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diff --git a/1839-h/1839-h.htm b/1839-h/1839-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cb93372 --- /dev/null +++ b/1839-h/1839-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11216 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Other Things Being Equal, by Emma Wolf + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Other Things Being Equal, by Emma Wolf + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Other Things Being Equal + +Author: Emma Wolf + +Release Date: October 28, 2008 [EBook #1839] +Last Updated: November 20, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OTHER THINGS BEING EQUAL *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Cantalupo, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + OTHER THINGS BEING EQUAL + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Emma Wolf + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> Chapter I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> Chapter II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> Chapter III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> Chapter IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> Chapter V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> Chapter VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> Chapter VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> Chapter VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> Chapter IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> Chapter X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> Chapter XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> Chapter XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> Chapter XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> Chapter XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> Chapter XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> Chapter XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> Chapter XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> Chapter XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> Chapter XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> Chapter XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> Chapter XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> Chapter XXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> Chapter XXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> Chapter XXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> Chapter XXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> Chapter XXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> Chapter XXVII </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + Chapter I + </h2> + <p> + A humming-bird dipped through the air and lit upon the palm-tree just + below the open window; the long drowsy call of a crowing cock came from + afar off; the sun spun down in the subdued splendor of a hazy veil. It was + a dustless, hence an anomalous, summer’s afternoon in San Francisco. + </p> + <p> + Ruth Levice sat near the window, lazily rocking, her long lithe arms + clasped about her knees, her face a dream of the day. The seasons single + out their favorite moods: a violet of spring-time woos one, a dusky June + rose another; to-day the soft, languorous air had, unconsciously to her, + charmed the girl’s waking dream. + </p> + <p> + So removed was she in spirit from her surroundings that she heard with an + obvious start a knock at the door. The knock was immediately followed by a + smiling, plump young woman, sparkling of eye, rosy of cheek, and + glistening with jewels and silk. + </p> + <p> + “Here you are, Ruth,” she exclaimed, kissing her heartily; whereupon she + sank into a chair, and threw back her bonnet-strings with an air of + relief. “I came up here at once when the maid said your mother was out. + Where is she?” + </p> + <p> + “Out calling. You look heated, Jennie; let me fan you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. How refreshing! Sandal-wood, is it not? Where is your father?” + </p> + <p> + “He is writing in the library. Do you wish to see him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, no! I must see you alone. I am so glad Aunt Esther is out. Why + aren’t you with her, Ruth? You should not let your mother go off alone.” + </p> + <p> + The young girl laughed in merry surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Jennie, you forgot that Mamma has been used all her life to going + out without me; it is only within the last few months that I have been her + companion.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” replied her visitor, leaning back with a grim expression of + disapproval, “and I think it the queerest arrangement I ever heard of. The + idea of a father having the sole care of a daughter up to her twenty-first + birthday, and then delivering her, like a piece of joint property, over to + her mother! Oh, I know that according to their lights it did not seem + absurd, but the very idea of it is contrary to nature. Of course we all + know that your father was peculiarly fitted to undertake your training, + and in this way your mother could more easily indulge her love of society; + but as it is, no wonder she is as jealous of your success in her realm as + your father was in his; no wonder she overdoes things to make up for lost + time. How do you like it, Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” softly inquired her cousin, slowly waving the dainty fan, while a + smile lighted up the gravity of her face at this onslaught. + </p> + <p> + “Going out continually night after night.” + </p> + <p> + “Mamma likes it.” + </p> + <p> + “Cela va sans dire. But, Ruth,—stop fanning a minute, please,—I + want to know, candidly and seriously, would you mind giving it up?” + </p> + <p> + “Candidly and seriously, I would do so to-day forever.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es; your father’s daughter,” said Mrs. Lewis, speaking more slowly, + her bright eyes noting the perfect repose of the young girl’s person; “and + yet you are having some quiet little conquests,—the golden apples of + your mother’s Utopia. But to come to the point, do you realize that your + mother is very ill?” + </p> + <p> + “Ill—my mother?” The sudden look of consternation that scattered the + soft tranquillity of her face must have fully repaid Mrs. Lewis if she was + aiming at a sensation. + </p> + <p> + “There, sit down. Don’t be alarmed; you know she is out and apparently + well.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that Aunt Esther is nervous and hysterical. The other day at our + house she had such an attack of hysteria that I was obliged to call in a + neighboring doctor. She begged us not to mention it to either of you, and + then insisted on attending a meeting of some sort. However, I thought it + over and decided to let you know, as I consider it serious. I was afraid + to alarm Uncle, so I thought of telling you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Jennie; I shall speak to Father about it.” The young girl’s + tone was quite unagitated; but two pink spots on her usually colorless + cheeks betrayed her emotion. + </p> + <p> + “That is right, dear. I hope you will forgive me if I seem meddlesome, but + Jo and I have noticed it for some time; and your father, by allowing this + continual gayety, seems to have overlooked what we find so sadly apparent. + Of course you have an engagement for to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; we are going to a reception at the Merrills’.” + </p> + <p> + “Merrill? Christians?” was the sharp reply. + </p> + <p> + “The name speaks for itself.” + </p> + <p> + “What does possess your parents to mix so much with Christians?” + </p> + <p> + “Fellow-feeling, I suppose. We all dance and talk alike; and as we do not + hold services at receptions, wherein lies the difference?” + </p> + <p> + “There is a difference; and the Christians know it as well as we Jewish + people. Not only do they know it, but they show it in countless ways; and + the difference, they think, is all to their credit. For my part, I always + feel as if they looked down on us, and I should like to prove to them how + we differ on that point. I have enough courage to let them know I consider + myself as good as the best of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that why you wear diamonds and silk on the street, Jennie?” asked + Ruth, her serious tones implying no impudence, but carrying a refined + reproach. + </p> + <p> + “Hardly. I wear them because I have them and like them. I see no harm in + wearing what is becoming.” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you think they look aggressive on the street? They attract + attention; and one hates to be conspicuous. I think they are only in place + at a gathering of friends of one’s own social standing, where they do not + proclaim one’s moneyed value.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” replied Mrs. Lewis, her rosy face a little rosier than before. + “I suppose you mean to say it is vulgar; well, maybe so. But I scarcely + think a little outward show of riches should make others feel they are + better because they do not care to make a display. Besides, to be less + personal, I don’t think any Christian would care to put himself out to + meet a Jew of any description.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think it would depend a great deal both on Jew and Christian? I + always have been led to believe that every broad-minded man of whatever + sect will recognize and honor the same quality in any other man. And why + should I not move on an equality with my Christian friends? We have had + the same schooling, speak the same language, read the same books, are + surrounded by the same elements of home refinement. Probably if they had + not been congenial, my father would long ago have ceased to associate with + them. I think the secret of it all is in the fact that it never occurred + to us that the most fastidious could think we were anything but the most + fastidious; and so we always met any one we desired to meet on a level + footing. I have a great many pleasant friends in the court of your + Philistines.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly. But not having been brought up by your father, I think + differently, and perhaps am different. Their ways are not my ways; and + what good can you expect from such association?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, pleasant companionship. What wouldst thou more?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Not even that. But tell me, can’t you dissuade Aunt Esther from going + to-night? Tell your father, and let him judge if you had better not.” + </p> + <p> + “I really think Mamma would not care to go, for she said as much to + Father; but, averse as he generally is to going out, he insists on our + going to-night, and, what is more, intends to accompany us, although Louis + is going also. But if you think Mamma is seriously run down, I shall tell + him immediately, and—” + </p> + <p> + A blithe voice at the door interrupted her, calling: + </p> + <p> + “Open the door, Ruth; my hands are full.” + </p> + <p> + She rose hastily, and with a signal of silence to her loquacious cousin, + opened the door for her mother. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Jennie, how are your, dear? But let us inspect this box which Nora + has just handed me, before we consider you;” and Mrs. Levice softly + deposited a huge box upon Ruth’s lace-enveloped bed. + </p> + <p> + She was still bonneted and gloved, and with a slight flush in her clear + olive cheek she looked like anything but a subject for fears. From the + crown of her dainty bonnet to the point of her boot she was the picture of + exquisite refinement; tall, beautifully formed, carrying her head like a + queen, gowned in perfect, quiet elegance, she appeared more like Ruth’s + older sister than her mother. + </p> + <p> + “Ruth’s gown for this evening,” she announced, deftly unfolding the + wrappings. + </p> + <p> + “Yellow!” exclaimed Mrs. Lewis, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Corn-color,” corrected Mrs. Levice, playfully; “how do you think it will + suit my girlie?” She continued, shaking out the clinging silken crepe. + </p> + <p> + “Charmingly; but I thought Ruth objected to anything but white.” + </p> + <p> + “So she does; she thinks white keeps her unnoticed among the rest. This + time, however, my will overrode hers. Eh, Daughter?” + </p> + <p> + The girl made a low courtesy. + </p> + <p> + “I am only lady-in-waiting to your Majesty, O Queen,” she laughed. She had + hardly glanced at the gown, being engaged in a silent scrutiny of her + mother’s face. + </p> + <p> + “And how is my prime minister this afternoon?” Mrs. Levice was drawing off + her gloves, and Ruth’s look of pained discovery passed unnoticed. + </p> + <p> + “I have not been down since luncheon,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “What! Then go down at once and bring him up. I must see that he gets out + of his studiousness and is clothed in festive mind for this evening. Come + to my sitting-room, Jennie, and we can have a comfortable chat.” + </p> + <p> + Left to herself, Ruth hesitated before going to her father with her + ill-boding tidings. None knew better than she of the great, silent love + that bound her parents. As a quiet, observant child, she had often + questioned wherein could be any sympathy between her father, almost old, + studious, and reserved, and her beautiful, worldly young mother. But as + she matured, she became conscious that because of this apparent disparity + it would have been still stranger had Mrs. Levice not loved him with a + feeling verging nearer humble adoration than any lower passion. It seemed + almost a mockery for her to have to tell him he had been negligent,—not + only a mockery, but a cruelty. However, it had to be done, and she was the + only one to do it. Having come to this conclusion, she ran quickly + downstairs, and softly, without knocking, opened the library door. + </p> + <p> + She entered so quietly that Mr. Levice, reading by the window, did not + glance from his book. She stood a moment regarding the small + thoughtful-faced, white-haired man. + </p> + <p> + If one were to judge but by results, Jules Levice would be accounted a + fortunate man. Nearing the allotted threescore and ten, blessed with a + loving, beloved wife and this one idolized ewe-lamb, surrounded by luxury, + in good health, honored, and honorable,—trouble and travail seemed + to have passed him by. But this scene of human happiness was the result of + intelligent and unremitting effort. A high state of earthly beatitude has + seldom been attained without great labor of mind or body by ourselves or + those akin to us. Jules Levice had been thrown on the world when a boy of + twelve. He resolved to become happy. Many of us do likewise; but we + overlook the fact that we are provided with feet, not wings, and cannot + fly to the goal. His dream of happiness was ambitious; it soared beyond + contentment. Not being a lily of the field, he knew that he must toil; any + honest work was acceptable to him. He was possessed of a fine mind; he + cultivated it. He had a keen observation; he became a student of his + fellow-men; and being strong and untiring, he became rich. This was but + the nucleus of his ambitions, and it came to him late in life, but not too + late for him to build round it his happy home, and to surround himself + with the luxuries of leisure for attaining the pinnacle of wide + information that he had always craved. His was merely the prosperity of an + intellectual, self-made man whose time for rest had come. + </p> + <p> + Ruth seated herself on a low stool that she drew up before him, and laid + her hand upon his. + </p> + <p> + “You, darling?” He spoke in a full, musical voice with a marked French + accent. + </p> + <p> + “Can you spare me a few minutes, Father?” + </p> + <p> + “I am all ears;” he shut the book, and his hand closed about hers. + </p> + <p> + “Jennie was here just now.” + </p> + <p> + “And did not come in to see me?” + </p> + <p> + “She had something to tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “A secret?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; something I must repeat to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Father—Jennie thinks—she has reason to know that—dear, + do you think Mother is perfectly well?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my child; I know she is not.” + </p> + <p> + This quiet assurance was staggering. + </p> + <p> + “And you allow her to go on in this way without calling in a physician?” A + wave of indignant color suffused her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but—why?” She became a little confused under his calm + gaze, feeling on the instant that she had implied an accusation unjustly. + </p> + <p> + “Because, Ruth, I have become convinced of it only within the past week. + Your mother knows it herself, and is trying to hide it from me.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she admit it?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not spoken of it to her; she is very excitable, and as she wishes + to conceal it, I do not care to annoy her by telling her of my discovery.” + </p> + <p> + “But isn’t it wrong—unwise—to allow her to dissipate so much?” + </p> + <p> + “I have managed within the past week to keep you as quiet as possible.” + </p> + <p> + “But to-night—forgive me, Father—you insist on our going to + this reception.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my sweet confessor; but I have a good reason,—one not to be + spoken of.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Those who trust us educate us,’” she pleaded in wistful earnestness. + </p> + <p> + “Then your education is complete. Well, I knew your mother would resist + seeing any physician, for fear of his measures going contrary to her + desires; so I have planned for her to meet to-night a certain doctor whom + I would trust professionally with my wife’s life, and on whom I can rely + for the necessary tact to hide the professional object of their meeting. + What do you think of my way, dear?” + </p> + <p> + For answer she stooped and kissed his hand. + </p> + <p> + “May I know his name?” she asked after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “His name is Kemp,—Dr. Herbert Kemp.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he lives a few blocks from here; I have seen his sign. Is he an old + physician?” + </p> + <p> + “I should judge him to be between thirty-five and forty. Not old + certainly, but one with the highest reputation for skill. Personally he is + a man of great dignity, inspiring confidence in every one.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you meet him?” + </p> + <p> + “In the hospitals,” said her father quickly. “But I will introduce him to + you to-night. Don’t lose your head when you talk to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he is a magnificent fellow; and I wish my daughter to hold her + own before a man whom I admire so heartily.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, this is the first time you have ever given me worldly advice,” she + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Only a friendly hint,” he answered, rising and putting his book in its + place with the precision of a spinster. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter II + </h2> + <p> + “This is what I call a worldly paradise!” A girl with a face like dear + Lady Disdain’s sank into a divan placed near the conservatory; her voice + chimed in prettily with the music of a spraying fountain and the soft + strains of remote stringed instruments. + </p> + <p> + “Is it a frivolous conceit?” she continued, laughing up to the man who + stood beside her; “or do the soft light of many candles, faint music, + radiant women, and courtly men, satisfy your predilections also that such + a place is as near heaven as this wicked world approaches?” + </p> + <p> + “You forget; paradise was occupied by but two. To my notion, nothing can + be farther removed from Elysium than a modern drawing-room full of + guests.” + </p> + <p> + “And leaving out the guests?” + </p> + <p> + “They say imagination can make a paradise of a desert, given the necessary + contingencies.” + </p> + <p> + “A solitude of two who love? Dr. Kemp, methinks you are a romantic.” + </p> + <p> + “You supplied the romance, Miss Gwynne. My knowledge is of the hard, + matter-of-fact sort.” + </p> + <p> + “Such as bones, I suppose. Still you seem to be interested in the + soft-looking piece of humanity over by that cabinet.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; his expression is reminiscent of a boy’s definition of a vacuum,—a + large space with nothing in it. Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “And I thought you not unknown! He is the husband of a brilliant woman, + Mrs. Ames, who has written a novel.” + </p> + <p> + “Clever?” + </p> + <p> + “Decidedly so; it stands the test of being intoxicating and leaving a bad + taste in the mouth,—like dry champagne.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is not made for women.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean school-girls. There she is,—that wisp of a creature + listening so eagerly to that elegant youth of the terrier breed. No wonder + he interests her; he is as full of information in piquant personal history + as a family lawyer, and his knowledge is as much public property as a + social city directory.” + </p> + <p> + “You have studied him to advantage. Are you sure you have not stolen a + leaf from him?” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Kemp!” she exclaimed in pouting reproach, “do I appear as promiscuous + as that? You may call me a ‘blue book,’ but spare my snobbery the + opprobrious epithet of ‘directory.’ There goes the fascinating young Mrs. + Shurly with Purcell Burroughs in her toils. Did you catch the fine oratory + of the glance she threw us? It said, ‘Dorothy Gwynne, how dare you + appropriate Dr. Kemp for ten long minutes? Hand him over; pass him around. + I want him; you are only boring him, though you seem to be amusing + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Kemp’s grave lips twitched at the corners; he was without doubt amused. + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t you improvising?” he asked. A man need only offer an occasional + bumper of a remark to keep the conversation from flagging, when his + companion is a woman. + </p> + <p> + “No; you evidently do not know what a feminine sneer is in words. Ah, here + comes the Queen of Sheba.” She broke off with a pleased smile as Ruth + Levice approached on the arm of her cousin, Louis Arnold. + </p> + <p> + Singly, each would have attracted attention anywhere; together they were + doubly striking-looking. Arnold, tall and slight, carrying his head high, + fair of complexion as a peachy-cheeked girl, was a peculiarly + distinguished-looking man. The delicate pince-nez he wore emphasized + slightly the elusive air of supercilious courtliness he always conveyed. + Now, as he spoke to Ruth, who, although a tall girl, was some inches + shorter than he, he maintained a strict perpendicular from the crown of + his head to his heels, only looking down with his eyes. Short women + resented this trick of his, protesting that it made them stand on tiptoe + to speak to him. + </p> + <p> + There was something almost Oriental about Ruth, with her creamy, colorless + face, like a magnolia blossom; her dusky hair was loosely rolled from her + forehead and temples; her eyes were soft and brown beneath delicately + pencilled brows, and matched the pure oval of her face. But the languorous + air of Southern skies was wholly wanting in the sweet sympathy of her + glance, and in a certain alertness about the poise of her head. + </p> + <p> + Arnold stopped perforce at Miss Gwynne’s slight signal. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you hastening?” she asked as they turned to greet her. “One + would think you saw your Nemesis before you, so oblivious were you to the + beauties scattered about.” She looked up pertly at Arnold, after giving + one comprehensive glance over Ruth’s toilet. + </p> + <p> + “We both wished to see the orchids of which one hears,” he answered, with + pronounced French accent and idiom; adding, with a slight smile, “I did + not overlook you, but you were so busily contemplating other ground that + it would have been cruelty to disturb you.” He spoke the language slowly, + as a stranger upon foreign ground. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; I forgot. Dr. Kemp, are you acquainted with the Queen of Sheba + and her doughty knight Louis, surnamed Arnold?” She paused a moment as the + parties acknowledged the curious introduction, and then broke in rather + breathlessly: “There, Doctor, I shall leave you with royalty; do not let + your republican ignorance forget her proper title. Mr. Arnold, Mrs. + Merrill is beckoning to us; will you come?” and with a naive, superbly + impish look at Ruth, she drew Arnold away before he could murmur an + excuse. + </p> + <p> + At the impertinent words the soft, rich blood suffused Ruth’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Will you sit here awhile and wait for Mr. Arnold, or shall we go and see + the orchids?” The pleasant, deep voice broke in upon her confusion and + calmed her self-consciousness. She raised her eyes to the dark, clever + face above her; it was a strong, rather than a handsome face. From the + broad sweep of the forehead above the steady scrutiny of the gray eyes, to + the grave lip and firm chin under the dark, pointed beard, strength and + gentleness spoke in every line. His personality bore the stamp of a letter + of credit. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said she; “I think I shall sit here. My cousin will probably + be back soon.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor seated himself beside her. Miss Gwynne’s appellation was not + inaptly chosen, still he would have preferred to know her more + conventional title. + </p> + <p> + “This is a peaceful little corner,” he said. “Do you notice how removed it + seems from the rest of the room?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, meeting and disconcerting his pleasantly questioning + look with one of swift resolve. “Dr. Kemp, I wish to tell you that my + father has confided to me your joint secret.” + </p> + <p> + “Your father?” he looked bewildered; his knowledge of the Queen of Sheba’s + progenitors was vague. + </p> + <p> + “My father, yes,” she repeated, smiling at his perplexity. “Our name is + not very common; I am Jules Levice’s daughter.” + </p> + <p> + He was about to exclaim “NO!” The kinship seemed ridiculous in the face of + this lovely girl and the remembered picture of the little plain-faced Jew. + What he did say was,— + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Levice is an esteemed friend of mine. He is present, is he not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Have you met my mother yet?” + </p> + <p> + The mother would probably unravel the mysterious origin of this beautiful + face and this strange, sweet voice, whose subdued tones held an uncommon + charm. + </p> + <p> + “No; but your father is diplomat enough to manage that before the evening + is over. So you know our little scheme. Pardon the ‘shop’ which I have of + a necessity brought with me this evening, but have you seen any signs of + illness in your mother?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I have been very blind and selfish,” she replied, somewhat bitterly, + “for every one but me seems to have seen that something was wrong. She has + been very anxious to give me pleasure, and I fear has been burning the + candle at both ends for my light. I wish I had known—probably it lay + just within my hand to prevent this, instead of leading her on by my often + expressed delight. What I wish to ask you is that if you find anything + serious, you will tell me, and allay my father’s fears as much as + possible. Please do this for me. My father is not young; and I, I think, + am trustworthy.” + </p> + <p> + She had spoken rapidly, but with convincing sincerity, looking her + companion full in the face. + </p> + <p> + The doctor quietly scrutinized the earnest young face before he answered. + Then he slightly bowed in acquiescence. + </p> + <p> + “That is a pact,” he said lightly; “but in all probability your father’s + fears are exaggerated.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Where love is great, the smallest doubts are fears,’” she quoted, softly + flushing. The doctor had a singular impersonal habit of keeping his eyes + intently bent upon the person with whom he conversed, that made his + companion feel that they two were exclusively alone,—a sensation + that was slightly bewildering upon first acquaintance. By and by one + understood that it was merely his air of interest that evoked the feeling, + and so gradually got used to it as to one of his features. + </p> + <p> + “That is so,” he replied cheerily; “and—I see some one is about to + play. Mrs. Merrill told me we should have some music.” + </p> + <p> + “It is Louis, I think; I know his touch.” + </p> + <p> + “Your cousin? He plays?” + </p> + <p> + Ruth looked at him in questioning wonder. Truth to say, the doctor could + not but betray his surprise at the idea of the cold-looking Arnold in the + light of a musician; his doubts took instant flight after the opening + chords. Rubenstein’s Melody in F, played by a master-hand, is one long + sound of divine ecstasy thrilling the listener to exquisite rapture. + Played by Louis Arnold, what the composer had conceived in his soul was + magnificently interpreted. As he finished, there was not a murmur; and the + next minute he had dashed into a quaint tarantelle that instantly + dispelled the former spell of grandeur. + </p> + <p> + “An artist,” said some one standing near. + </p> + <p> + “Something more,” murmured Kemp, rising as he saw Ruth do so. He was about + to offer her his arm when Mrs. Merrill, a gently-faced woman, stepped up + to them, and laying her hand upon Ruth’s shoulder, said rather hurriedly,— + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to trouble you, Doctor, but Mrs. Levice—do not be + alarmed, Ruth dear—has become somewhat hysterical, and we cannot + calm her; will you come this way, please, and no one need know she is in + the study.” + </p> + <p> + “My family is making itself prominent to-night,” said Ruth, with a little + catch in her voice, as they turned with Mrs. Merrill through the + conservatory and so across the hall. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be here, Doctor, if you wish anything,” said Mrs. Merrill, + standing without as he and Ruth entered and immediately shut the door + after them. + </p> + <p> + “Stay there,” he said with quiet authority to Ruth, and she stood quite + still where he left her. Mrs. Levice was seated in a large easy-chair with + her back to the door; her husband had drawn her head to his bosom. There + was no one else in the room, and for a second not a sound, till Mrs. + Levice began to sob in a frightened manner. + </p> + <p> + “It’s nothing at all, Jules,” she cried, trying to laugh and failing + lamentably; “I—I’m only silly.” + </p> + <p> + “There, dear, don’t talk.” Levice’s face was white as he soothingly + stroked her hair. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + The doctor stepped in front of them, and laying both hands upon her + shoulders, motioned Levice aside. + </p> + <p> + “Hush! Not a word!” + </p> + <p> + At the sound of his stern, brusque voice, the long quivering shriek + stopped halfway. + </p> + <p> + “Be perfectly still,” he continued, holding her firmly. “Obey this + instant,” as she began to whimper; “not a sound must I hear.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth and her father stood spell-bound at the effect of the stranger’s + measures. For a moment Mrs. Levice had started in affright to scream; but + the deep, commanding tone, the powerful hands upon her shoulders, the + impressive, unswerving eye that held hers, soon began to act almost + hypnotically. The sobbing gradually ceased; the shaking limbs slowly + regained their calm; and as she sank upon the cushions the strained look + in her eyes melted. She was feebly smiling up at the doctor in response to + his own persuasive smile that gradually succeeded the gravity of his + countenance. + </p> + <p> + “That is well,” said he, speaking soothingly as to a child, and still + keeping his smiling eyes upon hers. “Now just close your eyes for a + minute; see, I have your hand,—so. Go to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + There was not a sound in the room; Ruth stood where she had been placed, + and Mr. Levice was behind the doctor, his face quite colorless, scarcely + daring to breathe. Finally the faint, even breathing of Mrs. Levice told + that she slept. + </p> + <p> + Kemp turned to Mr. Levice and spoke low, not in a whisper, which hisses, + but his voice was so hushed that it would not have disturbed the lightest + sleeper. + </p> + <p> + “Put your hand, palm up, under hers. I am going to withdraw my hand and + retire, as I do not wish to excite her; she will probably open her eyes in + a few moments. Take her home as quietly as you can.” + </p> + <p> + “You will call to-morrow?” whispered Levice. + </p> + <p> + He quietly assented. + </p> + <p> + “Now be deft.” The transfer was quickly made, and nodding cheerfully, Dr. + Kemp left the room. + </p> + <p> + Ruth came forward. Five minutes later Mrs. Levice opened her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what has happened?” she asked languidly. + </p> + <p> + “You fell asleep, Esther,” replied her husband, gently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know; but why is Ruth in that gown? Oh—ye-es!” Consciousness + was returning to her. “And who was that handsome man who was here?” + </p> + <p> + “A friend of Ruth.” + </p> + <p> + “He is very strong,” she observed pensively. She lay back in her chair for + a few minutes as if dreaming. Suddenly she started up. + </p> + <p> + “What thoughtless people we are! Let us go back to the drawing-room, or + they will think something dreadful has happened.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mamma; I do not feel at all like going back. Stay here with Father + while I get our wraps.” + </p> + <p> + Before Mrs. Levice could demur, Ruth had left the room. As she turned in + the direction of the stairs, she was rather startled by a hand laid upon + her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you, Louis! I am going for our wraps.” + </p> + <p> + “Here they are. How is my aunt?” + </p> + <p> + “She is quite herself again. Thanks for the wraps. Will you call up the + carriage, Louis? We shall go immediately, but do not think of coming + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! Tell your mother you have made your adieux to Mrs. Merrill,—she + understands; the carriage is waiting.” + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later the Levices and Louis Arnold quietly stole away. Mrs. + Levice has had an attack of hysteria. “Nothing at all,” the world said, + and dismissed it as carelessly as most of the quiet turning-points in a + life-history are dismissed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter III + </h2> + <p> + The Levices’ house stood well back upon its grounds, almost with an air of + reserve in comparison with the rows of stately, bay-windowed houses that + faced it and hedged it in on both sides. But the broad, sweeping lawns, + the confusion of exquisite roses and heliotropes, the open path to the + veranda, whereon stood an hospitable garden settee and chair, the long + French windows open this summer’s morning to sun and air, told an inviting + tale. + </p> + <p> + As Dr. Kemp ascended the few steps leading to the front door, he looked + around approvingly. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bad berth for the grave little bookworm,” he mused as he rang the + bell. + </p> + <p> + It was immediately answered by the “grave little bookworm” in person. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been on the lookout for you for the past hour,” he explained, + leading him into the library and turning the key of the door as they + entered. + </p> + <p> + It was a cosey room, not small or low, as the word would suggest, but + large and airy; the cosiness was supplied by comfortable easy-chairs, a + lounge or two, a woman’s low rocker, an open piano, a few soft engravings + on the walls, and books in cases, books on tables, books on stands, books + everywhere. Two long lace-draped windows let in a flood of searching + sunlight that brought to light not an atom of dust in the remotest corner. + It is the prerogative of every respectable Jewess to keep her house as + clean as if at any moment a search-warrant for dirt might be served upon + her. + </p> + <p> + “Will you not be seated?” asked Levice, looking up at Kemp as the latter + stood drawing off his gloves. + </p> + <p> + “Is your wife coming down here?” + </p> + <p> + “No; she is in her room yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let us go up immediately. I am not at leisure.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. Still I wish to ask you to treat whatever ailments you may find + as lightly as possible in her presence; she has never known anxiety or + worry of any kind. It will be necessary to tell only me, and every + precaution will be taken.” + </p> + <p> + Here was a second one of this family of three wishing to take the brunt of + the trouble on his shoulders, and the third had been bearing it secretly + for some time. Probably a very united family, loving and unselfish + doubtless, but the doctor had to stifle an amused smile in the face of the + old gentleman’s dignified appeal. + </p> + <p> + “Still she is not a child, I suppose; she knows of the nature of my + visit?” He moved toward the door. + </p> + <p> + “Ruth—my daughter, you know—was about to tell her as I left + the room.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we will go up directly.” + </p> + <p> + Levice preceded him up the broad staircase. As they reached the landing, + he turned to the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon my care, but I must make sure that Ruth has told her. Just step + into the sitting-room a second,” and the precautious husband went forward + to his wife’s bedroom, leaving the door open. + </p> + <p> + Standing there in the hallway, Kemp could plainly hear the following + words:— + </p> + <p> + “And being interested in nervous diseases,” the peculiarly low voice was + saying, “he told Father he would call and see you,—out of + professional curiosity, you know; besides we should not like you to be + often taken as you were last night, should we?” + </p> + <p> + “People with plenty of time on their hands,” soliloquized the doctor, + looking at his watch in the hallway. + </p> + <p> + “What is his name, did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Herbert Kemp.” + </p> + <p> + “What! Don’t you know that Dr. Kemp is one of the first physicians in the + city? Every one knows he has no time for curiosity. Nervous diseases are + his specialty; and do you think he would come without—” + </p> + <p> + “Being asked?” interrupted a pleasant voice; the doctor had remembered the + flight of time, and walked in unannounced. + </p> + <p> + “Keep your seat,” he continued, as Mrs. Levice started up, the excited + blood springing to her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “You hardly need an introduction, Esther,” said Levice. “You remember Dr. + Kemp from last night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Don’t go, Ruth, please; Jules, hadn’t you something to do + downstairs?” + </p> + <p> + Did she imagine for a moment that she could still conceal her trouble from + his tender watchfulness? Great dark rings encircled her now feverishly + bright eyes; her mouth trembled visibly; and as Ruth drew aside, her + mother’s shaking fingers held tight to her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing in the world to do,” replied Levice, heartily; “I am going + to sit right here and get interested.” + </p> + <p> + “You will have to submit to a friendly cross-examination, Mrs. Levice,” + said the physician. + </p> + <p> + He drew a chair up before her and took both her hands in his. As Ruth + relinquished her hold, she encountered a pair of pleasantly authoritative + gray eyes, and instantly divining their expression, left the room. + </p> + <p> + She descended a few steps to the windowed landing. Here she intended + joining the doctor on his way down. Probably her father would follow him; + but it was her intention to intercept any such plan. A fog had arisen, and + the struggling rosy beams of the sun glimmered opalescently through the + density. Ruth thought it would be clear by noon, when she and her mother + could go for a stirring tramp. She stood lost in thought till a firm + footfall on the stairs aroused her. + </p> + <p> + “I see Miss Levice here; don’t come down,” Kemp was saying. “What further + directions I have must be given to a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay with Mamma, Father,” called Ruth, looking up at her hesitating + father; “I shall see the doctor out;” and she quickly ran down the few + remaining steps to Kemp, awaiting her at the foot. She opened the door of + the library, and closing it quickly behind them, turned to him + expectantly. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing to be alarmed at,” he said, answering her mute inquiry. He seated + himself at the table, and drew from his vest-pocket pencil and blank. + Without another glance at the girl, he wrote rapidly for some minutes; + then quickly moving back his chair, he arose and handed her the two slips + of paper. + </p> + <p> + “The first is a tonic which you will have made up,” he explained, picking + up his gloves and hat and moving toward the door; “the other is a diet + which you are to observe. As I told her just now, she must remain in bed + and see no one but her immediate family; you must see that she hears and + reads nothing exciting. That is all, I think.” + </p> + <p> + Indignation and alarm held riot in Ruth’s face and arrested the doctor’s + departure. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Kemp,” she said, “you force me to remind you of a promise you made me + last night. Will you at least tell me what ails my mother that you use + such strenuous measures?” + </p> + <p> + A flash of recollection came to the doctor’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why, this is an unpardonable breach upon my part, Miss Levice; but I will + tell you all the trouble. Your mother is suffering with a certain form of + hysteria to a degree that would have prostrated her had we not come + forward in time. As it is, by prostrating her ourselves for awhile, say a + month or so, she will regain her equilibrium. You have heard of the food + and rest cure?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that is what she will undergo mildly. Has she any duties that will + suffer by her neglect or that will intrude upon her equanimity?” + </p> + <p> + “No necessary ones but those of the house. Under no circumstances can I + conceive of her giving up their supervision.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet she must do so under the present state of affairs. Remember, her mind + must be kept unoccupied, but time must be made to pass pleasantly for her. + This is not an easy task, Miss Levice; but, according to my promise, I + have left you to undertake it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she responded quietly. + </p> + <p> + Kemp looked at her with a sense of calm satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning,” he said, holding out his hand with a smile. + </p> + <p> + As the door closed behind him, Ruth felt as if a burden had fallen from, + instead of upon her. For the last twenty-four hours her apprehensions had + been excessive. Now, though she knew positively that her mother’s + condition needed instant and constant care, which she must herself assume, + all sense of responsibility fell from her. The few quiet words of this + strange physician had made her trust his strength as she would a rock. She + could not have explained why it was so; but as her father remarked once, + she might have said, “I trust him implicitly, because, though a man of + superiority, he implicitly trusts himself.” + </p> + <p> + As she re-entered her mother’s room, her father regarded her intently. + </p> + <p> + “So we are going to make a baby of you, Mamma,” she cried playfully, + coming forward and folding her arms around her mother, who lay on the + lounge. + </p> + <p> + “So he says; and what he says one cannot resist.” There was an apathetic + ring to her mother’s voice that surprised her. Quickly the thought flashed + through her that she was too weary to resist now that she was found out. + </p> + <p> + “Then we won’t try to,” Ruth decided, seating herself on the edge of the + lounge close to her mother. From his armchair, Mr. Levice noted with + remorseful pride the almost matronly poise and expression of his lovely + young daughter as she bent over her weary-looking mother and smoothed her + hair. + </p> + <p> + “And if you are to be baby,” she continued, smiling down, “I shall have to + change places with you, and become mother. You will see what a capital one + I shall make. Let’s see, what are the duties? First, baby must be kept + clean and sweet,—I am an artist at that; secondly, Father and the + rest of us must have a perfectly appointed menage; third—” + </p> + <p> + “I do not doubt that you will make a perfect mother, my child;” the gentle + meaning of her father’s words and glance caused Ruth to flush with + pleasure. When Levice said, “My child,” the words were a caress. “Just + believe in her, Esther; one of her earliest lessons was ‘Whatever you do, + do thoroughly.’ She had to learn it through experience. But as you trust + me, trust my pupil.” + </p> + <p> + The soft smile that played upon her husband’s face was reflected on Mrs. + Levice’s. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Ruth,” she murmured tremulously, “it will be so hard for you.” + </p> + <p> + This was a virtual laying down of arms, and Ruth was satisfied. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter IV + </h2> + <p> + Louis Arnold, the only other member of the Levice family, had been forced + to leave town on some business the morning after Mrs. Levice’s attack at + the Merrill reception. He was, therefore, much surprised and shocked on + his return a week later at finding his aunt in bed and such rigorous + measures for quiet in vogue. + </p> + <p> + Arnold had been an inmate of the house for the past twelve years. He was a + direct importation from France, which he had left just before attaining + his majority, the glory of soldier-life not proving seductive to his + imagination. He had no sooner taken up his abode with his uncle than he + was regarded as the most useful and ornamental piece of foreign vertu in + the beautiful house. + </p> + <p> + Being a business man by nature, keen, wary, and indefatigable, he was soon + able to take almost the entire charge of Levice’s affairs. In a few years + his uncle ceased to question his business capabilities. From the time he + arrived, he naturally fell into the position of his aunt’s escort, thus + again relieving Levice, who preferred the quieter life. + </p> + <p> + When Ruth began to go into society, his presence was almost a necessity, + as Jewish etiquette, or rather Jewish espionage, forbids a young man + unattached by blood or intentions to appear as the attendant of a single + woman. This is one of the ways Jewish heads of families have got into for + keeping the young people apart,—making cowards of the young men, and + depriving the young girls of a great deal of innocent pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Arnold, however, was not an escort to be despised, as Ruth soon + discovered. She very quickly felt a sort of family pride in his cool, + quizzical manner and caustic repartee, that was wholly distinct from the + more girlish admiration of his distinguished person. He and Ruth were + great friends in a quiet, unspoken way. + </p> + <p> + They were sitting together alone in the library on the evening of his + return. Mrs. Levice had fallen asleep, and her husband was sitting with + her. Ruth had stolen down to keep Louis company, fearing he would feel + lonesome in the changed aspect of the house. + </p> + <p> + Arnold lay at full length on the lounge; Ruth swayed backward and forward + in the rocker. + </p> + <p> + “What I am surprised at,” he was saying, “is that my aunt submits to this + confining treatment;” he pronounced the last word “tritment,” but he never + stopped at a word because of its pronunciation, thus adding a certain + piquancy to his speech. + </p> + <p> + “You would not be surprised if you knew Dr. Kemp; one follows his + directions blindly.” + </p> + <p> + “So I have heard from a great many—women.” + </p> + <p> + “And not men?” + </p> + <p> + “I have never happened to hold a conversation with a man on the powers of + Dr. Kemp. Women delight in such things.” + </p> + <p> + “What things?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, giving in to the magnetic power of a strong man.” + </p> + <p> + “You err slightly, Louis; it is the power, not the giving in that we + delight in, counting it a necessary part of manliness.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you allow me to differ with you? Besides, apart from this great + first cause, I do not understand how, after a week of it, she has not + rebelled.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I can answer that satisfactorily,” replied his cousin, a + mischievous smile parting her lips and showing a row of strong white + teeth; “she is in love.” + </p> + <p> + “Also?” + </p> + <p> + “With Father; and so does as she knows will please him best. Love is also + something every one loves to give in to.” + </p> + <p> + “Every one who loves, you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Every one loves something or some one.” + </p> + <p> + “Behold the exception, therefore.” He moved his head so as to get a better + view of her. + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe you.” + </p> + <p> + “That—is rude.” He kept his eyes meditatively fixed upon her. + </p> + <p> + “Have you made a discovery in my face?” asked the girl presently, slightly + moving from his gaze. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied calmly. “My discovery was made some time ago; I am merely + going over beautiful and pleasant ground.” + </p> + <p> + “Really?” she returned, flushing, “then please look away; you annoy me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I, since you know it is done in admiration? You are a woman; + do not pretend distaste for it.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall certainly go upstairs if you persist in talking so disagreeably.” + </p> + <p> + “Indulge me a little; I feel like talking, and I promise not to be + disagreeable. Always wear white; it becomes you. Never forget that beauty + needs appropriate surroundings. Another thing, ma belle cousine, this + little trick you have of blushing on the slightest provocation spoils your + whole appearance. Your complexion should always retain its healthy + whiteness, while—” + </p> + <p> + “You have been indulged quite sufficiently, Louis. Do you know, if you + often spoke to me in this manner I should soon hate you?” + </p> + <p> + “That would indeed be unfortunate. Never hate, Ruth; besides making + enemies, hate is an arch enemy to the face, distorting the softest and + loveliest.” + </p> + <p> + “We cannot love people who calmly sit and irritate us like mocking + tarantulas.” + </p> + <p> + “That is exaggerated, I think. Besides, Heaven forbid our loving + everybody! Never love, Ruth; let liking be strong enough for you. Love + only wears out the body and narrows the mind, all to no purpose. Cupid, + you know, died young, or wasted to plainness, for he never had his + portrait taken after he matured.” + </p> + <p> + “A character such as you would have would be unbearable.” + </p> + <p> + “But sensible and wise.” + </p> + <p> + “Happily our hearts need no teaching; they love and hate instinctively + before the brain can speak.” + </p> + <p> + “Good—for some. But in me behold the anomaly whose brain always + reconnoitres the field beforehand, and has never yet considered it worth + while to signal either ‘love’ or ‘hate.’” + </p> + <p> + He rose with a smile and sauntered over to the piano. The unbecoming blush + mounted slowly to Ruth’s face and her eyes were bright as she watched him. + When his hands touched the keys, she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt you think it adds to your intellect to pretend independence of + all emotion. But, do you know, I think feeling, instead of being a + weakness, is often more clever than wisdom? At any rate, what you are + doing now is proof sufficient that you feel, and perhaps more strongly + than many.” + </p> + <p> + He partly turned on the music-chair, and regarded her questioningly, + never, however, lifting his hands from the keys as he played a softly + passionate minor strain. + </p> + <p> + “What am I doing?