CHAPTER XXVIII
VIRTUE TRIUMPHS
Mart maintained his deceptive cheer at the breakfast-table, and thehaggard look of the earlier hour passed away as he resolutely attackedhis chop. He spoke of his exile in a tone of resignation--mixed withhumor. "Sure, the old dad will have the laugh on us. He told us this wasthe jumpin'-off place."
"What will we do about the house?" asked Bertha. "Will we sell or rent?"
"Nayther. Lave it as it is," replied he quickly. "So long as I live Iwant to feel 'tis here ready for ye whinever ye wish to use it. 'Tis notmine. Without you I never would have had it, and I want no othermistress in it. Sure, every chair, every picture on the walls is therebecause of ye. 'Tis all you, and no one else shall mar it while I live."
This was the note which was most piercing in her ears, and she hastenedto stop it by remarking the expense of maintaining the place--itspossible decay and the like; but to all this he doggedly replied: "Icare not. I'd rather burn it and all there is in it than turn it over tosome other woman. Go you to Ben and tell him my will concerning it."
This gave a new turn to her thought. "I don't want to do that. Why don'tyou go and tell him yourself?"
"Didn't the doctor say I must save meself worry? I hate to ask ye toshoulder the heavy end of this proposition." His face lost its forcedsmile. "I'm a sick man, darlin'; I know it now, and I must save meselfall I can. Ye may send Lucius down and bring him up, or we'll drive downand see him; maybe the ride would do me good, but I can't climb themstairs ag'in."
The temptation to see Ben once more, alone in the bright office, provedtoo great for Bertha's resolution, and she answered: "All right, I'llgo, but only to bring him down to you. You must give the orders aboutthe house."
In spite of his iron determination to be of good cheer in her presence,Mart's lips quivered with pain of parting as he looked round thesplendid dining-room, into which the sunlight was pouring. Suddenly hebroke forth: "Ye _must_ stay here, darlin'--never mind me. 'Tis a sinand a shame to ask ye to lave all this to go with a poor old--"
"Stop that!" she called, sharply. "I won't listen to any such talk," andhe said no more.
They decided to go down about ten o'clock, when the daily tide of hislife rode highest. This hour suited his own plan, for a train left forthe mountains not long after, and he had resolved to make his escapewhile Bertha was with Ben in the office. "There will be no need of anychange in the house," he thought, "but 'twill do no hurt for them totalk it all over."
For an hour or two he hobbled about the yard and garden, taking a finallook at the horses and dogs, and his face was very lax and gray and hisvoice broken as he talked with his men, who had learned of the doctor'sorders, and were awkwardly silent with sympathy. He soon grew tired andcame back to the porch to rest and wait for the hour of his departure.Settling into his accustomed chair, which faced directly upon themountains over which the sun, wearing to the south, was beginning tohang its vivid shadows, he sat like a man of bronze. The clouds whicheach day clothed the scarred and naked peaks with a mantle of ermine andpurple, were already assembling. The range assumed a new andoverpowering grandeur in his eyes, for it typified the Big Divide, whichlay between him and the country of the soundless, dawnless night.
Up that deep fold which lay between the chieftain and his consort to thenorth ran the western way--a trail with no returning footprints; and thethought made his heart beat painfully, while a sense of the wonder andthe terror of death came to him. He was going away as the woundedgrizzly crawls to the thicket to die, unseen of his kind, even of hismate.
To never return! To mount and mount, each league separating him foreverfrom the mansion he had come to enjoy, the wife he loved better than hisown life. "I cannot believe it," he whispered, "and yet I must make itso."
Then he began to wonder, grimly, just when his heart would fail, justwhere it would burst like a rotten cinch. "Will it be on the train?Suppose I last to the coal-switch, then I must climb to the mine.Suppose I live to reach the mine, then what? Oh, well, 'tis easy to slipfrom the cliff."
