Throckmorton: A Novel

by Molly Elliot Seawell

  CHAPTER VI.

  In the few days that followed, Judith saw more plainly that Freke wasdeliberately casting his spell over Jacqueline, and, from the soft andseductive flattery he had tried on her, Judith, at first, he exchangedsomething like sarcasm. He would discuss constancy before her, Judithmeanwhile keeping her seat resolutely, but she could not prevent thetell-tale color from rising into her face. But when, as Freke generallydid, he surmised that all the so-called constancy in this world wasn'texactly what it purported to be, she grew pale beneath his gaze. Hewatched her intently whenever she was with Throckmorton, and the mereconsciousness of being watched embarrassed while it angered her. Freke,whose perceptions were of the quickest, saw far into the future, andoften repeated in his own mind the old, old truth that all the passionsof human nature--love, hope, despair, jealousy, and revenge--could befound within the quietest and most peaceful circle.

  The very next evening after Mrs. Sherrard's visit, Freke appeared in thedusky drawing-room, where Jacqueline sat crouched over the fire, andJudith, with her child in her arms, sang him quaint Mother Goosemelodies. When Freke came within the fire's red circle of light, Judithobserved that he had a violin and bow under his arm. Jacqueline jumpedup delightedly.

  "Oh, oh! do you know any music?"

  "I can fiddle a little," answered Freke, smiling.

  He settled himself, and, in the midst of the deep silence of twilight inthe country, began a concerto of Brahms. The first movement, an_allegro_, he played with a dainty, soft trippingness that was fit forfairies dancing by moonlight. The next, a _scherzo_, was full of tendersuggestiveness--a dream told in music. The third movement was deeper,more tragic, full of sorrow and wailing. As Freke drew the bow acrossthe G-string, he would bring out tones as deep as the 'cello, whilesuddenly the sharp cry of the treble would cut into the somber depths ofthe basso like the shriek of a soul in torment. A melody like awandering spirit appeared out of the deep harmonies, and lost, yet everfound, would make itself heard with a sweet insistence, only to beswallowed up in a tempest of sound, like a bird lost in a storm. Andpresently there was an abatement, then a calm, and the music died,literally, amid the twilight dusk and gloom.

  As Freke, with strange eyes, and his bow suspended, tremblingly, as ifwaiting for the spirit to return, ceased, there was a perfect silence.Jacqueline, who had never heard anything like it in her life, and who,all unknown to herself, was singularly susceptible to music, gazed atFreke as the magician who had made her dream dreams, and after a whilecried out:

  "Why do you play like that? I never heard anybody play so before."

  In answer, Freke again smiled, and played a wild Hungarian dance, fitfor the dancing of bacchantes, so full of barbaric clash and rhythm,that Jacqueline suddenly sprang up and began to dance around the chairsand tables. Freke half turned to glance at her; he retarded the time,and softened the tones, when Jacqueline, too, danced slowly anddreamily--until presently, with a storm and a rush of music,_fortissimo_ and _prestissimo_, and a resounding blare of chords thatsounded like the shouts of a victorious army, he stopped and lay back inhis chair, still smiling.

  But, although Judith had twice Jacqueline's knowledge of music, with allher feeling for it, Freke was piqued to see that she did not for amoment confound his music with his personality. She seemed to take amalicious pleasure in complimenting him glibly, which is the last snubto an artist. Freke was so vexed by her indifference, that he began toplay cats mewing and dogs barking, on his fiddle, to frighten littleBeverley, who looked at him with wide, scared eyes.

  "Never mind, my darling," cried Judith, laughing. "Be a brave littleboy--only girls are scared at such things."

  Beverley, thus exhorted, summoned up his courage and proposed to getgrandfather's sword to defend himself. Judith's laughter, the defiantlight in her eyes, the passionate kiss she gave the boy as a reward forhis bravery, annoyed Freke. His vanity as an artist, however, wasconsoled by hearing Simon Peter's voice, in an awed and solemn whisperfrom the door, through which his woolly head was just visible in thesurrounding darkness:

  "I 'clar' ter God, dat fiddle is got evils in it. I hear some on 'emhollerin' an' cryin' fur ter git out, an' some on 'em larfin' an'jumpin'. Marse Temple, dem is spirits in dat fiddle. I knows it."

