Mrs. Carteret's present state of mind, of which her nervousness was a sufficiently7 accurate reflection, did in truth date from her aunt's death, and also in part from the time of the conversation with Mrs. Ochiltree, one afternoon, during and after the drive past Miller's new hospital. Mrs. Ochiltree had grown steadily8 more and more childish after that time, and her niece had never succeeded in making her pick up the thread of thought where it had been dropped. At any rate, Mrs. Ochiltree had made no further disclosure upon the subject.
An examination, not long after her aunt's death, of the papers found near the cedar chest on the morning after the murder had contributed to Mrs. Carteret's enlightenment, but had not promoted her peace of mind.
When Mrs. Carteret reached home, after her hurried exploration of the cedar chest, she thrust into a bureau drawer the envelope she had found. So fully9 was her mind occupied, for several days, with the funeral, and with the excitement attending the arrest of Sandy Campbell, that she deferred10 the examination of the contents of the envelope until near the end of the week.
One morning, while alone in her chamber11, she drew the envelope from the drawer, and was holding it in her hand, hesitating as to whether or not she should open it, when the baby in the next room began to cry.
The child's cry seemed like a warning, and yielding to a vague uneasiness, she put the paper back.
"Phil," she said to her husband at luncheon12, "Aunt Polly said some strange things to me one day before she died,—I don't know whether she was quite in her right mind or not; but suppose that my father had left a will by which it was provided that half his property should go to that woman and her child?"
"It would never have gone by such a will," replied the major easily. "Your Aunt Polly was in her dotage14, and merely dreaming. Your father would never have been such a fool; but even if he had, no such will could have stood the test of the courts. It would clearly have been due to the improper16 influence of a designing woman."
"So that legally, as well as morally," said Mrs. Carteret, "the will would have been of no effect?"
"Not the slightest. A jury would soon have broken down the legal claim. As for any moral obligation, there would have been nothing moral about the affair. The only possible consideration for such a gift was an immoral17 one. I don't wish to speak harshly of your father, my dear, but his conduct was gravely reprehensible18. The woman herself had no right or claim whatever; she would have been whipped and expelled from the town, if justice—blind, bleeding justice, then prostrate19 at the feet of slaves and aliens—could have had her way!"
"But the child"—
"The child was in the same category. Who was she, to have inherited the estate of your ancestors, of which, a few years before, she would herself have formed a part? The child of shame, it was hers to pay the penalty. But the discussion is all in the air, Olivia. Your father never did and never would have left such a will."
This conversation relieved Mrs. Carteret's uneasiness. Going to her room shortly afterwards, she took the envelope from her bureau drawer and drew out a bulky paper. The haunting fear that it might be such a will as her aunt had suggested was now removed; for such an instrument, in the light of what her husband had said confirming her own intuitions, would be of no valid20 effect. It might be just as well, she thought, to throw the paper in the fire without looking at it. She wished to think as well as might be of her father, and she felt that her respect for his memory would not be strengthened by the knowledge that he had meant to leave his estate away from her; for her aunt's words had been open to the construction that she was to have been left destitute21. Curiosity strongly prompted her to read the paper. Perhaps the will contained no such provision as she had feared, and it might convey some request or direction which ought properly to be complied with.
She had been standing22 in front of the bureau while these thoughts passed through her mind, and now, dropping the envelope back into the drawer mechanically, she unfolded the document. It was written on legal paper, in her father's own hand.
Mrs. Carteret was not familiar with legal verbiage23, and there were several expressions of which she did not perhaps appreciate the full effect; but a very hasty glance enabled her to ascertain24 the purport25 of the paper. It was a will, by which, in one item, her father devised to his daughter Janet, the child of the woman known as Julia Brown, the sum of ten thousand dollars, and a certain plantation26 or tract5 of land a short distance from the town of Wellington. The rest and residue27 of his estate, after deducting28 all legal charges and expenses, was bequeathed to his beloved daughter, Olivia Merkell.
Mrs. Carteret breathed a sigh of relief. Her father had not preferred another to her, but had left to his lawful29 daughter the bulk of his estate. She felt at the same time a growing indignation at the thought that that woman should so have wrought30 upon her father's weakness as to induce him to think of leaving so much valuable property to her bastard,—property which by right should go, and now would go, to her own son, to whom by every rule of law and decency31 it ought to descend3.