Meanwhile, out under the trees, the gardener was spading turf, thelawn-mower was purring briskly and as though no sentence of death hadbeen passed upon the master of the place. In this Haney saw the world'saction typified. The individual is of little value--the race alonecounts.
He shuffled down to meet the carriage at the gate, and Lucius helped himin before Bertha could reach him, and they drove off down the street soexactly in their usual way that Bertha was moved to say: "I don'tbelieve it! I can't realize we're quitting this town to-morrow."
"No more can I, but I reckon it's good-bye all the same--for me, anyhow.I despise meself for asking ye to go, darlin'--I _don't_ ask it. Stayyou! I'm not demanding anything at all. 'Tis fitter for me to go alone.Stay on, darlin'--'twill comfort me to lave ye safe and happy here."
She shook her head with quite as much determination as he. "No, Mart, mymind is made up--I know my job, and I'm going to muckle to it like alittle lady, so don't fuss."
The air was beautifully clear and bracing, and a minute later Haneyremarked, sadly: "I reckon the doctor knows his trade, but 'tis bitternonsense to me when a man says the murky wind of the low country isbetter for a sick man than this."
She was very tender at heart as she replied: "I'm afraid he's right,Mart. I could see you weren't so well here; but I was selfish--I triedto argue different. You'll be better down below, that's dead certain."
"Well, the bets are all laid and the wheel spinning. I'm ready to takeme exile--but I hate to drag ye down with me."
"Don't worry about me," she answered, with intent to reassure him. "Tobe honest, I kind o' like the East."
At the door of Ben's office building she got out, leaving him in thecarriage. As she looked back at him from the doorway something whichseemed like anguish in his face moved her, and she returned to the wheelto say, "Never mind, Mart, we'll buy a new home down there."
He was struggling as if with the pangs of death, but he said, "'Tischildish, I know, but I hate to say good-bye to it all."
She patted his hand as if soothing a child, and, turning, mounted thestairway. How weak and old he seemed at the moment!
Fordyce was at work. She could hear his typewriter click laboriously (hewas his own typist as yet), and she stood for a moment in the hall withhand pressed hard upon her bosom, the full significance of this lastvisit overwhelming her. Here was the end of her own happiness--thebeginning of long-drawn misery and heart-hunger. Her blood beattumultuously in her throat, and each throb was a physical, smotheringpain.
At last she grew calmer and knocked. Ben opened the door, and his faceshone with joy. "You're late!" he reproachfully exclaimed; then, as hepeered into the hall, he asked, "Where's the Captain?"
She was very white as she answered: "He can't come up this morning. Heain't able."
"Is he worse?" His face expressed swift concern.
"Yes--Dr. Steele came last night and examined him--"
"What did he say?"
"He told us to 'get out' of here--quick."
He drew her in and shut the door. "Tell me all about it. What is thematter?"
"It's his heart. He can't stand it here. We've got to get away--down theslope--to-morrow."
"Not to stay?"
"That's what Steele says. Mart's in bad shape."
He searched her face with earnest gaze. "I can't understand that. Heseemed so happy and so much better, too."
"He's been a good deal worse than he let on, or else he fooled himself.The doctor found his heart jumping cogs right along."
"And he positively ordered you to go below?"
"Yes--he scared me. He said Mart might die any minute--if he stayed."
In the silence that followed his face became almost as white as her own,for he understood and shared her temptation. At last he said, slowly,"And you are going with him?"
"Yes, I must. Don't you see I must?"
He understood, too. Haney had refused to go with
out her, and to staywould be to shorten his life.
"How did the Captain take it?" he asked with effort.
"Mighty hard at first, but he's fairly cheerful to-day. He wants toleave me here--but I'm going with him. It's my business to be where heis," she added. "He sure needs me now."
"What are you going to do with the house?"
