CHAPTER XV
James sat as if turned to stone. All in a second he realized what itmust be. He let Clemency's hand go, and leaned back in his chair. "Whatdo you mean, Clemency?" he asked finally, but he realized how senselessthe question was. He knew perfectly well what she meant, and he knewperfectly well that he was utterly helpless before her accusation.
"You know," said Clemency, still in her unnatural hard voice. "Youkilled her."
"How?"
"You know. You gave her more morphine, and her heart was weak. Emmaoverheard Uncle Tom say so, and that more morphine was dangerous. Shemight have been alive to-day if it had not been for you."
James sat staring at the girl. She went on pitilessly. "You did not seeEmma that last time you came upstairs," she said, "but she saw you. Shewas standing in the door of her room, and she had no light. She saw youand Mrs. Blair going away from her room, and she heard Mrs. Blair tellyou she was dead. You killed her. I want nothing whatever to do with amurderer."
James remembered that draught of cold air. It must have come from theopen door of Emma's room at the end of the hall. He understood that Emmacould not have seen him coming upstairs, but that she had seen him withMrs. Blair at the door of the sick-room, and had jumped at herconclusion.
"Emma knew when you went upstairs first," said Clemency. "You left herdoor a little ajar. Emma saw you giving her a hypodermic. And then whenthat did not kill her you gave her another. Uncle Tom did not know. Hemust never know, for it would kill him, but you did kill her."
James was silent for a moment. He realized the impossibility of clearinghimself from the accusation unless he told the whole truth andimplicated Doctor Gordon. Finally he said, miserably enough, "You don'tknow how horribly she was suffering, dear. You don't know what tormentsshe would have had to suffer."
He knew when he said that that he incriminated himself. Clemencyretorted immediately, "You don't know. I have heard Uncle Tom say thatnobody can ever know. She might have gotten well. Anyway, you killedher." With that Clemency sprang up and ran out of the room, and Jamesheard her sob.
As for himself, he remained where he was for a long time. He never knewhow long. He felt numb. He realized himself to be in a gulf ofmisunderstanding, from which he could not be extricated, even for thesake of Clemency. It seemed to him again that he must go away, but heremembered Gordon's pitiful plea to him to remain. Finally he went intohis room, to find that Emma, in her absurd malice, had left only thecoverlid on the bed. She had stripped it of the sheets and blankets. Helay down with his clothes on and passed a sleepless night.
The next morning at the breakfast-table he looked haggard and pale. Hecould eat nothing. Doctor Gordon looked at him keenly.
"What is the matter, Elliot?" he asked.
Clemency gave a quick glance at him, and her face worked.
"Nothing," replied James.
"You look downright ill."
"I am not ill."
Clemency rose abruptly and left the table.
"What is the matter, Clemency? Where are you going?" Gordon called out.
"I have finished my breakfast," the girl replied in a stifled voice.
Gordon insisted on making some calls that morning, and relieving James."You are worn out, my son," he said in a voice of real affection, andclapped him on the shoulder. He sent James on a short round in spite ofhis objections, and the consequence was that James reached home half anhour before luncheon.
It was a beautiful morning. Spring seemed to have come with a wingedleap. A faint down of green shaded the elms, and there was a pink cloudof peach bloom in the distance. The cherry trees were swollen almost toblossom, and the apple trees had pale radiances in the glance of thesun. The grass was quite green, and here and there were dandelions.Clemency was out in the yard, working in a little flower-garden, asJames drove in. She had on a black dress, and her fair head wasuncovered. She pretended not to see James, but he had hardly entered theoffice before she came in. Her face was all suffused with pink. Shelooked at him tenderly and angrily.
"Are you ill?" she said, in an indignant voice which had, in spite ofherself, soft cadences.
"No, Clemency."
"Then why do you look so?" she demanded.
James turned at that. "Clemency, you accuse me of cruelty," he said,"but you yourself are cruel. You do not realize that you cannot tell aman he is a murderer, and throw him over when he loves you, and yet havehim utterly unmoved by it."
Suddenly Clemency was in his arms. "I love you, I love you," she sobbed."Don't be unhappy, don't look so. It breaks my heart. I love you, I dolove you, dear. I can't marry you, but I love you!"