A fire was burning in the next room, on account of the baby,—there had been a light frost the night before, and the air was somewhat chilly32. For the moment the room was empty. Mrs. Carteret came out from her chamber and threw the offending paper into the fire, and watched it slowly burn. When it had been consumed, the carbon residue of one sheet still retained its form, and she could read the words on the charred33 portion. A sentence, which had escaped her eye in her rapid reading, stood out in ghostly black upon the gray background:—
"All the rest and residue of my estate I devise and bequeath to my daughter Olivia Merkell, the child of my beloved first wife."
Mrs. Carteret had not before observed the word "first." Instinctively34 she stretched toward the fire the poker35 which she held in her hand, and at its touch the shadowy remnant fell to pieces, and nothing but ashes remained upon the hearth36.
Not until the next morning did she think again of the envelope which had contained the paper she had burned. Opening the drawer where it lay, the oblong blue envelope confronted her. The sight of it was distasteful. The indorsed side lay uppermost, and the words seemed like a mute reproach:—
Snatching up the envelope, she glanced into it mechanically as she moved toward the next room, and perceived a thin folded paper which had heretofore escaped her notice. When opened, it proved to be a certificate of marriage, in due form, between Samuel Merkell and Julia Brown. It was dated from a county in South Carolina, about two years before her father's death.
For a moment Mrs. Carteret stood gazing blankly at this faded slip of paper. Her father had married this woman!—at least he had gone through the form of marriage with her, for to him it had surely been no more than an empty formality. The marriage of white and colored persons was forbidden by law. Only recently she had read of a case where both the parties to such a crime, a colored man and a white woman, had been sentenced to long terms in the penitentiary38. She even recalled the circumstances. The couple had been living together unlawfully,—they were very low people, whose private lives were beneath the public notice,—but influenced by a religious movement pervading39 the community, had sought, they said at the trial, to secure the blessing40 of God upon their union. The higher law, which imperiously demanded that the purity and prestige of the white race be preserved at any cost, had intervened at this point.
Mechanically she moved toward the fireplace, so dazed by this discovery as to be scarcely conscious of her own actions. She surely had not formed any definite intention of destroying this piece of paper when her fingers relaxed unconsciously and let go their hold upon it. The draught41 swept it toward the fireplace. Ere scarcely touching42 the flames it caught, blazed fiercely, and shot upward with the current of air. A moment later the record of poor Julia's marriage was scattered43 to the four winds of heaven, as her poor body had long since mingled44 with the dust of earth.
The letter remained unread. In her agitation45 at the discovery of the marriage certificate, Olivia had almost forgotten the existence of the letter. It was addressed to "John Delamere, Esq., as Executor of my Last Will and Testament," while the lower left hand corner bore the direction: "To be delivered only after my death, with seal unbroken."
The seal was broken already; Mr. Delamere was dead; the letter could never be delivered. Mrs. Carteret unfolded it and read:—
MY DEAR DELAMERE,—I have taken the liberty of naming you as executor of my last will, because you are my friend, and the only man of my acquaintance whom I feel that I can trust to carry out my wishes, appreciate my motives46, and preserve the silence I desire.
I have, first, a confession47 to make. Inclosed in this letter you will find a certificate of marriage between my child Janet's mother and myself. While I have never exactly repented48 of this marriage, I have never had the courage to acknowledge it openly. If I had not married Julia, I fear Polly Ochiltree would have married me by main force,—as she would marry you or any other gentleman unfortunate enough to fall in the way of this twice-widowed man-hunter. When my wife died, three years ago, her sister Polly offered to keep house for me and the child. I would sooner have had the devil in the house, and yet I trembled with alarm,—there seemed no way of escape,—it was so clearly and obviously the proper thing.
But she herself gave me my opportunity. I was on the point of consenting, when she demanded, as a condition of her coming, that I discharge Julia, my late wife's maid. She was laboring49 under a misapprehension in regard to the girl, but I grasped at the straw, and did everything to foster her delusion50. I declared solemnly that nothing under heaven would induce me to part with Julia. The controversy51 resulted in my permitting Polly to take the child, while I retained the maid.
Before Polly put this idea into my head, I had scarcely looked at Julia, but this outbreak turned my attention toward her. She was a handsome girl, and, as I soon found out, a good girl. My wife, who raised her, was a Christian52 woman, and had taught her modesty53 and virtue54. She was free. The air was full of liberty, and equal rights, and all the abolition55 claptrap, and she made marriage a condition of her remaining longer in the house. In a moment of weakness I took her away to a place where we were not known, and married her. If she had left me, I should have fallen a victim to Polly Ochiltree,—to which any fate was preferable.
