University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.
THE SPIDER-WEB BROKEN.

HARRY did not go back, to lead the “German,” as
he had been engaged to do. In fact, in his last
apologies to Mrs. Follingsbee, he had excused himself
on account of his partner's sudden indisposition, —
a thing which made no small buzz and commotion;
though the missing gap, like all gaps great and little in
human society, soon found somebody to step into it: and
the dance went on just as gayly as if they had been there.

Meanwhile, there were in this good city of New York
a couple of sleepless individuals, revolving many things
uneasily during the night-watches, or at least that portion
of the night-watches that remained after they
reached home, — to wit, Mr. Harry Endicott and Miss
Rose Ferguson.

What had taken place in that little scene between
Lillie and Harry, the termination of which was seen by
Rose? We are not going to give a minute description.
The public has already been circumstantially instructed
by such edifying books as “Cometh up as a Flower,”
and others of a like turn, in what manner and in what
terms married women can abdicate the dignity of their

sex, and degrade themselves so far as to offer their
whole life, and their whole selves, to some reluctant man,
with too much remaining conscience or prudence to
accept the sacrifice.

It was from some such wild, passionate utterances
of Lillie that Harry felt a recoil of mingled conscience,
fear, and that disgust which man feels when she, whom
God made to be sought, degrades herself to seek.
There is no edification and no propriety in highly
colored and minute drawing of such scenes of temptation
and degradation, though they are the stock
and staple of some French novels, and more disgusting
English ones made on their model. Harry felt
in his own conscience that he had been acting a
most unworthy part, that no advances on the part
of Lillie could excuse his conduct; and his thoughts
went back somewhat regretfully to the days long ago,
when she was a fair, pretty, innocent girl, and he had
loved her honestly and truly. Unperceived by himself,
the character of Rose was exerting a powerful
influence over him; and, when he met that look of pain
and astonishment which he had seen in her large blue
eyes the night before, it seemed to awaken many things
within him. It is astonishing how blindly people sometimes
go on as to the character of their own conduct,
till suddenly, like a torch in a dark place, the light of
another person's opinion is thrown in upon them, and
they begin to judge themselves under the quickening
influence of another person's moral magnetism. Then,
indeed, it often happens that the graves give up their

dead, and that there is a sort of interior resurrection
and judgment.

Harry did not seem to be consciously thinking of Rose,
and yet the undertone of all that night's uneasiness was
a something that had been roused and quickened in him
by his acquaintance with her. How he loathed himself
for the last few weeks of his life! How he loathed that
hot, lurid, murky atmosphere of flirtation and passion
and French sentimentality in which he had been living!
— atmosphere as hard to draw healthy breath in as the
odor of wilting tuberoses the day after a party.

Harry valued Rose's good opinion as he had never
valued it before; and, as he thought of her in his
restless tossings, she seemed to him something as pure,
as wholesome, and strong as the air of his native
New-England hills, as the sweet-brier and sweet-fern
he used to love to gather when he was a boy. She
seemed of a piece with all the good old ways of New
England, — its household virtues, its conscientious sense
of right, its exact moral boundaries; and he felt somehow
as if she belonged to that healthy portion of his
life which he now looked back upon with something of
regret.

Then, what would she think of him? They had been
friends, he said to himself; they had passed over those
boundaries of teasing unreality where most young
gentlemen and young ladies are content to hold converse
with each other, and had talked together reasonably
and seriously, saying in some hours what they
really thought and felt. And Rose had impressed him

at times by her silence and reticence in certain connections,
and on certain subjects, with a sense of something
hidden and veiled, — a reserved force that he longed still
further to penetrate. But now, he said to himself, he
must have fallen in her opinion. Why was she so cold,
so almost haughty, in her treatment of him the night
before? He felt in the atmosphere around her, and in
the touch of her hand, that she was quivering like a
galvanic battery with the suppressed force of some
powerful emotion; and his own conscience dimly interpreted
to him what it might be.

