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diff --git a/30291-h/30291-h.htm b/30291-h/30291-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b92bcc --- /dev/null +++ b/30291-h/30291-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15294 @@ +<!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"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Kildares of Storm, by Eleanor Mercein Kelly</title> + <style type="text/css"> +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} +--> + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30291 ***</div> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Kildares of Storm, by Eleanor Mercein Kelly, +Illustrated by Alonzo Kimball</h1> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;" cellpadding="10"> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Note: + </td> + <td> + Images of the original pages are available through + Kentuckiana Digital Library. See + <a href="http://kdl.kyvl.org/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=kyetexts;cc=kyetexts;view=toc;idno=b92-228-31183707"> + http://kdl.kyvl.org/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=kyetexts;cc=kyetexts;view=toc;idno=b92-228-31183707</a> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>KILDARES OF STORM</h1> + +<h2>BY ELEANOR MERCEIN KELLY</h2> + +<h3><i>WITH FRONTISPIECE BY ALONZO KIMBALL</i></h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3>NEW YORK<br /> +THE CENTURY CO.<br /> +1916</h3> + +<h3>Copyright, 1916, by<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Century Co.</span></h3> + +<h3><i>Published, October, 1916</i></h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3>TO AN UNFORGOTTEN MOTHER<br /> +Who moulded for others than her daughter<br /> +the standard of great womanhood</h3> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/frontis.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>But for once Jacqueline of the eager lips turned her +cheek, so that her mother's kiss should not disturb the memory of certain others</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLV">CHAPTER XLV</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVI">CHAPTER XLVI</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVII">CHAPTER XLVII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVIII">CHAPTER XLVIII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLIX">CHAPTER XLIX</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_L">CHAPTER L</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_LI">CHAPTER LI</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_LII">CHAPTER LII</a><br /> +<a href="#AFTERWORD">AFTERWORD</a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>KILDARES OF STORM</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + + +<p>Along a pleasant Kentucky road that followed nature rather than art in +its curves and meanderings, straying beside a brook awhile before it +decided to cross, lingering in cool, leafy hollows, climbing a sudden +little hill to take a look out over the rolling countryside—along this +road a single-footing mare went steadily, carrying a woman who rode +cross-saddle, with a large china vase tucked under one arm.</p> + +<p>People in an approaching automobile stopped talking to stare at her. She +returned their gaze calmly, while the startled mare made some effort to +climb a tree, thought better of it, and sidled by with a tremulous +effort at self-control. A man in the machine lifted his hat with some +eagerness. The woman inclined her head as a queen might acknowledge the +plaudits of the multitude.</p> + +<p>After they passed, comments were audible.</p> + +<p>"What a stunner! Who is she, Jack?" The voice was masculine.</p> + +<p>"Riding cross-saddle! Jack, do you know her?" The voice was feminine.</p> + +<p>The answer was lower, but the woman on horseback heard it. "Of course I +know her, or used to. It is the woman I was telling you about, the +famous Mrs. Kildare of Storm."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare's color did not change as she rode on. Perhaps her lips +tightened a little; otherwise the serenity of her face was unaltered. +Serenity, like patience, is a thing that must be won, a habit of mind +not easily to be broken. She reminded herself that since the invasion of +automobiles she must expect often to encounter people who had known her +before.</p> + +<p>Her eyes, keen and gray and slightly narrowed, like all eyes that are +accustomed to gaze across wide spaces, turned from side to side with +quick, observant glances. Negroes, "worming" tobacco in a field, bent to +their work as she passed with a sudden access of zeal.</p> + +<p>"That's right, boys," she called, smiling. "The Madam sees you!"</p> + +<p>The negroes guffawed sheepishly in answer.</p> + +<p>A certain warmth was in her gaze as she looked about, her, something +deeper than mere pride of possession. Her feeling for the land she owned +was curiously maternal. "My dear fields," she sometimes said to herself. +"My cattle, my trees"; and even, "my birds, my pretty, fleecy clouds up +there."</p> + +<p>When she came to a certain cornfield, acres of thrifty stalks standing +their seven feet and more, green to the roots, plumes nodding proudly in +the breeze, she faced her mare about and saluted, as an officer might +salute his regiment.</p> + +<p>A chuckle sounded from the other side of the road. On a bank almost +level with her head a young man lay under a beech-tree, watching her +with kindling eyes, as he had watched her ever since she rode into +sight. "Miss Kate, Miss Kate, when are you going to grow up and give +those girls of yours a chance?"</p> + +<p>Her surprised blush took all the maturity out of her face. She might +have been twenty. "Spying on me as usual, Philip! Well, why shouldn't I +salute this corn of mine? It certainly serves me nobly."</p> + +<p>He came down from the bank and stood beside her; a stalwart young man in +shabby riding-boots and a clerical collar, with eyes surprisingly blue +in a dark, aquiline, un-Anglo-Saxon face. They were filled just now with +a look that made the lady blush again.</p> + +<p>He was thinking (no new thought to Kentuckians) that of all the products +of his great commonwealth, nothing equalled such women as this before +him. Erect, deep-bosomed, with the warm brown flush of her cheeks, her +level gaze, her tender mouth with the deep corners that mean humor—Kate +Kildare, from girlhood to old age, would find in eyes that gazed on her +the unconscious tribute that many women never know, and for that reason +happily do not miss. But the vital quality of her beauty was not a +matter of color, or form, or feature. It was a thing that had come to +her since her first youth, a glow from within, the sort of spiritual +fire at which a friend may warm himself. If happiness is a great +beautifier, Philip Benoix believed he knew of one greater: sorrow.</p> + +<p>"Well, well?" she demanded, laughing. "What are you staring at, boy? Why +are you ogling me in that sentimental fashion? Have you mistaken me +for—Jacqueline, perhaps?"</p> + +<p>If she hoped to embarrass him in turn, she was disappointed. He shook +his head. "If I were to ogle Jacqueline sentimentally, she'd slap me. +Miss Kate," he added, "don't you know that saluting your corn was just +your pagan way of thanking God? Why not come to church and do it +properly?"</p> + +<p>"You may just as well give it up. I shall never go to church. I don't +like church, so there! Stop talking shop, and come home to supper with +me. What are you doing here, anyway, lolling about like a man of +leisure, as if there were no souls to be saved?"</p> + +<p>"I was lying in wait for yours. I knew you were out on a tour of +inspection, and bound to pass this way."</p> + +<p>"Did you want to see me especially?"</p> + +<p>"I always do."</p> + +<p>She flicked him with her riding-crop, "You're more Irish than French +to-day! And where's your horse?"</p> + +<p>"Well, old Tom seemed so comfortable and tired, munching away in his +stall, that I hadn't the heart—"</p> + +<p>"So you walked. Of course <i>you</i> weren't tired! Oh, Phil, Phil, you are +your father's own son; too soft-hearted for this 'miserable and naughty +world.' It won't be able to resist taking a whack at you."</p> + +<p>A little silence fell between them. Both were thinking of a man who was +no longer quite of this miserable and naughty world.</p> + +<p>"Take my stirrup and trot along beside me, boy," she said. "We'll go +faster that way. I wish you were still small enough to climb up behind +me as you used to do—remember?"</p> + +<p>His face suddenly quivered. "Are you asking me if I remember!—You have +never let me tell you how well I remember, nor what your kindness meant +to me, in those first days"—He spoke haltingly, yet with a sudden rush, +as men speak whose hearts are full. "I was the loneliest little chap in +the world, I think. Father and I had always been such friends. They +tried to be kind, there at school; but they acted as if I were something +strange; they watched me. I knew they were pitying me, remembering +father, studying me for signs of inheritance. The son of a 'killer.' It +was a dangerous time for a boy to be going through alone.... And then +you came and brought me home with you; made me play with those babies of +yours, took me with you wherever you went, read with me and discussed +things with me as if I were an equal, talked to me about father, too. Do +you think I don't know all it meant to you? Do you think I did not +realize, even then, what people were saying?"</p> + +<p>"I have never been much afraid," said Kate Kildare quietly, "of what +people were saying."</p> + +<p>"No. And because of you, I dared not be afraid, either. Because of you I +knew that I must stay and make my fight here, here where my father had +failed. Oh, Kate Kildare, whatever manhood I may have I owe—"</p> + +<p>"To your father," she said.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. But whatever good there is in me, you kept alive."</p> + +<p>"Dear, dear! And that's why," she cried, with an attempt at lightness, +"you feel it your duty to strike attitudes in your pulpit and keep the +good alive in the rest of us?"</p> + +<p>"That's why," he said, soberly, "But not you, Miss Kate. I do not preach +to you. No man alive is good enough to preach to you."</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens! When you have just been doing it!" Her laugh was rather +tremulous. "What is this—a declaration? Are you making love to me, +boy?"</p> + +<p>He nodded without speaking.</p> + +<p>The flush and the laughter died out of her face, leaving it very pale. +"Look here," she said haltingly, "I'd like to accept your hero-worship, +dear—it's sweet. But—If I've not been a very good woman, at least +I've always been an honest one. You said even at that time you realized +what people were saying. Did it never occur to you that what they +said—might be true?"</p> + +<p>He met her gaze unfalteringly. "I know you," he answered.</p> + +<p>Her eyes went dim. Blindly she stooped and drew his head to her and +kissed him.</p> + +<p>At that moment a plaintive negro voice spoke close at hand. "Gawd sakes, +Miss Kate, whar you gwine at wif my prize? Huccom you took'n hit away +fum me?"</p> + +<p>Unnoticed, an old, shambling negro had approached across the field, and +was gazing in wide-eyed dismay at the china vase under her arm.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare welcomed the interruption. She did not often encourage her +emotions.</p> + +<p>"Aha! Well met, Ezekiel," she said dramatically. "Search your heart, +search your black heart, I say, and tell me whether a magnificent trophy +like this deserves no better resting place than a cabin whose door-yard +looks like a pig-sty."</p> + +<p>"But ain't I done won it?" insisted the negro. "Ain't I done won it fa'r +and squar'? Wan't my do'-yahd de purtiest in de whole Physick League?"</p> + +<p>"It was, two weeks ago; and now what is it? A desert, a Sahara strewn +with tomato-cans and ashes. No, no, Ezekiel. Winning a prize isn't +enough for the Civic League—nor for God," she announced, sententiously. +"You've got to keep it won."</p> + +<p>She moved on, resistless, like Fate. The negro gazed after her, his +month quivering childishly.</p> + +<p>"She's a hard 'ooman, the Madam, a mighty hard 'ooman! Huccom she +kissin' Mr. Philip Benoix dataway? Him a preacher, too!" Suddenly his +eye gleamed with a forgotten memory. "De French doctor's boy—my Lawd! +De French doctor's own chile!" He shook his fist after the retreating +pair. "White 'ooman, white 'ooman, ain't you got no shame 't all?" he +muttered—but very low, for the Madam had good ears.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + + +<p>As they jogged along, man and mare at the same easy foot-pace, Benoix +said, "Are you sure that vase doesn't really belong to old Zeke, Miss +Kate?"</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not," she answered frankly. "I suppose it does belong to him, +as a matter of fact. But the whole purpose of the Civic League I formed +among the village negroes was to keep their quarters decent. If it fails +of that—Well, the Madam giveth, and the Madam taketh away." She shot +him a mischievous glance. "Evidently you don't approve of me, Philip?"</p> + +<p>"Of you. Not of your ethics, perhaps. They 're rather—feminine."</p> + +<p>She shrugged. "Oh, well—feminine ethics are enough for Storm village. +They have to be," she said, succinctly.</p> + +<p>Before them, outlined against the red round of the low sun, stood the +rambling gray outlines of a house, topping a small hill. From one of its +huge chimneys a pennant of smoke waved hospitably. The mare whinnied, +and chafed a little against the bit.</p> + +<p>"Clover smells her oats," said Mrs. Kildare, "and I smell Big Liza's +ginger-bread. It makes me hungry. Let's go faster."</p> + +<p>He did not seem to hear her. She glanced at his preoccupied face, +wondering at this unusual indifference to Big Liza's ginger-bread. "What +is it, Philip?"</p> + +<p>"I have been thinking how to begin," he said slowly. "I've got to talk +to you about something disagreeable."</p> + +<p>"Surely you can talk to me about anything, without 'beginning'?"</p> + +<p>"Well—I want to ask you to do something very unpleasant. To evict a +tenant. Mag Henderson."</p> + +<p>"That girl? But why?"</p> + +<p>"Your agent says she's months behind in her rent."</p> + +<p>"Smith talks too much. What if she is? I can afford to be patient with +her. The girl has had a hard time. Her father seems to have deserted +her. Oh, I know they're a shiftless pair, but half the prejudice against +them is that they are strangers. I know what that is," she added +bitterly. "I've been a stranger myself in a rural community. You'll have +to give me a better reason than that, Philip."</p> + +<p>"I can," he said.</p> + +<p>She lifted her eyebrows. "There's talk then? I suppose so. There's +always talk, if a girl 's pretty enough and unprotected enough. The poor +little foolish Mag Hendersons of the world! Oh," she cried, "I wonder +that men <i>dare</i> to speak of them!"</p> + +<p>"I dare," said Benoix, quietly. "I've my parish to think of. The girl's +a plague-spot. Vice is as contagious as any other disease. Besides, it +'s a question of her own safety. She's been threatened. That's why the +father left."</p> + +<p>"What?" cried Mrs. Kildare. "The 'Possum-Hunters'? You mean they are +trying to run my affairs again?"</p> + +<p>It was several years since men in masks had waged their anonymous +warfare against certain tobacco planters whose plans did not accord with +the sentiment of the community. The organization of Night Riders was +supposed to be repressed. But power without penalty is too heady a draft +to be relinquished easily, by men who have once known the taste of it.</p> + +<p>Benoix nodded. "She has had warning."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare's lips set in a straight line. "Let them come! They'll try +that sort of thing once too often."</p> + +<p>"Yes—but it might be once too often for Mag, too. She—have you seen +her lately?"</p> + +<p>The other looked at him quickly. "Oh," she said, "oh! Well, she sha'n't +suffer alone. Who's the man?"</p> + +<p>"She will not tell."</p> + +<p>"Loves him—poor thing!"</p> + +<p>For a moment the priest showed in young Benoix' face. "Miss Kate! You +speak as if that made a difference," he said sternly.</p> + +<p>"And doesn't it, doesn't it? Good Lord, how young you are! You'd better +pray that the years may teach you a little human weakness. I tell you, +Mag sha'n't bear it all. Whoever's concerned in this thing shall suffer +with her."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid," said Benoix, reluctantly, "that would be—rather a large +order."</p> + +<p>"Oh! It isn't—love, then." For a moment Mrs. Kildare stared straight in +front of her. Then she wheeled her horse, the pity in her face hardened +into disgust. "Go on, will you? And tell the girls to save me some of +that ginger-bread."</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"To evict Mag Henderson."</p> + +<p>He protested. "But why to-night? Surely one night more! It will be very +hard. Why not let Smith attend to it?"</p> + +<p>She gave him a bleak little smile. "My dear boy, if I had left all the +hard things to my manager to do, Storm to-day would be just where Basil +Kildare left it."</p> + +<p>She cantered back along the road and turned up a weed-grown lane, her +face set and frowning. Despite her words to Benoix, at times like this +she felt a very feminine need of a man, and scorned herself for the +feeling.</p> + +<p>Coming to a whitewashed log-cabin overgrown with morning-glories—the +only crop the shiftless Hendersons had been able to raise—she pounded +on the closed door with the butt of her crop. She heard a faint sound +within, but nobody came to answer.</p> + +<p>"I hear you in there. Don't keep me waiting, Mag."</p> + +<p>Still no answer. But once again the faint sound came. It might have been +the whining of an animal.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare jumped impatiently from her horse, and a few well-aimed +blows of fist and knee sent the frail lock flying. The door was +barricaded within by a bureau and a table and chairs—Mag's poor little +defense, evidently, against the "Possum-Hunters."</p> + +<p>"Where are you, my girl?" demanded Mrs. Kildare less impatiently, +pushing her way to the back room. "It's not night-riders. It's the +Madam."</p> + +<p>A little slim creature, hardly more than a child, writhed on a cot in +the corner, her eyes bright and fixed like the eyes of a rabbit Kate had +once seen caught in a trap, both fists stuffed into her mouth to stifle +the groans that burst out in spite of them.</p> + +<p>"Git out!" the girl panted fiercely. "Lemme be! I don' want none of ye +'round, not none of ye. You go way from here!"</p> + +<p>The change in Mrs. Kildare's face was wonderful. "Why, child, what's the +matter?" she said gently, even as she stripped off her gauntlets. For +she knew very well what was the matter. In a widely separated rural +community where doctors and nurses are scarce, the word "neighbor" +becomes more than a mere honorary title.</p> + +<p>In a few moments she had a fire going, water boiling, what few clean +rags she could find sterilized. While she worked she talked, quietly and +cheerfully, watching the girl with experienced eyes. She did not like +her pulse nor her color. She saw that she was going to need help.</p> + +<p>"I'll be back in ten minutes," she said presently. "I'm going to the +nearest telephone to get the doctor. Keep up your courage, Mag. Only ten +minutes!"</p> + +<p>But the girl was clinging to her, by this time, moaning, begging, +praying as if to God. "No, no—you cain't leave me, you cain't! I been +alone so long. <i>Don'</i> leave me alone! I know I'm bad, but O Gawd, I'm +skeert! Don' leave me to die all alone. You wouldn't leave a dawg die +all alone!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare soothed her with touch and word, wondering what was to be +done. Through the open door she sent her strong voice ringing out across +the twilight fields, again and again. There was nobody to hear. All the +world had gone indoors to supper. Her waiting horse pawed the earth with +a soft, reproachful nicker, to remind her that horses, too, have their +time for supper. It gave her an idea.</p> + +<p>"The children will be frightened, but I can't help that. I must have +somebody here," she murmured, and slapped the mare sharply on the flank. +"Home, Clover. Oats! Branmash! Hurry, pet!"</p> + +<p>Obediently the startled creature broke into a trot, which presently, as +she realized that she was riderless, became a panic-stricken gallop. +Mrs. Kildare went back to her vigil.</p> + +<p>It is a terrible experience to watch, helpless, the agony of a fellow +creature. She knelt beside the dirty pallet, her face as white as the +girl's, beads of sweat on her brow, paralyzed by her utter inability to +render aid—a new sensation to Mrs. Kildare. Maternity as she had known +it was a thing of awe, of dread, a great brooding shadow that had for +its reverse the most exquisite happiness God allows to the earth-born. +But maternity as it came to Mag Henderson! None of the preparations here +that women love to make, no little white-hung cradle, no piles of snowy +flannel, none of the precious small garments sewn with dreams; only +squalor, and shame, and fear unutterable.</p> + +<p>Never a religious woman, Mrs. Kildare found herself presently engaged in +one of her rare conversations with the Almighty, explaining to Him how +young, how ignorant was this child to suffer so; how unfair that she +should be suffering alone; how wicked it was to send souls into the +world unwanted.</p> + +<p>"You could do something about it, and You ought to," she urged, aloud. +"Oh, God, what a pity You are not a woman!"</p> + +<p>Even in her agony, it seemed a queer sort of prayer to Mag Henderson. +But strong hands held hers close, a strong heart pounded courage into +hers; and who shall say that the helpless tears on Kate Kildare's face +were of no help to a girl who had known nothing in all her life of the +sisterhood of women?</p> + +<p>At last came the sound of thudding hoofs in the lane, and a clear voice, +the echo of Kate's own, calling, "Mother! Where are you? <i>Mother!</i> +Answer me. I'm coming—"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare made a trumpet of her hands and shouted, "Here, Jack. Here +in Mag's cabin."</p> + +<p>"Safe?"</p> + +<p>"All safe."</p> + +<p>"Phil, Phil!" called back the voice, breaking. "Come on. It's all right! +We've found her! She's safe!"</p> + +<p>In a moment a whirlwind of pink muslin burst in at the door, and +enveloped Mrs. Kildare in an embrace which bade fair to suffocate, while +anxious hands felt and prodded her to be sure nothing was broken.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mummy darling," crooned the beautiful voice, "<i>how</i> you frightened +us! You're sure no bones are smashed—nothing sprained? Poor Clover had +worked herself into a perfect panic, galloping home all alone. And the +servants screaming, and Jemima fearing the worst, as she always does. +And we didn't even know where to hunt for you, till Philip came—Oh, +<i>Mother</i>!"</p> + +<p>"There, there, baby—it 's all right. No time for pettings now. There 's +work to be done. Why didn't Jemima come? This is no place for a madcap +like you."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline chuckled and shivered. "The Apple Blossom"—she referred to +her elder sister, Jemima—"was turning your room into a hospital-ward +when I left, against the arrival of your mangled corpse. She had also +ordered the wagon prepared like an ambulance, mattresses, chloroform, +bandages—every gruesome detail complete. Our Jemima," she said, "is +having the time of her life—isn't she, Reverend Flip?