"Leave it just as it is. He won't sell it or rent it. He wants you tolook after all his business just the same--"
"I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't intend to stay here." As he spoke his excitementmounted. "My little world was all askew before you came. You've put thefinishing-touch to it. I'm ready to make my own will at this moment."
"You mustn't talk that way," she admonished. "I don't like to see youlose your grip." Her words were commonplace, but her hesitating,tremulous voice betrayed her and exalted him. "I'm--we are depending onyou."
His face, his eyes, filled her with light. She forgot all the rest ofthe world for the moment, and he, looking upon her with a knowledge thatshe loved him and was about to leave him, spoke fatefully--as if thewords came forth in spite of his will. "You don't seem to realize howdeeply I'm going to miss you. You cannot know how much your presencemeans to me here in this small town. I will not stay on without the hopeof seeing you. If you go, I will not remain here another day."
She fought against the feeling of pride, of joy, which these words gaveher. "You mustn't say that--you've got to stay with Alice."
"Alice!" his voice rose. "Alice has given me back my ring and is goinghome. When you are gone, what is left in this town for me?" He rose andwalked up and down, a choking sob in his throat. "My God! It's horribleto feel our good days ending in a crash like this. What does it allmean? I refuse to admit that our shining little world is only a house ofcards. Are we never to see each other again? I refuse to say good-bye. Iwon't have it so!" He faced her again with curt inquiry. "Where are yougoing to live?"
"I don't know--maybe in Chicago--maybe in New York."
"No matter where it is, I will come to you. I cannot lose you out of mylife--I will not!"
"No, you mustn't do that. It ain't square to Mart--I can't see you anymore--now."
He seized upon the significance of that little final word. "What do youmean by _now_? Do you mean because Mart is worse? Or do you mean that Ihave forfeited your good-will by my own action?" He came closer to herand his voice was low and insistent as he continued: "Or do youmean--something very sweet and comforting to me? Do you love me, Bertie?Do you? Is that your meaning?"
She struggled against him as she answered: "I don't know--Yes, I doknow--it ain't right for me--for you to say these things to me while Iam Mart Haney's wife."
He caught at her hands and looked upon her with face grown older andgraver as he bitterly wailed: "Why couldn't we have met before you wentto him? You must not go with him now, for you are mine at heart, youbelong to me."
She rose with instinctive desire to flee, but he held her hands in bothof his and hurried on: "You do love me! I am sure of it! Why try toconceal it? You would marry me if you were free?" His eyes pierced heras he proceeded, transformed by the power of his own plea. "We belong toeach other--don't you know we do? I am sorry for Alice, but I do notlove her--I never loved her as I love you. She understands this. That iswhy she has returned my ring--there is nothing further for me to say toher. As for Marshall Haney I pity him, as you do, but he has no right toclaim you."
"He don't claim me. He wants me to stay here."
"Then why don't you?"
"Because he needs me."
"So do I need you."
"But not the way--I mean he is sick and helpless."
He drew her closer. "You must not go. I will not let you go. You're apart of my life now." His words ceased, but his eyes called with burningintensity.
She struggled, not against him, but in opposition to something withinherself which seemed about to overwhelm her will. It was so easy tolisten, to yield--and so hard to free her hands and turn away, but thethought of Haney waiting, and a knowledge of his confident trust in her,brought back her sterner self.
"No!" she cried out sharply, imperiously. "I won't have it! You mustn'ttouch me again, not while he lives! You mustn't even see me again!"
He understood and respected her resolution, but could not release her atthe moment. "Won't you kiss me good-bye?"
She drew her hands away. "No, it's all wrong, and you know it! I'lldespise you if you touch me again! Good-bye!"
Thereupon his clean, bright, honorable soul responded to her reproof,rose to dominion over the flesh, and he said: "Forgive me. I didn't meanto tempt you to anything wrong. Good-bye!" and so they parted in suchanguish as only lovers know when farewells seem final, and their emptyhearts, calling for a word of promise, are denied.
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