CHAPTER XII
Clemency was so worn out that Doctor Gordon insisted upon her going tobed directly after dinner, and he and James had a solitary evening inthe office, with the exception of Gordon's frequent absence in hiswife's room. Each time when he returned he looked more gloomy. "I haveincreased the morphine almost as much as I dare," he said, coming intothe office about ten. He sat down and lit his pipe. James laid down theevening paper which he had been reading. "Is she asleep now?" he asked.
"Yes. By the way, Elliot, have you guessed who that woman was whokidnapped Clemency?"
James hesitated. "I don't fairly know whether I am right, but I haveguessed," he replied.
"Who?"
"The nurse."
"You are right. It was the nurse. That man had won her over, and set herup housekeeping in Westover. He had been staying at the hotel therebefore he came here. He was her lover, of course, although he was toocircumspect not to guard the secret. She has been living in that housefor the last three months under the name of Mrs. Wood, a widow. Theformer occupants went away last summer, Aaron has been telling me. Hesaid that once he himself saw the man enter the house, and he had seenthe woman on the street. She had made herself quite popular in Westover.It was no part of that man's policy to keep his vice behind lockeddoors. Locks themselves are the best witness against evil. She attendedthe Dutch Reformed Church regularly. She was present at all the churchsuppers, and everybody has called on her in Westover. Now I think shehas fled, half-crazed with grief over the death of her lover, and afraidof some sort of exposure. Unless I miss my guess, there will be a furoraround here shortly over her disappearance. She was not a bad woman as Iremember her, and she was attractive, with a kindly disposition. But hehad his way always with women, and I suppose she thought she was doinghim a service by kidnapping poor little Clemency. I am sorry for her. Ihope she did not go away penniless, but she has her nursing to fallback upon. She was a good nurse. That makes me think. I must see if Mrs.Blair cannot come here to-morrow. Clara must have somebody besideClemency and Emma. I should prefer a trained nurse, and this woman issimply the self-taught village sort, but Clara prefers her. She shrinksat the very mention of a trained nurse. Of course, it is unreasonable,but the poor soul has always had an awful dread of hospitals and apossible operation, and I believe that in some way she thinks a trainednurse one of a dreadful trinity. She must be humored, of course. Theresult cannot be changed."
"You have no hope, then?" James said in a low voice.
"I have had no more from the outset than if she had been already dead,"said Gordon.
James said nothing. An enormous pity for the other man was within him.He thought of Clemency, and he seemed to undergo the same pangs. He feltsuch a terrible understanding of the other's suffering that it passedthe bounds of sympathy. It became almost experience. His young face tookon the same expression of dull misery as Gordon's. Presently Gordonglanced at him, and spoke with a ring of gratitude and affection in histired voice.
"You are a good fellow, Elliot," he said, "and you are the one ray ofcomfort I have. I am glad that I have you to leave poor little Clemencywith."
James looked at him with sudden alarm. "You are not ill?" he said.
"No, but there is an end to everybody's rope, and sometimes I think I amabout at the end of mine. I don't know. Anyway, it is a comfort to me tothink that Clemency has you in case anything should happen to me."
"She has me as long as I live," James said fervently. Red overspread hisyoung face, his eyes glistened. Again the great pity and understandingwith regard to the other man came over him, and a feeling for Clemencywhich he had never before had: a feeling greater than love itself, thevery angel of love, divinest pity and protection, for all womanhood,which was exemplified for himself in this one girl. His heart ached, asif it were Clemency's upstairs, lying miserably asleep under theinfluence of the drug, which alone could protect her from indescribablepain. His mind projected itself into the future, and realized thepossibility of such suffering for her, and for himself. The honey-stingof pain, which love has, stung him sharply.
Gordon seemed to divine his thoughts. "God grant that you may never haveto undergo what I am undergoing, boy," he said. Then he added, "It wasin poor Clara's blood, her mother before her died the same way. Clemencycomes, on her mother's side at least, of a healthy race, morally andphysically, although the nervous system is oversensitive. If my poorsister had been happy, she would have been alive to-day. And as far as Iknow of the other side, there was perfect physical health, although hehad that abnormal lack of moral sense that led one to dream ofpossession. Did you notice how much less evil he looked when he wasdead, even with that frightfully disfigured face?"