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare smiled in spite of herself. The description of her eldest +daughter was apt. But she said reprovingly, "Yon sound as if you were +making fun of your sister, dear. And don't call Philip 'the Reverend +Flip.' It is rude."</p> + +<p>"Pooh! Rudeness is good for that elderly young man," murmured +Jacqueline, with an engaging smile in his direction.</p> + +<p>But the elderly young man, standing at the door, did not notice. He was +gazing at Mrs. Kildare questioningly.</p> + +<p>There had come a groan from the inner room.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" cried Jacqueline. She ran to investigate. "Oh! The <i>poor</i> +thing! What's the matter with her?"</p> + +<p>Benoix would have stopped her, but Kate said shortly, "Nonsense, Phil. +My girls were born women. You ride for the doctor."</p> + +<p>At dawn a faint, fierce whisper came from the inner room.</p> + +<p>"Whar's my babby? What you-all doin' with my babby? You ain't goin' to +take her away from me? No, <i>no</i>! She's mine, I tell you!"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline hurried in to her with the tiny, whimpering bundle. "Of +course she's yours, and the sweetest, fattest darling. Oh, Mag, how I +envy you!" She kissed the other's cheek.</p> + +<p>There was a third girl in the room, a dainty, pink and white little +person who well deserved her pet-name of the "Apple Blossom." She looked +up in quick distaste from the bandages her capable hands were preparing, +and went out to her mother.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it like Jacqueline? To sit outside all night with her fingers +stuffed in her ears, because she couldn't stand the groaning, and then +to—kiss the creature!"</p> + +<p>Jemima was nineteen, a most sophisticated young woman.</p> + +<p>Her mother smiled a little. "Yes," she admitted, "it is like Jacqueline, +and that's why she's going to do poor Mag more good than either of us. +The doctor says we shall be able to take Mag and the baby home +presently."</p> + +<p>"Home!" Philip Benoix looked at her in amaze. Like the others, his face +was drawn and pale with that strange vigil. Death does not come so close +without leaving its mark on the watchers. "Miss Kate, surely you're not +going to take Mag Henderson into your own home?"</p> + +<p>"Where else? You wanted me to evict her. I can't evict her into space."</p> + +<p>"But, the responsibility!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, there is a responsibility," said Kate Kildare, musing. "I don't +know whether it's mine or God's, or whose—and I can't afford to take +any chances."</p> + +<p>"It will be easier to look after them at home," commented the practical +Jemima.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + + +<p>On the rare occasions when the mistress of Storm sat idle in her eyrie, +her household—children, negroes, even the motley assortment of dogs +that claimed her for their own—had learned to go their ways softly. The +morning after Mag's affair, three collies, a hound or so, and several +curs waited in a respectful row, tentative tails astir, with eyes fixed +patiently upon a certain great juniper-tree at the edge of Storm garden. +On the other side of it sat a very weary woman, cradled between its +hospitable roots, with her back turned on the workaday world and her +face to the open country. This was her eyrie; and here, when another +woman would have been shut into a darkened chamber courting sleep, came +Kate Kildare on occasion to rest her soul.</p> + +<p>To the left and right of her rose taller hills, of which Storm was the +forerunner, the first small ripple of the Cumberlands as they broke upon +the plain. At her feet stretched mile after rolling mile of summer +green, and gold, and brown. There were dappled pastures of bluegrass, +clover-fields, beech-woods, great golden reaches of corn; there was the +rich black-green of tobacco—not much of that, for Kate Kildare loved +her land too well to ruin it. Here and there the farm of some neighbor +showed larger patches of the parasite that soon or late must sap +Kentucky of its vigor, even while it fills her coffers with gold; but +these were few. The greater part of the land in sight was Kildare land. +Storms, like some feudal keep of the Old World, brooded its chickens +under its wings, watchfully.</p> + +<p>Far away, perhaps five miles or so, the roof of another mansion showed +among the trees; a new house. Kate rarely looked in that direction. It +made her feel crowded. It was not the only direction from which she kept +her eyes averted. On the edge of the distant horizon rested always a low +gray cloud, never lifting, nor shifting. It seemed to her an aureole of +shadow crowning some evil thing, even as the saints in old paintings are +crowned with light. It was the smoke of the little city of Frankfort, +where there is a penitentiary.</p> + +<p>The plateau at her feet was crossed by many a slender thread of road, to +one of which her eyes came presently, as wandering feet stray naturally +into a path they often use. It was rather a famous road, with a name of +its own in history. Wild creatures had made it centuries ago, on their +way from the hills to the river. The silent moccasins of Indians had +widened it; later, pioneers, Kildares and their hardy kindred, flintlock +on shoulder, ear alert for the crackling of a twig in the primeval +forest, seeking a place of safety for their women and children in the +new world they had come to conquer. Now it was become a thoroughfare for +prosperous loaded wains, for world-famed horses, for their supplanter, +the automobile, which in ever-increasing numbers has come to enjoy and +kill the peace of distant countrysides.</p> + +<p>But to Kate Kildare the early history of that road meant nothing. It was +for her the road that led back, a two days' journey, into her girlhood.</p> + +<p>In the house Jacqueline was singing, her voice drowning the mellow tones +of the old piano, ringing out singularly pure and clear, like a child's, +lacking as yet the modulations to be learned of one teacher alone; life. +It was a new song that Philip Benoix had brought for her to try:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A little winding road<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goes over the hill to the plain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little road that crosses the plain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And comes to the hill again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sought for Love on that road—"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>sang Jacqueline, cheerfully.</p> + +<p>The eyes of the listener filled with sharp tears. She too had sought for +Love on that road.</p> + +<p>She saw herself riding down it into her great adventure, so young, so +laughing and brave, Basil Kildare on his great horse beside her, all the +world a misty golden green. She saw—even with closed eyes, she saw—the +turn of the road where Jacques Benoix, Philip's father, had come to meet +them on their wedding journey.</p> + +<p>So far her memories often led her before she stopped them. But the +experience of the night had left her oddly stirred and weakened, not +quite herself. To-day the memories had their way with her.</p> + +<p>She lived again through the whirlwind courtship that was still +remembered in a community where sudden marriages are not unusual; saw +again, as she had first seen it, the arresting, great figure of Basil +Kildare framed in a ballroom door, with smoldering black eyes upon her, +that spoke so much more eloquently than his tongue. Yet his tongue had +done well enough, too, that night. Before their first dance was over he +had said to her: "I have been watching you grow up, Kate. Now I think +you are old enough to marry me."</p> + +<p>Two weeks later they went to her mother, hand in hand.</p> + +<p>"But, my dearest!" fluttered the startled lady, "Mr. Kildare is a man of +forty, and you only seventeen, only a child! Besides—"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Kildare," answered the girl, with a proud glance at her lover, +"will help me to become a woman, Mother dear."</p> + +<p>What was she, newly widowed, who had depended in all things upon her +husband, to oppose such a pair of wills? Rumors of the wild doings at +Storm were not lacking in that gentler community, nor was the Kildare +blood what she would have chosen to mix with her own. But there is among +this type of women always the rather touching belief that it needs only +matrimony to tame the wildest of eagles into a cooing dove. Kildare, +moreover, was one of the great landowners of the State, a man of +singular force and determination, and, when he chose to exert it, of a +certain virile charm. When Mrs. Leigh realized that, ever since her +daughter had been old enough to exhibit promise of the beauty she +afterwards attained, this man had marked her for his own, a feeling of +utter helplessness came over her.</p> + +<p>They were a magnificent pair to look at, as they stood before her, tall, +vivid, vital. Beside Basil Kildare the youths who had hitherto courted +Kate, young as she was, seemed callow and insignificant, even to the +mother. It would need a man to rule such a woman as Kate was to become, +not an adoring boy; and Mrs. Leigh was of the type and generation that +believed firmly in the mastery of husbands.</p> + +<p>She could not make up her mind to consent to the marriage, but she did +not forbid it. And it is probable that her forbidding would have had as +much effect upon that pair of lovers as the sighing of the southwind. +Perhaps less effect; for, in a Kentucky May, the sighing of the +southwind is very persuasive.</p> + +<p>Bridesmaids and their escorts rode part way on the wedding journey; a +gay cavalcade, some of the youths a little white and quiet, all of the +girls with envious, sentimental eyes upon Kate where she rode beside the +handsomest of the wild Kildares, with the romantic, whispered reputation +of his race upon him.</p> + +<p>When these had turned back, the bridegroom, chafing a little under their +surveillance, swore a great oath of relief and spurred his horse close. +In a sudden panic Kate bolted away from him, galloped up a lane, leaped +a fence into a field, where he caught her and seized her, laughing +aloud: "That's my girl! That's my pretty wild hawk! The spirit for a +mother of Kildare men, by God!"</p> + +<p>After that she met his kisses unafraid. Girl as she was, it seemed to +her a beautiful saying—"a mother of Kildare men." Only three things she +was bringing with her from the old home to the new—her piano, her +father's books, and the oaken cradle that had come with the first Leigh +from overseas, and followed other Leighs across the mountains along the +old Wilderness Trail, into Kentucky.</p> + +<p>Toward the end of their two days' journey through the May woods and +meadows, a little barking dog sprung out at them, frightening Kate's +thoroughbred until it almost threw her. Kildare struck furiously at the +dog, and missed; struck again, leaped from his horse, and pursued it, +striking and kicking, so that the terrified creature ran for its life, +and Kate cried out, "Stop, Basil, stop. What are you doing? Stop, I +say!"</p> + +<p>He came back to her, cursing, an ugly line between his brows. "Got away, +damn the luck! I almost—Why, Kate! Tears? Oh, good Lord," he laughed, +still frowning. "You're as soft as Jacques Benoix!"</p> + +<p>She mastered the tears; mastered, too, a strange little fear at her +heart, thinking proudly, "He came when I called! He stopped when I +called!"</p> + +<p>Aloud she said, "It was the sun that made my eyes water. Who is Jacques +Benoix?"</p> + +<p>He told her about his neighbor, a stranger—"the only gentleman within +ten miles of us, so you'll have to be friends with him"—a man so +soft-hearted that he would not hunt foxes or rabbits; a man who broke +his colts without the whip, and was trying to break a son the same way.</p> + +<p>"More fool he, coming up here out of a city and trying to teach <i>us</i> to +break colts!"</p> + +<p>"Has he a wife?"</p> + +<p>Kildare gave his great laugh. "You don't suppose a man as soft as that +would have escaped? The woman's sickly—of course! That's why he married +her, and that's why he has come up here. Gave up a big practice in New +Orleans, they say, because he thought it would be healthier here. So it +is! Too damned healthy for him, I reckon! We don't need more than one +doctor around Storm, and old Doc Jones has got a corner on the births +and deaths already. Yes, Benoix is rather a fool. But he's got his uses. +He'll play poker for twenty-four hours at a stretch, and drink—Lord!" +said Kildare, admiringly. "I don't know where the little fellow puts it +all!"</p> + +<p>It was at the next crossroads that they found Benoix waiting; a slender, +rather foreign-looking man, very carefully dressed, with a stiff little +bouquet of geraniums in his hands. For the first time Kate's direct +young gaze met the eyes whose blueness, in their dark setting, was a +never-failing surprise to her. They held hers steadily for a moment; it +seemed to her that they had already talked together before he spoke.</p> + +<p>"I bring to Mrs. Kildare the first fruits from her kingdom," he said, +offering the little bouquet.</p> + +<p>"Flowers from Storm?" laughed Basil, incredulously. "Where'd you get +them? You're a wizard, Jacques! I never saw any flowers at Storm."</p> + +<p>"You were not looking for them, my friend. Now you will look!" Benoix' +smile was a gleam of white teeth.</p> + +<p>Kate tucked the flowers into her habit, and held out her hand to him. +"I've been ordered to be friends with you. I do not think it will be +hard," she said.</p> + +<p>Kildare laughed again as the other bent formally over her hand. "Thank +Heaven, I'm no Frenchman! A woman's hand, in a glove, must be about as +thrilling to kiss as a mare's hoof. Try her lips, man! You'll find them +better," he urged; and roared with laughter to see them both blushing.</p> + +<p>Benoix rode with them the rest of the way, pointing out to the girl the +beauties of her kingdom; mares nuzzling their new-born foals; the tender +green of young crops; cloud shadows drifting over the rolling miles that +darkled like ocean beneath a wind; a pair of mocking-birds at play, +their gray wings flashing circles of white. For some time the hills had +been marching toward them, and at last they reached the first. It was +low, and covered with juniper-bushes. On the crest of it stood a house, +grim and stanch as when the pioneer Kildare built it, facing undaunted +through the years the brunt of every storm that swept the plateau. Its +trees were bent and twisted by the giant grasp of many winds.</p> + +<p>"You see why they call it 'Storm,'" said Benoix.</p> + +<p>Kildare had left them, spurring forward with sudden eagerness, +whistling. Crashing down through the underbrush came two enormous +bloodhounds, baying like mad things. Kildare flung himself from his +horse and met them with a shout, seizing them in his arms, romping and +tumbling about with the great, frantic beasts until all three were +covered with mud and slaver. It was a rather terrific spectacle. Kate +thought of a bas-relief she had seen somewhere of a satyr playing with +leopards.</p> + +<p>"The only things in the world Basil loves!" murmured the Creole; adding +quickly, "or did love. Do not be startled, Mrs. Kildare. Bloodhounds are +greatly maligned. Jove and Juno, there, are as kind as kittens, despite +their rough ways. Here you will find many rough ways," he spoke as if in +warning. "It is a man's place. But you will change it!"</p> + +<p>He was mistaken. After all her years there, Storm was still "a man's +place." Kate had never found the time, nor the heart, to make a home of +it.</p> + +<p>Benoix left them, and Kate and Basil mounted to their house alone. Seen +close at hand, it proved to be not without a certain charm, despite its +weather-beaten grimness. No house can lack personality that has grown +generation by generation with the race it shelters. The older part was +of rough-hewn logs, whitewashed. To this had been added later a wing of +boulders; later still, one of brick. Across the long front ran a +brick-paved gallery, where a disused carriage had been drawn for +shelter, and taken possession of by a flock of turkeys.</p> + +<p>Negroes, big and little, came running from the quarters at the back. A +huge, beaming black woman waddled out and lifted Kate bodily from the +saddle, loudly praising God.</p> + +<p>"My Lawdy, ain't she des' a <i>beauty</i>? Ain't Mr. Bas' done picked him a +beauty-bright?"</p> + +<p>In the open door waited another house-servant; a handsome young mulatto +girl, who curtseyed respectfully and stared at her new mistress with +hostile, curious eyes.</p> + +<p>Remembering, Kate shuddered, as she had shuddered then with the +bewilderment, the sense of unreality, that took possession of her at +that moment. It was all so unlike what she had expected, so appallingly +unlike the gracious, well-ordered life of the stately Bluegrass homes +she had known.</p> + +<p>Rank weeds grew to the very door-sill. Within she saw a huge, raftered +hall hung with antlers and guns and saddles, pelts, fox-brushes. There +was a stuffed bloodhound, the ancestor perhaps of Jove and Juno. A +horse's head protruded from the wall, nostrils dilated, glassy eyes +starting from the sockets, as if the poor creature were still running +his last race with Death.</p> + +<p>"Welcome home, wife!" cried Basil Kildare, kissing her lips with a loud +smack.</p> + +<p>The negroes guffawed in delight, the hounds bayed again till the hills +echoed.</p> + +<p>Then beside the house she saw a few squares and circles of fresh-turned +earth, planted with limp coleas, and dusty-millers, and all the other +unlovely specimens of horticulture favored by men when they go +a-gardening. Her eyes filled with sudden tears.</p> + +<p>"Why, Basil!" She slipped a hand into his. "You dear! How sweet of you +to try to make me the little garden!"</p> + +<p>"Eh? What garden?" His eyes followed hers. "Oh! That must be some of +Benoix' doings. He's the only man 'round here who has time to fool with +posies."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + + +<p>There was never a stranger honeymoon than that of Kate and Basil +Kildare. It began with a view-halloa. It ended ... how should happy +hunting end except with the death of something?</p> + +<p>That first year was not without its heady charm for a girl with the +facile, the almost tragic, adaptability of seventeen years. True, it was +not married life as she had dreamed it; but it was her husband's life. +She made it hers.</p> + +<p>Kildare's boon companions found to their relief that a young wife was no +restraint upon their pleasures; was indeed an addition to them. No sport +was too rough for her to share, no riding too hard, no gambling too +heavy. Despite her town breeding, this was no hothouse plant, this +daughter of a horse-racing, whisky-drinking, card-playing gentry. +Kildare took a vast delight in her prowess, particularly at the +card-table; swearing joyously when she won, paying her losses, which +were considerable, with an amused indifference equal to her own. One +quality, and one alone, had power to move him in man, woman, or beast. +It was the quality he called Spirit.</p> + +<p>In that Kate was not lacking. Rumors of the wild Kildares, always rife +in a countryside they had made famous for generations with their +amusements, did not abate after the coming of a new mistress to Storm. +Of the society of her own sex, she had little or nothing. The few women +of her class within driving distance were careful to call once—Kildare +was not a man to antagonize. But they did not come again. Kate was not +sorry. She found them less interesting than their men-folk. Their +manners were provincial, their outlook narrow, and—they did not fall in +love with her. In this they were unlike their husbands, their brothers, +their sons, and fathers.</p> + +<p>The guest-house was rarely empty. The bride and groom were never alone. +Storm had long been a gathering place for sportsmen of every type, from +the neighboring towns, from the city, from other States. Nor were their +guests always gentlemen. Kate, indeed, grew to prefer certain of the +rough and simple farmers who came there to the more polished visitors. +Their admiration was humbler, less troublesome.</p> + +<p>Gentlemen or not, Kate numbered her admirers among her husband's friends +by the score. She grew as adept in handling them as in handling colts; +and her prowess in this, too, amused Basil Kildare enormously. He +rallied her on each new victim with chuckles of delight. Too confident +of himself for jealousy, he knew, if he thought of it at all, that his +honor was safer in her hands than it had ever been in his own.</p> + +<p>That the girl came to no harm in that wild year was owing to no +watchfulness of her husband's. The Kildare motto was "Liberty For All." +Nor was it owing to any love of her husband's, Kate soon knew this.</p> + +<p>Her beauty was a matter of great pride to him. He flaunted it, his +property, before other envious men; took her often upon his knee when +any were about; pulled the pins out of her hair to reveal the full +flowing splendor of it; hung her with jewels, sent away for velvets and +silks and laces, so that she went about the rough place clad like a +young queen at court. But despite various episodes in his career, +Kildare was never a woman's man. He had married for one reason, and one +alone. He made no concealment of it. "People say we Kildares are doomed, +that the stock is dying out. We'll show 'em!" he often said. "Meanwhile, +let the girl have her fling."</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, there was watchfulness. No matter how far she went, no +matter to what lengths her reckless gaiety led her, Kate was aware of +the quiet, understanding scrutiny of Jacques Benoix. Their nearest +neighbor, and by the strange attraction of opposites, Kildare's chosen +intimate, it was inevitable that she should be thrown constantly into +the company of the Creole. Despite his very evident admiration, he did +not join the ranks of her more or less avowed lovers; a fact that in +turn piqued and oddly comforted Kate. For at times this new life of hers +seemed a strange dream, in which Benoix, with his gentleness, his +punctilious courtesy, his rather formal friendliness of aspect, was the +only fixed reality. She felt, vaguely, that she was safe with him; safer +than with her husband. She thought of him more as a friend than as a +man.</p> + +<p>He reminded her somewhat of her father and his companions, courtly, +scholarly gentlemen who belonged to that period of the South when men +not only gambled and rode and drank, but found leisure to cultivate +poetry, and Greek, and music, all the fine things of life. He talked to +her about such matters as had interested them, large impersonal matters, +taking for granted her intelligent understanding. This flattered the +girl, though she had no ambition to be thought a scholar.</p> + +<p>Often he borrowed books from her small store, to the impatient amusement +of Basil Kildare, who looked upon the reading of books as a pastime +suitable for invalids and old women. Kate, too, found no room in her +exciting, absorbing life for books, at that time. Still, there was an +atmosphere about the Creole far less foreign to her than to her +companions. It reminded her of a sheltered, exquisite, finely ordered +childhood, of certain standards that she might otherwise have been in +danger of forgetting. She never joined a group of her husband's boon +companions, whether in the gaming-room or the hunting-field, without +first making sure unconsciously that Benoix was there. And he was +usually there.