"If you love me, you can marry me."
Clemency shrank away, then she clung to him again. "No," she said, "Ican't get over the thought of it. I can't help it, but I do love you. Wewill go on just the same as ever, only we will not get married. You knowwe were not going to get married just yet anyway. I love you. We will goon just the same. Only don't look the way you did this morning atbreakfast."
"How did I look?"
"As if your heart were broken."
"So it is, dear."
"No, it is not. I love you, I tell you. What is the need of botheringabout marriage anyway? I am perfectly happy being engaged. Annie saysshe is never going to get married. Let the marriage alone. Only youwon't look so any more, will you, dear?"
CHAPTER XVI
After this James encountered a strange state of things: the semblance ofhappiness, which almost deceived him as to its reality.
Clemency was as loving as she had ever been. Gordon congratulated Jamesupon the reconciliation. "I knew the child could never hold out, and itwas Annie Lipton," he said. James admitted that Annie Lipton might havebeen the straw which turned the balance. He knew that Clemency had nottold Gordon of her conviction that he had given the final dose ofmorphine to her aunt. Everything now went on as before. Clemencysuddenly became awake to Emma's petty persecutions of James, and theyceased. James one day could not help overhearing a conversation betweenthe two. He was in the stable, and the kitchen windows were open. Heheard only a few words. "You don't mean to say you are goin' to hevhim?" said Emma in her strident voice.
"No, I am not," returned Clemency's sweet, decided one.
"What be you goin' with him again for then?"
James knew how the girl blushed at that, but she answered with spirit."That is entirely my own affair, Emma," she said, "and as long as DoctorElliot remains under this roof, and pays for it, too, he must be treateddecently. You don't pass him things, you don't fill his lamp. Now youmust treat him exactly as you did before, or I shall tell Uncle Tom."
"You won't tell him why?" said Emma, and there was alarm in her voice,for she adored Gordon.
"Did you ever know me to go from one to another in such a way?" askedClemency. "You know if I told Uncle Tom, he would not put up with it aminute. He thinks the world of Doctor Elliot."
"It's awful queer how men folks can be imposed on," said Emma.
"That has nothing to do with it," Clemency said. "You must treat DoctorElliot respectfully, Emma."
"I'm jest as good as he be," said Emma resentfully.
"Well, what if you are? He's as good as you, isn't he? And he treats youcivilly. He always has."
"I'm a good deal better than he be," Emma went on irascibly. "I wouldn'thave gone and went, and--"
"Hush!" ordered Clemency in a frightened voice. "Emma, you must do as Isay."
James drove out of the yard and heard no more, but after that he had nofault to find with Emma, so far as her service was concerned. It is truethat she gave him malignant glances, but she made him comfortable,albeit unwillingly. It was fortunate for him that she did so, or hewould have found his position almost unbearable. Doctor Gordon relaxedagain into his state of apathetic gloom. His strength also seemed towane. Almost the whole practice devolved upon James. Gordon seemed lessand less interested even in extreme cases. Georgie K. also lost hispower over him. Now and then of a
n evening he came, but Gordon, save tooffer him a cigar, took scarcely any notice of him. One evening GeorgieK. made a motion to James behind Gordon's back when he took leave, andJames made an excuse to follow him out. In the drive Georgie K. tookJames by the arm, and the young man felt him tremble. "What ails him?"asked Georgie K.
"I hardly know," James replied in a whisper.
"I know," said Georgie K. By the light from the office window Jamescould see that the man was actually weeping. His great ruddy face wasstreaming with tears. "Don't I know?" he sobbed.
James remembered the stuffed canary and the wax flowers, and the storyGordon had told him of Georgie K.'s grief over his wife's death.
"I dare say you are right," he returned.
"He's breakin' his heart, that's what he's doin'," said Georgie K."Can't you get him to go away for a change or somethin'?"
"I have tried."
"He'll die of it," Georgie K. said with a great gulp as he went out ofthe yard.
When James reentered the office Gordon looked up at him. "That poor oldfellow called you out to talk about me," he said quietly. "I know I'mgoing downhill."
