“Well, then,” cried Atherton, rising, too, “you shall meet me on your own ground! This poor creature is constant in every breath she draws to the ruffian who has abandoned her. I must believe, since you say it, that you are ready to abet her in getting a divorce, even one of those divorces that are ‘obtained without publicity, and for any cause,’” — Halleck winced,— “that you are willing to put your sisters to shame before the world, to break your mother’s heart, and your father’s pride, — to insult the ideal of goodness that she herself has formed of you; but how will you begin? The love on her part, at least, hasn’t ceased: has the marriage?”
“She shall tell me,” answered Halleck. He left Atherton without another word, and in resentment that effaced all friendship between them, though after this parting they still kept up its outward forms, and the Athertons took part in the rejoicings with which the Hallecks celebrated Ben’s return. His meeting with the lawyer was the renewal of the old conflict on terms of novel and hopeless degradation. He had mistaken for peace that exhaustion of spirit which comes to a man in battling with his conscience; he had fancied his struggle over, and he was to learn now that its anguish had just begun. In that delusion his love was to have been a law to itself, able to loose and to bind, and potent to beat down all regrets, all doubts, all fears, that questioned it; but the words with which Marcia met him struck his passion dumb.
“Oh, I am so glad you have come lack!” she said. “Now I know that we can find him. You were such friends with him, and you understood him so well, that you will know just what to do. Yes, we shall find him now, and we should have found him long ago if you had been here. Oh, if you had never gone away! But I can never be grateful enough for what you said to me that night when you would not come in with me. The words have rung in my ears ever since; they showed that you had faith in him, more faith than I had, and I’ve made them my rule and my guide. No one has been my refuge from him, and no one ever shall be. And I thank you — yes, I thank you on my bended knees — for making me go into the house alone; it’s my one comfort that I had the strength to come back to him, and let him do anything he would to me, after I had treated him so; but I’ve never pretended it was my own strength. I have always told everybody that the strength came from you!”
Halleck had brought Olive with him; she and Marcia’s father listened to these words with the patience of people who had heard them many times before; but at the end Olive glanced at Halleck’s downcast face with fond pride in the satisfaction she imagined they must give him. The old man ruminated upon a bit of broom straw, and absently let the little girl catch by his hands, as she ran to and fro between him and her mother while her mother talked. Halleck made a formless sound in his throat, for answer, and Marcia went on.
“I’ve got a new plan now, but it seems as if father took a pleasure in discouraging all my plans. I know that Bartley’s shut up, somewhere, in some asylum, and I want them to send detectives to all the asylums in the United States and in Canada, — you can’t tell how far off he would wander in that state, — and inquire if any stray insane person has been brought to them. Doesn’t it seem to you as if that would be the right way to find him? I want to talk it all over with you, Mr. Halleck, for I know you can sympathize with me; and if need be I will go to the asylums myself; I will walk to them, I will crawl to them on my knees! When I think of him shut up there among those raving maniacs, and used as they use people in some of the asylums — Oh, oh, oh, oh!”
She broke out into sobs, and caught her little girl to her breast. The child must have been accustomed to her mother’s tears; she twisted her head round, and looked at Halleck with a laughing face.
Marcia dried her eyes, and asked, with quivering lips, “Isn’t she like him?”
“Yes,” replied Halleck huskily.
“She has his long eyelashes exactly, and his hair and complexion, hasn’t she?”
The old man sat chewing his broom straw in silence; but when Marcia left the room to get Bartley’s photograph, so that Halleck might see the child’s resemblance to him, her father looked at Halleck from under his beetling brows: “I don’t think we need trouble the asylums much for Bartley Hubbard. But if it was to search the States prisons and the jails, the rum-holes and the gambling-hells, or if it was to dig up the scoundrels who have been hung under assumed names during the last two years, I should have some hopes of identifying him.”
Marcia came back, and the old man sat in cast-iron quiet, as if he had never spoken; it was clear that whatever hate he felt for Bartley he spared her; and that if he discouraged her plans, as she said, it was because they were infected by the craze in which she canonized Bartley.
“You see how she is,” said Olive, when they came away.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Halleck desolately assented.
“Sometimes she seems to me just like a querulous, vulgar, middle-aged woman in her talk; she repeats herself in the same scolding sort of way; and she’s so eager to blame somebody besides Bartley for Bartley’s wickedness that, when she can’t punish herself, she punishes her father. She’s merciless to that wretched old man, and he’s wearing his homesick life out here in the city for her sake. You heard her just now, about his discouraging her plans?”
“Yes,” said Halleck, as before.