</p> + +<p>At length Benoix, in his professional capacity, spoke to Kildare.</p> + +<p>"What the devil, Jacques! Stop her riding and late hours, and all? What +d'ye mean?"</p> + +<p>The doctor told him.</p> + +<p>The husband swore a pleased oath. "Good little girl! I told you we'd +show 'em. But what of it? Child-bearing's no disease, man! Good Gad, the +girl ain't goin' to turn out sickly, is she?" Kildare had a queer horror +of "sickliness."</p> + +<p>"Not if I can help it," said the other. He added, in the language Basil +best understood, "You do not race a brood-mare, my friend. You turn her +out to pasture."</p> + +<p>Kildare admitted the point. Thereafter, though the usual life at Storm +went on unchanged, Kate was no longer a part of it.</p> + +<p>She was rather glad. It was restful to be turned out to pasture. She +liked to hear them start off with the hounds in the cold dawn, knowing +that she might turn over and sleep again. Sometimes she was awakened at +night by swearing and quarrels and loud laughter from the guest-wing. +Sometimes there was singing, one rich baritone leading the rest; and to +this Kate listened eagerly. Dr. Benoix sang very beautifully when he was +drunk.</p> + +<p>One night she started up out of a dream to hear tipsy voices at her very +door. It opened, and Basil Kildare stood on the threshold, holding a +lamp above his head, saying over his shoulder: "Come on in, boys! That's +all right—Kit's a good sport. Come and look at her, if you like. +Prettiest thing in a nightgown you ever saw!"</p> + +<p>An anger possessed Kate of which she had never dreamed herself capable. +She knew then that there would never be any defender for her and her +children except herself. She saw that what her inexperience had mistaken +for strength in her husband was only violence. She reached for the +pistol at her bedside.</p> + +<p>"Basil," she said quietly—too quietly—"if you bring those men into my +room, I shall shoot."</p> + +<p>Her voice sobered him; shocked him into an anger as hot as hers was +cold. "Your room? <i>Your</i> room? By God, I do what I choose in this house! +D'ye know who I am? By God—"</p> + +<p>But her voice had sobered the others as well. They got him away by main +force. Not one of them had glanced at her.</p> + +<p>In the morning, for the first time in her life, Kate was ill, and +Kildare in alarm sent for Benoix. Before her, he told the doctor what +had occurred; ashamed, but brazening it out with a laugh. The doctor +said nothing; merely looked at him. After a moment, the big man turned +and went from the room.</p> + +<p>Kate was oddly sorry for her husband. "He did not know what he was +doing," she murmured. "But oh, Jacques, if <i>you</i> had been there, it +would not have happened!"</p> + +<p>"No. Hereafter, I shall be there."</p> + +<p>"Please, please," whispered the girl, and she began to cry. She was +quite unnerved. "Oh, I am afraid sometimes, Jacques! It's such a comfort +to know you are near, to hear your voice—even when you are as drunk as +the others!"</p> + +<p>He went rather white about the lips. "Hereafter I shall be there," he +repeated steadily. "And I shall not be as drunk as the others. I shall +not be drunk at all."</p> + +<p>After that night there was less company at Storm, and Kildare began to +make frequent absences from home, lasting sometimes over several days. +Kate was grateful, realizing that it was his way of showing her +consideration. But she was also lonely. For the first time, she missed +the companionship of women.</p> + +<p>She made shy overtures to the tenants' wives, to the women in the +village. But the barrier of caste was very evident, and there were other +barriers. No virtue is so quick to take up arms as that of the middle +classes. Kildare as a landlord was not popular. Beauty, charm, did not +help her with them as it had with their husbands. There was the further +barrier, which all aliens in a rural community reach soon or late: the +well-nigh impassable barrier of strangeness. They would have none of +her. They looked askance at her winning sweetness; they accepted her +bounty with stony, ungrateful thanks.</p> + +<p>She thought of asking friends to visit her, only to be brought up +sharply by the realization that hers was not a home to which such women +as she had known would care to come. Once she spoke to her husband +tentatively of sending for her mother.</p> + +<p>"Oh, by all means, if you want her," he agreed, yawning a little. "But +what will that genteel female do with herself at Storm? There isn't a +tea-party nor an Episcopal Church within half a day's drive of us."</p> + +<p>Kate knew that he spoke truly. Her mother would be both shocked and +unhappy at Storm. Let her keep what illusions she had a while longer. +The girl was young to be guarding other women's illusions.</p> + +<p>And so she was thrown for company upon Jacques Benoix and his wife; the +latter a personality so colorless, so fragile, that strain as she might +she could not now recall a feature of her face, nor a tone of her voice. +Yet when Kate's time came, this helpless invalid had herself carried up +the hill to Storm, so that the girl might not be without a woman's hand +to hold during the ordeal.</p> + +<p>At this memory, the older Kate flushed a little. She wondered how much +the invalid had seen with her dim and weary eyes, before she closed +them.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + + +<p>The day came when Basil, summoned from the field to his wife's bedside, +foundered his best hunter in his haste to see his son. The doctor met +him at the door.</p> + +<p>"It is over, and well over," he said, gravely smiling.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Benoix added, "She never whimpered!"</p> + +<p>"Of course not, ma'am!" said Kildare. "Neither does my dog, Juno."</p> + +<p>He tiptoed to the bed, quietly for him, and stood gazing down at the +little wrinkled head on Kate's breast, with a queer, sheepish pride on +his face; somewhat the look of a schoolboy who receives a prize for good +behavior.</p> + +<p>Kate smiled tremulously up at him, "Isn't she sweet?"</p> + +<p>His face fell. "Gad, a she-child, is it? Well, can't be helped. We'll +name her for my rich Aunt Jemima. Better luck next time, Kit."</p> + +<p>But there was not better luck next time; there was worse luck.</p> + +<p>Less than a year later, Kildare inspected his second daughter. Kate was +sleeping, the baby beside her covered to its chin. The nurse in +attendance was the young mulatto woman who had looked so strangely at +her new mistress when she came to Storm. Now her hostility to Kate +seemed to have lost itself in devotion to Kate's child; the almost +passionate devotion that makes of colored women such invaluable nurses.</p> + +<p>As Kildare approached, he was aware of this girl's eyes fixed upon him. +Stealthily her hand went out, and drew away the sheet that covered the +new baby.</p> + +<p>He ripped out a startled oath. "Good God! What's the matter with it, +Mahaly? It's—it's damaged, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>Kate awoke with a gasping cry, and put her hands out to hide the little +twisted body from his gaze.</p> + +<p>Fortunately the child died. "Fortunately," repeated the mother to +herself now, without a quiver. To the end of her days she would carry in +her heart the memory of its faint, unbabyish moaning. It opened to her +the door of a new world, the world of suffering. She learned the agony +of love that cannot help. The little Katherine lived long enough to make +a woman of her; and strangely enough it reached the one soft spot in the +heart of Basil Kildare. During its brief and piteous life, husband and +wife came almost close to each other.</p> + +<p>To the man with his passion for physical perfection, the breeder of +thoroughbred horses and cattle and dogs, the fact that a child of his +should have been born without this precious heritage was a thing +incredible, a humiliation beyond words. Whenever he looked at the tiny, +whimpering creature, he asked pardon of her with his eyes for so +monstrous an injustice. He never tired of carrying her about in his +powerful arms, of rubbing the poor twisted limbs in an effort to ease +the pain away.</p> + +<p>"The stock's sound enough," he would say again and again. "I'm all +right, and you're all right, Kit. What's the matter with her?"</p> + +<p>Once he whispered in sudden horror, "I've been a pretty bad lot, Kate. +God! Do you suppose <i>I'm</i> to blame for this?"</p> + +<p>She comforted him with her arms about his neck.</p> + +<p>When the child died, Kildare himself made its grave, and carried the +coffin in his arms across the fields to the little pasture burying-lot +where lay all the Kildares of Storm. It was a queer funeral; none the +less pitiful for its queerness. First Basil with the coffin, the two +great hounds gamboling and baying around him in their delight at going +for a walk with the family; then Kate, alone and quite tearless; then a +dozen wailing, hysterical negroes. Benoix and a few others met them at +the grave, but there was no clergyman. Kate herself spoke what she could +of the burial service, till her memory and her voice failed her. Then +Kildare picked his wife up in his arms, and carried her home as tenderly +as he had carried his child's coffin.</p> + +<p>But that night he was so drunk that Kate kept the woman Mahaly in her +room for safety.</p> + +<p>It was during this time, with maternity, and sorrow, and womanhood, that +love came to her. She did not know it. She knew only that things could +be borne so long as Benoix was there to help her, guarding, +understanding; Benoix with his steady eyes, and his gentle strength to +share with her weakness.</p> + +<p>They needed little excuse for their constant companionship; mere +neighborliness; small Jemima's health; presents of flower-seeds and +baby-patterns from his wife; books to be lent or borrowed, for Kate had +turned to books at last. Kate's strength was slow in returning, and she +spent much of the day sitting in the garden with her baby. It came to be +Benoix' habit to stop there for a while coming or going from his house +beyond. The baby knew the pit-a-patter of his racking horse, and had +learned to clap her hands and crow when she heard it. The Creole had the +same grave simplicity for children, as for his equals. It never failed +to win them.</p> + +<p>Often Kate drove with him on his rounds, the child on her knees, because +she needed air and was not yet strong enough for riding; and in this way +she saw a side of her friend which had hitherto been unknown to her. It +was true, as Basil Kildare had said, that Dr. Jones "had a corner on the +births and deaths in the neighborhood," but between the two extremes +there were various physical disabilities which "the French doctor," as +he was called, was allowed to treat, especially when there was no money +for payment. With increasing frequency he was called in by the older +physician to cases which proved baffling; and it became known that when +the French doctor prescribed expensive medicines and nourishing +luxuries, they were invariably forthcoming, whether they could be paid +for or not.</p> + +<p>With this the young mistress of Storm had much to do; and while this +fact did not apparently lessen the neighborhood's attitude of critical +animosity toward her, it gave the girl a keen pleasure to know that she +was helping her friend. She began to understand the secret of the strong +hold his profession has upon those who follow it truly—that warmly +personal relation between the sufferer and his physician which is almost +filial in its intensity. Jacques loved his patients, and they loved him. +But it was not a lucrative practice.</p> + +<p>She was witness to one little scene that came often to her memory in +after days. He had stopped to visit a young farm laborer whom he had +recently relieved of a stomach-trouble that was literally starving him +to death. An old woman had followed him to the door of the cabin, her +work-worn hands twisting together, her lips too tremulous for speech.</p> + +<p>"But your troubles are over, Mrs. Higgs!" he smiled, lifting his hat +with the punctilious courtesy he showed all women. "Live? Certainly he +will live, and in a few weeks we shall have him walking about, eating +you out of house and home."</p> + +<p>Still the old creature was unable to speak; but she seized the hand he +held out to her, and carried it to her lips. When he withdrew it, in +laughing embarrassment, there were tears upon it.</p> + +<p>At last her voice came, hoarsely: "I don' know what it's goin' to cost, +an' I don't, keer! It's wuth every cent, an' I'll wuk my fingers to the +bone to pay ye. God bless ye, Doc!"</p> + +<p>He looked down at the hard-wrung tears on his hand. "You have paid me +already," he said; and Kate knew that he meant it.</p> + +<p>Afterwards she questioned him a little about the case.</p> + +<p>"It was a gastro-enterostomy, without complications," he explained. "A +very simple thing, done every day."</p> + +<p>He described the operation in some detail, Kate watching him in amaze.</p> + +<p>"You can't tell me that a thing like that is done every day! Jacques, be +honest—isn't it a very remarkable operation for a country doctor to +perform?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—for a country doctor, perhaps. For a surgeon who has had some +experience, no."</p> + +<p>"You are a surgeon, then, not a doctor?"</p> + +<p>He smiled, that warm, flashing smile which always fell like a gleam of +sunlight across her heart. "I am—whatever people need me to be."</p> + +<p>It was true—physician, nurse, companion, guardian, friend—Jacques +Benoix was always whatever people needed him to be.</p> + +<p>In that moment, Kate realized that he had given up a great career to +bring his sick wife into the country.</p> + +<p>One of the closest bonds between them was a love for music. Kate's +singing, untrained and faulty though it was, gave keen pleasure to his +starved ears, and often he brought his little son to hear her; a boy of +ten, rather grave and shy, but with his father's beautiful smile. +Sometimes there were duets to be tried out together; Kildare, when he +was at home, listening tolerantly and beating time out of time to the +pleasant sounds they made.</p> + +<p>But he was not often at home in those days. He sought his pleasure +elsewhere. The guest-house had been empty for months.</p> + +<p>Kate and Benoix found his frequent absences rather a relief. They were +freer to discuss the things that did not interest him, to read aloud to +each other, to play games with the exacting Apple-Blossom, an executive +from her cradle. It was at last the sort of domestic life of which every +girl dreams in her secret heart; and Kate grew lovelier than her +loveliest.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the countryside watched, and whispered, and waited. The +countryside was wise in the ways of Nature, if these two were not.</p> + +<p>Once Kildare asked (she missed the wistfulness of his voice), "Ain't it +time you were riding again, Kit, and playing cards with the boys? They +like to have you 'round. They're getting jealous of that kid of yours."</p> + +<p>Kate smiled at him, absently. She was sitting on the floor, building a +house of blocks under instruction from young Jemima. The amusements of +men seemed to her futile things, just then, and childish.</p> + +<p>"Benoix has given us the go-by, too. Won't touch a card or drink a drop +nowadays. I don't know what's come over him. Good gad—" Kildare gave +himself an impatient shake,—"sometimes I think the little Frenchman's a +female in disguise!"</p> + +<p>Kate smiled again. She knew very well what had come over Jacques. That +much at least she had done in return for the precious thing his +friendship was.</p> + +<p>At last her eyes were opened. One day she saw her husband striding +toward the house from the stables, pale, frowning, splashed with blood.</p> + +<p>She cried out, and ran to him, "Basil! What's happened? Are you hurt?"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! I've just had to kill Juno, that's all."</p> + +<p>"Kill Juno?" she gasped. "Good Heavens! Was she mad? Did she attack +you?" She gathered up her child with an instinctive, fierce gesture of +protection.</p> + +<p>He grinned at her. "What an imagination! Bitches don't go mad, my dear. +She littered yesterday, and her pups were all curs, that's all—every +damned one of them. Beastly luck! So I've killed the lot of them—Juno, +too."</p> + +<p>She recoiled from him, repeating stupidly, "You <i>killed</i> them? Killed +your own dog because her puppies were mongrels? Basil! I—I—don't think +I understand."</p> + +<p>"Time you learned something about breeding," he muttered impatiently. +"Don't you know she might never have had another decent pup? Storm's got +its reputation to sustain. I can't have the place overrun by a lot of +curs."</p> + +<p>He passed her, and went into the house.</p> + +<p>She followed, stunned. All through supper, as she sat opposite her +husband, listening, answering, serving his needs, the vision was before +her of the great hound's eyes as they must have looked when, one by one, +he took her puppies from her; when at last she felt the beloved hand at +her own throat.</p> + +<p>She looked at her husband furtively. It seemed to her that she had never +really seen him before. The coarse, hairy hands, the face with its cruel +lips, its low brow above which the hair waved up strongly like a black +plume, its eyes, handsome and bright and shallow, like the eyes of +certain animals of the cat-tribe—surely those eyes were growing too +bright? People called this family "the wild Kildares," sometimes "the +mad Kildares." <i>Were</i> they mad? Did that explain?</p> + +<p>Slowly a great horror of the man seized her; a fear which never +afterwards went away. He was her master, as he had been Juno's. She was +at his mercy, his thing, his creature. If she displeased him, if her +children displeased him....</p> + +<p>He fell asleep presently in a chair, according to his wont, snoring like +a well-fed animal. She sat and watched him for a while, shivering. +Suddenly she gave a little choked cry, and ran out of the house. She +stumbled down the hill, through the ravine below, along the road to +where a lighted window shone through the darkness. It was the window of +Jacques Benoix' study. She did not pause to realize why she was going. +She wanted only to be near her friend.</p> + +<p>He sat beside a lamp, reading to his wife, who lay on her couch beyond. +Against his shoulder leaned his boy, rubbing a cheek upon the rough coat +as if he loved to touch it. The light fell on the two dark heads so +close together, the clustering boyish curls, the strong, curved lips, as +sweet as any woman's. Kate pressed her white face against the window, +drinking in the homely comfort of the scene. She had no wish to speak to +him, no disloyal thought of betraying to her friend this new and +terrible knowledge of her husband. It was enough to know that help was +within reach; always within reach.</p> + +<p>The invalid's cough sounded from the couch. Benoix laid his took aside +and went to adjust her pillows. He bent over his wife and kissed her.</p> + +<p>Then Kate knew. This stabbing shock in her heart—it was not friendship. +It was jealousy; love.</p> + +<p>She started away from the window. She must have made some slight sound, +for Jacques looked up suddenly, and after a moment came out into the +darkness.</p> + +<p>He almost stumbled over her in the ravine, face downward among dead +leaves, shaken with dry sobbing. He went on his knees beside her, +gripping his hands together behind him so that he should not touch her. +But his voice was beyond his control. It broke into little sounds of +tenderness and dismay.</p> + +<p>"Kate—you! But what has happened? Tell me! What is wrong with you? +What?"</p> + +<p>His nearness, the trembling of his voice, filled her with an exquisite +terror. If she could have risen and run away she would have done so, but +she dared not trust her legs. Nor could she look at him, there in the +starlight, with this new secret in her eyes. She clutched desperately at +her self-command.</p> + +<p>He bent closer. "Kate, tell me! You are hurt. <i>Dieu!</i> That man—" It was +the first time she had heard a trace of accent in his speech. "What has +he done to you?"</p> + +<p>Still she could not trust herself to speak. In the silence she heard his +breath come hard. When he said, in a crisp, queer staccato that was not +his voice at all:</p> + +<p>"If Basil Kildare has hurt you, I shall kill him."</p> + +<p>"No, no," she gasped out. "It is not Basil. It is you!" She would have +given years of her life to recall the words the instant they were +spoken.</p> + +<p>"I? <i>I</i> have hurt you, I, who would—But tell me! You must tell me!"</p> + +<p>His will was stronger than hers. She told him.</p> + +<p>"I saw you—kiss her."</p> + +<p>"Kiss—"</p> + +<p>"Your wife." She was close to hysteria now, all hope of self-command +gone. She caught him by the arm. "Jacques, do you love her? I never +knew, I never thought—Oh, but you <i>can't</i> love her! It is impossible, +Jacques. Why don't you answer me?"</p> + +<p>He was shivering as if with a chill. "That is a question you have no +right to ask."</p> + +<p>"I—no right?" She laughed aloud. "What do rights matter? Besides, I +have every right, because it is me you love, me! I know it by your eyes, +your voice. See, you are afraid to touch me. And yet you kiss her! Why? +Why?"</p> + +<p>She could barely hear the answer. "Because—it makes her a little +happy."</p> + +<p>She laughed again, brokenly. "You hypocrite!"</p> + +<p>"No, not quite a hypocrite—" he got it out in jerks. "She cares for me. +She needs me. She has given me our son. If one cannot have—the moon—at +least there are stars."</p> + +<p>She knelt facing him, with her hands out, whispering desperately, "But +if you can have the moon, if you can—? Oh, my dear, my dear! Why don't +you take me?"</p> + +<p>He took her then, held her so close that his heart shook her body as if +it were her own, kissed her eyes, her hair, her lips, until she was +ashamed and put up her hands before her face so that he might kiss only +them.</p> + +<p>At last he put her from him, and went without a word back to his wife.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + + +<p>The older Kate, looking from her eyrie at that other self of hers as at +some stranger she had once known and pitied, saw a girl who wore her +secret in her face, careless of who might read. Indeed she rather hoped +the world would read; she had no shame of loving.</p> + +<p>The negroes, sensitive as devoted dogs to the mood of their mistress, +vied with each other in serving her, and whispered uneasily behind her +back. Several times the mulatto nurse, Mahaly, more often with her than +the others, seemed about to speak to her of something, but lost courage.</p> + +<p>Kate did not notice. She noticed very little that went on around her in +those days. Sometimes, indeed, she caught the hard, shallow gaze of her +husband fixed upon her, curiously. But if he drew his own conclusions +from her pallor, her starry eyes, her long fits of brooding, he at least +did not trouble her with questions. Which perhaps was just as well. She +would have answered them.</p> + +<p>For a while she went about in a sort of daze, living over again what had +passed in the ravine, wondering what she and Jacques would say to each +other when he came to her. Then she began to wonder why he did not come +to her. A week passed—two weeks. She grew troubled, frightened; for the +first time a little ashamed. What if it were not love with him? The girl +had learned in a hard school the difference between love and the thing +that is called love.