"For heaven's sake, can't you go up, doctor?"
"No, I am done for. I could get over losing her, but I can't get overwhat--you know what."
"But her death was inevitable, and greater agony was inevitable."
Gordon turned upon him fiercely. "When you have been as long in thiscursed profession as I have," he said, "you will realize that nothing isinevitable. She might have recovered for all I know. That woman, atTurner Hill, who I thought was dying six months ago, being up and aroundagain, is an instance. I tell you mortal man has no right to thrust hishand between the Almighty and fate. You know nothing, and I knownothing."
"I do know."
"You don't know, and you don't even know that you don't know. There isno use talking about this any longer. When I am gone you must marryClemency, and keep on with my practice."
James considered when he was in his own room that the event of hissucceeding to the practice might not be so very remote, but as to hismarrying Clemency he doubted. He dared not hint of the matter to Gordon,for he knew it would disturb him, but Clemency, as the days went on,became more and more variable. At times she was loving, at times it wasquite evident that she shrank from him with a sort of involuntaryhorror. James began to wonder if they ever could marry. He was fullyresolved not to clear himself at the expense of Doctor Gordon; in fact,such a course never occurred to him. He had a very simplestraightforwardness in matters of honor, and this seemed to him a matterof honor. No question with regard to it arose in his mind. Obviously itwas better that he should bear the brunt than Gordon, but he did askhimself if it would ever be possible for Clemency to dissociate him fromthe thought of the tragedy entirely, and if she could not, would it bepossible for her to be happy as his wife? That very day Clemency hadavoided him, and once when he had approached she had visibly shrunk andpaled. Evidently the child could not help it. She looked miserablyunhappy. She had grown thin lately, and had lost almost entirely hersense of fun, which had always been so ready.
James went to sleep, wondering how she would treat him the next day. Henever knew, for the girl shifted like a weather-cock, driven hither andyon by her love and terror like two winds. The next day, however, solvedthe problem in an entirely unexpected fashion. James, that morning afterbreakfast, during which Clemency had sat pale and stern behind thecoffee-urn, and scarcely had noticed him, set off on a round of calls.Doctor Gordon, to his surprise, announced his intention of making somecalls himself; he said that he would take the team, and James must drivethe balky mare, as the bay was to be taken to the blacksmith's. Gordonthat morning looked worse than usual, although he evinced such unwontedenergy. He trembled like a very old man. He ate scarcely anything, andhis mouth was set hard with a desperate expression. James wished to urgehim to remain at home, but he did not dare. Gordon, when he left thebreakfast-table, proposed that James should take Clemency with him, butthe girl replied curtly that she was too busy. Gordon started on hislong circuit, and James set off to make the rounds of Alton andWestover. The mare seemed in a very favorable mood that morning. She didnot balk, and went at a good pace. It was not until James was on hishomeward road that the trouble began. Then the mare planted her fourfeet at angles, in her favorite fashion, and became as immovable as ahorse of bronze. James touched her with the whip. He was in no patientmood that morning. Finally he lashed her. He might as well have lashed astone, for all the effect his blows had. Then he got out and triedcoaxing. She did not seem to even see him. Her great eyes had a curiousintrospective expression. Then he got again into the buggy and satstill. A sense of obstinacy as great as the animal's came over him."Stand there and be d----d!" he said.
"Go without your dinner if you want to." He leaned back in a corner ofthe buggy, and began reflecting.