“She’s grown commoner and narrower, but it’s hardly her fault, poor thing, and it seems terribly unjust that she should be made so by what she has suffered. But that’s just the way it has happened. She’s so undisciplined, that she couldn’t get any good out of her misfortunes; she’s only got harm: they’ve made her selfish, and there seems to be nothing left of what she was two years ago but her devotion to that miserable wretch. You mustn’t let it turn you against her, Ben; you mustn’t forget what she might have been. She had a rich nature; but how it’s been wasted, and turned back upon itself! Poor, untrained, impulsive, innocent creature, — my heart aches for her! It’s been hard to bear with her at times, terribly hard, and you’ll find it so, Ben. But you must bear with her. The awfulest thing about people in trouble is that they are such bores; they tire you to death. But you’ll only have to stand her praises of what Bartley was, and we had to stand them, and her hopes of what you would be if you were only at home, besides. I don’t know what all she expects of you; but you must try not to disappoint her; she worships the ground you tread on, and I really think she believes you can do anything you will, just because you’re good.”
Halleck listened in silence. He was indeed helpless to be otherwise than constant. With shame and grief in his heart, he could only vow her there the greater fealty because of the change he found in her.
He was doomed at every meeting to hear her glorify a man whom he believed a heartless traitor, to plot with her for the rescue from imaginary captivity of the wretch who had cruelly forsaken her. He actually took some of the steps she urged; he addressed inquiries to the insane asylums, far and near; and in these futile endeavors, made only with the desire of failure, his own reason seemed sometimes to waver. She insisted that Atherton should know all the steps they were taking; and his sense of his old friend’s exact and perfect knowledge of his motives was a keener torture than even her father’s silent scorn of his efforts, or the worship in which his own family held him for them.
XXXVII.
Halleck had come home in broken health, and had promised his family, with the self-contempt that depraves, not to go away again, since the change had done him no good. There was no talk for the present of his trying to do anything but to get well; and for a while, under the strong excitement, he seemed to be better. But suddenly he failed; he kept his room, and then he kept his bed; and the weeks stretched into months before he left it.
When the spring weather came, he was able to go out again, and he spent most of his time in the open air, feeling every day a fresh accession of strength. At the end of one long April afternoon, he walked home with a light heart, whose right to rejoice he would not let his conscience question. He
had met Marcia in the Public Garden, where they sat down on a bench and talked, while her father and the little girl wandered away in the restlessness of age and the restlessness of childhood.
“We are going home to Equity this summer,” she said, “and perhaps we shall not come back. No, we shall not come back. I have given up. I have waited, hoping — hoping. But now I know that it is no use waiting any longer: he is dead.” She spoke in tearless resignation, and the peace of accepted widowhood seemed to diffuse itself around her.
Her words repeated themselves to Halleck, as he walked homeward. He found the postman at the door with a newspaper, which he took from him with a smile at its veteran appearance, and its probable adventures in reaching him. The wrapper seemed to have been several times slipped off, and then slit up; it was tied with a string, now, and was scribbled with rejections in the hands of various Hallocks and Halletts, one of whom had finally indorsed upon it, “Try 97 Rumford Street.” It was originally addressed, as he made out, to “Mr. B. Halleck, Boston, Mass.,” and he carried it to his room before he opened it, with a careless surmise as to its interest for him. It proved to be a flimsy, shabbily printed country newspaper, with an advertisement marked in one corner.
State of Indiana, Tecumseh County
In Tecumseh Circuit Court, April Term, 1879.
BARTLEY J. HUBBARD
vs.
MARCIA G. HUBBARD.
Divorce. No. 5793.
It appearing by affidavit this day filed in the office of the Clerk of
the Tecumseh Circuit Court, that Marcia G. Hubbard, defendant in the
above entitled action for divorce on account of abandonment and gross
neglect of duty, is a non-resident of the State of Indiana, notice of
the pendency of such action is therefore hereby given said defendant
above named, and that the same will be called for answer on the 11th
day of April, 1879, the same being the 3d judicial day of the April
term of said court, for said year, which said term of said court will
begin on the first Monday in April, 1879, and will be held at the Court
House, in the town of Tecumseh, in said County and State, said 11th day
of April, 1879, being the time fixed by said plaintiff by indorsement
on his complaint, at which said time said defendant is required to
answer herein.
Witness my hand and the seal of the said Court, this 4th day of March,
1879.
AUGUSTUS H. HAWKINS,
Clerk.
SEAL
Milikin & Ayres, Att’ys for Plff.
Halleck read this advertisement again and again, with a dull, mechanical action of the brain. He saw the familiar names, but they were hopelessly estranged by their present relation to each other; the legal jargon reached no intelligence in him that could grasp its purport.
When his daze began to yield, he took evidence of his own reality by some such tests as one might in waking from a long faint. He looked at his hands, his feet; he rose and looked at his face in the glass. Turning about, he saw the paper where he had left it on the table; it was no illusion. He picked up the cover from the floor, and scanned it anew, trying to remember the handwriting on it, to make out who had sent this paper to him, and why. Then the address seemed to grow into something different under his eye: it ceased to be his name; he saw now that the paper was directed to Mrs. B. Hubbard, and that by a series of accidents and errors it had failed to reach her in its wanderings, and by a final blunder had fallen into his hands.
