The Sixty-First Second

by Owen Johnson

  *CHAPTER XI*

  For an interval, while the coachman, spurred on by the prospect ofreward, tore through the short streets, Beecher continued looking intoMrs. Bloodgood's eyes--eyes that were aghast with mute, terrifiedinterrogations which she did not dare to phrase.

  Suddenly she perceived the extra which he had bought. She extended herhand, looking at it fearfully.

  "Give it to me," she said.

  He hesitated, and in the moment of irresolution she seized it. A cry ofpain, a low cry torn from the soul, made him stiffen in his seat,steeling himself against the expected. But no further sound came. Whenhe turned, she was sitting transfixed, staring wide-eyed at thenewspaper which seemed glued to her fingers. Alarmed at the rigidity ofher emotion, he leaned over and disengaged the paper from herunresisting fingers. The action seemed abruptly to revive her. Shegave another cry, and tore the newspaper from him with such energy thata great, ill-shaped fragment remained in her clutch.

  "No, no, not that--no, no!" she cried, frantically seeking to decipherthe bare six lines that recorded the tragedy. All at once she flung thesheet from her, turning to read the truth in his face.

  "Ah, it is true!" she cried, and her hand, as though holding him guiltyof the fact, violently pushed him from her.

  "Mrs. Bloodgood--" Beecher began hesitatingly, frightened at theparoxysm that shook her body.

  But the emotion was still of horror, without as yet the realization ofthe finality that had come. She felt that Majendie was in danger--interrible danger; that she must get to him, somehow, some way, and flingherself in front of that awful something that threatened him, ward off,in some way prevent, the thing that was coming. She seized the arm ofthe terrified young man, imploring him, still dry-eyed:

  "Take me to him--at once--no--I must--take me--Bernard--oh!"

  She fell back exhausted, faint.

  "Be calm; please be calm," he repeated, helpless before the utterdisorder of her suffering.

  All at once the annihilation of self into which she had fallen wassucceeded by a quick paroxysm of energy. She bounded upright on theseat, seizing his arm so that the nails hurt him.

  "I will go to him!" she cried. "You shall not stop me. He may be onlywounded. The report is false--must be false. I will go to him!"

  "The very thing that you must not do--that you can not do," he saidfirmly; and then, seized with an inspiration, he added: "Listen--listento me, Mrs. Bloodgood, I am taking you to Rita's; if you must go to him,go with her. Two women can go; one would cause a great scandal. Youcan not put that on him--you must think of him now. We are going toRita's--Rita's!" he added, putting his lips to her ears to make her hearhim.

  He put his hand on her shoulder and forced her gently back. She heldher clasped hands rigidly strained between her knees, staring out beyondthe confines of the carriage.

  "He is not dead," she said in a whisper; "he is wounded."

  "As soon as we get to Rita's," he continued reassuringly, "I willtelephone. I'll find out everything."

  "Wounded," she repeated, nodding--without hearing him.

  "If he is, we three can go--it will seem quite natural," he saidhastily, eying nervously her dry, uncomprehending grief, fearing thecoming outburst of realization.

  "Almost there," he said, looking out of the window. "Hold on toyourself. Be game. There are always a few persons below."

  She did not answer, but her lips curled slightly in contempt, and sheput her hand spasmodically to her throat.

  "You're right, the whole thing may be false--a wild rumor," he saidquickly, talking to her as to a child. "A fake story--who knows? See,there are no details. Here we are. A little courage! Go right into theelevator."

  He signaled the driver to wait, and followed her hastily into theelevator, standing between her bowed figure and the boy.

  Mrs. Kildair was in the studio, pacing the floor; and at the firstglance each saw that she knew the report, and that it was true. Mrs.Bloodgood crumpled on the floor, without consciousness.

  "My smelling-salts are on my bureau," said Mrs. Kildair quickly. "Lifther on the sofa first, and then get them."

  "Is it true?" he said, raising the slender, lifeless body.

  "Yes."

  "Dead?"

  "Yes."

  "When did it happen?"

  "At two o'clock."

  "She wishes to go to him," he said warningly. "The carriage is below.She has her trunks. She was to have met him at the station. What shallI do?"

  "She must be gotten back to her house as soon as possible," said Mrs.Kildair with energy. "The trunks must return at once. Everything hangson a hair; I know Bloodgood." She cast a glance at the still inanimatebody and added: "Wait. Spirits of ammonia will be better. I'll getit."

  Mrs. Bloodgood returned to consciousness slowly, looking from one to theother with a dazed, pleading look.

  "Then it is so," she said at last.

  The two looked at her without being able to answer. Suddenly shebounded up erect, her fists striking her forehead.

  "It is I who have done it!" she cried, and for the second time fell backlifeless on the floor.

  "Go down now; send the trunks back," said Mrs. Kildair to Beecher."Tell him to do it as quickly as possible--no, tell him nothing. Goquickly."