  "They are, indeed; and, if I go down to the grave-yard at midnight andplay, all the dead and gone Temples will rise out of their graves anddance around in their grave-clothes. Do you hear that?" said Freke,gravely.

  "Lord God A'mighty!" yelled Simon Peter, "I gwi' sleep wid a sifter" (asieve) "over my hade ev'y night arter dis. Sifters keeps away de evils,kase dey slips th'u de holes." And, sure enough, a sieve was hung upover Simon Peter's bed that very night, with a rabbit's foot as anadditional safeguard, and a bunch of peacock's feathers over thefireplace was ruthlessly thrown into the fire to propitiate "de evils."

  When Thursday evening came, General Temple was high and dry with thegout, and Mrs. Temple, of course, could not leave him alone to fight itout with Delilah.

  "Ole marse, you gwi' keep on havin' de gout twell you w'yar a ole h'yarfoot in yo' pocket. I done tole you so, an' I ain' feerd ter keep ontellin' you so," was Delilah's Job-like advice.

  "That's true," snapped the general. "Gad, if I had had a thousand men inmy brigade as little 'feerd' as you, I'll be damned if I ever would havesurrendered at Appomattox! God forgive me for swearing."

  "I hope and pray He will, my darling husband," responded Mrs. Temple,with calm piety.

  Jacqueline was in a fever of delight, as she always was when there wasany prospect of going from home. She danced up and down, romped withlittle Beverley, and, hugging him, told him in a laughing whisper thatshe would see "somebody" at Turkey Thicket, and "somebody had beautifulblack eyes, and was only twenty-two years old."

  Judith, too, felt that pleasurable excitement of which she began to beless and less ashamed. A few words dropped meaningly by Throckmorton,full of that sound sense which distinguished him, made her lookdifferently at life. His philosophy was not Mrs. Temple's. He remindedJudith that we should accept peace and tranquillity thankfully, and thatit was no sin to be happy; and everything that Throckmorton saidcommended itself to Judith. For the first time in her narrow andsecluded life she enjoyed with him the pleasure of being as clever asshe wanted to be. He was no timid soul, like Edmund Morford, to fear arival in a woman. It never occurred to Throckmorton to feel jealous ofany woman's wit. One of his greatest charms to Judith was that he wasnot in the least afraid of her. Her quick feminine humor, her naturalacuteness, her knack of pretty expression in speech and writing,appeared in their true light, as mere accomplishments, contrasted withThrockmorton's firm and masculine mind. The conviction of his mentalgrasp, his will-power, all that goes to make a man fitted to command awoman, had in it a subtile attraction for Judith, like the spell thatbeauty casts over a man. He was the only man in all her surroundingswhose calm superiority over her was perfectly plain to her. It was onlynecessary for him to express an opinion, that Judith did not at once seeits force. She sometimes differed courteously with him; but it begansoon to be a perilous pleasure to her to find that usually Throckmortonwas infinitely wiser, more liberal, more just than herself.

  When the Thursday evening came, only Judith, Jacqueline, and Freke wereto go. It had turned bitterly cold. Simon Peter, sitting in solitarymagnificence on the box, handled the ribbons over the Kentucky horses,who dashed along so briskly that the carriage, which was in the laststage of "befo' the war" decrepitude, threatened to tumble to pieces anddrop them all in the road.

  Going along, Jacqueline sat back in the carriage, very quiet and silent.Freke, with his back to the horses, talked to Judith. Occasionally inthe darkness, by a passing gleam, he could see Jacqueline's eyesshining.

  "What do you think of Major Throckmorton," he asked Judith.

  Although not versed in knowledge of the world, Judith was not devoid ofself-possession. The question, though, embarrassed her a little.

  "I--I--think he is
most interesting, kind--and--"

  "Military men are, as a rule, rather narrow, don't you think?"

  "I never saw enough to judge. I should think they ought to be the otherway."

  "Every time I see Throckmorton, the consciousness comes to me that Ihave seen him before--seen him under some tragical and unusualcircumstances. If I didn't know that those who have good consciences,like myself, should be above superstition, I should say that in someprevious state of being I had known him; however, I am too strictlyorthodox in my beliefs to tolerate such notions. But some time orother--perhaps to-night--I intend to find out from Throckmorton himselfif we haven't had the pleasure of meeting in another cycle or state ofbeing. There is, by the way, an ineffable impudence in Throckmortonreturning to this county now."