His reflections were at once angry and gloomy. He was, he told himself,tired of the situation. He began to wonder if he ought not, for the sakeof self-respect, to leave Alton and Clemency. He wondered if a man oughtto submit to be so treated, and yet he recognized Clemency's own view ofthe situation, and a great wave of love and pity for the poor childswept over him. The mare had halted in a part of the road where therewere no houses, and flowering alders filled the air with their faintsweetness. Under that sweetness, like the bass in a harmony, he couldsmell the pines in the woods on either hand. He also heard their voices,like the waves of the sea. It was a very warm day, one of those days inwhich Spring makes leaps toward Summer. James felt uncomfortably heated,for the buggy was in the full glare of sunlight. All his solace camefrom the fact that he himself, sitting there so quietly, was outwittingthe mare by showing as great obstinacy as her own. He knew that sheinwardly fretted at not arousing irritation. That a tickle, even a lashof the whip, would delight her. He sat still, leaning his head back. Hewas almost asleep when he heard a rumble of heavy wheels, and lookingahead languidly perceived a wagon laden with household goods of somespring-flitters approaching. He sat still and watched the great wagondrawn by two lean, white horses, and piled high with the poor householdbelongings--miserable wooden chairs and feather beds, and a child'scradle rocking imminently on the top. A lank Jerseyman was driving. Byhis side on the high seat was his stout wife holding a baby. The weakwail of the child filled the air. James looked to make sure that therewas room for the team to pass. He thought there was, and sat idlywatching them. The woman looked at him, made some remark to the man, andthen both grinned weakly, recognizing the situation. The man on the teamdrove carefully, but a stone on the outer side caused his team to swervea trifle. The wheels hit the wheels of the buggy, and the cradle tiltedswiftly on to the back of the balky mare, and she bolted. In all herexperience of a long, balky life, a cradle as a means of breaking herspirit had not been encountered. James had not time to clutch the lineswhich had fallen to the floor of the buggy before he was thrown out. Hefelt the buggy tilting to its fall, he heard a crashing sound and afierce kicking, and then he knew no more.
When he came to himself he was on the lounge in Doctor Gordon's office.Emma was just disappearing with a pitcher in the direction of thekitchen, and he felt something cool on his forehead. He smelled aromaticsalts, and heard a piteous little voice, like the bleat of a woundedlamb, in his ears, and kisses on his cheeks, and a soft hand rubbing hisown. "Oh, darling," the little voice was saying, "oh, darling, are youmuch hurt? Are you? Please speak to me. It is Clemency. Oh, he is dead!He is dead!" Then came wild sobs, and Emma rushed into the room, and heheard her say, "Here, put this ice on his head, quick!"
James was still so faint that he could only gasp weakly. And he couldopen his eyes to nothing but darkness and a marvellous spinning and whiras of shadows in a wind.
"He's comin' to," said Emma. Her voice sounded as if she felt moved."Don't take on so, Miss Clemency," she said; "he ain't dead."
Again James felt the soft kisses and tears on his face, and again camethe poor little voice,
"Oh, darling, please listen, please don't do so.I will marry you. I will. I know you did just right. I read one of UncleTom's books this morning, and I found out what awful suffering she mighthave had hours longer. You did right. I will marry you. I will neverthink of it again. Please don't look so. Are you dreadfully hurt? Oh,when they came bringing you in I thought you were killed! There is agreat bruise on your head. Does it hurt much? You do feel better, don'tyou? Oh, Emma, if Uncle Tom would only come. Can't you hear me, dear? Iwill marry you. I take it all back. I will marry you! I will marry youwhenever you wish. Oh, please look at me! Please speak to me! Oh, Emma,there is Uncle Tom. I am so glad."
And then poor, little Clemency, all unstrung and frightened, sank intoan unconscious little heap on the floor as Gordon entered. "What thedevil?" he cried out. "I saw the buggy smashed on the road, and thatmare went down the Ford Hill road like a whirlwind. What, Elliot, areyou hurt, boy? Clemency, Emma, what has happened?"
All the time Gordon was talking he was examining James, who was now ableto speak feebly. "The mare was frightened and threw me," he gasped. "Iwas stunned. I am all right now. See to Clemency!"
But Clemency was already staggering weakly to her feet.
"Oh, Uncle Tom, he isn't killed, is he?" she sobbed.
"Killed, no," said Gordon, "but he will be if you don't stop crying andmaking a goose of yourself, Clemency."
"We put ice on his head," sobbed Clemency. "He isn't--"
"Of course he isn't. He was only stunned. That is only a flesh wound."
"I tried to git some brandy down him, but I couldn't," said Emma.
"Give it to me," said Gordon. He poured out some brandy in a spoon, andJames swallowed it. "He will be all right now," Gordon said. "You won'tbe such a beauty that the women will run after you for a few days,Elliot, but you're all right."
