CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE WINTHROPS AND ROCHESTERS LEAVE FOR ROME.

Late that evening Miss Rochester was passing through a dimly lighted corridor, when she was suddenly confronted by a tall figure, who seized her hand in a viselike grip.

It was Norman Winthrop, and his face was so distorted with pain and passion that the girl started back affrighted.

“Norman!” she gasped, and struggled to release her hand.

He gave vent to a bitter laugh.

“Don’t be afraid—I shall not harm you, though if I look as I feel I must appear devilish,” he said. “It is a hard word, Sadie,” he added, as she winced, “but no other will express the state of mind I am in at present. So it is settled beyond recall that you are to marry my brother?” he concluded inquiringly, while he searched her face despairingly.

“Yes,” she briefly answered, trying to speak coldly, even haughtily.

“And you are totally indifferent to the wreck that you have made of me!” the young man vehemently cried, “for I tell you, Sadie Rochester, if I lose you, I am a wreck—a ruined man.”

Her lip quivered, in spite of the effort which she made to retain her self-possession; but she replied in the same tone as before:

“I do not consider that I am responsible——”

“You are responsible,” he retorted hotly, “for you have made me love you; you have led me on, little by little, until my very life and sanity depend upon your smiles and your love. You have even confessed that you love me, and by that very confession you belong to me, rather than to my brother. You shall not marry him,” he concluded fiercely. “I swear, Sadie, that you shall never be his wife.”

“Really, Mr. Winthrop, are you not arrogating to yourself an authority which you have no right to exercise?” the girl sarcastically demanded. “I believe that a woman of my age has the right to choose for herself in a matter of this kind.”

“You have no right to choose Truman Winthrop for your husband when your heart belongs to me,” he returned through his tightly locked teeth.

She knew herself that she had not—that she had no right to become another man’s wife, loving him with all the passion of her nature as she did. She grew very pale as she thought of the long, unloved future before her, and for a moment she could not answer him.

But the die was cast; her ambition was stronger than her love. She longed for wealth and position, and she could not turn her back upon the brilliant prospects before her and marry simply for sentiment. Norman Winthrop was comparatively a poor man, and all her life poverty had been the one thing that she dreaded most, and so, right or wrong, she was determined to marry Truman Winthrop.

“Do you forget how much depends upon this marriage?” she asked in a low tone; “do you forget that I not only deprive myself of great wealth, but your brother also of his rightful inheritance? Besides, I have pledged myself.”

“How very considerate!” sneered the wretched man. “Do you imagine that True is so anxious to possess this fortune that he would insist upon marrying a loveless bride, especially when the ruin of his only brother hangs in the balance? O Sadie,” he went on, changing his tone to one of tender pleading, “for mercy’s sake—for love’s sake, do not violate your own conscience and every principle of right. Break this unnatural engagement and give yourself to me. I will work for you; if money and position are what you want, you shall have them. I will win them for you; my whole life shall be devoted to your happiness. Oh, my love—my love, I cannot give you up! Do not persist in ruining both your life and mine!”

The girl felt that she could not bear much more; her lover’s suffering and despair unnerved her, and she was trembling so that she could scarcely stand.

But she could not relinquish the hopes and aspirations of long years, especially after all the desperate measures which she had adopted to attain them, not even for the love which she craved with all the strength of her nature; not even to save this man, who was the dearest object which the world held for her.

“It cannot be; it is useless to discuss the matter further,” she responded, and turned abruptly away to leave him.

But he seized her hand again and threw himself before her.

“You are utterly without heart or feeling, but you shall never be my brother’s wife!” he cried in a tone that smote her with a sudden fear.

Then he flung her hand violently from him, and turning, rushed quickly from her sight.

Two days later the Winthrops and Rochesters started for Italy.

Dr. Winthrop continued to resist his mother’s pleadings that he would accompany them. She had fondly hoped that since he had yielded his will and agreed to marry Sadie, he might consent to act as their escort in company with his brother.

She and Mrs. Rochester had had visions of a brilliant wedding in Rome, where they were to spend the winter together with many other Americans whom they knew, for they imagined that it would give considerable _éclat_ to the event if they could have the union solemnized there; more than that, they were anxious to have the marriage consummated as soon as possible lest something should occur to prevent it altogether.

“I do not believe in long engagements, Truman,” madam said to him on the morning of their departure; “promise me that you will not delay your marriage, that you will take your wife home with you when you return to America.”

