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<h2> CHAPTER IX. THE DEFEAT OF THE MAJOR. </h2>
<p>MAJOR FITZ-DAVID'S visitor proved to be a plump, round-eyed overdressed
girl, with a florid complexion and straw colored hair. After first fixing
on me a broad stare of astonishment, she pointedly addressed her apologies
for intruding on us to the Major alone. The creature evidently believed me
to be the last new object of the old gentleman's idolatry; and she took no
pains to disguise her jealous resentment on discovering us together. Major
Fitz-David set matters right in his own irresistible way. He kissed the
hand of the overdressed girl as devotedly as he had kissed mine; he told
her she was looking charmingly. Then he led her, with his happy mixture of
admiration and respect, back to the door by which she had entered—a
second door communicating directly with the hall.</p>
<p>"No apology is necessary, my dear," he said. "This lady is with me on a
matter of business. You will find your singing-master waiting for you
upstairs. Begin your lesson; and I will join you in a few minutes. <i>Au
revoir</i>, my charming pupil—<i>au revoir.</i>"</p>
<p>The young lady answered this polite little speech in a whisper—with
her round eyes fixed distrustfully on me while she spoke. The door closed
on her. Major Fitz-David was at liberty to set matters right with me, in
my turn.</p>
<p>"I call that young person one of my happy discoveries;" said the old
gentleman, complacently. "She possesses, I don't hesitate to say, the
finest soprano voice in Europe. Would you believe it, I met with her at
the railway station. She was behind the counter in a refreshment-room,
poor innocent, rinsing wine-glasses, and singing over her work. Good
Heavens, such singing! Her upper notes electrified me. I said to myself;
'Here is a born prima donna—I will bring her out!' She is the third
I have brought out in my time. I shall take her to Italy when her
education is sufficiently advanced, and perfect her at Milan. In that
unsophisticated girl, my dear lady, you see one of the future Queens of
Song. Listen! She is beginning her scales. What a voice! Brava! Brava!
Bravissima!"</p>
<p>The high soprano notes of the future Queen of Song rang through the house
as he spoke. Of the loudness of the young lady's voice there could be no
sort of doubt. The sweetness and the purity of it admitted, in my opinion,
of considerable dispute.</p>
<p>Having said the polite words which the occasion rendered necessary, I
ventured to recall Major Fitz-David to the subject in discussion between
us when his visitor had entered the room. The Major was very unwilling to
return to the perilous topic on which we had just touched when the
interruption occurred. He beat time with his forefinger to the singing
upstairs; he asked me about <i>my</i> voice, and whether I sang; he
remarked that life would be intolerable to him without Love and Art. A man
in my place would have lost all patience, and would have given up the
struggle in disgust. Being a woman, and having my end in view, my
resolution was invincible. I fairly wore out the Major's resistance, and
compelled him to surrender at discretion. It is only justice to add that,
when he did make up his mind to speak to me again of Eustace, he spoke
frankly, and spoke to the point.</p>
<p>"I have known your husband," he began, "since the time when he was a boy.
At a certain period of his past life a terrible misfortune fell upon him.
The secret of that misfortune is known to his friends, and is religiously
kept by his friends. It is the secret that he is keeping from You. He will
never tell it to you as long as he lives. And he has bound <i>me</i> not
to tell it, under a promise given on my word of honor. You wished, dear
Mrs. Woodville, to be made acquainted with my position toward Eustace.
