Works of Robert W Chambers

by Robert W. Chambers

  “There is no reason to hesitate in saying that the family would be very glad to count you as one of them. Even a little snob like myself can see that there is, in this desire of theirs, no motive except affection for you and for Shiela; and, in a way, it’s rather humiliating to recognise that they don’t care a fig for the social advantage that must, automatically, accrue to the House of Cardross through such connections.

  “I never thought that I should so earnestly hope for such an alliance for you; but I do, Garry. They are such simple folk with all their riches — simple as gentle folk — kind, sincere, utterly without self-consciousness, untainted by the sordid social ambitions which make so many of the wealthy abhorrent. There is no pretence about them, nothing of that uncertainty of self mingled with vanity which grows into arrogance or servility as the social weather-vane veers with the breeze of fashion. Rather flowery that, for an old-fashioned spinster.

  “But, dear, there are other flowers than those of speech eloquent in the soft Southern air — flowers everywhere outside my open window where I sit writing you.

  “I miss Virginia, but Shiela compensates when she can find time from her breathless pleasure chase to give me an hour or two at tea-time.

  “And Cecile, too, is very charming, and I know she likes me. Such a coquette! She has her own court among the younger set; and from her very severe treatment of young Gatewood on all occasions I fancy she may be kinder to him one day.

  “Mrs. Carrick is not here this winter, her new baby keeping her in town; and Acton, of course, is only too happy to remain with her.

  “As for Gray, he is a nice boy — a little slow, a trifle shy and retiring and over-studious; but his devotion to Shiela makes me love him. And he, too, ventured to ask me whether you were not coming down this winter to hunt along the Everglades with him and Little Tiger.

  “So, dear, I think perhaps you had better come. It really frightens me to give you this advice. I could not endure it if anything went wrong — if your coming proved premature.

  “For it is true, Garry, that I love our little Shiela with all my aged, priggish, and prejudiced heart, and I should simply expire if your happiness, which is bound up in her, were threatened by any meddling of mine.

  “Jim Wayward and I discuss the matter every day; I don’t know what he thinks — he’s so obstinate some days — and sometimes he is irritable when Gussie Vetchen and Cuyp talk too inanely — bless their hearts! I really don’t know what I shall do with James Wayward. What would you suggest?”

  On the heels of this letter went another.

  “Garry, dear, read this and then make up your mind whether to come here or not.

  “This morning I was sitting on the Cardrosses’ terrace knitting a red four-in-hand for Mr. Wayward — he is too snuffy in his browns and grays! — and Mrs. Cardross was knitting one for Neville, and Cecile was knitting one for Heaven knows who, and Shiela, swinging her polo-mallet, sat waiting for her pony — the cunning little thing in her boots and breeches! — I mean the girl, not the pony, dear — Oh, my, I’m getting involved and you’re hurrying through this scrawl perfectly furious, trying to find out what I’m talking about.

  “Well, then; I forgot for a moment that Shiela was there within ear-shot; and eyes on my knitting, I began talking about you to Mrs. Cardross; and I had been gossiping away quite innocently for almost a minute when I chanced to look up and notice the peculiar expressions of Mrs. Cardross and Cecile. They weren’t looking at me; they were watching Shiela, who had slipped down from the parapet where she had been perched and now stood beside my chair listening.

  “I hesitated, faltered, but did not make the mistake of stopping or changing the subject, but went on gaily telling about your work on the new Long Island park system.

  “And as long as I talked she remained motionless beside me. They brought around her pony — a new one — but she did not stir.

  “Her mother and sister continued their knitting, asking questions about you now and then, apparently taking no notice of her. My monologue in praise of you became a triangular discussion; and all the while the pony was cutting up the marl drive with impatience, and Shiela never stirred.

  “Then Cecile said to me quite naturally: ‘I wish Garry were here.’ And, looking up at Shiela, she added: ‘Don’t you?’

  “For a second or two there was absolute silence; and then Shiela said to me:

  “‘Does he know I have been ill?’