"Yes."
"There are strange things in this world," said Gordon with gloomyreflection, "or else simple things which we are strange not to believe.Sometimes I think people will have to take to the Bible again in thatliteral sense in which so many are now inclined to disregard it. Well,Elliot, I honestly feel that you have nothing to fear in taking poorlittle Clemency. I should tell you if I thought otherwise. She willmake you happy, and I can think of no reason to warn you concerning anypossible lapses, in either her physical or her moral health, and I havehad her in my charge since she first drew the breath of life. Come, myson, it is late, and we have a great deal to do to-morrow. This awfulbusiness has made me neglect patients. I have to see Clara again, andget what rest I can." Gordon looked older and wearier than James hadever seen him, as he bade him good-night, old and weary as he had oftenseen him look. A sudden alarm for Gordon himself came over him. Hewondered, after he had entered, his room, if he were not strained pastendurance. He recalled his own father's healthy, ruddy face, and Gordonwas no older.
He lay awake a while thinking anxiously of Gordon, then his own happyfuture blazoned itself before him, and he dreamed awake, and dreamedasleep, of himself and Clemency, in that future, whose golden vistas hadno end, so far as his young eyes could see. The sense of relief fromanxiety over the girl was so intense that it was in itself a delight.Clemency herself felt it. The next morning at breakfast she lookedradiant. Gordon had assured her the sick woman had rested quietly, andtold her that Mrs. Blair was coming.
"To-day I can go where I choose," Clemency exclaimed gayly.
"Not until afternoon," replied Gordon, then he relented at her look ofdisappointment, and suggested that she go with Elliot to make his calls,while he went with Aaron and the team. It was a beautiful morning;spring seemed to have arrived. Everywhere was the plash of runningwater, now and then came distant flutings of birds. "I know that was abluebird," Clemency said happily. "I feel sure mother will get well now.It seems wicked to be glad that the man is dead, especially on such amorning, but I wonder if it is, when he would have spoiled the morning."
"Don't think about it, anyway!" James said.
"I try not to."
"You must not!"
"I know why Uncle Tom did not want me to go out alone this morning,"Clemency said, with one of her quick wise looks, cocking her head like abird.
"Why?"
"He wanted to make sure that that woman has really gone."
"Clemency, you must not mention that man or woman to me again," saidJames.
"I am not married to you yet," Clemency said, pouting.
"That makes no difference, you must promise."
"Well, then, I will. I am so happy this morning, that I will promiseanything."
James looked about to be sure nobody was in sight before he kissed thelittle radiant face.
"I won't speak of them again, but I am right," Clemency said with alittle toss and blush, and it proved that she was.
At luncheon Doctor Gordon told Clemency that she could go wherever sheliked. She gave a little glance at James, and said gayly, "All right,Uncle Tom."
That afternoon Gordon and James made some calls in company, driving farinto the hills. They had hardly started before Gordon said abruptly,"Well, the woman is gone, and there is a wi
ld excitement in Westoverover her disappearance. I believe they are about to drag the pond. A manwho knew her well by sight declares that she boarded that New Yorktrain, but the people will not give up the theory that she has beenmurdered for her jewelry. By the way, I think I need not worry over herimmediate necessities. It seems that she had worn a quantity of veryvaluable jewels. Of course her going without any baggage except asuit-case, and leaving behind the greater part of her wardrobe, doeslook singular. But it seems that the house was rented furnished, and Ifancy she lived always in light marching orders, and probably carriedthe most valuable of her possessions upon her person and in hersuit-case. Well, I am thankful she has decamped."
"You don't fear her returning?" asked James with some anxiety.
"No, I have no fear of that. She is probably broken-hearted over thedeath of that man. She is not of the sort to kidnap on her own account.It was only for him. Clemency has nothing more to fear."
"I am thankful."
"You can well believe that I am, when I tell you that this afternoon Iam absolutely sure, for the first time in years, that the girl is safeto come and go as she pleases. I have had hideous uncertainty as well ashideous certainty to cope with. Now it is down to the hideous certainty.That is bad enough, but fate on an open field is less unmanning thanfate in ambush. I have long known to a nicety the fate in the field."Gordon hesitated a second, then he said abruptly, with his face turnedfrom his companion, in a rough voice, "Clara can't last many days."
