CHAPTER XXIII.

SALOME LEARNS A STARTLING FACT.

Yes, lying there upon the floor, all unconscious of her condition or surroundings, or of the fact that her identity was discovered, lay the wife of Truman Winthrop.

It was indeed Salome, fair and beautiful as when Dr. Winthrop had held her in his arms on the morning of his sudden departure for Europe, though she was somewhat worn and thin from long watching and anxiety; for these last few weeks, during which the man whom she so fondly loved had lain so low, had been a severe strain upon both heart and strength.

Mrs. Rochester and her daughter hung trembling over her, astonishment, consternation, and even terror depicted upon their blanched faces, and both seemingly too unnerved by their appalling discovery to know what to do in such an emergency.

“She was not burned to death after all,” Miss Rochester at length whispered, tremulously, as she bent closer for a better view of the girl; “and how on earth did she happen to be in Paris at this time, or to get into this family?”

“That is easily enough explained,” returned Mrs. Rochester, beginning to recover herself, while her face grew hard and stern. “She must have escaped from that building without being seen, and has probably been hiding ever since for some reason—perhaps because she was piqued and believed that her marriage was illegal, as they told her. But she has doubtless kept herself posted regarding the movements of the Winthrops, and so followed them here, to be near him. Then, of course, since she is such a natural-born nurse, it was easy enough for her to get into almost any hospital, where, disguised in this outlandish manner, her own mother would never have recognized her; and, having nursed Tillinghast through his illness with such success, it is not at all wonderful that Dr. Winthrop should have wanted her to come here. But”—with a sudden compression of her lips—“what are we going to do about the matter, now that we have made the discovery?”

“Well, to begin with, let us get her out of this hall—take her at once to my room,” said Miss Rochester, a cruel light leaping into her beautiful eyes; “and you understand, mamma,” she added, “we must keep her out of sight—no one must see her or know what we know, and just as soon as possible she must be got out of the house. What do you suppose is to become of us—of my future interests—if Truman Winthrop discovers that his wife is living?”

“What is to become of your future interests whether he learns it or not, since the fact remains that she does live?” bitterly demanded her mother.

“Oh, I don’t know; I must have time to think. Mamma, she must not be allowed to spoil everything now. But come—help me, and, let us get her out of sight at once.”

She seized Salome by the shoulders, and Mrs. Rochester lifting her by the feet, they bore her into their private parlor and laid her upon the lounge.

Then Mrs. Rochester said that Dr. Winthrop must have his dinner or he would suspect that something was wrong. So she took the daintily arranged tray, which fortunately had not been disturbed, and carried it herself to his room, remarking that as Sister Angela appeared not very well, she had prevailed upon her to lie down, and allow her to take her place, and serve his dinner.

Dr. Winthrop did not manifest any suspicion that all was not as represented, and thought it very kind of Mrs. Rochester to be so considerate of the nurse.

Then she made her escape back to her own rooms as soon as possible, but found that Salome had not yet revived. Miss Rochester had made no effort to restore her.

“Your future interests,” she resumed, as if that thought had been in her mind ever since her daughter suggested it. “Surely you do not expect to marry Dr. Winthrop after making this discovery.”

“Why not?”

Mrs. Rochester shrugged her shoulders, and made a significant grimace.

“Bigamy,” was all the reply that she vouchsafed.

Miss Rochester frowned at the disagreeable word.

“It is probable that no one, save you and me, know of her existence, or rather her identity,” she remarked, after a thoughtful pause.

“Well, what of that?” demanded her companion; “she can reveal herself whenever she chooses.”

“That is the very thing I am afraid of; but there are places where people can have no communication with the outside world, and Paris is very prolific in such institutions,” said Miss Rochester, in a tone to make one’s flesh creep.

“Sadie! you wouldn’t dare,” whispered her mother.

“I would dare anything rather than lose all at this late day,” was the passionate retort.

“But you couldn’t marry him even then—you know that would be absolutely impossible, even though she could be so securely shut away that she could never make her existence known,” returned Mrs. Rochester, decidedly.