And then, old friend, my weakness kept to the fore13. I was ashamed of this marriage, and my new wife saw it. Moreover, she loved me,—too well, indeed, to wish to make me unhappy. The ceremony had satisfied her conscience, had set her right, she said, with God; for the opinions of men she did not care, since I loved her,—she only wanted to compensate56 me, as best she could, for the great honor I had done my handmaiden,—for she had read her Bible, and I was the Abraham to her Hagar, compared with whom she considered herself at a great advantage. It was her own proposition that nothing be said of this marriage. If any shame should fall on her, it would fall lightly, for it would be undeserved. When the child came, she still kept silence. No one, she argued, could blame an innocent child for the accident of birth, and in the sight of God this child had every right to exist; while among her own people illegitimacy would involve but little stigma58. I need not say that I was easily persuaded to accept this sacrifice; but touched by her fidelity59, I swore to provide handsomely for them both. This I have tried to do by the will of which I ask you to act as executor. Had I left the child more, it might serve as a ground for attacking the will; my acknowledgment of the tie of blood is sufficient to justify60 a reasonable bequest61.
I have taken this course for the sake of my daughter Olivia, who is dear to me, and whom I would not wish to make ashamed; and in deference62 to public opinion, which it is not easy to defy. If, after my death, Julia should choose to make our secret known, I shall of course be beyond the reach of hard words; but loyalty63 to my memory will probably keep her silent. A strong man would long since have acknowledged her before the world and taken the consequences; but, alas64! I am only myself, and the atmosphere I live in does not encourage moral heroism65. I should like to be different, but it is God who hath made us, and not we ourselves!
Nevertheless, old friend, I will ask of you one favor. If in the future this child of Julia's and of mine should grow to womanhood; if she should prove to have her mother's gentleness and love of virtue; if, in the new era which is opening up for her mother's race, to which, unfortunately, she must belong, she should become, in time, an educated woman; and if the time should ever come when, by virtue of her education or the development of her people, it would be to her a source of shame or unhappiness that she was an illegitimate child,—if you are still alive, old friend, and have the means of knowing or divining this thing, go to her and tell her, for me, that she is my lawful child, and ask her to forgive her father's weakness.
When this letter comes to you, I shall have passed to—the Beyond; but I am confident that you will accept this trust, for which I thank you now, in advance, most heartily67.
The letter was signed with her father's name, the same signature which had been attached to the will.
Having firmly convinced herself of the illegality of the papers, and of her own right to destroy them, Mrs. Carteret ought to have felt relieved that she had thus removed all traces of her dead father's folly68. True, the other daughter remained,—she had seen her on the street only the day before. The sight of this person she had always found offensive, and now, she felt, in view of what she had just learned, it must be even more so. Never, while this woman lived in the town, would she be able to throw the veil of forgetfulness over this blot69 upon her father's memory.
As the day wore on, Mrs. Carteret grew still less at ease. To herself, marriage was a serious thing,—to a right-thinking woman the most serious concern of life. A marriage certificate, rightfully procured70, was scarcely less solemn, so far as it went, than the Bible itself. Her own she cherished as the apple of her eye. It was the evidence of her wifehood, the seal of her child's legitimacy57, her patent of nobility,—the token of her own and her child's claim to social place and consideration. She had burned this pretended marriage certificate because it meant nothing. Nevertheless, she could not ignore the knowledge of another such marriage, of which every one in the town knew,—a celebrated71 case, indeed, where a white man, of a family quite as prominent as her father's, had married a colored woman during the military occupation of the state just after the civil war. The legality of the marriage had never been questioned. It had been fully consummated72 by twenty years of subsequent cohabitation. No amount of social persecution73 had ever shaken the position of the husband. With an iron will he had stayed on in the town, a living protest against the established customs of the South, so rudely interrupted for a few short years; and, though his children were negroes, though he had never appeared in public with his wife, no one had ever questioned the validity of his marriage or the legitimacy of his offspring.
The marriage certificate which Mrs. Carteret had burned dated from the period of the military occupation. Hence Mrs. Carteret, who was a good woman, and would not have done a dishonest thing, felt decidedly uncomfortable. She had destroyed the marriage certificate, but its ghost still haunted her.
Major Carteret, having just eaten a good dinner, was in a very agreeable humor when, that same evening, his wife brought up again the subject of their previous discussion.
"Phil," she asked, "Aunt Polly told me that once, long before my father died, when she went to remonstrate74 with him for keeping that Woman in the house, he threatened to marry Julia if Aunt Polly ever said another word to him about the matter. Suppose he had married her, and had then left a will,—would the marriage have made any difference, so far as the will was concerned?"
