University of Virginia Library

26. CHAPTER XXVI.
MARRIED LIFE.

For a short time after their marriage, John Jr. treated
Mabel with at least a show of attention, but he was not
one to act long as he did not feel. Had Nellie been, indeed,
the wife of another, he might in time have learned
to love Mabel as she deserved, but now her presence only
served to remind him of what he had lost, and at last he
began to shun her society, never seeming willing to be
left with her alone, and either repulsing or treating with
indifference the many little acts of kindness which her
affectionate nature prompted. To all this Mabel was not
blind, and when once she began to suspect her true position,
it was easy for her to fancy slights where none
were intended.

Thus, ere she had been two months a wife, her life was
one of constant unhappiness, and, as a matter of course,
her health, which had been much improved, began to fail.
Her old racking headaches returned with renewed force,
confining her for whole days to her room, where she lay
listening in vain for the footsteps which never came, and
tended only by 'Lena, who, in proportion as the others
neglected her, clung to her more and more. The trip to
Saratoga was given up, John Jr. in the bitterness of his
disappointment utterly refusing to go, and saying there

was nothing sillier than for a newly-married couple to go
riding around the country, disgusting sensible people with
their fooleries. So with a burst of tears Mabel yielded,
and her bridal tour extended no further than Frankfort,
whither her husband did once accompany her, dining out
even then with an old schoolmate whom he chanced to
meet, and almost forgetting to call at Mr. Douglass' for
Mabel when it was time to return home.

Erelong, too, another source of trouble arose, which
shipwrecked entirely the poor bride's happiness. By
some means or other it at last came to Mrs. Livingstone's
knowledge that Mabel's fortune was not only all gone, but
that her son had known it in time to prevent his marrying
her. Owing to various losses her own property had
for a few years past been gradually diminishing, and when
she found that Mabel's fortune, which she leaned upon as
an all-powerful prop, was swept away, it was more than
she could bear peaceably; and in a fit of disappointed
rage she assailed her son, reproaching him with bringing
disgrace upon the family by marrying a poor, homely,
sickly girl, who would be forever incurring expense without
any means of paying it! For once, however, she
found her match, for in good round terms John Jr. bade
her “go to thunder,” his favorite point of destination for
his particular friends, at the same time saying, “he did'nt
care a dime for Mabel's money. It was you,” said he,
“who kept your eye on that, aiding and abetting the
match, and now that you are disappointed, I'm heartily
glad of it.”

“But who is going to pay for her board,” asked Mrs.
Livingstone. “You've no means of earning it, and I hope
you don't intend to sponge out of me, for I think I've
enough paupers on my hands already!”

“Board!” roared John Jr. in a towering passion,

“While you thought her rich, you gave no heed to board
or anything else; and since she has become poor, I do
not think her appetite greatly increased. You taunt me,
too, with having no means of earning my own living.
Whose fault is it?—tell me that. Havn't you always opposed
my having a profession? Didn't you pet and baby
“Johnny” when a boy, keeping him always at your apron-strings,
and now that he's a man, he's not to be turned
adrift. No, madam, I shall stay, and Mabel, too, just as
long as I please.”

Gaining no satisfaction from him, Mrs. Livingstone
turned her battery upon poor Mabel, treating her with
shameful neglect, intimating that she was in the way; that
the house was full enough already, and that she never
supposed John was going to settle down at home for her
to support; that he was big enough to look after himself,
and if he chose to marry a wife who had nothing, why let
them go to work, as other folks did.

Mabel listened in perfect amazement, never dreaming
what was meant, for John Jr. had carefully kept from her
a knowledge of her loss, requesting his mother to do the
same in such decided terms, that, hint as strongly as she
pleased, she dared not tell the whole, for fear of the storm
which was sure to follow. All this was not, of course, calculated
to add to Mabel's comfort, and day by day she
grew more and more unhappy, generously keeping to herself,
however, the treatment which she received from Mrs.
Livingstone.

“He will only dislike me the more if I complain to him
of his mother,” thought she, so the secret was kept, though
she could not always repress the tears which would start
when she thought how wretched she was.