“Listen, mamma,” said the girl, imperiously, “I have set my heart on this marriage and the union of these two fortunes, and you know when I really make up my mind to anything I usually carry my point. Do you think that, after enjoying all the luxuries which this money buys for us, I am weakly going to surrender them? Can you live without your silks, satins, laces, jewels, horses, carriages; your servants, and the hundred other things you enjoy so much, and go back to the poverty you struggled with before you married a rich man? No, you cannot,” she went on, as her companion shivered over the picture, “but you know that we are to have only the interest of that paltry fifty thousand to use jointly if that contract is not fulfilled.”

“But—but—think of Dr. Winthrop becoming a bigamist!”

“I do not intend that Dr. Winthrop shall become a bigamist,” calmly responded the young lady.

“How can you prevent it if you persist in going through the form of marriage—provided, of course, you can win him—since Salome is already his wife; unless—” and the woman’s face grew deadly pale; “you are meditating a worse crime——”

“Hush!” and Miss Rochester’s eyes blazed dangerously, “what could have put such a horrible idea into your mind? But what I mean to do is this: I mean to put her,” with a glance at the still form, “where she can do no harm by tattling, at least for the present. Then I shall write to a New York lawyer that I am engaged to Dr. Winthrop; but since his first wife’s body was never recovered from the ruins of that building, I am in constant fear lest she should be living, and sometimes appear to cause me trouble. Of course, I shall represent to him that I realize it is only a morbidly nervous fear, still, to satisfy me, I want him to procure regular divorce papers, as if she were living and had simply disappeared—all to be done without publicity of course, as lawyers nowadays know how to do such things. This will, no doubt, cost a great deal of money and require some ingenuity to manage, but they understand how to meet such difficulties, and we need not mind a few thousands if we can but secure the bulk of those fortunes.”

“Well, I must admit, Sadie, you would do credit to the arch-plotter himself!” her mother exclaimed; “as inventive as I am, I should never have thought of such a device; but”—meditatively—“I believe it can be done. Still there will be great risks to be run, even if you succeed in securing the doctor, while, if he should ever mistrust anything afterward, I should not envy you your future happiness. Suppose he should some time learn that you had applied for this divorce?”

“Well, then I could admit to him, as to the lawyer, that I simply did it to satisfy my own conscience, and to prevent any possibility of illegality in our marriage.”

“Then, too,” persisted Mrs. Rochester, still doubtful of the feasibility of the plot, “suppose Salome should manage to escape some time; she might—she would be very likely to make trouble for you.”

“Let her! once I am Mrs. Truman Winthrop, I will snap my fingers at whatever trouble she might try to make. I shall be so secure in my position that I shall not fear her at all,” returned Miss Rochester, confidently.

“Really, Sadie, you have greatly relieved my mind upon one point,” her mother thoughtfully observed. “I have been very much afraid all along that you were going to throw Dr. Winthrop over entirely, out of admiration, if not of some stronger sentiment, for his brother.”

Miss Rochester flushed a vivid scarlet at this unexpected turn to the conversation.

“Well,” she frankly admitted, after a moment of silence, “I must admit that I wish Norman Winthrop had been Milton Hamilton’s favorite nephew and heir; he is far more congenial in some respects than his very dignified and extremely conscientious brother; but since he hasn’t a sufficient fortune to tempt me, and I am bound to have money, I must put up with the other——”

“Hush!” her mother interrupted at this point; “she is coming to herself,” and she pointed to the figure upon the lounge, which just then began to stir feebly.

Suspended animation was gradually reasserting itself in Salome; a long-drawn sigh heaved her breast, and then she slowly opened her eyes and looked around her.

Mrs. Rochester and her daughter were seated together, not far from the head of the lounge, and thus the reviving girl could not see them as she began to come to herself.

They made no sound nor movement, but sat watching to see what she would do or say when she should entirely recover consciousness.

“Where am I? what has happened?” Salome murmured, as her wandering eyes rested upon objects which she had never seen before.