</p> + +<p>She spent hours out under the juniper tree, listening for the +pit-a-patter of a racking horse. She heard it often, but it did not +stop. The baby playing near heard it, too; and when it passed she +murmured with a tragic droop of the little mouth: "Aw—gone—by-by, +Muddy! Aw—gone—by-by!"</p> + +<p>Presently Kate lost all sense of shame; ordered out a saddle-horse in +defiance of doctor's advice, and took to haunting the crossroads and the +village on the chance of meeting him alone. This never happened. Fate, +rather late in the day, seemed to have taken her good name into its +keeping. They met, of course, but under the furtive, curious gaze of +others. Usually, too, Jacques had his boy beside him. It was as if he +were afraid to go alone.</p> + +<p>So Kate had nothing to feed her heart upon but an occasional grave "Good +morning," or a meeting of eyes that were instantly wrenched apart. It +was enough for her, however. This was no mere emotion she had stirred. +The man's face was worn as by a long illness. The least touch of his +eyes was a caress.</p> + +<p>She grew to pity him more than herself. "Poor Jacques!" she thought +tenderly. "Poor, miserable, foolish Jacques!—" and longed to comfort, +to reassure him. She felt in herself the strength for two.</p> + +<p>At last she wrote to him:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>When are you coming, Jacques? I miss you so! Do not be afraid. +Friends need be none the less friends because they love each other. +Don't you trust me?</p></div> + +<p>It was her custom to send her baby once or twice in the week to visit +the invalid, Mrs. Benoix. She gave her note to the nurse to carry.</p> + +<p>"It is to ask the doctor for a prescription," she explained. "If he is +not there, it will not be necessary to leave the note. You understand?"</p> + +<p>It was her first lie, and she told it badly, flushing and stammering. +Mahaly understood only too well. The woman seemed oddly reluctant; tried +once again to say what she had to say, and failed.</p> + +<p>When she had gone, Kate felt in the reaction as if her heart had been +released from some heavy weight. "Why haven't I written before?" she +thought. "Shyness, pride between people who love—what a silly thing! He +shall see how strong I am; how much better and truer a friend, now that +we know."</p> + +<p>To prove the purely friendly nature of her intentions, she donned her +most becoming dress, in case he chose to bring his answer in person.</p> + +<p>Mahaly brought the answer, however, written across a leaf of a +prescription-pad:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I do not dare to come. It is myself I cannot trust. Forgive me!</p></div> + +<p>It was her one love-letter from Jacques Benoix. She wore it out with +reading.</p> + +<p>Some days later the bomb fell. Her husband said casually, at the +supper-table, "I bought the Benoix place to-day, Kate."</p> + +<p>"Bought—the Benoix place?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; not that I could afford it! God knows I'm land-poor enough as it +is. But they needed the money, and I knew you would like me to help +them, my dear. They're such friends of yours."</p> + +<p>Kate moistened her lips. "Of yours, too, Basil. But—why do they need +money?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her. "Oh, haven't you heard?" He spoke slowly, as if the +words were pleasant to him. "Has Jacques not told you that they are +going away to live, to the mountains? Mrs. Benoix' health; lungs, you +know."</p> + +<p>The room was whirling; around her. Clutching the tablecloth to steady +herself, she was aware of Mahaly behind her master's chair, looking at +her sharply, warningly. "Isn't it rather foolish of Jacques?" she heard +herself asking, evenly, "to give up his practice a second time?"</p> + +<p>Kildare laughed. "Not much practice to give up, my dear! Old Jones is +good enough for us—he's not a d——d Frenchman, at least," he said with +sudden savagery. "In fact," he added, smoothly again, "it was I who +advised Jacques to try the mountains. He has worn out his welcome here."</p> + +<p>At last Kate understood. Her husband had seen. He meant to guard what he +did not value. He had forced Benoix to sell his home, and to give up his +means of livelihood. He was driving him out of the neighborhood because +he was her lover.</p> + +<p>She rose, and walked steadily from the room. The girl Mahaly followed.</p> + +<p>"Tek keer, tek keer!" she muttered, in a low voice. "He's watchin' you, +Miss Kate!"</p> + +<p>"He is always watching me," said Kate, dully.</p> + +<p>"Yas 'm. I done tried to warn you. Hit were de letter. Ef you jes' +hadn't 'a' sent de letter!"</p> + +<p>"My husband saw that?"</p> + +<p>"Yas 'm. I don gib it to him."</p> + +<p>Kate recoiled, staring at her. "You! You gave it?" she whispered. "You +whom I have trusted! My own servant!"</p> + +<p>The mulatto woman's expression was a queer mixture of malice, and +triumph, and pity.</p> + +<p>"I was his servant first," said Mahaly.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Several months later, news came of the death of Mrs. Benoix in the +mountains.</p> + +<p>But it found Kate oddly indifferent. She was lingering, then, upon a +certain dark threshold which she would have crossed very gladly but for +voices that held her back; the prattle of a child, the thin, helpless +whimper of a baby. She had just given birth to her third daughter.</p> + +<p>Basil Kildare did not trouble himself to inspect his new property. +Servants brought him word of its sex and its soundness.</p> + +<p>"Good gad, another female?" he cried; and went off down the hill at a +gallop.</p> + +<p>Kate heard him go, and retreated a step from the dark threshold.</p> + +<p>There was peace in the room.</p> + +<p>Presently it seemed to her as if some one were near, a dear familiar +presence she had learned to associate with that threshold; a strength to +lean her weakness on; a hand gripping hers; eyes that held her with +their tenderness, would not let her go.</p> + +<p>By a great effort she raised her lids. The vision held. A voice said +steadily: "Quiet, Kate. Remember your baby."</p> + +<p>But she had no thought of excitement. It seemed too natural to have him +there. "I knew—you would come—if you could—" she whispered.</p> + +<p>He knelt beside her. She drew his head down to her breast, just above +where the baby lay. So they stayed a while without speaking.</p> + +<p>There was some sort of commotion downstairs; a cry, instantly hushed. +The old doctor entered the room in haste, and paused, staring. After a +moment he went out softly, clearing his throat. A mulatto-girl, +curiously gray of face, was mounting fierce guard over the door, and +would allow no others to enter.</p> + +<p>Then came a sound of trampling feet in the road, as of men bearing some +heavy burden.</p> + +<p>Benoix began to speak, in a low and rapid whisper: "Whatever comes now, +you will remember how I have loved you. From the very first, when I saw +you riding to me—There is for every man one woman, only we are fools +and do not wait. Wherever I am, my love shall reach you. They cannot +keep my love from going to you, and you will know. For me there is only +you in the world. The other things are shadows. You will +remember—whatever happens, you will remember?"</p> + +<p>She smiled: there was no need to answer.</p> + +<p>She asked, incuriously: "What are those feet in the hall? What are they +carrying?"</p> + +<p>He answered, "Basil Kildare."</p> + +<p>"Basil? He is hurt?"</p> + +<p>"He is dead," said Benoix.</p> + +<p>After a moment she began to laugh—but very softly, so that the sleeping +baby on her breast might not be disturbed: "Oh, thank God, thank God! +God is good to us, Jacques!"</p> + +<p>He stopped the terrible words on her lips with his own. There were feet +on the stairs. He tried to speak to her once more from the door, but he +could not. He closed the door behind him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + + +<p>The peace of that quiet time with her lover remained with Kate through +the days that followed, even as he had intended it should, guarding her +like an armor from the seething excitement of the world beyond her door. +Wailing servants, friends arriving from far and near, people filling the +house with lamentations (for the kindly magic of Death had transformed +Kildare for the moment into the noblest of mortals)—all this stopped at +the door of the quiet room where Mahaly mounted guard over the mistress +she had betrayed.</p> + +<p>None entered that room save the old doctor, and later Kate's mother, +become suddenly an old woman, broken by the terrible rumors which had +penetrated her peaceful Bluegrass home. She was shocked beyond words to +find her newly widowed daughter serene as some Madonna out of a +painting, wrapped in a rose-colored dressing-gown that would better have +suited a bride.</p> + +<p>"Whatever comes, you will remember how I love you," Benoix had said. +Kate was remembering.</p> + +<p>She lay dreaming of the future, thinking sometimes of her husband, not +unkindly, but with pity, as one thinks of poor, blundering people who +have gone through life unloving and unloved. Of his death she thought +not at all. It was what he would have chosen, painless and quick, a fall +from his horse within sight of his own house. So her mother found her, +calm and very beautiful, placidly nursing her child.</p> + +<p>Only once was the agitated lady able to prick her serenity. It was when +she began to babble of Kildare's will. This stipulated that in case of +re-marriage, Kate and her children were to be deprived of any interest +in the estate save only that provided by law, in which event Storm was +to become an endowed home for crippled children.</p> + +<p>At this news, indeed, Kate winced. Her husband had managed to strike at +her one last time from his grave, and in a vulnerable spot—her +maternity. He was forcing her to rob her children.</p> + +<p>But she regained her calm. Surely such a father as Jacques Benoix was a +better gift to her children than houses and lands and cattle!</p> + +<p>"I can't understand it," her bewildered mother moaned. "It's a cruel +will, almost an insulting will, daughter! It is almost as if +he—suspected you of something. What was Mr. Kildare thinking of? You +are so young, you have a right to re-marry! Surely he could have had +no—reason?"</p> + +<p>Kate told her mother the reason; partly out of justice to her husband, +partly because her love was a thing she wished to confess.</p> + +<p>The other rose to her feet, staggered, gasping: "Then they are true, +those dreadful rumors! You with a lover—you a married woman! Ah, my +little girl—my little girl! Such things do not happen in our family. +They do not! A scandal—a murder? Thank Heaven your father died in +time!"</p> + +<p>It was Kate who comforted her mother. But in the midst of her soothing +caresses, a sudden trembling seized her. The color fled out of her +cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Mother! What was that you said—A <i>murder</i>—?"</p> + +<p>So at last the truth came, the truth which Mahaly and the few who loved +Kate had tried to keep out of that peaceful chamber. Jacques Benoix had +gone from her side to prison for the killing of her husband.</p> + +<p>As soon as she was strong enough to travel—indeed before she was strong +enough to travel—Kate went to her lover in prison; saw him for ten +minutes alone.</p> + +<p>She wasted not a moment in preliminaries; there had already developed in +her that ability for affairs that was later to make her one of the +foremost women of her State.</p> + +<p>"I have engaged the best lawyers to be had for money," she said. "You +will never go to the penitentiary, Jacques!"</p> + +<p>He shook his head, his eyes roaming over her hungrily, imprinting every +detail of her beauty on his memory to stay. "It is of no use, my dear +one."</p> + +<p>She blenched a little. "You mean—you did kill Basil? But no! I don't +believe it. <i>You</i> kill a man?" she laughed. "Why, you could not kill a +fox, a rabbit!"</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless," he said, "I fear that I did kill Basil."</p> + +<p>She caught at the doubt in his words. "You 'fear'—you do not <i>know</i>, +Jacques?"</p> + +<p>"I know only that I tried."</p> + +<p>He told her the story then. Others had wished to tell her, but she would +listen to nobody, saying proudly, "Jacques shall explain to me...."</p> + +<p>He had been waiting at the foot of Storm hill, watching her window, +desperate for news of how she did, when Kildare came galloping down the +road. Before Benoix could speak, he had reined in his horse, crying out; +"You, is it? I thought I'd catch you skulking around. You'll find a new +brat at the house; female, of course. If it's yours, you're welcome to +it—damn you!"</p> + +<p>Benoix, blind with sudden fury, tried to drag him from his horse. +Kildare struck with his whip, broke away, jeering back over his +shoulder. Then Benoix found to his hand a jagged piece of rock, and +flung it straight at the grinning face that mocked him. Kildare's horse +reared, toppled...</p> + +<p>A negro who had seen it all came trembling out of the hedge and found +the French doctor striving to staunch a wound in Kildare's temple, from +which blood and brains oozed together.</p> + +<p>Benoix finished with Kate's face hidden on his breast "Oh, Jacques, +Jacques!" she shuddered. "It was for me, then—you tried to defend me! +But—perhaps the fall killed him, not your stone?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," said her lover, soothing her.</p> + +<p>In a moment she lifted her head. "Now," she cried, "we will face this +thing together!" She proposed that he should marry her at once.</p> + +<p>He knew nothing of Kildare's will; but he refused, would not listen, hid +his eyes with his hand so that the pleading of her face would not weaken +him.</p> + +<p>"I've dragged you low enough without that, my Kate. Remember your +children," he bade her, sternly, "Remember my boy. We have more than +ourselves to consider."</p> + +<p>She could not move him, neither with tears nor with kisses. The jailor +came.</p> + +<p>As they led him away, her voice followed him so that the grim place rang +with it! "Your boy shall be mine till you come for us both. Jacques, +I'll wait, I'll wait!"</p> + +<p>Benoix was right. The best lawyers to be had could not keep him from the +penitentiary. The judge, a just and troubled man who had known Kildare +from boyhood, laid what emphasis he could on the uncertainty of the +case, the probability that Benoix had fought in self-defense. The jury +would have none of it. Popular prejudice had transformed the master of +Storm into a hero, a martyr to the unwritten law, who had given his life +to defend the sanctity of his home. It did not help the accused that he +was a stranger in the State, reputed to be an atheist, had not even a +decent, pronounceable English name, was—of all things!—a Frenchman.</p> + +<p>"A Creole American," corrected the accused, quietly. It was his one word +in his own behalf.</p> + +<p>Kate was in the courtroom when the jury brought in its verdict. She rose +to receive it as if she were the accused, and more than one member of +the jury, glancing at her, pursed virtuous lips.</p> + +<p>The sentence was a life term in the penitentiary.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare, now famous and infamous throughout the country, made one +more public appearance, this time in the church where she had been +christened, confirmed, and married. She did not wear mourning, but her +face was like marble against the bright color of her dress. The +congregation began to whisper. She had brought her two children to be +christened.</p> + +<p>She was not quite alone. Two friends entered with her and stood at her +side: her mother, and a young man named Thorpe, who had been the least +among her girlhood adorers, and was the first to offer his support in +her disgrace. It was he, as godfather, who spoke the children's names: +"Jemima" for the elder, and for the younger, "Jacqueline Benoix."</p> + +<p>At this there was a rustle throughout the church. Was it possible that +she was actually naming her child for the condemned lover? The old +minister's voice faltered, almost stopped, in his dismay. Afterwards, +she had to brave the blank, frozen glances of people who had known her +since her birth, and who now, it seemed, knew her no longer.</p> + +<p>Not until that moment did Kate realize what interpretation the world +might put upon her act of public loyalty to the man who had gone for her +sake into a living death.</p> + +<p>She had, indeed, her answer for the world; but it was an answer that +must wait many years, until the baby Jacqueline was old enough to marry +Benoix' son.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + + +<p>On the gallery at Storm stood two anxious girls with eyes fixed upon the +big juniper-tree less patiently than the eyes of the waiting dogs. Their +mother was invisible, but the presence of the dogs betrayed her.</p> + +<p>"We'll have to do it, Jack," murmured the elder of the girls. "I hate to +disturb her, but—there they come!"</p> + +<p>She pointed to the road immediately below, along which an object that +looked like a large black beetle was rattling and panting and honking +its leisurely way toward Storm.</p> + +<p>"The voice of the Ark will arouse her—just wait," advised Jacqueline. +"It would arouse anything. Professor Jimsy must have bought the original +trial machine made by the inventor, Blossom. How did he come to see +mother before there were automobiles?"</p> + +<p>"I don't remember—but you may be sure he came. Regularly every Friday +night, and again Sunday, if encouraged. There! Mother must be stirring. +Look at the dogs."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare appeared from the other side of the great tree, moving +rather dazedly, as people move who have just awakened from sleep. The +dogs leaped and gamboled around her, and she put them down with vague, +kind gestures.</p> + +<p>"There, Beauty! Never mind! No muddy feet, please, Jock! So, boys, so—"</p> + +<p>"Mother, do hurry," called Jemima, with some impatience.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare hurried. It had long been her habit to obey her eldest +child, who made her feel at times quite immature and thoughtless.</p> + +<p>"What's up, girlies?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Company," they said together.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. Jim Thorpe's night for supper. But why so much excitement +about it?"</p> + +<p>"Only that the automobile is now at the foot of the hill, and your hair +is coming down, and he's going to catch you in an old, faded gingham. +What <i>am</i> I going to do with such a mother?" sighed Jemima. "I don't +believe you ever notice what you put on!"</p> + +<p>"I don't," admitted her parent, humbly.</p> + +<p>"And you think it's highmindedness, whereas it's just pure vanity. You +know that no matter what you wear, you're more beautiful than everybody +else!" The girl's voice was sternly accusing.</p> + +<p>Kate laughed and kissed them both. "You spoil me, dears," she said; but +Jemima's shrewdness made her wince, as it often did.</p> + +<p>It was quite true that clothes existed for Kate Kildare only as more or +less comfortable covering for her body; but of that body itself, the +fine, satin skin, the hands, the lustrous hair, she took a care that she +would have scorned to use in the days of her bellehood. She was aware of +her comeliness, and she treasured it; not, however, for herself. She was +a woman of one idea. Never for a moment, despite many failures, had she +relinquished the hope of securing Jacques Benoix' release.</p> + +<p>She asked meekly, "What dress am I to wear this evening, please, +Blossom? Dear me! It seems to me you two have made yourselves rather +gorgeous for a mere godfather. He'll be quite dazzled."</p> + +<p>Both girls looked down consciously at their pretty frocks. They +exchanged glances.</p> + +<p>"It isn't exactly for Professor Jimsy," murmured Jacqueline. "He never +looks at any one but you, anyway. It's—<i>you</i> tell her, Jemmy!"</p> + +<p>"No, you!"</p> + +<p>In the end, they told her together. "It's a party!"</p> + +<p>Kate looked at them in surprise. Suddenly their eagerness, their +excitement, struck her as being pathetic. What had they known of +parties, of the gay, pleasure-seeking life usual to girls of their +class?</p> + +<p>The county of which Storm was the chief estate occupied toward its more +aristocratic neighbor, the Bluegrass, the relative position of an +unpretentious side-street toward the fashionable residence district of a +city. It had a social life of its own—what portion of the hospitable, +gregarious, pleasure-loving State has not? There were many simple +gaieties, dances, picnics, and the like, which took no account of +distance or other obstacles to the natural coming together of young men +and girls, and of older folk who have exchanged gallantry for gossip. In +this life, the mistress of Storm held a certain place. No farmers' +dinner, no fair, or barbecue, was complete without the presence of the +county's one great landowner.</p> + +<p>But her daughters were creatures apart, young princesses among admiring +vassals. The country people looked with awe upon their tutors and +dancing-masters and singing-teachers, their books, their clothes from +the city. It had never occurred to them to include the little heiresses +of Storm in their humble amusements; they belonged so palpably to a +different world. The fact that this world was closed to them, because of +the unforgotten scandal connected with their mother, left Jemima and +Jacqueline singularly friendless; princesses, perhaps, but lonely +princesses in their castle.</p> + +<p>For the first time Kate realized this. Hitherto she had felt that they +three were all sufficient unto themselves, with Philip Benoix, and James +Thorpe, and one or two others who came regularly to Storm. Now she said +to herself with a sharp pang, "My poor babies! My little hidden, lovely +girls!"</p> + +<p>Aloud she said, "A party?—that is splendid! Who are coming to the +party? Some neighbor boys and girls?"</p> + +<p>"Hardly," replied Jemima, with a superior smile. "The party is coming +from Lexington."</p> + +<p>Kate's face changed. She asked in quick dread, "Who are they?" It was +not often that she met people from Lexington, except in the way of +business, and then it was an ordeal to her.</p> + +<p>"We don't know. Isn't it exciting? Professor Thorpe is bringing them."</p> + +<p>Then Kate smiled. They would not be people who knew her. She could trust +James Thorpe.</p> + +<p>"I must make myself presentable," she murmured, moving toward the +stairs.</p> + +<p>The two girls heaved sighs of relief. It was evident that they had +entertained doubts as to her reception of the party. Jacqueline walked +beside her, rubbing a caressing cheek against her shoulder—a trick she +had learned from the horses among whom she spent much of her time.</p> + +<p>"You see, Mummy, Blossom thought it was high time for us to be having +some beaux."</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens—not yet!" murmured Kate.</p> + +<p>"At my age, you had several babies," Jemima reminded her, firmly; and +Kate could not deny it.</p> + +<p>"So we consulted our godfather," continued Jacqueline. "It seemed to us +we had at last found a use for a godfather—besides candy, and birthday +presents, and things like that, which don't really count. We asked him +if he couldn't find us some nice young professors at the +university—attractive, dancing ones, you know, not old fossils like +him."