Major Carteret laughed. "Your Aunt Polly," he said, "was a remarkable75 woman, with a wonderful imagination, which seems to have grown more vivid as her memory and judgment76 weakened. Why should your father marry his negro housemaid? Mr. Merkell was never rated as a fool,—he had one of the clearest heads in Wellington. I saw him only a day or two before he died, and I could swear before any court in Christendom that he was of sound mind and memory to the last. These notions of your aunt were mere15 delusions77. Your father was never capable of such a folly."
"Of course I am only supposing a case," returned Olivia. "Imagining such a case, just for the argument, would the marriage have been legal?"
"That would depend. If he had married her during the military occupation, or over in South Carolina, the marriage would have been legally valid, though morally and socially outrageous79."
"And if he had died afterwards, leaving a will?"
"The will would have controlled the disposition80 of his estate, in all probability."
"Suppose he had left no will?"
"You are getting the matter down pretty fine, my dear! The woman would have taken one third of the real estate for life, and could have lived in the homestead until she died. She would also have had half the other property,—the money and goods and furniture, everything except the land,—and the negro child would have shared with you the balance of the estate. That, I believe, is according to the law of descent and distribution."
Mrs. Carteret lapsed81 into a troubled silence. Her father had married the woman. In her heart she had no doubt of the validity of the marriage, so far as the law was concerned; if one marriage of such a kind would stand, another contracted under similar conditions was equally as good. If the marriage had been valid, Julia's child had been legitimate66. The will she had burned gave this sister of hers—she shuddered82 at the word—but a small part of the estate. Under the law, which intervened now that there was no will, the property should have been equally divided. If the woman had been white,—but the woman had not been white, and the same rule of moral conduct did not, could not, in the very nature of things, apply, as between white people! For, if this were not so, slavery had been, not merely an economic mistake, but a great crime against humanity. If it had been such a crime, as for a moment she dimly perceived it might have been, then through the long centuries there had been piled up a catalogue of wrong and outrage78 which, if the law of compensation be a law of nature, must some time, somewhere, in some way, be atoned83 for. She herself had not escaped the penalty, of which, she realized, this burden placed upon her conscience was but another installment84.
If she should make known the facts she had learned, it would mean what?—a division of her father's estate, a recognition of the legality of her father's relations with Julia. Such a stain upon her father's memory would be infinitely85 worse than if he had not married her. To have lived with her without marriage was a social misdemeanor, at which society in the old days had winked86, or at most had frowned. To have married her was to have committed the unpardonable social sin. Such a scandal Mrs. Carteret could not have endured. Should she seek to make restitution87, it would necessarily involve the disclosure of at least some of the facts. Had she not destroyed the will, she might have compromised with her conscience by producing it and acting88 upon its terms, which had been so stated as not to disclose the marriage. This was now rendered impossible by her own impulsive89 act; she could not mention the will at all, without admitting that she had destroyed it.
Mrs. Carteret found herself in what might be called, vulgarly, a moral "pocket." She could, of course, remain silent. Mrs. Carteret was a good woman, according to her lights, with a cultivated conscience, to which she had always looked as her mentor90 and infallible guide.
Hence Mrs. Carteret, after this painful discovery, remained for a long time ill at ease,—so disturbed, indeed, that her mind reacted upon her nerves, which had never been strong; and her nervousness affected her strength, which had never been great, until Carteret, whose love for her had been deepened and strengthened by the advent91 of his son, became alarmed for her health, and spoke92 very seriously to Dr. Price concerning it.
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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dotage
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| n.年老体衰；年老昏聩 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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reprehensible
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prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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valid
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| adj.有确实根据的；有效的；正当的，合法的 | |
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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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verbiage
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| n.冗词；冗长 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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purport
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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residue
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| n.残余，剩余，残渣 | |
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deducting
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lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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instinctively
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poker
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hearth
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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penitentiary
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| n.感化院；监狱 | |
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pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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abolition
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| n.废除，取消 | |
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compensate
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| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
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legitimacy
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| n.合法，正当 | |
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stigma
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| n.耻辱，污名；(花的)柱头 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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bequest
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| n.遗赠；遗产，遗物 | |
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deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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consummated
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| v.使结束( consummate的过去式和过去分词 )；使完美；完婚；（婚礼后的）圆房 | |
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persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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remonstrate
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| v.抗议，规劝 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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delusions
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| n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 )；谬见；错觉；妄想 | |
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outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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atoned
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| v.补偿，赎（罪）( atone的过去式和过去分词 )；补偿，弥补，赎回 | |
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installment
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| n.(instalment)分期付款；(连载的)一期 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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restitution
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| n.赔偿；恢复原状 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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mentor
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| n.指导者，良师益友；v.指导 | |
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advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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