We believe we have said elsewhere, that if there was
anything particularly annoying to John Jr., it was a sick

or crying woman, and now, when he so often found Mabel
indisposed or weeping, he grew more morose and faultfinding,
sometimes wantonly accusing her of trying to provoke
him, when, in fact, she had used every means in her
power to conciliate him. Again, conscience-smitten, he
would lay her aching head upon his bosom, and tenderly
bathing her throbbing temples, would soothe her into a
quiet sleep, from which she always awoke refreshed, and
in her heart forgiving him for all he had made her suffer.
At such times, John would resolve never again to treat
her unkindly, but alas! his resolutions were too easily
broken. Had he married Nellie, a more faithful, affectionate
husband there could not have been. But now it
was different. A withering blight had fallen upon his
earthly prospects, and forgetting that he alone was to
blame, he unjustly laid the fault upon his innocent wife,
who, as far as she was able, loved him as deeply as Nellie
herself could have done.

One morning about the first of September, John Jr. received
a note, informing him that several of his young associates
were going on a three days' hunting excursion, in
which they wished him to join. In the large, easy chair,
just before him, sat Mabel, her head supported by pillows
and saturated with camphor, while around her eyes were
the dark rings which usually accompanied her headaches.
Involuntarily John Jr. glanced toward her. Had it been
Nellie, all the pleasures of the world could not have induced
him to leave her, but Mabel was altogether another
person, and more for the sake of seeing what she would
say, than from any real intention of going, he read the note
aloud; then carelessly throwing it aside, he said, “Ah,
yes, I'll go. It'll be rare fun camping out these moonlight
nights.”

Much as she feared him, Mabel could not bear to have

him out of her sight, and now, at the first intimation of
his leaving her, her lip began to tremble, while tears filled
her eyes and dropped upon her cheeks. This was enough,
and mentally styling her “a perfect cry-baby,” he resolved
to go at all hazards.

“I don't think you ought to leave Mabel, she feels so
badly,” said Anna, who was present.

“I want to know if little Anna's got so she can dictate
me, too,” answered John, imitating her voice, and
adding, that “he reckoned Mabel would get over her bad
feelings quite as well without him as with him.”

More for the sake of opposition than because she really
cared, Carrie, too, chimed in, saying that “he was a pretty
specimen of a three month's husband,” and asking “how
he ever expected to answer for all of Mabel's tears and
headaches.”

“Hang her tears and headaches,” said he, beginning to
grow angry. “She can get one up to order any time,
and for my part, I am getting heartily tired of the sound
of aches and pains.”

“Please don't talk so,” said Mabel, pressing her hands
upon her aching head, while 'Lena sternly exclaimed,
“Shame on you, John Livingstone. I am surprised at
you, for I did suppose you had some little feeling left.”

“Miss Rivers can be very eloquent when she chooses,
but I am happy to say it is entirely lost on me,” said
John, leaving the room and shutting the door with a bang,
which made every one of Mabel's nerves quiver anew.

“What a perfect brute,” said Carrie, while 'Lena and
Anna drew nearer to Mabel, the one telling her “she
would not care,” and the other silently pressing the little
hand which instinctively sought hers, as if sure of finding
sympathy.

At this moment Mrs. Livingstone came in, and immediately

Carrie gave a detailed account of her brother's
conduct, at the same time referring her mother for proof
to Mabel's red eyes and swollen face.

“I never interfere between husband and wife,” said
Mrs. Livingstone coolly, “but as a friend, I will give Mabel
a bit of advice. Without being at all personal, I
would say that a few women have beauty enough to afford
to impair it by eternally crying, while fewer men have
patience enough to bear with a woman who is forever
whining and complaining, first of this and then of that.
I don't suppose that John is so much worse than other
people, and I think he bears up wonderfully, considering
his disappointment.”

Here the lady flounced out of the room, leaving the
girls to stare at each other in silence, wondering what she
meant. Since her marriage, Mabel had occupied the parlor
chamber, which connected with a cozy little bedroom
and dressing-room adjoining. These had at the time been
fitted up and furnished in a style which Mrs. Livingstone
thought worthy of Mabel's wealth, but now that she was
poor, the case was altered, and she had long contemplated
removing her to more inferior quarters. “She wasn't going
to give her the very best room in the house. No, indeed,
she wasn't—wearing out the carpets, soiling the
furniture, and keeping everything topsy-turvy.”