To say the truth, Rose was terribly aroused. And
there was a great deal in her to be aroused, for she
had a strong nature; and the whole force of womanhood
in her had never received such a shock.

Whatever may be scoffingly said of the readiness
of women to pull one another down, it is certain that
the highest class of them have the feminine esprit de
corps immensely strong. The humiliation of another
woman seems to them their own humiliation; and
man's lordly contempt for another woman seems like
contempt of themselves.

The deepest feeling roused in Rose by the scenes
which she saw last night was concern for the honor
of womanhood; and her indignation at first did not
strike where we are told woman's indignation does,
on the woman, but on the man. Loving John Seymour
as a brother from her childhood, feeling in the
intimacy in which they had grown up as if their
families had been one, the thoughts that had been

forced upon her of his wife the night before had struck
to her heart with the weight of a terrible affliction.
She judged Lillie as a pure woman generally judges
another, — out of herself, — and could not and would
not believe that the gross and base construction which
had been put upon her conduct was the true one. She
looked upon her as led astray by inordinate vanity, and
the hopeless levity of an undeveloped, unreflecting
habit of mind. She was indignant with Harry for the
part that he had taken in the affair, and indignant
and vexed with herself for the degree of freedom and
intimacy which she had been suffering to grow up
between him and herself. Her first impulse was to
break it off altogether, and have nothing more to say to
or do with him. She felt as if she would like to take
the short course which young girls sometimes take out
of the first serious mortification or trouble in their life,
and run away from it altogether. She would have
liked to have packed her trunk, taken her seat on board
the cars, and gone home to Springdale the next day,
and forgotten all about the whole of it; but then, what
should she say to Mrs. Van Astrachan? what account
could she give for the sudden breaking up of her
visit?

Then, there was Harry going to call on her the next
day! What ought she to say to him? On the whole,
it was a delicate matter for a young girl of twenty
to manage alone. How she longed to have the counsel
of her sister or her mother! She thought of Mrs. Van
Astrachan; but then, again, she did not wish to disturb

that good lady's pleasant, confidential relations with
Harry, and tell tales of him out of school: so, on the
whole, she had a restless and uncomfortable night of it.

Mrs. Van Astrachan expressed her surprise at seeing
Rose take her place at the breakfast-table the next
morning. “Dear me!” she said, “I was just telling
Jane to have some breakfast kept for you. I had no
idea of seeing you down at this time.”

“But,” said Rose, “I gave out entirely, and came
away only an hour after you did. The fact is, we
country girls can't stand this sort of thing. I had such
a terrible headache, and felt so tired and exhausted,
that I got Mr. Endicott to bring me away before the
`German.'”

“Bless me!” said Mr. Van Astrachan; “why, you 're
not at all up to snuff! Why, Polly, you and I used to
stick it out till daylight! didn't we?”

“Well, you see, Mr. Van Astrachan, I hadn't anybody
like you to stick it out with,” said Rose. “Perhaps
that made the difference.”

“Oh, well, now, I am sure there 's our Harry! I am
sure a girl must be difficult, if he doesn't suit her for a
beau,” said the good gentleman.

“Oh, Mr. Endicott is all well enough!” said Rose;
“only, you observe, not precisely to me what you were
to the lady you call Polly, — that 's all.”

“Ha, ha!” laughed Mr. Van Astrachan. “Well, to
be sure, that does make a difference; but Harry 's a
nice fellow, nice fellow, Miss Rose: not many fellows
like him, as I think.”

“Yes, indeed,” chimed in Mrs. Van Astrachan. “I
haven't a son in the world that I think more of than
I do of Harry; he has such a good heart.”

Now, the fact was, this eulogistic strain that the
worthy couple were very prone to fall into in speaking
of Harry to Rose was this morning most especially
annoying to her; and she turned the subject at once,
by chattering so fluently, and with such minute details
of description, about the arrangements of the rooms
and the flowers and the lamps and the fountains and
the cascades, and all the fairy-land wonders of the
Follingsbee party, that the good pair found themselves
constrained to be listeners during the rest of the time
devoted to the morning meal.