There it is!"</p>
<p>"You persist in calling me Mrs. Woodville," I said.</p>
<p>"Your husband wishes me to persist," the Major answered. "He assumed the
name of Woodville, fearing to give his own name, when he first called at
your uncle's house. He will now acknowledge no other. Remonstrance is
useless. You must do what we do—you must give way to an unreasonable
man. The best fellow in the world in other respects: in this one matter as
obstinate and self-willed as he can be. If you ask me my opinion, I tell
you honestly that I think he was wrong in courting and marrying you under
his false name. He trusted his honor and his happiness to your keeping in
making you his—wife. Why should he not trust the story of his
troubles to you as well? His mother quite shares my opinion in this
matter. You must not blame her for refusing to admit you into her
confidence after your marriage: it was then too late. Before your marriage
she did all she could do—without betraying secrets which, as a good
mother, she was bound to respect—to induce her son to act justly
toward you. I commit no indiscretion when I tell you that she refused to
sanction your marriage mainly for the reason that Eustace refused to
follow her advice, and to tell you what his position really was. On my
part I did all I could to support Mrs. Macallan in the course that she
took. When Eustace wrote to tell me that he had engaged himself to marry a
niece of my good friend Doctor Starkweather, and that he had mentioned me
as his reference, I wrote back to warn him that I would have nothing to do
with the affair unless he revealed the whole truth about himself to his
future wife. He refused to listen to me, as he had refused to listen to
his mother; and he held me at the same time to my promise to keep his
secret. When Starkweather wrote to me, I had no choice but to involve
myself in a deception of which I thoroughly disapproved, or to answer in a
tone so guarded and so brief as to stop the correspondence at the outset.
I chose the last alternative; and I fear I have offended my good old
friend. You now see the painful position in which I am placed. To add to
the difficulties of that situation, Eustace came here this very day to
warn me to be on my guard, in case of your addressing to me the very
request which you have just made! He told me that you had met with his
mother, by an unlucky accident, and that you had discovered the family
name. He declared that he had traveled to London for the express purpose
of speaking to me personally on this serious subject. 'I know your
weakness,' he said, 'where women are concerned. Valeria is aware that you
are my old friend. She will certainly write to you; she may even be bold
enough to make her way into your house. Renew your promise to keep the
great calamity of my life a secret, on your honor and on your oath. 'Those
were his words, as nearly as I can remember them. I tried to treat the
thing lightly; I ridiculed the absurdly theatrical notion of 'renewing my
promise,' and all the rest of it. Quite useless! He refused to leave me;
he reminded me of his unmerited sufferings, poor fellow, in the past time.
It ended in his bursting into tears. You love him, and so do I. Can you
wonder that I let him have his way? The result is that I am doubly bound
to tell you nothing, by the most sacred promise that a man can give. My
dear lady, I cordially side with you in this matter; I long to relieve
your anxieties. But what can I do?"</p>
<p>He stopped, and waited—gravely waited—to hear my reply.</p>
<p>I had listened from beginning to end without interrupting him. The
extraordinary change in his manner, and in his way of expressing himself,
while he was speaking of Eustace, alarmed me as nothing had alarmed me
yet. How terrible (I thought to myself) must this untold story be, if the
mere act of referring to it makes light-hearted Major Fitz-David speak
seriously and sadly, never smiling, never paying me a compliment, never
even noticing the singing upstairs! My heart sank in me as I drew that
startling conclusion. For the first time since I had entered the house I
was at the end of my resources; I knew neither what to say nor what to do
next.</p>
<p>And yet I kept my seat. Never had the resolution to discover what my
husband was hiding from me been more firmly rooted in my mind than it was
at that moment! I cannot account for the extraordinary inconsistency in my
character which this confession implies. I can only describe the facts as
they really were.</p>
<p>The singing went on upstairs. Major Fitz-David still waited impenetrably
to hear what I had to say—to know what I resolved on doing next.</p>
<p>Before I had decided what to say or what to do, another domestic incident
happened. In plain words, another knocking announced a new visitor at the
house door. On this occasion there was no rustling of a woman's dress in
the hall. On this occasion only the old servant entered the room, carrying
a magnificent nosegay in his hand. "With Lady Clarinda's kind regards. To
remind Major Fitz-David of his appointment." Another lady! This time a
lady with a title. A great lady who sent her flowers and her messages