She understood John Jr. well enough to know that it
would not do to approach him on the subject, so she
waited, determining to carry out her plans the very first
time he should be absent, thinking when it was once done,
he would submit quietly. On hearing that he had gone off
on a hunting excursion, she thought, “Now is my time,”
and summoning to her assistance three or four servants, she
removed everything belonging to John Jr. and Mabel, to

the small and not remarkably convenient room which the
former had occupied previous to his marriage.

”What are you about?” asked Anna, who chanced to
pass by and looked in.

“About my business,” answered Mrs. Livingstone.
“I'm not going to have my best things all worn out, and
if this was once good enough for John to sleep in, it is
now.”

“But will Mabel like it?” asked Anna, a little suspicious
that her sister-in-law's rights were being infringed.

“Nobody cares whether she is pleased or not,” said
Mrs. Livingstone. “If she don't like it, all she has to do
is to go away.”

“Lasted jest about as long as I thought 'twould,” said
Aunt Milly, when she heard what was going on. “Ile
and crab-apple vinegar won't mix, nohow, and if before
the year's up old miss don't worry the life out of that
poor little sickly critter, that looks now like a picked
chicken, my name ain't Milly Livingstone.”

The other negroes agreed with her. Constantly associated
with the family, they saw things as they were, and
while Mrs. Livingstone's conduct was universally condemned,
Mabel was a general favorite. After Mrs. Livingstone
had left the room, Milly, with one or two others,
stole up to reconnoiter.

“Now I 'clar' for't,” said Milly, “if here ain't Marster
John's bootjack, fish-line, and box of tobacky, right out
in far sight, and Miss Mabel comin' in here to sleep.
'Pears like some white folks hain't no idee of what 'longs
to good manners. Here, Corind, put the jack in thar,
the fish-line thar, the backy thar, and heave that ar other
trash out o'door,” pointing to some geological specimens
which from time to time John Jr. had gathered, and which
his mother had not thought proper to molest.

Corinda obeyed, and then Aunt Milly, who really possessed
good taste, began to make some alterations in the
arrangement of the furniture, and under her supervision
the room soon began to present a more-cheerful and inviting
aspect.

“Git out with yer old airthen candlestick,” said she,
turning up her broad nose at the said article, which stood
upon the stand. “What's them tall frosted ones in the
parlor chamber for, if 'tain't to use. Go, Corind, and
fetch 'em.”

But Corinda did not dare, and Aunt Milly went herself,
taking the precaution to bring them in the tongs, so that
in the denouement she could stoutly deny having ever
“tached 'em, or even had 'em in her hands!” (So much
for a subterfuge, where there is no moral training.)

When Mabel heard of the change, she seemed for a
moment stupefied. Had she been consulted, had Mrs.
Livingstone frankly stated her reasons for wishing her to
take another room, she would have consented willingly,
but to be thus summarily removed without a shadow of
warning, hardly came up to her ideas of justice. Still,
there was no help for it, and that night the bride of three
months watered her lone pillow with tears, never once
closing her heavy eyelids in sleep until the dim morning
light came in through the open window, and the tread of
the negroes' feet was heard in the yard below. Then, for
many hours, the weary girl slumbered on, unconscious of
the ill-natured remarks which her non-appearance was
eliciting from Mrs. Livingstone, who said “it was strange
what airs some people would put on; perhaps Mistress
Mabel fancied her breakfast would be sent to her room,
or kept warm for her until such time as she chose to appear,
but she'd find herself mistaken, for the servants had
enough to do without waiting upon her, and if she

couldn't get up to breakfast, why, she must wait until
dinner time!”

'Lena and Milly, however, thought differently. Softly
had the latter stolen up to her cousin's room, gazing pityingly
upon the pale, worn face, whose grieved, mournful
expression told of sorrow which had come all too soon.

“Let her sleep; it will do her good,” said 'Lena, adjusting
the bed-clothes, and dropping the curtain so that
the sunlight should not disturb her, she left the chamber.