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Making love to the piano.” + </p> + <p> + “It does not hurt the piano, does it?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but never say you do not feel when you play like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Is not that rather peremptory? Who taught you to read characters?” + </p> + <p> + “You.” + </p> + <p> + “I? What a poor teacher I was to allow you to show such bungling work! + Will you sing?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I shall read; I have had quite enough of myself and of you for one + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas, poor me!” he retorted mockingly, and seeming to accompany his words + with his music; “I am sorry for you, my child, that your emotions are so + troublesome. You have but made your entrance into the coldest, most + exciting arena,—the world. Remember what I tell you,—all the + strong motives, love and hate and jealousy, are mere flotsam and jetsam. + You are the only loser by their possession.” + </p> + <p> + The quiet closing of the door was his only answer. Ruth had left the room. + </p> + <p> + She knew Arnold too well to be affected by his little splurt of cynicism. + If she could escape a cynic either in books or in society, she invariably + did so. Life was still beautiful for her; and one of her father’s untaught + lessons was that the cynic is a one-sided creature, having lost the eye + that sees the compensation balancing all things. As long as Louis attacked + things, it did no harm, except to incite a friendly passage-at-arms; + hence, most of such talk passed in the speaking. Not so the disparaging + insinuations he had cast at Dr. Kemp. + </p> + <p> + During the week in which Ruth had established herself as nurse-in-chief to + her mother she had seen him almost daily. Time in a quiet sick-room passes + monotonously; events that are unnoticed in hours of well-being and + activity here assume proportions of importance; meal-times are looked + forward to as a break in the day; the doctor’s visit especially when it is + the only one allowed, is an excitement. Dr. Kemp’s visits were short, but + the two learned to look for his coming and the sound of his deep, cheery + voice, as to their morning’s tonic that would strengthen the whole day. + Naturally, as he was a stranger, Mrs. Levice in her idleness had analyzed + and discussed aloud his qualities, both personal and professional, to her + satisfaction. She had small ground for basing her judgments, but the + doctor formed a good part of her conversation. + </p> + <p> + Ruth’s knowledge of him was somewhat larger,—about the distance + between Mrs. Levice’s bedroom and the front door. She had a homely little + way of seeing people to the door, and here it was the doctor gave her any + new instructions. Instructions are soon given and taken; and there was + always time for a word or two of a different nature. + </p> + <p> + In the first place, she had been attracted by his horses, a magnificent + pair of jetty blacks. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if they would despise a lump of sugar,” she said one morning. + </p> + <p> + “Why should they?” asked Kemp. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they seem to hold their heads so haughtily.” + </p> + <p> + “Still, they are human enough to know sweets when they see them,” their + owner replied, taking in the beautiful figure of the young girl in her + quaint, flowered morning-gown. “Try them once, and you won’t doubt it.” + </p> + <p> + She did try them; and as she turned a slightly flushed face to Kemp, who + stood beside her, he held out his hand, saying almost boyishly, “Let me + thank you and shake hands for my horses.” + </p> + <p> + One can become eloquent, witty, or tender over the weather. The doctor + became neither of these; but Ruth, whose spirits were mercurially affected + by the atmosphere, always viewed the elements with the eye of a private + signal-service reporter. + </p> + <p> + “This is the time for a tramp,” she said, as they stood on the veranda, + and the summer air, laden with the perfume of heliotrope, stole around + them. “That is where the laboring man has the advantage over you, Dr. + Kemp.” + </p> + <p> + “Which, ten to one, he finds a disadvantage. I must confess that in such + weather every healthy individual with time at his disposal should be + inhaling this air at a leisurely trot or stride as his habit may be. You, + Miss Levice, should get on your walking togs instantly.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but not conveniently. My father and I never failed to take our + morning constitutional together when all was well. Father always gave me + the dubious compliment of saying I walked as straight and took as long + strides as a boy. Being a great lover of the exercise, I was sorry my pas + was not ladylike.” + </p> + <p> + “You doubtless make a capital companion, as your father evidently + remembered what a troublesome thing it is to conform one’s length of limb + to the dainty footsteps of a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Father has no trouble on that score,” said Ruth, laughing. + </p> + <p> + The doctor smiled in response, and raising his hat, said, “That is where + he has the advantage over a tall man.” + </p> + <p> + Going over several such scenes, Ruth could remember nothing in his manner + but a sort of invigorating, friendly bluntness, totally at variance with + the peculiarities of the “lady’s man” that Louis had insinuated he was + accounted. She resolved to scrutinize him more narrowly the next morning. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice’s room was handsomely furnished and daintily appointed. Even + from her pillows she would have detected any lapse in its exquisite + neatness, and one of Ruth’s duties was to leave none to be detected. The + house was large; and with three servants the young girl had to do a great + deal of supervising. She took a natural pride in having things go as + smoothly as under her mother’s administration; and Mr. Levice said it was + well his wife had laid herself on the shelf, as the new broom was a vast + improvement. + </p> + <p> + Ruth had given the last touches to her mother’s dark hair, and was reading + aloud the few unexciting items one finds in the morning’s paper. Mrs. + Levice, propped almost to a sitting position by many downy pillows, + polished her nails and half listened. Her cheeks were no longer brightly + flushed, but rather pale; the expression of her eyes was placid, and her + slight hand quite firm; the strain lifted from her, a great weariness had + taken its place. The sweet morning air came in unrestrained at the open + window. + </p> + <p> + Ruth’s reading was interrupted by the entrance of the maid, carrying a + dainty basket of Duchesse roses. + </p> + <p> + “For Madame,” she said, handing it to Ruth, who came forward to take it. + </p> + <p> + “Read the card yourself,” she said, placing it in her mother’s hand as the + girl retired. A pleased smile broke over Mrs. Levice’s face; she buried + her face in the roses, and then opened the envelope. + </p> + <p> + “From Louis!” she exclaimed delightedly. “Poor fellow! he was dreadfully + upset when he came in. He did not say much, but his look and hand-shake + were enough as he bent to kiss me. Do you know, Ruth, I think our Louis + has a very loving disposition?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. One would not think so, judging from his manner; but I know him to + be unusually sympathetic for a man. I would sooner have him for a friend + than many a woman; he has not many equals among the young men I know. + Don’t you agree with me, girlie?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; I always liked Louis.” + </p> + <p> + “How coldly you say that! And, by the way, it struck me as very queer last + night that you did not kiss him after his absence of a week. Since when + has this formal hand-shake come into use?” + </p> + <p> + A slight flush crimsoned Ruth’s cheek. + </p> + <p> + “It is not my fault,” she said, smiling; “I always kissed Louis even after + a day’s absence. But some few months ago he inaugurated the new regime, + and holds me at arm’s length. I can’t ask him why, when he looks at me so + matter-of-factly through his eyeglass, can I?” + </p> + <p> + “No; certainly not.” A slight frown marred the complacency of Mrs. + Levice’s brow. Such actions were not at all in accordance with her darling + plan. Arnold was much to her; but she wished him to be more. This was a + side-track upon which she had not wished her train to move. + </p> + <p> + Her cogitations took a turn when she heard a quick, firm footfall in the + hall. + </p> + <p> + Ruth anticipated the knock, and opened the door to the doctor. + </p> + <p> + Bowing slightly to her, he advanced rather hurriedly to the bedside. He + had not taken off his gloves, and a certain air of purposeful gravity + replaced his usual leisurely manner. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning, Mrs. Levice,” he said, taking her hand in his, and looking + searchingly down at her. “How are you feeling this morning? Any starts or + shakes of any sort?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I am beginning to feel as impassive and stupid as a well-fed animal. + Won’t you sit down, Doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I have a consultation in a very short time. Keep right on as you have + been doing. I do not think it will be necessary for me to call for several + days now; probably not before Friday.” + </p> + <p> + “And to-day is Tuesday! Am I to see no one till then?” + </p> + <p> + “No one but those you have seen. Pray do not complain, Mrs. Levice,” he + continued rather sternly. “You are a very fortunate invalid; illness with + you is cushioned in every conceivable corner. I wish I could make you + divide some of your blessings. As I cannot, I wish you to appreciate them + as they deserve. Do not come down, Miss Levice,” as she moved to follow + him; “I am in a great hurry. Good-morning.” + </p> + <p> + “How harassed he looked! I wonder who is his patient!” observed Mrs. + Levice, as Ruth quietly returned to her seat. A sunbeam fell aslant the + girl’s preoccupied face. The doctor’s few words had given her food for + thought. + </p> + <p> + When later on she remembered how she was going to disprove for herself + Louis’s allegations, she wondered if he could have found anything to mock + at, had he been present, in Kemp’s abrupt visit of the morning. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter V + </h2> + <p> + Ruth always dressed well. Indeed, any little jealousy her lovely presence + might occasion was usually summed up in the terse innuendo, “Fine feathers + make fine birds.” + </p> + <p> + To dress well is to dress appropriately to time, place, and season. Having + a full purse, she could humor every occasion with a change of gown; being + possessed of good taste, her toilets never offended; desiring to look + pleasing, as every woman should, she studied what was becoming; having a + mother to whom a good toilet was one of the most pressing convenances, and + who delighted in planning beautiful gowns for her beautiful daughter, + there was nothing lacking to prevent Ruth from being well-dressed. + </p> + <p> + On this summer’s afternoon she was clad from head to foot in soft, pale + gray. Every movement of her young body, as she walked toward town, + betokened health and elastic strength. Her long, easy gait precluded any + idea of hurry; she noticed everything she passed, from a handsome house to + a dirty child. + </p> + <p> + She was approaching that portion of Geary Street which the doctors have + appropriated, and she carefully scanned each silvery sign-plate in search + of Dr. Kemp’s name. It was the first time she had had occasion to go; and + with a little feeling of novel curiosity she ran up the stairs leading to + his office. + </p> + <p> + It was just three,—the time stated as the limit of his office-hours; + but when Ruth entered the handsome waiting-room, two or three patients + were still awaiting their turns. Seated in one of the easy-chairs, near + the window, was an aristocratic-looking woman, whom Ruth recognized as a + friend of one of her Christian friends, and with whom she had a speaking + acquaintance. Nodding pleasantly in response to the rather frigid bow, she + walked to the centre of the room, and laying upon the table a bunch of + roses that she carried, proceeded to select one of the magazines scattered + about. As she sat down, she found herself opposite a stout Irishwoman, + coarsely but cleanly dressed, who with undisguised admiration took in + every detail of Ruth’s appearance. She overlooked the evident simplicity + of the woman’s stare; but the wistful, yearning look of a little girl who + reclined upon the lounge caused her to sit with her magazine unopened. As + soon as she perceived that it was her flowers that the child regarded so + longingly, she bent forward, and holding out a few roses, said invitingly,— + </p> + <p> + “Would you like these?” + </p> + <p> + There is generally something startling in the sudden sound of a voice + after a long silence between strangers; but the pretty cadence of Ruth’s + gentle voice bore no suggestion of abruptness. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, and she just do dote on ‘em,” answered the mother, in a loud + tone, for the blushing child. + </p> + <p> + “So do I,” responded Ruth; and leaning farther forward, she put them in + the little hand. + </p> + <p> + But the child’s hand did not close over them, and the large eyes turned + piteously to her mother. + </p> + <p> + “It’s paralyzed she is,” hurriedly explained the mother. “Shall Mamma hold + the beautiful roses for ye, darlint?” + </p> + <p> + “Please,” answered the childish treble. + </p> + <p> + Ruth hesitated a second, and then rising and bending over her said,— + </p> + <p> + “No; I know of a better way. Wouldn’t you like to have me fasten them in + your belt? There, now you can smell them all the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Roses is what she likes mostly,” proceeded the mother, garrulously, “and + she’s for giving the doctor one every time she can when he comes. Faith! + it’s about all he do get for his goodness, for what with—” + </p> + <p> + The sudden opening of the folding-door interrupted her flow of talk. + Seeing the doctor standing on the threshold as a signal for the next in + waiting to come forward, the poor woman arose preparatory to helping her + child into the consulting-room. + </p> + <p> + “Let me help Mamie, Mrs. O’Brien,” said he, coming toward her. At the same + moment the elegant-looking woman rose from her chair and swept toward him. + </p> + <p> + “I believe it is my turn,” she said, in response to his questioning + salutation. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, if you came before Mrs. O’Brien. If so, walk in,” he answered, + moving the portiere aside for the other to enter. + </p> + <p> + “Sure, Doctor,” broke in Mrs. O’Brien, anxiously, “we came in together.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” He looked from the florid, flustered face to the haughtily + impassive woman beside her. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said he, courteously, “I know Mrs. O’Brien is wanted at home + by her little ones. Mrs. Baker, you will not object, I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + It was now the elegant woman’s turn to flush as Kemp took up the child. + </p> + <p> + Ruth felt a leap of delight at the action. It was a quiet lesson to be + laid to heart; and she knew she could never see him in a better light than + when he left the room holding the little charity patient in his arms. + </p> + <p> + She also noticed with a tinge of amusement the look of added hauteur on + the face of Mrs. Baker, as she returned to her seat at the window. + </p> + <p> + “Haughtiness,” mused Ruth, “is merely a cloak to selfishness, or the want + of a proper spirit of humanity.” + </p> + <p> + The magazine article remained unread; she drifted into a sort of + day-dream, and scarcely noticed when Mrs. Baker left the room. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Miss Levice.” + </p> + <p> + She started up, slightly embarrassed, as the doctor’s voice thus aroused + her. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” she said, coming forward and flushing slightly under + his amused smile. “It was so quiet here that I forgot where I was.” + </p> + <p> + He stood aside as she passed into the room, bringing with her an exquisite + fragrance of roses. + </p> + <p> + “Will you be seated?” he asked, as he turned from closing the door. + </p> + <p> + “No; it is not worth while.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the trouble,—you or your mother?” + </p> + <p> + There had been nothing disconcerting in the Irish-woman’s stare; but she + felt suddenly hot and uncomfortable under the doctor’s broad gaze. + </p> + <p> + “Neither of us,” she answered; “I broke the tonic bottle this morning, and + as the number was destroyed, I should like to have you give me another + prescription.” + </p> + <p> + “Directly. Take this chair for a moment.” + </p> + <p> + She seated herself perforce, and he took the chair beside the desk. + </p> + <p> + “How is she since yesterday?” he asked, as he wrote, without looking up. + </p> + <p> + “Quite as comfortable.” + </p> + <p> + He handed her the prescription presently, and she arose at once. He + stepped forward to open the outer door for her. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you no longer feel alarmed over her health,” he remarked, with a + hand on the knob. + </p> + <p> + “No; you have made us feel there was no cause for it. But for your method + I am afraid there might have been.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; but do not think anything of the kind. Your nursing was as + potent a factor as my directions. It is not Congress, but the people, who + make the country, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “That is condescending, coming from Congress,” she laughed gayly; “but I + must disclaim the compliment, I am sorry to say; my nursing was only a + name.” + </p> + <p> + “As you please. Miss Levice, may I beg a rose of you? No, not all. Well, + thank you, they will look wonderful in a certain room I am thinking of.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” There was a note of inquiry in the little word in reply to Kemp’s + pointed remark spoken as with a sudden purpose. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he continued, leaning his back against the door and looking + earnestly down at the tall girl; “the room of a lad without even the + presence of a mother to make it pretty;” he paused as if noting the effect + of his words. “He is as lonely and uncomplaining as a tree would be in a + desert; these roses will be quite a godsend to him.” He finished his + sentence pleasantly at sight of the expression of sympathy in the lovely + brown eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he would care to see any one?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” replied the doctor, slowly, “I think he would not mind seeing + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then will you tell me where he lives so that I can go there some day?” + </p> + <p> + “Some day? Why not to-day? Would it be impossible to arrange it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no,” she faltered, looking at him in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse my curiosity, please; but the boy is in such pressing need of some + pleasurable emotion that as soon as I looked at you and your roses I + thought, ‘Now, that would not be a bad thing for Bob.’ You see, I was + simply answering a question that has bothered me all day. Then will you + drive there with me now?” + </p> + <p> + “Would not that be impossible with your driver?” she asked, searching + unaccountably for an excuse. + </p> + <p> + “I can easily dispense with him.” + </p> + <p> + “But won’t my presence be annoying?” she persisted, hesitating oddly. + </p> + <p> + “Not to me,” he replied, turning quickly for his hat. “Come, then, please, + I must waste no more time in Bob’s good cause.” + </p> + <p> + She followed him silently with a sensation of quiet excitement. + </p> + <p> + Presently she found herself comfortably seated beside the doctor, who + drove off at a rapid pace. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said he, turning his horses westward, “I shall have to make a + call out here on Jones Street before going to Bob. You will not mind the + delay, Miss Levice, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no. This is ‘my afternoon off,’ you know. Father is at home, and my + mother will not miss me in the least. I was just thinking—” + </p> + <p> + She came to a sudden pause. She had just remembered that she was about to + become communicative to a comparative stranger; the intent, interested + look in Kemp’s eye as he glanced at her was the disturbing element. + </p> + <p> + “You were thinking what?” he prompted with his eye now to the horses’ + heads. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid you would not be edified if I continued,” she answered + hastily, biting her lip. She had been about to remark that her father + would miss her, nevertheless—but such personal platitudes are not + always in good taste. Seeing that she was disinclined to finish her + sentence, he did not urge her; and a few minutes later he drew up his + horses before a rather imposing house. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not be gone a minute, I think,” he said, as he sprang out and was + about to attach the reins to the post. + </p> + <p> + “Let me hold them, please,” said Ruth, eagerly stretching forth a hand. + </p> + <p> + He placed them in her hand with a smile, and turned in at the gateway. + </p> + <p> + He had been in the house about five minutes when she saw him come out + hastily. His hat was pulled down over his brows, which were gathered in an + unmistakable frown. At the moment when he slammed the gate behind him, a + stout woman hurrying along the sidewalk accosted him breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + He waited stolidly with his foot on the carriage-step till she came up. + </p> + <p> + “So sorry I had to go out!” she burst forth. “How did you find my husband? + What do you think of him?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” he replied shortly, “since you ask, I think your husband is + little short of an idiot!” + </p> + <p> + Ruth felt herself flush as she heard. + </p> + <p> + The woman looked at him in consternation. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Matter? Mayonnaise is the matter. If a man with a weak stomach like his + cannot resist gorging himself with things he has been strictly prohibited + from touching, he had better proclaim himself irresponsible and be done. + It is nonsense to call me in when he persists in cutting up such antics. + Good-afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + And abruptly raising his hat, he sprang in beside Ruth, taking the reins + from her without a word. + </p> + <p> + She felt very meek and small beside the evidently exasperated physician. + He seemed to forget her presence entirely, and she had too much tact to + break the silence of an angry man. In nine cases out of ten, the explosion + is bound to take place; but woe to him who lights the powder! + </p> + <p> + They were now driving northeast toward the quarter known as North Beach. + The sweet, fresh breeze in the western heights toward Golden Gate is here + charged with odors redolent of anything but the “shores of Araby the + blest.” + </p> + <p> + Kemp finally gave vent to his feelings. + </p> + <p> + “Some men,” he said deliberately, as if laying down an axiom, “have no + more conception of the dignity of controlled appetites than savages. Here + is one who could not withstand anything savory to eat, to save his soul; + otherwise he is a strong, sensible man. I can’t account for it.” + </p> + <p> + “The force of habit, perhaps,” suggested Ruth. + </p> + <p> + “Probably. Jewish appetite is known to dote on the fat of the land.” + </p> + <p> + That he said this with as little vituperation as if he had remarked on the + weather Ruth knew; and she felt no inclination to resent the remark, + although a vision of her cousin Jennie protesting did present itself. Some + Jewish people with diseased imaginations take every remark on the race as + a personal calumny. + </p> + <p> + “We always make the reservation that the fat be clean,” she laughed. + </p> + <p> + Kemp flashed around at her. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Levice,” he exclaimed contritely, “I completely forgot—I hope + I was not rude.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly not,” she answered half merrily, half earnestly. “Why + should you be?” + </p> + <p> + “As you say, why should I be? Jewish individuals, of course, have their + faults like the rest of humanity. As a race, most of their characteristics + redound to their honor, in my estimation.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said the girl, quietly. “I am very proud of many Jewish + traits.” + </p> + <p> + “Such as a high morality, loyalty, intelligence, filial respect, and + countless other things.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Besides, it is wonderful how they hold the balance of power in the + musical and histrionic worlds. Still, to be candid, in comparison with + these, they do not seem to have made much headway in the other branches of + art. Can you explain it, Miss Levice?” + </p> + <p> + He waited deferentially for a reply. + </p> + <p> + “I was trying to think of a proper answer,” she responded with earnest + simplicity; “and I think that their great musical and histrionic powers + are the results not so much of art as of passion inherited from times and + circumstances stern and sad since the race began. Painting and sculpture + require other things.” + </p> + <p> + “Which the Jew cannot obtain?” + </p> + <p> + A soft glow overspread her face and mounted to her brow. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Kemp,” she answered, “we have begun. I should like to quote to you + the beautiful illustration with which one of our rabbis was inspired to + answer a clergyman asking the same question; but I should only spoil that + which in his mouth seemed eloquent.” + </p> + <p> + “You would not, Miss Levice. Tell the story, please.” + </p> + <p> + They were on level ground, and the doctor could disengage his attention + from the horses. He did not fail to note the emotion that lit up her + expressive face, and made her sweet voice tremble. + </p> + <p> + “It is the story of the Rose of Sharon. This is it briefly: A pilgrim was + about to start on a voyage to the Holy Land. In bidding a friend good-by, + he said: ‘In that far land to which I am journeying, is there not some + relic, some sacred souvenir of the time beautiful, that I can bring to + you?’ The friend mused awhile. ‘Yes,’ he made answer finally; ‘there is a + small thing, and one not difficult to obtain. I beg of you to bring me a + single rose from the plains of Sharon.’ The pilgrim promised, and + departed. On his return he presented himself before his friend. ‘You have + brought it?’ he cried. ‘Friend,’ answered the pilgrim, sadly, ‘I have + brought your rose; but, alas! After all this weary travelling it is now + but a poor, withered thing.’ ‘Give it me!’ exclaimed the friend, eagerly. + The other did so. True, it was lifeless and withered; not a vestige + remained of its once fragrant glory. But as the man held it tenderly in + his hand, memory and love untold overcame him, and he wept in ecstasy. And + as his tears fell on the faded rose, lo! The petals sprang up, flushed + into life; an exquisite perfume enveloped it,—it had revived in all + its beauty. Sir, in the words of the rabbi, ‘In the light of toleration + and love, we too have revived, we too are looking up.’” + </p> + <p> + As the girl paused, Kemp slightly, almost reverentially, raised his hat. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Levice, that is exquisite,” he said softly. + </p> + <p> + They had reached the old, poorer section of the city, and the doctor + stopped before a weather-beaten cottage. + </p> + <p> + “This is where Bob receives,” he said, holding out a hand to Ruth; “in all + truth it cannot be called a home.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth had a peculiar, inexplicable feeling of mutual understanding with the + doctor as she went in with him. She hardly realized that she had been an + impressionable witness of some of his dominant moods, and that she herself + had been led on to an unrestrained display of feeling. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter VI + </h2> + <p> + They walked directly into a bare, dark hallway. There was no one stirring, + and Kemp softly opened the door of one of several rooms leading into the + passage. Here a broad band of yellow sunlight fell unrestrained athwart + the waxen-like face of the sleeping boy. The rest of the simple, + poor-looking room was in shadow. The doctor noiselessly closed the door + behind them, and stepped to the bed, which was covered with a heavy + horse-blanket. + </p> + <p> + The boy on the bed even in sleep could not be accounted good-looking; + there was a heaviness of feature, a plentitude of freckles, a shock of + lack-lustre hair, that made poor Bob Bard anything but a thing of beauty. + And yet, as Ruth looked at him, and saw Kemp’s strong white hand placed + gently on the low forehead, a great wave of tender pity took possession of + her. Sleep puts the strongest at the mercy of the watcher; there is a + loneliness about it, a silent, expressive plea for protection, that + appeals unconsciously. Ruth would have liked to raise the rough, lonely + head to her bosom. + </p> + <p> + “It would be too bad to wake him now,” said the doctor, in a low voice, + coming back to her side; “he is sleeping restfully; and that is what he + needs. I am sorry our little plan is frustrated; but it would be senseless + to wait, as there is no telling when he will waken.” + </p> + <p> + A shade of disappointment passed over the girl’s face, which he noticed. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he continued, “you might leave your roses where he cannot fail to + see them. His conjectures on their mysterious appearance will rouse him + sufficiently for one day.” + </p> + <p> + He watched her move lightly across the room, and fill a cup with water + from an earthenware pitcher. She looked about for a second as if + hesitating where to place it, and then quickly drew up a high-backed + wooden chair close to the bedside, and placed thereon a cup with roses, so + that they looked straight into the face of the slumbering lad. + </p> + <p> + “We will go now,” Kemp said, and opened the door for Ruth to pass before + him. She followed him slowly, but on the threshold drew back, a thoughtful + little pucker on her brow. + </p> + <p> + “I think I shall wait anyway,” she explained. “I should like to talk with + Bob a little.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor looked slightly annoyed. + </p> + <p> + “You had better drive home with me,” he objected. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she replied, drawing farther back into the room; “but the + Jackson Street cars are very convenient.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless, I should prefer to have you come with me,” he insisted. + </p> + <p> + “But I do not wish to,” she repeated quietly; “besides, I have decided to + stay.” + </p> + <p> + “That settles it, then,” smiled Kemp; and shaking her hand, he went out + alone. + </p> + <p> + “When my lady will, she will; and when she won’t, she won’t,” he mused, + gathering up his reins. But the terminal point to the thought was a smile. + </p> + <p> + Ruth, thus left alone, seated herself on the one other chair near the foot + of the bed. Strange to say, though she gazed at Bob, her thoughts had + flown out of the room. She was dimly conscious that she was pleasantly + excited. Had she cared to look the cause boldly in the face, she would + have known that Miss Ruth Levice’s vanity had been highly fed by Dr. + Kemp’s unmistakable desire for her assistance. He must at least have + looked at her with friendly eyes; but here her modesty drew a line even + for herself, and giving herself a mental shake, she saw that two lambent + brown eyes were looking wonderingly at her from the face of the sick lad. + </p> + <p> + “How do you feel now, Bob?” she asked, rising immediately and smiling down + at him. + </p> + <p> + The boy forgot to answer. + </p> + <p> + “The doctor brought me here,” she went on brightly; “but as you were + asleep, he could not wait. Are you feeling better, Bob?” + </p> + <p> + The soft, star-like eyes did not wander in their gaze. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you come?” he breathed finally. His voice was surprisingly + musical. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” faltered Ruth. “Oh, to bring you these roses. Do you care for + flowers, Bob?” She lifted the mass of delicate buds toward him. Two pale, + transparent hands went out to meet them. Tenderly as you sometimes see a + mother press the cheek of her babe to her own, he drew them to his cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my darlings, my darlings!” he murmured passionately, with his lips + pressed to the fragrant petals. + </p> + <p> + “Do you love them, then, so much?” + </p> + <p> + “Lady,” replied the boy, raising himself to a sitting posture, “there is + nothing in the world to me like flowers.” + </p> + <p> + “I never thought boys cared so for flowers,” remarked Ruth, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I am a gardener,” said he, simply, and again fell to caressing the roses. + Sitting up, he looked fully seventeen or eighteen years old. + </p> + <p> + “You must have missed them during your illness,” observed Ruth. + </p> + <p> + A long sigh answered her. The boy rested his dreamy eyes upon her. He was + no longer ugly, with his thoughts illumining his face. + </p> + <p> + “Marechal Niel,” she heard him whisper, still with his eyes upon her, “all + in soft, radiant robes like a gracious queen. Lady, you fit well next my + Homer rose.” + </p> + <p> + “What Homer rose?” asked Ruth, humoring the flower-poet’s odd conceit. + </p> + <p> + “My strong, brave Homer. There is none like him for strength, with all his + gentle perfume folded close to his heart. I used to think these Duchesses + would suit him best; but now, having seen you, I know they were too frail,—Marechal + Niel.” It was impossible to resent openly the boy’s musings; but with a + quick insistence that stemmed the current of his thoughts, she said,— + </p> + <p> + “Tell me where you suffer, Bob.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not suffer. I am only weak; but he is nourishing me, and Mrs. Mills + brings me what he orders.” + </p> + <p> + “And is there anything you would like to have of which you forgot to tell + him?” + </p> + <p> + “I never tell him anything I wish,” replied the boy, proudly. “He knows + beforehand. Did you never draw up close to a delicate flower, lay your + cheek softly upon it, so,—close your eyes, so,—and listen to + the tale it’s telling? Well, that is what my good friend does always.” + </p> + <p> + It was like listening to music to hear the slow, drawling words of the + invalid. Ruth’s hand closed softly over his. + </p> + <p> + “I have some pretty stories at home about flowers,” she said; “would you + like to read them?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t read very well,” answered Bob, in unabashed simplicity. + </p> + <p> + Yet his spoken words were flawless. + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall read them to you,” she answered pleasantly, “to-morrow, Bob, + say at about three.” + </p> + <p> + “You will come again?” The heavy mouth quivered in eager surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes; now that I know you, I must know you better. May I come?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, lady!” + </p> + <p> + Ruth went out enveloped in that look of gratitude. It was the first + directly personal expression of honest gratitude she had ever received; + and as she walked down the hill, she longed to do something that would be + really helpful to some one. She had led, on the whole, so far, an + egotistic life. Being their only child, her parents expected much of her. + During her school-life she had been a sort of human reservoir for all her + father’s ideas, whims, and hobbies. True, he had made her take a wide + interest in everything within the line of vision; hanging on his arm, as + they wandered off daily in their peripatetic school, he had imbued her + with all his manly nobility of soul. But theorizing does not give much + hold on a subject, the mind being taken up with its own clever + elucidations. For the past six months, after a year’s travel in Europe, + her mother had led her on in a whirl of what she called happiness. Ruth + had soon gauged the worth of this surface-life, and now that a lull had + come, she realized that what she needed was some interest outside of + herself,—an interest which the duties of a mere society girl do not + allow to develop to a real good. + </p> + <p> + A plan slowly formed itself in her mind, in which she became so engrossed + that she unconsciously crossed the cable of the Jackson Street cars. She + did not turn till a hand was suddenly laid upon her arm. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing in this part of town?” broke in Louis Arnold’s voice + in evident anger. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Louis, how you startled me! What is the matter with this part of + town?” + </p> + <p> + “You are on a very disreputable street. Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “Home.” + </p> + <p> + “Then be so kind as to turn back with me and take the cars.” + </p> + <p> + She glanced at him quickly, unused to his tone of command, and turned with + him. + </p> + <p> + “How do you happen to be here?” he asked shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Kemp took me to see a poor patient of his.” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Kemp?” surprise raised his eyebrows half an inch. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! Then,” he continued in cool, biting words, “why didn’t he carry + his charity a little farther and take you home again?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I did not choose to go with him,” she returned, rearing her head + and looking calmly at him as they walked along. + </p> + <p> + “Bah! What had your wishing or not wishing to do with it? The man knew + where he had taken you even if you did not know. This quarter is occupied + by nothing but negroes and foreign loafers. It was decidedly ungentlemanly + to leave you to return alone at this time of the evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably he gave me credit for being able to take care of myself in broad + daylight.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably he never gave it a second’s thought one way or the other. + Hereafter you had better consult your natural protectors before starting + out on Quixotic excursions with indifferent strangers.” + </p> + <p> + “Louis!” + </p> + <p> + She actually stamped her little foot while walking. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Stop that, please. You are not my keeper.” + </p> + <p> + Her cousin smiled quizzically. They took their seats on the dummy, just as + the sun, a golden ball, was about to glide behind Lone Mountain. Late + afternoon is a quiet time, and Ruth and Louis did not speak for a while. + </p> + <p> + The girl was experiencing a whirl of conflicting emotions,—anger at + Louis’s interference, pleasure at his protecting care, annoyance at what + he considered gross negligence on the doctor’s part, and a sneaking pride, + in defiance of his insinuations, over the thought that Kemp had trusted to + her womanliness as a safeguard against any chance annoyance. She also felt + ashamed at having showed temper. + </p> + <p> + “Louis,” she ventured finally, rubbing her shoulder against his, as gentle + animals conciliate their mates, “I am sorry I spoke so harshly; but it + exasperates me to hear you cast slurs, as you have done before, upon Dr. + Kemp in his absence.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should it, my dear, since it give you a chance to uphold him?” + </p> + <p> + There is a way of saying “my dear” that is as mortifying as a slap in the + face. + </p> + <p> + The dark blood surged over the girl’s cheeks. She drew a long, hard + breath, and then said in a low voice,— + </p> + <p> + “I think we will not quarrel, Louis. Will you get off at the next corner + with me? I have a prescription to be made up at the drug-store.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + If Arnold had showed anger, he was man enough not to be ashamed of it; + this is one of man’s many lordly rights. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter VII + </h2> + <p> + Mrs. Jules Levice was slowly gaining the high-road to recovery, and many + of the restrictions for her cure had been removed. As a consequence, and + with an eye ever to Ruth’s social duties, she urged her to leave her more + and more to herself. + </p> + <p> + As a matter of course, Ruth had laid the case of Bob and his neighborhood + before her father’s consideration. A Jewish girl’s life is an open page to + her family. Matters of small as well as of larger moment are freely + discussed. The result is that while it robs her of much of her Christian + sister’s spontaneity, which often is the latter’s greatest charm, it also, + through the sagacity of more experienced heads, guards her against many + indiscretions. This may be a relic of European training, but it enables + parents to instil into the minds of their daughters principles which + compare favorable with the American girl’s native self-reliance. It was as + natural for Ruth to consult her father in this trivial matter, in view of + Louis’s disapproval, as it would be for her friend, Dorothy Gwynne, to + sally anywhere so long as she herself felt justified in so doing. + </p> + <p> + Ruth really wished to go; and as her father, after considering the matter, + could find no objection, she went. After that it was enough to tell her + mother that she was going to see Bob. Mrs. Levice had heard the doctor + speak of him to Ruth; and any little charity that came in her way she was + only too happy to forward. + </p> + <p> + Bob’s plain, ungarnished room soon began to show signs of beauty under + Ruth’s deft fingers. A pot of mignonette in the window, a small painting + of exquisite chrysanthemums on the wall, a daily bunch of fresh roses, + were the food she brought for his poet soul. But there were other + substantial things. + </p> + <p> + The day after she had replaced the coarse horse-blanket with a soft down + quilt, the doctor made one of his bi-weekly visits to her mother. + </p> + <p> + As he stood taking leave of Ruth on the veranda, he turned, with his foot + on the last step, and looked up at her as if arrested by a sudden thought. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Levice,” said he, “I should like to give you a friendly scolding. + May I?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I prevent you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if I were you I should not indulge Bob’s love of luxury as you do. + He positively refused to get up yesterday on account of the ‘soft feel,’ + as he termed it, of that quilt. Now, you know, he must get up; he is able + to, and in a week I wish to start him in to work again. Then he won’t be + able to afford such ‘soft feels,’ and he will rebel. He has had enough + coddling for his own good. I really think it is mistaken kindness on your + part, Miss Levice.” + </p> + <p> + The girl was leaning lightly against one of the supporting columns. A + playful smile parted her lips as she listened. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Kemp,” she replied, “may I give you a little friendly scolding?” + </p> + <p> + “You have every right.” His tone was somewhat earnest, despite his smiling + eyes. A man of thirty-five does not resent a friendly scolding from a + winsome young girl. + </p> + <p> + “Well, don’t you think it is rather hard of you to deprive poor Bob of any + pleasure to-day may bring, on the ground that to-morrow he may wish it + too, and will not be able to have it?” + </p> + <p> + “As you put it, it does seem so; but I am pugnacious enough to wish you to + see it as practically as I do. Put sentiment aside, and the only sensible + thing to be done now is to prepare him for the hard, uncushioned facts of + an active life.” + </p> + <p> + “But why must it be so hard for him?” + </p> + <p> + “Why? In the face of the inevitable, that is a time-wasting, useless + question. Life is so; even if we find its underlying cause, the discovery + will not alter the fact.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it will.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “By its enabling us to turn our backs on the hard way and seek a softer.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget that strait-jacket to all inclination,—circumstance.” + </p> + <p> + “And are you not forgetting that friendly hands may help to remove the + strait-jacket?” + </p> + <p> + Her lovely face looked very winning, filled with its kindly meaning. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said he, raising his hat and forgetting to replace it as he + spoke; “that is a gentle truth; some day we shall discuss this further. + For the present, use your power in getting Bob upon his feet.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” She gave a hurried glance at the door behind her, and ran quickly + down to the lowest step. “Dr. Kemp,” said she, a little breathlessly, “I + have wished for some time to ask you to let me know when you have any + cases that require assistance outside of a physician’s,—such as my + father or I might lend. You must have a broad field for such + opportunities. Will you think of me then, please?” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” he replied, looking with amused pleasure at her flushed face. + “Going in for philanthropy, Miss Levice?” + </p> + <p> + “No; going out for it, thank you;” and she put her hand into his + outstretched one. She watched him step into his carriage; he turned and + raised his hat again,—a trifling circumstance that Ruth dwelt upon + with pleasure; a second glance always presupposes an interested first. + </p> + <p> + He did not fail to keep his promise; and once on the lookout for “cases” + herself, Ruth soon found enough irons in the fire to occupy her spare + moments. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice, however, insisted upon her resuming her place in society. + </p> + <p> + “A young girl must not withdraw herself from her sphere, or people will + either consider her eccentric or will forget her entirely. Don’t be + unreasonable, Ruth; there is no reason why you should not enjoy every + function in our circle, and Louis is always happy to take you. When he + asked you if you would go with him to the Art Exhibition on Friday night, + I heard you say you did not know. Now why?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that? I never gave it a second’s thought. I promised Father to go + with him in the afternoon; I did not consider it worth an explanation.” + </p> + <p> + “But, you see, I did. It looks very queer for Louis to be travelling + around by himself; couldn’t you go again in the evening with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, you over-thoughtful aunt. If the pictures are good, a second + visit will not be thrown away,—that is, if Louis is really anxious + for my companionship. But, ‘I doubt it, I doubt it, I do.’” + </p> + <p> + “What nonsense!” returned her mother, somewhat testily. “Why shouldn’t he + be? You are always amiable together, are you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she said, knitting her brows and pursing her lips drolly, “that, + methinks, depends on the limits and requirements of amiability. If + disputation showeth a friendly spirit, then is my lord overfriendly; for + it oft hath seemed of late to pleasure his mood to wax disputations, + though, in sooth, lady fair, I have always maintained a wary and decorous + demeanor.” + </p> + <p> + “I can imagine,” laughed her mother, a little anxiously; “then you will + go?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + If Arnold really cared for the outcome of such manoeuvres, Mrs. Levice’s + exertions bore some fruit. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter VIII + </h2> + <p> + There are few communities, comparatively speaking, with more enthusiastic + theatre-lovers than are to be found in San Francisco. The play was one of + the few worldly pleasures that Mr. Levice thoroughly enjoyed. When a great + star was heralded, he was in a feverish delight until it had come and + gone. When Bernhardt appeared, the quiet little man fully earned the often + indiscriminately applied title of “crazy Frenchman.” A Frenchman is never + so much one as when confronted in a foreign land with a great French + creation; every fibre in his body answers each charm with an appreciation + worked to fever-heat by patriotic love; at such times the play of his + emotions precludes any idea of reason to an onlooker. Bernhardt was one of + Levice’s passions. Booth was another, though he took him more composedly. + The first time the latter appeared at the Baldwin (his opening play was + “Hamlet”) the Levices—that is, Ruth and her father—went three + times in succession to witness his matchless performance, and every + succeeding characterization but strengthened their enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + Booth was coming again. The announcement had been rapturously hailed by + the Levices. + </p> + <p> + “It will be impossible for us to go together, Father,” Ruth remarked at + the breakfast-table. “Louis will have to take me on alternate nights, + while you stay at home with Mamma; did you hear, Louis?” + </p> + <p> + “You will hardly need to do that,” answered Arnold, lowering his cup; “if + you and your father prefer going together, I shall enjoy staying with your + mother on those nights.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks for the offer—and your evident delight in my company,” + laughed Ruth; “but there is one play at which you must submit to the + infliction of my presence. Don’t you remember we always wished to see the + ‘Merchant of Venice’ and judge for ourselves his interpretation of the + character? Well, I am determined that we shall see it together.” + </p> + <p> + “When does he play it?” + </p> + <p> + “A week from Saturday night.” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry to disappoint you, but I shall be out of town at the end of next + week.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear? Honestly? Can’t you put it off? I want so much to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible. Go with your father.” + </p> + <p> + “You know very well neither of us would go off and leave Mamma alone at + night. It is horrid of you to go. I am sure you could manage differently + if—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, my child!” + </p> + <p> + She was actually pouting; and her father’s quiet tone of surprised + reprimand just headed off two great tears that threatened to fall. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” she said, trying to smile, and showing an April face instead; + “but I had just set my heart on going, and with Louis too.” + </p> + <p> + “That comes of being a spoilt only child,” put in Arnold, suavely. “You + ought to know by this time that of the many plans we make with ourselves, + nine out of ten come to nought. Before you set your heart on a thing, be + sure you will not have to give it up.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth, still sore with disappointment, acknowledged this philosophic remark + with a curled lip. + </p> + <p> + “There, save your tears for something more worthy,” cut in Levice, + briskly; “if you care so much about it, we or chance must arrange it as + you wish.” + </p> + <p> + But chance in this instance was not propitious. Wednesday came, and Arnold + saw no way of accommodating her. He left town after taking her to see the + “Fool’s Revenge” as a sort of substitution. + </p> + <p> + “You seemed to be enjoying the poor Fool’s troubles last night,” observed + Dr. Kemp, in the morning; they were still standing in Mrs. Levice’s room. + </p> + <p> + “I? Not enjoying his troubles; I enjoyed Booth, though,—if you can + call it enjoyment when your heart is ready to break for him. Were you + there? I did not see you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t suppose you did, or you would have been in the pitiable + condition of the princess who had her head turned. I sat directly back of + your box, in the dress-circle. Then you like Booth?” + </p> + <p> + “Take care! That is a dangerous subject with my family,” broke in Mrs. + Levice. “Ruth has actually exhausted every adjective in her admiration + vocabulary. The last extravaganza I heard from her on that theme was after + she had seen him as Brutus; she wished herself Lucius, that in the tent + scene she might kiss Booth’s hand.” + </p> + <p> + “It sounds gushing enough for a school-girl now,” laughed Ruth merrily, + looking up at the doctor; “but at the time I meant it.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen him in all his impersonations?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “In everything but ‘Shylock.’” + </p> + <p> + “You will have a chance for that on Saturday night. It will be a great + farewell performance.” + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly, but I shall have to forego that last glimpse of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Doctor,” cried Mrs. Levice, “will you please impress it on her that + I am not a lunatic and can be left alone without fear? She wishes to go + Saturday night, but refuses to go with her father on the ground that I + shall be left alone, as Mr. Arnold is out of town. Is not that being + unnecessarily solicitous?” + </p> + <p> + “Without doubt. But,” he added, turning deferentially to Ruth, “in lieu of + a better escort, how would I do, Miss Levice?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you come with me Saturday night to see ‘Shylock’?” + </p> + <p> + To be candid, Ruth was embarrassed. The doctor had said neither “will you + honor me” nor “will you please me,” but he had both pleased and honored + her. She turned a pair of radiant eyes to her mother. “Come now, Mrs. + Levice,” laughed Kemp, noting the action, “will you allow your little girl + to go with me? Do not detain me with a refusal; it will be impossible to + accept one now, and I shall not be around till then, you know. + Good-morning.” + </p> + <p> + Unwittingly, the doctor had caused an excitement in the hearts both of + mother and daughter. The latter was naturally surprised at his unexpected + invitation, but surprise was soon obliterated by another and quite + different feeling, which she kept rigorously to herself. Mrs. Levice was + in a dilemma about it, and consulted her husband in the evening. + </p> + <p> + “By all means, let her go,” replied he; “why should you have had any + misgivings about it? I am sure I am glad she is going.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Jules, you forget that none of our Jewish friends allow their girls + to go out with strangers.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that part of our religion?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but custom is in itself a religion. People do talk so at every little + innovation against convention.” + </p> + <p> + “What will they say? Nothing detrimental either to Ruth or the doctor. + Pshaw, Esther! You ought to feel proud that Dr. Kemp has asked the child. + If she wishes to go, don’t set an impossible bogy in the way of her + enjoyment. Besides, you do not care to appear so silly as you would if you + said to the doctor, ‘I can’t let her go on account of people’s tongues,’ + and that is the only honest excuse you can offer.” So in his manly, + practical way he decided it. + </p> + <p> + On Saturday night Ruth stood in the drawing-room buttoning her pale suede + glove. Kemp had not yet come in. She looked unusually well in her dull + sage-green gown. A tiny toque of the same color rested on her soft dark + hair. The creamy pallor of her face, the firm white throat revealed by the + broad rolling collar, her grave lips and dreamy eyes, hardly told that she + was feeling a little shy. Presently the bell rang, and Kemp came in, his + open topcoat revealing his evening dress beneath. He came forward hastily. + </p> + <p> + “I am a little late,” he said, taking her hand, “but it was unavoidable. + Ten minutes to eight,” looking at his watch; “the horses must make good + time.” + </p> + <p> + “It is slightly chilly to-night, is it not?” asked Ruth, for want of + something better to say as she turned for her wrap. + </p> + <p> + “I did not feel it,” he replied, intercepting her. “But this furry thing + will keep the cold off, if there is any,” he continued, as he held it for + her, and quite unprofessionally bent his head to hook it at her throat. A + strange sensation shot through Ruth as his face approached so close her + own. + </p> + <p> + “How are your mother and father?” He asked, holding the door open, while + she turned for her fan, thus concealing a slight embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “They are as usual,” she answered. “Father expects to see you after the + play. You will come in for a little supper, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + “That sounds alluring,” he responded lightly, his quick eye remarking, as + she came toward him, the dainty femininity of her loveliness, that seemed + to have caught a grace beyond the reach of art. + </p> + <p> + It thus happened that they took their places just as the curtain rose. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter IX + </h2> + <p> + Everybody remembers the sad old comedy, as differently interpreted in its + graver sentiment as there are different interpreters. Ruth had seen one + who made of Shylock merely a fawning, mercenary, loveless, blood-thirsty + wretch. She had seen another who presented a man of quick wit, ready + tongue, great dignity, greater vengeance, silent of love, wordy of hate. + Booth, without throwing any romantic glamour on the Jew, showed him as God + and man, but mostly man, had made him: an old Jew, grown bitter in the + world’s disfavor through fault of race; grown old in strife for the only + worldly power vouchsafed him,—gold; grown old with but one human + love to lighten his hard existence; a man who, at length, shorn of his two + loves through the same medium that robbed him of his manly birthright, now + turned fiend, endeavors with tooth and nail to wreak the smouldering + vengeance of a lifetime upon the chance representative of an inexorable + persecution. + </p> + <p> + All through the performance Ruth sat a silent, attentive listener. Kemp, + with his ready laugh at Gratiano’s sallies, would turn a quick look at her + for sympathy; he was rather surprised at the grave, unsmiling face beside + him. When, however, the old Jew staggered alone and almost blindly from + the triumphantly smiling court-room, a little pinch on his arm decidedly + startled him. + </p> + <p> + He lowered his glass and turned round on her so suddenly that Ruth + started. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she faltered, “I—I beg your pardon; I had forgotten you were + not Louis.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not mind in the least,” he assured her easily. + </p> + <p> + The last act passes merrily and quickly; only the severe, great things of + life move slowly. + </p> + <p> + As the doctor and Ruth made their way through the crowded lobby, the + latter thought she had never seen so many acquaintances, each of whom + turned an interested look at her stalwart escort. Of this she was + perfectly aware, but the same human interest with which Kemp’s + acquaintances regarded her passed by her unnoticed. + </p> + <p> + A moment later they were in the fresh, open air. + </p> + <p> + “How beautiful it is!” said Ruth, looking up at the stars. “The wind has + entirely died away.” + </p> + <p> + “‘On such a night,’” quoth Kemp, as they approached the curb, “a closed + carriage seems out of season.” + </p> + <p> + “And reason,” supplemented Ruth, while the doctor opened the door rather + slowly. She glanced at him hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Would you—” she began. + </p> + <p> + “Right! I would!” The door was banged to. + </p> + <p> + “John,” he said, looking up at his man in the box, “take this trap round + to the stable; I shall not need the horses again to-night.” + </p> + <p> + John touched his hat, and Kemp drew his companion’s little hand through + his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, as they turned the corner, “Were you satisfied with the + great man to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied meditatively, “fully; there was no exaggeration,—it + was all quite natural.” + </p> + <p> + “Except Jessica in boy’s clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t mention her, please; I detest her.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet she spoke quite prettily on the night.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not hear her.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, where were you while all the world was making merry on the stage?” + </p> + <p> + “Not with them; I was with the weary, heart-broken old man who passed out + when joy began.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I fancied you did not half appreciate Gratiano’s jesting. Miss + Levice, I am afraid you allow the sorry things of life to take too strong + a hold on you. It is not right. I assure you for every tear there is a + laugh, and you must learn to forget the former in the latter.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” replied Ruth, quite sadly; “but I fear I cannot learn that,—tears + are always stronger than laughter. How could I listen to the others’ + nonsense when my heart was sobbing with that lonely old man? Forgive me, + but I cannot forget him.” + </p> + <p> + They walked along silently for some time. Instinctively, each felt the + perfect accord with which they kept step. Ruth’s little ear was just about + on a level with the doctor’s chin. He hardly felt the soft touch of her + hand upon his sleeve; but as he looked at the white profile of her cheek + against the dark fur of her collar, the knowledge that she was there was a + pleasing one. + </p> + <p> + “Did you consider the length of our walk when you fell in with my desire?” + he asked presently. + </p> + <p> + “I like a long walk in pleasant weather; I never tire of walking.” + </p> + <p> + “You have found the essentials of a good pedestrian,—health and + strength.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; if everybody were like me, all your skill would be thrown away,—I + am never ill.” + </p> + <p> + “Apparently there is no reason why you should be, with common-sense to + back your blessings. If common-sense could be bought at the drug-store, I + should be rid of a great many patients.” + </p> + <p> + “That reminds me of a snatch of conversation I once overheard between my + mother and a doctor’s wife. I am reminded of it because the spirit of your + meaning is diametrically opposed to her own. After some talk my mother + asked, ‘And how is the doctor?’ ‘Oh,’ replied the visitor, with a long + sigh, ‘he’s well enough in body, but he’s blue, terribly blue; everybody + is so well, you know.’” + </p> + <p> + “Her sentiment was more human than humane,” laughed Kemp. He was glad to + see that she had roused herself from her sad musings; but a certain set + purpose he had formed robbed him now of his former lightness of manner. + </p> + <p> + He was about to broach a subject that required delicate handling; but an + intuitive knowledge of the womanly character of the young girl aided him + much. It was not so much what he had seen her do as what he knew she was, + that led him to begin his recital. + </p> + <p> + “We have a good many blocks before us yet,” he said, “and I am going to + tell you a little story. Why don’t you take the full benefit of my arm? + There,” he proceeded, drawing her hand farther through his arm, “now you + feel more like a big girl than like a bit of thistledown. If I get + tiresome, just call ‘time,’ will you?” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” she laughed. She was beginning to meet halfway this + matter-of-fact, unadorned, friendly manner of his; and when she did meet + it, she felt a comfortable security in it. From the beginning to the end + of his short narrative he looked straight ahead. + </p> + <p> + “How shall I begin? Do you like fairy tales? Well, this is the soul of one + without the fictional wings. Once upon a time,—I think that is the + very best introduction extant,—a woman was left a widow with one + little girl. She lived in New Orleans, where the blow of her husband’s + death and the loss of her good fortune came almost simultaneously. She + must have had little moral courage, for as soon as she could, she left her + home, not being able to bear the inevitable falling off of friends that + follows loss of fortune. She wandered over the intermediate States between + here and Louisiana, stopping nowhere long, but endeavoring to keep + together the bodies and souls of herself and child by teaching. They kept + this up for years until the mother succumbed. They were on the way from + Nevada to Los Angeles when she died. The daughter, then not eighteen, went + on to Los Angeles, where she buried her mother, and endeavored to continue + teaching as she had been doing. She was young, unsophisticated, sad, and + in want in a strange town. She applied for advice to a man highly honored + and recommended by his fellow-citizens. The man played the brute. The girl + fled—anywhere. Had she been less brave, she would have fled from + herself. She came to San Francisco and took a position as nurse-girl; + children, she thought, could not play her false, and she might outlive it. + The hope was cruel. She was living near my home, had seen my sign + probably, and in the extremity of her distress came to me. There is a good + woman who keeps a lodging-house, and who delights in doing me favors. I + left the poor child in her hands, and she is now fully recovered. As a + physician I can do no more for her, and yet melancholy has almost made a + wreck of her. Nothing I say has any effect; all she answers is, ‘It isn’t + worth while.’ I understand her perfectly, but I wished to infuse into her + some of her old spirit of independence. This morning I asked her if she + intended to let herself drift on in this way. I may have spoken a little + more harshly than necessary, for my words broke down completely the wall + of dogged silence she had built around herself. ‘Oh, sir,’ she cried, + weeping like the child she is, ‘what can I do? Can I dare to take little + children by the hand, stained as I am? Can I go as an impostor where, if + people knew, they would snatch their loved ones from me? Oh, it would be + too wretched!’ I tried to remonstrate with her, told her that the lily in + the dust is no less a lily than is her spotless sister held high above + contamination. She looked at me miserably from her tear-stained face, and + then said, ‘Men may think so, but women don’t; a stain with them is + ignoble whether made by one’s self or another. No woman knowing my story + would think me free from dishonor, and hold out her clean hands to me.’ + ‘Plenty,’ I contradicted. ‘Maybe,’ she said humbly; ‘but what would it + mean? The hand would be held out at arm’s length by women safe in their + position, who would not fail to show me how debased they think me. I am + young yet; can you show me a girl, like myself in years, but white as + snow, kept safe from contamination, as you say, who, knowing my story, + would hold out her hand to me and not feel herself besmirched by the + contact? Do not say you can, for I know you cannot.’ She was crying so + violently that she would not listen to me. When I left her, I myself could + think of none of my young friends to whom I could propound the question. I + know many sweet, kind girls, but I could count not one among them all who + in such a case would be brave as she was womanly—until I thought of + you.” + </p> + <p> + Complete silence followed his words. He did not turn his glance from the + street ahead of him. He had made no appeal, would make none, in fact. He + had told the story with scarcely a reflection on its impropriety, that + would have arrested another man from introducing such an element into his + gentle fellowship with a girl like Ruth. His lack of hesitancy was born of + his manly view of the outcast’s blamelessness, of her dire necessity for + help, and of a premonition that Ruth Levice would be as free from the + artificiality of conventional surface modesty as was he, through the + earnestness of the undertaking. + </p> + <p> + There is something very sweet to a woman in being singled out by a man for + some ennobling virtue. Ruth felt this so strongly that she could almost + hear her heart beat with the intoxicating knowledge. No question had been + asked, but she felt an answer was expected. Yet had her life depended on + it, the words could not have come at that moment. Was she indeed what he + esteemed her? Unconsciously Dr. Kemp had, in thought, placed her on a + pedestal. Did she deserve the high place he had given her, or would she? + </p> + <p> + With many women the question would have been, did she care for Dr. Kemp’s + good opinion? Now, though Ruth was indeed put on her mettle, her quick + sympathy had been instantly touched by the girl’s miserable story. Perhaps + the doctor’s own feelings had influenced her, but had the girl stood + before her at the moment, she would have seized her hand with all her own + gentle nobility of soul. + </p> + <p> + As they turned the corner of the block where Ruth’s house stood, Kemp said + deliberately,— + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you. Where does she live?” + </p> + <p> + Her quiet, natural tone told nothing of the tumult of sweet thoughts + within. They had reached the house, and the doctor opened the gate before + he answered. When he did, after they had passed through, he took both her + hands in his. + </p> + <p> + “I shall take you there,” he said, looking down at her with grave, smiling + eyes; “I knew you would not fail me. When shall I call for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Do not call for me at all; I think—I know it will be better for me + to walk in alone, as of my own accord.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes!” he said, and told her the address. She ran lightly up the + steps, and as he turned her key in the door for her, she raised a pair of + starry eyes to his. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Kemp,” she said, “I have had an exceptionally lovely evening. I shall + not soon forget it.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I,” he returned, raising his hat; holding it in his hand, he gently + raised her gloved hand to his lips. Herbert Kemp was a gentleman of the + old school in his manner of showing reverence to women. + </p> + <p> + “My brave young friend!” he said; and the next minute his firm footfall + was crunching the gravel of the walk. Neither of them had remembered that + he was to have come in with her. She waited till the gate clicked behind + him, and then softly closed the heavy door. + </p> + <p> + “My brave young friend!” The words mounted like wine to her head. She + forgot her surroundings and stood in a sweet dream in the hall, slowly + unbuttoning her glove. She must have remained in this attitude for five + minutes, when, raising her eyes, still shadowy with thought, she saw her + cousin before her down the hall, his arm resting on the newel-post. + </p> + <p> + “Louis!” she cried in surprise; and without considering, she hurried to + him, threw her arm around his neck, and kissed him on the cheek. Arnold, + taken by storm, stepped slightly back. + </p> + <p> + “When did you get home?” she asked, the pale rose-flush that mantled her + cheeks making her face exquisite. + </p> + <p> + “A half an hour ago.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Are you tired, Louis?” she inquired gently. “You are somewhat pale, and + you speak in that way.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you enjoy the play?” he asked quietly, passing by her remarks. + </p> + <p> + “The play!” she echoed, and then a quick burning blush suffused her face. + The epilogue had wholly obliterated the play from her recollection. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course,” she responded, turning from the rather sardonic smile of + his lips and seating herself on the stairs; “do you want to hear about it + now?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she began, laying her gloves in her lap and snuggling her chin in + the palms of her hands, “shall I tell you how I felt about it? In the + first place, I was not ashamed of Shylock; if his vengeance was distorted, + the cause distorted it. But, oh, Louis, the misery of that poor old man! + After all, his punishment was as fiendish as his guilt. Booth was great. I + wish you could have seen the play of his wonderful eyebrow and the + eloquence of his fine hand. Poor old, lonely Shylock! With all his + intellect, how could he regret that wretched little Jessica?” + </p> + <p> + “He was a Jewish father.” + </p> + <p> + “How singularly you say that! Of course he was a Jew; but Jewish hardly + describes him,—at least, according to the modern idea. Are you + coming up?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Go on; I will lower the gas.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t you like something to eat or drink? You look so worn out; let me + get you something.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks; I have dined. Good-night.” The girl passed on to her pretty white + and gold room. Shylock had again fled from her memory, but there was + singing in her heart a deep, grave voice saying,— + </p> + <p> + “My brave young friend!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter X + </h2> + <p> + “A humble bard presents his respects to my Lady Marechal Niel, and begs + her to step down to the gate for about two minutes.” + </p> + <p> + The note was handed to Ruth early the next morning as she stood in the + kitchen beating up eggs for an omelette for her mother’s breakfast. A + smile of mingled surprise and amusement overspread her face as she read; + instinctively turning the card, she saw, “Herbert Kemp, M. D.,” in simple + lithograph. + </p> + <p> + “Do I look all right, Mary?” she asked hurriedly, placing the bowl on the + table and half turning to the cook as she walked to the door. Mary + deliberately placed both hands on her hips and eyed her sharply. + </p> + <p> + “And striped flannel dresses and hairs in braids,” she began, as she + always did, as if continuing a thought, “being nice, pretty flannel and + nice, pretty braids, Miss Ruth do look sweet-like, which is nothing out of + the common, for she always do!” + </p> + <p> + The last was almost shouted after Ruth, who had run from the cook’s + prolixity. + </p> + <p> + As she hurried down the walk, she recognized the doctor’s carriage, + containing the doctor himself with Bob in state beside him. Two hands went + up to two respective hats as the gate swung behind her, and she advanced + with hand extended to Bob. + </p> + <p> + “You are looking much better,” she exclaimed heartily, shaking the rather + bashfully outstretched hand; “your first outing, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, lady.” It had been impossible for her to make him call her by name. + </p> + <p> + “He elected to pay his first devoirs to the Queen of Roses, as he + expressed it,” spoke up Kemp, with his disengaged hand on the boy’s + shoulder, and looking with a puzzled expression at Ruth. Last night she + had been a young woman; this morning she was a young girl; it was only + after he had driven off that he discovered the cause lay in the + arrangement of her hair. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Bob; presently I expect to have you paying me a visit on foot, + when we can come to a clearer understanding about my flower-beds.” + </p> + <p> + “He says,” returned the boy, turning an almost humbly devoted look on + Kemp, “that I must not think of gardening for some weeks. And so—and + so—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “And so,” explained the doctor, briskly, “he is going to hold my reins on + our rounds, and imbibe a world of sunshine to expend on some flowers—yours + or mine, perhaps—by and by.” + </p> + <p> + Bob’s eyes were luminous with feeling as they rested on the dark, bearded + face of his benefactor. + </p> + <p> + “Now say all you have to say, and we’ll be off,” said Kemp, tucking in the + robe at Bob’s side. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t have anything to say, sir; I came only to let her know.” + </p> + <p> + “And I am so glad, Bob,” said Ruth, smiling up into the boy’s shy, + speaking eyes. People always will try to add to the comfort of a + convalescent, and Ruth, in turn, drew down the robe over the lad’s hands. + As she did so, her cousin, Jennie Lewis, passed hurriedly by. Her quick + blue eyes took in to a detail the attitudes of the trio. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning, Jennie,” said Ruth, turning; “are you coming in?” + </p> + <p> + “Not now,” bowing stiffly and hurrying on. + </p> + <p> + “Cabbage-rose.” + </p> + <p> + Bob delivered himself of this sentiment as gently as if he had let fall a + pearl. + </p> + <p> + The doctor gave a quick look at Ruth, which she met, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “He cannot help his inspiration,” she remarked easily, and stepped back as + the doctor pulled the reins. + </p> + <p> + “Come again, Bob,” she called, and with a smile to Kemp she ran in. + </p> + <p> + “And I was going to say,” continued Mary, as she re-entered the kitchen, + “that a speck of aig splashed on your cheek, Miss Ruth.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mary, where?” + </p> + <p> + “But not knowin’ that you would see anybody, I didn’t think to run after + you; so it’s just this side your mouth, like if you hadn’t wiped it good + after breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth rubbed it off, wondering with vexation if the doctor had noticed it. + Truth to say, the doctor had noticed it, and naturally placed the same + passing construction on it that Mary had suggested. Not that the little + yellow splash occupied much of his attention. When he drove off, all he + thought of Ruth’s appearance was that her braided hair hung gracefully and + heavily down her back; that she looked young,—decidedly young and + missish; and that he had probably spoken indiscreetly and impulsively to + the wrong person on a wrong subject the night before. + </p> + <p> + Dress has a subtile influence upon our actions: one gown can make a romp, + another a princess, another a boor, another a sparkling coquette, out of + the same woman. The female mood is susceptibly sympathetic to the fitness + or unfitness of dress. Now, Ruth was without doubt the same girl who had + so earnestly and sympathetically heard the doctor’s unconventional story; + but the fashion of her gown had changed the impression she had made a few + hours back. + </p> + <p> + An hour later, and Dr. Kemp could not have failed to recognize Ruth, the + woman of his confidence. Something, perhaps a dormant spirit of + worldliness, kept her from disclosing to her mother the reason of her + going out. She herself felt no shame or doubt as to the advisability of + her action; but the certain knowledge of her mother’s disapproval of such + a proceeding restrained the disclosure which, of a surety, would have cost + her the non-fulfilment of a kindly act. A bit of subterfuge which hurts no + one is often not only excusable, but commendable. Besides, it saved her + mother an annoying controversy; and so, fully satisfied as to her part, + Ruth took her way down the street. The question as to whether the doctor + had gone beyond the bounds of their brief acquaintance had of course been + presented to her mind; but if a slight flush came into her face when she + remembered the nature of the narrative and the personality of the + narrator, it was quickly banished by the sweet assurance that in this way + he had honored her beyond the reach of current flattery. + </p> + <p> + A certain placid strength possessed her and showed in her grave brown + eyes; with her whole heart and soul she wished to do this thing, and she + longed to do it well. Her purpose robbed her of every trace of + nervousness; and it was a sweet-faced young woman who gently knocked at + room Number 10 on the second floor of a respectable lodging-house on Polk + Street. + </p> + <p> + Receiving no answer to her knock, she repeated it somewhat more loudly. At + this a tired voice called, “Come in.” + </p> + <p> + She turned the knob, which yielded to her touch, and found herself in a + small, well-lighted, and neat room. Seated in an armchair near the window, + but with her back toward it, was what on first view appeared to be a + golden-haired child in black; one elbow rested on the arm of the chair, + and a childish hand supported the flower-like head. As Ruth hesitated + after closing the door behind her, she found a pair of listless violet + eyes regarding her from a small white face. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” queried the girl, without changing her position except to allow + her gaze to travel to the floor. + </p> + <p> + “You are Miss Rose Delano?” said Ruth, as she came a step nearer. + </p> + <p> + “What of that?” Asked the girl, lifelessly, her dull eyes wandering + everywhere but to the face of her strange interlocutor. + </p> + <p> + “I am Ruth Levice, a friend of Dr. Kemp. Will that introduction be enough + to make you shake hands with me?” + </p> + <p> + She advanced toward her, holding out her hand. A burning flame shot across + Rose Delano’s face, and she shrank farther back among her pillows. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, putting up a repellent hand; “it is not enough. Do not + touch me, or you will regret it. You must not, I say.” She arose quickly + from her chair and stood at bay, regarding Ruth. The latter, taller than + she by head and shoulders, looked down at her smiling. + </p> + <p> + “I know no reason why I must not,” she replied gently. + </p> + <p> + “You do not know me.” + </p> + <p> + “No; but I know of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you come; why don’t you go?” The blue eyes looked with + passionate resentment at her. + </p> + <p> + “Because I have come to see you; because I wish to shake hands with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you wish to do that?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I wish to be your friend. May we not be friends? I am not much + older than you, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “You are centuries younger. Who sent you here? Dr. Kemp?” + </p> + <p> + “No one sent me; I came of my own free will.” + </p> + <p> + “Then go as you came.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + She stood gracefully and quietly before her. Rose Delano moved farther + from her, as if to escape her grave brown eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You do not know what you are doing,” cried the girl, excitedly; “have you + no father or mother, no one to tell you what a girl should not do?” + </p> + <p> + “I have both; but I have also a friend,—Dr. Kemp.” + </p> + <p> + “He is my friend too,” affirmed Rose, tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “Then we have one good thing in common; and since he is my friend and + yours, why should we not be friends?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he is a man, and you are a woman. He has then told you my story?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you feel yourself unharmed in coming here—to such a creature as + I?” + </p> + <p> + “I feel nothing but pity for you; I do not blame you. But, oh, little one, + I do so grieve for you because you won’t believe that the world is not all + merciless. Come, give me your hand.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, clasping her hands behind her and retreating as the other + advanced; “go away, please. You are very good, but you are very foolish. + Bad as I am, however, I shall not let you harm yourself more; leave my + room, please.” + </p> + <p> + “Not till I have held your hands in mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop! I tell you I don’t want you to come here; I don’t want your + friendship. Can’t you go now, or are you afraid that your sweetheart will + upbraid you if you fail to carry out his will?” + </p> + <p> + “My sweetheart?” she asked in questioning wonder. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; only a lover could make a girl like you so forget herself. I speak + of Dr. Kemp.” + </p> + <p> + “But he is not my lover,” she stated, still speaking gently, but with a + pale face turned to her companion. + </p> + <p> + “I—I—beg your pardon,” faltered the girl, humbly drooping her + head, shamed by the cold pride in her tormentor’s face; “but why, oh, why, + then, won’t you go?” she continued, wildly sobbing. “I assure you it is + best.” + </p> + <p> + “This is best,” said Ruth, deliberately; and before Rose knew it she had + seized her two hands, and unclasping them from behind her, drew them to + her own breast. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” she said, holding them tightly, “who is the stronger, you or I?” + She looked pleasantly down at the tear-stained face so close to hers. + </p> + <p> + “O God!” breathed the girl, her storm-beaten eyes held by the power of her + captor’s calmness. + </p> + <p> + “Now we are friends,” said Ruth, softly, “shall we sit down and talk?” + </p> + <p> + Still holding the slender hands, she drew up a chair, and seating the + frail girl in the armchair, sat down beside her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, wait!” whispered Rose; “let me tell you everything before you make me + live again.” + </p> + <p> + “I know everything; and truly, Rose, nothing you can say could make me + wish to befriend you less.” + </p> + <p> + “How nobly, how kindly he must have told you!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! He told me nothing but the truth. To me you are a victim, not a + culprit. And now, tell me, do you feel perfectly strong?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes.” The little hand swept in agony over her sad, childish face. + </p> + <p> + “Then you ought to go out for a nice walk. You have no idea how pleasant + it is this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t, indeed I can’t! and, oh, why should I?” + </p> + <p> + “You can and you must, because you must go to work soon.” + </p> + <p> + Two frightened eyes were raised to hers. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she added, patting the hand she held; “you are a teacher, are you + not?” + </p> + <p> + “I was,” she replied, the catch in her voice still audible. + </p> + <p> + “What are you used to teaching?” + </p> + <p> + “Spanish, and English literature.” + </p> + <p> + “Spanish—with your blue eyes!” The sudden outburst of surprise sent + a faint April-like beam into Rose’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Si, Senorita.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you must teach me. Let me see. Wednesdays,—Wednesday + afternoon, yes?” + </p> + <p> + Again the frightened eyes appealed to her; but Ruth ignored them. + </p> + <p> + “And so many of my friends would like to speak Spanish. Will you teach + them too?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Miss Levice, how can I go with such a past?” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you,” said Ruth, proudly rearing her head, “if I introduce you as + my friend, you are, you must be, presentable.” + </p> + <p> + The pale lips strove to answer her. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow I shall come with a number of names of girls who are ‘dying,’ + as they say, to speak Spanish, and then you can go and make arrangements + with them. Will you?” + </p> + <p> + Thus pushed to the wall, Rose’s tear-filled eyes were her only answer. + </p> + <p> + Ruth’s own filled in turn. + </p> + <p> + “Dear little Rose,” she said, her usual sweet voice coming back to her, + “won’t it be lovely to do this? You will feel so much better when you once + get out and are earning your independent, pleasant living again. And now + will you forgive me for having been so harsh?” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive you!” A red spot glowed on each pallid cheek; she raised her eyes + and said with simple fervor, “I would die for you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but you may live for me,” laughed Ruth, rising; “will you promise me + to go out this morning, just for a block or two?” + </p> + <p> + “I promise you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, good-by.” She held out her hand meaningly; a little + fluttering one was placed in hers, and Ruth bent and kissed the wistful + mouth. That pure kiss would have wiped out every stain from Rose’s + worshipping soul. + </p> + <p> + “I shall see you to-morrow surely,” she called back, turning a radiant + face to the lonely little figure in the doorway. She felt deliriously + happy as she ran down the stairs; her eyes shone like stars; a buoyant + joyfulness spoke in her step. + </p> + <p> + “It is so easy to be happy when one has everything,” she mused. She forgot + to add, “And gives much.” There is so much happiness derived from a kind + action that were it not for the motive, charity might be called supreme + selfishness. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XI. + </h2> + <p> + She told her mother in a few words at luncheon that she had arranged to + take Spanish lessons from a young protege of Dr. Kemp, who had been ill + and was in want. + </p> + <p> + “And I was thinking,” she added with naive policy, “that I might combine a + little business with pleasure this afternoon,—pay off some of those + ever urgent calls you accuse me of outlawing, and at the same time try to + get up a class of pupils for Miss Delano. What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “That would be nice; don’t forget Mrs. Bunker. I know you don’t like her, + but you must pay a call for the musical which we did not attend; and she + has children who might like to learn Spanish. I wonder if I could take + lessons too; it would not be exciting, and I am not yet so old but I may + learn.” + </p> + <p> + “You might ask the doctor. He has almost dismissed himself now; and after + we get back from the country perhaps Jennie would join us two in a class. + Mother and daughter can then go to school together.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very fortunate,” Mrs. Levice observed pensively, sipping her + necessary glass of port, “that C—— sent your hat this morning + to wear with your new gown. Isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “Fortunate!” Ruth exclaimed, laughing banteringly; “it is destiny.” + </p> + <p> + So Mrs. Levice slipped easily into Ruth’s plan from a social standpoint, + and Ruth slipped out, trim and graceful, from her mother’s artistic + manipulations. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Mrs. Levice intended writing some delayed letters till her + husband’s return, which promised to be early in the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + She had just about settled herself at her desk when Jennie Lewis came + bustling in. Mrs. Lewis always brought in a sense of importance; one + looked upon her presence with that exhilarating feeling with which one + anticipates the latest number of a society journal. + </p> + <p> + “Go right on with your writing, Aunt Esther,” she said after they had + exchanged greetings. “I have brought my work, so I shall not mind the + quiet in the least.” + </p> + <p> + “As if I would bore you in that way!” returned Mrs. Levice, with a + laughing glance at her, as she closed her desk. “Lay off your things, and + let us have a downright comfortable afternoon. Don’t forget a single + sensation; I am actually starving for one.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Lewis smiled grimly as she fluffed up her bang with her hat-pin. She + drew up a second cosey rocking-chair near her aunt’s, drew out her needle + and crochet-work, and as the steel hook flashed in and out, her tongue + soon acquired its accustomed momentum. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Ruth?” she began, winding her thread round her chubby, + ring-bedecked finger. + </p> + <p> + “She is paying off some calls for a change.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! Got down to conventionality again?” “You would not call her + unconventional, would you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well; every one has a right to an opinion.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice glanced at her inquiringly. Without doubt there was an + underground mine beneath this non-committal remark. Mrs. Lewis rocked + violently backward and forward without raising her eyes. Her face was + beet-red, and it looked as if an explosion were imminent. Mrs. Levice + waited with no little speculation as to what act of Ruth her cousin + disapproved of so obviously. She like Jennie; every one who knew her + recognized her sterling good heart; but almost every one who knew her + agreed that a grain of flour was a whole cake, baked and iced, to Mrs. + Lewis’s imagination, and these airy comfits were passed around + promiscuously to whoever was on hand. Not a sound broke the portentous + silence but the decided snap with which Mrs. Lewis pulled her needle + through, and the hurricane she raised with her rocking. + </p> + <p> + “I was at the theatre last night.” + </p> + <p> + The blow drew no blood. + </p> + <p> + “Which theatre?” asked Mrs. Levice, innocently. + </p> + <p> + “The Baldwin; Booth played the ‘Merchant of Venice.’” + </p> + <p> + “Did you enjoy it?” queried her aunt, either evading or failing to + perceive the meaning. + </p> + <p> + “I did.” A pause, and then, “Did Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice saw a flash of daylight, but her answer hinted at no + perturbation. + </p> + <p> + “Very much. Booth is her actor-idol, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “So I have heard.” She spread her crochet work on her knee as if measuring + its length, then with striking indifference picked it up again and + adjusted her needle,— + </p> + <p> + “She came in rather late, didn’t she?” + </p> + <p> + “Did she?” questioned Mrs. Levice, parrying with enjoyment the indirect + thrusts. “I did not know; had the curtain risen?” + </p> + <p> + “No; there was plenty of time for every one to recognize her.” + </p> + <p> + “I had no idea she was so well known.” + </p> + <p> + “Those who did not know her, knew her escort. Dr. Kemp is well known, and + his presence is naturally remarked.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; his appearance is very striking.” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Esther!” The vehemence of Mrs. Lewis’s feelings sent her ball of + cotton rolling to the other end of the room. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, what is it?” Mrs. Levice turned a pair of bright, interested + eyes on her niece. + </p> + <p> + “You know very well what I wish to say: everybody wondered to see Ruth + with Dr. Kemp.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because every one knows that she never goes out with any gentleman but + Uncle or Louis, and we all were surprised. The Hoffmans sat behind us, and + Miss Hoffman leaned forward to ask what it meant. I met several + acquaintances this morning who had been there, and each one made some + remark about Ruth. One said, ‘I had no idea the Levices were so intimate + with Dr. Kemp;’ another young girl laughed and said, ‘Ruth Levice had a + swell escort last night, didn’t she?’ Still another asked, ‘Anything on + the tapis in your family, Mrs. Lewis?’ And what could I say?” + </p> + <p> + “What did you say?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice’s quiet tone did not betray her vexation. She had feared just + such a little disturbance from the Jewish community, but her husband’s + views had overruled hers, and she was now bound to uphold his. + Nevertheless, she hated anything of the kind. + </p> + <p> + “I simply said I knew nothing at all about it, except that he was your + physician. Even if I had known, I wouldn’t have said more.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no more to be said. Dr. Kemp and Ruth have become friendly + through their mutual interest in several poor patients; and in the course + of conversation one morning he heard that Ruth was anxious to see this + play, and had no escort. So he asked her, and her father saw no objection + to her going. It is a pity she didn’t think to hand round a written + explanation to her different Jewish friends in the theatre.” + </p> + <p> + “There you go, Aunt Esther! Jewish friends! I am sure that no matter how + indifferent Uncle is to such things, you must remember that our Jewish + girls never go alone to the theatre with any one outside of the family, + and certainly not with a Christian.” + </p> + <p> + “What has that to do with it, so long as he is a gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. Only I didn’t think you cared to have Ruth’s name coupled with + one.” + </p> + <p> + “No, nor with any one. But as I cannot control people’s tongues—” + </p> + <p> + “Then I would not give them cause for wagging. Aunt Esther, is there + anything between Ruth and Dr. Kemp?” + </p> + <p> + “Jennie, you surprise and anger me. Do you know what you insinuate?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t help it. Either you are crazy, or ignorant of what is going on, + and I consider it my duty to enlighten you,”—a gossip’s duties are + all away from home,—“unless, of course, you prefer to remain in + blissful or wilful ignorance.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak out, please.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I knew you must have sanctioned her going last night, though, I + must confess, I still think you did very wrongly; but do you know where + she went this morning?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice was put out. She was enough of a Jewess to realize that if you + dislike Jewish comment, you must never step out of the narrowly + conventional Jewish pathway. That Ruth, her only daughter, should be the + subject of vulgar bandying was more bitter than wormwood to her; but that + her own niece could come with these wild conjectures incensed her beyond + endurance. + </p> + <p> + “I do know,” she said in response to the foregoing question. “Ruth is not + a sneak,—she tells me everything; but her enterprises are so mild + that there would be no harm if she left them untold. She called on a poor + young girl who, after a long illness, desires pupils in Spanish.” + </p> + <p> + “A friend of Dr. Kemp.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “A young girl, unmarried, who, a few weeks ago, through a merciful fate, + lost her child at its birth.” + </p> + <p> + The faint flush on Mrs. Levice’s cheek receded. + </p> + <p> + “Who told you this?” she questioned in an even, low voice. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you could not know. Mrs. Blake, the landlady where the girl + lives, told me.” + </p> + <p> + “And how, pray, do you connect Ruth with this girl?” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you. Mrs. Blake does my white sewing. I was there this + morning; and just as I went into her room, I saw Ruth leaving another + farther down the hall. Naturally I asked Mrs. Blake who had the room, and + she told me the story.” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally.” The cutting sarcasm drove the blood to Mrs. Lewis’s face. + </p> + <p> + “For me it was; and in this case,” she retorted with rising accents, “my + vulgar curiosity had its vulgar reward. I heard a scandalous account of + the girl whom my cousin was visiting, and, outside of Dr. Kemp, Ruth is + the only visitor she has had.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to hear this, Jennie.” + </p> + <p> + “I know you are, Aunt Esther. But what I find so very queer is that Dr. + Kemp, who pretends to be her friend,—and I have seen them together + many times,—should have sent her there. Don’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand it at all,—neither Ruth nor him.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely you don’t think Ruth knew anything of this?” questioned Mrs. + Lewis, leaning forward and raising her voice in horror. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” returned Mrs. Levice, rather lamely. She had long ago + acknowledged to herself that there were depths in her daughter’s nature + that she had never gauged. + </p> + <p> + “I know what an idol his patients make of him, but he is a man + nevertheless; and though you may think it horrible of me, it struck me as + very suggestive that he was that girl’s only friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Therefore he must have been a good friend.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Lewis bounded from her chair and turned a startled face to Mr. + Levice, who had thus spoken, standing in the doorway. Mrs. Levice breathed + a sigh of hysterical relief. + </p> + <p> + “Good-afternoon, Jennie,” he said, coming into the room and shaking her + hand; “sit down again. Good-afternoon Esther;” he stooped to kiss his + wife. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Lewis’s hands trembled; she looked, to say the least, ashamed. She + had been caught scandal-mongering by her uncle, Jules Levice, the head and + pride of the whole family. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry I heard what I did, Jennie; sorry to think that you are so + poor as to lay the vilest construction on an affair of which you evidently + know nothing, and sorry you could not keep your views to yourself.” It was + the habit of all of Levice’s relatives to listen in silence to any + personal reprimand the dignified old man might offer. + </p> + <p> + “I heard a good part of your conversation, and I can only characterize it + as—petty. Can’t you and your friends see anything without springing + at shilling-shocker conclusions? Don’t you know that people sometimes + enjoy themselves without any further design? So much for the theatre talk. + What is more serious is the fact that you could so misjudge my honorable + friend, Dr. Kemp. Such a thing, Jennie, my girl, would be as remote from + Dr. Kemp’s possibilities as the antipodes. Remember, what I say is + indisputable. Whether Ruth knew the story of this girl or not, I cannot + say, but either way I feel assured that what she did was well done—if + innocently; if with knowledge, so much the better. And I venture to assert + that she is not a whit harmed by the action. In all probability she will + tell us all the particulars if we ask her. Otherwise, Jennie, don’t you + think you have been unnecessarily alarmed?” The benign gentleness of his + question calmed Mrs. Lewis. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle,” she replied earnestly, “in my life such things are not trivial; + perhaps because my life is narrower. I know you and Ruth take a different + view of everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t disparage yourself; people generally do that to be contradicted or + to show that they know their weaknesses and have never cared to change + them. A woman of your intelligence need never sink to the level of a + spiteful chatterbox; every one should keep his tongue sheathed, for it is + more deadly than a sword. Your higher interests should make you overlook + every little action of your neighbors. You only see or hear what takes + place when the window is open; you can never judge from this what takes + place when the window is shut. How are the children?” + </p> + <p> + By dint of great tenderness he strove to make her more at ease. + </p> + <p> + Ruth, confronted with their knowledge, confessed, with flushed cheeks and + glowing eyes, her contretemps. + </p> + <p> + “And,” she said in conclusion, “Father, Mamma, nothing you can say will + make me retract anything I have done or purpose doing.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing?” repeated her father. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you won’t ask me to, but that is my decision.” + </p> + <p> + “My darling, I dislike to hear you call yourself a mule,” said her father, + looking at her with something softer than disapproval; “but in this case I + shall not use the whip to turn you from your purpose. Eh, Esther?” + </p> + <p> + “It is Quixotic,” affirmed Mrs. Levice; “but since you have gone so far, + there is no reasonable way of getting out of it. When next I see the + doctor, I shall speak to him of it.” + </p> + <p> + “There will be no occasion, dear,” remonstrated the indulgent father, at + sight of the annoyed flash in Ruth’s eyes; “I shall.” + </p> + <p> + By which it will be seen that the course of an only child is not so smooth + as one of many children may think; every action of the former assumes such + prominence that it is examined and cross-examined, and very often sent to + Coventry; whereas, in a large family, the happy-go-lucky offspring has his + little light dimmed, and therefore less remarked, through the propinquity + of others. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XII + </h2> + <p> + If Ruth, in the privacy of her heart, realized that she was sailing toward + dangerous rapids, the premonition gave her no unpleasant fears. Possibly + she used no lens, being content to glide forever on her smooth stream of + delight. When the sun blinds us, we cannot see the warning black lurking + in the far horizon. Without doubt the girl’s soul and sympathies were + receiving their proper food. Life was full for her, not because she was + occupied,—for a busy life does not always prove a full one,—but + because she entered thoroughly into the lives of others, struggled with + their struggles, triumphed in their triumphs, and was beginning to see in + everything, good or bad, its necessity of existence. Under ordinary + circumstances one cannot see much misery without experiencing a world of + disillusion and futile rebellion of spirit; but Ruth was not living just + at that time under ordinary circumstances. + </p> + <p> + Something of the nature of electricity seemed to envelop her, that made + her pulses bound, her lips quick to smile, and her eyes shine like twin + dreamstars. She seemed to be moving to some rapturous music unheard save + only by herself. At night, alone with her heart, she dared hardly name to + herself the meaning of it all, a puritanic modesty withheld her. Yet all + the sweet humility of which she was possessed could not banish from her + memory the lingering clasp of a hand, the warm light that fell from eyes + that glanced at her. For the present, these were grace sufficient for her + daily need. Given the perfume, what need to name the flower? + </p> + <p> + Her family, without understanding it, noted the difference in their + different ways. Mrs. Levice saw with a thrill of delight that she was + growing more softly beautiful. Her father, holding his hands a few inches + from her shoulders, said, one morning, with a drolly puzzled look, “I am + afraid to touch you; sparks might fly.” + </p> + <p> + Arnold surprised her standing in the gloaming by a window, her hands + clasped over her head, a smile parting her lips, her eyes haunting in the + witchery of their expression. By some occult power her glance fell + unconsciously on him; and he beheld, with mingled amazement and + speculation, a rosy hue overspread her face and throat; her hands went + swiftly to her face as if she would hide something it might reveal, and + she passed quickly from the room. Arnold sat down to solve this problem of + an unknown quantity. + </p> + <p> + Ruth’s birthday came in its course, a few days after her meeting with Rose + Delano. + </p> + <p> + The family celebrated it in their usual simple way, which consisted only + in making the day pass pleasantly for the one whose day of days it was,—a + graceful way of showing that the birth has been a happy one for all + concerned. + </p> + <p> + On this evening of her twenty-second birthday, Ruth seemed to be in her + element. She had donned, in a spirit of mischief, a gown she had worn five + years before on the occasion of some festivity. The girlish fashion of the + white frock, with its straight, full skirt to her ankles, the round baby + waist, and short puffs on her shoulders made a very child of her. + </p> + <p> + “Who can imagine me seventeen?” she asked gayly as she entered the + library, softly lighted by many wax candles. Her mother, who was again + enjoying the freedom of the house, and who was now snugly ensconced in her + own particular chair, looked up at her. + </p> + <p> + “That little frock makes me long to take you in my lap,” said she, + brightly. + </p> + <p> + “And it makes me long to be there,” answered Ruth, throwing herself into + her mother’s arms and twining her arms about her neck. + </p> + <p> + “How now, Mr. Arnold, you can’t scare me tonight with your sarcastic + disapproval!” she laughed, glancing provokingly over at her cousin seated + in a deep blue-cushioned chair. + </p> + <p> + “I have no desire to scare you, little one,” he answered pleasantly. “I + only do that to children or grown-up people.” + </p> + <p> + “And what am I, pray, good sir?” + </p> + <p> + “You are neither; you are neither child or woman; you are neither flesh + nor spirit; you are uncanny.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me! In other words, I am a conundrum. Who will guess me?” + </p> + <p> + “You are the Sphinx,” replied her cousin. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t be that ugly-faced thing,” she retorted; “guess again.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible. Once acquire a sphinx’s elusiveness and you are a mystery + perpetual. You alone can unriddle the riddle.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t. I give myself up.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so fast, young woman,” broke in her father, shutting his magazine and + settling his glasses more firmly upon his nose; “that is an office I alone + can perform. Who has been hunting on my preserves?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! They are not tempting, so be quite calm on that score.” She sat up + with a forlorn sigh, adding, “Think of it, Father, twenty-two, and not a + heart to hang on my chatelaine.” + </p> + <p> + “Hands are supposed to mean hearts nowadays,” said Louis, reassuringly; “I + am sure you have mittened one or two.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” she answered, laughing evasively, “both of little Toddie + Flynn’s. Mamma, don’t you think I am too big a baby for you to hold long?” + She sprang up, and drawing a stool before her father’s chair, exclaimed,— + </p> + <p> + “Now, Father, a grown-up Mother-Goose story for my birthday; make it short + and sweet and with a moral like you.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Levice patted her head and rumpled the loosely gathered hair. + </p> + <p> + “Once upon a time,” he began, “a little boy went into his father’s + warehouse and ate up all the sugar in the land. He did not die, but he was + so sweet that everybody wanted to bite him. That is short and sweet; and + what is the moral?” + </p> + <p> + “Selfishness brings misery,” answered Ruth, promptly; “clever of both of + us, but what is the analogy? Louis, you look lonesome over there. I feel + as if I were masquerading; come nearer the footlights.” + </p> + <p> + “And get scorched for my pains? Thanks; this is very comfortable. Distance + adds to illusion.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean to admit you have any illusions, do you? Why, those + glasses of yours could see through a rhinoceros, I verily believe. Did you + ever see anything you did not consider a delusion and a snare?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; there is a standing institution of whose honest value there is no + doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “And that is?” + </p> + <p> + “My bed.” + </p> + <p> + “After all, it is a lying institution, my friend; and are you not deposing + your masculine muse,—your cigar? Oh, that reminds me of the annual + peace-pipe.” + </p> + <p> + She jumped up, snatched a candle, and left the room. As she turned toward + the staircase she was arrested by the ringing of the doorbell. She stood + quite still, holding the lighted candle while the maid opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “Is Miss Levice in?” asked the voice that made the little candle-light + seem like myriads of swimming stars. As the maid answered in the + affirmative, she came mechanically forward and met the bright-glancing + eyes of Dr. Kemp. + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening,” she said, holding out her disengaged hand, which he + grasped and shook heartily. + </p> + <p> + “Is it Santa Filomena?” he asked, smiling into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “No, only Ruth Levice, who is pleased to see you. Will you step into the + library? We are having a little home evening together.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. Directly.” He slipped out of his topcoat, and turning quietly + to her, said, “But before we go in, and I enact the odd number, I wish to + say a few words to you alone, please.” + </p> + <p> + She bent a look of inquiry upon him, and meeting the gaze of his + compelling eyes, led him across the hall into the drawing-room. He noticed + how the soft light she held made her the only white spot in the dark room, + till, touching a tall silver lamp, she threw a rosy halo over everything. + That it was an exquisite, graceful apartment he felt at a glance. + </p> + <p> + She placed her candle upon a tiny rococo table, and seated herself in a + quaint, low chair overtopped by two tiny ivory horns that spread like + hands of blessing above her head. The doctor declined to sit down, but + stood with one hand upon the fragile table and looked down at her. + </p> + <p> + “I am inclined to think, after all,” he said slowly, “that you are in + truth the divine lady with the light. It is a pretty name and a pretty + fame,—that of Santa Filomena.” + </p> + <p> + What had come over her eyelids that they refused to be raised? + </p> + <p> + “I think,” he continued with a low laugh, “that I shall always call you + so, and have all rights reserved. May I?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” she answered, raising her eyes, “that your poem would be + without rhyme or reason; a candle is too slight a thing for such an + assumption.” + </p> + <p> + “But not a Rose Delano. I saw her to-day, and at least one sufferer would + turn to kiss your shadow. Do you know what a wonderfully beautiful thing + you have done? I came to-night to thank you; for any one who makes good + our ideals is a subject for thanks. Of course, the thing had no personal + bearing upon myself; but being an officious fellow, I thought it proper to + let you know that I know. That is my only excuse for coming.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you need an excuse?” + </p> + <p> + “That, or an invitation.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I never thought of you—as—as—” + </p> + <p> + “As a man?” + </p> + <p> + How to answer this? Then finally she said,— + </p> + <p> + “As caring to waste an evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Would it be a waste? There is an old adage that one might adapt, then, ‘A + wilful waste makes a woful want.’ Want is a bad thing, so economy would + not be a half-bad idea. Shall we go in to your family now, or will they + not think you have been spirited away?” + </p> + <p> + He took the candle from her, and they retraced their steps. As she turned + the handle of the door, she said,— + </p> + <p> + “Will you give me the candle, please, and walk in? I am going upstairs.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you coming down again?” he asked, standing abruptly still. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. Father,” she called, opening wide the door, “here is Dr. Kemp.” + </p> + <p> + With this announcement she fled up the staircase. + </p> + <p> + She had come up for some cigars; but when she got into her father’s room, + she seated herself blindly and looked aimlessly down at her hands. What a + blessed reprieve this was! If she could but stay here! She could if it + were not for the peace-pipe. Such a silly performance too! Father kept + those superfine cigars over in the cabinet there. Should she bring only + two as usual? Then she was going? Why not? It would look very rude not to + do so. Besides, she wondered what they were talking about. She supposed + she must have looked very foolish in that gown with her hair all mussed; + and then his eyes—— She arose suddenly and walked to the + dressing-table with her light. After all, it was not very unbecoming. Had + her face been so white all the evening? Louis liked her face to be + colorless. Oh, she had better hurry down. + </p> + <p> + “Here comes the chief!” cried her mother as she entered. “Now, Doctor, you + can see the native celebrating her natal day.” + </p> + <p> + “She enacts the witch,” said her father “and sends us, living, to the + happy hunting-grounds. Will you join us, Doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “If Lachesis thinks me worthy. Is the operation painful?” + </p> + <p> + He received no answer as Ruth came forward with a box of tempting Havanas. + She selected one, and placing the box on a chair, reached to the + high-tiled mantel-shelf, whence she took a tiny pair of scissors and + deftly cut off the point of the cigar. She seemed quite unconscious that + all were watching her. Louis handed her a lighted match, and putting the + cigar between her lips, she lit it into life. The doctor was amused. + </p> + <p> + She blew up a wreath of the fragrant smoke and handing it to her father, + said,— + </p> + <p> + “With this year’s love, Father.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor grew interested. + </p> + <p> + She took another, and lighting it as gracefully, and without the slightest + approach to Bohemianism, gave it into Louis’s outstretched hand. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he suggested, holding it from his lips till she had spoken. + </p> + <p> + “I can think of nothing you care for sufficiently to wish you.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing?” + </p> + <p> + “Unless,” with sudden mischief, “I wish you a comfortable bed all the year + round—and pleasant dreams, Louis.” + </p> + <p> + “That is much,” he answered dryly as he drew a cloud of smoke. + </p> + <p> + The doctor became anticipative. + </p> + <p> + Ruth’s embarrassment was evident as she turned and offered him a cigar. + </p> + <p> + “Do you smoke?” she asked, holding out the box. + </p> + <p> + “Like a chimney,” he replied, looking at her, but taking none, “and in the + same manner as other common mortals.” + </p> + <p> + She stood still, but withdrew her hand a little as if repelling the hint + his words conveyed; whereupon he immediately selected a cigar, saying as + he did so, “So you were born in summer,—the time of all good things. + Well, ‘Thy dearest wish, wish I thee,’ and may it not pass in the + smoking!” + </p> + <p> + She swept him a deep, mock courtesy. + </p> + <p> + After this, Ruth sat a rather silent listener to the conversation. She + knew that they were discussing the pros and cons of the advantages for a + bachelor of club life over home life. She knew that Louis was making some + brilliantly cynical remarks,—asserting that the apparent privacy of + the latter was delusive, and that the reputed publicity of the former was + deceptive, as it was even more isolated than the latter. All of which the + doctor laughed down as untruly epigrammatic. + </p> + <p> + “Then there is only one loophole for the poor bachelor,” Mrs. Levice + summed up, “and that is to marry. Louis complains of the club, and thinks + himself a sort of cynosure in a large household. You, Doctor, complain of + the want of coseyness in a bachelor establishment. To state it simply, you + need a wife.” + </p> + <p> + “And oust my Pooh-ba! Madame, you do not know what a treasure that old + soldier of mine is. If I call him a veritable Martha, I shall but be + paying proper tribute to the neatness with which he keeps my house and + linen; he entertains my palate as deliciously as a Corinne her salon, and—is + never in my way or thoughts. Can you commend me any woman so + self-abnegatory?” + </p> + <p> + “Many women, but no wife, I am glad to say. But you need one.” + </p> + <p> + “So! Pray explain wherein the lack is apparent.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not to me, but—” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you consider a wife an adjunct to a doctor’s certificate.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a great guarantee with women,” put in Louis, “as a voucher against + impatience with their own foibles. They think only home practice can + secure the adequate tolerance. Eh, Aunt Esther?” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Louis!” interrupted Mr. Levice; “what has that to do with + skill?” + </p> + <p> + “Skill is one thing; the manner of man is another—with women.” + </p> + <p> + “That is worth considering—or adding to the curriculum,” observed + Kemp, turning his steady, quiet gaze upon Arnold. + </p> + <p> + Ruth noticed that the two men had taken the same position,—vis—vis + to each other in their respective easy-chairs, their heads thrown back + upon the cushions, their arms resting on the chair-arms. Something in + Louis’s veiled eyes caused her to interpose. + </p> + <p> + “Will you play, Louis?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not to-night, ma cousine,” he replied, glancing at her from lowered lids. + </p> + <p> + “It is not optional with you to-night, Louis,” she insisted playfully, + rising; “we—desire you to play.” + </p> + <p> + “Or be punished for treason? Has your Majesty any other behest?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I shall even turn the leaves for you.” + </p> + <p> + “The leaves of what,—memory? I’ll play by rote.” + </p> + <p> + He strolled over to the piano and sat down. He struck a few random chords, + some soft, some florid, some harsh, some melting; he strung them together + and then glided into a dreamy, melodious rhythm, that faded into a + bird-like hallelujah,—swelling now into grandeur, then fainting into + sobs, then rushing into an allegro so brilliantly bewildering that when + the closing chords came like the pealing tones of an organ, Ruth drew a + long sigh with the last lingering vibrations. + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” asked Levice, looking curiously at his nephew, who, + turning on his music-chair, took up his cigar again. + </p> + <p> + “That,” he replied, flecking an ash from his coat lapel, “has no name that + I know of; some people call it ‘The Soul.’” + </p> + <p> + A pained sensation shot through Ruth at his words, for he had plainly been + improvising, and he must have felt what he had played. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Ruth, sing this,” he continued, turning round and picking up a + sheet of music. + </p> + <p> + “What?” she asked without moving. + </p> + <p> + “‘The bugle;’ I like it.” + </p> + <p> + Kemp looked at her expectantly. He said he had not known she sang; but + since she did, he was sure her voice was contralto. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Because your face is contralto.” + </p> + <p> + She turned from his eyes as if they hurt her, and walked over to Louis’s + side. + </p> + <p> + It could hardly be called singing. Louis had often said that her voice + needed merely to be set to rhythmic time to be music; in pursuance of + which idea he would put into her hand some poem that touched his fancy, + tell her to read it, and as she read, he would adapt to it an + accompaniment according to the meaning and measure of the lines,—grandly + solemn, daintily tripping, or wildly inspiriting. It was more like a chant + than a song. To-night he chose Tennyson’s Bugle-song. Her voice was + subservient to the accompaniment, that shook its faint, sweet bugle-notes + at first as in a rosy splendor; it rose and swelled and echoed and + reverberated and died away slowly as if loath to depart. Arnold’s playing + was the poem, Ruth’s voice the music the poet might have heard as he + wrote, sweet as a violin, deep as the feeling evolved,—for when she + came to the line beginning, “oh, love, they die in yon rich sky,” she + might have stood alone with one, in some high, clear place, so mellow was + the thrill of her voice, so rapt the expression of her face. Kemp looked + as if he would not tire if the sound should “grow forever and forever.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice was wakeful after she had gone to bed. Her husband also seemed + inclined to prolong the night, for he made no move to undress. + </p> + <p> + “Jules,” said she in a low, confidential tone, “do you realize that our + daughter is twenty-two?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her with a half-smile. + </p> + <p> + “Is not this her birthday?” + </p> + <p> + “Her twenty-second, and she is still unmarried.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is time she were. I should like to see it.” + </p> + <p> + “So should I,” he acquiesced with marked decision. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice straightened herself up in bed and looked at her husband + eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible,” she exclaimed, “that we have both thought of the same + parti?” + </p> + <p> + It was now Mr. Levice’s turn to start into an interested position. + </p> + <p> + “Of whom,” he asked with some restraint, “are you speaking?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! Come here; I have longed for it for some time, but have never + breathed it to a soul,—Louis.” + </p> + <p> + “Levice had become quite pale, but as she pronounced the familiar name, + the color returned to his cheek, and a surprised look sprang into his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Louis? Why do you think of such a thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I think them particularly well suited. Ruth, pardon me, dear, has + imbibed some very peculiar and high-flown notions. No merely commonplace + young man would make her happy. A man must have some ideas outside of what + his daily life brings him, if she is to spend a moment’s interested + thought on him. She has repelled some of the most eligible advances for no + obvious reasons whatever. Now, she does not care a rap for society, and + goes only because I exact it. That is no condition for a young girl to + allow herself to sink into; she owes a duty to her future. I am telling + you this because, of course, you see nothing peculiar in such a course. + But it is time you were roused; you know one look from you is worth a + whole sermon from me. As to my thinking of Louis, well, in running over my + list of eligibles, I found he fulfilled every condition,—good-looking, + clever, cultivated, well-to-do, and—of good family. Why should it + not be? They like each other, and see enough of each other to learn to + love. We, however, must bring it to a head.” + </p> + <p> + “First provide the hearts, little woman. What can I do, ask Louis or + Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + “Jules,” she returned with vexation, “how childish! Don’t you feel well? + Your cheeks are rather flushed.” + </p> + <p> + “They are somewhat warm. I am going in to kiss the child good-night; she + ran off while I saw Dr. Kemp out.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth sat in her white dressing-gown, her heavy dark hair about her, her + brush idle in her hand. Her father stood silently in the doorway, + regarding her, a great dread tugging at his heart. Jules Levice was a keen + student of the human face, and he had caught a faint glimpse of something + in the doctor’s eyes while Ruth sang. He knew it had been harmless, for + her back had been turned, but he wished to reassure himself. + </p> + <p> + “Not in bed yet, my child?” + </p> + <p> + She started up in confusion as he came in. + </p> + <p> + “Of what were you thinking, darling?” he continued, putting his hand under + her soft white chin and looking deeply into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she answered slowly, “I was not thinking of anything important; I + was thinking of you. We are going to Beacham’s next week—and have + you any fine silk shirts?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed a hearty, relieved laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Well, no,” he answered; “I leave all such fancies to your care. So we go + next week. I am glad; and you?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Oh, I love the country in its summer dress, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Well, good-night, love.” He took her face between his hands, and + drawing it down to his, kissed it. Still holding her, he said with sweet + solemnity,— + </p> + <p> + “‘The Lord bless thee and keep thee. + </p> + <p> + “‘The Lord make his face to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee. + </p> + <p> + “‘The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XIII + </h2> + <p> + It was August. The Levices had purposely postponed leaving town until the + gay, merry-making crowds had disappeared, when Mrs. Levice, in the quiet + autumn, could put a crown to her recovery. + </p> + <p> + Ruth had quite a busy time getting all three ready, as she was to continue + the management of the household affairs until their return, a month later. + Besides which, numerous little private incidentals had to be put in + running order for a month, and she realized with a pang at parting with + some of her simple, sincere proteges that were this part of her life + withdrawn, the rest would pall insufferably. + </p> + <p> + The evening before their departure she stood bareheaded upon the steps of + the veranda with Louis, who was enjoying a post-prandial smoke. Mr. and + Mrs. Levice, in the soft golden gloaming of late summer, were strolling + arm-in-arm among the flower-beds. Mrs. Levice, without obviously looking + toward them, felt with satisfaction that Ruth was looking well in a plain + black gown which she had had no time to change after her late shopping. + She did not know that, close and isolated as the young man and woman + stood, not only were they silent, but each appeared oblivious of the + other’s presence. + </p> + <p> + Ruth, with her hands clasped behind her, and Arnold, blowing wreaths of + blue smoke into the heliotrope-scented air, looked as if under a + dream-spell. + </p> + <p> + As Mrs. Levice passed within ear-shot, Ruth heard snatches of the broken + sentence,— + </p> + <p> + “Jennie—good-by—to-day.” + </p> + <p> + This roused her from her revery, and she called to her mother,— + </p> + <p> + “Why, I forgot to drop in at Jennie’s this afternoon, as I promised.” + </p> + <p> + “How annoying! When you know how sensitive she is and how angry she gets + at any neglect.” + </p> + <p> + “I can run out there now. It is light enough.” + </p> + <p> + “But it will be dark in less than an hour. Louis, will you go out to + Jennie’s with Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Oh, certainly, if she wishes me.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you to come if you yourself wish it. I’ll run in and get my hat + and jacket while you decide.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth came back in a few minutes with a jaunty little sailor hat on and a + light gray jacket, which she handed to Louis to hold for her. + </p> + <p> + “New?” he asked, pulling it into place in the back. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered; “do you like it for travelling?” + </p> + <p> + “Under a duster. Otherwise its delicate complexion will be rather freckled + when you arrive at Beacham’s.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled his hat on from ease to respectability and followed her down to + the gate. They turned the corner, walking southward toward the valley. + Mrs. Levice and her husband stood at the gate and watched them saunter + off. When they were quite out of sight, Mrs. Levice turned around and sang + gayly to Mr. Levice, “‘Ca va bien!’” + </p> + <p> + The other two walked on silently. The evening was perfect. To the west and + sweeping toward Golden Gate a hazy glory flushed the sky rose-color and + molten gold, purple and silver; and then seas of glinting pale green to + the northward held the eye with their beauty. The air was soft and + languorous after a very warm day; now and then a piano, violin, or + mandolin sounded through open windows; the peace and beauty of rest was + over all. + </p> + <p> + They continued down Van Ness Avenue a few blocks, and unconsciously turned + into one of the dividing streets toward Franklin. Suddenly Arnold felt his + companion start, and saw she had taken her far-off gaze from the + landscape. Following the direction of her eyes, he also straightened up. + The disturbing object was a slight black column attached to a garden fence + and bearing in small gold letters the simple name, Dr. Herbert Kemp. + </p> + <p> + As they approached nearer, Arnold knew of a certainty that there would be + more speaking signs of the doctor’s propinquity. His forecasting was not + at fault. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Kemp’s quaint, dark-red cottage, with its flower-edged lawn, was + reached by a flight of low granite steps, at the top of which lounged the + medical gentleman in person. He was not heaven-gazing, but seemed plunged + in tobacco-inspired meditation of the flowers beneath him. Arnold’s quick + eye detected the pink flush that rose to the little ear of his cousin. The + sound of their footsteps on the stone sidewalk came faintly to Kemp; he + raised his eyes slowly and indifferently. The indifference vanished when + he recognized them. + </p> + <p> + With a hasty movement he threw the cigar from him and ran down the steps. + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening,” he called, raising his old slouch hat and arresting their + evident intention of proceeding on their way. They came up, perforce, and + met him at the foot of the steps. + </p> + <p> + “A beautiful evening,” he said originally, holding out a cordial hand to + Arnold and looking with happy eyes at Ruth. She noticed that there was a + marked difference in his appearance from anything she had been used to. + His figure looked particularly tall and easy in a loose dark velvet + jacket, thrown open from his broad chest; the large sombrero-like hat + which had settled on the back of his head left to view his dark hair + brushed carelessly backward; an unusual color was on his cheek, and a warm + glow in his gray eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” he went on, frankly transferring his attention to Ruth, “this + weather will continue. We shall have a magnificent autumn; the woods must + be beginning to look gorgeous.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall know better to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; we leave for Beacham’s to-morrow, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I did not know;” an indefinable shadow over-clouded his face, but he + said quickly,— + </p> + <p> + “That is an old hunting-ground of mine. The river teems with speckled + treasures. Are you a disciple of old Walton, Mr. Arnold?” he added, + turning with courtesy to the silent Frenchman. + </p> + <p> + “You mean fishing? No; life is too short to hang my humor of a whole day + on the end of a line. I have never been at Beacham’s.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a fine spot. You will probably go down there this year.” + </p> + <p> + “My business keeps me tied to the city just at present. A professional man + has no such bond; his will is his master.” + </p> + <p> + “Hardly, or I should have slipped cables long ago. A restful night is an + unknown indulgence sometimes for weeks.” + </p> + <p> + His gaze moved from Arnold’s peachy cheek, and falling upon Ruth, + surprised her dark eyes resting upon him in anxious questioning. He + smiled. + </p> + <p> + “We shall have to be moving on,” she said, holding out a gloved hand. + </p> + <p> + “Will you be gone long?” he asked, pressing it cordially. + </p> + <p> + “About a month.” + </p> + <p> + “You will be missed—by the Flynns. Good-by.” He raised his hat as he + looked at her. + </p> + <p> + Arnold drew her arm within his, and they walked off. + </p> + <p> + They say that the first thing a Frenchman learns in studying the English + language is the use of that highly expressive outlet of emotion, “Damn.” + Arnold was an old-timer, but he had not outgrown the charm of his first + linguistic victory; and now as he replaced his hat in reply to Kemp, he + distinctly though coolly said, “Damn him.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth looked at him, startled; but the composed, non-committal expression + of his face led her to believe that her ears had deceived her. + </p> + <p> + A few more blocks were passed, and they stopped at a pretentious, + many-windowed, Queen Anne house. Ruth ran lightly up the steps, her cousin + following her leisurely. + </p> + <p> + She had scarcely rung the bell when the door was opened by Mrs. Lewis + herself. + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening, Ruth; why, Mr. Arnold doesn’t mean to say that he does us + the honor?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Arnold had said nothing of the kind; but he offered no disclaimer, and + giving her rather a loose hand-shake, walked in. + </p> + <p> + “Come right into the dining-room,” she continued. “I suppose you were + surprised to find me in the hall; I had just come from putting the + children to bed. They were in mischievous spirits and annoyed their + father, who wished to be very quiet this evening.” + </p> + <p> + By this time they had reached the room at the end of the hall, the door of + which she threw open. + </p> + <p> + Jewish people, as a rule, use their dining-rooms to sit in, keeping the + drawing-rooms for company only. This is always presupposing that they have + no extra sitting-room. After all, a dining-room is not a bad place for the + family gathering, having a large table as an objective plane for a round + game, which also serves as a support for reading matter; while from an + economical point of view it preserves the drawing-rooms in reception + stiffness and ceremonious newness. + </p> + <p> + The apartment they entered was large and square, and contained the + regulation chairs, table, and silver and crystal loaded sideboard. + </p> + <p> + Upon the mantel-piece, the unflickering light from a waxen taper burning + in a glass of oil lent an unusual air of Sabbath quiet to the room. + </p> + <p> + “I have ‘Yahrzeit’ for my mother,” explained Jo Lewis, glancing toward the + taper after greeting his visitors. He sat down quietly again. + </p> + <p> + “Do you always burn the light?” asked Arnold. + </p> + <p> + “Always. A light once a year to a mother’s memory is not much to ask of a + son.” + </p> + <p> + “How long is it since you lost your mother?” questioned Ruth, gently. + </p> + <p> + Jo Lewis was a man with whom she had little in common. To her he seemed to + have but one idea,—the amassing of wealth. With her more + intellectual cravings, the continual striving for this, to the exclusion + of all higher aspirations, put him on a plane too narrow for her footing. + Unpolished he certainly was, but the rough, exposed grain of his unhewn + nature showed many strata of strength and virility. In this gentle mood a + tenderness had come into view that drew her to him with a touch of + kinship. + </p> + <p> + “Thirty years,” he answered musingly,—“thirty years. It is a long + time, Ruth; but every year when I light the taper it seems as if but + yesterday I was a boy crying because my mother had gone away forever.” The + strong man wiped his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “The little light casts a long ray,” observed Ruth. “Love builds its own + lighthouse, and by its gleaming we travel back as at a leap to that which + seemed eternally lost.” + </p> + <p> + Jo Lewis sighed. Presently the thoughts that so strongly possessed him + found an outlet. + </p> + <p> + “There was a woman for you!” he cried with glowing eyes. “Why, Arnold, you + talk of men being great financiers; I wonder what you would have said to + the powers my mother showed. We were poor, but poor to a degree of which + you can know nothing. Well, with a large family of small children she + struggled on alone and managed to keep us not only alive, but clean and + respectable. In our village Sara Lewis was a name that every man and woman + honored as if it belonged to a princess. Jennie is a good woman, but life + is made easy for her. I often think how grand my mother would feel if she + were here, and I were able to give her every comfort. God knows how proud + and happy I would have been to say, ‘You have struggled enough, Mother; + life is going to be a heaven on earth to you now.’ Well, well, what is the + good of thinking of it? To-morrow I shall go down town and deal with men, + not memories; it is more profitable.” + </p> + <p> + “Not always,” said Arnold, dryly. The two men drifted into a business + discussion that neither Mrs. Lewis nor Ruth cared to follow. + </p> + <p> + “Are you quite ready?” asked Mrs. Lewis, drawing her chair closer to + Ruth’s. + </p> + <p> + “Entirely,” she replied; “we start on the 8.30 train in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “You will be gone a month, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; we wish to get back for the holidays. New Year’s falls on the 12th + of September, and we must give the house its usual holiday cleaning.” + </p> + <p> + “I have begun already. Somehow I never thought you would mind being away.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, we always go to the Temple, you know; and I would not miss the + Atonement services for a great deal.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you say ‘Yom Kippur,’ as everybody else does?” + </p> + <p> + “Because ‘Atonement’ is English and means something to me. Is there + anything odd about that?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose not. By the way, if there is anything you would like to have + done while you are away, let me know.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I have seen to everything. You might run in and see Louis now and + then.” + </p> + <p> + “Louis,” Mrs. Lewis called instantly, “be sure to come in often for dinner + while the folks are gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; I shall. The last dinner I ate with you was delicious enough + to do away with any verbal invitation to another.” + </p> + <p> + He arose, seeing Ruth had risen and was kissing her cousins good-by. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Lewis beamed with pleasure at his words. + </p> + <p> + “Now, won’t you take something before you go?” she asked. “Ruth, I have + the loveliest cakes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Jennie,” remonstrated Ruth, as her cousin bustled off, “we have just + dined.” + </p> + <p> + “Let her enjoy herself,” observed Louis; “she is never so happy as when + she is feeding somebody.” + </p> + <p> + The clink of glasses was soon heard, and Mrs. Lewis’s rosy face appeared + behind a tray with tiny glasses and a plate of rich, brown-looking little + cakes. + </p> + <p> + “Jo, get the Kirsch. You must try one, Ruth; I made them myself.” + </p> + <p> + When they had complimented her on her cakes and Louis had drunk to his + next undertaking, suggested by Jo Lewis, the visitors departed. + </p> + <p> + They had been walking in almost total silence for a number of blocks, when + Ruth turned suddenly to him and said with great earnestness,— + </p> + <p> + “Louis, what is the matter with you? For the last few days you have hardly + spoken to me. Have I done anything to annoy you?” + </p> + <p> + “You? Why, no, not that I remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, please, before we go off, be friendly with me again.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I am not of a very hilarious temperament.” + </p> + <p> + “Still, you manage to talk to others.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you cared very much who talked to you lately?” + </p> + <p> + Her cheek changed color in the starlight. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Anything or nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth looked at him haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “If nothing,” he continued, observing her askance from lowered lids, “what + I am about to say will be harmless. If anything, I still hope you will + find it pardonable.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you about to say?” + </p> + <p> + “It won’t take long. Will you be my wife?” + </p> + <p> + And the stars still shone up in heaven! + </p> + <p> + Her face turned white as a Niphetos rose. + </p> + <p> + “Louis,” she said finally and speaking with difficulty, “why do you ask me + this?” + </p> + <p> + “Why does any man ask a woman to be his wife?” + </p> + <p> + “Generally because he loves her.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + If he had spoken outright, she might have answered him; but the simple + monosyllable, implying a world of restrained avowal, confronted her like a + wall, before which she stood silent. + </p> + <p> + “Answer me, Ruth.” + </p> + <p> + “If you mean it, Louis, I am very, very sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I can never be your wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not love you—like that.” + </p> + <p> + Silence for half a block, the man’s lips pressed hard together under his + mustache, the girl’s heart beating suffocatingly. When he spoke, his voice + sounded oddly clear in the hushed night air. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by ‘like that’?” + </p> + <p> + Her little hand was clinched tight as it lay on his arm. The perfect + silence that followed the words of each made every movement significant. + </p> + <p> + “You know,—as a woman loves the man she would marry, not as she + loves a brotherly cousin.” + </p> + <p> + “The difference is not clear to me—but—how did you learn the + difference?” + </p> + <p> + “How dare you?” she cried, flashing a pair of dark, wet eyes upon him. + </p> + <p> + “In such a case, ‘I dare do all that may become a man.’ Besides, even if + there is a difference, I still ask you to be my wife. You would not regret + it, Ruth, I think.” + </p> + <p> + His voice was not soft, but there was a certain strained pleading about it + that pained her inexpressibly. + </p> + <p> + “Louis,” she said, with slow distinctness, her hand moving down until it + touched his, “I never thought of this as a possibility. You know how much + I have always loved you, dear; but oh, Louis, will it hurt you very much, + will you forgive me if I have to say no, I cannot be your wife?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait. I wish you to consider this well. I am offering you all that I have + in the world; it is not despicable. Your family, I know, would be pleased. + Besides, it would be well for you—God knows, not because I am what I + am, but for other reasons. Wait. I beg of you not to answer me till you + have thought it over. You know me; I am no saint, but a man who would give + his life for you. I ask of you nothing but the right to guard yours. Do + not answer me now.” + </p> + <p> + They had turned the corner of their block. + </p> + <p> + “I need no time,” said Ruth, with a sad sob in her voice; “I cannot marry + you, Louis. My answer would be the same to-morrow or at the end of all + time,—I can never, never be your wife.” + </p> + <p> + “It is then as I feared,—anything.” + </p> + <p> + The girl’s bowed head was the only answer to his bitter words. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, with a hard laugh, “that ends it, then. Don’t let it + bother you. Your answer has put it entirely from my mind. I should be + pleased if you would forget it as readily as I shall. I hardly think we + shall meet in the morning. I am going down to the club now. Good-by; enjoy + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand carelessly; Ruth carried it in both hers to her lips. + Being at the gate, he lifted his hat with a smile and walked away. Ruth + did not smile; neither did Arnold when he had turned from her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XIV + </h2> + <p> + Beacham’s lies in a dimple of the inner coast range, and is reached + nowadays through one of the finest pieces of engineering skill in the + State. The tortuous route through the mountains, over trestle-bridges that + span what seem, from the car-windows, like bottomless chasms, needs must + hold some compensation at the end to counterbalance the fears engendered + on the way. The higher one goes the more beautiful becomes the scenery + among the wild, marvellous redwoods that stand like mammoth guides + pointing heavenward; and Beacham’s realizes expectation. + </p> + <p> + It is a quiet little place, with its one hotel and two attached cottages, + its old, disused saw-mill, its tiny schoolhouse beyond the fairy-like + woods, its one general merchandise store, where cheese and calico, hats + and hoes, ham and hominy, are forthcoming upon solicitation. It is by no + means a fashionable resort; the Levices had searched for something as + unlike the Del Monte and Coronado as milk is unlike champagne. They were + looking for a pretty, healthful spot, with good accommodations and few + social attractions, and Beacham’s offered this. + </p> + <p> + They were not disappointed. Ruth’s anticipation was fulfilled when she saw + the river. Russian River is about as pretty a stream as one can view upon + a summer’s day. Here at Beacham’s it is very narrow and shallow, with low, + shelving beaches on either bank; but in the tiny row-boat which she + immediately secured, Ruth pushed her way into enchantment. The river winds + in and out through exquisite coves entangled in a wilderness of brambles + and lace-like ferns that are almost transparent as they bend and dip + toward the silvery waters; while, climbing over the rocky cliffs, run + bracken and the fragrant yerba-buena, till, on high, they creep as if in + awe about the great redwoods and pines of the forest. + </p> + <p> + Morning and night Ruth, in her little boat, wooed the lisping waters. + Often of a morning her mother was her companion; later on, her father or + little Ethel Tyrrell; in the evening one of the Tyrrell boys, generally + Will, was her gallant chevalier. But it was always Ruth who rowed,—Ruth + in her pretty sailor blouses, with her strong round arms and steadily + browning hands; Ruth, whose creamy face and neck remained provokingly + unreddened, and took on only a little deeper tint, as if a dash of bistre + had been softly applied. It was pleasant enough rowing down-stream with + Ruth; she always knew when to sing “Nancy Lee,” and when “White Wings” + sounded prettiest. There were numerous coves too, where she loved to beach + her boat,—here to fill a flask with honey-sweet water from a + rollicking little spring that came merrily dashing over the rocks, here to + gather some delicate ferns or maiden-hair with which to decorate the + table, or the trailing yerba-buena for festooning the boat. But Ethel + Tyrrell, aged three, thought they had the “dolliest” time when she and + Ruth, having rowed a space out of sight, jumped out, and taking off their + shoes and stockings and making other necessary preliminaries to wading, + pattered along over the pebbly bottom, screaming when a sharp stone came + against their tender feet, and laughing gleefully when the water rose a + little higher than they had bargained for; then, when quite tired, they + would retire to the beach or the boat and dry themselves with the soft + damask of the sun. + </p> + <p> + Ruth was happy. There were moments when the remembrance of her last + meeting with Louis came like a summer cloud over the ineffable brightness + of her sky, and she felt a sharp pang at her heart; still, she thought, it + was different with Louis. His feeling for her could not be so strong as to + make him suffer poignantly over her refusal. She was almost convinced that + he had asked her more from a whim of good-fellowship, a sudden desire, + perhaps a preference for her close companionship when he did marry, than + from any deeper emotion. In consequence of these reflections her musings + were not so sad as they might otherwise have been. + </p> + <p> + Her parents laughed to see how she revelled in the freedom of the + old-fashioned little spot, which, though on the river, was decidedly “out + of the swim.” It was late in the season, and there were few guests at the + hotel. The Levices occupied one of the cottages, the other being used by a + pair of belated turtle-doves,—the wife a blushing dot of a woman, + the husband an overgrown youth who bent over her in their walks like a + devoted weeping-willow; there was a young man with a consumptive cough, a + natty little stenographer off on a solitary vacation, and the + golden-haired Tyrrell family, little and big, for Papa Tyrrell could not + enjoy his hard-earned rest without one and all. They were such a refined, + happy, sweet family, for all their pinched circumstances, that the Levices + were attracted to them at once. To be with Mrs. Tyrrell one whole day, + Mrs. Levice said was a liberal education,—so bright, so + uncomplaining, so ambitious for her children was she, and such a help and + inspiration to her hard-worked husband. Mr. Levice tramped about the woods + with Tyrrell and brier-wood pipes, and appreciated the moral bravery of a + man who struggled on with a happy face and small hope for any earthly + rest. But the children!—Floy with her dreamy face and busy + sketch-book, Will with his halo of golden hair, his manly figure and + broad, open ambitions, Boss with his busy step and fishing-tackle, and + baby Ethel, the wee darling, who ran after Ruth the first time she saw her + and begged her to come and play with her; ever since, she formed a part of + the drapery of Ruth’s skirt or a rather cumbersome necklace about her + neck. Every girl who has been debarred the blessing of babies in the house + loves them promiscuously and passionately. Ruth was no exception; it + amused the ladies to watch her cuddle the child and wonder aloud at all + her baby-talk. + </p> + <p> + Will was her next favorite satellite. A young girl with a winsome, + sympathetic face, and hearty manner, can easily become the confidante of a + fine fellow of fourteen. Will, with his arm tucked through hers, would + saunter around after dusk and tell her all his ambitions. + </p> + <p> + The soft, starry evenings up in the mountains, where heaven seems so near, + are just the time for such talk. + </p> + <p> + They were walking thus one evening toward the river, Ruth in a creamy gown + and with a white burnous thrown over her head, Will holding his hat in his + hand and letting the sweet air play through his hair, as he loved to do. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think are the greatest professions, Miss Ruth?” asked the boy + suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, law is one—” she began. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the way Papa begins,” he interrupted impatiently; “but I’ll tell + you what I think is the greatest. Guess, now.” + </p> + <p> + “The ministry?” she ventured. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course; but I’m not good enough for that,—that takes + exceptions. Guess again.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there are the fine arts, or soldiery,—that is it. You would + be a brave soldier, Willikins, my man.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” he replied, flinging back his head; “I don’t want to take + lives; I want to save them.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean a physician, Will?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s it—but not exactly—I mean a surgeon. Don’t you think + that takes bravery? And it’s a long sight better than being a soldier; he + draws blood to kill, we do it to save. What do you think, Miss Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, you are right,” she answered dreamily, her thoughts wandering + beyond the river. So they walked along; and as they were about to descent + the slope, a man in overalls and carrying a leather bag came suddenly upon + them in the gloaming. He stood stock-still, his mouth gaping wide. + </p> + <p> + When Ruth saw it was Ben, the steward, she laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Ben!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + The man’s mouth slowly closed, and his hand went up to his cap. + </p> + <p> + “Begging your pardon, Miss,—I mean Her pardon,—the Lord + forgive me, I took you for the Lady Madonna and the blessed Boy with the + shining hair. Now, don’t be telling of me, will you?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, we won’t; we’ll keep the pretty compliment to ourselves. Have you + the mail? I wonder if there is a letter for me.” + </p> + <p> + Ben immediately drew out his little pack, and handed her two. It was still + light enough to read; and as Ben moved on, she stood and opened them. + </p> + <p> + “This,” she announced in a matter-of-course way, “is from Miss Dorothy + Gwynne, who requests the pleasure of my company at a high-tea next + Saturday. That, or the hay-ride, Will? And this—this—” + </p> + <p> + It was a simple envelope addressed to + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Miss RUTH LEVICE— + Beacham’s— + ... County— + Cal. +</pre> + <p> + It was the sight of the dashes that caused the hiatus in her sentence, and + made her heart give one great rushing bound. The enclosure was to the + point. + </p> + <p> + SAN FRANCISCO, Aug. 18, 188—. + </p> + <p> + MISS RUTH LEVICE: + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR FRIEND,—That you may not denounce me as too presumptuous, I + shall at once explain that I am writing this at Bob’s urgent desire. He + has at length got the position at the florist’s, and tells me to tell you + that he is now happy. I dropped in there last night; and when he gave me + this message, I told him that I feared you would take it as an + advertisement. He merely smiled, picked up a Marechal Niel that lay on the + counter, and said, “Drop this in. It’s my mark; she’ll understand.” So + here are Bob’s rose and my apology. + </p> + <p> + HERBERT KEMP. + </p> + <p> + She was pale when she turned round to the courteously waiting boy. It was + a very cold note, and she put it in her pocket to keep it warm. The rose + she showed to Will, and told him the story of the sender. + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t I tell you,” he cried, when she had finished, “a doctor has the + greatest opportunity in the world to be great—and a surgeon comes + near it? I say, Miss Ruth, your Dr. Kemp must be a brick. Isn’t he?” + </p> + <p> + “Boys would call him so,” she answered, shivering slightly. + </p> + <p> + It was so like him, she thought, to fulfil Bob’s request in his hearty, + friendly way; she supposed he wanted her to understand that he wrote to + her only as Bob’s amanuensis,—it was plain enough. And yet, and yet, + she thought passionately, it would have been no more than common etiquette + to send a friendly word from himself to her mother. Still the note was not + thrown away. Girls are so irrational; if they cannot have the hand-shake, + they will content themselves with a sight of the glove. + </p> + <p> + And Ruth in the warm, throbbing, summer days was happy. She was not always + active; there were long afternoons when mere existence was intensely + beautiful. To lie at full length upon the soft turf in the depths of the + small enchanted woods, and hear and feel the countless spells of Nature, + was unspeakable rapture. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Floy,” she cried one afternoon, as she lay with her face turned up to + the great green boughs that seemed pencilled against the azure sky, “if + one could paint what one feels! Look at these silent, living trees that + stand in all their grandeur under some mighty spell; see how the wonderful + heaven steals through the leaves and throws its blue softness upon the + twilight gloom; here at our feet nestle the soft, green ferns, and over + all is the indescribable fragrance of the redwoods. Turn there, to your + right, little artist, high up on that mountain; can you see through the + shimmering haze a great team moving as if through the air? It is like the + vision of the Bethshemites in Dore’s mystic work, when in the valley they + lifted up their eyes and beheld the ark returning. Oh, Floy, it is not + Nature; it is God. And who can paint God?” + </p> + <p> + “No one. If one could paint Him, He would no longer be great,” answered + the girl, resting her sober eyes upon Ruth’s enraptured countenance. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon Ruth took a book and Ethel over the tramway to this fairy + spot. It was very warm and still. Mrs. Levice had swung herself to sleep + in the hammock, and Mr. Levice was dozing and talking in snatches to the + Tyrrells, who were likewise resting on the Levices’ veranda. All Nature + was drowsy, as Ruth wandered off with the little one, who chattered on as + was her wont. + </p> + <p> + “Me and you’s yunnin’ away,” she chatted; “we’s goin’ to a fowest, and by + and by two ‘ittle birdies will cover us up wid leaves. My! Won’t my mamma + be sorry? No darlin’ ‘ittle Ethel to pank and tiss no more. Poor Mamma!” + </p> + <p> + “Does Ethel think Mamma likes to spank her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; Mamma does des what she likes.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is only when Ethel is naughty that Mamma spanks her. Here, + sweetheart, let me tie your sunbonnet tighter. Now Ruth is going to lie + here and read, and you can play hide-and-seek all about these trees.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I go wound and sit on dat log by a bwook?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’s afwaid. I’s dweffully afwaid.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you can turn round and talk to me all the time.” + </p> + <p> + “But nobody’ll be sitting by me at all.” + </p> + <p> + “I am here just where you can see me; besides, God will be right next to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Will He? Ven all yight.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth took off her hat and prepared to enjoy herself. As her head touched + the green earth, she saw the little maiden seat herself on the log, and + turning her face sideways, say in her pleasant, piping voice,— + </p> + <p> + “How-de-do, Dod?” And having made her acknowledgments, all her fears + vanished. + </p> + <p> + Ruth laughed softly to herself, and straightway began to read. The + afternoon burned itself away. Ethel played and sang and danced about her, + quite oblivious of the heat, till, tired out, she threw herself into + Ruth’s arms. + </p> + <p> + “Sing by-low now,” she demanded sleepily; “pay it’s night, and you and + me’s in a yockin’-chair goin’ to by-low land.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth realized that the child was weary, and drawing her little head to her + bosom, threw off the huge sunbonnet and ruffled up the damp, golden locks. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I sing, darling?” she mused: she was unused to singing babies + to sleep. Suddenly a little kindergarten melody she had heard came to her, + and she sang softly in her rich, tender contralto the swinging + cradle-song:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “In a cradle, on the treetop, + Sleeps a tiny bird; + Sweeter sound than mother’s chirping + Never yet was heard. + See, the green leaves spread like curtains + Round the tiny bed, + While the mother’s wings, outstretching, + Shield—the—tiny—head?” + </pre> + <p> + As her voice died slowly into silence, she found Ethel looking over her + shoulder and nodding her head. + </p> + <p> + “No; I won’t tell,” she said loudly. + </p> + <p> + “Tell what?” asked Ruth, amused. + </p> + <p> + “Hush! He put his finger on his mouf—sh!” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” asked Ruth, turning her head hurriedly. Not being able to see + through the tree, she started to her feet, still holding the child. + Between two trees stood the stalwart figure of Dr. Kemp,—Dr. Kemp in + loose, light gray tweeds and white flannel shirt; on the back of his head + was a small, soft felt hat, which he lifted as she turned,—a wave of + color springing to his cheek with the action. As for Ruth,—a woman’s + face dare not speak sometimes. + </p> + <p> + “Did I startle you?” he asked, coming slowly forward, hat in hand, the + golden shafts of the sun falling upon his head and figure. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, trying to speak calmly, and failing, dropped into + silence. + </p> + <p> + She made no movement toward him, but let the child glide softly down till + she stood at her side. + </p> + <p> + “I interrupted you,” he continued; “will you shake hands with me, + nevertheless?” + </p> + <p> + She put her hand in his proffered one, which lingered in the touch; and + then, without looking at her, he stooped and spoke to the child. In that + moment she had time to compose herself. + </p> + <p> + “Do you often come up this way?” she questioned. + </p> + <p> + He turned from the child, straightened himself, and leaning one arm + against the tree, answered,— + </p> + <p> + “Once or twice every summer I run away from humanity for a few days, and + generally find myself in this part of the country. This is one of my + select spots. I knew you would ferret it out.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very lovely here. But we are going home now; the afternoon is + growing old. Come, Ethel.” + </p> + <p> + A shadow fell upon his dark eyes as she spoke, scarcely looking at him. + Why should she hurry off at his coming? + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry my presence disturbs you,” he said quietly; “But I can easily + go away again.” + </p> + <p> + “Was I so rude?” she asked, looking up with a sudden smile. “I did not + mean it so; but Ethel’s mother will want her now.” + </p> + <p> + “Ethel wants to be carried,” begged the child. + </p> + <p> + “All right; Ruth will carry you,” and she stooped to raise her; but as she + did so, Kemp’s strong hand was laid upon her arm and held her back. + </p> + <p> + “Ethel will ride home on my shoulder,” he said in the gay, winning voice + he knew how so well to use with children. The baby’s blue eyes smiled in + response to his as he swing her lightly to his broad shoulder. There is + nothing prettier to a woman than to see the confidence that a little child + reposes in a strong man. + </p> + <p> + So through the mellow, golden sunlight they strolled slowly homeward. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XV + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Levice, sauntering down the garden-path, saw the trio approaching. For + a moment he did not recognize the gentleman in his summer attire. When he + did, surprise, then pleasure, then a spirit of inquietude, took possession + of him. He had been unexpectedly startled on Ruth’s birthnight by a vague + something in Kemp’s eyes. The feeling, however, had vanished gradually in + the knowledge that the doctor always had a peculiarly intent gaze, and, + moreover, no one could have helped appreciating her loveliness that night. + This, of itself, will bring a softness into a man’s manner; and without + doubt his fears had been groundless,—fears that he had not dared to + put into words. For old man as he was, he realized that Dr. Kemp’s strong + personality was such as would prove dangerously seductive to any woman + whom he cared to honor with his favor; but with a “Get thee behind me, + Satan” desire, he had put the question from him. He could have taken his + oath on Ruth’s heart-wholeness, yet now, as he recognized her companion, + his misgivings returned threefold. The courteous gentleman, however, was + at his ease as they came up. + </p> + <p> + “This is a surprise, Doctor,” he exclaimed cordially, opening the gate and + extending his hand. “Who would have thought of meeting you here?” + </p> + <p> + Kemp grasped his hand heartily. + </p> + <p> + “I am a sort of surprise-party,” he answered, swinging Ethel to the ground + and watching her scamper off to the hotel; “and what is more,” he + continued, turning to him, “I have not brought a hamper, which makes one + of me.” + </p> + <p> + “You calculate without your host,” responded Levice; “this is a veritable + land of milk and honey. Come up and listen to my wife rhapsodize.” + </p> + <p> + “How is she?” he asked, turning with him and catching a glimpse of Ruth’s + vanishing figure. + </p> + <p> + “Feeling quite well,” replied Levice; “she is all impatience now for a + delirious winter season.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so,” laughed the doctor; “but if you take my advice, you will + draw the bit slightly.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice was delighted to see him; she said it was like the sight of a + cable-car in a desert. He protested at such a stupendous comparison, and + insisted that she make clear that the dummy was not included. The short + afternoon glided into evening, and Dr. Kemp went over to the hotel and + dined at the Levices’ table. + </p> + <p> + Ruth, in a white wool gown, sat opposite him. It was the first time he had + dined with them; and he enjoyed a singular feeling over the situation. He + noticed that although Mrs. Levice kept up an almost incessant flow of + talk, she ate a hearty meal, and that Ruth, who was unusually quiet, + tasted scarcely anything. Her father also observed it, and resolved upon a + course of strict surveillance. He was glad to hear that the doctor had to + leave on the early morning’s train, though, of course, he did not say so. + As they strolled about afterward, he managed to keep his daughter with him + and allowed Kemp to appropriate his wife. + </p> + <p> + They finally drifted to the cottage-steps, and were enjoying the beauty of + the night when Will Tyrrell presented himself before them. + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening,” he said, taking off his hat as he stood at the foot of the + steps. “Mr. Levice, Father says he has at last scared up two other + gentlemen; and will you please come over and play a rubber of whist?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Levice felt himself a victim of circumstances. He and Mr. Tyrrell had + been looking for a couple of opponents, and had almost given up the + search. Now, when he decidedly objected to moving, it would have been + heartless not to go. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t consider me,” said the doctor, observing his hesitancy. “If it ill + relieve you, I assure you I shall not miss you in the least.” + </p> + <p> + “Go right ahead, Jules” urged his wife; “Ruth and I will take care of the + doctor.” + </p> + <p> + If she had promised to take care of Ruth, it would have been more to his + mind; but since his wife was there, what harm could accrue that his + presence would prevent? So with a sincere apology he went over to the + hotel. + </p> + <p> + He hardly appreciated what an admirable aide he had left behind him in his + wife. + </p> + <p> + Kemp sat upon the top step, and leaned his back against the railing; + although outwardly he kept up a constant low run of conversation with Mrs. + Levice, who swayed to and fro in her rocker, he was intently conscious of + Ruth’s white figure perched on the window-sill. + </p> + <p> + How Mrs. Levice happened to broach the subject, Ruth never knew; but she + was rather startled when she perceived that Kemp was addressing her. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to show my prowess to you, Miss Levice.” + </p> + <p> + “In what?” she asked, somewhat dazed. + </p> + <p> + “Ruth, Ruth,” laughed her mother, “do you mean to say you have not heard a + word of all my glowing compliments on your rowing?” + </p> + <p> + “And I was telling your mother that in all modesty I was considered a fine + oar at my Alma Mater.” + </p> + <p> + “And I hazarded the suggestion,” added Mrs. Levice, “that as it is such a + beautiful night, there is nothing to prevent your taking a little row, and + then each can judge of the other’s claim to superiority?” + </p> + <p> + “My claim has never been justly established,” said Ruth. “I have never + allowed any one to usurp my oars.” + </p> + <p> + “As yet,” corrected Kemp. “Then will you wrap something about you and come + down to the river?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly she will,” answered her mother; “run in and get some wraps, + Ruth.” + </p> + <p> + “You will come too, Mamma?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course; but considering Dr. Kemp’s length, a third in your little boat + will be the proverbial trumpery. Still, I suppose I can rely on you two + crack oarsmen, though you know the slightest tremble in the boat in the + fairest weather is likely to create a squall on my part.” + </p> + <p> + If Dr. Kemp wished to row, he should row; and since the Jewish Mrs. Grundy + was not on hand, anything harmlessly enjoyable was permissible. + </p> + <p> + Ruth went indoors. This was certainly something she had not bargained for. + How could her mother be so blind as not to know or feel her desire to + evade Dr. Kemp? She felt a positive contempt for herself that his presence + should affect her as it did; she dared not look at him lest her heart + should flutter to her eyes. Probably the display amused him. What was she + to him anyway but a girl with whom he could flirt in his idle moments? + Well (with a passionate fling of her arms), she would extinguish her + uncontrollable little beater for the nonce; she would meet and answer + every one of his long glances in kind. + </p> + <p> + She wound a black lace shawl around her head, and with some wraps for her + mother, came out. + </p> + <p> + “Hadn’t you better put something over your shoulders?” he asked + deferentially as she appeared. + </p> + <p> + “And disgust the night with lack of appreciation?” + </p> + <p> + She turned to a corner of the porch and lifted a pair of oars to her + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” he said in surprise, coming toward her, “you keep your oars at + home?” + </p> + <p> + “On the principle of ‘neither a borrower nor a lender be;’ we find it + saves both time and spleen.” + </p> + <p> + She held them lightly in place on her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me,” he said, placing his hand upon the oars. + </p> + <p> + A spirit of contradiction took possession of her. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, no,” she answered; “why should I? They are not at all heavy.” + </p> + <p> + He gently lifted her resisting fingers one by one and raised the broad + bone of contention to his shoulder. Then without a look he turned and + offered his arm to Mrs. Levice. + </p> + <p> + The crickets chirped in the hedges; now and then a firefly flashed before + them; the trees seemed wrapped in silent awe at the majesty of the + bewildering heavens. As they approached the river, the faint susurra came + to them, mingled with the sound of a guitar and some one singing in the + distance. + </p> + <p> + “Others are enjoying themselves also,” he remarked as their feet touched + the pebbly beach. A faint crescent moon shone over the water. Ruth went + straight to the little boat aground on the shore. + </p> + <p> + “It looks like a cockle-shell,” he said, as he put one foot in after + shoving it off. “Will you sit in the stern or the bow, Mrs. Levice?” + </p> + <p> + “In the bow; I dislike to see dangers before we come to them.” + </p> + <p> + He helped her carefully to her place; she thanked him laughingly for his + exceptionally strong arm, and he turned to Ruth. + </p> + <p> + “I was waiting for you to move from my place,” she said in defiant + mischief, standing motionless beside the boat. + </p> + <p> + “Your place? Ah, yes; now,” he said, holding out his hand to her, “will + you step in?” + </p> + <p> + She took his hand and stepped in; they were both standing, and as the + little bark swayed he made a movement to catch hold of her. + </p> + <p> + “You had better sit down,” he said, motioning to the rower’s seat. + </p> + <p> + “And you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I shall sit beside you and use the other oar,” he answered nonchalantly, + smiling down at her. + </p> + <p> + With a half-pleased feeling of discomfiture Ruth seated herself in the + stern, whereupon Kemp sat in the contested throne. + </p> + <p> + “You will have to excuse my turning my back on you, Mrs. Levice,” he said + pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “That is no hindrance to my volubility, I am glad to say; a back is not + very inspiring or expressive, but Ruth can tell me when you look bored if + I wax too discursive.” + </p> + <p> + It was a tiny boat; and seated thus, Kemp’s knees were not half a foot + from Ruth’s white gown. + </p> + <p> + “Will you direct me?” he said, as he swept around. “I have not rowed on + this river for two or three years.” + </p> + <p> + “You can keep straight ahead for some distance,” she said, leaning back in + her seat. + </p> + <p> + She could not fail to notice the easy motion of his figure as he rowed + lightly down the river. His flannel shirt, low at the throat, showed his + strong white neck rising like a column from his broad shoulders, and his + dark face with the steady gray eyes looked across at her with grave + sweetness. She would have been glad enough to be able to turn from the + short range of vision between them; but the stars and river afforded her + good vantage-ground, and on them she fixed her gaze. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice was in bright spirits, and seemed striving to outdo the night + in brilliancy. For a while Kemp maintained a sort of Roland-for-an-Oliver + conversation with her; but with his eyes continually straying to the girl + before him, it became rather difficult. Some merry rowers down the river + were singing college songs harmoniously; and Mrs. Levice soon began to hum + with them, her voice gradually subsiding into a faint murmur. The balmy, + summer-freighted air made her feel drowsy. She listened absently to Ruth’s + occasional warnings to Kemp, and to the swift dip of the oars. + </p> + <p> + “Now we have clear sailing for a stretch,” said Ruth, as they came to a + broad curve. “Did you think you were going to be capsized when we shot + over that snag, Mamma?” + </p> + <p> + She leaned a little farther forward, looking past Kemp. + </p> + <p> + “Mamma!” + </p> + <p> + Then she straightened herself back in her seat. Kemp, noting the sudden + flush that had rushed to and from her cheek, turned halfway to look at + Mrs. Levice. Her head was leaning against the flag-staff; her eyes were + closed, in the manner of more wary chaperones,—Mrs. Levice slept. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Kemp moved quietly back to his former position. + </p> + <p> + Far across the river a woman’s silvery voice was singing the sweet old + love-song, “Juanita;” overhead, the golden crescent moon hung low from the + floor of heaven pulsating with stars; it was a passionate, tender night, + and Ruth, with her face raised to the holy beauty, was a dreamy part of + it. Against the black lace about her head her face shone like a cameo, her + eyes were brown wells of starlight; she scarcely seemed to breathe, so + still she sat, her slender hands loosely clasped in her lap. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Kemp sat opposite her—and Mrs. Levice slept. + </p> + <p> + Slowly and more slowly sped the tiny boat; long gentle strokes touched the + water; and presently the oars lay idle in their locks,—they were + unconsciously drifting. The water dipped and lapped about the sides; the + tender woman’s voice across the water stole to them, singing of love; + their eyes met—and Mrs. Levice slept. + </p> + <p> + Ever, in the after time, when Ruth heard that song, she was again rocking + in the frail row-boat upon the lovely river, and a man’s deep, grave eyes + held hers as if they would never let them go, till under his worshipping + eyes her own filled with slow ecstatic tears. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor,” called a startled voice, “row out; I am right under the trees.” + </p> + <p> + They both started. Mrs. Levice was, without doubt, awake. They had drifted + into a cove, and she was cowering from the over-hanging boughs. + </p> + <p> + “I do not care to be Absalomed; where were your eyes, Ruth?” she + complained, as Kemp pushed out with a happy, apologetic laugh. “Did not + you see where we were going?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered a little breathlessly; “I believe I am growing + far-sighted.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be time to sight home now,” said her mother; “I am quite chilly.” + </p> + <p> + In five minutes Kemp had grounded the boat and helped Mrs. Levice out. + When he turned for Ruth, she had already sprung ashore and had started up + the slope; for the first time the oars lay forgotten in the bottom of the + boat. + </p> + <p> + “Wait for us, Ruth,” called Mrs. Levice, and the slight white figure stood + still till they came up. + </p> + <p> + “You are so slow,” she said with a reckless little laugh; “I feel as if I + could fly home.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you light-headed, Ruth?” asked her mother, but the girl had fallen + behind them. She could not yet meet his eyes again. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Ruth, either stay with us or just ahead of us.” Mrs. Levice, awake, + was an exemplary duenna. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing abroad here but the stars,” she answered, flitting + before them. + </p> + <p> + “And they are stanch, silent friends on such a night,” remarked Kemp, + softly. + </p> + <p> + She kept before them till they reached the gate, and stood inside of it as + they drew near. + </p> + <p> + “Then you will not be home till Monday,” he said, taking Mrs. Levice’s + hand and raising his hat; “and I am off on the early morning train. + Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + As she turned in at the gate, he held out his hand to Ruth. His fingers + closed softly, tightly over hers; she heard him say almost inaudibly,— + </p> + <p> + “Till Monday.” + </p> + <p> + She raised her shy eyes for one brief second to his glowing ones; and he + passed, a tall, dark figure, down the shadowy road. + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Levice returned from his game of whist, he quietly opened the + door of his daughter’s bedroom and looked in. All was well; the wolf had + departed, and his lamb slept safe in the fold. + </p> + <p> + But in the dark his lamb’s eyes were mysteriously bright. Sleep! With this + new crown upon her! Humble as the beautiful beggar-maid must have felt + when the king raised her, she wondered why she had been thus chosen by one + whom she had deemed so immeasurably above her. And this is another phase + of woman’s love,—that it exalts the beloved beyond all reasoning. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XVI + </h2> + <p> + At six o’clock the hills in their soft carpet of dull browns and greens + were gently warming under the sun’s first rays. At seven the early train + that Dr. Kemp purposed taking would leave. Ruth, with this knowledge at + heart, had softly risen and left the cottage. Close behind the depot rose + a wooded hill. She had often climbed it with the Tyrrell boys; and what + was to prevent her doing so now? It afforded an excellent view of the + station. + </p> + <p> + It was very little past six, and she began leisurely to ascend the hill. + The sweet morning air was in her nostrils, and she pushed the broad hat + form her happy eyes. She paused a moment, looking up at the wooded + hill-top, which the sun was jewelling in silver. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see something beautiful up there?” + </p> + <p> + With an inarticulate cry she wheeled around and faced Dr. Kemp within a + hand’s breadth of her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she cried, stepping back with burning cheeks, “I did not mean—I + did not expect—” + </p> + <p> + “Nor did I,” he said in a low voice; “chance is kinder to us than + ourselves—beloved.” + </p> + <p> + She turned quite white at the low, intense word. + </p> + <p> + “You understood me last night—and I was not—deceived?” + </p> + <p> + Her head drooped lower till the broad brim of her hat hid her face. + </p> + <p> + With one quick step he reached her side. + </p> + <p> + “Ruth, look at me.” + </p> + <p> + She never had been able to resist his compelling voice; and now with a + swift-drawn breath she threw back her head and looked up at him fairly, + with all her soul in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Are you satisfied?” she asked tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” he answered as with one movement he drew her to him. + </p> + <p> + “My Santa Filomena,” he murmured with his lips against her hair, “this is + worth a lifetime of waiting; and I have waited long.” + </p> + <p> + In his close, passionate clasp her face was hidden; she hardly dared meet + his eyes when he finally held her from him. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you are not afraid to look at me? No one knows you better than I, + dear; you can trust me, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” she said, her hand fluttering in his; “but isn’t—the train + coming?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you so anxious to have me go?” + </p> + <p> + Her hand closed tightly around his. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” laying his bearded cheek against her fair one, “I have + something to ask you.” + </p> + <p> + “To ask me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; are you surprised, can’t you guess? Ruth, will you bless me still + further? Will you be my wife, love?” + </p> + <p> + A strange thrill stole over her; his voice had assumed a bewildering + tenderness. “If you really want me,” she replied, with a sobbing laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Soon?” he persisted. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you must. You will find me a tyrant in love, my Ruth.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not afraid of you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you should be. Think, child, I am an old man, already thirty-five; + did you remember that when you made me king among men?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I am quite an old lady; I am twenty-two.” + </p> + <p> + “As ancient as that? Then you should be able to answer me. Make it soon, + sweetheart.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, how you beg—for a king. Besides, there is Father, you know; he + decides everything for me.” + </p> + <p> + “I know; and I have already asked him on paper. There is a note awaiting + him at the hotel; you will see I took a great deal for granted last night, + and—Ah, the whistle! What day is this, Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + “Friday.” + </p> + <p> + “Good Friday, sweet, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am not at all superstitious.” + </p> + <p> + “And Monday is four days off; well, it must make up for all we lose. + Monday will be four days rolled into one.” + </p> + <p> + “Remember,” he continued hurriedly, “you are doubly precious now, darling, + and take good care of yourself till our ‘Auf Wiedersehn.’” + </p> + <p> + “And—and—you will remember that for me too, D-doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Who? There is no doctor here that I know of.” + </p> + <p> + “But I know one—Herbert.” + </p> + <p> + “God bless you for that, dear!” he answered gravely. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Levice, sleepily turning on his pillow, heard the whistle of the + out-going train with benignant satisfaction. It was taking Dr. Kemp where + he belonged,—to his busy practice,—and leaving his child’s + peace undisturbed. Confound the man, anyway! he mused; what had possessed + him to drop down upon them in that manner and rob Ruth of her appetite and + happy talk? No doubt she had been flattered by the interest he had shown + in her; but he was too old and too dignified a gentleman to resort to + flirtation, and anything deeper was out of the question. He must certainly + have a little plain talk with the child this morning, and, well, he could + cry “Ebenezer!” on his departure. With this conclusion, he softly rose, + taking care not to disturb his placidly sleeping wife, who never dreamed + of waking till nine. + </p> + <p> + Ruth generally waited for him for breakfast, but not seeing her around, he + went in and took a solitary meal. Sauntering out afterward toward the + hotel porch, his hat on, his stick under his are, and busily lighting a + cigar, he was met at the door of the billiard-room by one of the clerks. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Kemp left this for you this morning,” said he, holding out a small + envelope. A flush rose to the old gentleman’s sallow cheek as he took it. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he said; “I believe I shall come in here for a few minutes.” + </p> + <p> + He passed by the clerk and seated himself in a deep, cane-bottomed chair + near the window. He fumbled for the cord of his glasses in a slightly + nervous manner, and adjusted them hastily. The missive was addressed to + him, certainly; and with no little wonder he tore it open and read:— + </p> + <p> + BEACHAM’S Friday morning. + </p> + <p> + MR. LEVICE: + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR SIR,—Pardon the hurried nature of this communication, but I + must leave shortly on the in-coming train, having an important operation + to undertake this morning; otherwise I should have liked to prepare you + more fully, but time presses. Simply, then, I love your daughter. I told + her so last night upon the river, and she has made me the proudest and + happiest of men by returning my love. I am well aware what I am asking of + you when I ask her of you to be my wife. You know me personally; you know + my financial standing; I trust to you to remember my failings with mercy + in the knowledge of our great love. Till Monday night, then, I leave her + and my happiness to your consideration and love. + </p> + <p> + With the greatest respect, + </p> + <p> + Yours Sincerely, + </p> + <p> + HERBERT KEMP. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” + </p> + <p> + The clerk standing near him in the doorway turned hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + “Any trouble?” he asked, moving toward him and noticing the ashy pallor of + his face. + </p> + <p> + The old man’s hand closed spasmodically over the paper. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” he managed to answer, waving the man away; “don’t notice me.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk, seeing his presence was undesirable, took up his position in + the doorway again. + </p> + <p> + Levice sat on. No further sound broke from him; he had clinched his teeth + hard. It had come to this, then. She loved him; it was too late. If the + man’s heart alone were concerned, it would have been an easy matter; but + hers, Ruth’s. God! If she really loved, her father knew only too well how + she would love. Was the man crazy? Had he entirely forgotten the gulf that + lay between them? Great drops of perspiration rose to his forehead. Two + ideas held him in a desperate struggle,—his child’s happiness; the + prejudice of a lifetime. Something conquered finally, and he arose quietly + and walked slowly off. + </p> + <p> + Through the trees he heard laughter. He walked round and saw her swinging + Will Tyrrell. + </p> + <p> + “There’s your father,” cried Boss, from the limb of a tree. + </p> + <p> + She looked up, startled. With a newborn shyness she had endeavored to put + off this meeting with her father. She gave the swing another push and + waited his approach with beating heart. + </p> + <p> + “The boys will excuse you, Ruth, I think; I wish you to come for a short + walk with me.” + </p> + <p> + At his voice, the gentle seriousness of which penetrated even to the + Tyrrell boys’ understanding, she felt that her secret was known. + </p> + <p> + She laid her arm about his neck and gave him his usual morning kiss, + reddening slowly under his long searching look as he held her to him. She + followed him almost blindly as he turned from the grounds and struck into + the lane leading to the woods. Mr. Levice walked along, aimlessly knocking + off with his stick the dandelions and camomile in the hedges. It was with + a wrench he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “My child,” he said, and now the stick acted as a support, “I was just + handed a note from Dr. Kemp. He has asked me for your hand.” + </p> + <p> + In the pause that followed Ruth’s lovely face was hidden in her hat. + </p> + <p> + “He also told me that he loves you,” he continued slowly, “and that you + return his love. Will you turn your face to me, Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + She did so with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “You love this man?” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” As reverently as if at the altar, she faced and answered her + father. All her love was in the eyes she raised to his. Beneath their + happy glow Levice’s sank and his steady lips grew pale. + </p> + <p> + They were away from mankind in the shelter of the woods, the birds gayly + carolling their matins above them. + </p> + <p> + “And you desire to become his wife?” + </p> + <p> + Neck, face, and ears were suffused with color as she faltered unsteadily,— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Father, he loves me.” Then at the wonder of it, she exclaimed, + throwing her arms about his neck impulsively and hiding her face in his + shoulder, “I am so happy, so happy! It seems almost too beautiful to be + true.” + </p> + <p> + The old man’s trembling hand smoothed the soft little tendrils of hair + that had escaped from their pins. He stifled a groan as he was thus + disarmed. + </p> + <p> + “And what,” she asked, her sweet eyes holding his as she stepped back, + “what do you think of Herbert Kemp, M. D.? Will you be proud of your + son-in-law, Father darling?” + </p> + <p> + Levice’s hand fell suddenly on her shoulder. He schooled himself to smile + quietly upon her. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Kemp is a great friend of mine. He is a gentleman whom all the world + honors, not only for his professional worth, but for his manly qualities. + I am not surprised that you love him, nor yet that he loves you—except + for one thing.” + </p> + <p> + “And that?” she asked, smiling confidently at him. + </p> + <p> + “Child, you are a Jewess; Dr. Kemp is a Christian.” + </p> + <p> + And still his daughter smiled trustingly. + </p> + <p> + “What difference can that make, since we love each other?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Will you believe me, Ruth, when I say that all I desire is your + happiness?” + </p> + <p> + “Father, I know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I tell you I can never bring myself to approve of a marriage between + you and a Christian. There can be no true happiness in such a union.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Inasmuch as all my life you have taught me to look upon my + Christian friends as upon my Jewish, and since you admit him + irreproachable from every standpoint, why can he not be my husband?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever thought of what such a marriage entails?” + </p> + <p> + “Never.” + </p> + <p> + “Then do so now: think of every sacrifice, social and religious, it + enforces; think of the great difference between the Jewish race and the + Christians; and if, after you have measured with the deadliest earnestness + every duty that married life brings, you can still believe that you will + be happy, then marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “With your blessing?” Her lovely, pleading eyes still held his. + </p> + <p> + “Always with my blessing, child. One thing more: did Dr. Kemp mention + anything of this to you?” + </p> + <p> + “No; he must have forgotten it as I did, or rather, if I ever thought of + it, it was a mere passing shadow. I put it aside with the thought that + though you and I had never discussed such a circumstance, judging by all + your other actions in our relations with Christians, you would be above + considering such a thing a serious obstacle to two people’s happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, when it comes to action, my broad views dwindle down to detail, + and I am only an old man with old-fashioned ideas. However, I shall remind + Dr. Kemp of this grave consideration, and then—you will not object + to this?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; but I know—I know—” What did she know except of the + greatness of his love that would annihilate all her father’s forebodings? + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” her father answered the half-spoken thought; “I know too. But + ponder this well, as I shall insist on his doing; then, on Monday night, + when you have both satisfactorily answered to each other every phase of + this terrible difference, I shall have nothing more to say.” + </p> + <p> + Love is so selfish. Ruth, hugging her happiness, failed, as she had never + failed before, to mark the wearied voice, the pale face, and the sad eyes + of her father. + </p> + <p> + “Your mother will soon be awake,” he said; “had you not better go back?” + </p> + <p> + Something that she had expected was wanting in this meeting; she looked at + him reproachfully, her mouth visibly trembling. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked gently. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Father, you are so cold and hard, and you have not even—” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till Monday night, Ruth. Then I will do anything you ask me. Now go + back to your mother, but understand, not a word of this to her yet. I + shall not recur to this again; meanwhile we shall both have something to + think of.” + </p> + <p> + That afternoon Dr. Kemp received the following brief note:— + </p> + <p> + BEACHAM’S, August 25, 188— + </p> + <p> + DR. KEMP: + </p> + <p> + DEAR SIR,—Have you forgotten that my daughter is a Jewess; that you + are a Christian? Till Monday night I shall expect you to consider this + question from every possible point of view. If then both you and my + daughter can satisfactorily override the many objections I undoubtedly + have, I shall raise no obstacle to your desires. + </p> + <p> + Sincerely your friend, + </p> + <p> + JULES LEVICE. + </p> + <p> + In the mean time Ruth was thinking it all out. Love was blinding her, + dazzling her; and the giants that rose before her were dwarfed into + pygmies, at which she tried to look gravely, but succeeded only in smiling + at their feebleness. Love was an Armada, and bore down upon the little + armament that thought called up, and rode it all to atoms. + </p> + <p> + Small wonder, then, that on their return on Monday morning, as little Rose + Delano stood in Ruth’s room looking up into her friend’s face, the dreamy, + starry eyes, the smiles that crept in thoughtful dimples about the corners + of her mouth, the whole air of a mysterious something, baffled and + bewildered her. + </p> + <p> + Upon Ruth’s writing-table rested a basket of delicate Marechal Niel buds, + almost veiled in tender maiden-hair; the anonymous sender was not unknown. + </p> + <p> + “It has agreed well with you, Miss Levice,” said Rose, in her gentle, + patient voice, that seemed so out of keeping with her young face. “You + look as if you had been dipped in a love-elixir.” + </p> + <p> + “So I have,” laughed Ruth, her hand straying to the velvety buds; “it has + made a ‘nut-brown mayde’ of me, I think, Rosebud. But tell me the city + news. Everything in running order? Tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Everything is as your kind help has willed it. I have a pleasant little + room with a middle-aged couple on Post Street. Altogether I earn ten + dollars over my actual monthly expenses. Oh, Miss Levice, when shall I be + able to make you understand how deeply grateful I am?” + </p> + <p> + “Never, Rose; believe me, I never could understand deep things; that is + why I am so happy.” + </p> + <p> + “You are teasing now, with that mischievous light in your eyes. Yet the + first time I saw your face I thought that either you had or would have a + history.” + </p> + <p> + “Sad?” The sudden poignancy of the question startled Rose. + </p> + <p> + She looked quickly at her to note if she were as earnest as her voice + sounded. The dark eyes smiled daringly, defiantly at her. + </p> + <p> + “I am no sorceress,” she answered evasively but lightly; “look in the + glass and see.” + </p> + <p> + “You remind me of Floy Tyrrell. Pooh! Let us talk of something else. Then + it can’t be Wednesdays?” + </p> + <p> + “It can be any day. The Page children can have Friday.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know how Mr. Page is?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you not hear of the great operations he—Dr. Kemp—performed + Friday?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” She could have shaken herself for the telltale, inevitable rush of + blood that overspread her face. If Rose saw, she made no sign; she had had + one lesson. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know such a thing was in his line. I had been giving Miss Dora + a lesson in the nursery. The old nurse had brought the two little ones in + there, and kept us all on tenter-hooks running in and out. One of the + doctors, Wells, I think she said, had fainted; it was a very delicate and + dangerous operation. When my lesson was over, I slipped quietly out; I was + passing through the corridor when Dr. Kemp came out of one of the rooms. + He was quite pale. He recognized me immediately; and though I wished to + pass straight on, he stopped me and shook my hand so very friendly. And + now I hear it was a great success. Oh, Miss Levice, he has no parallel but + himself!” + </p> + <p> + It did not sound exaggerated to Ruth to hear him thus made much of. It was + only very sweet and true. + </p> + <p> + “I knew just what he must be when I saw him,” the girl babbled on; “that + was why I went to him. I knew he was a doctor by his carriage, and his + strong, kind face was my only stimulus. But there, you must forgive me if + I tire you; you see he sent you to me.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not tire me, Rose,” she said gravely. And the same expression + rested upon her face till evening. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XVII + </h2> + <p> + Monday night had come. As Ruth half hid a pale yellow bud in her heavy, + low-coiled hair, the gravity of her mien seemed to deepen. This was + partially the result of her father’s expressive countenance and voice. If + he had smiled, it had been such a faint flicker that it was forgotten in + the look of repression that had followed. In the afternoon he had spoken a + few disturbing words to her: + </p> + <p> + “I have told your mother that Dr. Kemp is coming to discuss a certain + project and desires your presence. She intends to retire rather early, and + there is nothing to prevent your receiving him.” + </p> + <p> + At the distantly courteous tone she raised a pair of startled eyes. He was + regarding her patiently, as if awaiting some remark. + </p> + <p> + “Surely you do not wish me to be present at this interview?” she + questioned, her voice slightly trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Not only that, but I desire your most earnest attention and calm + reasoning powers to be brought with you. You have not forgotten what I + told you to consider, Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Father.” + </p> + <p> + She felt, though in a greater degree, as she had often felt in childhood, + when, in taking her to task for some naughtiness, he had worn this same + sad and distant look. He had never punished her nominally; the pain he + himself showed had always affected her as the severest reprimand never + could have done. + </p> + <p> + She looked like a peaceful, sweet-faced nun in her simple white gown, that + fell in long straight folds to her feet; not another sign of color was + upon her. + </p> + <p> + A calmness pervaded her whole person as she paced the softly lighted + drawing-room and waited for Kemp. + </p> + <p> + When he was shown into the room, this tranquillity struck him immediately. + </p> + <p> + She stood quite still as he came toward her. He certainly had some + old-time manners, for the reverence he felt for her caused him first of + all to raise her hand to his lips. The curious, well-known flush rose + slowly to her sensitive face at the action; when he had caught her swiftly + to him, a sobbing sigh escaped her. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked, drawing her down to a seat beside him. “Are you + tired of me already, love?” + </p> + <p> + “Not of you; of waiting,” she answered, half shyly meeting his look. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly expected this,” he said after a pause; “has your father flown + bodily from the enemy and left you to face him alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly. But really it was kind of him to keep away for a while, was + it not?” she asked simply. + </p> + <p> + “It was unusually kind. I suppose, however, you will have to make your + exit on his entrance.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she laughed quietly; “I am going to play the role of the audience + to-night. He expressly desires my presence; but if you differ—” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her curiously. The earnestness with which she had greeted him + settled like a mask upon his face. The hand that held hers drew it quickly + to his breast. + </p> + <p> + “I think it is well that you remain,” he said, “because we agree at any + rate on the main point,—that we love each other. Always that, + darling?” + </p> + <p> + “Always that—love.” + </p> + <p> + The low, sweet voice that for the first time so caressed him thrilled him + oddly; but a measured step was heard in the hall, and Ruth moved like a + bird to a chair. He could not know that the sound of the step had given + her the momentary courage thus to address him. + </p> + <p> + He arose deferentially as Mr. Levice entered. The two men formed a + striking contrast. Kemp stood tall, stalwart, straight as an arrow; + Levice, with his short stature, his stooping shoulders, and his silvery + hair falling about and softening somewhat his plain Jewish face, served as + a foil to the other’s bright, handsome figure. + </p> + <p> + Kemp came forward to meet him and grasped his hand. Nothing is more + thoroughly expressive than this shaking of hands between men. It is a + freemasonry that women lack and are the losers thereby. The kiss is a sign + of emotion; the hand-clasp bespeaks strong esteem or otherwise. Levice’s + hand closed tightly about the doctor’s large one; there was a great + feeling of mutual respect between these two. + </p> + <p> + “How are you and your wife?” asked the doctor, seating himself in a low, + silken easy-chair as Levice took one opposite him. + </p> + <p> + “She is well, but tired this evening, and has gone to bed. She wished to + be remembered to you.” As he spoke, he half turned his head to where Ruth + sat in a corner, a little removed. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you sit back there, Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + She arose, and seeing no other convenient seat at hand, drew up the + curious ivory-topped chair. Thus seated, they formed the figure of an + isosceles triangle, with Ruth at the apex, the men at the angles of the + base. It is a rigid outline, that of the isosceles, bespeaking each point + an alien from the others. + </p> + <p> + There was an uncomfortable pause for some moments after she had seated + herself, during which Ruth noted how, as the candle-light from the sconce + behind fell upon her father’s head, each silvery hair seemed to speak of + quiet old age. + </p> + <p> + Kemp was the first to speak, and, as usual, came straight to the point. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Levice, there is no use in disguising or beating around the bush the + thought that is uppermost in all our minds. I ask you now, in person, what + I asked you in writing last Friday,—will you give me your daughter + to be my wife?” + </p> + <p> + “I will answer you as I did in writing. Have you considered that you are a + Christian; that she is a Jewess?” + </p> + <p> + “I have.” + </p> + <p> + It was the first gun and the answering shot of a strenuous battle. + </p> + <p> + “And you, my child?” he addressed her in the old sweet way that she had + missed in the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “I have also done so to the best of my ability.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have found it raised no barrier to your desire to become Dr. + Kemp’s wife?” + </p> + <p> + “None.” + </p> + <p> + The two men drew a deep breath at the sound of the little decisive word, + but with a difference. Kemp’s face shone exultantly. Levice pressed his + lips hard together as the shuddering breath left him; his heavy-veined + hands were tightly clinched; when he spoke, however, his voice was quite + peaceful. + </p> + <p> + “It is an old and just custom for parents to be consulted by their + children upon their choice of husband or wife. In France the parents are + consulted before the daughter; it is not a bad plan. It often saves some + unnecessary pangs—for the daughter. I am sorry in this case that we + are not living in France.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you object?” Kemp almost hurled the words at him. + </p> + <p> + “I crave your patience,” answered the old man, slowly; “I have grown + accustomed to doing things deliberately, and will not be hurried in this + instance. But as you have put the question, I may answer you now. I do + most solemnly and seriously object.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth, sitting intently listening to her father, paled slowly. The doctor + also changed color. + </p> + <p> + “My child,” Levice continued, looking her sadly in the face, “by allowing + you to fall blindly into this trouble, without warning, with my apparent + sanction for any relationship with Christians, I have done you a great + wrong; I admit it with anguish. I ask your forgiveness.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t, Father!” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Kemp’s clinched hand came down with force upon his knee. He was white + to the lips, for though Levice spoke so quietly, a strong decisiveness + rang unmistakably in every word. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Levice, I trust I am not speaking disrespectfully,” he began, his + manly voice plainly agitated, “but I must say that it was a great + oversight on your part when you threw your daughter, equipped as she is, + into Christian society,—put her right in the way of loving or being + loved by any Christian, knowing all along that such a state of affairs + could lead to nothing. It was not only wrong, but, holding such views, it + was cruel.” + </p> + <p> + “I acknowledge my culpability; my only excuse lies in the fact that such + an event never presented itself as a possibility to my imagination. If it + had, I should probably have trusted that her own Jewish conscience and + bringing-up would protest against her allowing herself to think seriously + upon such an issue.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sir, I do not understand your exception; you are not orthodox.” + </p> + <p> + “No; but I am intensely Jewish,” answered the old man, proudly regarding + his antagonist. “I tell you I object to this marriage; that is not saying + I oppose it. There are certain things connected with it of which neither + you nor my daughter have probably thought. To me they are all-powerful + obstacles to your happiness. Being an old man and more experienced, will + you permit me to suggest these points? My friend, I am seeking nothing but + my child’s happiness; if, by opening the eyes of both of you to what + menaces her future welfare, I can avert what promises but a sometime + misery, I must do it, late though it may be. If, when I have stated my + view, you can convince me that I am wrong, I shall be persuaded and admit + it. Will you accept my plan?” + </p> + <p> + Kemp bowed his head. The dogged earnestness about his mouth and eyes + deepened; he kept his gaze steadily and attentively fixed upon Levice. + Ruth, who was the cause of the whole painful scene, seemed remote and + shadowy. + </p> + <p> + “As you say,” began Levice, “we are not orthodox; but before we become + orthodox or reform, we are born, and being born, we are invested with + certain hereditary traits that are unconvertible. Every Jew bears in his + blood the glory, the triumph, the misery, the abjectness of Israel. The + farther we move in the generations, the fainter grown the inheritance. In + most countries in these times the abjectness is vanishing; we have been + set upon our feet; we have been allowed to walk; we are beginning to + smile,—that is, some of us. Those whose fathers were helped on are + nearer the man as he should be than those whose fathers are still + grovelling. My child, I think, stands a perfect type of what culture and + refinement can give. She is not an exception; there are thousands like her + among our Jewish girls. Take any intrinsically pure-souled Jew from his + coarser surroundings and give him the highest advantages, and he will + stand forth the equal, at least, of any man; but he could not mix forever + with pitch and remain undefiled.” + </p> + <p> + “No man could,” observed Kemp, as Levice paused. “But what are these + things to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing; but to Ruth, much. That is part of the bar-sinister between you. + Possibly your sense of refinement has never been offended in my family; + but there are many families, people we visit and love, who, though + possessing all the substrata of goodness, have never been moved to cast + off the surface thorns that would prick your good taste as sharply as any + physical pain. This, of course, is not because they are Jews, but because + they lack refining influences in their surroundings. We look for and + excuse these signs; many Christians take them as the inevitable marks of + the race, and without looking further, conclude that a cultured Jew is an + impossibility.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Levice, I am but an atom in the Christian world, and you who number + so many of them among your friends should not make such sweeping + assertions. The world is narrow-minded; individuals are broader.” + </p> + <p> + “True; but I speak of the majority, who decide the vote, and by whom my + child would be, without doubt, ostracized. This only by your people; by + ours it would be worse,—for she will have raised a terrible barrier + by renouncing her religion.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall never renounce my religion, Father.” + </p> + <p> + “Such a marriage would mean only that to the world; and so you would be + cut adrift from both sides, as all women are who move from where they + rightfully belong to where they are not wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” interrupted Kemp, “allow me to show you wherein such a state of + affairs would, if it should happen, be of no consequence. The friends we + care for and who care for us will not drop off if we remain unchanged. + Because I love your daughter and she loves me, and because we both desire + our love to be honored in the sight of God and man, wherein have we erred? + We shall still remain the same man and woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Unhappily the world would not think so.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let them hold to their bigoted opinion; it is valueless, and having + each other, we can dispense with them.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak in the heat of passion; and at such a time it would be + impossible to make you understand the honeymoon of life is made up of more + than two, and a third being inimical can make it wretched. The knowledge + that people we respect hold aloof from us is bitter.” + </p> + <p> + “But such knowledge,” interrupted Ruth’s sweet voice, “would be robbed of + all bitterness when surrounded and hedged in by all that we love.” + </p> + <p> + Her father looked in surprise at the brave face raised so earnestly to + his. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” he responded; “count the world as nothing. You have just + said, my Ruth, that you would not renounce your religion. How could that + be when you have a Christian husband who would not renounce his?” + </p> + <p> + “I should hope he would not; I should have little respect for any man who + would give up his sacred convictions because I have come into his life. As + for my religion, I am a Jewess, and will die one. My God is fixed and + unalterable; he is one and indivisible; to divide his divinity would be to + deny his omnipotence. As to forms, you, Father, have bred in me a contempt + for all but a few. Saturday will always be my Sabbath, no matter what + convention would make me do. We have decided that writing or sewing or + pleasuring, since it hurts no one, is no more a sin on that day than on + another; to sit with idle hands and gossip or slander is more so. But on + that day my heart always holds its Sabbath; this is the force of custom. + Any day would do as well if we were used to it,—for who can tell + which was the first and which the seventh counting from creation? On our + New Year I should still feel that a holy cycle of time had passed; but I + live only according to one record of time, and my New Year falls always on + the 1st of January. Atonement is a sacred day to me; I could not desecrate + it. Our services are magnificently beautiful, and I should feel like a + culprit if debarred from their holiness. As to fasting, you and I have + agreed that any physical punishment that keeps our thoughts one moment + from God, and puts them on the feast that is to come, is mere sham and + pretence. After these, Father, wherein does our religion show itself?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” he replied with some bitterness, “we hold few Jewish rites. + Well, and so you think you can keep these up? And you, Dr. Kemp?” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Kemp had been listening attentively while Ruth spoke. His eyes kindled + brightly as he answered,— + </p> + <p> + “Why should she not? If all her orisons have made her as beautiful, body + and soul, as she is to me, what is to prevent her from so continuing? And + if my wife would permit me to go with her upon her holidays to your + beautiful Temple, no one would listen more reverently than I. Loving her, + what she finds worshipful could find nothing but respect in me.” + </p> + <p> + Plainly Mr. Levice had forgotten the wellspring that was to enrich their + lives; but he perceived that some impregnable armor encased them that made + every shot of his harmless. + </p> + <p> + “I can understand,” he ventured, “that no gentleman with self-respect + would, at least outwardly, show disrespect for any person’s religion. You, + Doctor, might even come to regard with awe a faith that has withstood + everything and has never yet been sneered at, however its followers have + been persecuted. Many of its minor forms are slowly dying out and will + soon be remembered only historically; this history belongs to every one.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. Let us, however, stick to the point in question. You are a man + who has absorbed the essence of his religion, and cast off most of its + unnecessary externals. You have done the same for my—for your + daughter. This distinguishes you. If I were to say the characteristic has + never been unbeautiful in my eyes, I should be excusing what needs no + excuse. Now, sir, I, in turn, am a Christian broadly speaking; more + formally, a Unitarian. Our faiths are not widely divergent. We are both + liberal; otherwise marriage between us might be a grave experiment. As to + forms, for me they are a show, but for many they are a necessity,—a + sort of moral backbone without which they might fall. Sunday is to me a + day of rest if my patients do not need me. I enjoy hearing a good sermon + by any noble, broad-minded man, and go to church not only for that, but + for the pleasure of having my spiritual tendencies given a gentle stirring + up. There is one holiday that I keep and love to keep; that is Christmas.” + </p> + <p> + “And I honor you for it; but loving this day of days, looking for sympathy + for it from all you meet, how will it be when in your own home the wife + whom you love above all others stands coldly by and watches your feelings + with no answering sympathy? Will this not breed dissension, if not in + words, at least in spirit? Will you not feel the want and resent it?” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Kemp was silent. The question was a telling one and required thought; + therefore he was surprised when Ruth answered for him. Her quiet voice + carried no sense of hysteric emotion, but one of grave grace. + </p> + <p> + She addressed her father; each had refrained from appealing to the other. + The situation in the light of their new, great love was strained and + unnatural. + </p> + <p> + “I should endeavor that he should feel no lack,” she said; “for so far as + Christmas is concerned, I am a Christian also.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand.” Her father’s lips were dry, his voice husky. + </p> + <p> + “Ever since I have been able to judge,” explained the girl, quietly, + “Christ has been to me the loveliest and one of the best men that ever + lived. You yourself, Father, admire and reverence his life.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” His eyes were half closed as if in pain; he motioned to her to + continue. + </p> + <p> + “And so, in our study, he was never anything but what was great and good. + Later, when I had read his ‘Sermon on the Mount,’ I grew to see that what + he preached was beautiful. It did not change my religion; it made me no + less a Jewess in the true sense, but helped me to gentleness. To me he + became the embodiment of Love in the highest,—Love perfect, but warm + and human; human Love so glorious that it needs no divinity to augment its + power over us. He was God’s attestation, God’s symbol of what Man might + be. As a teacher of brotherly love, he is sublime. So I may call myself a + christian, though I spell it with a small letter. It is right that such a + man’s birthday should be remembered with love; it shows what a sweet power + his name is, when, as that time approaches, everybody seems to love + everybody better. Feeling so, would it be wrong for me to participate in + my husband’s actions on that day?” + </p> + <p> + She received no answer. She looked only at her father with loving + earnestness, and the look of adoration Kemp bent upon her was quite lost. + </p> + <p> + “Would this be wrong, Father?” she urged. + </p> + <p> + He straightened himself in his chair as if under a load. His dark, sallow + face seemed to have grown worn and more haggard. + </p> + <p> + “I have always imagined myself just and liberal in opinion,” he responded; + “I have sought to make you so. I never thought you could leap thus far. It + were better had I left you to your mother. Wrong? No; you would be but + giving your real feelings expression. But such an expression would grieve—Pardon; + I am to consider your happiness.” He seemed to swallow something, and + hastily continued: “While we are still on this subject, are you aware, my + child, that you could not be married by a Jewish rabbi?” + </p> + <p> + She started perceptibly. + </p> + <p> + “I should love to be married by Doctor C——.” As she pronounced + the grand old rabbi’s name, a tone of reverential love accompanied it. + </p> + <p> + “I know. But you would have to take a justice as a substitute.” + </p> + <p> + “A Unitarian minister would be breaking no law in uniting us, and I think + would not object to do so; that is, of course, if you had no objection.” + The doctor looked at him questioningly. Levice answered by turning to + Ruth. She passed her hand over her forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think,” she asked, “that after a ceremony had been performed, Dr. + C—— would bless us? As a friend, would he have to refuse?” + </p> + <p> + “He would be openly sanctioning a marriage which according to the + rabbinical law is no marriage at all. Do you think he would do this, + notwithstanding his friendship for you?” returned her father. They both + looked at him intently. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well,” she answered, throwing back her head, a half-smile coming to + her pale lips, “it is but a sentiment, and I could forego it, I suppose. + One must give up little things sometimes for great.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and this would be but the first. My children, there is something + radically wrong when we have to overlook and excuse so much before + marriage. ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof;’ and why should we + add trouble to days already burdened before they come?” + </p> + <p> + “We should find all this no trouble,” said Kemp; “and what is to trouble + us after? We have now the wherewithal for our happiness; what, in God’s + name, do you ask for more?” + </p> + <p> + “As I have said, Dr. Kemp, we are an earnest people. Marriage is a step + not entered into lightly. Divorce, for this reason, is seldom heard of + with us, and for this reason we have few unhappy marriages. We know + beforehand what we have to expect from every quarter. No question I have + put would be necessary with a Jew. His ways are ours, and, with few + exceptions, a woman has nothing but happiness to expect from him. How am I + sure of this with you? In a moment of anger this difference of faith may + be flung in each other’s teeth, and what then?” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you cannot trust me.” + </p> + <p> + The quiet, forceful words were accompanied by no sign of emotion. His deep + eyes rested as respectfully as ever upon the old gentleman’s face. But the + attack was a hard one upon Levice. A vein on his temple sprang into blue + prominence as he quickly considered his answer. + </p> + <p> + “I trust you, sir, as one gentleman would trust another in any + undertaking; but I have not the same knowledge of what to expect from you + as I should have from any Jew who would ask for my daughter’s hand.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand that,” admitted the other; “but a few minutes ago you + imputed a possibility to me that would be an impossibility to any + gentleman. You may have heard of such happenings among some, but an event + of that kind would be as removed from us as the meeting of the poles. + Everything depends on the parties concerned.” + </p> + <p> + “Besides, Father,” added Ruth, her sweet voice full with feeling, “when + one loves greatly, one is great through love. Can true married love ever + be divided and sink to this?” + </p> + <p> + The little white and gold clock ticked on; it was the only sound. Levice’s + forehead rested upon his hand over which his silvery hair hung. Kemp’s + strong face was as calm as a block of granite; Ruth’s was pale with + thought. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the old man threw back his head. They both started at the + revelation: great dark rings were about his eyes; his mouth was set in a + strained smile. + </p> + <p> + “I—I,” he cleared his throat as if something impeded his utterance,—“I + have one last suggestion to make. You may have children. What will be + their religion?” + </p> + <p> + The little clock ticked on; a dark hue overspread Kemp’s face. As for the + girl, she scarcely seemed to hear; her eyes were riveted upon her father’s + changed face. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor gave one quick glance at Ruth and answered,— + </p> + <p> + “If God should so bless us, I think the simple religion of love enough for + childhood. Later, as their judgment ripened, I should let them choose for + themselves, as all should be allowed.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, my Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + A shudder shook her frame; she answered mechanically,— + </p> + <p> + “I should be guided by my husband.” + </p> + <p> + The little clock ticked on, backward and forward, and forward and back, + dully reiterating, “Time flies, time flies.” + </p> + <p> + “I have quite finished,” said Levice, rising. + </p> + <p> + Kemp did likewise. + </p> + <p> + “After all,” he said deferentially, “you have not answered my question.” + </p> + <p> + “I—think—I—have,” replied the old man, slowly. “But to + what question do you refer?” + </p> + <p> + “The simple one,—will you give me your daughter?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; I will not.” + </p> + <p> + Kemp drew himself up, bowed low, and stood waiting some further word, his + face ashy white. Levice’s lips trembled nervously, and then he spoke in a + gentle, restrained way, half apologetically and in strange contrast to his + former violence. + </p> + <p> + “You see, I am an old man rooted in old ideas; my wife, not so old, holds + with me in this. I do not know how wildly she would take such a + proposition. But, Dr. Kemp, as I said before, though I object, I shall not + oppose this marriage. I love my daughter too dearly to place my beliefs as + an obstacle to what she considers her happiness; it is she who will have + to live the life, not I. You and I, sir, have been friends; outside of + this one great difference there is no man to whom I would more gladly + trust my child. I honor and esteem you as a gentleman who has honored my + child in his love for her. If I have hurt you in these bitter words, + forgive me; as my daughter’s husband, we must be more than friends.” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand. The doctor took it, and holding it tightly in his, + made answer somewhat confusedly,— + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Levice, I thank you. I can say no more now, except that no son could + love and honor you more than I shall.” + </p> + <p> + Levice bent his head, and turned to Ruth, who sat, without a movement, + looking straight ahead of her. + </p> + <p> + “My darling,” said her father, softly laying his hand on her head and + raising her lovely face, “if I have seemed selfish and peculiar, trust me, + dear, it was through no lack of love for you. Do not consider me; forget, + if you will, all I have said. You are better able, perhaps, than I to + judge what is best for you. Since you love Dr. Kemp, and if after all this + thought, you feel you will be happy with him, then marry him. You know + that I hold him highly, and though I cannot honestly give you to him, I + shall not keep you from him. My child, the door is open; you can pass + through without my hand. Good-night, my little girl.” + </p> + <p> + His voice quavered sadly over the old-time pet name as he stooped and + kissed her. He wrung the doctor’s hand again in passing, and abruptly + turned to leave the room. It was a long room to cross. Kemp and Ruth + followed with their eyes the small, slightly stooped figure of the old man + passing slowly out by himself. As the heavy portiere fell into place + behind him, the doctor turned to Ruth, still seated in her chair. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XVIII + </h2> + <h3> + She was perfectly still. Her eyes seemed gazing into vacancy. + </h3> + <p> + “Ruth,” he said softly; but she did not move. His own face showed signs of + the emotions through which he had passed, but was peaceful as if after a + long, triumphant struggle. He came nearer and laid his hand gently upon + her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Love,” he whispered, “have you forgotten me entirely?” + </p> + <p> + His hand shook slightly; but Ruth gave no sign that she saw or heard. + </p> + <p> + “This has been too much for you,” he said, drawing her head to his breast. + She lay there as if in a trance, with eyes closed, her face lily-white + against him. They remained in this position for some minutes till he + became alarmed at her passivity. + </p> + <p> + “You are tired, darling,” he said, stroking her cheek; “shall I leave + you?” + </p> + <p> + She started up as if alive to his presence for the first time, and sprang + to her feet. She turned giddy and swayed toward him. He caught her in his + arms. + </p> + <p> + “I am so dizzy,” she laughed in a broken voice, looking with dry, shining + eyes at him; “hold me for a minute.” + </p> + <p> + He experienced a feeling of surprise as she clasped her arms around his + neck; Ruth had been very shy with her caresses. + </p> + <p> + His eyes met hers in a long, strange look. + </p> + <p> + “Of what are you thinking?” he asked in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “There is an old German song I used to sing,” she replied musingly; “will + you think me very foolish if I say it is repeating itself to me now, over + and over again?” + </p> + <p> + “What is it, dear?’ he asked, humoring her. + </p> + <p> + “Do you understand German? Oh, of course, my student; but this is a sad + old song; students don’t sing such things. These are some of the words: + ‘Beh te Gott! es war zu schoen gewesen.’ I wish—” + </p> + <p> + “It is a miserable song,” he said lightly; “forget it.” + </p> + <p> + She disengaged herself from his arms and sat down. Some late roisterers + passing by in the street were heard singing to the twang of a mandolin. It + was a full, deep song, and the casual voices blended in perfect accord. As + the harmony floated out of hearing, she looked up at him with a haunting + smile. + </p> + <p> + “People are always singing to us; I wish they wouldn’t. Music is so sad; + it is like a heart-break.” + </p> + <p> + He knelt beside her; he was a tall man, and the action seemed natural. + </p> + <p> + “You are pale and tired,” he said; “and I am going to take a doctor’s + privilege and send you to bed. To-morrow you can answer better what I so + long to hear. You heard what your father said; your answer rests entirely + with you. Will you write, or shall I come?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” she answered, her eyes burning in her pale face, “you have + very pretty, soft dark hair? Does it feel as soft as it looks?” She raised + her hand, and ran her fingers lingeringly through his short, thick hair. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” she said brightly, “here are some silvery threads on your temples. + Troubles, darling?” + </p> + <p> + “You shall pull them out,” he answered, drawing her little hand to his + lips. + </p> + <p> + “There, go away,” she said quickly, snatching it from him and moving from + her chair as he rose. She rested her elbow on the mantel-shelf, and the + candles from the silver candelabra shone on her face; it looked strained + and weary. Kemp’s brows gathered in a frown as he saw it. + </p> + <p> + “I am going this minute,” he said; “and I wish you to go to bed at once. + Don’t think of anything but sleep. Promise me you will go to bed as soon + as I leave.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, sweetheart,” he said, kissing her softly, “and dream happy + dreams.” He stooped again to kiss her hands, and moved toward the door. + </p> + <p> + “Herbert!” His hand was on the portiere, and he turned in alarm at her + strange call. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked, taking a step toward her. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. Don’t—don’t come back, I say. I just wished to see your + face. I shall write to you. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + And the curtain fell behind him. + </p> + <p> + As he passed down the gravel walk, a hack drew up and stopped in front of + the house. Louis Arnold sprang out. The two men came face to face. + </p> + <p> + Arnold recognized the doctor immediately and drew back. When Kemp saw who + it was, he bowed and passed on. Arnold did likewise, but he went in where + the other went out. + </p> + <p> + It was late, after midnight. He had just arrived on a delayed southern + train. He knew the family had come home that morning. Dr. Kemp was rather + early in making a visit; it had also taken him long to make it. + </p> + <p> + Louis put his key in the latch and opened the door. It was very quiet; he + supposed every one had retired. He flung his hat and overcoat on a chair + and walked toward the staircase. As he passed the drawing-room, a stream + of light came from beneath the portiere. He hesitated in surprise, + everything was so quiet. Probably the last one had forgotten to put out + the lights. He stepped noiselessly up and entered the room. His footfall + made no sound on the soft carpet as he moved about putting out the lights. + He walked to the mantel to blow out the candles, but stopped, dumfounded, + within a foot of it. The thing that disturbed him was the motionless white + figure of his cousin. It might have been a marble statue, so lifeless she + seemed, though her face was hidden in her hands. + </p> + <p> + For a moment Arnold was terrified; but the feeling was immediately + succeeded by one of exquisite pain. He was a man not slow to conjecture; + by some intuition he understood. + </p> + <p> + He regained his presence of mind and turned quietly to quit the room; his + innate delicacy demanded it. He had but turned when a low, moaning sound + arrested him; he came back irresolutely. + </p> + <p> + “Did you call, Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + Silence. + </p> + <p> + “Ruth, it is I, Louis, who is speaking to you. Do you know how late it + is?” + </p> + <p> + With gentle force he drew her fingers from her face. The mute misery there + depicted was pitiful. + </p> + <p> + “Come, go to bed, Ruth,” he said as to a child. + </p> + <p> + She made a movement to rise, but sank back again. + </p> + <p> + “I am so tired, Louis,” she pleaded in a voice of tears, like a weary + child. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know; but I will help you.” The unfamiliar, gentle quality of his + voice penetrated even to her numbed senses. + </p> + <p> + She had not seen him since the night he had asked her to be his wife. No + remembrance of this came to her, but his presence held something new and + restful. She allowed him to draw her to her feet; and as calmly as a + brother he led her upstairs and into her room. Without a question he lit + the gas for her. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, Ruth,” he said, blowing out the match. “Go right to bed; your + head will be relieved by sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Louis,” she said, feeling dimly grateful for something his + words implied; “good-night.” + </p> + <p> + Arnold noiselessly closed the door behind him. She quickly locked it and + sat down in the nearest chair. + </p> + <p> + Her hands were interlaced so tightly that her nails left imprints in the + flesh. She had something to consider. Oh dear, it was such a simple thing; + was she to break her father’s heart, or her own and—his? Her + father’s, or his. + </p> + <p> + It was so stupid to sit and repeat it. Surely it was decided long ago. + Such a long time ago, when her father’s loving face had put on its misery. + Would it look that way always? No, no, no! She would not have it; she + dared not; it was too utterly wretched. + </p> + <p> + Still, there was some one else at the thought of whom her temples throbbed + wildly. It would hurt him; she knew it. The thought for a moment was a + miserable ecstasy; for he loved her,—her, simple Ruth Levice,—beyond + all doubting she knew he loved her; and, oh, father, father, how she loved + him! Why must she give it all up? she questioned fiercely; did she owe no + duty to herself? Was she to drag out all the rest of her weary life + without his love? Life! It would be a lingering death, and she was young + yet in years. Other girls had married with graver obstacles, in open + rupture with their parents, and they had been happy. Why could not she? It + was not as if he were at fault; no one dared breathe a word against his + fair fame. To look at his strong, handsome face meant confidence. That was + when he left the room. + </p> + <p> + Some one else had left the room also. Some one who had loved her all her + life, some one who had grown accustomed in more than twenty years to + listen gladly for her voice, to anticipate every wish, to hold her as in + the palm of a loving hand, to look for and rest on her unquestioned love. + He too had left the room; but he was not strong and handsome, poor, poor + old father with his small bent shoulders. What a wretched thing it is to + be old and have the heart-strings that have so confidently twisted + themselves all these years around another rudely cut off,—and that + by your only child! + </p> + <p> + At the thought an icy quiet stole over her. How long she sat there, + musing, debating, she did not know. When the gray dawn broke, she rose up + calmly and seated herself at her writing-table. She wrote steadily for + some time without erasing a single word. She addressed the envelope + without a falter over the name. + </p> + <p> + “That is over,” she said audibly and deliberately. + </p> + <p> + A cock crowed. It was the beginning of another day. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XIX + </h2> + <p> + Dr. Kemp tossed the reins to his man, sprang from his carriage, and + hurried into his house. “Burke!” he called while closing the door, + “Burke!” He walked toward the back of the house and into the kitchen, + still calling. Finding it empty, he walked back again and began a still + hunt about the pieces of furniture in the various rooms. Being + unsuccessful, he went into his bedroom, made a hasty toilet, and hurried + again to the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been, Burke?” he exclaimed as that spare-looking personage + turned, spoon in hand, from the range. + </p> + <p> + “Right here, General,” he replied in surprise, “except when I went out.” + </p> + <p> + “Well; did any mail come here for me?” + </p> + <p> + “One little Billy-do, General. I put it under your dinner-plate; and shall + I serve the soup?” the last was bellowed after his master’s retreating + form. + </p> + <p> + “Wait till I ring,” he called back. + </p> + <p> + He lifted his solitary plate, snatched up the little letter, and sat down + hastily, conscious of a slight excitement. + </p> + <p> + His name and address stared at him from the white envelope in a round, + firm hand. There was something about the loop-letters that reminded him of + her, and he passed his hand caressingly over the surface. He did not break + the seal for some minutes,—anticipation is sometimes sweeter than + realization. Finally it was done, but he closed his eyes for a second,—a + boyish trick of his that had survived when he wished some expected + pleasure to spring suddenly upon him. How would she address him? The + memory of their last meeting gave him courage, and he opened his eyes. The + denouement was disconcerting. Directly under the tiny white monogram she + had begun without heading of any description:— + </p> + <p> + It was cruel of me to let you go as I did: you were hopeful when you left. + I led you to this state for a purely selfish reason. After all, it saved + you the anguish of knowing it was a final farewell; for even then I knew + it could never be. Never! Forever!—do you know the meaning of those + two long words? I do. They have burned themselves irrevocably into my + brain; try to understand them,—they are final. + </p> + <p> + I retract nothing that I said to my father in your presence; you know + exactly how I still consider what is separating us. I am wrong. Only I am + causing this separation; no one else could or would. Do not blame my + father; if he were to see me writing thus he would beg me to desist; he + would think I am sacrificing my happiness for him. I have no doubt you + think so now. Let me try to make you understand how different it really + is. I am no Jephthah’s daughter,—he wants no sacrifice, and I make + none. Duty, the hardest word to learn, is not leading me. You heard my + father’s words; but not holding him as I do, his face could not recoil + upon your heart like a death’s hand. + </p> + <p> + I am trying to write coherently and to the point: see what a coward I am! + Let me say it now,—I could never be happy with you. Do you remember + Shylock,—the old man who withdrew from the merry-making with a + breaking heart? I could not make merry while he wept; my heart would weep + also. You see how selfish I am; I am doing it for my own sake, and for no + one’s else. + </p> + <p> + And that is why I ask you now to forgive me,—because I am not noble + enough to consider you when my happiness is at stake. I suppose I am a + light person seemingly to play thus with a man’s heart. If this reflection + can rob you of regret, think me so. Does it sound presumptuous or ironical + for me to say I shall pray you may be happy without me? Well, it is said + hearts do not break for love,—that is, not quickly. If you will just + think of what I have done, surely you will not regret your release; you + may yet find a paradise with some other and better woman. No, I am not + harsh or unreasonable; even I expect to be happy. Why should not you, + then,—you, a man; I, a woman? Forget me. In your busy, full life + this should be easy. Trust me, no woman is worthy of spoiling your life + for you. + </p> + <p> + My pen keeps trailing on; like summer twilight it is loath to depart. I am + such a woman. I may never see your face again. Will you not forgive me? + </p> + <p> + RUTH. + </p> + <p> + He looked up with a bloodless face at Burke standing with the smoking + soup. + </p> + <p> + “I—I—thought you had forgotten to ring,” he stammered, shocked + at the altered face. + </p> + <p> + “Take it away,” said his master, hoarsely, rising from his chair. “I do + not wish any dinner, Burke. I am going to my office, and must not be + disturbed.” + </p> + <p> + The man looked after him with a sadly wondering shake of his head, and + went back to his more comprehensible pots and kettles. + </p> + <p> + Kemp walked steadily into his office, lit the gas, and sat down at his + desk. He began to re-read the letter slowly from the beginning. It took a + long time, for he read between the lines. A deep groan escaped him as he + laid it down. It was written as she would have spoken; he could see the + expression of her face in the written words, and a miserable empty feeling + of powerlessness came upon him. He did not blame her,—how could he, + with that sad evidence of her breaking heart before him? He got up and + paced the floor. His head was throbbing, and a cold, sick feeling almost + overpowered him. The words of the letter repeated themselves to him. + “Paradise with some other, better woman,”—she might have left that + out; she knew better; she was only trying to cheat herself. “I too shall + be happy.” Not that, not some other man’s wife,—the thought was + demoniacal. He caught his reflection in the glass in passing. “I must get + out of this,” he laughed with dry, parched lips. He seized his hat and + went out. The wind was blowing stiffly; for hours he wrestled with it, and + then came home and wrote to her:— + </p> + <p> + I can never forgive you; love’s litany holds no such word. Be happy if you + can, my santa Filomena; it will help me much,—the fact that you are + somewhere in the world and not desolate will make life more worth the + living. If it will strengthen you to know that I shall always love you, + the knowledge will be eternally true. Wherever you are, whatever the need, + remember—I am at hand. + </p> + <p> + HERBERT KEMP. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Levice’s face was more haggard than Ruth’s when, after this answer was + received, she came to him with a gentle smile, despite the heavy shadows + around her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “It is all over, Father,” she said; “we have parted forever. Perhaps I did + not love him enough to give up so much for him. At any rate I shall be + happier with you, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure, my darling?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite sure; and there is no more to be said of it. Remember, it is dead + and buried; we must never remind each other of it again. Kiss me, Father, + and forget that it has been.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Levice drew a long sigh, partly of relief, partly of pain, as he + looked into her lovely, resolute face. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XX + </h2> + <p> + We do not live wholly through ourselves. What is called fate is but the + outcome of the spinning of other individuals twisted into the woof of our + own making; so no life should be judged as a unit. + </p> + <p> + Ruth Levice was not alone in the world; she was neither recluse nor a + genius, but a girl with many loving friends and a genial home-life. Having + resolved to bear to the world an unchanged front, she outwardly did as she + had always done. Her mother’s zealous worldliness returned with her + health; and Ruth fell in with all her plans for a gay winter,—that + is, the plans were gay; Ruth’s presence could hardly be termed so. The old + spontaneous laugh was superseded by a gentle smile, sympathetic perhaps, + but never joyous. She listened more, and seldom now took the lead in a + general conversation, though there was a charm about a tete-a-tete with + her that earnest persons, men and women, felt without being able to define + it. For the change, without doubt, was there. It was as if a quiet hand + had been passed over her exuberant, happy girlhood and left a serious, + thoughtful woman in its stead. A subtile change like this is not speedily + noticed by outsiders; it requires usage before an acquaintance will + account it a characteristic instead of a mood. But her family knew it. + Mrs. Levice, wholly in the dark as to the cause, wondered openly. + </p> + <p> + “You might be thirty, Ruth, instead of twenty-two, by the staidness of + your demeanor. While other girls are laughing and chatting as girls + should, you look on with the tolerant dignity of a woman of grave + concerns. If you had anything to trouble you, there might be some excuse; + but as it is, why can’t you go into enjoyments like the rest of your + friends?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t I? Why, I hardly know another girl who lives in such constant + gayety as I. Are we not going to a dinner this evening and to the ball + to-morrow night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but you might as well be going to a funeral for all the pleasure you + seem to anticipate. If you come to a ball with such a grandly serious air, + the men will just as soon think of asking a statue to dance as you. A + statue may be beautiful in its niche, but people do not care to study its + meaning at a ball.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you wish me to do, Mamma? I should hate the distinction of a + wall-flower, which you think imminent. I am afraid I am too big a woman to + be frolicsome.” + </p> + <p> + “You never were that, but you were at least a girl. People will begin to + think you consider yourself above them, or else that you have some secret + trouble.” + </p> + <p> + The smile of incredulity with which she answered her would have been + heart-breaking had it been understood. No flush stained the ivory pallor + of her face at these thrusts in the dark; Louis was never annoyed in this + way now. Her old-time excited contradictions never obtruded themselves in + their conversations. A silent knowledge lay between them which neither, by + word or look, ever alluded to. Mrs. Levice noted with delight their + changed relations. Louis’s sarcasm ceased to be directed at Ruth; and + though the familiar sparring was missing, Mrs. Levice preferred his + deferential bearing when he addressed her, and Ruth’s grave graciousness + with him. She drew her own conclusions, and accepted Ruth’s quietness with + more patience on this account. + </p> + <p> + Louis understood somewhat; and in his manliness he could not hide that her + suffering had cost him a new code of actions. But he could not understand + as her father did. Despite her brave smile, Levice could almost read her + heart-beats, and the knowledge brought a hardness and a bitter regret. He + grew to scanning her face surreptitiously, looking in vain for the old, + untroubled delight in things; and when the unmistakable signs of secret + anguish would leave traces at times, he would turn away with a groan. Yet + there was nothing to be done. He knew that her love had been no light + thing nor could her giving up be so; but feeling that no matter what the + present cost, the result would compensate, he trusted to time to heal the + wound. Meanwhile his own self-blame at these times left its mark upon him. + </p> + <p> + For Ruth lived a dual life. The real one was passed in her quiet chamber, + in her long solitary walks, and when she sat with her book, apparently + reading. She would look up with blank, despairing eyes, clinched hands, + and hard-set teeth when the thought of him and all her loss would steal + upon her. Her father had caught many such a look upon her face. She had + resolved to live without him, but accomplishment is not so easy. Besides, + it was not as if she never saw him. San Francisco is not so large a city + but that by the turning of a corner you may not come across a friend. Ruth + grew to study the sounds the different kinds of vehicles made; and the + rolling wheels of a doctor’s carriage behind her would set her pulses + fluttering in fright. + </p> + <p> + She was walking one day along Sutter Street toward Gough from Octavia. The + street takes a sudden down-grade midway in the block. She was approaching + this declension just before the Boys’ High School when a carriage drove + quickly up the hill toward her. The horses gave a bound as if the reins + had been jerked; there was the momentary flash of a man’s stern, white + face as he raised his hat; and Ruth was walking down the hill, trembling + and pale. It was the first time; and for one minute her heart seemed to + stop beating and then rushed wildly on. Whether she had bowed or made any + sign of recognition, she did not know. It did not matter, though; if he + thought her cold or strange or anything, what difference could it possibly + make? For her there would be left forever this dead emptiness. These + casual meetings were inevitable; and she would come home after them + worn-out and heavy-eyed. “A slight headache” was a recurrent excuse with + her. + </p> + <p> + They had common friends, and it would not have been surprising had she met + him at the different affairs to which she went, always through her + mother’s desire. But the dread of coming upon him slowly departed as the + months rolled by and with them all token of him. Time and again she would + hear allusions to him. “Dr. Kemp has developed into a misogynist,” pouted + Dorothy Gwynne. “He was one of the few decided eligibles on the horizon, + but it requires the magnet of illness to draw him now. I really must look + up the symptoms of a possible ache; the toilet and expression of an + invalid are very becoming, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Kemp made a splendid donation to our kindergarten to-day. I have not + seen him since we were in the country, and he thought me looking very + well. He inquired after the family, and I told him we had a residence, at + which he smiled.” This from Mrs. Levice. Ruth would have given much to + have been able to ask after him with self-possession, but the muscles of + her throat seemed to swell and choke her while silent. She went now and + then to see Bob Bard in his flower-store; he would without fail inquire + after “our friend” or tell her of his having passed that day. Here was her + one chance of inquiring if he was looking well, to which the answer was + invariably “yes.” + </p> + <p> + She sat one night at the opera in her wonted beauty, with her soft, dusky + hair rolled from her sweet Madonna face. Many a lorgnette was raised a + second and a third time toward her. Louis, seated next to her, resented + with unaccountable ferocity this free admiration that she did not see or + feel. + </p> + <p> + As the curtain went down on the first act, he drew her attention to some + celebrity then passing out. She raised her glass, but her hand fell + nerveless in her lap. Immediately following him came Dr. Kemp. Their eyes + met, and he bowed low, passing on immediately. The rest of the evening + passed like a nightmare; she heard nothing but her heart-throbs, saw + nothing but his beloved face regarding her with simple courtesy. Louis + knew that for her the opera was over; the tell-tale bistrous shadows grew + around her eyes, and she became deadly silent. + </p> + <p> + “What a magnificent man he is,” murmured Mrs. Levice, “and what an + impressive bow he has!” Ruth did not hear her; but when she reached her + own room, she threw herself face downward on her bed in intolerable + anguish. She was not a girl who cried easily. If she had been, her + suffering would not have been so intense,—when the flood-gates are + opened, the river finds relief. Over and over again she wished she might + die and end this eager, passionate craving for some token of love from + him, or for the power of letting him know how it was with her. And it + would always be thus as long as she lived. She did not deceive herself; no + mere friendship would have sufficed,—all or nothing after what had + been. + </p> + <p> + Physically, however, she bore no traces of this continual restraint. On + the contrary, her slender figure matured to womanly proportions. Little + children, seeing her, smiled responsively at her, or clamored to be taken + into her arms, there was such a tender mother-look about her. By degrees + her friends began to feel the repose of her intellect and the sympathy of + her face, and came to regard her as the queen of confidantes. Young girls + with their continual love episodes and excitements, ambitious youths with + their whimsical schemes of life and aspirations of love, sought her out + openly. Few of these latter dared hope for any individual thought from + her, though any of the older men would have staked a good deal for the + knowledge that she singled him for her consideration. + </p> + <p> + Arnold viewed it all with inward satisfaction. He regarded memory but as a + sort of palimpsest; and he was patiently waiting until his own name should + appear again, when the other’s should have been sufficiently obliterated. + </p> + <p> + It was a severe winter, and everybody appreciated the luxury of a warm + home. December came in wet and cold, and la grippe held the country in its + disagreeable hold. The Levices were congratulating themselves one evening + on their having escaped the epidemic. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose the secret of it lies in the fact that we do not coddle + ourselves,” observed Levice. + </p> + <p> + “If you were to coddle yourself a little more,” retorted his wife, “you + would not cough every morning as you do. Really, Jules, if you do not + consult a physician, I shall send for Kemp myself. I actually think it is + making you thin.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” he replied carelessly; “it is only a little irritation of the + throat every morning. If the weather is clear next week, I must go to New + York. Eh, Louis?” + </p> + <p> + “At this time of the year!” cried Mrs. Levice, in expostulation. + </p> + <p> + “Some one has to go, and the only one that should is I.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I could manage it,” said Louis, “if you would see about the other + adjustment while I am gone.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you could not,”—when Levice said “no,” it seldom meant an + ultimate “yes.” “Besides, the trip will do me good.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall go with you,” put in Mrs. Levice, decidedly. + </p> + <p> + “No, dear; you could not stand the cold in New York, and I could not be + bothered with a woman’s grip-sack.” + </p> + <p> + “Take Ruth, then.” + </p> + <p> + “I should love to go with you, Father,” she replied to the questioning + glance of his eyes. He seemed to ponder over it for a while, but shook his + head finally. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said again; “I shall be very busy, and a woman would be a + nuisance to me. Besides, I wish to be alone for a while.” + </p> + <p> + They all looked at him in surprise; he was so unused to making testy + remarks. + </p> + <p> + “Grown tired of womankind?” asked Mrs. Levice, playfully. “Well, if you + must, you must; don’t overstay your health and visit, and bring us + something pretty. How long will you be gone?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends on the speediness of the courts. No more than three weeks at + the utmost, however.” + </p> + <p> + So the following Wednesday being bright and sunny, he set off; the family + crossed the bay with him. + </p> + <p> + “Take care of your mother, Ruth,” he said at parting, “and of yourself, my + pale darling.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t worry about me, Father,” she said, pulling up his furred collar; + “indeed, I am well and happy. If you could believe me, perhaps you would + love me as much as you used to.” + </p> + <p> + “As much! My child, I never loved you better than now; remember that. I + think I have forgotten everybody else in you.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t, dear! it makes me feel miserable to think I should cause you a + moment’s uneasiness. Won’t you believe that everything is as I wish it?” + </p> + <p> + “If I could, I should have to lose the memory of the last four months. + Well, try your best to forgive me, child.” + </p> + <p> + “Unless you hate me, don’t hurt me with that thought again. I forgive you? + I, who am the cause of it all?” + </p> + <p> + He kissed her tear-filled eyes tenderly, and turned with a sign to her + mother. + </p> + <p> + They watched to the last his loved face at the window, Ruth with a sad + smile and a loving wave of her handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + Over at the mole it is not a bad place to witness tragedies. Pathos holds + the upper hand, and the welcomes are sometimes as heart-rending as the + leave-takings. A woman stood on the ferry with a blank, working face down + which the tears fell heedlessly; a man, her husband, turned from her, drew + his hat down over his eyes, and stalked off toward the train without a + backward glance. Parting is a figure of death in this respect,—that + only those who are left need mourn; the others have something new beyond. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XXI + </h2> + <p> + The fire-light threw grotesque shadows on the walls. Ruth and Louis in the + library made no movement to ring for lights; it was quite cosey as it was. + They had both drawn near the crackling wood-blaze, Ruth in a low rocker, + Arnold in Mr. Levice’s broad easy-chair. + </p> + <p> + “I surely thought you intended going to the concert this evening, Louis,” + she said, looking across at him. “I fancy Mamma expected you to accompany + her.” + </p> + <p> + “What! Voluntarily put myself into the cold when there is a fire blazing + right here? Ah, no. At any rate, your mother is all right with the + Lewises, and I am all right with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I give you a guarantee I shall not bite; you look altogether too hard for + my cannibalistic propensities.” + </p> + <p> + “It is something not to be accounted soft. I think a redundancy of flesh + overflows in trickling sentimentality. My worst enemy could not accuse me + of either fault.” + </p> + <p> + “But your best friend would not mind a little thaw now and then. One of + the girls confided to me today that walking on and over-waxed floor was + nothing to attempting an equal footing in conversation with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry I am such a slippery customer. Does not the fire burn your + face? Shall I hand you a screen?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I like to toast.” + </p> + <p> + “But your complexion might char; move your chair a little forward.” + </p> + <p> + “In two minutes I intend to have lights and to bring my work down. Will it + make you tired to watch me?” + </p> + <p> + “Exceedingly. I prefer your undivided attention; it is not often we are + alone, Ruth.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up slightly startled; he seldom made personal remarks. Her + pulses began to flutter with the premonition that reference to a tacitly + buried secret was going to be made. + </p> + <p> + “We have been going out and receiving a good deal lately, though somehow I + don’t feel festive, with Father away in freezing New York. Mamma would + gladly have stayed at home to-night if Jennie had not insisted.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so? I fancy she was a very willing captive; she intimated as + much to me.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in words, but her eyes were interesting reading: first, capitulation + to Jennie, then, in rapid succession, inspiration, command, entreaty, a + challenge and retreat, all directed at me. Possibly this eloquence was + lost upon you.” + </p> + <p> + “Entirely. What was your interpretation?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that was confidential. Perhaps I even endowed her with these + thoughts, knowing her desires were in touch with my own.” + </p> + <p> + “It is wanton cruelty to arouse a woman’s curiosity and leave it + unsatisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not cruelty; it is cowardice.” + </p> + <p> + She gazed at him in wonder. His apple-blossom cheeks wore a rosier glow + than usual. He seized a log from the box, threw it on the blaze that + illumined their faces, grasped the poker, and leaning forward in his chair + let it grow hot as he held it to the flames. His glasses fell off, + dangling from the cord; and as he adjusted them, he caught the curious, + half-amused smile on Ruth’s attentive face. He gave the fire a sharp + raking and addressed her, gazing into the leaping flames. + </p> + <p> + “I was wondering why, after all, you could not be happy as my wife.” + </p> + <p> + A numbness as of death overspread her. + </p> + <p> + “I think I could make you happy, Ruth.” + </p> + <p> + In the pregnant silence that followed he looked up, and meeting her sad, + reproachful eyes, laid down the poker softly but resolutely; there was + method in the action. + </p> + <p> + “In fact, I know I could make you happy.” + </p> + <p> + “Louis, have you forgotten?” she cried in sharp pain. + </p> + <p> + “I have forgotten nothing,” he replied incisively. “Listen to me, Ruth. It + is because I remember that I ask you. Give me the right to care for you, + and you will be happier than you can ever be in these circumstances.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not know what you ask, Louis. Even if I could, you would never be + satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “Try me, Ruth,” he entreated. + </p> + <p> + She raised herself from her easy, reclining position, and regarded him + earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “What you desire,” she said in a restrained manner, “would be little short + of a crime for me. What manner of wife should I be to you when my every + thought is given to another?” + </p> + <p> + His face put on the set look of one who has shut his teeth hard together. + </p> + <p> + “I anticipated this repulse,” he said after a pause; “so what you have + just assured me of does not affect my wish or my resolution to continue my + plea.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you marry a woman who feels herself as closely bound to another, or + the memory of another, as if the marriage rite had been actually + performed? Oh, Louis, how could you force me to these disclosures?” + </p> + <p> + “I am seeking no disclosure, but it is impossible for me to continue + silent now.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Why? Because I love you.” + </p> + <p> + They sat so close together he might have touched her by putting out his + hand, but he remained perfectly still, only the pale excitement of long + repression speaking from his face; but she shrank back at his words and + raised her hand as if about to receive a blow. + </p> + <p> + “Do not be alarmed,” he continued, noticing the action; “my love cannot + hurt you, or it would have killed you long ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Louis,” she murmured, “forgive me; I never thought you cared so + much.” + </p> + <p> + “How should you? I am not a man to wear my heart upon my sleeve. I think I + have always loved you; but living as familiarly as we have lived, seeing + you whenever I wished, the thought that some day this might end never + occurred to me. It was only when the possibility of some other man’s + claiming your love and taking you from me presented itself, that my heart + rose up in arms against it,—and then I asked you to be my wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied, raising her pale face; “and I refused. The same cause + that moved me then, and to which you submitted without protest, rules me + now, and you know it.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I do not know it. What then might have had a possible issue is now + done with—or do I err?” + </p> + <p> + Her mouth trembled piteously, but no tears came as she lowered her head. + </p> + <p> + “Then listen to me. You may think me a poor sort of a fellow even to wish + you to marry me when you assure me that you love another. That means that + you do not love me as a husband should be loved, but it does not prove + that you never could love me so.” + </p> + <p> + “It proves just that.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you may think so now, but let me reason you into seeing the falsity + of your thought,—for I do not wish to force or impel you to do a + thing repugnant to your reason as well as to your feelings. To begin with, + you do not dislike me?” + </p> + <p> + His face was painful in its eagerness. + </p> + <p> + “I have always loved you as a dear brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Some people would consider that worse than hostility; I do not. Another + question: Is there anything about my life or personality to which you + object, or of which your are ashamed?” + </p> + <p> + “You know how proud we all are of you in your bearing in every relation of + life.” + </p> + <p> + “I was egotist enough to think as much at any rate; otherwise I could not + approach you so confidently. Well, love—indifferent if you will—and + respect are not a bad foundation for something stronger. Will you, for the + sake of argument, suppose that for some reason you have forgotten your + opposition and have been led into marrying me?” + </p> + <p> + The sad indulgence of her smile was not inspiriting, but he continued,— + </p> + <p> + “Now, then, say you are my wife; that means I am your husband, and I love + you. You do not return my love, you say; you think you would be wretched + with me because you love another. Still, you are married to me; that gives + me rights that no other man can possess, no matter how much you love him. + You are bound to me, I to you and your happiness; so I pledge myself to + make you happier than you are now, because I shall make you forget this + man.” + </p> + <p> + “You could not, and I should only grow to hate you.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible,” the pallor of his face intensifying; “because I should so + act that my love would wait upon your pleasure: it would never push itself + into another’s place, but it would in time overshadow the other. For, + remember, I shall be your husband. I shall give you another life; I shall + take you away with me. You will leave all your old friends and + associations for a while, and I shall be with you always,—not + intrusively, but necessarily. I shall give you every pleasure and novelty + that the Old World can afford. I shall shower my love on you, not myself. + In return I shall expect your tolerance. In time I will make you love me.” + </p> + <p> + His voice shook with the strength of his passion, while she listened in + heart-sick fear. Carried away by his manner, she almost felt as if he had + accomplished his object. He quieted down after this. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you see, Ruth, that all this change must make you forget? And if + you tried to put the past from you for no other reason than that your + wifehood would be less untrue, you would be but following the instincts of + a truly honorable woman. After that, all would be easy. In every instance + you would be forced to look upon me as your husband, for you would belong + to me. I should be the author of all your surroundings; and always keeping + in mind how I want you to regard me, I should woo you so tenderly that + without knowing it you would finally yield. Then, and only then, when I + had filled your thought to the exclusion of every other man, I should + bring you home; and I think we should be happy.” + </p> + <p> + “And you would be satisfied to give so much and receive so little?” + </p> + <p> + “The end would repay me.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a pretty story,” she said, letting her hands fall listlessly into + her lap, “but the denouement is a castle in Spain that we should never + inhabit. You think your love is strong enough to kill mine first of all; + well, I tell you, nothing is strong enough for that. With this fact + established the rest is needless to speak of. It is only your dream, + Louis; forgive me that I unwittingly intruded into it; reality would mean + disillusion,—we are happy only when we dream.” + </p> + <p> + “You are bitter.” + </p> + <p> + “Our relations are turned, then; I have put into practice your old + theories of the uselessness of life. No; I am wrong. It is better to die + than not to have loved.” + </p> + <p> + “You think you have lived your life, then. I can’t convince you otherwise + now; but I am going to beg you to think this over, to try to imagine + yourself my wife. I will not hasten your decision, but in a week’s time + you should be able to answer me yes or no. If anything can help my cause, + I cannot overlook it; so I may tell you now that for some occult reason + your mother’s one wish is to see you my wife.” + </p> + <p> + “And my father?” her voice was harsh now. + </p> + <p> + “Your father has expressed to your mother that such a course would make + him happy.” + </p> + <p> + She rose suddenly as if oppressed. Her face looked hard to a degree. She + stood before him, tall and rigid. He stood up and faced her, reading her + face so intently that he straightened himself as if to receive an attack. + </p> + <p> + “I will consider what you have said,” she said mechanically. + </p> + <p> + The reaction was so unexpected that he turned giddy and caught on to the + back of a chair to steady himself. + </p> + <p> + “It will not take me a week,” she went on with no change in her monotone; + “I can give you an answer in a day or two. To-morrow night, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + He made a step forward, a movement to seize her hand; but she stepped back + and waved him off. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t touch me,” she cried in a suppressed voice; “at least you are not + my husband—yet.” + </p> + <p> + She turned hastily toward the door without another word. + </p> + <p> + “Wait!” + </p> + <p> + His vibrant voice compelled her to turn. + </p> + <p> + “I want no martyr for a wife, nor yet a tragedy queen. If you can come to + me and honestly say, ‘I trust my happiness to you,’ well and good. But as + I told you once before, I am not a saint, and I cannot always control + myself as I have been forced to do tonight. If this admission is damaging, + it is too true to be put lightly aside. I shall not detain you longer.” + </p> + <p> + He looked haughty and cold regarding her from this dim distance. Her + gentleness struggled to get the better of her, and she came back and held + out her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry if I offended you, Louis; good-night. Will you not pardon my + selfishness?” + </p> + <p> + His eyes gleamed behind their glasses; he did not take her hand, but + merely bent over the little peace-offering as over a sacrament. Seeing + that he had no intention of doing more, her hand fell passively to her + side, and she left the room. + </p> + <p> + As the door closed softly, Arnold sank with a hopeless gesture into a + chair and buried his face in his hands. He was not a stoic, but a man,—a + Frenchman, who loved much; but Arnold, half-blinded by his own love, + scarcely appreciated the depths of self-forgetfulness to which Ruth would + have to succumb in order to accept the guaranty of happiness which he + offered her. + </p> + <p> + The question now presented itself in the light of a duty: if by this + action she could undo the remorse that her former offence had inflicted, + had she the right to ignore the opportunity? A vision of her own sad face + obtruded itself, but she put it sternly from her. If she were to do this + thing, the motive alone must be considered; and she rigidly kept in view + the fact that her marriage would be the only means by which her father + might be relieved of the haunting knowledge of her lost peace of mind. Had + she given one thought to Louis, the possibility of the act would have been + abhorrent to her. One picture she kept constantly before her,—her + father’s happy eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XXII + </h2> + <p> + Mrs. Levice’s gaze strayed pensively from the violets she was embroidering + to Ruth’s pale face. Every time the latter stirred, her mother started + expectantly; but the anxiously awaited disclosure was not forthcoming. + Outside the rain kept up a sullen downpour, deepening the feeling of + comfort indoors; but Mrs. Levice was not what one might call + comfortably-minded. Her frequent inventories of Ruth’s face had at last + led her to believe that the pallor there depicted and the heavy, dark + shadows about her eyes meant something decidedly not gladsome. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you feel well, Ruth?” she asked finally with some anxiety. + </p> + <p> + Ruth raised her heavy eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I? Oh, I feel perfectly well. Why do you ask? Do I look ill?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you do; your face is pale, and your eyes look tired. Did you sit up + late last night?” + </p> + <p> + This was a leading move, but Ruth evaded the deeper meaning that was so + evident to her now. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she replied; “I believe it could not have been nine when I went + upstairs.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? Were you too fatigued to sit up, or was Louis’s company unpleasant?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” was the abrupt response, and her eyes fell on the open page + again. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice, once started on the trail, was not to be baffled by such + tactics. Since Ruth was not ill, she had had some mental disturbance of + which her weary appearance was the consequence. She felt almost positive + that Louis had made some advances last night, from the flash of + intelligence with which he had met her telegraphic expression. It was + natural for her to be curious; it was unnatural for Ruth to be so + reserved. With feelings not a little hurt she decided to know something + more. + </p> + <p> + “For my part,” she observed, as if continuing a discussion, “I think Louis + charming in a tete-a-tete,—when he feels inclined to be interesting + he generally succeeds. Did he tell you anything worth repeating? It is a + dull afternoon, and you might entertain me a little.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up from the violet petal she had just completed and encountered + Ruth’s full, questioning gaze. + </p> + <p> + “What is it you would like to know, Mamma?” she asked in a gentle voice. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing that you do not wish to tell,” her mother answered proudly, but + regarding her intently. + </p> + <p> + Ruth passed her hand wearily across her brow, and considered a moment + before answering. + </p> + <p> + “I did not wish to hurt you by my silence, Mamma; but before I had decided + I hardly thought it necessary to say anything. He asked me to—marry + him.” + </p> + <p> + The avowal was not made with the conventional confusion and trembling. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice was startled by the dead calm of her manner. + </p> + <p> + “You say that as if it were a daily occurrence for a man like Louis Arnold + to offer you his hand and name.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not.” + </p> + <p> + “But you do. I confess I think you are not one tenth as excited as I am. + Why didn’t you tell me before? Any other girl would have sat up to tell + her mother in the night. Oh, Ruth darling, I am so glad. I have been + looking forward to this ever since you grew up. What did you mean by + saying you wished to wait till you had decided? Decided what?” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my answer.” + </p> + <p> + “As if you could question it, you fortunate girl! Or were you waiting for + me to help you to it? I scarcely need tell you how you have been honored.” + </p> + <p> + “Honor is not everything, Mamma.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment a desperate longing for her mother’s sympathy seized her; + but the next minute the knowledge of the needless sorrow it would occasion + came to her, and her lips remained closed. + </p> + <p> + “No,” responded her mother, “and you have more than that; surely Louis did + not neglect to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean his love, I suppose,—yes, I have that.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what else would you have? You probably know that he can give you + every luxury within reason,—so much for honest practicality. As to + Louis himself, the most fastidious could find nothing to cavil at,—he + will make you a perfect husband. You are familiar enough with him to know + his faults; but no man is faultless. I hope you are not so silly as to + expect some girlish ideal,—for all the ideals died in the Golden + Age, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “As mine did. No; I have outgrown imagination in that line.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you hesitate?” Her mother’s eyes were shining; her face was + alive with the excitement of hope fulfilled. “Is there anything else + wanting?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she responded dully; “but let us not talk about it any more, please. + I must see Louis again, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “If your father were here, he could help you better, dear;” there was no + reproach in Mrs. Levice’s gentle acceptance of the fact; “he will be so + happy over it. There, kiss me, girlie; I know you like to think things out + in silence, and I shall not say another word about it till you give me + leave.” + </p> + <p> + She kept her word. The dreary afternoon dragged on. By four o-clock it was + growing dark, and Mrs. Levice became restless. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to my room to write to your father now,—he shall have a + good scolding for the non-receipt of a letter to-day;” and forthwith she + betook herself upstairs. + </p> + <p> + Ruth closed her book and moved restlessly about the room. She wandered + over to the front window, and drawing aside the silken curtain, looked out + into the storm-tossed garden. The pale heliotropes lay wet and sweet + against the trellises; some loosened rose-petals fluttered noiselessly to + the ground; only the gorgeous chrysanthemums looked proudly indifferent to + the elements; and the beautiful, stately palm-tree just at the side of the + window spread its gracious arms like a protecting temple. She felt + suddenly oppressed and feverish, and threw open the long French window. + The rain had ceased for the time, and she stepped out upon the veranda. + The fragrance of the rain-soaked flowers stole to her senses; the soft, + sweet breeze caressed her temples; she stood still in the perfumed + freshness and enjoyed its peace. By and by she began to walk up and down. + Evening was approaching, and Louis would soon be home. She had decided to + meet him on his return and have it over with. She must school herself to + some show of graciousness. The thing must not be done by halves or it must + not be done at all. Her father’s happiness; over and over she repeated it. + She went so far as to picture herself in his arms; she heard the old-time + words of blessing; she saw his smiling eyes; and a gentleness stole over + her whole face, a gentle nobility that made it strangely sweet. The soft + patter of rain on the gravel roused her, and she went in; but she felt + better, and wished Louis might come in while the mood was upon her. + </p> + <p> + It was nearing six when Mrs. Levice came back humming a song. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you would still be here. Make a light, will you, Ruth; it is as + pitchy as Hades, only that smouldering log looks purgatorial.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth lit the gas; and as she stood with upturned eyes adjusting the + burner, her mother noticed that the heaviness had departed from her face. + She sank into a rocker and took up the evening paper. + </p> + <p> + “What time is it, Ruth?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty minutes to six,” she answered, glancing at the clock. + </p> + <p> + “As late as that?” She meant to say, “And Louis not home yet?” but forbore + to mention his name. + </p> + <p> + “It is raining heavily now,” said Ruth, throwing a log upon the fire. Mrs. + Levice unfolded the crackling newspaper, and Ruth moved over to the window + to draw down the blinds. As she stood looking out with her hand on the + chair, she saw the gate swing slowly open, and a messenger-boy came + dawdling up the walk as if the sun were streaming full upon him. + </p> + <p> + Ruth stepped noiselessly out, meaning to anticipate his ring. A vague + foreboding drove the blood from her lips as she stood waiting at the open + hall-door. Seeing the streaming light, the boy managed to accelerate his + snail’s pace. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Ruth Levice live here?” he asked, stopping in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” She took the packet he handed her. “Any charges or answers?” she + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Nom,” answered the boy; and noticing her pallor and apprehension, “I’ll + shet the door for you,” he added, laying his hand on the knob. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. Here, take two cars if necessary; it is too wet to walk.” She + handed him a quarter, and the boy went off, gayly whistling. + </p> + <p> + She closed the heavy door softly and sat down on a chair. She recognized + Louis’s handwriting on the wrapper, and her heart fluttered ominously. She + tore off the damp covering, and the first thing she encountered was + another wrapper on which was written in large characters:— + </p> + <p> + DEAR RUTH,—Do not be alarmed; everything is all right. I had to + leave town on the overland at 6 P.M. Read the letter first, then the + telegram; they will explain. + </p> + <p> + LOUIS + </p> + <p> + The kindly feeling that had prompted this warning was appreciated; one + fear was stilled. She drew out the letter; she saw in perplexity that it + was from her father. She hurriedly opened it and read: + </p> + <p> + NEW YORK, Jan. 21, 188—. + </p> + <p> + DEAR LOUIS,—I am writing this from my bed, where I have been + confined for the last week with pneumonia, although I managed to write a + daily postal. Have been quite ill, but am on the mend and only anxious to + start home again. I really cannot rest here, and have made arrangements to + leave to-morrow. Have taken every precaution against catching cold, and + apart from feeling a trifle weak and annoyed by a cough, am all right. + Shall come home directly. Say nothing of this to Esther or Ruth; shall + apprise them by telegram of my home-coming. Had almost completed the + business, and can leave the rest to Hamilton. + </p> + <p> + My love to you all. + </p> + <p> + Your loving Uncle, + </p> + <p> + JULES LEVICE. + </p> + <p> + Under this Louis had pencilled, + </p> + <p> + Received this this morning at 10.30. + </p> + <p> + Ruth closed her eyes as she unfolded the telegram; then with every nerve + quivering she read the yellow missive:— + </p> + <p> + RENO, Jan. 27, 188—. + </p> + <p> + LOUIS ARNOLD, San Francisco, Cal.: + </p> + <p> + Have been delayed by my cough. Feeling too weak to travel alone. Come if + you can. + </p> + <p> + JULES LEVICE. + </p> + <p> + Her limbs shook as she sat; her teeth chattered; for one minute she turned + sick and faint. Under the telegram Arnold had written:— + </p> + <p> + Am sure it is nothing. He has never been ill, and is more frightened than + a more experienced person would be. There is no need to alarm your mother + unnecessarily, so say nothing till you hear from me. Shall wire you as + soon as I arrive, which will be to-morrow night. + </p> + <p> + LOUIS. + </p> + <p> + How could she refrain from telling her mother? She felt suddenly weak and + powerless. O God, good God, her heart cried, only make him well! + </p> + <p> + The sound of the library door closing made her spring to her feet; her + mother stood regarding her. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Ruth?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” she cried, her voice breaking despite her effort to be calm,—“nothing + at all. Louis has just sent me word that he had to leave town this + evening, and says not to wait dinner for him.” + </p> + <p> + “That is very strange,” mused her mother, moving slowly toward her and + holding out her hand for the note; but Ruth thrust the papers into her + pocket. + </p> + <p> + “It is to me, Mamma; you do not care for second-hand love-letters, do + you?” she asked, assuming a desperate gayety. “There is nothing strange + about it; he often leaves like this.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in such weather and not after—— There won’t be a man in + the house to-night. I wish your father were home; he would not like it if + he knew.” She shivered slightly as they went into the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XXIII + </h2> + <p> + The next day passed like a nightmare. To add to the misery of her secret, + her mother began to fidget over the continued lack of any communication + from her husband. Had the weather been fair, Ruth would have insisted on + her going out with her; but to the rain of the day before was added a + heavy windstorm that made any unnecessary expedition from home absurd. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice worried herself into a headache, but would not lie down. She + was sure that the next delivery would bring something. Was it not time for + the second delivery? Would not Ruth please watch for the postman? By + half-past one she took up her station at the window only to see the jaunty + little rubber-encased man go indifferently by. At half-past four this + scene was repeated, and then she decided to act. + </p> + <p> + “Ring up the telegraph-office, Ruth; I am going to send a despatch.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mamma, probably the mail is delayed; it always is in winter. + Besides, you will only frighten Father.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense; two days is a long delay without the excuse of a blockade. Go + to the telephone, please.” + </p> + <p> + “The telephone was broken yesterday, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I had forgotten. Well, one of the girls must go; I can’t stand it any + longer.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t send any of the girls in such weather; both the maids have + terrible colds, and Mary would not go if you asked her. Listen! It is + frightful. I promise to go in the morning if we don’t get a letter, but we + probably shall. Let us play checkers for a while.” With a forced stoicism + she essayed to distract her mother’s thoughts, but with poor success. The + wretched afternoon drew to a close; and immediately after a show of + dining, Mrs. Levice went to bed. At Ruth’s suggestion she took some + headache medicine. + </p> + <p> + “It will make me sleep, perhaps; and that will be better than worrying + awake and unable to do anything.” + </p> + <p> + The opiate soon had its effect; and with a sigh of relief Ruth heard her + mother’s regular breathing. It was now her turn to suffer openly the + fox-wounds. Louis had said she would hear to-night; but at what time? It + was now eight o’clock, and the bell might ring at any moment. Mrs. Levice + slept; and Ruth sat dry-eyed and alert, feeling her heart rise to her + throat every time the windows shook or the doors rattled. It was one of + the wildest nights San Francisco ever experienced; trees groaned, gates + slammed, and a perfect war of the elements was abroad. The wailing wind + about the house haunted her like the desolate cry of some one begging for + shelter. The ormolu clock ticked on and chimed forth nine. Still her + mother slept. Ruth from her chair could see that her cheeks were + unnaturally flushed and that her breathing was hurried; but any degree of + oblivion was better than the impatient outlook for menacing tidings. + Despite the heated room, her hands grew cold, and she wrapped them in the + fleecy shawl that enveloped her. The action brought to her mind the way + her father used to tuck her little hands under the coverlet when a child, + after they had clung around his neck in a long good-night, and how no + sooner were they there than out they would pop for “just one squeeze more, + Father;” how long the good-nights were with this play! She had never + called him “papa” like other children, but he had always liked it best so. + She brushed a few drops from her lashes as the sweet little chimer rang + out ten bells; she began to grow heart-sick with her thoughts; her limbs + ached with stiffness, and she began a gentle walk up and down the room. + Would it keep up all night? There! surely somebody was crunching up the + gravel-walk. With one look at her sleeping mother, she quickly left the + room, closing the door carefully behind her. With a palpitating heart she + leaned over the balustrade; was it a false alarm, after all? The next + instant there was a violent pull at the bell, as startling in the dead of + the night as some supernatural summons. Before Ruth could hurry down, + Nora, looking greatly bewildered, came out of her room and rushed to the + door. In a trice she was back again with the telegram and had put it into + Ruth’s hands. + </p> + <p> + “Fifteen cents’ charges,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Pay it,” returned Ruth. + </p> + <p> + As the maid turned away, she tore open the envelope. Before she could open + the form, a firm hand was placed upon hers. + </p> + <p> + “Give me that,” said her mother’s voice. + </p> + <p> + Ruth recoiled; Mrs. Levice stood before her unusually quiet in her white + night-dress; with a strong hand she endeavored to relax Ruth’s fingers + from the paper. + </p> + <p> + “But, Mamma, it was addressed to me” + </p> + <p> + “It was a mistake, then; I know it was meant for me. Let go instantly, or + I shall tear the paper. Obey me, Ruth.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice sounded harsh as a man’s. At the strange tone Ruth’s fingers + loosened, and Mrs. Levice, taking the telegram, re-entered the room; Ruth + followed her closely. + </p> + <p> + Standing under the chandelier, Mrs. Levice read. No change came over her + face; when she had finished, she handed the paper without a word to Ruth. + This was the message:— + </p> + <p> + RENO, Jan. 28, 188— + </p> + <p> + MISS RUTH LEVICE, San Francisco, Cal. + </p> + <p> + Found your father very weak and feverish and coughing continually. Insists + on getting home immediately. Says to inform Dr. Kemp, who will understand, + and have him at the house on our arrival at 11.30 Thursday. No present + danger. + </p> + <p> + LOUIS ARNOLD + </p> + <p> + “Explain,” commanded her mother, speaking in her overwrought condition as + if to a stranger. + </p> + <p> + “Get into bed first, Mamma, or you will take cold.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice suffered herself to be led there, and in a few words Ruth + explained what she knew. + </p> + <p> + “You knew that yesterday before the train left?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mamma.” + </p> + <p> + “And why didn’t you tell me? I should have gone to him. Oh, why didn’t you + tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “It would have been too late, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is too late now; do you hear? I shall never see him again, and it + is all your fault—what do you know? Stop crying! will you stop + crying, or—” + </p> + <p> + “Mamma, I am not crying; you are crying, and saying things that are not + true. It will not be too late; perhaps it is nothing but the cough. Louis + says there is no danger.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” cried her mother, her whole figure trembling. “I know there is + danger now, this minute. Oh, what can I do, what can I do?” With this cry + all her strength seemed to give way; she sobbed and laughed with the + hysteria of long ago; when Ruth strove to put her arms around her, she + shook her off convulsively. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t touch me!” she breathed; “it is all your fault—he wants me—needs + me—and, oh, look at me here! Why do you stand there like a ghost? Go + away. No, come here—I want Dr. Kemp; now, at once, he said to have + him; send for him, Ruth.” + </p> + <p> + “On Thursday morning,” she managed to answer. + </p> + <p> + “No, now—I must, must, must have him! You won’t go? Then I shall; + move aside.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth, summoning all her strength, strove to hold her in her arms, all to + no avail. + </p> + <p> + “Lie still,” she said sternly; “I shall go for Dr. Kemp.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t; it is night and raining. Oh,” she continued, half deliriously, + “I know I am acting strangely, and he will calm me. Ruth, I want to be + calm; don’t you understand?” + </p> + <p> + The two maids, frightened by the noise, stood in the doorway. Both had + their heads covered with shawls; both were suffering with heavy colds. + </p> + <p> + “Come in, girls. Stay here with my mother; I am going for the doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Miss Ruth, ain’t you afraid? It’s a awful night, and black as pitch, + and you all alone?” asked one, with wide, frightened eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I am not afraid,” said the girl, a great calmness in her voice as she + spoke above her mother’s sobbing; “stay and try to quiet her. I shall not + be gone long.” + </p> + <p> + She flew into her room, drew on her overshoes and mackintosh, grasped a + sealskin hood, which she tied securely under her chin, and went out into + the howling, raging night. + </p> + <p> + She had but a few blocks to go, but under ordinary circumstances the + undertaking would have been disagreeable enough. The rain came down in + heavy, wild torrents; the wind roared madly, wrapping her skirts around + her limbs and making walking almost an impossibility; the darkness was + impenetrable save for the sickly, quavering light shed by the few + street-lamps, as far apart as angel visitants. Lowering her head and + keeping her figure as erect as possible, she struggled bravely on. She met + scarcely any one, and those she did meet occasioned her little uneasiness + in the flood of unusual emotions that overwhelmed her soul. At any other + time the thought of her destination would have blotted out every other + perception; now this was but one of many shuddering visions. Trouble was + making her hard; life could offer her little that would find her unequal + to the test. Down the broad, deserted avenue, with its dark, imposing + mansions, she hurried as if she were alone in the havocking elements. The + rain beat her and lashed her in the face; she faced it unflinchingly as a + small part of her trials. Without a tremor she ran up Dr. Kemp’s steps. It + was only when she stood with her finger on the bell-button that she + realized whom she was about to encounter. Then for the first time she gave + one long sob of self-recollection, and pushed the button. + </p> + <p> + Burke almost immediately opened the door. Ruth had no intention of + entering; it would be sufficient to leave her message and hurry home. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s there?” asked Burke, peering out into the darkness. “It’s a divil + of a night for any one but—” + </p> + <p> + “Is Dr. Kemp in?” The sweet woman-voice so startled him that he opened the + door wide. + </p> + <p> + “Come in, mum,” he said apologetically; “come in out of the night.” + </p> + <p> + “No. Is the doctor in?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” he grumbled, “and I can’t stand here with the door open.” + </p> + <p> + “Close it, then, but see if he is in, please.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll lave it open, and ye can come in or stay out according if ye are + dry-humored or wet-soled;” and he shuffled off. The door was open! Her + father had assured her of this once long ago. Inside were warmth and + light; outside, in the shadow, were cold and darkness. Here she stood. + Would the man never return? Ah, here he came hurrying along; she drew + nearer the door; within a half-foot she stood still with locked jaw and + swimming senses. + </p> + <p> + “My good woman,” said the grave, kindly voice which calmed while it + unnerved her, “come in and speak to me here. Am I wanted anywhere? Come + in, please; the door must be closed.” + </p> + <p> + With almost superhuman will she drew herself together and came closer. + Seeing the dark, moving figure, he opened the door wide, and she stepped + in; then as it closed she faced him, turning up her white, haggard face to + his. + </p> + <p> + “You!” + </p> + <p> + He recoiled as if stunned, but quickly recovered himself. + </p> + <p> + “What trouble has brought you to me?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “My mother,” she replied in a low, stifled voice, adding almost instantly + in a distant and formal tone, “can you come at once? She is suffering with + hysteria and calls you incessantly.” + </p> + <p> + He drew himself up and looked at her with a cold, grand air. This girl had + been the only woman who had signally affected his life; yet if her only + recognition of it was this cold manner, he could command the same. + </p> + <p> + “I will come,” he replied, looking unbendingly, with steely gray eyes, + into her white passionless face, framed in its dark hood. + </p> + <p> + She bowed her head—further words were impossible—and turned to + the door. + </p> + <p> + He watched her tugging in blind stupefaction at the strange bolt, but did + not move to her assistance. Her head was bent low over the intricate + thing; but it was useless,—it would not move, and she suddenly + raised her eyes beseechingly to him; with a great revulsion of feeling he + saw that they were swimming in tears. His own lips trembled, and his heart + gave a wild leap. Then one of those unaccountable moods that sometimes + masters the best swayed him strongly. + </p> + <p> + She was alone with him there; he could keep her if he wished. One look at + her lovely, beloved face, and his higher manhood asserted itself. He + unlatched the door, and still holding it closed, said in a deferential + tone,— + </p> + <p> + “Will you not wait till I ring for my carriage?” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather go at once.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing was left but for him to comply with her wishes; and as she walked + out, he quickly got himself into his proper vestments, seized a vial from + his office, and hurried after her. At this juncture the storm was + frightful. Up the street he could see come one trying ineffectually to + move on. Being a powerful man, he strode on, though the great gusts + carried his breath away. In a few minutes he came alongside of Ruth, who + was making small progress. + </p> + <p> + “Will you take my arm?” he asked quietly. “It will help you.” + </p> + <p> + She drew back in alarm. + </p> + <p> + “There is no necessity,” he indistinctly heard in the roar of the gale. + </p> + <p> + He kept near enough to her, however, to see her. All along this block of + Van Ness Avenue is a row of tall, heavy-foliaged eucalyptus-trees; they + tossed and creaked and groaned in the furious wind. A violent gust almost + took the two pedestrians off their feet, but not too quickly for Dr. Kemp + to make a stride toward Ruth and drag her back. At the same moment, one of + the trees lurched forward and fell with a crash upon them. By a great + effort he had turned and, holding her before him, received the greater + blow upon his back. + </p> + <p> + “Are you hurt?” he asked, bending his head so near her face that his short + wet beard brushed her cheek. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, wresting herself from him; “I thank you—but you have + hurt yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken,” he said abruptly. “Take my arm, please.” + </p> + <p> + He did not wait for her yea or nay; but drawing her arm through his, he + strode on in silence, holding it closely pinioned against his heart. When + they reached the house, they were both white and breathless. Nora opened + the door for them. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Miss Ruth, do hurry up!” she cried, wringing her hands as the doctor + threw off his coat and hat; “all she does now is to stare at us with her + teeth all chattering.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor sprang up three steps at a time, Ruth quickly following. + </p> + <p> + The room was in a blaze of light; Mrs. Levice sat up in bed, her large + dark eyes staring into vacancy, her face as white as the snowy + counterpane. + </p> + <p> + Kemp looked like a pillar of strength as he came up to the bedside. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he said, holding out his hand and smiling at her. + </p> + <p> + As he took her hand in his, she strove to speak; but the sobbing result + was painful. + </p> + <p> + “None of that!” he said sternly, laying his hand on her shoulders. “If you + try, you can stop this. Now see, I am holding you. Look at me, and you + will understand you must quiet down.” + </p> + <p> + He used his well-known power of magnetism. Gradually the quivering + shoulders quieted beneath his hands; the staring eyes relaxed, and he + gently laid her head upon the pillow. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t go away!” she implored piteously, as she felt his hands move from + her. + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed,” he replied in a bright, soothing voice; “see, I am going to + give you a few drops of this, which will make you all right in a short + time. Now then, open your mouth.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Doctor, I wish to speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + “After you have taken this and rested awhile.” + </p> + <p> + “And you won’t go away?” she persisted. + </p> + <p> + “I shall stay right here.” She obediently swallowed the dose; and as he + drew up an easy-chair and seated himself, the drawn lines on her face + relaxed. + </p> + <p> + “It is so strengthening to have you here,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “It will be more strengthening for you to close your eyes.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth, who still stood in her wet clothes, lowered the lights. + </p> + <p> + “You had better change your clothes immediately,” said Kemp, in a low tone + from his chair. + </p> + <p> + She did not look at him, but at his voice she left the room. + </p> + <p> + Quickly removing her wet garments, she slipped into a loose, dull red + gown. As the dry warmth of it reached her senses, she suddenly remembered + that his feet might be wet. She lit a candle, and going into Louis’s room, + appropriated a pair of slippers that stood in his closet. + </p> + <p> + It was now past midnight; but no thought of sleep occurred to her till, + entering her mother’s room, she perceived in the semi-darkness that the + doctor lay back with closed eyes. He was not asleep, however, for he + opened his eyes at her light footfall. She looked very beautiful in her + unconfined gown, the red tone heightening the creamy colorlessness of her + face. + </p> + <p> + “Will you put them on?” she asked in a hushed voice, holding out the + slippers. + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind,” he replied, looking with hungry eyes into her face. + Seeing that he did not take them, she placed them on the carpet. The + action recalled him to himself, and wishing to detain her, he said,— + </p> + <p> + “Do they belong to a man as big as I?” + </p> + <p> + “They are my cousin’s.” + </p> + <p> + She had half turned to leave. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he returned, “and will he relish the idea of my standing in his + shoes?” + </p> + <p> + No double-entendre was intended, but Ruth’s thoughts gave one miserable + bound to Arnold. + </p> + <p> + “He will be pleased to add to your comfort,” spoke Mrs. Levice from the + bed, thus saving Ruth an answer. + </p> + <p> + “I do not need them,” said the doctor, turning to her swiftly; “and, Mrs. + Levice, if you do not go to sleep, I shall leave.” + </p> + <p> + “I want Ruth to stay in the room,” she murmured petulantly. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, Mamma,” said Ruth, wearily, seating herself in a low, + soft-cushioned chair in a remote corner. She knew how to sit perfectly + still. It was a peculiar situation,—the mother, who had been the + means of drawing these two together first and last, slept peacefully; and + he and she, the only waking mortals in the house, with the miserable gulf + between them, sat there without a word. + </p> + <p> + Ruth’s temples throbbed painfully; she felt weak and tired; toward morning + she sank into a heavy sleep. Kemp did not sleep; he kept his face turned + from her, trying to quiet his thoughts with the dull lullaby of the rain. + But he knew when she slept; his gaze wandered searchingly around the room + till it fell upon a slumber-robe thrown across a divan. He arose softly + and picked it up; his light step made no sound in the soft carpet. As he + came up to Ruth, he saw with an inward groan the change upon her sleeping + face. Great, dark shadows lay about her eyes not caused by the curling + lashes; her mouth drooped pathetically at the corners; her temples, from + which her soft hair was rolled, showed the blue veins; he would have given + much to touch her hair with his hand, but he laid the cover over her + shoulders without touching her, and tucked it lightly about her knees and + feet. Then he went back to his chair. It was five o’clock before either + mother or daughter opened her eyes; they started up almost simultaneously. + Ruth noticed the warm robe about her, and her eyes sped to the doctor. He, + however, was speaking to Mrs. Levice, who in the dim light looked pale but + calm. + </p> + <p> + “I feel perfectly well,” she was saying, “and shall get up immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is the necessity?” he inquired. “Lie still to-day; it is not bad + weather for staying in bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Did not Ruth tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me?” he repeated in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Of the cause of this attack?