  “‘Of course,’ I said, ‘and he knows that you are now perfectly well.’

  “She turned slowly to her mother: ‘Am I?’ she asked.

  “‘What, dear?’

  “‘Perfectly well.’

  “‘Certainly,’ replied her mother, laughing; ‘well enough to break your neck on that horrid, jigging, little pony. If Garry wants to see you alive he’d better come pretty soon—’

  “‘Come here?’

  “We all looked up at her. Oh, Garry! For a moment something came into her eyes that I never want to see there again — and, please God, never shall! — a momentary light like a pale afterglow of terror.

  “It went as it came; and the colour returned to her face.

  “‘Is he coming here?’ she asked calmly.

  “‘Yes,’ I made bold to say.

  “‘When?’

  “‘In a few days, I hope.’

  “She said nothing more about you, nor did I. A moment later she sent away her pony and went indoors.

  “After luncheon I found her lying in the hammock in the patio, eyes closed as though asleep. She lay there all the afternoon — an unusual thing for her.

  “Toward sundown, as I was entering my chair to go back to the hotel, she came out and stood beside the chair looking at me as though she was trying to say something. I don’t know what it might have been, for she never said it, but she bent down and laid her cheek against mine for a moment, and drew my head around, searching my eyes.

  “I don’t know whether I was right or wrong, but I said: ‘There is no one to compare with you, Shiela, in your new incarnation of health and youth. I never before knew you; I don’t think you ever before knew yourself.’

  “‘Not entirely,’ she said.

  “‘Do you now?’

  “‘I think so.... May I ask you something?’

  “I nodded, smiling.

  “‘Then — there is only one thing I care for now — to’ — she looked up toward the house— ‘to make them contented — to make up to them what I can for — for all that I failed in. Do you understand?’

  “‘Yes,’ I said, ‘you sweet thing.’ And gave her a little hug, adding: ‘And that’s why I’m going to write a letter to-night — at your mother’s desire — and my own.’

  “She said nothing more; my chair rolled away; and here’s the letter that I told her I meant to write.

  “‘Now, dear, come if you think best. I don’t know of any reason why you should not come; if you know of any you must act on your own responsibility.’

  “Last winter, believing that she cared for you, I did an extraordinary thing — in fact I intimated to her that it was agreeable for me to believe you cared for each other. And she told me very sweetly that I was in error.

  “So I’m not going to place Constance Palliser in such a position again. If there’s any chance of her caring for you you ought to know it and act accordingly. Personally I think there is and that you should take that chance and take it now. But for goodness’ sake don’t act on my advice. I’m a perfect fool to meddle this way; besides I’m having troubles of my own which you know nothing about.

  “O Garry, dear, if you’ll come down I may perhaps have something very, very foolish to tell you.

  “Truly there is no idiot like an old one, but — I’m close, I think, to being happier than I ever was in all my life. God help us both, my dear, dear boy.

  “Your faithful

  “CONSTANCE.”

  CHAPTER XXIX

  CALYPSO’S GIFT

 
Two days later as his pretty aunt stood in her chamber shaking out the chestnut masses of her hair before her mirror, an impatient rapping at the living-room door sent her maid flying.

  “That’s Garry,” said Constance calmly, belting in her chamber-robe of silk and twisting up her hair into one heavy lustrous knot.

  A moment later they had exchanged salutes and, holding both his hands in hers, she stood looking at him, golden brown eyes very tender, cheeks becomingly pink.

  “That miserable train is early; it happens once in a century. I meant to meet you, dear.”

  “Wayward met me at the station,” he said.

  There was a silence; under his curious and significant gaze she flushed, then laughed.

  “Wayward said that you had something to tell me,” he added.... “Constance, is it—”

  “Yes.”

  “You darling!” he whispered, taking her into his arms. And she laid her face on his shoulder, crying a little, laughing a little.

  “After all these years, Garry — all these years! It is a long time to — to care for a man — a long, long time.... But there never was any other — not even through that dreadful period—”

  “I know.”

  “Yes, you know.... I have cared for him since I was a little girl.”

