The Fatal Glove by Clara Augusta Jones Trask


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Page 15

Her soft hands were on his--her beautiful tear-wet eyes lifted to his
face. He could not withstand that look. He would have given up the plans
of a lifetime, if she had asked him with those imploring eyes.

"I yield to you, Miss Harrison--only to you," he replied. "If John
Trevlyn lives, he owes his life to you. He judged rightly--there was
murder in my soul, and he saw it in my eyes. Years ago, after they laid
my poor heart-broken mother out of my sight, I swore a terrible vow of
vengeance on the old man whose cruelty had hurried her into the grave.
But for you, I should have kept the vow this moment. But I will obey you.
Take me wherever you will."

She led him down the stairs, across the lawn, and out on the lonely
beach, where the quiet moon and the passionless stars dropped down their
crystal rain. The sweet south wind blew up cool from the sea, and afar
off the tinkle of a sheep-bell stirred the silence of the night. The lamp
in the distant lighthouse gleamed like a spark of fire, and at their feet
broke the tireless billows, white as the snow-drifts of December.

There was something inexpressibly soothing in the serenity of the night.
Arch felt its influence. The hot color died out of his cheek, his pulse
beat slower, he lifted his eyes to the purple arch of the summer sky.

"All God's universe is at rest," said Margie, her voice breaking upon his
ear like a strain of music. "Oh, Arthur Trevlyn, be at peace with all
mankind!"

"I am--with all but _him_."

"And with _him_, also. The heart which bears malice cannot be a happy
heart. There has been a great wrong done--I have heard the sad story--but
it is divine to forgive. The man who can pardon the enemy who has wrought
him evil, rises to a height where nothing of these earthly temptations
can harm him more. He stands on a level with the angels of God. If you
have been injured, let it pass. If your parents were hurried out of the
world by his cruelty, think how much sooner they tasted the bliss of
heaven! Every wrong will in due time be avenged. Justice will be done,
for the Infinite One has promised it. Leave it in His hands. Archer,
before I leave you, promise to forgive Mr. Trevlyn."

"I cannot! I cannot!" he cried, hoarsely. "Oh, Margie, Miss Harrison, ask
of me anything but that, even to the sacrifice of my life, and I will
willingly oblige you, but not that! not that!"

"_That_ is all I ask. It is for your good and my peace of mind that I
demand it. You have no right to make me unhappy, as your persistence in
this dreadful course will do. Promise me, Archer Trevlyn!"

She put her hand on his shoulder; he turned his head and pressed his lips
upon it. She did not draw it away, but stood, melting his hard heart with
her wonderfully sweet gaze. He yielded all at once--she knew she had
conquered. He sank down on one knee before her, and bowed his face upon
his hands. She stooped over him, her hair swept his shoulders, the brown
mingling with the deeper chestnut of his curling locks.

"You will promise me, Mr. Trevlyn?"

He looked up suddenly.

"What will you give me, if I promise?"

"Ask for it."

He lifted a curl of shining hair.

"Yes," she said. "Promise me what I ask, and I will give it to you."

He took his pocket-knife and severed the tress.

"I promise you. I break my vow; I seek no revenge. I forgive John
Trevlyn, and may God forgive him also. He is safe from me. I submit to
have my parents sleep on unavenged. I leave him and his sins to the God
whom he denies; and all because you have asked it of me."

Slowly and silently they went up to the house. At the door he said no
good-night--he only held her hand a moment, closely, and then turned
away.



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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Mon 17th Mar 2025, 17:59