without condescending to concealment. The Major—first apologizing to
me—wrote a few lines of acknowledgment, and sent them out to the
messenger. When the door was closed again he carefully selected one of the
choicest flowers in the nosegay. "May I ask," he said, presenting the
flower to me with his best grace, "whether you now understand the delicate
position in which I am placed between your husband and yourself?"</p>
<p>The little interruption caused by the appearance of the nosegay had given
a new impulse to my thoughts, and had thus helped, in some degree, to
restore me to myself. I was able at last to satisfy Major Fitz-David that
his considerate and courteous explanation had not been thrown away upon
me.</p>
<p>"I thank you, most sincerely, Major," I said "You have convinced me that I
must not ask you to forget, on my account, the promise which you have
given to my husband. It is a sacred promise, which I too am bound to
respect—I quite understand that."</p>
<p>The Major drew a long breath of relief, and patted me on the shoulder in
high approval of what I had said to him.</p>
<p>"Admirably expressed!" he rejoined, recovering his light-hearted looks and
his lover-like ways all in a moment. "My dear lady, you have the gift of
sympathy; you see exactly how I am situated. Do you know, you remind me of
my charming Lady Clarinda. <i>She</i> has the gift of sympathy, and sees
exactly how I am situated. I should so enjoy introducing you to each
other," said the Major, plunging his long nose ecstatically into Lady
Clarinda's flowers.</p>
<p>I had my end still to gain; and, being (as you will have discovered by
this time) the most obstinate of living women, I still kept that end in
view.</p>
<p>"I shall be delighted to meet Lady Clarinda," I replied. "In the meantime—"</p>
<p>"I will get up a little dinner," proceeded the Major, with a burst of
enthusiasm. "You and I and Lady Clarinda. Our young prima donna shall come
in the evening, and sing to us. Suppose we draw out the <i>menu?</i> My
sweet friend, what is your favorite autumn soup?"</p>
<p>"In the meantime," I persisted, "to return to what we were speaking of
just now—"</p>
<p>The Major's smile vanished; the Major's hand dropped the pen destined to
immortalize the name of my favorite autumn soup.</p>
<p>"<i>Must</i> we return to that?" he asked, piteously.</p>
<p>"Only for a moment," I said.</p>
<p>"You remind me," pursued Major Fitz-David, shaking his head sadly, "of
another charming friend of mine—a French friend—Madame
Mirliflore. You are a person of prodigious tenacity of purpose. Madame
Mirliflore is a person of prodigious tenacity of purpose. She happens to
be in London. Shall we have her at our little dinner?" The Major
brightened at the idea, and took up the pen again. "Do tell me," he said,
"what <i>is</i> your favorite autumn soup?"</p>
<p>"Pardon me," I began, "we were speaking just now—"</p>
<p>"Oh, dear me!" cried Major Fitz-David. "Is this the other subject?"</p>
<p>"Yes—this is the other subject."</p>
<p>The Major put down his pen for the second time, and regretfully dismissed
from his mind Madame Mirliflore and the autumn soup.</p>
<p>"Yes?" he said, with a patient bow and a submissive smile. "You were going
to say—"</p>
<p>"I was going to say," I rejoined, "that your promise only pledges you not
to tell the secret which my husband is keeping from me. You have given no
promise not to answer me if I venture to ask you one or two questions."</p>
<p>Major Fitz-David held up his hand warningly, and cast a sly look at me out
of his bright little gray eyes.</p>
<p>"Stop!" he said. "My sweet friend, stop there! I know where your questions
will lead me, and what the result will be if I once begin to answer them.
When your husband was here to-day he took occasion to remind me that I was
as weak as water in the hands of a pretty woman. He is quite right. I <i>am</i>
as weak as water; I can refuse nothing to a pretty woman. Dear and
admirable lady, don't abuse your influence! don't make an old soldier
false to his word of honor!"</p>
<p>I tried to say something here in defense of my motives. The Major clasped
his hands entreatingly, and looked at me with a pleading simplicity
wonderful to see.</p>
<p>"Why press it?" he asked. "I offer no resistance. I am a lamb—why
sacrifice me? I acknowledge your power; I throw myself on your mercy. All
the misfortunes of my youth and my manhood have come to me through women.
I am not a bit better in my age—I am just as fond of the women and
just as ready to be misled by them as ever, with one foot in the grave.
Shocking, isn't it? But how true! Look at this mark!" He lifted a curl of
his beautiful brown wig, and showed me a terrible scar at the side of his
head. "That wound (supposed to be mortal at the time) was made by a pistol
bullet," he proceeded. "Not received in the service of my country—oh
dear, no! Received in the service of a much-injured lady, at the hands of
her scoundrel of a husband, in a duel abroad. Well, she was worth it." He
kissed his hand affectionately to the memory of the dead or absent lady,
and pointed to a water-color drawing of a pretty country-house hanging on
the opposite wall. "That fine estate," he proceeded, "once belonged to me.