It will be found that good young ladies, while of
course they have all the innocence of the dove, do
display upon emergencies a considerable share of the
wisdom of the serpent. And on this same mother wit
and wisdom, Rose called internally, when that day,
about eleven o'clock, she was summoned to the library,
to give Harry his audience.

Truth to say, she was in a state of excited womanhood
vastly becoming to her general appearance, and
entered the library with flushed cheeks and head erect,
like one prepared to stand for herself and for her sex.

Harry, however, wore a mortified, semi-penitential
air, that, on the first glance, rather mollified her. Still,
however, she was not sufficiently clement to give him
the least assistance in opening the conversation, by the
suggestions of any of those nice little oily nothings with

which ladies, when in a gracious mood, can smooth the
path for a difficult confession.

She sat very quietly, with her hands before her, while
Harry walked tumultuously up and down the room.

“Miss Ferguson,” he said at last, abruptly, “I know
you are thinking ill of me.”

Miss Ferguson did not reply.

“I had hoped,” he said, “that there had been a
little something more than mere acquaintance between
us. I had hoped you looked upon me as a friend.”

“I did, Mr. Endicott,” said Rose.

“And you do not now?”

“I cannot say that,” she said, after a pause; “but,
Mr. Endicott, if we are friends, you must give me
the liberty to speak plainly.”

“That 's exactly what I want you to do!” he said
impetuously; “that is just what I wish.”

“Allow me to ask, then, if you are an early friend
and family connection of Mrs. John Seymour?”

“I was an early friend, and am somewhat of a
family connection.”

“That is, I understand there has been a ground
in your past history for you to be on a footing of a
certain family intimacy with Mrs. Seymour; in that
case, Mr. Endicott, I think you ought to have considered
yourself the guardian of her honor and reputation,
and not allowed her to be compromised on your
account.”

The blood flushed into Harry's face; and he stood
abashed and silent. Rose went on, —

“I was shocked, I was astonished, last night, because
I could not help overhearing the most disagreeable, the
most painful remarks on you and her, — remarks most
unjust, I am quite sure, but for which I fear you have
given too much reason!”

“Miss Ferguson,” said Harry, stopping as he walked
up and down, “I confess I have been wrong and done
wrong; but, if you knew all, you might see how I have
been led into it. That woman has been the evil fate of
my life. Years ago, when we were both young, I loved
her as honestly as man could love a woman; and she
professed to love me in return. But I was poor; and
she would not marry me. She sent me off, yet she
would not let me forget her. She would always write
to me just enough to keep up hope and interest; and
she knew for years that all my object in striving for
fortune was to win her. At last, when a lucky stroke
made me suddenly rich, and I came home to seek her, I
found her married, — married, as she owns, without
love, — married for wealth and ambition. I don't
justify myself, — I don't pretend to; but when she
met me with her old smiles and her old charms, and
told me she loved me still, it roused the very devil in
me. I wanted revenge. I wanted to humble her, and
make her suffer all she had made me; and I didn't care
what came of it.”

Harry spoke, trembling with emotion; and Rose felt
almost terrified with the storm she had raised.

“O Mr. Endicott!” she said, “was this worthy of
you? was there nothing better, higher, more manly

than this poor revenge? You men are stronger than
we: you have the world in your hands; you have a
thousand resources where we have only one. And you
ought to be stronger and nobler according to your
advantages; you ought to rise superior to the temptations
that beset a poor, weak, ill-educated woman,
whom everybody has been flattering from her cradle,
and whom you, I dare say, have helped to flatter,
turning her head with compliments, like all the rest
of them. Come, now, is not there something in
that?”

“Well, I suppose,” said Harry, “that when Lillie and
I were girl and boy together, I did flatter her, sincerely
that is. Her beauty made a fool of me; and I helped
make a fool of her.”

