whose friendship promised
to flower in love in due season. The moment had come
when the scene and the characters in this village drama
were to undergo a change as sudden and as brilliant as is
seen in those fairy spectacles where the dark background
changes to a golden palace and the sober dresses are replaced
by robes of regal splendor. The change was fast
approaching; but he, the enchanter, as he had thought
himself, found his wand broken, and his power given to
another.

He could not sleep during that night. He paced his
room, a prey to jealousy and envy and rage, which his calm
temperament had kept him from feeling in their intensity
up to this miserable hour. He thought of all that a maddened
nature can imagine to deaden its own intolerable
anguish. Of revenge. If Myrtle rejected his suit, should
he take her life on the spot, that she might never be another's,
— that neither man nor woman should ever triumph
over him, — the proud ambitious man, defeated, humbled,
scorned? No! that was a meanness of egotism which
only the most vulgar souls could be capable of. Should
he challenge her lover? It was not the way of the people
and time, and ended in absurd complications, if anybody
was foolish enough to try it. Shoot him? The idea
floated through his mind, for he thought of everything;
but he was a lawyer, and not a fool, and had no idea
of figuring in court as a criminal. Besides, he was not a
murderer, — cunning was his natural weapon, not violence.

He had a certain admiration of desperate crime in
others, as showing nerve and force, but he did not feel it
to be his own style of doing business.

During the night he made every arrangement for leaving
the village the next day, in case he failed to make any
impression on Myrtle Hazard and found that his chance
was gone. He wrote a letter to his partner, telling him
that he had left to join one of the regiments forming in
the city. He adjusted all his business matters so that his
partner should find as little trouble as possible. A little
before dawn he threw himself on the bed, but he could
not sleep; and he rose at sunrise, and finished his preparations
for his departure to the city.

The morning dragged along slowly. He would not go
to the office, not wishing to meet his partner again. After
breakfast he dressed himself with great care, for he meant
to show himself in the best possible aspect. Just before
he left the house to go to The Poplars, he took the sealed
package from his trunk, broke open the envelope, took
from it a single paper, — it had some spots on it which
distinguished it from all the rest, — put it separately in
his pocket, and then the envelope containing the other
papers. The calm smile he wore on his features as he
set forth cost him a greater effort than he had ever made
before to put it on. He was moulding his face to the look
with which he meant to present himself; and the muscles
had been sternly fixed so long that it was a task to bring
them to their habitual expression in company, — that of
ingenuous good-nature.

He was shown into the parlor at The Poplars; and
Kitty told Myrtle that he had called and inquired for her,
and was waiting down stairs.

“Tell him I will be down presently,” she said. “And,
Kitty, now mind just what I tell you. Leave your kitchen
door open, so that you can hear anything fall in the parlor.
If you hear a book fall, — it will be a heavy one, and will
make some noise, — run straight up here to my little chamber,
and hang this red scarf out of the window. The left-hand
side-sash, mind, so that anybody can see it from the
road. If Mr. Gridley calls, show him into the parlor, no
matter who is there.”

Kitty Fagan looked amazingly intelligent, and promised
that she would do exactly as she was told. Myrtle followed
her down stairs almost immediately, and went into
the parlor, where Mr. Bradshaw was waiting.

Never in his calmest moments had he worn a more insinuating
smile on his features than that with which he now
greeted Myrtle. So gentle, so gracious, so full of trust,
such a completely natural expression of a kind, genial
character did it seem, that to any but an expert it would
have appeared impossible that such an effect could be produced
by the skilful balancing of half a dozen pairs of
little muscles that manage the lips and the corners of the
mouth. The tones of his voice were subdued into accord
with the look of his features; his whole manner was fascinating,
as far as any conscious effort could make it so.
It was just one of those artificially pleasing effects that so
often pass with such as have little experience of life for
the genuine expression of character and feeling. But
Myrtle had learned the look that shapes itself on the features
of one who loves with a love that seeketh not its
own, and she knew the difference between acting and reality.
She met his insinuating approach with a courtesy so
carefully ordered that it was of itself a sentence without

appeal. Artful persons often interpret sincere ones by
their own standard. Murray Bradshaw thought little of
this somewhat formal address, — a few minutes would
break this thin film to pieces. He was not only a suitor
with a prize to gain, he was a colloquial artist about to
employ all the resources of his specialty.

He introduced the conversation in the most natural and
easy way, by giving her the message from a former schoolmate
to which he had referred, coloring it so delicately,
as he delivered it, that it became an innocent-looking flattery.
Myrtle found herself in a rose-colored atmosphere,
not from Murray Bradshaw's admiration, as it seemed,
but only reflected by his mind from another source. That
was one of his arts, — always, if possible, to associate
himself incidentally, as it appeared, and unavoidably, with
an agreeable impression.

So Myrtle was betrayed into smiling and being pleased
before he had said a word about himself or his affairs.
Then he told her of the adventures and labors of his late
expedition; of certain evidence which at the very last
moment he had unearthed, and which was very probably
the turning-point in the case. He could not help feeling
that she must eventually reap some benefit from the good
fortune with which his efforts had been attended. The
thought that it might yet be so had been a great source
of encouragement to him, — it would always be a great
happiness to him to remember that he had done anything
to make her happy.

