Chapter IX

The dénouement happened in this way:

There was to be a large party at Mrs. Caruther's, a married daughter of Mrs. Bennett. The Bennetts and the Meekers, by the way, always kept up their intimacy. Mr. Bennett is dead. He died the year he was seventy, leaving a large fortune. The widow lives in the old house, and the children are married, and are bringing out their children now.

I say, Mrs. Caruthers was to give a large party. Mrs. Meeker, who invariably attended her daughter, could not go. Belle must not go alone. She arranged, so she said, to drive early in the evening to Mrs. Caruther's, and to stay there all night.

For two or three weeks previous, Belle, under the inspiration of Signor Barbone, who now exercised a complete control over her, had been making, quietly but very efficiently, her arrangements for quitting her father's roof.

By degrees, and with an amazing display of secretiveness, she managed to convey out of the house all that she might require for a considerable absence.

Her jewels were not lost sight of, nor anything else of value. The Signor had provided proper receptacles for all these articles—indeed, had greatly aided the young lady in the selection of what to take. More than this—Signor Barbone (proh pudor!) had suggested that she should fortify herself with such sums of money as she might be able to get together without exciting suspicion.

Strange as you may think, Belle was possessed of so little delicacy, that she actually entered into the spirit of the enterprise—regarding the affair as a capital joke, enabling her to hold out against papa should he prove obstinate, as he might for a few days (it could only be for a few days), and inclined to be severe.

What with all her jewels, including some recent expensive purchases, made for the first time in her life without payment on the spot (this also at the suggestion of the Signor), and with sums quietly got together for several weeks, including some considerable amounts coaxed from her father on various pretences, and a pretty large sum borrowed over night from mamma—I say, with all this, the 'happy pair' were pretty well fortified for their first campaign.

The trying moment arrived.

Mrs. Caruthers, of course, knew nothing of Belle's tale to her mother, that she was to pass the night at her house. She simply expected Belle to grace her party.

Quite early in the day the young lady ordered a handsome ball dress placed in a box, and directed it to be taken to her dressmaker, to receive some trifling alterations before evening. She would call in good season there, so she told her mother, and order it sent to Mrs. Caruthers's.

Then, waiting for Mrs. Meeker, to take her morning drive, she went to her room and hurried on a travelling dress.

She was going down stairs, when Harriet's nurse opened the door of her young mistress's apartment, and asked her to step a moment into the room.

Belle turned with all the composure she could muster; she curbed her impatience, and looked amiable.

'Oh, are you going out, Belle?'

'Yes, dear; you know I am to be early at Mrs. Caruthers's. Mamma can't go with me—so I am to stay all night.'

'Why, you have on your travelling dress!'

'It looks odd, doesn't it I—I have sent my ball dress to Laroche, to be altered a little; and I have to call there now, and I want her to see me in this. Do you know, I don't think she has fitted me well at all?'

'It seems to me quite perfect.'

'Hatty, dear, did you want me?'

This she said still standing, as if in haste to go.

'Oh, no. I thought you were going into the parlor, and I was about to ask you to sit with me a little while. I have something to say to you about Gus. I want you to talk to papa. You know papa will listen to you. Tell him—never mind, dear, to-morrow will do as well—I hope you will have a pleasant evening.'

'Thank you, dear. Good-by.'

She turned and opened the door.

By a sort of instinctive tenderness not denied to any human creature, Belle paused and looked back, and, hesitating a moment, returned; going to where her sister was reclining, she kissed her affectionately, without speaking one word.

Harriet's eyes suffused; she was quite unused to such a demonstration.

'My darling sister,' she whispered.

Belle was already out of the room. She bounded down the staircase, passed hastily through the hall, and was soon walking rapidly along the street.

One hour from that time she was on her way to New Jersey.

A clergyman had been provided in that State to perform the marriage ceremony.

When the six o'clock New York train for Philadelphia passed through Newark, it received on board Mr. and Mrs. Filippo Barbone, who were just starting on their wedding excursion.