It was sold years and years since. And who had the money? The women—God
bless them all!—the women. I don't regret it. If I had another
estate, I have no doubt it would go the same way. Your adorable sex has
made its pretty playthings of my life, my time, and my money—and
welcome! The one thing I have kept to myself is my honor. And now <i>that</i>
is in danger. Yes, if you put your clever little questions, with those
lovely eyes and with that gentle voice, I know what will happen. You will
deprive me of the last and best of all my possessions. Have I deserved to
be treated in that way, and by you, my charming friend?—by you, of
all people in the world? Oh, fie! fie!"</p>
<p>He paused and looked at me as before—the picture of artless
entreaty, with his head a little on one side. I made another attempt to
speak of the matter in dispute between us, from my own point of view.
Major Fitz-David instantly threw himself prostrate on my mercy more
innocently than ever.</p>
<p>"Ask of me anything else in the wide world," he said; "but don't ask me to
be false to my friend. Spare me <i>that</i>—and there is nothing I
will not do to satisfy you. I mean what I say, mind!" he went on, bending
closer to me, and speaking more seriously than he had spoken yet "I think
you are very hardly used. It is monstrous to expect that a woman, placed
in your situation, will consent to be left for the rest of her life in the
dark. No! no! if I saw you, at this moment, on the point of finding out
for yourself what Eustace persists in hiding from you, I should remember
that my promise, like all other promises, has its limits and reserves. I
should consider myself bound in honor not to help you—but I would
not lift a finger to prevent you from discovering the truth for yourself."</p>
<p>At last he was speaking in good earnest: he laid a strong emphasis on his
closing words. I laid a stronger emphasis on them still by suddenly
leaving my chair. The impulse to spring to my feet was irresistible. Major
Fitz-David had started a new idea in my mind.</p>
<p>"Now we understand each other!" I said. "I will accept your own terms,
Major. I will ask nothing of you but what you have just offered to me of
your own accord."</p>
<p>"What have I offered?" he inquired, looking a little alarmed.</p>
<p>"Nothing that you need repent of," I answered; "nothing which is not easy
for you to grant. May I ask a bold question? Suppose this house was mine
instead of yours?"</p>
<p>"Consider it yours," cried the gallant old gentleman. "From the garret to
the kitchen, consider it yours!"</p>
<p>"A thousand thanks, Major; I will consider it mine for the moment. You
know—everybody knows—that one of a woman's many weaknesses is
curiosity. Suppose my curiosity led me to examine everything in my new
house?"</p>
<p>"Yes?"</p>
<p>"Suppose I went from room to room, and searched everything, and peeped in
everywhere? Do you think there would be any chance—"</p>
<p>The quick-witted Major anticipated the nature of my question. He followed
my example; he too started to his feet, with a new idea in his mind.</p>
<p>"Would there be any chance," I went on, "of my finding my own way to my
husband's secret in this house? One word of reply, Major Fitz-David! Only
one word—Yes or No?"</p>
<p>"Don't excite yourself!" cried the Major.</p>
<p>"Yes or No?" I repeated, more vehemently than ever.</p>
<p>"Yes," said the Major, after a moment's consideration.</p>
<p>It was the reply I had asked for; but it was not explicit enough, now I
had got it, to satisfy me. I felt the necessity of leading him (if
possible) into details.</p>
<p>"Does 'Yes' mean that there is some sort of clew to the mystery?" I asked.