</p> + +<p>"Pleasant for James," murmured Kate. "He must be very little over +forty!"</p> + +<p>"But imagine him dancing," cried Jacqueline, and dismissed him from her +world with a gesture. "So Jemima suggested to him that the surest way of +having you alone, the next time he came, was to bring some young +professors to amuse us. And," she finished dramatically, "here he comes, +the Ark simply bursting with young professors!"</p> + +<p>There was a loud honk at the door.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare fled up the stairs. Jemima, following her, said in a low +voice, "You don't really mind, then—about the party?"</p> + +<p>Something odd in the girl's voice arrested her. "Mind? Why should I +mind, dear?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I thought perhaps—you see you never do have any of your +old friends here, and—and sometimes that seems to me queer. You must +have had so many friends there, in Lexington, a woman like you. Or were +they all beaux?"</p> + +<p>Kate's heart beat hard. It was not the first time the girl's observant +intelligence had frightened her, nor did the wistfulness of the query +escape notice.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I had many friends, and beaux, too—just as you will have, dear," +she said steadily. "But you see I have been too busy with the farm and +such things, since your father died, to keep up with people. That is +all."</p> + +<p>Jemima looked immeasurably relieved. "I knew you would give us friends +some day, Mother, just as you have given us everything else. Only, I—I +got a little tired of waiting."</p> + +<p>"Did you, dear?" said her mother sadly. "I thought you were quite +happy."</p> + +<p>"We are, of course. But you see, we've <i>got</i> to get married some day, +Jackie and I, and—there's no use waiting too long."</p> + +<p>"I see."</p> + +<p>Despite her dismay, Kate's lips twitched. It was so like this capable +child of hers to be arranging the future, at nineteen, ready to be a +mother to herself in case her natural mother failed her. But as she got +quickly into the dress laid out for her, her hands shook a little. It is +disconcerting to discover that one is no longer the parent of children, +but of women grown.</p> + +<p>She had the weary, bruised feeling of one who has traveled too far—and +indeed it was a long journey she had made that day, from her own wistful +and eager young womanhood to that of her daughters. She brushed her +hands across her eyes to clear them of memories and dreams alike.</p> + +<p>Introspection is always a difficult matter to direct and simple natures, +such as Kate Kildare's, but she forced herself to it now. Had she in any +way failed her children, as Jemima seemed to imply? Was it possible that +in her absorption in a fixed idea she had neglected them, taken their +welfare too much for granted? Was there anything she might have done for +them that she had not done?</p> + +<p>Conscience answered, No. It was for their sakes, far more than her own, +that she had isolated herself with them, hidden them away from a world +which she had found unkind. It was for their interests that she had +worked harder than any man of her acquaintance, experimenting, studying, +managing, until she was recognized as one of the greatest agriculturists +of the State, and the unproductive property left by Basil Kildare had +become a stock and dairy farm which netted her an income that ran well +into five figures. More than wealth, she had given them education, +bringing to Storm the best tutors and governesses to be had in the +country. She had shared with them, too, her own practical knowledge and +experience, the wisdom not to be found in books.</p> + +<p>Every step of the way she had walked beside them. She who could not give +them friends, had given them instead herself. Busy woman that she was, +she was far closer to them than mothers and daughters usually find +themselves, sentiment to the contrary notwithstanding. Between them, she +believed, were none of the unfortunate reticences usual in that +relation, no questions that might not be asked, nor answers given. Kate +would have said that she knew her daughters truly "by heart."</p> + +<p>And yet already and without warning the time was upon her which she +dreaded—the time when she might no longer walk beside them, watchfully, +but only behind, and far behind. She knew—she had always known—that +only the childhood of her girls could belong to her. Their womanhood, +their future, they must face unaided.</p> + +<p>It is a bitter moment for all mothers, but more especially for Kate +Kildare, who knew better than most what pitfalls lie in wait for young +and hurrying feet, and whose nightmare was inheritance.</p> + +<p>Then a consoling thought came to her; came in the shape of Jacques +Benoix' son, Philip, with the steady eyes, and the great, tender heart +of his father. Inheritance is not always a nightmare. The future of +little Jacqueline, at least, was secure. (Thus Kate to herself, with a +characteristic self-confidence which took no account of chance or +choice, or other obstacle to her intent.)</p> + +<p>As for Jemima—once more her lips twitched. Jemima was certainly very +capable.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare went down to meet her guests somewhat heartened.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + + +<p>"This," murmured a voice into the ear of Professor Thorpe, "is the real +thing at last! Everything so far has been a rather crude imitation of +New York. I am disappointed in Lexington. But there's character here, +distinction, local color. My dear uncle, why have you not brought me to +this house before?"</p> + +<p>"I did not bring you this time, as it happens," commented Professor +Thorpe somewhat acidly. "You came."</p> + +<p>"Thanks to a firm character and a discerning eye. What, miss a chance of +seeing the Kildare on her native heath? Certainly not!"</p> + +<p>The other turned and looked at him. "Suppose," he murmured, "that +hereafter you speak of my friend and your hostess as '<i>Mrs.</i> Kildare.'"</p> + +<p>The younger man made a smiling gesture of apology. "What, ho! A +<i>tendresse</i> here—I had forgotten," he said to himself; and added aloud, +"Of course, you know, one does speak of famous women without adding +handles to their names. The Duse, for instance, or Bernhardt—it would +be ridiculous to call them 'Madame.'"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Kildare is not an actress," said the Professor, primly.</p> + +<p>His nephew's smile grew broader. He sometimes found his uncle amusing. +"I yearn to see the lady, by whatever name," he murmured. "Here she +comes now. Jove, what a woman!"</p> + +<p>His voice quite lost its drawling note. Percival Channing was a sincere +admirer of beauty in all its forms, and he had without doubt a right to +his claim of a discerning eye. There was something that set him apart +from the other young men who had come with Professor Thorpe to Storm, +aside from his English-cut clothes and a certain ease and finish which +they lacked. It was an effect of keenness, of aliveness to the zest of +the passing moment. He spoke of himself sometimes as a collector of +impressions; and it was a true characterization. His slight, casual +glance invariably took in more than the stare of other people; his +nostrils quivered constantly, like those of a hound, as if they, too, +were busy gathering impressions. It was a rather interesting face; a +little vague in drawing about the chin and lips, but mobile, sensitive, +vivid; distinctly the face of an artist.</p> + +<p>He gazed at Kate Kildare approaching down the long stairway with the +appreciation of a connoisseur. Beside her moved a slender sprite of a +girl, whose hair gleamed like spun gold above a dress of apple-green. +But his glance for her was merely cursory, and returned at once to the +older woman. Of this Jemima was quite aware. It had happened to her +before. Her lips straightened, where another girl's would have drooped, +but the sensation was the same. Jemima, not for the first time, was a +little jealous of her mother.</p> + +<p>Kate greeted her guests with a gracious courtesy that was almost regal +in its simplicity. Channing in particular she welcomed warmly.</p> + +<p>"What, Jim's nephew! And you have been with him for some time? Then why +has he never brought you to us before?"</p> + +<p>"Just what I have been asking him," murmured Channing, bending over her +hand. His manner reminded her sharply of Jacques Benoix.</p> + +<p>She asked, on an unconsidered impulse, "You have lived in France?"</p> + +<p>"For many years. Have you?"</p> + +<p>The group around them was silent, listening. Kate went rather pale. "No. +But my greatest friend happens to be a Frenchman, a Creole," she said, +steadily, and turned to the others.</p> + +<p>Channing, who knew her story, guessed at once the identity of that +"greatest friend." He gazed after her in renewed admiration. It was not +often in his native land that he had come across a perfect type of the +<i>grande amoureuse</i>.</p> + +<p>He contrasted her with the setting in which he found her—a distinctly +masculine setting. The hall was enormous, rough and simple; skins on the +floor, rather wooden portraits of dead Kildares on the wall, together +with antlers and fox-brushes, and the stuffed head of the horse running +his race with Death. The huge fireplace of field-boulders might have +roasted oxen in its time. There were some modern comforts; a piano, many +books, a table heaped with periodicals; even that indispensable adjunct +of American homes, the graphophone; but no curtains, nor cushions, nor +draperies, none of the little touches that speak of feminine habitation. +In twenty years, Kate had made few changes in the house; she regarded +Basil Kildare's home as merely a temporary abode until Jacques came to +claim her and her children.</p> + +<p>"I'm in luck!" thought the collector of impressions. "This is the +setting for my new novel."</p> + +<p>Here was the Kentucky, the America, he had hitherto sought in vain, with +its suggestion of the backwoods of civilization, the pioneer, the +primitive. And to emphasize and give the suggestion point, here was an +example of the finest feminine beauty left to this degenerating world, +beauty such as the Greeks knew, large-limbed, deep-bosomed, clear-eyed, +product of a vigorous past, full of splendid augury for the future.</p> + +<p>"What sons the woman must have!" he mused, stirred; and then remembered, +with quite a sense of personal injury, that there were no sons.</p> + +<p>He looked again with new interest at the daughter: but she disappointed +him. She was too dainty, too petite, with a pink-and-white Dresden +prettiness that was almost insignificant. (He missed, as people often +did, the shrewd gray gleam behind those infantile lashes.) He hoped that +the second daughter might prove truer to type.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline, meanwhile, had made an unobtrusive appearance through a door +just behind Professor Thorpe, and manifested her presence by a pinch on +his arm.</p> + +<p>He said "Ouch!" and dropped his eye-glass.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" she admonished him, replacing it on his nose in motherly +fashion. "I want to look them over and choose a victim before they see +me. Why, you old duck of a godparent! Four of them—and all so young and +beautiful. Two apiece. I hope they can dance?"</p> + +<p>"Warranted to give perfect satisfaction in the ballroom, or money +returned," he murmured. "But they aren't professors, my dear. None of +ours seemed young and beautiful enough for your purposes."</p> + +<p>She gave his arm an ecstatic squeeze. "I knew it! I simply knew the one +in gray, with the haughty nose, couldn't be a professor."</p> + +<p>"He's worse," warned Thorpe. "He's an author."</p> + +<p>She gave a little squeal. "An author! But where did you get him, Goddy?" +(Such was her rather irreverent abbreviation of "godfather," employed to +signify especial approbation.)</p> + +<p>"I didn't. He got me. It is my famous nephew from Boston—'from Boston +and Paris,' I believe he subscribes himself."</p> + +<p>James Thorpe spoke with a certain fortitude which Jacqueline was quick +to observe. He was a small, ugly man, with the scholar's stoop and the +scholar's near-sighted, peering gaze—the sort of man who has never been +really young and will never be old, looking at forty-five much as he +looked at twenty, a little grayer, perhaps, a little more +round-shouldered and ineffectual, but no more mature. His most marked +characteristic was a certain shy amiability, which endeared him to his +classes and his friends, even while it failed to command their respect. +Beneath this surface manner, however, were certain qualities which Kate +had had long occasion to test—dogged faithfulness, and an infinite +capacity for devotion. He was a very welcome guest at Storm, their one +connection with the outside world. Indeed, Kate's enemies were in the +habit of referring to James Thorpe as the third man whom she had ruined. +His learning and his abilities were wasted on the little college where +he chose to remain in order to be near her.</p> + +<p>It was Jacqueline's custom to treat the Professor as if he were a cross +between a child and a pet dog,—a favorite pet dog. She murmured now, +sympathetically, "Doesn't it like its famous nephew, then? I wonder why? +He does look rather snippy. Is he so famous as all that? In the +magazines and everything?"</p> + +<p>"Pooh! He would scorn the magazines. Novels are his vehicle. Large +novels, bound in purple Russia leather, my dear."</p> + +<p>"But you've never sent us any of them."</p> + +<p>"Heaven forbid!" murmured James Thorpe.</p> + +<p>"Oho!" Jacqueline rounded her eyes. "They're that sort, are they? +Asterisks in the critical spots?"</p> + +<p>The Professor blushed. "Well, er—no. No asterisks whatever, anywhere. +He belongs to what is called the er—decadent school."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline gazed around him at the author with increased respect. +"What's his name, Goddy?"</p> + +<p>"James Percival Channing. 'James' is for me. Calls himself 'J. +Percival,' however. He would."</p> + +<p>"What?—not <i>the</i> Channing? Why, Goddy, of course I've heard of him! I +had no idea you had any one belonging to you like that."</p> + +<p>"I don't often brag of it," he murmured.</p> + +<p>"But what is he doing here?"</p> + +<p>"Getting next to Nature, I believe. Collecting specimens, dialect, local +color, animals in their habitat, you know. Take care, or he'll be +collecting you."</p> + +<p>Her eyes twinkled. "Wouldn't it be gorgeous to be in a book! Professor +Jimsy, don't you think we ought to give him a little local color at +once? Some native habits, for instance. Dare me to? Come, be a sport and +dare me to! Then if Mother or Jemmy scolds me, I can blame it all on +you."</p> + +<p>She stroked his hand persuasively. There was no resisting Jacqueline's +blandishments. He dared her to, albeit with misgivings. Ever since her +infancy, when hearing his voice in the hall she had escaped from her +nurse and her bath simultaneously and arrived, slippery with wet soap, +to welcome him, Jacqueline had been the source of an uneasy fascination +for her godfather. She represented, in his rather humdrum life, the +element of the unexpected.</p> + +<p>Some moments later the group gathered about Mrs. Kildare—and +incidentally Jemima—were startled by the appearance of a vision in pink +at the head of the stairs, who casually straddled the banister and +arrived in their midst with the swoop of a rocket.</p> + +<p>"Jacqueline!" gasped her sister.</p> + +<p>Kate shook her head reprovingly, and smiled. After all, one of her +children was still a child. No need to trouble about the future yet!</p> + +<p>Channing was the first of the guests to collect his wits, and he +assisted the newcomer to alight from the newel-post with gallantry.</p> + +<p>"What an effective entrance, Miss—ah, Jacqueline," he commented. "An +idea for musical comedy, all the chorus sliding down on to the stage in +a procession. I must suggest it to my friend Cohan."</p> + +<p>The girl suddenly felt very small, but she concealed her embarrassment +beneath an excessive nonchalance. "Why, in Boston don't people use their +banisters? We find them so convenient, so time-saving."</p> + +<p>"Unfortunately, in Boston," he replied blandly, "very few women seem to +have such decorative legs to exhibit."</p> + +<p>There was a shocked pause. Thorpe and Mrs. Kildare had moved out of +hearing. The three other young men rushed into the breach with small +talk, casting furious looks at Channing, much to his amusement.</p> + +<p>He made a mental note: "In rural Kentucky the leg may be seen but not +heard."</p> + +<p>Later Jacqueline whispered to her sister, "What was wrong with that +compliment? Why did everybody look so queer?"</p> + +<p>Their education had not included a course in the lesser feminine +proprieties. But Jemima was not one to be caught napping. Conventions +came to her by instinct.</p> + +<p>"He should have said 'limbs,'" she answered promptly. "And he should not +have seen them at all!"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline inspected her slim ankles with approval. "I don't see how he +could have helped it. They're very pretty. Blossom, what's wrong with +legs anyway?"</p> + +<p>But for once Jemima was unable to enlighten her.</p> + +<p>The collector of impressions had several occasions to congratulate +himself, during the course of that evening. He ceased to trust his +memory, and commenced a series of surreptitious notes on his cuff, to +the acute discomfort of his uncle. Among them appeared items such as the +following: "7 vegetables and no soup." "Pancakes are called bread." "The +butler has bare feet."</p> + +<p>The butler was one of the stable-boys disguised for the occasion in a +white coat and apron, who partially concealed himself behind the +dining-room door and announced in a tremulous roar, "White folks, yo' +supper's dished!"—stage-fright having conquered recent instructions.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare, who was usually served by an elderly housewoman, gazed at +this innovation in frank astonishment; but it was only the first of her +surprises. The table was frivolously alight with pink candles, and in +the center stood a decoration consisting of a scalloped watermelon +filled with flowers, leashed to a little fleet of flower-filled +canteloupes, by pink ribbons.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline could not dissemble her admiration of this effect. "Isn't it +artistic?" she demanded of the company at large. "Jemmy saw a table like +this in the ladies' page of a magazine, and she copied it exactly."</p> + +<p>"So helpful, those ladies' pages," murmured the author. "Once I got an +idea out of them for turning a disused cook-stove into a dressing-table, +with the aid of cretonne and a little white paint."</p> + +<p>Jemima gave him a glance that was swift and sharp as the gleam of a +knife, but she said nothing. She was too preoccupied at the moment to +decide whether he was laughing at her or not. Temporarily, she gave him +the benefit of the doubt. Weighty matters were on her mind that night. +While Mrs. Kildare, as usual, sat at the head of her table, it was +Jemima who ably and quite visibly conducted affairs.</p> + +<p>From the pantry came suppressed guffaws, the shuffling of many feet, the +steady fusillade of rattling china.</p> + +<p>"It is a regiment preparing to charge!" thought Channing.</p> + +<p>But when it charged, the author forgot his note-making and was content +to eat. All day Jemima had been busy in the kitchen with Big Liza; both +notable cooks in a country where cookery is justly regarded as one of +the fine arts.</p> + +<p>At one time Mrs. Kildare counted no less than five unaccustomed +servitors, white-coated and barefooted, shuffling about the table, with +fresh relays of waffles, biscuits, fried chicken. They ranged in size +from the coachman's youngest to Big Liza herself, queen of the kitchen; +a monumental figure whose apron-strings barely met about her +blue-gingham waist, and whose giggles threatened momentarily to overcome +her.</p> + +<p>"Well, old woman, this <i>is</i> a surprise!" murmured her mistress. "What +brings you into the dining-room?"</p> + +<p>Big Liza shook like the aspic she was carrying. "Laws, Miss Kate, honey, +I allus did have a eye fo' de gentlemen," she said coyly. "I des +'bleeged ter have a peep at de beaux. Mighty long time sense we-all's +had a party at Sto'm!"</p> + +<p>Jemima cast a reproachful glance at her mother; but the "beaux," +accustomed from infancy to the ways of servants like Big Liza, responded +cheerfully to the old woman's advances, bantering and teasing her till +she retired to her kitchen in high delight, tossing her head.</p> + +<p>Channing listened in sheer amaze. "Primitive? Why, it's patriarchal! +Positively Biblical in its simplicity!" he thought.</p> + +<p>Jemima was as pink as her decorations.</p> + +<p>"Judging from the Apple Blossom's expression," murmured Thorpe to Mrs. +Kildare, "you have committed a hopeless social error in conversing with +your cook."</p> + +<p>"I know! It was too bad of me. She takes her little party very +seriously," said the other, remorsefully. "Don't you dare laugh at her, +Jim! It is her first, and she's done it all by herself!"</p> + +<p>"If she made this puff-paste herself, no man in the world will think of +laughing at her," he said heartily. "But—their social instincts are +awaking, Kate. They come by them very naturally. It is time for your +girls to have their chance."</p> + +<p>She winced. "What shall I do about it? How can I manage? I have no +friends now. There is nobody I can count on to help them."</p> + +<p>He leaned toward her, his lined face for the moment almost beautiful.</p> + +<p>"There is always me, Kate. Hasn't the time come to let me help you, for +their sakes? As Mrs. Thorpe—" he paused, and continued quietly, with a +rather set look about his jaw, "As Mrs. Thorpe I think I can promise you +a few friends, at least. And a—protector—though I may not look like +one," he finished, wistfully.</p> + +<p>She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. She always avoided, when she +could, these offers of help, knowing that when he grew tired of making +them she would miss him. But she had not the courage to send him away, +to break with him entirely. She was not consciously selfish. If it had +been suggested to her that she was interfering with her friend's career, +she would have been shocked and grieved beyond measure. Thorpe's +devotion was a thing so complete, so perfect in its unobtrusiveness, +that it defeated its own purpose. She simply took it for granted.</p> + +<p>He made no protest now; even smiled at her reassuringly, knowing that it +troubled her to hurt him. Only the eagerness that had for the moment +beautified his face died away, and Jacqueline, happening to glance +across at him, thought, "Poor Goddy! How old and out of it all he +looks!"</p> + +<p>She drew him into the conversation. "I was just telling the author, +Professor Jimsy, that he inherits his patrician nose from you," she said +(somewhat to the author's embarrassment). "And he says one doesn't +inherit from uncles. That's nonsense! If property, why not noses? And +character?" she added wickedly. "Oh, I see lots of resemblances between +you!"</p> + +<p>"Do you?" murmured the Professor, rather grimly.</p> + +<p>"For instance, you both go in for psychology—only you don't publish +yours in large purple novels."</p> + +<p>"I do not," said the Professor.