It was the commencement of the honeymoon.

No wonder, the next day, that Belle is late. We who are in the secret will not be astonished; neither does Mrs. Meeker think it at all strange that Belle should not return in the morning after the excitement of a grand evening display such as Mrs. Caruthers will be sure to have.

The day wears on. As the dinner hour approaches, Mrs. Meeker decides to send the carriage for her.

The coachman soon drives up before Mrs. Caruthers's; and the footman, descending, announces simply that he has called for Miss Belle. The answer which is brought to him is, that Miss Belle is not in the house. He returns and reports accordingly.

Although this little incident is very annoying to Mrs. Meeker, still she has no other idea than that Belle has stopped to make some call or do some shopping on her way home.

Had she considered a moment, she would have perceived how unreasonable was such a supposition. But, as Mrs. Meeker could not have the slightest suspicion of the truth, she was forced to imagine something.

In the midst of her perplexity, Hiram entered. He was so accustomed, and especially of late, to his daughter's greeting at the door, that he missed these affectionate tokens of her presence when he entered the house.

'Where is Belle?' he said, as he came into the parlor.

'Belle has not returned yet from Mrs. Caruthers's. It is rather strange. I have just sent the carriage for her. Wakeman brings back word that she is not there.'

'Wakeman is an idiot!' exclaimed Hiram, with a degree of temper so unusual, that Mrs. Meeker started—'an idiot! I dare say he did not make his message intelligible.'

Now, 'Wakeman' was Mrs. Meeker's private servant—a family servant, she was pleased to say; thereby meaning, not that he had been in the employ of her father, honest Thorn the plumber, nor yet in the service of her mother, the "poor relation," but that in fact he was her servant before she was married, and had remained par excellence her servant ever since.

She therefore rose in arms at once, in vindication of her favorite, and was about to work herself into one of her customary manifestations, which Hiram was evidently in no state of mind to bear, when there was suddenly a ring at the door. An instant's parley, and the servant entered, bearing a note to Mr. Meeker.

The superscription was in Belle's handwriting.

A 'terrible sagacity' informed Hiram's heart of something dreadful about to shock it. He tore open the envelope with fierceness, and read as follows:

'Dear Papa: Don't be angry with me. I was married yesterday to Filippo Barbone. I married him because I love him, and could never love any one else. I knew you would not consent, but I could not live without him. Forgive your little girl, dear papa, and write me to come back to you with my dear Filippo. Oh, I know you will like him. Send to me at the Gresham House, Philadelphia. I shall be in agony till I hear from you. Love to dear mamma and Harriet. If I only had your forgiveness, how happy I should be, dear, dear papa!

'Your little Belle.'

[This letter, mainly the production of the Signor, was prepared and put into the hands of his accomplice before the runaways set off, with directions to watch for Hiram's entrance into his house, and deliver immediately after.]

Never before did Hiram Meeker give way to such an exhibition of rage.

He glared fiercely about him, as if endeavoring to find some person on whom to vent it.

There was no one but his wife, who stood directly before him, her angry reply in favor of 'Wakeman' having been cut short by the entrance of the servant with the note.

As Hiram's glance fell on her, a sudden suspicion seized him that she was in some way privy to the affair. In an instant he had grasped her arm, and, shaking her with all his might, he exclaimed: 'Wretch!—monster!—she-devil!—limb of Satan!'

The affair was seriously enough certainly, but it had a ludicrous aspect. There was Arabella, without having the slightest idea of what could cause such a violent outbreak, tossed about like a whirligig by the usually calm, sedate, and self-possessed Hiram, who seemed suddenly transported into a very demon.

Portions of her headdress began to come down. A pair of side curls dropped—a first-rate shot, a sportsman would say—the effect of a double shake and a sudden fetch-up. Next a profusion of hair from the back of the head tumbled off. Teeth began to chatter, and various portions of the structure in which she was encased, to give way.