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I must. Briefly, my husband has been in New York for the past five + weeks; he suffered there with acute pneumonia for a week, told us nothing, + but hurried home as soon as possible,—too soon, I suppose. Day + before yesterday my nephew received a letter stating these facts, and, + later, a telegram asking him to come to Reno, where he was delayed, + feeling too ill to go farther alone. The first I heard of this was last + night, when Ruth received this telegram from Louis.” She handed it to him. + </p> + <p> + As Kemp read, an unmistakable gravity settled on his face. As he was + folding the paper thoughtfully, Mrs. Levice addressed him again in her + unfamiliar, calm voice,— + </p> + <p> + “Will you please explain what he means by your understanding?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I suppose it is expedient for me to tell you at once,” he said + slowly, reseating himself and pausing as if trying to recall something. + </p> + <p> + “Last year,” he began, “probably as early as February, your husband came + to me complaining of a cough that annoyed him nights and mornings; he + further told me that when he felt it coming, he went to another apartment + so as not to disturb you. I examined him, and found he was suffering with + the first stages of asthma, and that one of his lungs was slightly + diseased already. I treated him and gave him directions for living + carefully. You knew nothing of this?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” she answered hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he went on gently, “there was no cause for worry; if checked in + time, a man may live to second childhood with asthma, and the loss of a + small portion of a lung is not necessarily fatal. He knew this, and was + mending slowly; I examined him several times and found no increase in the + loss of tissue, while he told me the cough was not so troublesome.” + </p> + <p> + “But for some weeks before he left,” said Mrs. Levice, “he coughed every + morning and night. When I besought him to see a doctor, he ridiculed me + out of the idea. How did you find him before he left?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not seen Mr. Levice for some months,” he replied gravely. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice eyed him questioningly, but he offered no explanation. + </p> + <p> + “Then do you think,” she continued, “that this asthma made the pneumonia + more dangerous?” + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly.” + </p> + <p> + Her fingers clutched at the sheet convulsively; but the strength of her + voice and aspect remained unbroken. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she said, “for telling me so candidly. Then will you be here + to-morrow morning?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall manage to meet him at Oakland with a closed carriage.” + </p> + <p> + “May I go with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me; but it will be best for you to receive him quietly at home. + There must be nothing whatever to disturb him. Have all ready, especially + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” she said. “And now, Doctor, let me thank you for your + kindness to me;” she held out both hands. “Will you let Ruth show you to a + room, and will you breakfast with us when you have rested?” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you; it is impossible,” he replied, looking at his watch. “I + shall hurry home now. Good-morning, Mrs. Levice. There may be small cause + for anxiety; and, remember, the less excited you remain, the more you can + help him.” + </p> + <p> + He turned from her. + </p> + <p> + “Ruth, will you see the doctor to the door?” + </p> + <p> + She followed him down the broad staircase, as in former days, but with a + difference. Then he had waited for her to come abreast with him, and they + had descended together, talking pleasantly. Now not a word was said till + he had put on his heavy outer coat. As he laid his hand on the knob, Ruth + spoke,— + </p> + <p> + “Is there anything I can do for my father, do you think?” + </p> + <p> + She started as he turned a tired, haggard face to hers. + </p> + <p> + “I can think of nothing but to have his bed in readiness and complete + quiet about the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and—and do you think there is any danger?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! at least, I hope not. I shall be able to tell better when I see + him. Is there anything I can do for you?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head; she dared not trust herself to speak in the light of + his tender eyes. He hastily opened the door, and bowing, closed it quickly + behind him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XXIV + </h2> + <p> + The sun shone with its usual winter favoritism upon San Francisco this + Thursday morning. After the rain the air felt as exhilarating as a day in + spring. Young girls tripped forth “in their figures,” as the French have + it; and even the matrons unfastened their wraps under the genial wooing of + sunbeams. + </p> + <p> + Everything was quiet about the Levice mansion. Neither Ruth nor her mother + felt inclined to talk; so when Mrs. Levice took up her position in her + husband’s room, Ruth wandered downstairs. The silence seemed vocal with + her fears. + </p> + <p> + “So I tell ye’s two,” remarked the cook as her young mistress passed from + the kitchen, “that darter and father is more than kin, they is soul-kin, + if ye know what that means; an’ the boss’s girl do love him more’n seven + times seven children which such a man-angel should ‘a’ had.” For the + “boss” was to those who served him “little lower than the angels;” and + their prayers the night before had held an eloquent appeal for his + welfare. + </p> + <p> + Ruth, with her face against the window, watched in sickening anxiety. She + knew they were not to be expected for some time, but it was better to + stand here than in the fear-haunted background. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly and almost miraculously, it seemed to her, a carriage stood + before the gate. She flew to the door, and as she opened it leaned for one + second blindly against the wall. + </p> + <p> + “Tell my mother they have come,” she gasped to the maid, who had entered + the hall. + </p> + <p> + Then she looked out. Two men were carrying one between them up the walk. + As they came nearer, she saw how it was. That bundled-up figure was her + father’s; that emaciated, dark, furrowed face was her father’s; but as + they carefully helped him up the steps, and the loud, painful, panting + breaths came to her, were they her father’s too? No need, Ruth, to rush + forward and vainly implore some power to tear from yourself the + respiration withheld from him. Air, air! So, man, so; one step more and + then relief. Ah! + </p> + <p> + She paused in agony at the foot of the stairs as the closing door shut out + the dreadful sound. We never value our blessings till we have lost them; + who thinks it a boon to be able to breathe without thinking of the action? + </p> + <p> + He had not seen her; his eyes had been closed as if in exhaustion as they + gently helped him along, and she had understood at once that the only + thing to be thought of was, by some manner of means, to remove the choking + obstacle from his lungs. Oh, to be able in her young strength to hold the + weak, loved form in her arms and breathe into him her overflowing + life-breath! She walked upstairs presently; he would be expecting her. As + she reached the upper landing, Kemp came from the room, closing the door + behind him. His bearing revealed a gravity she had never witnessed before. + In his tightly buttoned morning-suit, with the small white tie at his + throat, he might have been officiating at some solemn ceremonial. He stood + still as Ruth confronted him at the head of the stairs, and met her + lovely, miserable eyes with a look of sympathy. She essayed to speak, but + succeeded only in gazing at him in speechless entreaty. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” he responded to her silent appeal; “you were shocked at + what you heard: it was the asthma that has completely overpowered him. His + illness has made him extremely weak.” + </p> + <p> + “And you think—” + </p> + <p> + “We must wait till he has rested; the trip was severe for one in his + condition.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me the truth, please, with no reservations; is there danger?” + </p> + <p> + Her eager, abrupt questions told clearly what she suffered. + </p> + <p> + “He has never had any serious illness; if the asthma has not overleaped + itself, we have much to hope for.” + </p> + <p> + The intended consolation conveyed a contrary admission which she + immediately grasped. + </p> + <p> + “That means—the worst,” she said, her clasped fingers speaking the + language of despair. “Oh, Doctor, you who know so much, can’t you help + him? Think, think of everything; there must be something! Only do your + best, do your utmost; you will, won’t you?” + </p> + <p> + His deep, grave eyes answered her silently as he took both her little + clasped hands in his one strong one, saying simply,— + </p> + <p> + “Trust me, but only so far as lies within my human power. He is somewhat + eased, and asks for you. Look at your mother: she is surpassing herself; + if your love for him can achieve one half such a conquest, you will but be + making good your inheritance. I shall be in again at one, and will send + some medicines up at once.” He ended in his usual businesslike tone, and + walked hastily downstairs. + </p> + <p> + There was perfect quiet in the room as Ruth entered. Propped high by many + pillows, Jules Levice lay in his bed; his wife’s arm was about him; his + head rested on her bosom; with her one disengaged hand she smoothed his + white hair. Never was the difference between them more marked than now, + when her beautiful face shone above his, which had the touch of the + destroyer already upon it; never was the love between them more marked + than now, when he leaned in his weakness upon her who had never failed him + in all their wedded years. + </p> + <p> + His eyes were half closed as if in rest; but he heard her enter, and Mrs. + Levice felt the tremor that thrilled him as Ruth approached. + </p> + <p> + “My child.” + </p> + <p> + The softly whispered love-name of old made her tremble; she smiled through + her tears, but when his feeble arms strove to draw her to him, she + stooped, and laying them about her neck, placed her cheek upon his. For + some minutes these three remained knit in a close embrace; love, strong + and tender, spoke and answered in that silence. + </p> + <p> + “It is good to be at home,” he said, speaking with difficulty. + </p> + <p> + “It was not home without you, dear,” murmured his wife, laying her lips + softly upon his forehead. Ruth, kneeling beside the bed, noticed how + loosely the dark signet-ring he wore hung upon his slender finger. + </p> + <p> + “You look ill, my Ruth,” he said, after a pause. “Lay my head down, Esther + love; you must be tired. Sit before me, dear, I want to see your two faces + together.” + </p> + <p> + His gaunt eyes flitted from one to the other. + </p> + <p> + “It is a fair picture to take with one,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “To keep with one,” softly trembled his wife’s voice; his eyes met hers in + a commiserating smile. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he started up. + </p> + <p> + “Ruth,” he gasped, “will you go to Louis? He must be worn out.” + </p> + <p> + She left the room hurriedly. Her faint knock was not immediately answered, + and she called softly; receiving no reply, she turned the knob, which + yielded to her hand. Sunbeams danced merrily about the room of the young + man, who sat in their light in a dejected attitude. He evidently had made + no change in his toilet; and as Ruth stood unnoticed beside him, her eyes + wandered over his gray, unshaven face, travel-stained and weary to a + degree. She laid her hand upon his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Louis,” she called gently. + </p> + <p> + He shook under her touch, but made no further sign that he knew of her + presence. + </p> + <p> + “You must be so tired, Louis,” she continued sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + It may have been the words, it may have been the tone, it may have been + that she touched some hidden thought, for suddenly, without premonition, + his breast heaved, and he sobbed heavily as only a man can sob. + </p> + <p> + She started back in pain. That such emotion could so unstring Louis Arnold + was a marvel. It did not last long; and as he rose from his chair he spoke + in his accustomed, quiet tone. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive my unmanliness,” he said; “it was kind of you to come to me.” + </p> + <p> + “You look very ill, Louis; can’t I bring you something to refresh you, or + will you lie down?” + </p> + <p> + “We shall see; is there anything you wish to ask me? + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + After a pause he said,— + </p> + <p> + “You must not be hopeless; he is in good hands, and everything that can be + done will be done. Is he resting now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; if to breathe like that is to rest. Oh, Louis, when I think how for + months he has suffered alone, it almost drives me crazy.” + </p> + <p> + “Why think of it, then? Or, if you must, remember that in his surpassing + unselfishness he saved you much anxiety; for you could not have helped + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Not with our sympathy?” + </p> + <p> + “Not him, Ruth; to know that you suffered for him was—would have + been his crowning sorrow. Is there anything I can do now?” + </p> + <p> + “No, only think of yourself for a moment; perhaps you can rest a little, + for you need it, dear.” + </p> + <p> + A flame of color burned in his cheek at the unusual endearment. + </p> + <p> + “I shall bring you a cup of tea presently,” she said as she left him. + </p> + <p> + The morning passed into afternoon. Silence hung upon the house. A card had + been pinned under the door-bell; and the many friends, who in the short + time since the sick man’s arrival had heard of his illness, dropped in + quietly and left as they came. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Kemp came in after luncheon. Mr. Levice was sleeping,—in all + truth, one could say easily, but the doctor counted much from the rest. He + expected Dr. H——- for a consultation. This he had done as a + voucher and a sort of comforting assurance that nothing would be left + undone. Dr. H——- came in blandly; he went out gravely. There + was little to be said. + </p> + <p> + Kemp walked thoughtfully upstairs after his colleague had left, and went + straight to Arnold’s room. The freedom of the house was his; he seemed to + have established himself here simply through his earnestness and devotion. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Arnold,” he said to the Frenchman, who quickly rose from his desk, “I + want you to prepare your aunt and your cousin for the worst. You know + this; but if he should have a spell of coughing, the end might be sudden.” + </p> + <p> + A cold pallor overspread Louis’s face at the confirmation of his secret + fears. + </p> + <p> + He bowed slightly and cleared his throat before answering. + </p> + <p> + “There will be no necessity,” he said; “my uncle intends doing so + himself.” + </p> + <p> + “He must not hasten it by excitement,” said Kemp, moving toward the door. + </p> + <p> + “That is unavoidable,” returned Arnold. “You must know he had an object in + hurrying home.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know; but I shall prevent any unnecessary effort to speak. If + you can do this for him, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot.” + </p> + <p> + “And you know what it is in detail?” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Then for his sake—” + </p> + <p> + “And for the others, he must be allowed to speak.” + </p> + <p> + Kemp regarded him steadily, wondering wherein lay the impression of + concealed power which emanated from him. He left the room without another + word. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. H——- must have gone to school with you,” panted Levice, + as Dr. Kemp entered; “even his eyes have been educated to express the same + feeling; except for a little—” + </p> + <p> + “There, there,” quieted Kemp; “don’t exhaust yourself. Miss Levice, that + fan, please. A little higher? How’s that?” + </p> + <p> + “Do not go, Doctor,” he said feebly; “I have something to say, to do, and + you—I want you—give me something—I must say it now. + Esther, where are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Here, love.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Levice, you must not talk now,” put in Kemp, authoritatively; + “whatever you have to say will last till morning.” + </p> + <p> + “And I?” + </p> + <p> + “And you. Now go to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice followed him to the door. + </p> + <p> + “You spoke just now of a nurse,” she said through her pale lips; “I shall + not want one: I alone can nurse him.” + </p> + <p> + “There is much required; I doubt if you are strong enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I am strong.” + </p> + <p> + He clasped her hand in assent; he could not deny her. + </p> + <p> + “I shall come in and stay with you to-night,” he said simply. + </p> + <p> + “You. Why should you?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I too love him.” + </p> + <p> + Her mouth trembled and the lines of her face quivered, but she drew her + hand quickly over it. + </p> + <p> + Kemp gave one sharp glance over to the bed; Ruth had laid her head beside + her father’s and held his hand. In such a house, in every Jewish house, + one finds the best nurses in the family. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XXV + </h2> + <p> + Shafts of pale sunlight darted into the room and rested on Mr. Levice’s + hair, covering it with a silver glory,—they trailed along the silken + coverlet, but stopped there; one little beam strayed slowly, and almost as + if with intention, toward Arnold, seated near the foot of the bed. Ruth, + lovely in her pallor, sat near him; Mrs. Levice, on the other side of the + bed, leaned back in her chair placed close to her husband’s pillow; more + remote, though inadvertently so, sat Dr. Kemp. It was by Mr. Levice’s + desire that these four had assembled here. + </p> + <p> + He was sitting up, supported by many pillows; his face was hollow and + colorless; his hands lay listlessly upon the counterpane. No one touches + him; bathed in sunlight, as he was, the others seemed in shadow. When he + spoke, his voice was almost a whisper, but it was distinctly audible to + the four intent listeners; only the clock seemed to accompany his staccato + speech, running a race, as it were, with his failing strength. + </p> + <p> + “It is a beautiful world,” he said dreamily, “a very beautiful world;” the + sunbeams kissed his pale hands as if thanking him; no one stirred, letting + the old man take his time. Finally he realized that all were waiting for + him, and thought sprang, strong and powerful, to his face. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Kemp,” he began, “I have something to say to you,—to you in + particular, and to my daughter Ruth. My wife and nephew know in brief what + I have to say; therefore I need not dwell on the painful event that + happened here last September; you will pardon me, when you see the + necessity, for my reverting to it at all.” + </p> + <p> + Every one’s eyes rested upon him,—that is, all but Arnold’s, which + seemed holding some secret communion with the cupids on the ceiling,—and + the look of convulsive agony that swept across Ruth’s face was unnoticed. + </p> + <p> + “In all my long, diversified life,” he went on, “I had never suffered as I + did after she told me her decision,—for in all those years no one + had ever been made to suffer through me; that is, so far as I knew. + Unconsciously, or in anger, I may have hurt many, but never, as in this + case, with knowledge aforethought,—when the blow fell upon my own + child. You will understand, and perhaps forgive, when I say I gave no + thought to you. She came to me with her sweet, renunciating hands held + out, and with a smile of self-forgetfulness, said, ‘Father, you are right; + I could not be happy with this man.’ At the moment I believed her, + thinking she had adopted my views; but with all her bravery, her real + feelings conquered her, and I saw. Not that she had spoken untruly, but + she had implied the truth only in part, I knew my child loved me, and she + meant honestly that my pain would rob her of perfect happiness with you,—my + pain would form an eclipse strong enough to darken everything. Do you + think this knowledge made me glad or proud? Do you know how love, that in + the withholding justifies itself, suffers from the pain inflicted? But I + said, ‘After all, it is as I think; she will thank me for it some day.’ I + was not altogether selfish, please remember. Then, as I saw her silent + wrestling, came distrust of myself; I remembered I was pitted against two, + younger and no more fallible than myself. As soon as doubt of myself + attacked me, I strove to look on the other side; I strove to rid myself of + the old prejudices, the old superstitions, the old narrowness of faith; it + was useless,—I was too old, and my prejudices had become part of me. + It was in this state of perturbation that I had gone one day up to the top + floor of the Palace Hotel. Thank you, Doctor.” + </p> + <p> + The latter had quietly risen and administered a stimulant. As he resumed + his seat, Levice continued: + </p> + <p> + “I was seated at a window overlooking Market Street. Below me surged a + black mass of crowding, jostling, hurrying beings, so far removed they + seemed like little dots, each as large and no larger than his fellows. + Above them stretched the same blue arch of heaven, they breathed the same + air, trod in each other’s footsteps; and yet I knew they were all so + different,—ignorance walked with enlightenment, vice with virtue, + rich with poor, low with high,—but I felt, poised thus above them, + that they were creatures of the same God. Go once thus, and you will + understand the feeling. And so I judged these aliens. Which was greater; + which was less? This one, who from birth and inheritance is able to stand + the equal of any one, or this one, who through birth and inheritance + blinks blindly at the good and beautiful? Character and circumstance are + not altogether of our own making; they are, to a great degree, results of + inherited tendencies over which we have no control,—accidents of + birthplace, in the choosing of which we had no voice. The high in the + world do not shine altogether by their own light, not do the lowly grovel + altogether in their own debasement,—I felt the excuse for humanity. + I was overwhelmed with one feeling,—only God can weigh such + circumstantial evidence; we, in our little knowledge of results, pronounce + sentence, but final judgment is reserved for a higher court, that sees the + cross-purposes in which we are blindly caught. So with everything. Below + me prayed Christian and Jew, Mohammedan and Brahmin, idolater and + agnostic. Why was one man different in this way from his fellows? Because + he was born so, because his parents were so, because he was bred so, + because it seemed natural and convenient to remain so,—custom and + environment had made his religion. Because Jesus Christ dared to attack + their existing customs and beliefs, the Jews, then powerful, first + reviled, then feared, then slew him; because the Jews could not honestly + say, ‘I believe this man to be a God,’ they were hurled from their + eminence and dragged, living, for centuries in the dust. And yet why? + Because God withheld and still withholds from this little band the power + of believing in Christ as his son. Christians call this a wilful weakness; + Jews call it strength. After all, who is to be praised or blamed for it? + God. Then instead of beating the Jew, and instead of sneering at the + Christian, let each pity the other; because one, I know not which, is + weak, and because the other, I know not which, is strong. I left the + building; I came upon the street. I felt like saluting every one as my + brother. A little ragged child touched me, and as I laid my hand upon her + curly head, the thrill of humanity shot through me. + </p> + <p> + “It was not until I went to New York that the feelings I then experienced + took on a definite shape. There, removed from my old haunts, I wandered + alone when I could. Then I thought of you, my friend, of you, my child, + and beside you I was pitiful,—pitiful, because in my narrowness I + had thought myself strong enough to uphold a vanishing restriction. I + resolved to be practical; I have been accused of being a dreamer. I + grasped your two images before me and drew parallels. Socially each was as + high as the other. Mentally the woman was as strong in her sphere as the + man was in his. Physically both were perfect types of pure, healthy blood. + Morally both were irreproachable. Religiously each held a broad love for + God and man. I stood convicted; I was in the position of a blind fool who, + with a beautiful picture before him, fastens his critical, condemning gaze + upon a rusting nail in the rusting wall behind,—a nail even now + loosened, and which in another generation will be displaced. Yet what was + I to do? Come back and tell you that I had been needlessly cruel? What + would that avail? True, I might make you believe that I no longer thought + marriage between you wrong; but that would not remove the fact that the + world, which so easily makes us happy or otherwise, did not see as I saw. + In this vortex I was stricken ill. All the while I wanted to hasten to + you, to tell you how it was with me, and it seemed as if I never could get + to you. ‘Is this Nemesis,’ I thought, ‘or divine interposition?’ So I + struggled till Louis came. Then all was easier. I told him everything and + said, ‘Louis, what shall I do?’ ‘only this,’ he answered simply: ‘tell + them that their happy marriage will be your happiness, and the rest of the + world will be as nothing to these two who love each other.’” + </p> + <p> + The old man paused; the little sunbeam had reached the end of the coverlet + and gave a leap upon Louis’s shoulder like an angle’s finger, but his gaze + remained fixed upon the cupids on the ceiling. Ruth had covered her face + with her hands. Mrs. Levice was softly weeping, with her eyes on Louis. + Dr. Kemp had risen and stood, tall and pale, meeting Levice’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I believe—and my wife believes,” said Levice, heavily, as if the + words were so many burdens, “that our child will be happy only as your + wife, and that nothing should stand in the way of the consummation of this + happiness. Dr. Kemp, you have assured me you still love my daughter. + Ruth!” + </p> + <p> + She sprang to her feet, looking only at her father. + </p> + <p> + “Little one,” he faltered, “I have been very cruel in my ignorance.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not think of this, Father,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “I must,” he said, taking her hand in his. “Kemp, your hand, please.” + </p> + <p> + He grasped the strong white hand and drew the two together; and as Kemp’s + large hand closed firmly over her little one, Levice stooped his head, + kissed them thus clasped, and laid his hand upon them. + </p> + <p> + “There is one thing more,” he said. “At the utmost I have but a few days + to live. I shall not see your happiness: I shall not see you, my Ruth, as + I have often pictured you. Ah, well, darling, a father may be permitted + sweet dreams of his only child. You have always been a good girl, and now + I am going to ask you to do one thing more—you also, Doctor. Will + you be married now, this day, here, so that I may yet bless your new life? + Will you let me see this? And listen,—will you let the world know + that you were married with my sanction, and did not have to wait till the + old man was dead? Will you do this for me, my dear ones?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you, Ruth?” asked Kemp, softly, his fingers pressing hers gently. + </p> + <p> + Ruth stifled a sob as she met her father’s eager eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I will,” she answered so low that only the intense silence in the room + made it audible. + </p> + <p> + Levice separated their hands and held one on each of his cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Always doing things for her ugly old father,” he murmured; “this time + giving up a pretty wedding-day that all girls so love.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hush, my darling.” + </p> + <p> + “You will have no guests, unless, Doctor, there is some one you would like + to have.” + </p> + <p> + “I think not,” he decided, noting with a pang the pale, weary face of + Levice; “we will have it all as quiet as possible. You must rest now, and + leave everything to me. Would you prefer Dr. Stephens or a justice?” + </p> + <p> + “Either. Dr. Stephens is a good man, whom I know, however; and one good + man with the legal right is as good as another to marry you.” + </p> + <p> + There was little more said then. Kemp turned to Mrs. Levice and raised her + hand to his lips. Arnold confronted him with a pale, smiling face; the two + men wrung each other’s hands, passing out together immediately after. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XXVI + </h2> + <p> + Herbert Kemp and Dr. Stephens stood quietly talking to Mr. Levice. The + latter seemed weaker since his exertion of the morning, and his head lay + back among the pillows as if the support were grateful. Still his eager + eyes were keenly fastened upon the close-lipped mouth and broad, speaking + brow of the minister who spoke so quietly and pleasantly. Kemp, looking + pale and handsome, answered fitfully when appealed to, and kept an + expectant eye upon the door. When Ruth entered, he went forward to meet + her, drawing her arm through his. They had had no word together, no + meeting of any kind but right here in the morning; and now, as she walked + toward the bed, the gentle smile that came as far as her eyes was all for + her father. Thought could hold no rival for him that day. + </p> + <p> + “This is Miss Levice, Dr. Stephens,” said Kemp, presenting them. A swift + look of wonderment passed under the reverend gentleman’s beetle-brows as + he bent over her hand. Could this tall, beautiful girl be the daughter of + little Jules Levice? Where did she get that pure Madonna face, that regal + bearing, that mobile and expressive mouth? The explanation was sufficient + when Mrs. Levice entered. They stood talking, not much, but in that + wandering, obligatory way that precedes any undertaking. They were waiting + for Arnold; he came in presently with a bunch of pale heliotropes. He + always looked well and in character when dressed for some social event; it + was as if he were made for this style of dress, not the style for him. The + delicate pink of his cheeks looked more like the damask skin of a young + girl than ever; his eyes, however, behind their glasses, were veiled. As + he handed Ruth the flowers, he said,— + </p> + <p> + “I asked the doctor to allow me to give you these. Will you hold them with + my love?” + </p> + <p> + “They are both very dear to me,” she replied, raising the flowers to her + lips. + </p> + <p> + Their fragrance filled the room while the simple ceremony was being + performed. It was a striking picture, and one not likely to be forgotten. + Levice’s eyes filled with proud, pardonable tears as he looked at his + daughter,—for never had she looked as to-day in her simple white + gown, her face like a magnolia bud, a fragrant dream; standing next to + Kemp, the well-mated forms were noticeable. Even Arnold, with his heart + like a crushed ball of lead, acknowledged it in bitter resignation. For + him the scene was one of those silent, purgatorial moments that are + approached with senses steeled and thought held in a vice. To the others + it passed, as if it had happened in a dream. Even when Kemp stooped and + pressed his lips for the first time upon his wife’s, the real meaning of + what had taken place seemed far away to Ruth; the present held but one + thing in prominence,—the pale face upon the pillow. She felt her + mother’s arms around her; she knew that Louis had raised her hand to his + lips, that she had drawn his head down and kissed him, that Dr. Kemp was + standing silently beside her, that the minister had spoken some gravely + pleasant words; but all the while she wanted to tear herself away from it + all and fold that eager, loving, dying face close to hers. She was allowed + to do so finally; and when she was drawn into the outstretched arms, there + was only the long silence of love. + </p> + <p> + Kemp had left the room with Dr. Stephens, having a further favor to + intrust to him. The short announcement of this marriage, which Dr. + Stephens gave for insertion in the evening papers, created a world of + talk. + </p> + <p> + When Kemp re-entered, Levice called him to him, holding out his hand. The + doctor grasped it in that firm clasp which was always a tonic. + </p> + <p> + “Will you kneel?” asked Levice; Kemp knelt beside his wife, and the old + father blessed them in the words that held a double solemnity now:— + </p> + <p> + “‘The Lord bless thee and keep thee. + </p> + <p> + “‘The Lord make his face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee. + </p> + <p> + “‘The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee and give thee peace.’” + </p> + <p> + “I think if you don’t mind, dear, I shall close my eyes now,” he said as + they arose. + </p> + <p> + Ruth moved about, closing the blinds. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t close out all the sun,” said her father; “I like it,—it is an + old friend. After all, I don’t think I’ll sleep; let me lie here and look + at you all awhile. Louis, my boy, must you go?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” he replied, turning back from the door and gliding into a chair. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; and now don’t think of me. Go on talking; it will be a + foretaste of something better to lie here and listen. Esther, are you + cold? I felt a shudder go through your hand, love. Ruth, give your mother + a shawl; don’t forget that sometimes some one should see that your mother + is not cold. Just talk, will you?” + </p> + <p> + So they talked,—that is, the men did. Their grave, deep voices and + the heavily breathing of the invalid were the only sounds in the room. + Finally, as the twilight stole in, it was quite still. Levice had dropped + into a sort of stupor. Kemp arose then. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be back presently,” he said, addressing Mrs. Levice, who started + perceptibly as he spoke. “I have some few directions to give to my man + that I entirely forgot.” + </p> + <p> + “Could not we send some one? You must not stay away now.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall return immediately. Mr. Levice does not need me while he sleeps, + and these instructions are important. Don’t stir, Arnold; I know my way + out.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless Arnold accompanied him to the door. Ruth gave little heed to + their movements. Her agitated heart had grasped the fact that the lines + upon her father’s face had grown weaker and paler, his breathing shorter + and more rasping; when she passed him and touched his hand, it seemed cold + and lifeless. + </p> + <p> + At nine the doctor came in again; the only appreciable difference in his + going or coming was that no one rose or made any formal remarks. He went + up to the bed and placed his hand on the sleeping head. Mrs. Levice moved + her chair slightly as he seated himself on the edge of the bed and took + Levice’s hand. Ruth, watching him with wide, distended eyes, thought he + would never drop it. Her senses, sharpened by suffering, read every change + on his face. As he withdrew his hand, she gave one long, involuntary moan. + He turned quickly to her. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked, his grave eyes scanning her anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” she responded. It was the first word she had spoken to him + since the afternoon ceremony. He turned back to Levice, lowering his ear + to his chest. After a faint, almost imperceptible pause he arose. + </p> + <p> + “I think you had all better lie down,” he said softly. “I shall sit with + him, and you all need rest.” + </p> + <p> + “I could not rest,” said Mrs. Levice; “this chair is all I require.” + </p> + <p> + “If you would lie on the couch here,” he urged, “you would find the + position easier.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! I could not.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at Ruth. + </p> + <p> + “I shall go by and by,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + Arnold had long since gone out. + </p> + <p> + Ruth’s by and by stretched on interminably. Kemp took up the “Argonaut” + that lay folded on the table. He did not read much, his eyes straying from + the printed page before him to the “finis” writing itself slowly on Jules + Levice’s face, and thence to Ruth’s pale profile; she was crying,—so + quietly, though, that but for the visible tears an onlooker might not have + known it; she herself did not,—her heart was silently overflowing. + </p> + <p> + Toward morning Levice suddenly sprang up in bed and made as if to leap + upon the floor. Kemp’s quick, strong hand held him back. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” he asked. Mrs. Levice stood instantly beside him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” gasped Levice, his eyes falling upon her, “I wanted to get home; but + it is all right now. Is the child in bed, Esther?” + </p> + <p> + “Here she is; lie still, Jules; you know you are ill.” + </p> + <p> + “But not now. Ah, Kemp, I can get up now; I am quite well, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till morning,” he resisted, humoring this inevitable idiosyncrasy. + </p> + <p> + “But it is morning now; and I feel so light and well. Open the shutters, + Ruth; see, Esther; a beautiful day.” + </p> + <p> + It was quite dark with the darkness that immediately precedes dawn; the + windows were bespangled with the distillations of the night, which gleamed + as the light fell on them. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice seated herself beside him. + </p> + <p> + “It is very early, Jules,” she said, smiling with hope, not knowing that + this deceptive feeling was but the rose-flush of the sinking sun; “but if + you feel well when day breaks you can get up, can’t he Doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Levice lay back with closed eyes for some minutes. A quivering smile + crossed his face and his eyes opened. + </p> + <p> + “Were you singing that song just now, Ruth, my angel?” + </p> + <p> + “What son, Father dear?” + </p> + <p> + “That—‘Adieu,—adieu—pays—amours’—we sang it—you + know—when we left home together—my mother said—I was too + small—too small—and—too—” + </p> + <p> + Ruth looked around wildly for Kemp. He had left the room; she must go for + him. As she came into the hall, she saw him and Louis hurriedly advancing + up the corridor. Seeing her, they reached her side in a breath. + </p> + <p> + “Go,” she whispered through pale lips; “he is breathing with that—” + </p> + <p> + Kemp laid his hand upon her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Stay here a second; it will be quite peaceful.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him in agony and walked blindly in after Louis. + </p> + <p> + He was lying as they had left him, with Mrs. Levice’s hand in his. + </p> + <p> + “Keep tight hold, darling,” the rattling voice was saying. “Don’t take it + off till—another takes it—it will not be hard then.” Suddenly + he saw Louis standing pale and straight at the foot of the bed. + </p> + <p> + “My good boy,” he faltered, “my good boy, God will bless—” His eyes + closed again; paler and paler grew his face. + </p> + <p> + “Father!” cried Ruth in agony. + </p> + <p> + He looked toward her smiling. + </p> + <p> + “The sweetest word,” he murmured; “it was—my glory.” + </p> + <p> + Silence. A soul is passing; a simple, loving soul, giving no trouble in + its passage; dropping the toils, expanding with infinity. Not utterly + gone; immortality is assured us in the hearts that have touched ours. + </p> + <p> + Silence. A shadow falls, and Jules Levice’s work is done; and the first + sunbeams crept about him, lay at his feet a moment, touched the quiet + hands, fell on the head like a benediction, and rested there. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XXVII + </h2> + <p> + “I thought you would be quiet at this hour,” said Rose Delano, seating + herself opposite her friend in the library, the Thursday evening after the + funeral. They looked so different even in the waning light,—Ruth in + soft black, her white face shining like a lily above her sombre gown, + Rose, like a bright firefly, perched on a cricket, her cheeks rosy, her + eyes sparkling from walking against the sharp, cold wind. + </p> + <p> + “We are always quiet now,” she answered softly; “friends come and go, but + we are very quiet. It does me good to see you, Rosebud.” + </p> + <p> + “Does it?” her sweet eyes smiled happily. “I was longing to drop in if + only to hold your hand for a minute; but I did not know exactly where to + find you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, where could I be but here?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought possibly you had removed to your husband’s home.” + </p> + <p> + For a second Ruth looked at her wonderingly; then the slow rich color + mounted, inch by inch, back to her little ears till her face was one rosy + cloud. + </p> + <p> + “No; I have stayed right on.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw the doctor to-day,” she chatted. “He looks pale; is he too busy?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,—that is, I suppose so. How are the lessons, Rose?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything is improving wonderfully; I am so happy, dear Mrs. Kemp, and + what I wished to say was that all happiness and all blessings should, I + pray, fall on you two who have been so much to me. Miss Gwynne told me + that to do good was your birthright. She said that the funeral, with its + vast gathering of friends, rich, poor, old, young, strong, and crippled of + all grades of society, was a revelation of his life even to those who + thought they knew him best. You should feel very proud with such sweet + memories.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” assented Ruth, her eyes quickly suffused with tears. + </p> + <p> + They sat quietly thus for some time, till Rose, rising from her cricket, + kissed her friend silently and departed. + </p> + <p> + The waning light fell softly through the lace curtains, printing quaint + arabesques on the walls and furniture and bathing the room in a rich + yellow light. A carriage rolled up in front of the house. Dr. Kemp handed + the reins to his man and alighted. He walked slowly up to the door. It was + very still about the house in the evening twilight. He pushed his hat back + on his head and looked up at the clear blue sky, as if the keen breeze + were pleasant to his temples. Then with a quick motion, as though + recalling his thoughts, he turned and rang the bell. The latchkey of the + householder was not his. + </p> + <p> + Ruth, sitting in the shadows, had scarcely heard the ring. She was + absorbed in a new train of thought. Rose Delano was the first one who had + clearly brought home to her the thought that she was really married. She + had been very quiet with her other friends, and every one, looking at her + grief-stricken face, had shrunk from mentioning what would have called for + congratulation. Rose, who knew only these two, naturally dwelt on their + changed relations. Her husband! Her dormant love gave an exultant bound. + Wave upon wave of emotion beat upon her heart; she sprang to her feet; the + door opened, and he came in. He saw her standing faintly outlined in the + dark. + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening,” he said, coming slowly toward her with extended hand; + “have you been quite well to-day?” He felt her fingers tremble in his + close clasp, and let them fall slowly. “Bob sent you these early violets. + Shall I light the gas?” + </p> + <p> + “If you will.” + </p> + <p> + He turned from her and rapidly filled the room with light. + </p> + <p> + “Where is your mother?” he asked, turning toward her again. Her face was + hidden in the violets. + </p> + <p> + “Upstairs with Louis. They had something to arrange. Did you wish to see + her?” To judge from Ruth’s manner, Kemp might have been a visitor. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied. “If you will sit down, we can talk quietly till they + come in.” + </p> + <p> + As she resumed her high-backed chair and he seated himself in another + before her, he was instantly struck by some new change in her face. The + faraway, impersonal look with which she had met him in these sad days had + been what he had expected, and he had curbed with a strong will every + impulse for any closer recognition. But this new look,—what did it + mean? In the effort to appear unconcerned the dark color had risen to his + own cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “I had quite a pleasant little encounter to-day,” he observed; “shall I + tell it to you?” + </p> + <p> + “If it will not tire you.” + </p> + <p> + Keeping his eyes fixed on the picture over her head, he did not see the + look of anxious love that dwelt in her eyes as they swept over him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” he responded, slightly smiling over the recollection. “I was + coming down my office steps this afternoon, and had just reached the foot, + when a bright-faced, bright-haired boy stood before me with an eager light + in his eyes. ‘Aren’t you Dr. Kemp?’ he asked breathlessly, like one who + had been running. I recollected him the instant he raised his hat from his + nimbus of golden hair. ‘Yes; and you are Will Tyrrell,’ I answered + promptly. ‘Why, how did you remember?’ he asked in surprise; ‘you saw me + only once.’ ‘Never mind; I remember that night,’ I answered. ‘How is that + baby sister of yours?’ ‘Oh, she’s all right,’ he replied dismissing the + subject with the royalty that brotherhood confers. ‘I say, do you ever see + Miss Levice nowadays?’ I looked at him with a half-smile, not knowing + whether to set him right or not, when he finally blurted out, ‘She’s the + finest girl I ever met. Do you know her well, Doctor?’ ‘Well,’ I answered, + ‘I know her slightly,—she is my wife.’” + </p> + <p> + He had told the little incident brightly; but as he came to the end, his + voice gradually lowered, and as he pronounced the last word, his eyes + sought hers. Her eyelids fluttered; her breath seemed suspended. + </p> + <p> + “I said you were my wife,” he repeated softly, leaning forward, his hands + grasping the chair-arms. + </p> + <p> + “And what,” asked Ruth, a little excited ring in her voice,—“what + did Will say?” + </p> + <p> + “Who cared?” he asked, quickly moving closer to her; “do you?” He caught + her hand in his, scarce knowing what he said, and interlaced his fingers + with hers. + </p> + <p> + “Ruth,” he asked below his breath, “have you forgotten entirely what we + are to each other?” + </p> + <p> + It was such a cruel lover’s act to make her face him thus, her bosom + panting, her face changing from white to red and from red to white. + </p> + <p> + “Have you, sweet love?” he insisted. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she whispered, trying to turn her head from him. + </p> + <p> + “No, who?” + </p> + <p> + With an irrepressible movement she sprang up, pushing his hand from hers. + He rose also, his face pale and disturbed, and indescribable fear + overpowering him. + </p> + <p> + “You mean,” he said quietly, “that you no longer love me,—say it now + and have it over.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she cried in exquisite pain, “why do you tantalize me so—can’t + you see that—” + </p> + <p> + She looked so beautiful thus confessed that with sudden ecstacy he drew + her to him and pressed his lips in one long kiss to hers. + </p> + <p> + A little later Mrs. Levice and Louis came down. Mrs. Levice entered first + and stood still; Louis, looking over her shoulder, saw too—nothing + but Ruth standing encircled by her husband’s arm; her lovely face smiled + into his, which looked down at her with an expression that drove every + drop of blood from Arnold’s face. For a moment they were unseen; but when + Ruth, who was the first to feel their presence, started from Kemp as if + she had committed a crime, Arnold came forward entirely at his ease. + </p> + <p> + Kemp met Mrs. Levice with outstretched hands and smiling eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening, Mother,” he said; “we had just been speaking of you.” Mrs. + Levice looked into his deep, tender eyes, and raising her arm, drew his + head down and kissed him. + </p> + <p> + Ruth had rolled forward a comfortable chair, and stood beside it with shy, + sweet look as her mother sat down and drew her down beside her. Sorrow had + softened Mrs. Levice wonderfully; and looking for love, she wooed + everybody by her manner. + </p> + <p> + “What were you saying of me?” she asked, keeping Ruth’s hand in hers and + looking up at Kemp, who leaned against the mantel-shelf, his face radiant + with gladness. + </p> + <p> + “We were saying that it will do you good to come out of this great house + to our little one, till we find something better.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Levice looked across at Louis, who stood at the piano, his back half + turned, looking over a book. + </p> + <p> + “It is very sweet to be wanted by you all now,” she said, her voice + trembling slightly; “but I never could leave this house to strangers,—every + room is too full of old associations, and sweet memories of him. Louis + wants me to go down the coast with him soon, stopping for a month or so at + Coronado. Go to your cottage meanwhile by yourselves; even I should be an + intruder. There, Ruth, don’t I know? And when we come back, we shall see. + It is all settled, isn’t it, Louis?” + </p> + <p> + He turned around then. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I feel that I need a change of scene, and I should like to have her + with me; you do not need her now.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth looked at his careworn face, and said with tender solicitude,— + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Louis.” + </p> + <p> + And so it was decided. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Other Things Being Equal, by Emma Wolf + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OTHER THINGS BEING EQUAL *** + +***** This file should be named 1839-h.htm or 1839-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/3/1839/ + +Produced by Barbara Cantalupo, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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