  When Beecher returned, Mrs. Bloodgood was on her feet again, passingfrom spot to spot ceaselessly, one hand clutching a handkerchief topress back the sobs that shook her from time to time, the otherstretched out in front of her, beating a mechanical time to the onephrase which she repeated again and again:

  "I've done it--I've done it--I've done it!"

  Mrs. Kildair, leaning by the piano, knowing that each period must haveits expression, awaited the right moment. Beecher, at a sign from her,slipped quietly into a chair.

  "Yes, it's I--it's I--I!" said the indistinguishable voice.

  "You have done nothing," said Mrs. Kildair solemnly. "It is fate."

  "No, no. Only I am to blame," she answered, stopping short, each wordcoming slowly through the torrents of tears.

  Mrs. Kildair passed quietly to her side.

  "You are not to blame, dear," she said; "don't think that."

  "Oh, you don't know," she said, suddenly acquiring a terrible calm thatfroze the young man. "At what time did he--did it happen?"

  "At two."

  "I knew it! Ten minutes before, he telephoned me; he said--oh, what doI know?--said a thousand things but the one in his mind. Asked me if Istill was resolved to go."

  "But then, Elise--"

  "You don't understand! It was I who insisted on his going--I--I! Itold him, if he would not go, I would come openly to his house--I wouldnot be separated from him. Oh, my God! I didn't know--I didn't!"

  She abandoned herself to her transports once more, flinging herself onher knees and praying, as an uncomprehending child prays:

  "O God, don't let it be true--please don't let it be so!"

  Beecher covered his eyes suddenly with his hands. Mrs. Kildair allowedher for a moment to tire herself in supplication and anguish. Then shewent to her, grasping her shoulder.

  "Elise."

  Mrs. Bloodgood stopped, rose, and went to the window, where she stoodswaying.

  "I'm going to him," she said, pressing her knuckles against her temples.

  "Get hold of yourself," said Mrs. Kildair, avoiding the error ofopposition.

  For a long moment neither spoke, while Mrs. Bloodgood, passing to andfro, struggled to fight down the sobs that were choking her. At lastshe stopped, facing Mrs. Kildair.

  "I am going to him," she said.

  The other woman, with a look of great compassion, shook her head in aslow negation, looking full at her.

  "But he said I could!" she cried, stretching out her hands towardBeecher.

  "You can't."

  "But he said so--he promised."

  "No; it is impossible."

  "I _will_ go!"

&
nbsp; "There are twenty reporters waiting for just that," Said Mrs. Kildair.Then, raising her voice, she said impressively: "Elise, there issomething you must do--something ten times more terrible."

  "What?"

  "Return home--and at once."

  "Never!" The cry burst from her as her whole body was shaken withindignation. "Never in the world--never again!"

  "Listen," said Mrs. Kildair, seizing her arm, and Beecher was struckwith the savageness of her energy. "Things are no longer the same. Youare alone--absolutely alone. Do you understand what that means--withouta cent--alone?"

  "What do I care?"

  "Not now; but in a week, in a month-- You think you know the greatestsuffering in the world; you don't--the greatest is poverty. Whateverhas happened, you are Mrs. Enos Bloodgood. Only yourself can destroythat. One life is ended in you. You have loved. That will never comeagain--not the same. Life is long and terrible."

  "What, you can suggest such a thing?" said Mrs. Bloodgood, raising herhead indignantly. "Such an infamy?"

  "Yes--because I know. The world is not an equal one. A woman can notfight as a man can. A year from now, when you can suffer no further, doyou want to wake up in a dingy boarding-house, cut off from all you havelived in? For a great love--perhaps--but to be alone? No, no! Elise,you will do as I say because I can see better than you. You are Mrs.Enos Bloodgood--you have everything that a million women covet. It isyour life; you will go back."

  "Ah, how can you say that to me now?" said Mrs. Bloodgood, pressing herhandkerchief to her eyes.

  "Because the world is different from the world of this morning--becauseeverything is different, Elise. There are no longer the reasons thatexisted. You are alone against the world. You know your husband--onepublic word or action, and he will cast you off like an old shoe."

  "How can I go back?" she said, sitting down, half subdued. "How can Iget the strength? I don't know yet what has happened. I can't realizeit--oh, if I had only had my way! If he had only let me leave amonth--two months ago. If I'd only been firm; if we had gone thatnight--that night we were here--when I begged him to. If he had onlyloved me more than his honor, as I loved him. If only I--"

  "Elise," said the quiet voice of Mrs. Kildair.

  The young woman checked herself, breaking off and moving again; butalmost immediately broke out again:

  "And now you want me to go back to _him_. Oh, if you knew how I hatehim, how I loathe him--what that life means--how cruel he can be, how hecan make me suffer by a word or a look--how he enjoys--"

  "Elise, Elise!"

  "I can't go, Rita, I can't! Don't ask me to go now. Let me stay awhile here, just tonight, where I can weep," she cried.

  "No, no. It must be now--soon. You have left your home with yourtrunks--he knows it. If you return--you return because you areworried--the panic--on his account."

  "Ah, what a lie!"

