A Dreadful Temptation; or, A Young Wife's Ambition. Alex. McVeigh Miller
but Howard does not know how to work, my darling, and it is all my fault. I brought him up as my heir and refused to let him have a profession or to learn anything useful. You see we are the last of our race, and I expected to leave him everything when I died. I did not know I should meet and marry you, my darling," he said, kissing her fondly, without noticing her uncontrollable shiver of disgust.
"Yes, but your marriage alters everything," she said, eagerly, lifting her melting, dark eyes to his face with a siren smile on the curve of her scarlet lips. "You would not wish to leave your money away from me, your poor, helpless little wife?"
"There is enough for you both, my dear," he said, persuasively. "Howard might have his share—the smaller share, of course—and you would still be a wealthy woman!"
"I hate Howard Templeton!" exclaimed Xenie, with sudden, passionate vehemence.
The old man looked at her half angrily.
"You hate my nephew?" he said. "Why do you hate him, Xenie, when next to you I love him, best of anyone in the world?"
Xenie's sober senses, that had almost deserted her in her sudden gust of passion, returned to her with a gasp.
"I—oh, forgive me," she said, with ready penitence, "I spoke foolishly. I do not like you to love him so. I am jealous of you, my darling!"
She leaned toward him and laid her white arm around his shoulder caressingly.
But suddenly, and even as she lifted her beautiful face for his caress, he drew back his hand, and without a word of warning, struck her a heavy blow across the face.
She reeled backward and fell upon the floor, the red blood spurting from her nostrils and from her lips that the terrible blow had driven against the points of her white teeth and terribly lacerated.
"You Jezebel," he shouted, hoarsely, rising and standing over her with his brandished fist. "How dare you hate him—my own nephew, my handsome Howard!"
With a moan of fear and pain Xenie sprang up and fled to the furthest corner of the room.
"Oh! you coward!" she cried, passionately. "To strike a woman—a helpless woman!"
She was trying to staunch the fast flowing blood with her lace handkerchief, but she stopped and stared at him in dumb terror as he approached her.
For the glare of madness shone in his dim eyes as they turned upon her—his foam-flecked lips were drawn away from his glistening set of false teeth, and his face presented a terrible appearance.
"Oh! my God, he is going to kill me!" she moaned to herself, crouching down in the corner with her arms raised wildly above her shrinking head.
He towered above her with his clenched fist raised threateningly and his eyes glaring ferociously upon her.
Xenie believed that a sudden frenzy of madness had come upon her husband and that he was going to take her life.
She was about to shriek aloud in the hope of rescue, when he suddenly clapped a strong hand over her lips.
"Hush!" he said, fearfully, "hush, Xenie, don't let anyone know I struck you! Does it hurt you much?—the blood, I mean—I'm sorry if it does."
The tone was that of a wheedling, penitent child that is sorry for its fault. In sheer surprise the frightened creature looked up at him.
The ferocious look of bloodthirsty madness had marvelously faded from his face, and left a pale, fearful, childish expression instead.
He dropped his hand and wiped the blood from it, shivering all over.
"Oh! the blood, how red it is!" he whined. "Did I hurt you, my love? I'm sorry—very sorry. Don't tell anyone I struck you."
"I'll tell the whole world," she flashed forth, speaking with difficulty, for her lips were bruised and swollen. "I'll tell them that you are mad, and I'll have you put into an asylum for dangerous lunatics, you base coward!"
Mr. St. John's face grew livid at her angry threat. He trembled with fear.
"No, no, Xenie, you won't, you mustn't do it," he gasped forth. "I will never do so again. I'll be your slave if you won't tell!"
"I will tell it everywhere!" cried his young wife, rushing to the door, her whole passionate spirit aglow with the keenest resentment.
But with unlooked-for strength in one of his age, he ran forward, and stood with his back against the door.
"You shall not go till you promise to keep silent," he said, firmly; "I will do anything you ask me, Xenie, if you will only not tell on me!"
"Anything?" she exclaimed, turning quickly.
"Yes, anything," he reiterated, with a weak, imploring look, full of craven fear.
"Very well," she answered firmly; "make your will to-day, and cut Howard Templeton off with a shilling, and I'll keep your secret—otherwise the city shall ring with the story of your cruelty!"
"Won't you let me leave him ten thousand dollars, dear?" he asked, pitifully.
"Not a dollar!" she answered coldly.
"Five thousand dollars?"
"Not a dollar!" she reiterated firmly.
"Very well," he answered, weakly. "I have said you shall name your own price. Shall I go to my lawyer now, Xenie?"
"Yes, now," she answered, with a flash of triumph in her eyes.
He stood still a moment looking at her with a half-insane look of cunning on the wrinkled features that but a moment ago had been transformed by maniacal rage.
"Poor boy!" he said, "you hate him very much, Xenie; I wonder what he has done to make you his enemy!"
She did not answer, and the old millionaire went out of the room, after turning upon her a strange look of blended cunning and triumph which she could not understand.
"Pshaw! he meant nothing by it," she said to herself to dispel the uneasy impression that glance had left. "The old man is getting weak and silly. One is scarcely safe alone with him."
She shuddered at the recollection of what she had passed through, and going to her private room, locked the door and bathed her swollen, discolored face with a healing lotion.
CHAPTER V
Xenie remained alone in her chamber until darkness gathered like a pall over every luxurious object about her. Her maid came and tapped at the door once, but she sent her away, saying that her head ached and she did not wish to be disturbed.
It was quite true, for her heavy fall upon the floor had hurt her severely; so she remained quietly lying on a sofa until black darkness hid everything from her confused sight.
Then there came a light tap upon the door again. She thought it was the maid to light the gas.
"You may go away, Finette, I do not need you yet," she said, feeling that the darkness suited her mood the best.
"It is I, Xenie. Open the door. I wish to speak to you," said her husband's voice.
She went to the door, unlocked and threw it wide open. The light from the hall streamed in upon her pale and haggard face, her dress in disorder, her dark hair loose and dishevelled.
"It is dark in there, I cannot see you, my darling," he said; "come across into my smoking-room in the light. I want to tell you something."
He took her hand and drew her across the hall into a luxurious apartment he called his smoking-room.
It was elegantly furnished with cushioned easy-chairs and lounges, while the floor was covered with a soft, Persian carpet and beautiful rugs.
The marble mantel was decorated with costly meerschaums, and chibouques of various patterns and materials, and a richly gilded box stood in the center, containing cigars and perfumed smoking tobacco.
On a marble-topped table in the center of the room stood two bottles of wine, and two richly-chased drinking glasses.
"Well?" she inquired, half-fearfully, as he drew