  Judith suspected that Freke's peroration was made with the intention ofprovoking a reply.

  They were driving along an open piece of the road, and it wascomparatively light in the carriage, although there was no moon. Frekeglancing up to see the cause of Judith's silence, caught the gleam ofher white teeth in a broad smile. She was laughing at him. It certainlywas delicious to hear Temple Freke commenting on anybody's havingimpudence in returning to the county. Freke, who hated to be laughed at,promised himself he would be avenged. "I'll make you wince, my lady!" hethought to himself. Presently, though, Judith said, in a tone with asharpness in it, like one who has been wounded:

  "I can't imagine anybody applying the word impudence to MajorThrockmorton. He is very reserved--very dignified."

  "Throckmorton, I see, has an advocate.--And little Cousin Jacky, what doyou think of the other Jacky--Jacky Throckmorton?"

  "I think he's perfectly delightful," assented Jacqueline, after a pause.

  Freke said no more about the Throckmortons. The women were evidentlyagainst him there; and soon they were driving up to the door at TurkeyThicket, and going up the hall stairs to take off their wraps, very muchas on that last evening, when Mrs. Sherrard took occasion torehabilitate Throckmorton in the good graces of the county people, asshe was now trying to do with Freke.

  When Judith and Jacqueline came down the stairs, Freke met them at thefoot. Jacqueline had pleaded hard to wear a white dress, but Mrs. Templewas inexorable. She might catch cold; consequently, she wore a littleprim, Quakerish gown of gray. Judith, as usual, was stately in black.

  Throckmorton was standing on the rug before the drawing-room fire,talking gravely with Mrs. Sherrard. Edmund Morford was there and Dr.Wortley, who, with Jack Throckmorton, constituted the company. Mrs.Sherrard drew Judith into the conversation that she had been carrying onwith Throckmorton. He said to Judith:

  "I will continue what I was saying--but I assure you it is something Icould speak of to but few people. It is this absolute barring out on thepart of the county people toward me. Not a soul except Mrs. Sherrard andMrs. Temple has asked me to break bread. I thought I knew Virginians--Ithought them the kindest, easiest, least angular people in the world;but, upon my soul, anything like this cold and deliberate ostracism Inever witnessed! Why, half the county is related to me--and I've been toschool with every man in it--and yet, I am a pariah!"

  "You don't look at it from their point of view," replied Mrs. Sherrard,with more patience than was her wont. "Think how these people havesuffered. You see yourself, never was there such ruin wrought, and thenremember that you are associated with that ruin. Can't you fancy thedull and silent resentment, the cold anger, with which they must regardall--"

  "Blasted Yankees?" cheerfully remarked Throckmorton, recovering hisspirits a little.

  "But you know," said Mrs. Sherrard, whose ideas on some subjects wererudimentary, but speaking kindly though positively, "you mustn't wearyour uniform down here."

  Throckmorton laughed rather harshly.

  "As I'm not going to be married or buried, I can't see what chance Iwould have to wear it. But what you say disposes me to put on myfull-dress uniform, with sword and chapeau, and wear it to church onSunday."

  Then Mrs. Sherrard went off after her latest passion, Temple Freke, andleft Judith and Throckmorton standing together.

  "I think _I_ understand you," said Judith, with her pretty air ofdiffidence. "But, as you know, the people here have one principlewhich stands for honor, and you have another. You have got powerand--and--victory out of _your_ principle, and we have got nothingbut ruin and defeat and wretchedness out of _our_ principle. How canyou hold us to a strict account?"

  "I do not--God knows I do not!--but I want a little human kindness. Iget it from a few. Dr. Wortley, who was my tutor at my grandfather's,and has licked me a hundred times--and Morford, and the families atTurkey Thicket and Barn Elms--but none of them, I think," continuedThrockmorton, looking into Judith's eyes with admiration, "exactlyunderstand how _I_ feel as well as you. What kept me in the army was, asyou say, a principle of honor. It was like a knife in me, every Southernofficer who resigned. I respected them, because I knew, as only thenaval and military men knew, that they were giving up not only theirfuture and their children's future, for what they thought right, butthat they knew the overwhelming odds against them. I don't believe anyone of them really expected success--they knew too much--it was asacrifice most disinterested. I could not go with them; but I had toface as much obloquy among my people by staying in the army as theyhad to face in going out. But I swear I never gave one thought to theadvantage to me of staying where I was! I stayed because I could not, asa man of honor, do otherwise, I thought my own people would recognizethis--that by this time the bitterness would be over."