James made an exclamation.
"She has gone down hill rapidly during the last two days," said Gordon."I have been increasing the morphine. It can't last long." Gordon endedthe sentence with a hoarse sob.
"I can't say anything," James faltered after a second, "but you know--"
"Yes, I know," Gordon said. "You are as sorry as any one can be who isnot, so to speak, the hero, or rather the coward, of the tragedy. Yes, Iknow. I'm obliged to you, Elliot, but all of us have to face death,whether it is our own or the death of another dearer than ourselves,alone. A soul is a horribly lonely thing in the worst places of life."
"Have you told Clemency?"
"No, I have put it off until the last minute. What good can it do? Sheknows that Clara is very ill, but she does not know, she has neverknown, the character of the illness. Sometimes I have a curious feelingthat instinct has asserted itself, and that Clemency, fond as she is ofmy wife, has not exactly the affection which she would have had for herown mother."
"I don't think she knows any difference at all," James said. "I thinkthe poor little girl will about break her heart."
"I did not mean to underestimate Clemency's affection," said Gordon,"but what I say is true. The girl herself will never know it, and, youmay not believe it, but she will not suffer as she would suffer if Clarawere her own mother. These ties of the blood are queer things, nothingcan quite take their place. If Clemency had died first Clara would havebeen indignant at the suggestion, but she herself would not have mournedas she would mourn for her own daughter. I must touch up the horses abit. I want to get home. I may not be able to go out again to-night.Last night I was up until dawn with Clara." Gordon touched the horseswith a slight flicker of the whip. He held the lines taut as they sprangforward. His face was set ahead. James glancing at him had a realizationof the awful loneliness of the other man by his side. He seemed tocomprehend the vastness of the isolation of a grief which concerns one,and one only, more than any other. Gordon had the expression of awanderer upon a desert or a frozen waste. Illimitable distances ofsolitude seemed reflected in his gloomy eyes.
James did not attempt to talk to him. It seemed like mockery, thiseffort to approach with sympathy this set-apart man, who wasunapproachable.
That night Gordon's wife was much worse. Gordon came down to James'sroom about two o'clock. James had been awake for some time listening tothe sounds of suffering overhead, and he had lit his lamp and dressed,thinking that he might be needed. Gordon stood in the doorway almostreeling. He made an effort before he spoke.
"Come into my office, will you?" he said.
James at once followed him. Going through the hall the sounds of agonybecame more distinct. When they entered the office Gordon fairly slammedthe door, then he turned to Elliot with a savage expression. "Hearthat," he said, as if he were accusing the other man. "Hear that, I say!The last hypodermic has not taken effect yet, and her heart is weak. IfI give her more--"
He stopped, staring at James, his face worked like a child's. Thensuddenly an almost idiotic expression came over it, the utter numbnessof grief. Then it passed away. Again he looked intelligently into theyoung man's eyes. "If I don't give her more," he gasped out, "if Idon't, this may last hours. If I do--"
The two men stood staring at each other. James thought of Clemency. "HasClemency been in to see her?" he asked.
"Yes, she heard, and came in. I sent her out. She is in her own roomnow; Emma is with her." Suddenly Gordon gave a look of despairing appealat James. "I--wish you would go up and see Clara," he whispered.
James knew what he meant. He hesitated.
"Go, and send Mrs. Blair down here," said Gordon. "Tell her I want tosee her."
"Well," said James slowly.
The two men did not look at each other again. Gordon sank into hischair. James went out of the room and upstairs. He knocked on the doorof the sick-room, and Mrs. Blair, the village nurse, answered his knock.She was a large woman in a voluminous wrapper. Her face had a settledexpression of gravity, almost of sternness. She looked at James. Thescreams from the writhing mass of agony in the bed did not appear to bemoving her, whereas she in reality was herself screwed to such a pitchof mental torture of pity that she was scarcely able to move. She wasrigid.
"Doctor Gordon sent me," whispered James. "He wished me to see her. Heasked me to say to you that he would like to see you for a minute in theoffice."