</p> + +<p>Channing looked at her with surprise. Was it possible that this +backwoods hoyden—Bouncing Bet of the Banister, he had named her to +himself, with a taste for alliteration—was it possible that she had +read any of his books? She was hardly more than a child. The hair hung +down her back in a thick, gleaming rope, her merry gamin's face lacked +as yet all those subtleties, those <i>nuances</i> of expression which +fascinated him in such faces as her mother's. Channing was still young +enough to prefer the finished product. But if she read his books....</p> + +<p>Doubtless Mrs. Kildare was not a woman to be very particular about her +young daughters' reading. The standards of a well-bred world would not +prevail in this strange household. He thought suddenly of the girl's +dangerous inheritance—the father, notorious even in a community that is +not puritanical about the morals of its men; the mother, fought over +like some hunted female of the lower creatures, yet faithful always to +the lover who had done away with the husband.... Truly, the future +career of young Jacqueline Kildare might be well worth watching. Despite +her crude youth, there was a certain warm sweetness about her which, he +noticed, drew and kept the attention of every man at the table—a +caressing voice, hands that must always touch the thing that pleased +her, above all a mouth of dewy scarlet, curving into deep dimples at the +corner.</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly a mouth meant for kissing," mused Channing, the +connoisseur.</p> + +<p>He let his imagination go a little. It was a pampered imagination, that +led him occasionally into indiscretions which he afterwards +regretted—not too deeply, however, for after all, one owes something to +one's art. "Psychological experiments," he named these indiscretions. He +suspected that he was on the verge of one now, and tasted in advance +some of the thrills of the pioneer.</p> + +<p>And then, quite suddenly, he became aware of Jemima's cool, appraising, +gray-green gaze fastened upon his face; not quite meeting his eyes, but +placed somewhere in the region of the mouth and chin, those features +which Channing euphoniously spoke of to himself as "mobile." The author +started. He resisted an impulse to put a hand up over his betraying +mouth.</p> + +<p>"What ho! The pink-and-white one's been making notes on her own +account," he thought.</p> + +<p>It was a privilege he usually reserved for himself.</p> + +<p>After dinner the phonograph was promptly started, Jacqueline explaining +that the young men were going to teach them to dance.</p> + +<p>"Teach you?" exclaimed her mother. "Why, you both dance beautifully."</p> + +<p>She had taught them herself from earliest childhood, lessons +supplemented by the best dancing-masters that money could bring to +Storm. Perhaps the prettiest memory the rough old hall held was that of +two tiny girls hopping about together, yellow heads bobbing, short +skirts a-flutter, their baby faces earnest with endeavor.</p> + +<p>"Pooh, two-steps and waltzes, Mummy! They're as dead as the polka. +Besides, you can't really dance with another girl."</p> + +<p>"Can't you?" Kate sighed. She exchanged a rueful glance with Thorpe, +"Jim, tell me, did <i>you</i> know the polka was dead?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't danced since your wedding."</p> + +<p>They settled themselves to look on, Kate murmuring, "I hope all this +noise isn't keeping Mag Henderson awake. We've got a new baby upstairs, +did you know it? A poor creature who had no one to look after her at +home."</p> + +<p>"So you brought her here—of course! Kate, Kate, isn't it enough that +you take in every derelict dog in the county, without taking in the +derelict infants and mothers as well?"</p> + +<p>"I take in the dogs as a sort of atonement to poor old Juno and her +mongrel pups," she said, soberly. "I feel as if Storm owed something to +mongrels. As for this baby, it's a good experience for Jemima and +Jacqueline. I want to teach them all I can, while I can."</p> + +<p>"Humph! Where's the woman's husband!"</p> + +<p>"There never was any."</p> + +<p>"What? My <i>dear</i> Kate! And that's the type of woman you think will be a +good experience for your young daughters?"</p> + +<p>"Jim, you psychologists have a stupid way of dividing people into types. +I regard them as individuals. My girls will do Mag Henderson more good +than she can do them harm," she said, with a quiet dignity which ended +discussion. "Good Heavens! What sort of dance is that?"</p> + +<p>The dancing that is called "new" was just making its triumphal progress +westward into the homes of the land.</p> + +<p>"That, I believe, is a highly fashionable performance called the Turkey +Trot."</p> + +<p>"Looks it," she commented disapprovingly, even while her feet beat time +to the infectious measure.</p> + +<p>The voice of Jacqueline rang out, "But this isn't new at all! It's just +ragging, like they do at the quarters, only not so limber. We've known +how to rag for ever so long, haven't we, Blossom? Watch us!"</p> + +<p>She caught her sister around the waist and went strutting down the long +hall, hips and shoulders swinging, pretty feet prancing, laughing back +over her shoulder with unconscious provocation, until a delighted old +negro voice at the window cried, "Dat's de style, Miss Jack! Dat's de +way to git 'em, honey!"</p> + +<p>With the first note of the phonograph, the entire domestic force had +transformed itself into an unseen audience.</p> + +<p>When Philip Benoix came to the top of the Storm road, he jerked up his +horse in sheer amaze. It was a scene such as he had never expected to +find in that grim old fortress-home. Past the lighted windows couples +stepped rapidly to the titivating strains of "Trop Moutarde"; while on +the lawn outside the entire population of the quarters pranced and +capered in much the same fashion, somewhat hampered by the excited dogs. +Kate Kildare stood in the open doorway, gazing from the dancers within +to the dancers without, and laughing until she held her sides.</p> + +<p>Philip's grave face warmed with sympathy. "It is good to see her laugh +like that. I won't tell her to-night," he thought; and would have turned +away, but that the dogs suddenly became aware of him and gave tongue.</p> + +<p>"Heah comes Pahson to jine de high jinks!" cried the erstwhile butler, +running hospitably to take his horse. It was too late for retreat.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + + +<p>Kate stepped down into the porch with outstretched hands. "I am so glad +it is you, Phil dear. You must have felt me wishing for you. Come, come +in, boy! You don't have half enough of 'high jinks'!"</p> + +<p>He shook his head silently.</p> + +<p>She made a little grimace. "I forgot—the Cloth does not dance. But +surely the Cloth may look on?"</p> + +<p>"From afar off, perhaps, out of the way of temptation."</p> + +<p>He spoke smilingly, but she reproached herself for thoughtlessness. +Philip was very careful not to present himself anywhere that his +presence might cause restraint or embarrassment, he never forgot, no +matter if others forgot, that he was the son of a convict.</p> + +<p>"Then I shall sit out here with you." As she drew closer to him, she saw +his face clearly in the light that streamed from the open doorway. It +was very pale. "Oh!" she cried. "What is the matter, Philip?"</p> + +<p>"My father—"</p> + +<p>Her hand went to her heart.</p> + +<p>"Not bad news," he said quickly. "Good news. To-day I had a letter from +the Governor."</p> + +<p>The newly elected Governor of the State had been the presiding judge at +Jacques Benoix' trial.</p> + +<p>"The Governor! Well? Well?"</p> + +<p>"He said—it was a personal letter, you understand, nothing official. He +said that he had always entertained grave doubts as to the justice of +father's sentence, and that if I could secure the signature of certain +men in the State, he would be glad to consider a petition for pardon."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In the house, James Thorpe, waiting for Mrs. Kildare's return, after +some time became aware that he was not the only person in the room not +dancing. A girl in apple-green sat, with a rather fixed smile on her +lips, watching three of the young men teaching Jacqueline a new step, +while Percival Channing produced upon the piano a tune too recent for +the resources of the graphophone. It occurred to him that Jemima's party +might leave something to be desired on the part of its instigator. He +crossed the room.</p> + +<p>Jemima withdrew her eyes from the dancers with an effort. She had +evidently forgotten his existence. "But what have you done with mother?" +she demanded. "I thought you were having such a nice time with her all +to yourself."</p> + +<p>He explained.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Philip, of course! Mother does spoil Philip dreadfully, poor +fellow! She was a great friend of his mother's, you know, and his father +is—but of course you know about his father. Phil simply worships +mother, and I think she likes it. Any woman does," said Jemima, with the +air of elderly wisdom which always amused Professor Thorpe. "Still, it's +too bad of her to go off with him to-night, when I'd promised you a +whole evening with her alone."</p> + +<p>He winced. He was beginning to realize that evenings alone profited him +no more than evenings in company.</p> + +<p>"Since you've broken your promise," he said severely, "I think you will +have to make me some reparation. This new dancing, now"—he mastered a +certain trepidation—"it looks easy, if unbeautiful. Do you think you +could teach it to me?"</p> + +<p>She rose with alacrity. "Of course I could! I always learn things much +quicker than Jacky. You see it's taking three of them to teach her—two +to dance for her and one to dance with her—and I know the steps +already. Professor Jim," she said irrelevantly, with a faint sigh, "do +you think it pays to be clever?"</p> + +<p>If Mrs. Kildare had noticed, she would have been more than a little +astonished by the vision of shy and awkward James Thorpe, one of the +leading psychologists of the country, capering nimbly in a lady's +chamber under the guidance of her eldest child. But she did not notice.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Do you know what this means?" she said, after a long silence. "It means +that we have won, my dear. The very judge who tried him!"</p> + +<p>Philip nodded, without speaking.</p> + +<p>Her hand groped for his and clung to it. As the sisters of Lazarus must +have felt when he who was dead came to them out of the tomb in his +cere-cloths, so these two felt now. After seventeen years, the thing +they had vainly hoped and striven for was about to be granted—not +justice (it was too late for that), but mercy, freedom. And after +seventeen years, what was a man to do with freedom?</p> + +<p>"I am—frightened, a little," Philip said at last, turning to her. "What +am I to do with father?"</p> + +<p>"You are to bring him straight to me. No, I will go with you and bring +him home myself."</p> + +<p>"<i>Home?</i> To Basil Kildare's house?"</p> + +<p>She lifted her head, "What matter whose house? We shall be married at +once."</p> + +<p>He said in a low voice, "Have you forgotten—the will?"</p> + +<p>"Forgotten it?" she laughed. "Do you think that likely? Why do you +suppose I have worked as I have, scheming, saving, paring corners—done +my own selling and buying and overseeing, driven my men and myself to +the limit of endurance, got for myself the reputation of a female +Shylock? Because I like that sort of thing? Because I enjoy making +money? No, my dear. When I rob my girls of their inheritance, as rob +them I must, I shall be able to give them each a little fortune to take +its place. I am a rich woman now, aside from the Storm property. Basil +Kildare had the right, perhaps, to do as he chose with his property. +Thank God he cannot lay a finger on mine!"</p> + +<p>She stared out straight in the direction of the little cornfield +graveyard, as if defying some ghostly presence there to do its worst.</p> + +<p>Philip lifted the hand he held to his lips. When he spoke there was +trouble in his voice. "Do you think that when my father hears the terms +of Kildare's will, he will consent to such a sacrifice?"</p> + +<p>She turned on him sharply. "He does not know about the will, and he must +not, certainly until after we are married. Who would tell him—you, +Philip?" Her eyes met his. "Philip! What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Suppose," he said very low, "it were a matter of my conscience?"</p> + +<p>"Then I ask you not to listen to your conscience, but to me!" She put +her hands on his shoulders. "If, as you say, you owe me anything—if you +value my friendship—if you love me, Philip—promise that you will never +tell your father!"</p> + +<p>It was a great temptation through which he passed at that moment; a +temptation all the more subtle in that he could tell himself truly it +was for her sake he hesitated. One word to Jacques Benoix, and the thing +he dreaded, the thing suddenly so near, would never come to pass.</p> + +<p>"Don't you know it will hurt you to give up Storm?" His voice was +hoarse. "It has been your life so long. You love the land, every stick +and stone of it."</p> + +<p>"And every twig and grass-blade. But," she said quietly, "I love Jacques +more. Promise, dear."</p> + +<p>He promised.</p> + +<p>The silence fell again. Across Kate's face a moonbeam strayed and +rested, and the young man sitting in the shadow a little behind her +could not take his eyes away. He had the strange feeling that he was +looking for the last time on the woman he loved, who belonged now +irrevocably to his father. It was a glowing face, with eyes as lovely, +and lips as tremulous, as those of a dreaming bride. Before Philip she +made no attempt to conceal her thoughts. They had been confidantes too +long.</p> + +<p>It came to him that his father must be a remarkable man to have held +through years of absence such a love as this.</p> + +<p>"I wish I knew him better," he said, thinking aloud. "To me he is almost +a stranger."</p> + +<p>"A stranger!" She smiled incredulously. "I should think you would find +it difficult to write those long weekly letters of yours to a +'stranger.'"</p> + +<p>Philip had never found it difficult, because from the first the subject +of those letters had been herself.</p> + +<p>At the last meeting between Jacques and his son, the man in his +extremity had turned to the boy for aid, pleading with the terrified, +bewildered little fellow as if with a man who understood. And Philip, +already old beyond his years, born with the instinct of the priest and +confessor, had understood.</p> + +<p>"You will tell me of her?" Jacques had pleaded. "I have no friend but +you, boy. You will take care of her? You will write me how she does?"</p> + +<p>Philip had not failed his father. Every detail of Kate's life was known +to the man in prison, her comings and goings, her daily habits, her +work, her successes and failures, the very color of the gowns she wore. +There had been from the first a sort of glamour about her, to the +imagination of a lonely, dreaming boy. Even at fourteen he had been a +little in love with Kate Kildare, as a page may be in love with a queen. +With the passing years, more of Philip's self than he knew had crept +into those weekly letters to his father; so that if Jacques Benoix was a +stranger to him now, he was no stranger to his father.</p> + +<p>"It is queer, though," he mused, still thinking aloud. "Often as I write +to him, he rarely answers. Once a year, on my birthday, and again at +Christmas. It is as if he wanted me to forget him!"</p> + +<p>"I think he does," she said. "That is why he never writes to me at all. +I have had only one letter, begging me never to come there, nor to allow +you to come there. He even asked me not to write to him, and I have not +written. But—forget Jacques!" She smiled proudly. "He does not know us, +does he? Nor himself. Why, there is not a man or woman in the county who +has forgotten him!"</p> + +<p>Philip was staring at her in amaze. "You mean to say that <i>you</i> never +hear from him, either, and that you have never seen him—?"</p> + +<p>Her face paled. "Yes, I have seen him. Once. There were convicts working +on one of the roads near Frankfort. I spoke to them as I passed—men in +that dress always interest me now. One of them did not answer me, did +not even lift his head to look at me. I looked more closely—"</p> + +<p>"It was he?"</p> + +<p>She nodded. "Working on the road like a common laborer, a negro! Oh, I +went to the warden about it myself. I railed at him, asked him how he +dared put such a man at that work, a gentleman. He heard me through +patiently enough—after all, what business was it of mine? When I +finished, he explained that he had put Jacques on the road at his own +request, granted as a reward for help during an epidemic in the prison. +Jacques had chosen it."</p> + +<p>"Chosen it! Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because it was out of doors, beyond the walls. Because he wanted to see +the sky, and trees, and birds. He always loved birds...."</p> + +<p>She felt Philip shaking, and with a gesture of infinite tenderness, drew +his head down on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"He had changed so little, dear, so little. But it was years ago. Now he +must seem older. Have you forgotten how he looks? You were such a child +when he went. Glance into your mirror and you will see him again. The +same eyes that flash blue in your dark face, the same smile, the same +look of gentleness; strong gentleness. You are simply your father over +again. That is why I love you so." She laid her cheek on his hair.</p> + +<p>If the words brought a stab of pain that was almost unendurable, she did +not guess it. From the moment her first child was laid in her arms, +Kate, like many another woman, regarded herself as a mother to all +mankind. For her, this was the boy Jacques had left in her care, the +husband she had chosen for her own little girl; doubly, therefore, her +son. That she was less than ten years his senior, the one beautiful +woman in his world, the heroine of all a young man's idealism—of these +things she was as unaware as of the fact that Jacques' boy had long ago +left boyhood behind him.</p> + +<p>He stayed where she lightly held him, his head rigid upon her shoulder, +conscious in every fiber of his being of the cheek pressing his hair, +the warmth and fragrance of her, the rise and fall of her soft +bosom—praying with all the strength that was in him to become to this +beloved woman only the son she thought him, nothing more, never anything +more. The Benoix men came of a race of great lovers.</p> + +<p>She released him presently and he rose, moving with a curious stiffness +as of muscles consciously controlled.</p> + +<p>"What, going so soon? I have so much more to say to you about him—but +there! You look tired—you look not quite happy, Philip. What is it? Are +you still wondering what to do with him? Don't! Leave that to me, dear. +And now go straight to bed and get a good night's rest. To-morrow we +shall begin on the petition—our last, thank God! I will see the men the +Governor mentions myself."</p> + +<p>When he was gone, she sat a while longer in the dark. She was not quite +ready yet to face strangers, to face even her daughters. Jacques was +coming back to her! She said the words over and over to herself, till +they rang through her head like the refrain of a song. All the years +between them, the long, lonely, weary years, filled with work and with +the sort of happiness that comes from successful endeavor,—these were +suddenly as naught, and she was a girl again, a wistful, dreaming girl +with a baby in her arms, listening there in her garden for the +pit-a-patter of her lover's horse.</p> + +<p>She closed her eyes. Presently the voice of the graphophone broke in +upon her dreams, and she became aware of the dancers that passed and +repassed the lighted windows; among them a man in spectacles, guiding +and being guided by a determined young person in apple-green, his face +flushed and earnest, his grizzled hair somewhat awry. "Why—it's Jim +Thorpe!" she thought, with a stab of remorse. "I'd forgotten him. But +he's dancing, he's enjoying himself like a boy. Bless that thoughtful +girl of mine! She's made him look ten years younger. Dear, faithful old +Jim!"</p> + +<p>Her heart was open to all the world just then. She went to the window +and smiled in at him tenderly.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was just as well that James Thorpe could not see that smile, +and misunderstand it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + + +<p>Late summer in Kentucky; deep, umbrageous woodlands fragrant with fern, +dreaming noons, shimmering in the heat, with the locust drowsily +shrilling; warm and silver nights, made musical by the loves of many +mocking-birds; the waste places green tangles of blossoming weed, the +roads a-flutter with hovering yellow butterflies, over all the land a +brooding hush, not the silence of idleness, of emptiness, but of life, +intense and still as a spinning top is still. Beneath it those who +listen are aware of a faint, constant stirring, a whisper of green and +eager things pushing themselves up from the fecund soil.</p> + +<p>More than ever before was Kate aware of the sympathy that bound her to +these fields of hers, soon to be hers no longer. She could not keep away +from them. Early and late the Madam and her racking mare were to be seen +about the roads and lanes, inspecting dairies, stables, hog-pens, +poultry-yards, watching the field-hands at their labor, hearing in +person the requests and complaints of tenants. Much of her phenomenal +success was due to personal supervision, as she knew; even, perhaps to +personal charm, for field-hands and tenants are alike human. Now the +executive habit stood her in good stead. None of the business of the +great farm was neglected; but active as her mind was, through it all her +heart was dreaming, not as a girl dreams, but as a woman may who knows +well what she has missed of life. Spring had passed her by, with all its +promise blighted. Now, like her fields, she had come to late summer, to +the season of fulfilment.</p> + +<p>There was much to be done in connection with Jacques Benoix' pardon; +certain men to be interviewed, not always successfully, though the woman +who had made Storm was heard with more respect than had been the +desperate young heroine of a scandal; lawyers to be seen, land-agents, +cattle-dealers, for in resigning her stewardship of the estate, a +certain amount of liquidation was necessary. Optimist that she was, +however, for years she had been preparing for this contingency. Her +affairs were in such order that at any moment she could turn them over +to others. Nothing that had any claim upon her was overlooked. The +servants, the horses in her stable, the very mongrel dogs who by the +instinct of their kind had discovered her weakness and spread the +discovery broadcast,—all had their share in her planning for the +future—their future, not hers.</p> + +<p>Hers was to be put without question into the hands of Jacques Benoix. +She would go to him at the door of his prison-house and say, "Here I am, +as you left me. What will you do with us, me and my children?"</p> + +<p>She would trust the answer to his wisdom, ready, glad to follow wherever +he should lead. Yet so much of herself, of her vital force, had gone +into the building up of Storm that sometimes a realization of what was +about to happen stabbed through her dreaming like a sharp pain. For +twenty years this had been her world, and she was about to leave it. +Often, as she passed among her young orchard trees, she laid a hand upon +them yearningly, as a mother might touch children with whom she was +about to part.