  "Never mind," said Judith, with a heavenly smile, "it will come--it willcome."

  A little later, Mrs. Sherrard whispered to Throckmorton:

  "Are not my two beauties from Barn Elms sweet creatures?"

  "Very," answered Throckmorton, a dark flush showing under his tan andsunburn. "Little Jacqueline is a charming creature."

  "Oh, pooh! Jacqueline. You mean Judith."

  "Mrs. Beverley is most dignified, charming, and interesting; but littleMiss Jacky--"

  "I should think she would be a nice playmate for your Jack," remarkedMrs. Sherrard.

  Throckmorton looked awkward, not to say foolish. Had he forgotten hisforty-four years, his iron-gray hair, all the scars of life? Jacquelineand Jack were inseparable from the start, and their two heads were closetogether on the deep, old-fashioned sofa, at that very moment.

  "The major stole a march on me the other day, going over to Barn Elms,"remarked Jack, confidentially. "However, I'll get even with him yet."

  "Oh, how can you talk so about your own father?"

  "Why shouldn't I talk so about my own father?"

  "Because it's not right."

  "Look here, Miss Jacky. Nobody thinks as much of the major as I do--he'sthe kindest, noblest, gamest chap alive--but you see, I'm a man, andhe's a man. When he got married at twenty-one, he took the risk ofhaving a son in the field before he was ready to quit himself."

  "Do you--do you remember your mother?" asked Jacqueline, in a low voice.

  "No," answered Jack, fixing his dark eyes seriously on Jacqueline. "Ihave a miniature of her that my father gave me when I was twenty-one. Hekeeps her picture in his room, and on the anniversary of her death hespends the day alone. Once in a great while he has talked to me abouther."

  Jacqueline glanced at Throckmorton with a new interest. He was stilltalking to Judith. The pleased look on the major's face aroused themischievous devil in Jack. In five minutes Jacqueline, to her disgustand disappointment, found herself talking to Dr. Wortley, while Jack hadestablished himself on the other side of Judith. Neither Throckmortonnor Judith was pleased to see him.

  "You ought to hear my father tell about some of his campaigns 'way backin the fifties," remarked Jack. "It's a good while ago, but the majorisn't sensitive about his age like some men."

  Perhaps the major was not, but Jack's observation was received in grimsilence.

  "I am sure Major Throckmorton can tell us a great m
any interestingthings," answered Judith, smiling involuntarily--"particularly to us wholead such quiet lives, and who know so little. I sometimes wonder how Ishall ever be able to bring up my boy; I have so few ideas, and theyseem to be all rusting away."

  "I thought you were a great reader," said Throckmorton.

  "I like to read, but--"

  "My father is a Trojan of a reader," continued Jack, "and his eyesightis really wonderful."

  At this the major, with the cast in his eye very obvious, rose andwalked over to where Jacqueline was sitting. Jack had accomplished hisobject, and ran his father out of the field. But Judith felt a sense ofbitter disappointment. However, with the sweetness of her nature, sheovercame her resentful feelings toward Jack, and, in spite of his boyishdisposition to make people uncomfortable, really began to like him.

  Throckmorton, though, was not ill pleased on the whole. It was by aneffort that he had kept away from Jacqueline until then. But, aftertalking with her awhile, he was not quite so well satisfied. Herchildishness was pretty, and the acuteness of her remarks sometimessurprised him, but there was nothing to her--she talked and thoughtabout herself. Throckmorton tried once or twice to get her into thechannel of rational conversation, but Jacqueline rebelled. Sheacknowledged with a pretty smile that she hated books, and that she waspoor company for herself. Throckmorton felt a tinge of pity for her.What would become of her twenty years hence--so pretty, so charming, soinconsequent?

  Freke had in the mean time completed his conquest of Mrs. Sherrard.Presently he went to the piano and trolled out songs in a rich barytone,playing his own accompaniments. This musical gift was a revelation toMrs. Sherrard. It was not comparable, though, to his violin-playing.Nevertheless, it was enough to turn Jacqueline's head a little. Frekesang a sentimental song, with a tender refrain, and every time he sangthis refrain he cast a glance at Jacqueline.