"Something, for instance, which my eyes might see and my hands might touch
if I could only find it?"</p>
<p>He considered again. I saw that I had succeeded in interesting him in some
way unknown to myself; and I waited patiently until he was prepared to
answer me.</p>
<p>"The thing you mention," he said, "the clew (as you call it), might be
seen and might be touched—supposing you could find it."</p>
<p>"In this house?" I asked.</p>
<p>The Major advanced a step nearer to me, and answered—</p>
<p>"In this room."</p>
<p>My head began to swim; my heart throbbed violently. I tried to speak; it
was in vain; the effort almost choked me. In the silence I could hear the
music-lesson still going on in the room above. The future prima donna had
done practicing her scales, and was trying her voice now in selections
from Italian operas. At the moment when I first heard her she was singing
the beautiful air from the <i>Somnambula,</i> "Come per me sereno." I
never hear that delicious melody, to this day, without being instantly
transported in imagination to the fatal back-room in Vivian Place.</p>
<p>The Major—strongly affected himself by this time—was the first
to break the silence.</p>
<p>"Sit down again," he said; "and pray take the easy-chair. You are very
much agitated; you want rest."</p>
<p>He was right. I could stand no longer; I dropped into the chair. Major
Fitz-David rang the bell, and spoke a few words to the servant at the
door.</p>
<p>"I have been here a long time," I said, faintly. "Tell me if I am in the
way."</p>
<p>"In the way?" he repeated, with his irresistible smile. "You forget that
you are in your own house!"</p>
<p>The servant returned to us, bringing with him a tiny bottle of champagne
and a plateful of delicate little sugared biscuits.</p>
<p>"I have had this wine bottled expressly for the ladies," said the Major.
"The biscuits came to me direct from Paris. As a favor to <i>me,</i> you
must take some refreshment. And then—" He stopped and looked at me
very attentively. "And then," he resumed, "shall I go to my young prima
donna upstairs and leave you here alone?"</p>
<p>It was impossible to hint more delicately at the one request which I now
had it in my mind to make to him. I took his hand and pressed it
gratefully.</p>
<p>"The tranquillity of my whole life to come is at stake," I said. "When I
am left here by myself, does your generous sympathy permit me to examine
everything in the room?"</p>
<p>He signed to me to drink the champagne and eat a biscuit before he gave
his answer.</p>
<p>"This is serious," he said. "I wish you to be in perfect possession of
yourself. Restore your strength—and then I will speak to you."</p>
<p>I did as he bade me. In a minute from the time when I drank it the
delicious sparkling wine had begun to revive me.</p>
<p>"Is it your express wish," he resumed, "that I should leave you here by
yourself to search the room?"</p>
<p>"It is my express wish," I answered.</p>
<p>"I take a heavy responsibility on myself in granting your request. But I
grant it for all that, because I sincerely believe—as you believe—that
the tranquillity of your life to come depends on your discovering the
truth." Saying those words, he took two keys from his pocket. "You will
naturally feel a suspicion," he went on, "of any locked doors that you may
find here. The only locked places in the room are the doors of the
cupboards under the long book-case, and the door of the Italian cabinet in
that corner. The small key opens the book-case cupboards; the long key
opens the cabinet door."</p>
<p>With that explanation, he laid the keys before me on the table.</p>
<p>"Thus far," he said, "I have rigidly respected the promise which I made to
your husband. I shall continue to be faithful to my promise, whatever may
be the result of your examination of the room. I am bound in honor not to
assist you by word or deed. I am not even at liberty to offer you the
slightest hint. Is that understood?"</p>
<p>"Certainly!"</p>
<p>"Very good. I have now a last word of warning to give you—and then I
have done. If you do by any chance succeed in laying your hand on the
clew, remember this—<i>the discovery which follows will be a
terrible one.</i> If you have any doubt about your capacity to sustain a
shock which will strike you to the soul, for God's sake give up the idea
of finding out your husband's secret at once and forever!"</p>
<p>"I thank you for your warning, Major. I must face the consequences of
making the discovery, whatever they may be."</p>
<p>"You are positively resolved?"</p>
<p>"Positively."</p>
<p>"Very well. Take any time you please. The house, and every person in it,
are at your disposal. Ring the bell once if you want the man-servant. Ring
twice if you wish the housemaid to wait on you. From time to time I shall
just look in myself to see how you are going on. I am responsible for your
comfort and security, you know, while you honor me by remaining under my
roof."</p>
<p>He lifted my hand to his lips, and fixed a last attentive look on me.</p>
<p>"I hope I am not running too great a risk," he said—more to himself
than to me. "The women have led me into many a rash action in my time.
Have <i>you</i> led me, I wonder, into the rashest action of all?"</p>
<p>With those ominous last words he bowed gravely and left me alone in the
room.</p>
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