  "Elise," said Mrs. Kildair, coming forward again and arresting theother's arm, "listen. You are not what I am. You are not strong--youare weak. You are a woman of the world, worldly, loving worldly things,who for a moment has been transformed by a great passion. The wholeearth has no such passion any longer. Do you understand? Something isgone--your youth is ended. Keep tight hold of the little that is left.Come, be strong. Dissimulate as you have before. Come."

  "Not now," said Mrs. Bloodgood, terrified.

  "Yes, now. If possible, you must be back before he returns."

  And Beecher, from his chair where he had watched, forgotten by bothwomen, saw Mrs. Kildair, who not for a moment had deviated from thevital issue, draw the unresisting woman by the very force of her energyinto the bedroom, from which shortly they emerged again.

  "I am ready," said Mrs. Bloodgood in a voice that was scarcelydistinguishable. She had thrown over her head a thick veil, behindwhich her features were only dimly visible.

  "Telephone for a carriage," said Mrs. Kildair.

  "I have done so," said Beecher, who had availed himself of the interval.

  "But the trunks?" said Mrs. Bloodgood, turning helplessly.

  "They went back long ago."

  "Ah!" She took a few weak steps and turned. "But I shall see him?"

  "I give you my word."

  "Tonight?"

  "Tonight."

  Mrs. Bloodgood made a little sign of acquiescence, and passed out of thedoor. The carriage was waiting. Beecher silently handed her into it,feeling the sudden heaviness on his arm. They rolled away. She did notlift her veil, and he could not guess what look was on her face. Twiceshe made him change their course, in order to put off the final dreadedmoment.

  "You have been kind," she said at last. "I owe you much. Thank you.Now I will go back."

  "Don't speak of thanks at such a time," he said hastily. "If I can helpyou in any way, any time--"

  "I know." All at once, forgetting his presence, she burst out: "Oh, howI loved him! I would have done anything for him--anything! I can'tbelieve it. It doesn't seem possible!"

  "Be careful, Mrs. Bloodgood," he said, alarmed. "Be careful--please."

  "You need have no fear," she said slowly. "All that is over." But,still obsessed, she seized his arm. "Only I want you to know that Iloved him so that nothing made any difference. Any one can know it. Iwould have gone--"

  "I know it," he said quickly, taking her hand to quiet her.

  "Oh, yes, I loved him--the only real thing in my life!" she repeated,sinking back.

  Ahead he saw the great Italian facade of the Bloodgood residence, wheretwenty servants awaited the call of this shadow at his side, whoseinvitation could make a social reputation. Then his quick eye, as theyneared the steps, perceived the squat, stolid figure of Mr. EnosBloodgood at the door.

  "He is just come out--your husband," he said hurriedly, with a suddennew sensation of dread. And he repeated, a little excitement in hisvoice, fearing she did not understand the danger: "Be careful; he isthere--your husband."

  "Yes, I saw him."

  She took the veil from her hat, and, folding it, handed it to him, herface set in hardness and contempt.

  "You might say Mrs. Kildair had invited--"

  "I know what to say," she said, checking him, and a smile incongruous atthe moment gave the last touch of tragedy to the imagination of hercompanion. "Open the door."

  He gazed at her, struck with the strange, dual personality in the frail,proud body--the abandon of the woman who loved and the calm of the womanwho hated. She who a moment before had cared nothing for what sherevealed to him in the unrestraint of her sorrow, did not hesitate now amoment, face to face with the peril of such a confrontation.

  "Open the door," she repeated sharply.

  Recalled to his senses, he sprang out and gave her his hand,accompanying her to the chiseled marble steps, where he left her, with alift of his hat to the husband above who awaited her with a quiet,cynical enjoyment.

  "I thought, my dear, you had gone off for a jolly little jaunt," saidMr. Bloodgood, without variation in the provoking evenness of his voice.

  She came up the steps to his level, and acknowledged his presence withan inclination of her head.

  "I intended to," she said, in the same ceremonious tone. "But I was soalarmed at the news from Wall Street that I did not wish to leave you atsuch a time."

  "Indeed? I am quite touched," he answered, with perfect solemnity."You are always so thoughtful, my dear."

  She entered. He followed her as though shutting off all retreat, andthe gorgeous flunky who had run out disappeared, too. To Beecher, withall the anguish of the scene at Rita Kildair's still vivid in his mind,it was as though he had seen a living woman enter her appointed tomb.

  "Where shall I drive, sir?" said the driver.

  "Anywhere!" he cried furiously.

  But at the end of five minutes he emerged from the stupor into which hehad been plunged, the somber horror rolling away like scuddingstorm-clouds. A new emotion--the inevitable personal
application--brokeover him like a ray of light.

  "To be loved like that--" he thought suddenly, with a feeling of envy."Terrible, terrible--and yet how marvelous!"

  He gave directions to drive to Nan Charters' with a new curiosity in hissoul--the inevitable personal emotion that, strangely enough, evenagainst his will, dominated all the somber melancholy which this reverseof a glittering medal had brought him.