  Gradually the blood mounted to her face, until, when he stopped, she wasas rosy as the morning. Then Freke sat down by her, and after thatJacqueline had no eyes for anybody else--not even Jack.

  Throckmorton saw it, with a strong disgust for Freke, and with that samestrange pang of jealousy he had felt before. Judith's angry disapprovalburned within her, but she made no attempt to circumvent Freke until,looking around after a while, she missed him and Jacqueline both.

  Judith, watching her opportunity, slipped out into the hall, and therefound the culprits. Jacqueline made a little futile effort to pretendthat they were looking at some prints by the light of a solitarykerosene-lamp; but Freke, who at least had no pretence about him, heldon boldly to Jacqueline's hand, until she wrenched it away.

  "Jacqueline, dear," said Judith, trying to speak naturally, "it is coldout here; come in!"

  "I'm not cold," answered Jacqueline after a pause.

  "But it is not polite to run away like this," urged Judith, casting anangry look at Freke, who, with folded arms, was whistling softly.

  "I can't help that, Judith," answered Jacqueline, pettishly. "Why do youwant me in that stiff drawing-room with old Dr. Wortley and Mrs.Sherrard, and--"

  "But Jacqueline, _I_ want you!"

  There was no mistaking that tone.

  "Go along, Jacky," said Freke, with cheerful submission. "You'll beliable to catch some dreadful moral complaint if you breathe the sameatmosphere with me too long. I am a sinner of high degree, I am."

  Jacqueline turned and sullenly followed Judith back, while Freke,smiling and unruffled, walked by her side. And then supper was served,but Jacqueline was perfectly distrait and could not keep her eyes offFreke, who was the life and soul of the party. The supper was after theVirginia order--very good--and so profuse it could not all be got on thetable.

  On the drive home there was perfect silence. Freke made one or twoobservations to Judith, but her cold silence convinced him that it wasuseless. He was not afraid of her, but he saw no good in pretending toplacate her. When they reached Barn Elms and were standing in the coldhall, Judith said to Jacqueline:

  "Go on. I shall be up in a moment."

  "I'll wait for you," replied Jacqueline, doggedly.

  "You may wait, but I wish to speak to Freke privately. I shall take himinto the drawing-room."

  At this, Jacqueline went slowly and unwillingly up the stairs.

  Judith picked up the lamp and went into the dark drawing-room. The firestill smoldered dimly in the great fireplace. Freke took up the tongsand made a vigorous attack on the fire, and in two minutes the flameswere leaping around the brass firedogs. Then he settled himselfcomfortably in the corner of the sofa.

  Judith, although her determination was made, yet felt timid, and herheart beat.

  "What excuse can you give," she asked in an unsteady voice, "for yourbehavior with that child to-night?"

  "None whatever," answered Freke, coolly. "I am not bound to justifymyself to you, nor do I admit there was anything to be excused."

  "You are right in saying you are not bound to justify yourself to me,"said Judith; "but can you justify yourself to her father and mother? Yousee how she is. You know what they--what we all--think of you. You are amarried man, remember."

  "Am I?" asked Freke, laughing. "By Jove, I wish I knew whether I was ornot!"

  "What right have you to fill Jacqueline's head with dreams and notions?The child was well enough until you came. Why can't you go away andleave her in peace?"

  Freke smiled at this. "I don't feel like going away," he said, "andparticularly now that I see you wish me to go. I have rather differentplans in view now that I have bought property here. It doesn't look wellfor a man to be cast off by his relations; and I intend to have, if Ican, the backing of the Temples."

  "But how long, think you, could you stay, if the child's mother knew ofyour behavior to-night?"

  "That I don't know. But I wish to stay, Madam Judith; and, since you areso prudish, I will promise you not look at Jacqueline again. Will thatsatisfy you?"

  "I will first see how you keep your promise. But I warn you, Freke, ifyou remain here much longer, I shall use all the influence in my powerto get you out of this house. You are no advantage to the child. Itwould be better for her if you went away and never came back."

  Freke had been sitting all this time, while Judith, standing up, paleand disdainful, spoke to him. But now he rose.

  "Now," he said with sudden seriousness, "since you have expressed thathospitable intention concerning me, let me tell you something--somethingvery interesting, that I have suspected for some time, but only foundout to-night. You remember I told you of that death-struggle ofBeverley's with an officer--how they rolled over and over and fought."

