CHAPTER XIX
AT BAY SOFTLY
Stafford had at frequent intervals during the day been in communicationwith the relief train and had received neither encouragement nor theopposite. There had been a sharp questioning of a new man in charge, aperson who seemed to know his business thoroughly, but who was far fromvoluble in conversation. Evidently the emergency had been thought suchas to require the presence of someone of greater versatility than waslikely to be possessed by the train crew, but from this new overseer thequestioner received but little satisfaction. In fact the boss had seemednot altogether open and candid in his statements and Stafford had becomea trifle irritated. He put the case lightly, for the man to whom he wastalking was evidently bright:
"I'm not altogether satisfied with your answers. We people imprisonedhere have a right to know exactly what the outlook is. Why don't youcome to me more like a child to its mother? We are cutting wood forfuel, and the food supply is getting low. What are you doing overthere?"
"Are you a railroad man?"
"Well, I've seen a railroad."
"You ought to know what this job is then. It's a pretty tough one."
"I know it, but why don't you answer my questions more definitely? Haveyou anything up your sleeve?"
"Possibly; my sleeves are pretty big. This I'll tell you, though, that Ithink we're all right. I'd tell you more if I felt sure myself. We'regoing to try something. That's all."
Somehow, this elated Stafford. He felt that he had been talking to a manwho knew what he was about and he became confident that release wasclose at hand. But was he elated, after all? Release would mean thatthere would remain but two more days of Her, for, in such event, withintwo days the train would be in Chicago. He was in a most uncertain mood.
He was restless and unreasonable. Why to him should come such perplexityin life, such trial to one who had banished himself to avoid temptation?Yet, here it was, thrust in his way again, and he must be once more aTantalus. He became mightily impatient as he brooded and wished that hehad Fate where he could punish her. Just what he would do with that ladyin such contingency he hardly knew. He got to speculating upon that andhad all sorts of fancies. He conceived the grotesque idea that theducking-stool would be about the thing. The association of Fate with theducking-stool seemed somewhat incongruous, it is true, something in theway of an anachronism, it was such a far cry from Homer to New England,but that didn't matter. She certainly deserved the ducking-stool,--andthen he could not but laugh at himself and his vexed fancies. It was atrait of Stafford that, whatever the situation, he was certain inturning it over in his mind, to give it some fantastic sidelight, whichdiverted his attention, and that generally relieved him. The idea ofhaving Fate in the ducking-stool appealed to him just now and smoothedhis mood. How would that arbitrary lady, she who had had her own waywith the world so long, conduct herself under such trying circumstances,for trying he inferred they were, from old prints which he had studiedwith great interest in his childhood. He imagined the way in which herlong hair would float out upon the water as the shore end of the boardwent up and she, in the chair at the other end, went down and underwater, and, in imagination, he could hear her gasp a little, stubborn asshe is reputed to be. How would she behave and comport herself after thethird or fourth dip? Would she prove amenable and, when she had got herbreath, pledge herself to be henceforth and for all time a little moreconsiderate of the comfort of humanity? For lovers especially would sheexhibit a more kindly and understanding regard? If not, why, then, undershe must go again!
So he ambled on foolishly and to his own relief. An admirable thing forStafford was it that these whimsies so often seized upon him, equallywhen he was enraged or distressed, it didn't matter which. They helpedto tide him over the mental emergency. Happy the man who has such an oddstreak in the composition of his under-nature.
"Still," Stafford laughed to himself, "I am an abused man. I am a victimof atrocious circumstances. I'm an injured being, and I'm at bay! I'mgoing to turn and make the best of it savagely. I'll have, at least,the comfort of looking into a pair of eyes and listening to a voice.I'll go and talk to Her."
And he went into the next car and seated himself beside the Far AwayLady, who received him kindly. He resolved to indulge himself in hercompanionship for a time, though against his better judgment. He knewthat he was but making his trial the harder to bear.
"Do you know," he said, after the first greeting, "that I wish I couldsing?"
"And why do you wish that?" she queried.
"Because, if I could, I would get off the train and wade through thesnow away out to that clump of evergreens you see there two-thirds ofthe way up the slope--which would be out of hearing from here--and Iwould get behind the evergreens, out of sight, and sing somethingdolorous."
"Why would you do that?"
"I hardly know myself. I suppose it would be something in the mood andthe way of the old troubadours, who, when things went wrong, murmured'Alack' and sought the silent places and engaged in dismal vocalism."
"But don't you think it was rather foolish of them?" ventured the FarAway Lady.
"I don't know about that. It must have been a sort of relief. Groaningis a great relief when you are hurt. I noticed that particularly amongmy workmen in Siberia, whenever one of them had been injured in anaccident. Very fine groaners they were, too."
"But what nonsense you are talking"--there was a note of more thananxiety in her voice--"has something happened? Tell me, John. Hasanything occurred to-day to disturb you?"
"Nothing, madam, nothing at all. Do you know what is meant by'cumulative repression?' Well I'm suffering from 'cumulativerepression.' That's all. There are different kinds of the disease andmine is of the sort for which there is nothing one can take."
"I don't understand you, John."
"No? Well, I don't seem to make myself very clear, it is true. I didn'texplain 'cumulative' as thoroughly as I might have done. It's this way:Suppose you were compelled to take some drug the effect of which isknown as 'cumulative.' The first dose would have little effect, and soon, up to a certain time. Then something would happen, and thatsomething would be a result just the same as if you had taken all thedoses at once--mighty serious, possibly. In my case I don't, as yet,know just how serious the effect is. I think--at least I hope--that Iwill recover. I seem to feel it wearing off a shade, but I'm not quitesure. The consequences of 'cumulative repression' are sometimes mostserious. Insanity has been known to come. But, as for me, 'I am not mad,I am not mad,' I'm only a little--I'm only wandering in my mind."
Then, all at once, his mood changed to something absolutely earnest andhis look was pitifully appealing as he leaned toward her:
"Oh, Lady Leech, can you do nothing for me?"
She did not answer him. She understood. She knew, as well as if he hadtold her in simpler words, that he had almost failed in his high resolveand that he had come to her, feverish, in a half madness, to be upheldand strengthened, or otherwise to be dealt with, as she would. Sherealized it all, and thought silently, struggling with herself as hemight never know. But the good, both for his sake and hers, was strongwithin her and finally came her soft reply:
"You know, John, that I would help you if I could, but you know that Icannot, that I must not, even a little."
Her's was a great sympathy, yet, in the midst of it all, there wassomething she could not understand. She had heard that of him, fromChina, which made this scene incomprehensible. She knew that there wasnot a trace of acting, that there was no craft nor design about him, andshe was but lost in a maze of troubled doubt. There was her own heart.An overwhelming pity overcame her, but she could not express it.
He sat looking at her, silent, sad, studying. Then, suddenly, hereturned to earth again; his face lightened:
"What nonsense I've been talking to you! I will go into the other carand encourage the Colonel in the arena," and so he left her.
But there was a mist in her eyes as he went out. How he had remi
nded herof the Stafford of old, in the days when they were careless!
The Cassowary; What Chanced in the Cleft Mountains Page 19
