PAGE 23
Savareen’s Disappearance
by
She felt that she had not the heart to add to the burden of grief which had been imposed upon the frail woman who sat there eyeing her with anxiety depicted upon her weary, anxious face.
“I can assure you,” responded Mrs. Savareen, “that I have no intention of doing any harm either to him or to you. I would much rather do you a kindness, if I could. I can see for myself that you stand in great need of kindness.”
The last words were spoken in a tone which disarmed suspicion, and which at the same time stimulated curiosity. The shadow on Mrs. Randall’s face passed away.
“Well,” said she, “I beg your pardon for mistrusting you, but my husband has never told me much about his past life, and I was afraid you might be an enemy. But I am sure, now I look at you, that you wouldn’t do harm to anybody. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, if I can.”
“Thank you for your good opinion. Will you be good enough, then, to describe Mr. Randall’s personal appearance? I have no other object than to find out if he is the person I used to know in Canada.”
“How long ago did you know him in Canady?”
“I saw him last in the summer of 1854–about five years ago.”
“Well, at that rate I’ve known him pretty near as long as you hev. It’s more’n four years since I first got acquainted with him down, in Ole Virginny, where I was raised. Why, come to think of it, I’ve got his likeness, took just before we was married. That’ll show you whether he’s the man you knew.”
As she spoke, she rose and opened the leather trunk in the corner by the closet door. After rummaging among its contents, she presently returned with a small oval daguerreotype in her hand. Opening the case she handed it to Mrs. Savareen. “There he is,” she remarked, “an’ it’s considered an awful good likeness.”
Mrs. Savareen took the daguerreotype and approached the candle. The first glance was amply sufficient. It was the likeness of her husband.
She made up her mind as to her line of action on the instant. Her love for the father of her child died away as she gazed on his picture. It was borne in upon her that he was a heartless scoundrel, unworthy of any woman’s regard. Before she withdrew her glance from the daguerreotype, her love for him was dead and buried beyond all possibility of revivification. What would it avail her to still further lacerate the heart of the unhappy woman in whose presence she stood? Why kill her outright by revealing the truth? There was but a step–and evidently the step was a short one–between her and the grave. The distance should not be abridged by any act of the lawful wife.
She closed the case and quietly handed it back to the woman, whom it will still be convenient to call Mrs. Randall. “I see there has been some misunderstanding,” she said. “This is not the Mr. Randall I knew in Canada.”
In her kind consideration for the invalid, she deliberately conveyed a false impression, though she spoke nothing more than the simple truth. There had indeed been “some misunderstanding,” and Savareen’s likeness was certainly not the likeness of Mr. Randall. As matter of fact, Mrs. Savareen had really known a Mr. Randall in Millbrook, who bore no resemblance whatever to her husband. Thus, she spoke the literal truth, while she at the same time deceived her hostess for the latter’s own good. Affliction had laid its blighting hand there heavily enough already. Her main object now was to get away from the house before the return of the man who had so villainously wrecked two innocent lives. But a warm sympathy for the betrayed and friendless woman had sprung up in her heart, and she longed to leave behind some practical token of her sympathy. While she was indulging in these reflections the infant on the bed awoke and set up a startled little cry. Its mother advanced to where it lay, took it up in her arms, sat down on the edge of the bed, and stilled its forlorn little wails by the means known to mothers from time immemorial. When it became quiet she again deposited it on the bed and resumed her seat by the table.