She had never been in those rooms, and had only now and then met their occupants as she passed to and fro through the halls on her duties, or when they came for a moment to Dr. Winthrop’s door to inquire how he was. She had never exchanged a word with either of them, except on that night when Miss Rochester had stolen in upon her when her patient was so ill.

An expression of surprise stole into her eyes, and she put her hand in a confused way to her head, when she was startled to find that her cap and bandages had all been removed; her glasses, too, were gone. A feeling of fear and dismay seized her.

“Why, why!” she cried, in a tone of distress; then she struggled to a sitting posture, and looked about her with a frightened stare.

Instantly she encountered the sullen glances of the two women who were watching her.

“Ah!—Mrs. Rochester!” she gasped.

“Yes, that is my name, Miss Howland—or perhaps you would prefer to be addressed by your latest alias, ‘Sister Angela,’” that lady sarcastically remarked.

“Really, Salome, you have not shown your usual good taste by masquerading in that ugly gray costume,” said Miss Rochester, with a sneer. “I confess,” she added, “it has been an excellent disguise, since neither mamma nor I have been able to penetrate it, until you were so unfortunate as to faint just outside our door a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, you will not betray me——” Salome began, appealingly.

“Betray you!—to whom?” sternly demanded Mrs. Rochester.

“To my—to Dr. Winthrop,” murmured the distressed girl, as she tried to replace her disguise with her trembling hands, and looked around for her glasses.

“To your husband—I suppose you were about to remark,” cried Miss Rochester, with a sneering laugh. “In my presence I hope you will not thus speak of the man to whom I am betrothed. Your husband! Pshaw! Have you not been told that your marriage with him was but a farce?”

Salome shivered. Every word that the cruel girl had uttered had pierced her sensitive heart like a dagger.

“Don’t—don’t!” she breathed, and her teeth began to chatter with the nervous chill that was creeping over her.

Ever since Madame Winthrop had told her that she was no wife she had been crushed and humiliated by the thought that she had been living in a false position. She could have borne it quietly and patiently if Dr. Winthrop had shown a desire to shield her; if he had but written to her that, to all intents and purposes, she was his wife—that he felt morally bound to her, even though there might have been some technical flaw in their union; if he had but told her to remain where she was and he would make everything right when he returned. But instead of doing this—instead of proving the true, noble man she had believed him, he had shown himself to be weak; he had allowed himself to be influenced by his proud mother’s view of the situation, and had sent her out of his home, as if she had been some shameful character, whose presence there would bring opprobrium upon him, and this had crushed her.

Time had only served to increase her suffering and sensitiveness upon this point, and she had tried—when the opportunity offered—to drop quietly out of the world.

She was too innocent and unsuspecting—too ignorant of all legal questions to imagine for a moment that she had been deceived—to reason that the simple fact of Dr. Winthrop having taken vows in the presence of witnesses, or having installed her in his home as his wife in the presence of his servants, would establish her position according to the laws of New York, even though there might have been some informality about their union which might have seriously affected it in other States. Neither had it occurred to her to take advice upon the subject and try to obtain redress. She had simply believed what she had been told, and then, imagining that her husband was ashamed and regretted the alliance, she had resolved to take herself forever out of his way.

“I do not wonder you are ashamed,” continued Miss Rochester, as she remarked Salome’s emotion; “and yet, in spite of all, you have come here and forced yourself upon him.”

“I did not—oh, I did not!” Salome murmured, a burning blush suffusing her face; “but he was in such trouble, I could not resist the desire to come. His friend was dying, and he could get no one to nurse him. I knew I could give him good care, even if I could not save him, and so, when he appealed to me, I yielded. Then he asked me to come here. Oh, it was hard—no one will ever know how hard—but he needed me, and I would have given my life for him——”

“Very likely,” interrupted Miss Rochester, with a sarcastic sneer; “but that costly sacrifice has not been required of you. And now, since your identity has been revealed, it is but natural that I should object to your remaining longer in the capacity of nurse to the man whom I expect to marry.”