An hour after, on entering the kitchen, she found Aunt
Milly preparing a rich cream toast, which, with a cup of
fragrant black tea, were to be slily conveyed to Mabel,
who was now awake.

“Reckon thar don't nobody starve as long as this nigger
rules the roost,” said Milly, wiping one of the silver
tea-spoons with a corner of her apron, and then placing
it in the cup destined for Mabel, who, not having seen her
breakfast prepared, relished it highly, thinking the world
was not, after all, so dark and dreary, for there were yet
a few left who cared for her.

Her headache of the day before still remained, and
'Lena suggested that she should stay in her room, saying
that she would herself see that every necessary attention
was paid her. This she could the more readily do, as
Mrs. Livingstone had gone to Versailles with her husband.
That afternoon, as Mabel lay watching the drifting clouds
as they passed and repassed before the window, her ear
suddenly caught the sound of horses' feet. Nearer and
nearer they came, until with a cry of delight she hid her
face in the pillows, weeping for very joy—for John Jr.
had come home! She could not be mistaken, and if there
was any lingering doubt, it was soon lost in certainty, for
she heard his voice in the hall below, his footsteps on the
stairs. He was coming, an unusual thing, to see her first!

But how did he know she was there, in his old room?
He did not know it; he was only coming to put his rifle
in its accustomed place, and on seeing the chamber filled
with the various paraphernalia of a woman's toilet, he
started, with the exclamation, “What the deace! I
reckon I've got into the wrong pew,” and was going
away, when Mabel called him back. “Meb, you here?”
said he. “You in this little tucked up hole, that I always
thought too small for me and my traps! What does it
mean?”

Mabel had carefully studied the tones of her husband's
voice, and knowing from the one he now assumed that he
was not displeased with her, the sense of injustice done
her by his mother burst out, and throwing her arms
around his neck, she told him everything connected with
her removal, asking what his mother meant by saying,
“she should never get anything for their board,” and
begging him “to take her away where they could live
alone and be happy.”

Since he had left her, John Jr. had thought a great
deal, the result of which was, that he determined on returning
home much sooner than he at first intended, promising
himself to treat Mabel decently, and if possible win
back the respect of 'Lena, which he knew he had lost.
To his companions, who urged him to remain, he replied
that “he had left his wife sick, and he could not stay
longer.”

It cost him a great effort to say “my wife,” for never
before had he so called her, but he felt better the moment
he had done so, and bidding his young friends adieu,
he started for home with the same impetuous speed which
usually characterized his riding. He had fully expected
to meet Mabel in the parlor, and was even revolving in
his own mind the prospect of kissing her, provided 'Lena

were present. “That'll prove to her,” thought he, “that
I am not the hardened wretch she thinks I am; so I'll do
it, if Meb doesn't happen to be all bound up in camphor
and aromatic vinegar, which I can't endure, anyway.”

Full of this resolution he had hastened home, going
first to his old room, where he had come so unexpectedly
upon Mabel that for a moment he scarcely knew what to
say. By the time, however, that she had finished her
story, his mind was pretty well made up.

“And so it's mother's doings, hey?” said he, violently
pulling the bell-rope, and then walking up and down the
room until Corinda appeared in answer to his summons.

“How many blacks are there in the kitchen?” he
asked.

“Six or seven, besides Aunt Polly,” answered Corinda.

“Very well. Tell every man of them to come up here,
quick.”

Full of wonder Corinda departed, carrying the intelligence,
and adding that “Marster John looked mighty black
in the face, and she reckoned some on 'em would catch it,”
at the same time, for fear of what might happen, secretly
conveying back to the safe the piece of cake which, in her
mistress' absence, she had stolen! Aunt Milly's first
thought was of the frosted candlesticks, and by way of
impressing upon Corinda a sense of what she might expect
if in any way she implicated her, she gave her a cuff
in advance, bidding her “be keerful how she blabbed;”
then heading the sable group, she repaired to the chamber,
where John Jr. was awaiting them.

Advancing toward them, as they appeared in the door-way,
he said, “Take hold here, every one of you, and
move these things back where they came from.”