“And I dare say,” said Rose, “you told her that all
she was made for was to be charming, and encouraged
her to live the life of a butterfly or canary-bird. Did
you ever try to strengthen her principles, to educate
her mind, to make her strong? On the contrary, haven't
you been bowing down and adoring her for being weak?
It seems to me that Lillie is exactly the kind of woman
that you men educate, by the way you look on women,
and the way you treat them.”

Harry sat in silence, ruminating.

“Now,” said Rose, “it seems to me it 's the most
cowardly and unmanly thing in the world for men, with
every advantage in their hands, with all the strength
that their kind of education gives them, with all their
opportunities, — a thousand to our one, — to hunt down

these poor little silly women, whom society keeps stunted
and dwarfed for their special amusement.”

“Miss Ferguson, you are very severe,” said Harry,
his face flushing.

“Well,” said Rose, “you have this advantage, Mr.
Endicott: you know, if I am, the world will not be.
Everybody will take your part; everybody will smile
on you, and condemn her. That is generous, is it not?
I think, after all, Noah Claypole isn't so very uncommon
a picture of the way that your lordly sex turn round
and cast all the blame on ours. You will never make me
believe in a protracted flirtation between a gentleman
and lady, where at least half the blame does not lie on
his lordship's side. I always said that a woman had no
need to have offers made her by a man she could not
love, if she conducted herself properly; and I think
the same is true in regard to men. But then, as I
said before, you have the world on your side; nine
persons out of ten see no possible harm in a man's
taking every advantage of a woman, if she will let
him.”

“But I care more for the opinion of the tenth person
than of the nine,” said Harry; “I care more for what
you think than any of them. Your words are severe;
but I think they are just.”

“O Mr. Endicott!” said Rose, “live for something
higher than for what I think, — than for what any one
thinks. Think how many glorious chances there are
for a noble career for a young man with your fortune,
with your leisure, with your influence! is it for you to

waste life in this unworthy way? If I had your chances,
I would try to do something worth doing.”

Rose's face kindled with enthusiasm; and Harry
looked at her with admiration.

“Tell me what I ought to do!” he said.

“I cannot tell you,” said Rose; “but where there is
a will there is a way: and, if you have the will, you
will find the way. But, first, you must try and repair
the mischief you have done to Lillie. By your own
account of the matter, you have been encouraging and
keeping up a sort of silly, romantic excitement in her.
It is worse than silly; it is sinful. It is trifling with
her best interests in this life and the life to come. And
I think you must know that, if you had treated her
like an honest, plain-spoken brother or cousin, without
any trumpery of gallantry or sentiment, things would
have never got to be as they are. You could have prevented
all this; and you can put an end to it now.”

“Honestly, I will try,” said Harry. “I will begin, by
confessing my faults like a good boy, and take the blame
on myself where it belongs, and try to make Lillie see
things like a good girl. But she is in bad surroundings;
and, if I were her husband, I wouldn't let her stay there
another day. There are no morals in that circle; it 's
all a perfect crush of decaying garbage.”

“I think,” said Rose, “that, if this thing goes no
farther, it will gradually die out even in that circle;
and, in the better circles of New York, I trust it will
not be heard of. Mrs. Van Astrachan and I will appear
publicly with Lillie; and if she is seen with us, and at

this house, it will be sufficient to contradict a dozen
slanders. She has the noblest, kindest husband, — one
of the best men and truest gentlemen I ever knew.”

“I pity him then,” said Harry.

“He is to be pitied,” said Rose; “but his work is
before him. This woman, such as she is, with all her
faults, he has taken for better or for worse; and all true
friends and good people, both his and hers, should help
both sides to make the best of it.”

“I should say,” said Harry, “that there is in this no
best side.”

“I think you do Lillie injustice,” said Rose. “There
is, and must be, good in every one; and gradually the
good in him will overcome the evil in her.”

“Let us hope so,” said Harry. “And now, Miss
Ferguson, may I hope that you won't quite cross my
name out of your good book? You 'll be friends with
me, won't you?”

“Oh, certainly!” said Rose, with a frank smile.

“Well, let 's shake hands on that,” said Harry, rising
to go.

Rose gave him her hand, and the two parted in all
amity.