</p> + +<p>In all her planning, there was only one problem that baffled her, a new +problem: Mag Henderson. It was difficult to arrange a future for Mag +Henderson.</p> + +<p>"I shall simply have to leave it to Jacques. He will know what to do +with her," she decided, with a thrill at the thought of her coming +dependence. It is only strength that realizes to the full the joy of +leaning.</p> + +<p>Mag and her child were both thriving under the care lavished upon them +at Storm. They had been established in a room of the long-disused +guest-wing, where young Jemima might keep a capable if impersonal eye +upon their welfare. But Jacqueline, somewhat to her sister's surprise, +had promptly relieved her of all responsibility with regard to the baby, +and was doing her best to relieve the mother of responsibility also. +From the first she regarded the child as her own personal possession, +neglecting in its behalf the various colts and puppies which had +hitherto occupied most of her waking moments.</p> + +<p>The girl had a fund of maternal instinct that sat oddly upon her +careless, madcap nature. It was a queer and rather a touching thing to +Philip Benoix to see this young tomboy running about the place with an +infant tucked casually under her arm or across her shoulder; and to +Jemima, for some reason, it was rather a shocking thing.</p> + +<p>"She's perfectly possessed by the child, always bathing it or dressing +it or something, just as she used to do with dolls. You know we couldn't +make her give up dolls till a year or two ago. She is actually +persuading Mag to wean it, Philip," complained Jemima, who had no +reserves with her friend, "so that she can keep it in her room at night. +Did you ever hear of such a thing? A squalling infant that would much +rather be with its mother! Isn't it—unseemly of her?"</p> + +<p>But Philip did not find it unseemly. "She's growing up, that's all," he +said, looking at his young playmate and pupil with eyes newly observant.</p> + +<p>Since his acceptance of the Storm parish, Philip had supplanted all +other tutors to Kate's children, and was "finishing" their education +with an attention to detail not possible in even the best of girls' +finishing schools.</p> + +<p>Mag had needed little persuasion to give over the care of her child to +Jacqueline. She was not lacking in animal instinct, and those who +advocated taking the child from her permanently would have found a fury +to deal with. But she had also the ineradicable laziness of the "poor +white," and it took effort to keep the baby up to the standard of Storm +cleanliness. If one of the young ladies chose to take this effort off +her hands, so much the better. Besides, it was Jacqueline who had kissed +her.</p> + +<p>Her temporary interest in the novel state of maternity was soon +superseded by an interest still more novel and far more absorbing—the +passion for dress.</p> + +<p>Even in her abject poverty, there had been something noticeable about +Mag Henderson, aside from mere prettiness. Her print frocks, while often +ragged and rarely clean, fitted her figure very neatly, and she managed +effects with a bit of ribbon and a cheap feather that might have roused +the envy of many a professional milliner. Now that she had become the +possessor of several cast-off dresses of Jemima's and Jacqueline's, her +pleasure in them was a rather piteous thing to see. As her strength +rapidly returned, under the influence of care and good feeding, she +became absorbed in the task of altering these treasures to fit herself. +For this she showed such aptitude and taste that Jemima spoke to her +mother about it.</p> + +<p>"I believe I've found what Mag is meant for—dressmaking."</p> + +<p>Kate gave her daughter a delighted hug. "You clever Blossom! What should +I do without you? We'll give Mag a profession. That solves the problem. +Write to town at once for patterns and material, and set her to work. +Teach her all you can, and whatever you do, now that she is getting +strong, <i>keep her busy</i>."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare was a firm believer in the adage with regard to Satan and +idle hands.</p> + +<p>Jemima nodded responsibly. As it happened, this suggestion fitted in +very well with certain schemes of her own. Like all good generals, she +realized that equipment plays a vital part in war; and little as her +mother realized it, the recent "party" was the opening move in a +well-thought-out campaign. Jemima had no idea of passing her entire life +in the role of exiled princess; and since her mother evidently did not +realize certain of the essential duties of motherhood, she intended to +supply deficiencies herself.</p> + +<p>So the voice of the sewing-machine began to hum through the old house +like a cheerful bumble-bee, and Mag entered upon what was certainly the +happiest period of her career. Laces, silks, fine muslins—these had the +effect upon her developing soul that a virgin canvas has upon the +painter. Her fingers wrought with them eagerly, deftly, achieving +results which astonished Jemima, herself a dressmaker of parts. Her +attitude toward Mag lost something of its cool patronage. She had always +great respect for ability.</p> + +<p>It was perhaps her absorption in Mag's efforts and the approaching +campaign which blinded her keen young eyes to certain changes which had +taken place in her mother. She did notice that she spent more time than +usual in the juniper-tree eyrie; and one night when the three sat as +usual in the great hall, busy with books and sewing, she suddenly +realised that her mother had been reading for an hour without once +turning her page.</p> + +<p>"Mother's got something on her mind. I wonder why she doesn't consult +me," she thought, characteristically; but at the moment she had too many +weighty affairs on her own mind to give the matter her usual attention.</p> + +<p>Occasionally Kate wandered into the sewing-room in the rather vague way +that had come to her recently, quite unlike her usual brisk alertness.</p> + +<p>"What are you up to, you and Mag?" she asked on one of these occasions. +"You seem to be turning out garments by the wholesale." She fingered the +dainty pile of fineries on the bed. "What a pretty petticoat! And a +peignoir to match. How grand they are! And what's this—no sleeves in +it, no waist to speak of—Why, it's a ball-dress! Where in the world +have you ever seen a ball-dress, Jemmy girl?"</p> + +<p>"In a magazine." Jemima spoke rather anxiously, with a mouth full of +pins. "Does it look all right, Mother? Did you use to wear as—as little +as that at a ball?"</p> + +<p>"Well, not quite as little, perhaps," murmured Kate—the frock in her +hand was of the Empire period. "Fashions change, however, and it looks +very pretty. But what do you need with such a dress at Storm, dear?"</p> + +<p>The girl said rather tensely, "Mother, do you expect Jacqueline and me +to spend the rest of our lives at Storm?"</p> + +<p>Kate's eyes dropped. "No," she answered in a low voice. She wondered +whether the time had come to make the announcement she dreaded.</p> + +<p>"Well, then!" said Jemima with a breath of relief. "You see I believe in +being forehanded. Young ladies in society need lots of clothes, don't +they?"</p> + +<p>"You are not exactly young ladies in society."</p> + +<p>"Not yet. But we mean to be," said Jemima, quietly.</p> + +<p>Kate winced. She had not forgotten it, the thing her daughter called +"society"; the little, cruel, careless, prurient world she had left far +behind her and thought well lost. To Jemima it meant balls and beaux and +gaiety. To her it meant the faces of women, life-long friends, turned +upon her blank and frozen as she walked down a church aisle carrying the +child she had named for her lover. Wider, kinder worlds were open to her +children, surely, the world of books, of travel, of new acquaintance. +But the thing Jemima craved, the simple, trivial, pleasure-filled +neighborhood life that made her own girlhood bright to remember—of this +she had deprived her children forever.</p> + +<p>She caught the girl to her in a gesture of protection that was almost +fierce. "What does it matter? Haven't you been happy with me, you and +Jacqueline? Hasn't your mother been enough for you, my darling?"</p> + +<p>Jemima submitted to the embrace with a certain distaste. "Of course. +Don't be a goose, Mother dear! There'll never be any place I love as +well as Storm—" (Kate winced again)—"or anybody I love as well as you. +But we've our position in the world to think of, we Kildares," she +ended, with the stateliness of a duchess.</p> + +<p>"The world? Kentucky's a very small part of the world, dear."</p> + +<p>"It happens to be the part we live in," said Jemima, unanswerably. "And +ever since there was a Kentucky, there have been Kildares at the top of +it. I do wish," she freed herself gently, "that you wouldn't always feel +like embracing me when I've just done my hair! You're as bad as Jacky."</p> + +<p>"Forgive me," said Kate humbly, releasing her. "So you can't be happy +without 'society,' Jemmy? Parties don't always mean pleasure, my little +girl."</p> + +<p>"I know that—" Jemima spoke soberly. "I don't believe I'm going to have +a very good time at parties. Jacqueline is. I don't know why—" her +voice was quite impersonal. "I'm prettier than she is, really, and lots +cleverer, but Jacky gets all the beaux. Even that author man, though +you'd think.... Queer, isn't it?" She put her wistful question again: +"Mother, do you think it pays to be clever?"</p> + +<p>Kate, with a pang at the heart for this clear-eyed child of hers, +answered as best she could this plaint of clever women since the world +began. "Certainly it pays. Clever people usually get what they want."</p> + +<p>"They get it, yes," mused the girl. "But it doesn't seem to come of its +own accord. And things are nicer if they come of their own accord." She +gave a faint sigh. "However, we must do what we can. And of course +people don't go to parties, or give them, just to have a good time."</p> + +<p>"No?" murmured Kate. "Why, then?"</p> + +<p>"To make friends," explained the girl, patiently. "You see Jacky and I +have to make our own friends."</p> + +<p>Kate's eyes smote her suddenly with compunction, and she leaned her head +against her mother's arm, quite impulsively for Jemima. "Not that I'm +blaming you, Mummy. You've done the best you know how for us, and this +is going to be my affair. It's all quite right for you to be a hermit, +if you like. You're a widow, you've had your life. But Jacky and I +aren't widows, and if we keep on this way, we'll never have a chance to +be."</p> + +<p>She was surprised by her mother's sudden chuckle. Jemima was never +intentionally amusing.</p> + +<p>"So," she finished, "Professor Jim is going to help us all he can."</p> + +<p>"What! Jim Thorpe to the rescue again?" Kate could not accustom herself +to the thought of this shy, awkward, scholarly man, the least considered +of her girlhood adorers, in the rôle of social sponsor to her children.</p> + +<p>"I asked him," explained Jemima, "whether he did not know all the worth +while people in Lexington and thereabouts, and he said he did. So he is +going to see that they invite us to their balls and things. Of course, +we shall have to do our share, too. And then," she added with a +hesitating glance, "I thought perhaps we might go to New York some day, +and visit our father's aunt Jemima."</p> + +<p>"That is an idea you may put out of your head at once," said Kate, +quietly. "Your father's aunt and I are not on friendly terms."</p> + +<p>"I know. I've often wondered why." She paused, but Kate's face did not +encourage questioning. "She's very rich, and old, and has no children. +Oughtn't we to make friends with her?"</p> + +<p>"Jemima!" said her mother, sharply.</p> + +<p>The girl looked at her in genuine surprise. "Have you never thought of +that? Well, I think you should have, for our sakes. Even if you and she +aren't good friends, need that make any difference with Jacky and me? +You see, Mother dear, it is we who are really Kildares, not you."</p> + +<p>Kate turned abruptly and left the room, more hurt than she cared to +show. Sometimes the paternal inheritance showed so strongly in Jemima as +to frighten her; the same fierce pride of race, the same hardness, the +same almost brutal frankness of purpose. A terrifying question rose in +her mind. When they heard the truth about her, as hear it they soon +must, would her children he loyal to her? Would they understand, and +believe in her? As the girl had said, they were Kildares, and she was +not.</p> + +<p>So far, despite the frequently urged advice of Philip, she had kept them +in ignorance of the facts of their father's death. They knew that he had +been killed by a fall from his horse. They knew, too, that Philip's +father was in the penitentiary, a "killer" as the phrase goes in a +hot-blooded country where many crimes are regarded as less forgivable +than homicide. But to connect the two tragedies had never occurred to +them, and the isolation of their life, passed almost entirely among +inferiors and dependents, had made it possible to keep the truth from +them. It would not be possible much longer.</p> + +<p>But once more the mother postponed her moment of confession. It was the +one cowardice of her life.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + + +<p>The fact that, while the countryside had been astir for weeks with +rumors of Jacques Benoix' impending release, her daughters were quite +unaware of them was evidence of the Madam's complete sovereignty over +her realm. It would have been a brave man or woman who dared to gossip +of Mrs. Kildare's affairs with her children. They remained unconscious +of the undercurrent of excitement and speculation in the atmosphere +about them. In time, mention of the pardon and reference to the old-time +scandal it revived, was made in the newspapers; but these papers failed +to reach the reading-table at Storm, and the girls did not miss them. +Kate had never encouraged the reading of newspapers in her household, +finding the monthly reviews cleaner and more reliable; and indeed the +doings of people in the far-off world were less real to Jemima and +Jacqueline than episodes in such novels as their mother read aloud by +the evening lamp, while one girl sewed and the other lost herself in +those dreams of youth which are such "long, long dreams."</p> + +<p>They wondered a little, it is true, over Kate's frequent absences from +home, and over the defection of Philip.</p> + +<p>"He hasn't been here for days, and he used to come every evening," +complained Jacqueline, always his sworn ally and companion. "No time for +riding, or music, or even lessons—not that I'm complaining of that! But +he's never been too busy for us before."</p> + +<p>The fact was that Philip dared not trust himself at Storm just yet, not +until he had accustomed himself to the immediate thought of Kate Kildare +as his mother.</p> + +<p>"Philip looks a little queer, too—sort of hollow about the eyes," mused +Jemima, the observant. "Still, he always was rather a solemn person."</p> + +<p>"No such thing, Jemmy!" cried Jacqueline, who could bear no criticism of +the thing or person she loved. "He's positively giddy sometimes when I +have him alone. Anyway, wouldn't you be solemn yourself, if you had a +father in the penitentiary?"</p> + +<p>"He ought to be used to it by this time. No, I don't believe it is that. +I believe it is mother."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean—'mother'?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing. Only"—Jemima severely bit off a thread—"I do wish +mother'd grow wrinkled or—or fat, or something, like other people's +mothers."</p> + +<p>"Why, Jemmy Kildare!" cried the other, shocked. "How can you say such a +thing? Mother's the most beautiful person in the world!"</p> + +<p>"Exactly. If I'm not mistaken, Philip thinks so too."</p> + +<p>"Well, why shouldn't he? That's nothing to be solemn about."</p> + +<p>The other smiled an enigmatical smile.</p> + +<p>"Stop looking like that horrid Mona Lisa. You mean—" Jacqueline stared, +then shouted with laughter. "Blossom, you're <i>too</i> silly! Of course +mother's the most beautiful person in the world, but after all she +is—mother! She's old."</p> + +<p>"Remember Henry Esmond."</p> + +<p>"Pooh! That's in a novel. Why, Philip might as well get up a romantic +passion for—for the Sistine Madonna."</p> + +<p>"Which would be exactly like him," commented Jemima; but Jacqueline +dismissed the absurdity from her mind with another laugh.</p> + +<p>From day to day now, Kate put off the breaking of her news. "Not yet," +she pleaded with her better judgment. "I will wait till everything is +settled."</p> + +<p>She waited a day too long.</p> + +<p>Jemima had driven down to the crossroads store for some pressing +necessity of the sewing-room. Like many country stores, it combined the +sale of groceries, fishing-tackle, hardware, dry-goods, and other +commodities with the sale of wet-goods, the latter being confined to the +rear portion of the establishment, opening upon a different road from +the front portion.</p> + +<p>The proprietor's wife, who usually managed the dry-goods and groceries' +section, happened to be absent at the time, and the proprietor's +unaccustomed efforts to find the buttons Jemima needed aroused her quick +impatience.</p> + +<p>"Never mind—let me find them myself, Mr. Tibbits," she urged. "I'll put +them down in your book. There's a customer in the back store. Do go and +attend to him."</p> + +<p>Tibbits meekly obeyed, murmuring, "You might find them buttons on the +shelf with the canned goods, or then agin they might be under the +counter behind them bolts of mosquito-bar."</p> + +<p>So it happened that Jemima was on her knees behind the counter, quite +invisible, when two women in sunbonnets entered, deep in a congenial +discussion of their betters, such as might have been heard in a dozen +homes in the vicinity that day. They had failed to recognize the buggy +at the door as a Storm equipage.</p> + +<p>"What I want to know is how's she ever goin' to manage with the two of +them at once. They do say the young parson's sort of took his father's +place with her."</p> + +<p>"Laws! I should think she'd be ashamed. Her old enough to be his +mother!"</p> + +<p>"No, she ain't, either. She wa'n't twenty, nothin' like, when Mr. +Kildare brought her here, and the French doctor's boy must a-been about +ten then. Ten years or less ain't such a heap of difference, not when +you hold your looks the way she does. Anyway, they been seen kissin'."</p> + +<p>"You don't say!"</p> + +<p>The informer nodded, pursing her lips. "It come to me pretty straight. +That old nigger Zeke, who does chores about, seen 'em with his own eyes, +and tol' me about it next day when he was doin' some work in my patch. +Said he caught 'em kissin' and just carryin' on, right in the public +road."</p> + +<p>"The idea! What for do you s'pose they want the father pardoned out, +then? She got up the petition herself. Laws, what a mix-up! I shouldn't +think she'd dare have anything to do with either of them. Don't look +good, does it? Him killin' her husband and all."</p> + +<p>It was here that the girl behind the counter, flushed and furious and +just about to speak, suddenly lost her color.</p> + +<p>"There was some that never believed he done it, Miz Sykes. If you'd ever +known the French doctor—always so sort of soft and gentle in his ways, +didn't believe in huntin' rabbits unless for food, used to doctor +animals just as if they was folks. He didn't seem the sort of man to +make a killer. But there! You never can tell with for'ners. And Kildare +wa'n't the sort of man to let his wife go gallivantin' round the country +with a lover, that's certain. We was s'prised he stood it long as he +did. Oh, I ain't sayin' Dr. Benoix done his killin' in cold blood! He +prob'ly done it in self-defense. The gentlest critter'll fight if it's +got to. But killin' it certainly was. No axdent about that!"</p> + +<p>They went toward the back store, still talking, unaware of the +white-lipped girl who slipped out from behind the counter and gained the +refuge of her buggy with trembling knees.</p> + +<p>Her knees might tremble, but her lips did not. They were set in a +straight, grim line, and her brows met over eyes that had grown almost +black. It would have been difficult to recognize in this stricken face +the pink-and-white Dresden prettiness that had won her the sobriquet of +"Apple Blossom."</p> + +<p>An old man, fumbling at his cap as she passed, suddenly paused and +stared after the buggy, aghast. He thought for the moment that he had +seen the ghost of Basil Kildare.</p> + +<p>She went straight to her mother's office, a small room opening off the +great hall. She opened the door without knocking, and closed it after +her.</p> + +<p>"One moment, please, I am busy," murmured Kate, glancing up from her +desk in surprise. She was not often interrupted so unceremoniously. But +instantly she rose to her feet. She had no need to ask what had +happened. The girl's face told her.</p> + +<p>"Mother!" Jemima's voice was hoarse. "Is it true that—Philip's +father—is coming out of the penitentiary?"</p> + +<p>Kate inclined her head, paling.</p> + +<p>"And that you are getting him out?"</p> + +<p>"Philip and I together."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>Kate did not answer. She was struggling to collect her wits for this +sudden necessity.</p> + +<p>Jemima came quite close, searching her face with curious grimness; and +Kate saw the resemblance the old man had seen, and shivered.</p> + +<p>"Mother, that was not the only news I heard at the store. I overheard +some women talking. They said—"</p> + +<p>"Surely we need not concern ourselves with village gossip, my child!" +Kate was fighting for time.</p> + +<p>But the appeal to the girl's pride went for once unheeded. "If they +lied," she said tensely, "they must be punished for it. If they did +not—Mother, what they said was that my father was not killed by +accident. They said the man who killed him was Dr. Benoix. They +said—why."</p> + +<p>Kate moistened her lips. The time had come to speak, to explain what she +could, to lie if necessary—anything to wipe out of her child's face +that look of frozen horror.</p> + +<p>But her tongue refused her bidding. She was hypnotized by the +realization of her own utter folly. To have left such a discovery to +chance! To have hoped that some impossible luck would keep her daughters +in ignorance of her tragedy—and this in a rural community where nothing +is ever forgotten, where every sordid detail of its one great scandal +had been for years a household word!</p> + +<p>The two stared at each other. Slowly the ruthless inquiry in the girl's +eyes changed into fear, into a very piteous dismay. "Can't you +deny—anything?" she whispered at last. "Mother! say it isn't so. I'll +believe you."</p> + +<p>She began to cry; not weakly with hidden face, but as a man cries, +painful tears rolling unheeded down her cheeks, her shoulders heaving +with hard sobs.</p> + +<p>It came to Kate that never since her babyhood had she seen this child of +hers in tears. She held out her arms, infinitely touched. "My dear, my +baby!" she said. "Come here to Mother."</p> + +<p>But the girl avoided her touch with a sort of shrinking. "All these +years we've been trusting you, loving you, almost worshiping you—and +you were <i>that sort</i>! Oh, Mother! Your husband's murderer—and his son +coming and going about our house as if he were our brother. Those women +said something about you and Philip, too,—but never mind that now. Will +you tell me the truth, please? Before my father's death, you and—that +man—loved each other?