Dr. Winthrop’s face grew stern. It annoyed him exceedingly to have the subject continually harped upon, and yet he well knew they would never let him alone until he yielded to their importunities.

Well, if he must marry Sadie Rochester, it did not much matter when, he told himself, and so, with a feeling of desperation at his heart, and to quiet madam, he said:

“Well, mother, I will think of it.”

Madam’s face grew radiant.

“Now you are sensible,” she said; “when will you join us?”

“I cannot tell yet—you will be travelling for a month yet, and I shall not be able to leave Paris at present, perhaps not under a couple of months,” he returned, putting off the evil day as long as possible.

“Well, then I shall look for you in Rome two months from now, shall I?” she asked, determined to make him commit himself to something.

“Ye-s—perhaps. I will, however, write you before that, of my plans.”

“And, Truman, why won’t you be married in Rome? it would be such a fitting place.”

“Mother,” he interrupted, with more impatience than she had known him to betray for years, “why will you not leave me alone? you drive me desperate. Oh, do what you please—settle everything as you choose, only don’t keep constantly harping upon the subject,” and with this he abruptly left her presence, but his white pained face haunted her long afterward.

He accompanied the party to Paris, where he made every provision for their comfort on their journey, and then bade them farewell; but there was not one whit more of warmth in his adieus to his _fiancée_ than to any other member of the party; indeed, there was far more of love and sympathy in the silent handclasp which he gave his brother.

He was greatly relieved when they were gone and he was free to go back to his study and his practice, into which he threw himself with all the earnestness he could arouse, to drown his misery and keep him from thinking of the dreaded fate awaiting him.

Madame Winthrop and Mrs. Rochester, on the other hand, were highly elated as they went southward.

Madam had communicated the good news of her son’s concession to her friend and they proceeded to hold him to his promise by at once laying their plans for a brilliant wedding in Rome.

Mrs. Rochester was troubled at times with fears that the divorce papers might not arrive in season; but as the weeks passed and they did not—though the lawyer wrote that he should soon have them—she tried to comfort herself by reasoning that it would not matter much if they did not, since no one could ever suspect that Salome was living, while she was so securely shut away in that mad-house in Paris.

Before she had married Mr. Rochester she had been a poor woman toiling for her daily bread as a clerk in the post-office department in Washington. She was handsome, and attractive and Mr. Rochester had fallen in love with her, asked her to become his wife, and promised to settle fifty thousand dollars upon her. He did not do this, however, but kept putting it off, on one pretext or another, until his death, when, to her excessive rage, she found that he had only added a codicil to his will, leaving the money to her conditionally.

She had been the mistress of Mr. Rochester’s elegant home, and had command of a liberal income for more than ten years, and the thought that she might some day be deprived of the luxuries which she had so long enjoyed, filled her with consternation. Not being over-scrupulous as to ways and means, she determined to stop at nothing to carry out the conditions of the will, and secure to herself an independent fortune.

Now, everything seemed to indicate that all her hopes would be realized, and she lent herself to all Madame Winthrop’s plans with the greatest heartiness.

They agreed that nothing should be said about the engagement in Rome, until Dr. Winthrop should arrive, and then they would hasten the wedding with all possible dispatch.

Meantime, Miss Rochester’s trousseau should be ordered from Worth’s, and everything arranged to make the affair as brilliant as the wealth and position of the parties seemed to demand.

Strange to relate, however, now that the matter was settled, Miss Rochester herself suddenly became very averse to any reference to it. She grew moody and depressed, was exceedingly impatient and irritable, and often, Mrs. Rochester, coming upon her unawares, would find her in tears for which she would give no explanation.

Norman Winthrop was also very unlike himself. Heretofore, he had always been a delightful escort in travelling, always attending faithfully to the comfort of his party, and keeping them happy and jolly with his never-failing spirits. But now he was a mere automaton, without one particle of that cheerfulness and good-fellowship which had hitherto characterized him. He rarely spoke unless he was addressed, except to attend to necessary business, and although his mother tried her best to ascertain the cause of this change in him, he baffled all her efforts, and kept his own secret.

When in the presence of others he was always courteous to Miss Rochester, and showed her all the attention that etiquette demanded, but if by any chance they were left alone, he never addressed her, nor took the slightest notice of her.

They journeyed very leisurely, taking in all points of interest along their route, and finally reaching Rome, about the middle of November, took a suite of apartments in the Via Nazionale, where they settled themselves comfortably, and even luxuriously, for the winter.