  "Yes--yes--"

  "And how the officer's horse, held by the bridle, I thought every momentwould trample--"

  "Yes--yes--yes!" cried Judith.

  "Well," said Freke, coming up close to her, "Throckmorton was thatofficer!"

  Freke had meant to give her one fierce pang; it was a delicious thing tohim to strike her through Throckmorton; but he was quite unprepared forthe result, for Judith, although young and strong, after standing for amoment gazing at Freke with wild eyes, swayed and without a sounddropped to the floor in a dead faint.

  Freke, cursing his own folly, ran to her and called loudly. His voiceechoed through the midnight silence of the house. It brought Mrs.Temple, frightened and half dressed, into the room, followed by Delilah,struggling into her petticoats, and Simon Peter, scratching his wool andbut half awake.

  Freke had raised Judith on his arm. Something strange, like pity, ofwhich he knew but little, came to him as he looked at her pallid face.

  "You git 'way, Marse Temple," said Delilah, with authority. "Me an'mistis kin manage dis heah.--Hi, Miss Judy! Open yo' eyes, honey, an'tell what de matter wid you."

  Mrs. Temple, who never lost her head in emergencies, in five minutes hadJudith in a fair way of coming to herself. Freke said truthfully that henever was so surprised in his life as when Judith fell over. Mrs. Templecould not account for it
either, and proposed to leave the solution toDr. Wortley when he should be sent for in the morning. In a few minutesmore Judith came to and sat up. Almost her first conscious glance fellon Freke. She gazed at him steadily, and in an instant the convictionthat what he had said was mere wanton cruelty came to her. Freke himselfavoided her glance uneasily.

  "Honey, tell yo' ole mammy wh'yar hu'ts you," pleaded Delilah, anxiousto take charge of the case in advance of Dr. Wortley.

  "Nowhere at all. I only want to get to bed.--Mother, I hope fatherwasn't waked."

  "My dear, nothing short of an explosion would wake him."

  Mrs. Temple wisely refrained from tormenting Judith with questions. Herfainting-fit was certainly unaccountable, but Mrs. Temple rememberedonce or twice in her own early days when she had done the same thing. Soshe merely gave Judith some brandy-and-water, and in a few minutes, withDelilah's help, got her on the old-fashioned sofa.

  While Mrs. Temple and Delilah were stirring about the room, shutting upfor the night and raking the fire down, Freke came up to Judith. Revengewas familiar to him, but not revenge on women, and remorse wasaltogether new to him.

  "What I told you," he began, awkwardly, "the facts in the case--"

  "Say no more about it; I don't believe you!" answered Judith in a lowvoice, but scornful beyond description.

  Freke's rage blazed up under that tone.

  "You don't believe me? Then I'll make Throckmorton tell you himself. Ican find it out from him without his suspecting it, and I'll make himtell you how he killed your husband."

  Judith drew back and gave him a look that was equivalent to a slap inthe face. Just then Mrs. Temple and Delilah went out into the hall tomake fast the door.

  "Well, then, if by any accident you have told me the truth, it was thefortune of war--"

  "Yes, but the hand that killed your husband! Ah! do you think I don'tsee it all--all--all--not only what has happened, but what is happeningnow?"

  Judith rose slowly from her sofa, forgetting her weakness. At thatmoment Freke thought he had never seen her look so handsome. Her eyes,usually a soft, dark gray, were black with indignation; her cheeksburned; she looked capable of killing him where he stood. She openedher lips once or twice to speak, but no sound came. She had no words toexpress what she felt at that moment. Freke felt a sensation of triumph.At last he had brought this proud spirit to book; and Throckmorton--atleast if she scorned himself, Freke--she was forever out ofThrockmorton's reach. There was a gulf between them now that nothing onearth could bridge over. He stood in a calm and easy attitude, his faceonly less expressive than Judith's. Nobody who saw Freke then could say,as Mrs. Temple sometimes had said, "What is there so interesting inFreke's face?" It was full of power and passion.

  It seemed an age to each as they stood there, but it was really only afew moments. Mrs. Temple and Delilah came back. Judith nodded to Freke,and walked off, disdaining Delilah's arm. She felt pride in showing himher strength and composure. She even glanced back at him, and gave him asmile from her pale lips.

  "You have a spirit like a man!" he cried after her, involuntarily. Mrs.Temple thought he meant because Judith had rallied so quickly from herfainting-fit.