All this time, Arabella was vainly endeavoring to give utterance to various exclamations, but she could only gasp out some unintelligible sound, while her eyes flashed fire and her cheeks burned with rage.

At last Hiram was exhausted, and with exhaustion came some little thought of what he had been doing. He relinquished his hold of his wife, picked up the note which he had dropped on the floor, put it into her hands, and quit the room.

Hiram stood a moment in the hall, quite overcome by the revulsion that succeeded the storm. Then he slowly mounted the stairs, and proceeded to the room of his invalid child.

Harriet was so struck with the change in her father's countenance, that she started up and exclaimed: 'Why, papa, what is the matter?'

'We are disgraced, my child!' said Hiram, in a hollow voice.

'How? What do you mean?'

'Your sister has run away with a low, vile swindler. My curse rest on her forever!'

'Oh, not so—say not so!' replied Harriet, imploringly.

'Tell me, my child,' said Hiram, mournfully, while he seated himself by her side and took her hand—'tell your father truly, did you know anything about this?'

'No, papa. I do not even now know what you mean.'

Quite calmly Hiram told his daughter what had occurred. The travelling dress, and Belle's last kiss, flashed on her mind. She repeated the circumstance.

'And you know nothing of this Filippo Barbone?' said Hiram, forcing himself with difficulty to pronounce the name.

'Nothing.'

'And your mother?' continued he, slowly, and in a tone which terrified his child.

'Oh, I am sure she knew nothing about it, perfectly sure. I know she did not wish Belle to go to Mrs. Caruthers's, because she could not go with her; and even after Belle made the arrangement to stay all night, mamma did not seem to be at all satisfied.'

Hiram was convinced, and the want of an object on which to wreak his anger now served to exhaust it.

He leaned his face upon the side of his daughter's couch, and groaned.

Harriet put her hand gently upon his cheek. 'Papa,' she said, timidly, 'may I tell you what to do?'

Hiram raised his head. His face was very haggard, but he made no reply.

'Send for Belle to come back, and her husband too, and let us make them happy,' said Harriet, almost abruptly.

'Never! My curse is on her! She is no longer my child—I disinherit her!'

'Give her my portion, then—I shall not require it.'

Hiram started—a new idea had struck him. It was as if somehow he had received a new accession of wealth by the surrender of Harriet's share. A strange confusion of ideas, certainly; but the thought grew on him, as we shall see by-and-by. Now, however, it gave place to the dominant feeling.

Harriet, encouraged by his silence, broke in again: 'Won't you, papa?' she whispered.

Hiram turned and looked at her angrily, but was compelled to lower his countenance before his daughter's earnest, truthful, heavenly gaze.

He started up and went back to the parlor. He began to feel ashamed of his violence toward his wife, and was anxious to dispose of the matter as soon as possible.

To return to Arabella.

As soon as her husband had left her, she proceeded to read the note he placed in her hands. That accomplished, she took the precaution to ring the bell several times with great energy; and, having disposed of the little articles which lay scattered on the floor, she threw herself on the sofa, in violent hysterics.

When Hiram entered, these were at once renewed. Her husband understood this phase of her constitution; and, directing the maid servants to remove their mistress to her own room, he ordered dinner to be served.

I will do him the justice to say he ate little or nothing.

Two or three times the waiter observed that his master put his hand to his head and then to his heart, as if endeavoring to tranquillize himself.

After dinner, he mounted his horse, and rode several miles. When he returned, one would not have known, to look at him, that anything unusual had happened.

During the nest week Hiram was occupied in making his will. A new and important idea seemed to have possession of him.

From that period he never permitted his daughter's name to be mentioned, and would receive no communication from her.

Arabella's hysterics continued, at intervals for several days. Her husband, in view of his violence toward her, was very considerate, but the affair was never alluded to by either.

Arabella, perhaps, felt that she deserved some punishment for tolerating the 'Count in disguise;' and Hiram never got over a certain feeling of mortification when he thought of the scene in the parlor.

Here we leave all the parties for the present.