"I feel all right," James said.
"It is nothing more than a little boy with a bump on his forehead," saidGordon to Clemency. "Now, child, stop crying, and go and bathe youreyes. Emma, is luncheon ready?"
When both women had gone Gordon, who had been applying some ointment toJames's forehead, said in a low voice, broken by emotion, "You are allright, Elliot, but--you did have a close call."
"I suppose I did," James said, laughing feebly.
He essayed to rise, but Gordon held him down. "No, keep still," he said."You must not stir to-day. I will have your luncheon brought in.Clemency will be only too happy to wait on you, hand and foot."
"Poor little girl, I must have given her an awful fright," said James.
"Well, you are not exactly the looking object to do anything else," saidGordon laughing.
"Where is there a glass?"
"Where you won't have it. You won't be scarred. It is simply a temporaryeclipse of your beauty, and Clemency will love you all the more for it.You need not worry. Talk about the vanity of women. I thought you wereabove it, Elliot. Now lie still. If you get up you will be giddy."
James lay still, smiling. He felt very happy, and his love for Clemencyseemed like a glow of pure radiance in his heart. He lay on the officelounge all the afternoon. He fell asleep with Clemency sitting besideholding his hand. Gordon had gone out to finish the calls. It was sixo'clock before he drove into the yard. James had just awakened and layfeeling a great peace and content. Clemency was smiling down at hisdiscolored face, as if it were the face of an angel. The windows wereopen, and the distant lowing of cattle, waiting at homeward bars, themonotone of frogs, and the songs of circling swallows came in. Jamesfelt as if he saw in a celestial vision the whole world and life, andthat it was all blessed and good, that even the pain and sorrowblossomed in the end into ineffable flowers of pure delight.
But when Doctor Gordon entered this vision was clouded, for Gordon'sface had reassumed its old expression of settled melancholy and despair.He inquired how James found himself with an apathetic air, and then satdown and mechanically filled his pipe. After it was filled he seemed toforget to light it, so deep was his painful reverie. He sat with it inhand, staring straight ahead. Then a strange thing happened. The officedoor opened and Mrs. Blair, the nurse, entered. She was dressed inblack, she carried a black travelling bag, and she wore a black bonnet,with a high black tuft on the top by way of trimming. Mrs. Blair wasvery tall, and this black tuft, when she entered the door, barely grazedthe lintel.
Gordon rose and said good evening, and regarded her in a bewilderedfashion, as did James and Clemency.
Mrs. Blair spoke with no preface. "I am going to leave Alton," she saidin her severe voice, "and I want to tell you something first, and to saygood-by." She looked at Gordon, then at the others, one after another,then at Gordon again. "I did not think at first that it would benecessary for me to say what I am going to," she continued, "but Ioverheard some things that were said that night, and I have beenthinking--and then I heard the other day (I don't know how true it is)that Clemency and Doctor Elliot had had a falling out, and I didn't knowbut--I didn't quite know what anybody thought, and I wanted you all toknow the truth. I didn't want any mistakes made to cause unhappiness."She hesitated, her eyes upon Doctor Gordon grew more intense. "Maybe_you_ think you gave her that dose of morphine that killed her," shesaid steadily, "but you didn't. Doctor Elliot gave her water, and yougave her mostly water. I had diluted the morphine, and you didn't knowit. I had made up my mind that she was going to have the morphine, but Ihad made up my mind that nobody but me should have the responsibility ofit. I'm all alone in the world, and my conscience upheld me, and I feltI'd rather take the blame, if there was to be any. I made up my mind towait till a certain time and then give it to her, and I did. I am theone who gave her the morphine that killed her. I am going to leave Altonfor good. My trunk is down at the station. I came to tell you that Igave her the morphine, and if I did wrong in helping God to shorten hersufferings, I am the one to be punished, and I stand ready to bear thepunishment."
Gordon looked at her. He did not speak, but it was with his face as if amask of dreadful misery had dropped from it.
"Good-by!" said Mrs. Blair. She went out of the door, and the black tufton her bonnet barely grazed the lintel.
THE END
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'Doc.' Gordon Page 15