Myrtle was very glad that he had been so far successful,
— she did not know that it made much difference to her,
but she was obliged to him for the desire of serving her
that he had expressed.

“My services are always yours, Miss Hazard. There
is no sacrifice I would not willingly make for your benefit.
I have never had but one feeling toward you. You cannot
be ignorant of what that feeling is.

“I know, Mr. Bradshaw, it has been one of kindness.
I have to thank you for many friendly attentions, for which
I hope I have never been ungrateful.”

“Kindness is not all that I feel towards you, Miss
Hazard. If that were all, my lips would not tremble as
they do now in telling you my feelings. I love you.”

He sprang the great confession on Myrtle a little sooner
than he had meant. It was so hard to go on making
phrases! Myrtle changed color a little, for she was startled.

The seemingly involuntary movement she made brought
her arm against a large dictionary, which lay very near
the edge of the table on which it was resting. The book
fell with a loud noise to the floor.

There it lay. The young man awaited her answer;
he did not think of polite forms at such a moment.

“It cannot be, Mr. Bradshaw, — it must not be. I
have known you long, and I am not ignorant of all your
brilliant qualities, but you must not speak to me of love.
Your regard, — your friendly interest, — tell me that I
shall always have these, but do not distress me with offering
more than these.”

“I do not ask you to give me your love in return; I
only ask you not to bid me despair. Let me believe that
the time may come when you will listen to me, — no matter
how distant. You are young, — you have a tender
heart, — you would not doom one who only lives for you
to wretchedness. So long that we have known each other!
It cannot be that any other has come between us —”

Myrtle blushed so deeply that there was no need of his
finishing his question.

“Do you mean, Myrtle Hazard, that you have cast me
aside for another? — for this stranger — this artist — who
was with you yesterday when I came, bringing with me
the story of all I had done for you, — yes, for you, — and
was ignominiously refused the privilege of seeing you?”
Rage and jealousy had got the better of him this time. He
rose as he spoke, and looked upon her with such passion
kindling in his eyes that he seemed ready for any desperate
act.

“I have thanked you for any services you may have
rendered me, Mr. Bradshaw,” Myrtle answered, very
calmly, “and I hope you will add one more to them by
sparing me this rude questioning. I wished to treat you
as a friend; I hope you will not render that impossible.”

He had recovered himself for one more last effort. “I
was impatient: overlook it, I beg you. I was thinking of
all the happiness I have labored to secure for you, and of
the ruin to us both it would be if you scornfully rejected
the love I offer you, — if you refuse to leave me any hope
for the future, — if you insist on throwing yourself away on
this man, so lately pledged to another. I hold the key of
all your earthly fortunes in my hand. My love for you
inspired me in all that I have done, and, now that I come
to lay the result of my labors at your feet, you turn from
me, and offer my reward to a stranger. I do not ask you
to say this day that you will be mine, — I would not force
your inclinations, — but I do ask you that you will hold
yourself free of all others, and listen to me as one who may
yet be more than a friend. Say so much as this, Myrtle,
and you shall have such a future as you never dreamed of.

Fortune, position, all that this world can give, shall be
yours!”

“Never! never! If you could offer me the whole
world, or take away from me all that the world can give,
it would make no difference to me. I cannot tell what
power you hold over me, whether of life and death, or of
wealth and poverty; but after talking to me of love, I
should not have thought you would have wronged me by
suggesting any meaner motive. It is only because we
have been on friendly terms so long that I have listened to
you as I have done. You have said more than enough,
and I beg you will allow me to put an end to this interview.”

She rose to leave the room. But Murray Bradshaw
had gone too far to control himself, — he listened only to
the rage which blinded him.

“Not yet!” he said. “Stay one moment, and you shall
know what your pride and self-will have cost you!”

Myrtle stood, arrested, whether by fear, or curiosity, or
the passive subjection of her muscles to his imperious will,
it would be hard to say.

Murray Bradshaw took out the spotted paper from his
breast-pocket, and held it up before her. “Look here!”
he exclaimed. “This would have made you rich, — it
would have crowned you a queen in society, — it would
have given you all, and more than all, that you ever
dreamed of luxury, of splendor, of enjoyment; and I, who
won it for you, would have taught you how to make life
yield every bliss it had in store to your wishes. You reject
my offer unconditionally?”

Myrtle expressed her negative only by a slight contemptuous
movement.

Murray Bradshaw walked deliberately to the fireplace,
and laid the spotted paper upon the burning coals. It
writhed and curled, blackened, flamed, and in a moment
was a cinder dropping into ashes. He folded his arms,
and stood looking at the wreck of Myrtle's future, the work
of his cruel hand. Strangely enough, Myrtle herself was
fascinated, as it were, by the apparent solemnity of this
mysterious sacrifice. She had kept her eyes steadily on
him all the time, and was still gazing at the altar on which
her happiness had been in some way offered up, when the
door was opened by Kitty Fagan, and Master Byles Gridley
was ushered into the parlor.

“Too late, old man!” Murray Bradshaw exclaimed, in
a hoarse and savage voice, as he passed out of the room,
and strode through the entry and down the avenue. It
was the last time the old gate of The Poplars was to open
or close for him. The same day he left the village; and
the next time his name was mentioned it was as an officer
in one of the regiments just raised and about marching to
the seat of war.