The woman did not move for a second. Then she whispered close to James'sear, "_It is on the bureau_."
James nodded. They passed each other. James entered the room and closedthe door. A lamp was burning on a table with a screen before it. The bedwas in shadow. The screams never ceased. They were not human. Jamescould not realize that the beautiful woman whom he had known was makingsuch sounds. They sounded like the shrieks of an animal. All the soulseemed gone from them.
James approached the bed. There was a roll of dark eyes at him. Then avoice ghastly beyond description, like the snarl of a hungry beast, camefrom between the straight white lips. "More, more! Give me more! Bequick!"
James hesitated.
"Quick, quick!" demanded the voice.
James crossed the room to the dresser. The sick woman now interspersedher screams with the word "quick!"
James filled a hypodermic syringe from a glass on the bureau andapproached the bed again. He bared a shuddering arm and inserted theinstrument quickly. "Now try and be quiet," he said. "You will go tosleep."
Then he went out of the room. The screams had ceased. As Jamesapproached the stair another door opened, and Clemency in a wrapperlooked out. She was very pale, her eyes were distended with fear, andher mouth was trembling. "How is she?" she whispered.
"Better, dear. Go back in your room and lie down. We are doing all wecan."
When James entered the office Gordon and Mrs. Blair turned with oneaccord, and fixed horribly searching eyes upon his face. He sat downbeside the table, and mechanically lit a cigar.
"How did she seem?" Gordon asked almost inaudibly.
"Better."
"Was she quiet?"
"Yes."
Gordon gave a long sigh. His face was deadly white. He leaned back inhis chair, and both James and the nurse sprang. They thought he hadfainted. While James felt his pulse Mrs. Blair got some brandy. Gordonswallowed the brandy, and raised his head.
"It is nothing," he said in a harsh voice. "You had better go back toher, Mrs. Blair."
A look of strange dread came over the woman's grave face.
/> "I will be there directly," said Gordon.
Mrs. Blair went out. She left the door ajar. The house was so still thatone could seem to hear the silence. There was something terrible aboutit after the turmoil of sound. Then the silence was broken. A screammore terrible than ever pierced it like a sword. Another came. Gordonsprang up and faced James. The young man's eyes fell before the look offierce questioning in Gordon's.
"I could not," he gasped. "Oh, Doctor Gordon, I could not! Instead ofthat I used water. I thought perhaps her mind being convinced that itwas morphine, she might--"
"Mind!" shouted Gordon. "Mind, how much do you suppose the poor,tortured thing has to bring to bear upon this? I tell you she is beingeaten alive. There is no other word for it. Gnawed, and worried, andeaten alive." Gordon ran out of the room.
James closed the door. The dog, who had been asleep beside the fire,started up, came over to James, laid his white head on his knee andwhimpered, with an appealing look in his brown eyes, which were turnedtoward the young man's face. Almost immediately Mrs. Blair entered theroom. She was very pale. "Doctor Gordon sent me down for the brandy,"she said abruptly. She went to the table on which the brandy flaskstood, but she seemed in no hurry to take it.
"How is she?" asked James.
"I think she is a little quieter." The nurse stood staring at the firefor a second longer. Then she took the brandy flask and went out with asoft, but jarring, tread.
Doctor Gordon must have passed her on the stairs, for he returned almostdirectly after she had left, and stood with his back to James, fussingover some bottles on the shelves opposite the fireplace. He stood therefor some five minutes. James glancing over his shoulder saw that he wastrembling in a strange rigid fashion, but he seemed intent upon thebottles. The house was very still again. Gordon at last seemed to havefinished whatever he was doing with the bottles. He left them and satdown in his chair. The dog left James and went to him, but Gordon pushedhim away roughly. Then Gordon spoke to James without turning his face inhis direction. "I wish you would go upstairs," he said hoarsely. "Mrs.Blair is alone, and I--I am about done too."
James obeyed without a word. When he reached the head of the stairs hefelt a sudden draught of cold wind. Mrs. Blair came out of thesick-room, closing the door behind her. Her face looked as stern as fateitself. James knew what had happened the moment he saw her.
James began to speak stammeringly, but she stopped him. "Call DoctorGordon," she said shortly. "She is dead."
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