CHAPTER XL
Edith Boyd's child was prematurely born at the Memorial Hospital earlythe next morning. It lived only a few moments, but Edith's mother neverknew either of its birth or of its death.
When Willy Cameron reached the house at two o'clock that night he foundDan in the lower hall, a new Dan, grave and composed but very pale.
"Mother's gone, Willy," he said quietly. "I don't think she knewanything about it. Ellen heard her breathing hard and went in, but shewasn't conscious." He sat down on the horse-hair covered chair by thestand. "I don't know anything about these things," he observed, stillwith that strange new composure. "What do you do now?"
"Don't worry about that, Dan, just now. There's nothing to do untilmorning."
He looked about him. The presence of death gave a new dignity to thelittle house. Through the open door he could see in the parlor Mrs.Boyd's rocking chair, in which she had traveled so many conversationalmiles. Even the chair had gained dignity; that which it had onceenthroned had now penetrated the ultimate mystery.
He was shaken and very weary. His mind worked slowly and torpidly, sothat even grief came with an effort. He was grieved; he knew that. Someone who had loved him and depended on him was gone; some one who lovedlife had lost it. He ran his hand over his singed hair.
"Where is Edith?"
Dan's voice hardened.
"She's out somewhere. It's like her, isn't it?"
Willy Cameron roused himself.
"Out?" he said incredulously. "Don't you know where she is?"
"No. And I don't care."
Willy Cameron was fully alert now, and staring down at Dan.
"I'll tell you something, Dan. She probably saved my life to-night. I'lltell you how later. And if she is still out there is something wrong."
"She used to stay out to all hours. She hasn't done it lately, but Ithought--"
Dan got up and reached for his hat.
"Where'll I start to look for her?"
But Willy Cameron had no suggestion to make. He was trying to thinkstraight, but it was not easy. He knew that for some reason Edith hadnot waited until midnight to open the envelope. She had telephoned hermessage clearly, he had learned, but with great excitement, saying thatthere was a plot against his life, and giving the farmhouse and themessage he had left in full; and she had not rung off until she knewthat a posse would start at once. And that had been before eleveno'clock.
Three hours. He looked at his watch. Either she had been hurt or wasa prisoner, or--he came close to the truth then. He glanced at Dan,standing hat in hand.
"We'll try the hospitals first, Dan," he said. "And the best way to dothat is by telephone. I don't like Ellen being left alone here, so you'dbetter let me do that."
Dan acquiesced unwillingly. He resumed his seat in the hail, and WillyCameron went upstairs. Ellen was moving softly about, setting in orderthe little upper room. The windows were opened, and through them camethe soft night wind, giving a semblance of life and movement under it tothe sheet that covered the quiet figure on the bed.
Willy Cameron stood by it and looked down, with a great wave ofthankfulness in his heart. She had been saved much, and if from some newangle she was seeing them now it would be with the vision of eternity,and its understanding. She would see how sometimes the soul must losehere to gain beyond. She would see the world filled with its Ediths, andshe would know that they too were a part of the great plan, and that thebreaking of the body sometimes freed the soul.
He was shy of the forms of religion, but he voiced a small inarticulateprayer, standing beside the bed while Ellen straightened the few toiletarticles on the dresser, that she might have rest, and then a long andplacid happiness. And love, he added. There would be no Heaven withoutlove.
Ellen was looking at him in the mirror.
"Your hair looks queer, Willy," she said. "And I declare your clothesare a sight." She turned, sternly. "Where have you been?"
"It's a long story, Ellen. Don't bother about it now. I'm worried aboutEdith."
Ellen's lips closed in a grim line.
"The less said about her the better. She came back in a terrible stateabout something or other, ran in and up to your room, and out again. Itried to tell her her mother wasn't so well, but she looked as if shedidn't hear me."
It was four o'clock in the morning when Willy Cameron located Edith. Hehad gone to the pharmacy and let himself in, intending to telephone,but the card on the door, edged with black, gave him a curious senseof being surrounded that night by death, and he stood for a moment,unwilling to begin for fear of some further tragedy. In that moment,what with reaction from excitement and weariness, he had a feelingof futility, of struggling to no end. One fought on, and in the lastanalysis it was useless.
"So soon passeth it away, and we are gone."
He saw Mr. Davis, sitting alone in his house; he saw Ellen moving aboutthat quiet upper room; he saw Cusick lying on the ground beside thesmoldering heap that had been the barn, and staring up with eyes thatsaw only the vast infinity that was the sky. All the struggling and thefighting, and it came to that.
He picked up the telephone book at last, and finding the hospital listin the directory began his monotonous calling of numbers, and still therevolt was in his mind. Even life lay through the gates of death; dailyand hourly women everywhere laid down their lives that some new soul beborn. But the revulsion came with that, a return to something nearer thenormal. Daily and hourly women lived, having brought to pass the miracleof life.
At half-past four he located Edith at the Memorial, and learned that herchild had been born dead, but that she was doing well. He was suddenlyexhausted; he sat down on a stool before the counter, and with his armsacross it and his head on them, fell almost instantly asleep. When hewaked it was almost seven and the intermittent sounds of early morningcame through the closed doors, as though the city stirred but had notwakened.
He went to the door and opened it, looking out. He had been wrongbefore. Death was a beginning and not an end; it was the morning of thespirit. Tired bodies lay down to sleep and their souls wakened to themorning, rested; the first fruits of them that slept.
From the chimneys of the houses nearby small spirals of smoke began toascend, definite promise of food and morning cheer behind the closeddoors, where the milk bottles stood like small white sentinels and themorning paper was bent over the knob. Morning in the city, with childrensearching for lost stockings and buttoning little battered shoes; withwomen hurrying about, from stove to closet, from table to stove; withall burdens a little lighter and all thoughts a little kinder. Morning.
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