Salome’s face grew deadly white again at this poisoned shaft; but she drew herself up with dignity.

“Your objection would have no weight with me. I should remain if I considered it my duty to do so,” she said coldly.

“Perhaps it has been your intention to reveal yourself to Doctor Winthrop and try to ingratiate yourself with him again,” was the rude retort.

“No, no!” Salome cried, trembling with fear at the thought, and trying to adjust her disguise more securely, while she searched again for her glasses. “He must never know that I have been here!”

“Ah, then you have some sense of shame! I am glad to know that you do not wish to thrust yourself upon him again, after having once been discarded from his home——”

“Stop! oh, stop!” Salome interrupted, as she tottered to her feet in her agony, putting out her hand appealingly at this taunt. “I have never wanted to thrust myself upon him; but I was wild when they came and told me that he had at last fallen a prey to the disease from which he had saved so many; he himself sent for me, and I had to come. I have saved him—a second time I have saved his life—my work is done, and I will go. I had told him I was going to-day,” she concluded; but her lips were livid with agony at the thought of again leaving the man whom she still loved with all the strength of her soul.

“Where will you go?” demanded Mrs. Rochester.

“Back to my work in the hospitals and among the poor, when I am a little rested,” the wretched girl replied, but with such a sense of utter desolation as she had never before experienced.

“Are you really a nun? Have you taken convent vows upon you?” suddenly inquired Miss Rochester, as it occurred to her that if she had regularly devoted herself to the life, that fact might of itself make her marriage with Dr. Winthrop null and void.

But she was destined to be disappointed, for Salome briefly answered:

“No.”

“Then why have you assumed their dress—why do you masquerade in their robes?”

“To protect myself—it gives me security and liberty in going about my work, for no one dares molest or ill-treat a nun.”

“How do you happen to be in Paris at this time?” Miss Rochester demanded, regarding her with suspicion.

“Excuse me; but I am not accountable to you for my movements,” Salome responded coldly.

Miss Rochester gave a mocking laugh.

“It is very easy to interpret them, nevertheless,” she sneered. “A certain physician was known to be in Paris, and you could not keep away from him. Yours is an exceedingly romantic story, Salome—even you do not dream how romantic. I am willing to wager a handsome sum against those ugly glasses of yours, that you don’t know just who Dr. Winthrop is after all,” and she regarded the girl with a malicious look.

“What do you mean?” Salome asked, with undisguised astonishment.

“You have never had a suspicion, I suppose,” her tormentor went on, “that the handsome doctor may have had as romantic a history as your own? Did no one ever tell you that he was betrothed to another at the time you lured him into that hasty and unfortunate marriage in Boston?”

Salome’s white lips quivered painfully!—how cruel they were to taunt her thus with all her misery.

“Yes—madam told me,” she faltered.

“Did she tell you to whom he was betrothed! No, of course she did not, or you would not look so innocent and curious,” Miss Rochester went on relentlessly. “It is the strangest story in the world—the most wonderful complication I ever heard of—and you were always a marplot Salome——”

“Tell me—tell me,” interposed Salome, with quivering eagerness, “and do not keep me in this torturing suspense. What do you mean? what is there strange or mysterious about him?—to whom was he betrothed?”

“To my husband’s daughter—to Sadie Rochester,” cried Mrs. Rochester, turning a vindictive look upon the unhappy and trembling girl, “and the man whom you have fondly supposed to be your husband and lost, is no other than Truman Hamilton, the adopted son and heir of Milton Hamilton, who decreed that he should marry the daughter of his friend or—forfeit his inheritance!”

Salome had risen to her feet as if electrified at the woman’s first words, and she had seemed to freeze where she stood, as she went on—a look first of incredulity, then horror, then despair overspreading her colorless face.

Then, as the full force of all that she had learned burst upon her, a low cry of anguish broke from her, she swayed dizzily for a moment where she stood, and then sank back upon the couch, from which she had just risen, and fainted away again.