Once solved, it was a very simple affair, and he had now but to carry it to her; that was very simple, too. Or he might destroy it; this was equally simple. Her words repeated themselves once more: “I have given up. He is dead.” Why should he break the peace she had found, and destroy her last sad illusion? Why should he not spare her the knowledge of this final wrong, and let the merciful injustice accomplish itself? The questions seemed scarcely to have any personal concern for Halleck; his temptation wore a heavenly aspect. It softly pleaded with him to forbear, like something outside of himself. It was when he began to resist it that he found it the breath in his nostrils, the blood in his veins. Then the mask dropped, and the enemy of souls put forth his power against this weak spirit, enfeebled by long strife and defeat already acknowledged.
At the end Halleck opened his door, and called, “Olive, Olive!” in a voice that thrilled the girl with strange alarm where she sat in her own room. She came running, and found him clinging to his doorpost, pale and tremulous. “I want you — want you to help me,” he gasped. “I want to show you something — Look here!”
He gave her the paper, which he had kept behind him, clutched fast in his hand as if he feared it might somehow escape him at last, and staggered away to a chair.
His sister read the notice. “Oh, Ben!” She dropped her hands with the paper in them before her, a gesture of helpless horror and pity, and looked at him. “Does she know it? Has she seen it?”
“No one knows it but you and I. The paper was left here for me by mistake. I opened it before I saw that it was addressed to her.”
He panted forth these sentences in an exhaustion that would have terrified her, if she had not been too full of indignant compassion for Marcia to know anything else. She tried to speak.
“Don’t you understand, Olive? This is the notice that the law requires she shall have to come and defend her cause, and it has been sent by the clerk of the court, there, to the address that villain must have given in the knowledge that it could reach her only by one chance in ten thousand.”
“And it has come to you! Oh, Ben! Who sent it to you?” The brother and sister looked at each other, but neither spoke the awestricken thought that was in both their hearts. “Ben,” she cried in a solemn ecstasy of love and pride, “I would rather be you this minute than any other man in the world!”
“Don’t!” pleaded Halleck. His head dropped, and then he lifted it by a sudden impulse. “Olive!” — But the impulse failed, and he only said, “I want you to go to Atherton with me. We mustn’t lose time. Have Cyrus get a carriage. Go down and tell them we’re going out. I’ll be ready as soon as you are.”
But when she called to him from below that the carriage had come and she was waiting, he would have refused to go with her if he durst. He no longer wished to keep back the fact, but he felt an invalid’s weariness of it, a sick man’s inadequacy to the farther demands it should make upon him. He crept slowly down the stairs, keeping a tremulous hold upon the rail; and he sank with a sigh against the carriage cushions, answering Olive’s eager questions and fervid comments with languid monosyllables.
They found the Athertons at coffee, and Clara would have them come to the dining-room and join them. Halleck refused the coffee, and while Olive told what had happened he looked listlessly about the room, aware of a perverse sympathy with Bartley, from Bartley’s point of view: Bartley might never have gone wrong if he had had all that luxury; and why should he not have had it, as well as Atherton? What right had the untempted prosperity of such a man to judge the guilt of such men as himself and Bartley Hubbard?
Olive produced the newspaper from her lap, where she kept both hands upon it, and opened it to the advertisement in dramatic corroboration of what she had been telling Atherton. He read it and passed it to Clara.
“When did this come to you?”
Olive answered for him. “This evening, — just now. Didn’t I say that?”
“No,” said Atherton; and he added to Halleck, gently: “I beg your pardon. Did you notice the dates?”
“Yes,” answered Halleck, with cold refusal of Atherton’s tone of reparation.
“The cause is set for hearing on the 11th,” said Atherton. “This is the 8th. The time is very short.”
“It’s long enough,” said Halleck, wearily.
“Oh, telegraph!” cried Clara. “Telegraph them instantly that she never dreamt of
leaving him! Abandonment! Oh, if they only knew how she had been slaving her lingers off for the last two years to keep a home for him to come back to, they’d give her the divorce!”
Atherton smiled and turned to Halleck: “Do you know what their law is, now? It was changed two years ago.”
“Yes,” said Halleck, replying to the question Atherton had asked and the subtler question he had looked, “I have read up the whole subject since I came home. The divorce is granted only upon proof, even when the defendant fails to appear, and if this were to go against us,” — he instinctively identified himself with Marcia’s cause,— “we can have the default set aside, and a new trial granted, for cause shown.”
The women listened in awe of the legal phrases; but when Atherton rose, and asked, “Is your carriage here?” his wife sprang to her feet.
“Why, where are you going?” she demanded, anxiously.
“Not to Indiana, immediately,” answered her husband. “We’re first going to Clover Street, to see Squire Gaylord and Mrs. Hubbard. Better let me take the paper, dear,” he said, softly withdrawing it from her hands.
Delphi Complete Works of William Dean Howells Page 181