“Don't, oh don't,” entreated Mabel, but laying his

hand over her mouth, John Jr. bade her keep still, at the
same time ordering the negroes “to be quick.”

At first the yonger portion of the blacks stood speechless,
but Aunt Milly, comprehending the whole at once,
and feeling glad that her mistress had her match in her
son, set to work with a right good will, and when about
dusk Mrs. Livingstone came home, she was astonished at
seeing a light in the parlor chamber, while occasionally
she could discern the outline of a form moving before the
window. What could it mean? Perhaps they had company,
and springing from the carriage she hastened into
the house, meeting 'Lena in the hall, and eagerly asking
who was in the front chamber.

“I believe,” said 'Lena, “that my cousin is not pleased
with the change, and has gone back to the front room.”

“The impudent thing!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone,
ignorant of her son's return, and as a matter of course attributing
the whole to Mabel.

Darting up the stairs, she advanced toward the chamber,
and pushing open the door, stood face to face with John
Jr., who, with hands crammed in his pockets and legs
crossed, was leaning against the mantel, waiting and ready
for whatever might occur.

“John Livingstone!” she gasped in her surprise.

“That's my name,” he returned, quietly enjoying her
look of amazement.

“What do you mean?” she continued.

“Mean what I say,” was his provoking answer.

“What have you been about?” was her next question,
to which he replied, “Your eyesight is not deficient
—you can see for yourself.”

Gaining no satisfaction from him, Mrs. Livingstone
now turned upon Mabel, abusing her until John Jr.
sternly commanded her to desist, bidding her “confine

her remarks to himself, and let his wife alone, as she was
not in the least to blame.”

“Your wife!” repeated Mrs. Livingstone—“very affectionate
you've grown, all at once. Perhaps you've forgotten
that you married her to spite Nellie, who you
then believed was the bride of Mr. Wilbur, but you surely
remember how you fainted when you accidentally
learned your mistake.”

A cry from Mabel, who fell back, fainting, among the
pillows, prevented Mrs. Livingstone from any further remarks,
and satisfied with the result of her visit, she
walked away, while John Jr., springing to the bedside,
bore his young wife to the open window, hoping the cool
night air would revive her. But she lay so pale and motionless
in his arms, her head resting so heavily upon his
shoulder, that with a terrible foreboding he laid her back
upon the bed, and rushing to the door, shouted loudly,
“Help—somebody—come quick—Mabel is dead, I know
she is.”

'Lena heard the cry and hastened to the rescue, starting
back when she saw the marble whiteness of Mabel's
face.

“I did'nt kill her, 'Lena. God knows I didn't. Poor
little Meb,” said John Jr., quailing beneath 'Lena's rebuking
glance, and bending anxiously over the slight form
which looked so much like death.

But Mabel was not dead. 'Lena knew it by the faint
fluttering of her heart, and an application of the usual
remedies sufficed, at last, to restore her to consciousness.
With a long-drawn sigh her eyes unclosed, and looking
earnestly in 'Lena's face, she said, “Was it a dream,
'Lena? Tell me, was it all a dream?”—then, as she
observed her husband, she added, shudderingly, “No, no,

not a dream. I remember it all now. And I wish I was
dead.”

Again 'Lena's rebuking glance went over to John Jr.,
who, advancing nearer to Mabel, gently laid his hand
upon her white brow, saying, softly, “Poor, poor Meb.”

There was genuine pity in the tones of his voice, and
while the hot tears gushed forth, the sick girl murmured,
“Forgive me, John, I couldn't help it. I didn't know it,
and now, if you say so, I'll go away, alone—where you'll
never see me again.”

She comprehended it all. Her mother-in-law had rudely
torn away the veil, and she saw why she was there—
knew why he had sought her for his wife—understood
all his coldness and neglect; but she had no word of reproach
for him, her husband, and from the depths of her
crushed heart she forgave him, commiserating him as the
greater sufferer.

“May be I shall die,” she whispered, “and then—”

She did not finish the sentence, neither was it necessary,
for John Jr. understood what she meant, and with his
conscience smiting him as it did, he felt half inclined to
declare, with his usual impulsiveness, that it should never
be; but the rash promise was not made, and it was far
better that it should not be.