  They stood a while talking tenderly, intimately of her new happiness and of the new man, Wayward.

  Both knew that he must bear his scars for ever, that youth had died in him. But they were very confident and happy standing there together in the sunlight which poured into the room, transfiguring her. And she truly seemed as lovely, radiant, and youthful as her own young heart, unsullied, innocent, now, as when it yielded its first love so long ago amid the rosewood and brocades of the old-time parlour where the sun fell across the faded roses of the carpet.

  “I knew it was so from the way he shook hands,” said Hamil, smiling. “How well he looks, Constance! And as for you — you are a real beauty!”

  “You don’t think so! But say it, Garry.... And now I think I had better retire and complete this unceremonious toilet.... And you may stroll over to pay your respects to Mrs. Cardross in the meanwhile if you choose.”

  He looked at her gravely. She nodded. “They all know you are due to-day.”

  “Shiela?”

  “Yes.... Be careful, Garry; she is very young after all.... I think — if I were you — I would not even seem conscious that she had been ill — that anything had happened to interrupt your friendship. She is very sensitive, very deeply sensible of the dreadful mistake she made, and, somehow, I think she is a little afraid of you, as though you might possibly think less of her — Heaven knows what ideas the young conjure to worry themselves and those they care for!”

  She laughed, kissed him and bowed him out; and he went away to bathe and change into cool clothing of white serge.

  Later as he passed through the gardens, a white oleander blossom fell, and he picked it up and drew it through his coat.

  Shadows of palm and palmetto stretched westward across the white shell road, striping his path; early sunlight crinkled the lagoon; the little wild ducks steered fearlessly inshore, peering up at him with bright golden-irised eyes; mullet jumped heavily, tumbling back into the water with splashes that echoed through the morning stillness.

  The stained bronze cannon still poked their ancient and flaring muzzles out over the lake; farther along crimson hibiscus blossoms blazed from every hedge; and above him the stately plumes of royal palms hung motionless, tufting the trunks, which rose with the shaft-like dignity of slender Egyptian pillars into a cloudless sky.

  On he went, along endless hedges of azalea and oleander, past thickets of Spanish-bayonet, under leaning cocoanut-palms; and at last the huge banyan-tree rose sprawling across the sky-line, and he saw the white facades and red-tiled roofs beyond.

  All around him now, as the air grew sweet with the breath of orange blossoms, a subtler scent, delicately persistent, came to him on the sea-wind; and he remembered it! — the lilac perfume of China-berry in bloom; Calypso’s own immortal fragrance. And, in the brilliant sunshine, there under green trees with the dome of blue above, unbidden, the shadows of the past rose up; and once more lantern-lit faces crowded through the aromatic dark; once more the fountains’ haze drifted across dim lawns; once more he caught the faint, uncertain rustle of her gown close to him as she passed like a fresh breath through the dusk.

  Overhead a little breeze became entangled in the palmetto fronds, setting them softly clashing together as though a million unseen elfin hands were welcoming his return; the big black-and-gold butterflies, beating up against the sudden air current, flapped back to their honeyed haven in the orange grove; bold, yellow-eyed grackle stared at him from the grass; a bird like a winged streak of flame flashed through the jungle and was gone.

  And now every breath he drew was quickening his pulses with the sense of home-coming; he saw the red-bellied woodpeckers sticking like shreds of checked gingham to the trees, turning their pointed heads incuriously as he passed; the welling notes of a wren bubbled upward through the sun-shot azure; high in the vault above an eagle was passing seaward, silver of tail and crest, winged with bronze; and everywhere on every side glittered the gold-and-saffron dragon-flies of the South like the play of sunbeams on a green lagoon.

  Under the sapodilla-trees on the lawn two aged, white-clad negro servants were gathering fruit forbidden them; and at sight of him two wrinkled black hands furtively wiped two furrowed faces free from incriminating evidence; two solemn pairs of eyes rolled piously in his direction.

  “Mohnin’, suh, Mistuh Hamil.”