  "Rather a spirit like a woman!" answered Judith, in a loud, clear voice,as she went up the stairs.

  It was some little time before she could get rid of Mrs. Temple andDelilah. But presently the door was locked, and she was alone.

  Some power beyond her will drew her steps to the window that lookedtoward Millenbeck. The moon had gone down, and a few clouds scurriedacross the pale immensity of the sky, whipped by the winds of night.There was enough of the ghastly half-light to distinguish the darkmasses of the trees and even the outline of the Millenbeck house. Fromthe window which she knew well enough belonged to Throckmorton's own denthe cheerful light still streamed. He was sitting there, reading andsmoking, no doubt. She could imagine exactly how he looked. His face,when he was silent, was rather stern, which made the charm of his smileand his words more captivating by contrast. And what horror she ought tofeel of this man!--for, in spite of that first involuntary protest thatshe did not believe Freke, the heart-breaking conviction came to herevery moment that he was telling the truth. But did she feel horror andhatred of Throckmorton? Ah! no. And when she tried to think of Beverley,the feeling that he was dead; that he would trouble her no more; that hewas forever gone out of her life, filled her with something that wasfrightfully like joy.

  But when she remembered that an open grave lay between her andThrockmorton, it was not something like anguish she felt--it was anguishitself. Here was a man she might have loved--a man infinitely worthy oflove--this much she acknowledged to herself; and yet Fate had marriedher to a man she never could have loved. For at that moment she saw asby a flash of lightning the falseness of her marriage and her widowhood.She dared not think any longer; she could only throw herself on herbed, and try and stifle among the pillows her sobs and cries. And,remembering Beverley and Throckmorton and Freke, and his words to herthat night, this gentle and soft-hearted creature sounded all the depthsof grief, love, shame, hatred. She tried to pray, but her prayers--ifprayers they could be called--were mere outcries against the inexorableand unpitying God. "Dear Lord, what have I done to thee that I shouldsuffer so?"

  The night wore on, the candles burned out, the fire was a mere red glowof embers. Anguish and despair, like other passions, spend themselves.Judith had ceased to weep, and lay on her bed with a sort of icy torporupon her. Little Beverley, who rarely stirred in his sleep, waked up andcalled for his mother; but even the child's voice had no power to moveher. The little boy, finding himself unnoticed, crawled out of hissmall bed and came to his mother's side. The sound of his baby voice,the touch of his little warm, moist hands, awakened something likeremorse in her. She tried to help him up on the bed, but her armsfell helplessly--she, this strong young woman, was as weak as a childwith the conflict of emotions. The boy, however--a sturdy littlefellow--climbed up alone and nestled to her. She covered him up and heldhim close to her, and kissed him coldly once or twice. "My child, hekilled your father," she said to him, thinking of Throckmorton, and thatperhaps, for the child's sake, she might arouse some feeble spark ofregret for the father--some dutiful hatred of Throckmorton. But shecould do neither the one nor the other.

  At last, as a wet, miserable, gloomy dawn approached, she fell into awretched sleep. Judith's unexpected fainting-fit was a very good excusefor her keeping her room for a day or two--a merciful provision for her,as, along with other new experiences, she found for the first time thather soul was stronger than her body, and that grief had made her ill.She expected, in all those wretched hours that she lay in her darkenedroom, that every time the door opened it would be Mrs. Temple comingwith a ghastly face to tell her the dreadful thing that Freke knew; andthe mere apprehension made her heart stand still. She, this candid andsincere woman, rehearsed to herself the very words and tones that shewould express a grief and horror she did not feel. But when several dayspassed, and the explosion did not come, she concluded that Freke, forhis own reasons, meant to keep it to himself.

  For Freke's part, he had no intention of telling anybody exceptJudith. He had no mind to bring about the storm that would follow hisrevelation. He meant to show Judith that gulf between Throckmorton andherself, and that was all. He would have been unfeignedly sorry had thehospitable doors of Millenbeck been no longer open to him.

  When Judith came down-stairs, he felt a great curiosity to know how shewould meet him. He himself was perfectly easy and natural in his mannerto her; and she, to his enforced admiration, was equally self-possessedwith him, although she could not always control the expression of hereyes. "What a Spartan she is!" thought Freke to himself. "She could dieof grief and chagrin with a smile on her lips, and with her voice assmooth and musical as the velvet wind of summer."