  “Good morning, Jonas; good morning, Archimedes. Mr. Cardross is in the orange grove, I see.”

  And, smiling, passed the guilty ones with a humorously threatening shake of his head.

  A black boy, grinning, opened the gate; the quick-stepping figure in white flannels glanced around at the click of the latch.

  “Hamil! Good work! I am glad to see you!” — his firm, sun-burnt hands closing over Hamil’s— “glad all through!”

  “Not as glad as I am, Mr. Cardross—”

  “Yes, I am. Why didn’t you come before? The weather has been heavenly; everybody wanted you—”

  “Everybody?”

  “Yes — yes, of course!... Well, look here, Hamil, I’ve no authority to discuss that matter; but her mother, I think, has made matters clear to her — concerning our personal wishes — ah — hum — is that what you’re driving at?”

  “Yes.... May I ask her? I came here to ask her.”

  “We all know that,” said Cardross naïvely. “Your aunt is a very fine woman, Hamil.... I don’t see why you shouldn’t tell Shiela anything you want to. We all wish it.”

  “Thank you,” said the younger man. Their hand grip tightened and parted; shoulder to shoulder they swung into step across the lawn, Cardross planting his white-shod feet with habitual precision.

  His hair and moustache were very white in contrast to the ruddy sun-burnt skin; and he spoke of his altered appearance with one of his quick smiles.

  “They nearly had me in the panic, Hamil. The Shoshone weathered the scare by grace of God and my little daughter’s generosity. And it came fast when it came; we were under bare poles, too, and I didn’t expect any cordiality from the Clearing House; but, Hamil, they classed us with the old-liners, and they acted most decently. As for my little daughter — well—”

  And to his own and Hamil’s embarrassment his clear eyes suddenly grew dim and he walked forward a step or two winking rapidly at the sky.

  Gray, bare of arm to the shoulder, booted and bare-headed, loped across the grass on his polo-pony, mallet at salute. Then he leaned down from his saddle and greeted Hamil with unspoiled enthusiasm.

  “Shiela is practising and wants you to come over when you can and see us knock the ball about. It’s a rotten field, but you can’t help that down here.”

  And clapping his spurless heels to h
is pony he saluted and wheeled away through the hammock.

  On the terrace Mrs. Cardross took his hands in her tremulous and pudgy fingers.

  “Are you sure you are perfectly well, Garry? Don’t you think it safer to begin at once with a mild dose of quinine and follow it every three hours with a—”

  “Amy, dear!” murmured her husband, “I am not dreaming of interfering, but I, personally, never saw a finer specimen of physical health than this boy you are preparing to — be good to—”

  “Neville, you know absolutely nothing sometimes,” observed his wife serenely. Then looking up at the tall young man bending over her chair:

  “You won’t need as much as you required when you rode into the swamps every day, but you don’t mind my prescribing for you now and then, do you, Garry?”

  “I was going to ask you to do it,” he said, looking at Cardross unblushingly. And at such perfidy the older man turned away with an unfeigned groan just as Cecile, tennis-bat in hand, came out from the hall, saw him, dropped the bat, and walked straight into his arms.

  “Cecile,” observed her mother mildly.

  “But I wish to hug him, mother, and he doesn’t mind.”

  Her mother laughed; Hamil, a trifle red, received a straightforward salute square on the mouth.

  “That,” she said with calm conviction, “is the most proper and fitting thing you and I have ever done. Mother, you know it is.” And passing her arm through Hamil’s:

  “Last night,” she said under her breath, “I went into Shiela’s room to say good-night, and — and we both began to cry a little. It was as though I were giving up my controlling ownership in a dear and familiar possession; we did not speak of you — I don’t remember that we spoke at all from the time I entered her room to the time I left — which was fearfully late. But I knew that I was giving up some vague proprietary right in her — that, to-day, that right would pass to another.... And, if I kissed you, Garry, it was in recognition of the passing of that right to you — and happy acquiescence in it, dear — believe me! happy, confident renunciation and gratitude for what must be.”