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Jemima, but—"</p> + +<p>The girl silenced her. "And now that he is coming out of prison, you +will go on—being lovers?"</p> + +<p>Her mother answered quietly, "I shall marry him, dear, if that is what +you mean."</p> + +<p>Without another word, the girl turned and went out of the room. Kate +hurried after her. "Wait, daughter, I haven't finished. There are some +things I must tell you. Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"To tell Jacqueline."</p> + +<p>Kate cried out, "No, not Jacqueline! She's too young. Wait, please—"</p> + +<p>She followed up the stairs, commanding, pleading. "Wait! I prefer to +tell her myself. Please, please! Jemima, do you hear me? I insist."</p> + +<p>Jemima never paused. "My sister must know the truth. I owe that much to +my father. Young or not, Jacqueline is a Kildare," she said stonily at +the door of her room; and shut her mother out into the world of people +who were not Kildares.</p> + +<p>All that morning the Madam, greatly to the bewilderment of her +household, wandered about the house in utter idleness, never stopping; +saying to herself reasonably, "I must find something to do. Now is the +time to be doing something;" wondering with that helpless, childlike +egotism of people in great distress, how the sun happened to be shining +so brightly out-of-doors, the birds singing quite as usual.</p> + +<p>Invariably her footsteps came back to the door of the room that had been +the nursery. It was there the two tiny cribs had stood, the +rocking-horse, the doll's house, the little desks at which her babies +had lisped their first lessons. It was there they murmured together now +through the endless morning, discussing her fate, sitting in final +judgment upon their mother.</p> + +<p>She could not keep away from the door. Sometimes she pressed against it +soundlessly, as if the passionate throbbing of her heart might send a +wave through to reach them, to help them understand. How else could she +help them to understand? Only by blackening now the memory of a father +who was not there to defend himself, a father whom she herself had +taught them to respect and to love.</p> + +<p>It was an expedient that did not once occur to Kate Kildare.</p> + +<p>"My little girls!" she whispered to herself. "My poor little frightened +babies!"</p> + +<p>If only she had been more with them, had taught them to know her better! +In those hours she accused herself of neglecting her children, of +leaving them too much to the care of others while she absented herself +upon their business. She begrudged, as mothers of dead children +begrudge, every necessary moment she had spent away from them. What +things were they saying in there, what things were they thinking of +their mother?</p> + +<p>At last she went upon her knees beside the door, her ear shamelessly at +the keyhole. Jemima heard her there, and opened.</p> + +<p>She said coldly, "You might have come in, if you wanted so much to hear +what we were saying. The door was not locked. We have been deciding +where we shall go."</p> + +<p>Kate got with difficulty to her feet. "Where you shall go?" she +repeated.</p> + +<p>Then she thought she understood. Jemima had remembered the terms of her +father's will, by which in case of her mother's re-marriage the property +of Storm was forfeit.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but daughter!"—the words tumbled over each other in their +eagerness to be out. "You need not trouble about that! Losing Storm +won't matter. You lose only what your father left, and I have doubled +that—trebled it. Besides, there is the little property that came to me +from my parents. I've always meant, when I married, to give you more +than my marriage would cost you. That is why I have worked so hard, and +saved. Perhaps you thought me miserly, grasping? I know people do. But +that is why. The money is to be yours, all yours and Jacqueline's—at +once, not after I die. We shall need very little, Jacques and I. Just a +start somewhere—"</p> + +<p>The girl stopped the hurrying words with a gesture of some dignity. "We +have not thought about the money part yet, Mother. We were simply +deciding where to live now."</p> + +<p>"To live?" The words were puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Surely you don't expect us to go on living with you and our +father's murderer?"</p> + +<p>Kate groped at the wall behind her for support. Here was a thing she had +not thought of. She had known that she might lose her children's +respect, perhaps, temporarily, their love; but she had counted +unconsciously upon the force of daily habit, of companionship, of her +own personal magnetism, to win back both, as she had won them from +others. Deprived of their companionship, what chance had she? They were +lost to her, utterly. Yet not even in that bitter moment did it occur to +her that she might fail the man who was coming back to her out of his +living death.</p> + +<p>She said tonelessly, "You are very young to leave your mother. Where +could you go?"</p> + +<p>The girl had her answer ready. "To my father's aunt Jemima. Now I +understand why you and she have not been on good terms. I understand +many things now. When she hears that we are leaving you, and why, I +think she will be glad to offer us a home."</p> + +<p>Kate bowed her head, "And Jacqueline? Is she, too, willing to leave me?"</p> + +<p>At this there was a cry from inside the door, and a dishevelled, sobbing +figure flung itself into Kate's arms and clung, desperately.</p> + +<p>"No, no, <i>no</i>! Don't let her make me. I won't, I won't! She's been +saying—oh, terrible things, Mummy! I tried not to listen. She said you +didn't love us, you loved him. She said that when he comes—that man, +Philip's father—you wouldn't want us around any more. But I know +better. No matter who comes, you'll want <i>me</i>, you'll want your baby! +Won't you, Mother? Dearest, darlingest Mother!"</p> + +<p>"Jacky, don't be so weak," commanded her sister, sternly. "Remember what +I told you. Remember our father."</p> + +<p>"But I never knew our father. What do I care about him? It's Mummy I +want. Whoever she loves, I love. I don't care <i>what</i> she's done! I +wouldn't care if she'd killed Father herself—"</p> + +<p>"Child, hush, hush!" whispered the trembling woman.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't! I'd just know he needed killing. There, there—" she had +her mother's head on her breast now, fondling it, crooning over it as if +it were Mag's baby. "Look—you've made her cry!" She stamped a furious +foot at her sister. "What are you staring at with your cold, wicked +eyes? You told me she was a bad woman—my <i>mother</i>! If she is, then I +choose to be bad myself. I'd rather be bad and like her than good +as—God. Now, then! Get out of here, you Jemmy Kildare!"</p> + +<p>Jemima went. Sternly she closed her door upon the clinging pair, +shutting both out together into the world of people who were not +Kildares. But they were together.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + + +<p>The night before Jacques Benoix' release found Kate Kildare lying +sleepless within sight of a grim gray wall that blocked the end of the +street upon which her window opened. A great fatigue was upon her, a +fatigue more of the spirit than of the body. For years, it seemed to +her, she had been fighting the world alone, unaided; and now that +victory was within her grasp it tasted strangely like defeat.</p> + +<p>She tried to realize that the gray wall no longer stood between her and +happiness; was a menace that with the sun's rays would disappear out of +her life like so much mist. But the effort was useless. The aura of +shadow that hung always over that place wrapped her in its suffocating +miasma, became part of the very air she breathed.</p> + +<p>She had taken rooms in an old hostelry near the railroad station, +wishing to avoid the curious recognition that would have been inevitable +in the town's one good hotel. She was occupying what had been known in +days of former prosperity as the bridal suite. This consisted of a dingy +parlor, in which on the morrow Philip was to perform the ceremony that +made her his father's wife, and of the room in which she lay, its walls +dimly visible in the light of an arc-lamp just outside the window, gay +with saffron cupids who disported themselves among roses of the same +complexion. Over the mantel-piece of black iron hung an improbably +colored lithograph of lovers embracing.</p> + +<p>Kate found the effect of these decorations ironic, curiously depressing. +She was not usually so responsive to environment.</p> + +<p>Very near her now Jacques must be lying sleepless, too; watching for the +dawn as she was watching—but with what eagerness, what trembling hope! +Her depression shamed her. She tried in vain to conjure up a consoling +vision of the man she had loved so long. The figure that came to her +mind was more Philip than his father. She put it from her impatiently, +angrily.</p> + +<p>"I believe I'm developing nerves," she thought.</p> + +<p>Her eyes, weary of the meaningless, leering antics of the cupids, +presently came to rest on the ceiling above her bed, which appeared to +be a-flutter with small pieces of pasteboard. She made them out to be +business cards, evidently momentoes of passing knights of the road who +had amused themselves by sailing their credentials heavenward, each with +a transfixing pin. Kate smiled a little, oddly cheered by these +reminders of carefree, commonplace humanity which had lain sleepless +also in that dreary bridal chamber. The knights of the road were better +company for her thoughts than brides who might have dreamed there dreams +to which she had forfeited her right; young, innocent brides who were +not fighting their way to happiness over the happiness of their +children.</p> + +<p>Now and again a train came thundering past her window, till the old +house shook to its foundation. For these she listened, tense and +quivering. One of them would be bearing away from her forever the +first-born of her children....</p> + +<p>While she made ready for her journey, Jemima had also made ready for a +journey, grimly; Jacqueline wandering between the two like a woebegone +young specter, all her gaiety dissolved in tears. Mrs. Kildare herself +had written to her husband's aunt, for the first time in years, +explaining briefly her own intentions and Jemima's attitude with regard +to them. The reply had come by telegraph, not to her, but to Jemima. +Kate did not ask to see it. Without comment, she had observed the girl's +preparations for immediate departure. She could not trust herself to +speak.</p> + +<p>It was known throughout the countryside by this time that the French +doctor was indeed coming out of prison, and that the Madam intended to +marry him. The news brought Professor Thorpe post-haste to Storm, pale, +but ready as ever with his services.</p> + +<p>"I never knew Dr. Benoix well, but now I shall make up for lost time," +he said quietly. "What are your arrangements? Will you need a best man, +or anything of that sort? Here I am."</p> + +<p>Kate thanked him with tears in her eyes, declining.</p> + +<p>"Jacques will prefer to see nobody, just at first, but Philip and me, I +think. But if you <i>could</i> do something with Jemmy? She will listen to +you, if to anybody. Make her understand, somehow—make her +believe—" Her choking voice could not finish, and Thorpe silently +patted her shoulder.</p> + +<p>He had done his loyal best with the girl already, without success. He +was handicapped by his promise not to say anything that would shake +Jemima's passionate pride and faith in her father.</p> + +<p>"I have nothing further to do with my mother's affairs," was her stony +answer to all his arguments. "The day she brings that man into my +father's house, I leave it, naturally; and I shall do my best to make +Jacqueline leave it. That is all."</p> + +<p>Her packing went on apace. On the last morning she found a check-book at +her breakfast plate.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean me to have this, Mother?" she asked in the coldly courteous +voice she had used toward Kate since her discovery.</p> + +<p>"Yes. There will be a deposit to your credit on the first day of each +month until you come of age, when a third of my property will be turned +over to you."</p> + +<p>The girl flushed deeply, but said nothing except "Thank you." She would +have liked to refuse all aid from her mother; but after all, was she not +being deprived of her rightful inheritance? Let her mother make what +reparation was possible.</p> + +<p>To the last moment Kate hoped for some sign of relenting, struggled to +find some explanation, some plea, that would draw the girl to her. But +those who have formed the habit of ruling, suffer one disadvantage among +their fellows: it is impossible for them to become suppliants.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Mother."</p> + +<p>When she started for the train that was to take her to Frankfort, Jemima +followed her to the door.</p> + +<p>"You will be here when—we return, to-morrow?" Kate's steady voice hid +very successfully her agonized suspense.</p> + +<p>"No, Mother."</p> + +<p>"Ah!... Then your aunt expects you? She knows what train to meet?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, thank you. Professor Thorpe has made all the arrangements. He will +put me on the train in Lexington."</p> + +<p>Kate bent over her child. "Good-by, my daughter."</p> + +<p>Even then the tremble of a lip, a tear on an eyelash, might have brought +them into each other's arms. But neither was the sort of woman who weeps +in a crisis. They kissed, their lips quite cool and firm.</p> + +<p>It was Jacqueline who did the weeping for both of them, and insisted +upon sitting in her mother's lap all the way to the station, so that +Kate had some difficulty in driving....</p> + +<p>Such were the scenes and memories that flitted through Kate's brain all +the night before her wedding; and the night was long.</p> + +<p>Near morning she slept at last, and dreamed. Somebody stood beside her, +smiling down—a stranger, she thought him, till she met his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Jacques!" she cried, starting up with hands outstretched. "You, +Jacques!"</p> + +<p>The consoling vision for which she yearned had come at last; but not as +she had seen it before, not in the prime of manhood, strong to hear her +burdens. This was an elderly man, stooping, gray-haired, frail. Only the +eyes were the same, blue as a child's in his wan face, warm as a caress. +He spoke to her. He seemed to promise something.</p> + +<p>She awoke with his name on her lips, and saw that it was morning. Peace +had come to her with the vision. She faced a new day, a new life, serene +and unafraid. What was it that he had promised? No matter. She would +ask him when she saw him, soon now.</p> + +<p>Smiling at her own credulity, she began with hasty hands to dress.</p> + +<p>Out in the street she heard the crisp trot of horses, stopping beneath +her window. Looking down, she saw one of her own vehicles, a light +phaeton drawn by a pair of young blooded colts she had sent in to +Frankfort some days earlier, that they might be rested and fresh for the +day's drive back to Storm, which was to be their wedding journey. She +looked them over critically.</p> + +<p>"They are in excellent condition. We ought to make it in eight hours," +she thought. "How he will love to drive those pretty fillies! He was +always so fond of horses."</p> + +<p>Philip knocked on her door. His voice said, "I am ready now."</p> + +<p>It had been her idea to send him for Jacques alone, so that father and +son might have a little time together before they came to her. She +opened to him and stood, a white-clad vision, framed in the doorway of +that dreary bridal suite.</p> + +<p>"You see, I am ready too," she said, blushing a little. "Do you like my +dress, Philip?"</p> + +<p>He stared at her without speaking. His eyes were heavy and rimmed with +shadow. For Philip, too, the night had been long.</p> + +<p>She asked again rather anxiously, "Do I look nice, Philip? It doesn't +seem too—young for me, this white?" She was in need of all her vanity +just then. The mirror had shown her a face pale and luminous, not less +beautiful—she knew that—but far older than the face whose memory +Jacques carried with him into prison. She was obsessed by the fear that +he would not recognize her.</p> + +<p>But for once Philip's comforting admiration failed her. "I don't know +how you look," he muttered, and turned abruptly away.</p> + +<p>She stared after him in surprise. "Dear Phil—he must be very much upset +to speak to me like that!" she thought.</p> + +<p>She went into the parlor, and busied herself arranging flowers she had +ordered to make the place less cheerless for the little wedding. The +proprietress came in presently with more flowers, a box bearing the card +of James Thorpe. The woman was in a flutter of excitement.</p> + +<p>"They's two reporters in the office already, <i>Mrs. Kildare</i>," she said, +emphasizing the name, "and more on the way, I reckon. If I'd 'a guessed +who you were, I'd 'a' had a weddin'-cake baked, I surely would. I've +been on your side from the very first!"</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Kate, wearily.</p> + +<p>"We've often had folks stayin' here to meet a friend who was comin' +out,"—she jerked a significant thumb over her shoulder toward the +penitentiary—"but never any one so famous, and never a weddin' right at +the very gate, so to speak," she added unctuously.</p> + +<p>Kate winced. She had registered under a false name, hoping thus to +escape notoriety. Now she saw the folly of any such hope. From the +first, no detail of her unfortunate romance had escaped notoriety.</p> + +<p>"Let the reporters come up," she sighed. "Perhaps if I speak to them now +they will let us alone afterwards."</p> + +<p>She was speaking to them, when she heard in the street outside the +familiar, crisp trot of the colts from Storm. Her voice broke off in the +middle of a sentence, and the two reporters, exchanging glances, +tactfully withdrew.</p> + +<p>Kate was suddenly very weak in the knees. She stood by the window for a +moment, clinging to the curtains, with closed eyes. "I must be prepared +for changes," she said to herself. "It is many years, many years—"</p> + +<p>She opened her eyes and looked down. Philip had alighted, throwing the +lines to a porter. As he crossed the sidewalk, he glanced up at her +window and she saw his face. No one followed him.</p> + +<p>She met him at the head of the stairs. "Where is he, Philip?" Her voice +was very quiet.</p> + +<p>"Gone."</p> + +<p>He led her into the room, closing the door in the faces of the eager +reporters.</p> + +<p>"Father caught a train that went through Frankfort just after dawn," he +said tonelessly.</p> + +<p>She cried out. "Just after dawn!" It was the hour of her vision. "He did +not get our letters, then? He did not know that we were coming to take +him home? There was some mistake!"</p> + +<p>"There was no mistake. From the first he did not mean to see us. The +warden said so."</p> + +<p>"Where has he gone?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know. The warden would not tell me."</p> + +<p>Kate ran into her room, and returned with a hat and coat. "He will tell +me," she said. "Come."</p> + +<p>The warden received them in his private office, grave with sympathy.</p> + +<p>"I understand what a blow this is to you," he said. "I argued with him +to make him change his intention—Dr. Benoix was as nearly my personal +friend as was possible under the circumstances. But from his first +coming here he was determined never to be a burden upon his son—nor +upon you, Mrs. Kildare. He felt, rightly or wrongly, that he had already +darkened your life too much. It was for that reason he declined to write +to you or to receive letters from you. He did not wish to keep alive +a—a sentiment which would be better dead."</p> + +<p>Kate gasped, "He said that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the warden, gently. "He asks that you forget him, if it is +possible, or that you think of him as one who has died."</p> + +<p>After a moment she said in her resolute voice, "You must tell us where +he is."</p> + +<p>The other shook his head. "I cannot, and I would not if I could. He has +the right to make his life as he chooses. But you may be sure that +wherever he has gone, there will be a place for him." The warden's voice +changed, "He will be missed here. My business is not a sentimental one. +It does not soften a man. We see a great deal of evil in this place, and +very little that is good, and it is easy to—to question the ways of +Providence, if there is any belief left in Providence. But when men like +Benoix come to us, as occasionally they do come, the old-fashioned idea +of a guardian Providence becomes—well, more tangible. There seems to be +a reason back of such miscarriage of justice. I believe," he said rather +haltingly, "that Benoix was sent here, not because he had any need of +prison, but because prison had need of him."</p> + +<p>He told them something of the doctor's prison life; of an epidemic that +had raged through the wards, when he offered his services to the jail +physician and for many days and nights had gone without sleep in his +efforts to assuage suffering; of women in the surgical wards who +mentioned his name beside that of God in their prayers; of men to whom +he had given new hope and a new outlook on life by curing them of +obscure disease from which they had not known they suffered.</p> + +<p>"I would have recommended him for pardon or parole years ago, but he +forbade me. He said he had more opportunity for research here than +elsewhere." The warden smiled. "By 'research' he meant help, of course, +he held the modern theory that crime is always a thing for the surgeon's +knife, or the physician, or the teacher, to handle. We let him practise +his theories wherever possible, because he was of great assistance to +us. He could do more with the prisoners than we could, being one of +them. Whenever we had trouble with an inmate, his first punishment was +Benoix. He did not often need a second. It is many years since the +whipping-post, or the standing-irons, or solitary confinement, have been +used in this place, as perhaps you know. Many of our prison reforms may +be traced to Benoix' influence, though he will never get the credit of +them. He said once, 'What is the use of making men desperate? What you +want is to make them ashamed. And that comes from inside.' Young man," +he turned to Philip, "convict or not, you need never be ashamed of your +father."</p> + +<p>"I never have been," said Philip.</p> + +<p>They went away, each with a letter Jacques had left for them. Kate's was +very short:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I have known always that you would come, and that I must not let +you. I am going while I have the strength to go. Fill up your busy, +useful life without me, Kate. I thank God that you have your +children and my boy, whom you have made a man. Once I left him to +your care. Now I leave you to his, without fear. He is worthy.</p> + +<p>Do not trouble your great heart for me. I shall find my work in a +world that is so full of people—work and friends, too. We cannot +be together, you and I, but remember always that I am not far from +you wherever I may go, never so far that any need of yours will not +reach me.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Jacques.</span></p></div> + +<p>She gave this letter, silently, to Philip, but he did not offer her his +own. There were things his father had said to him in farewell not meant +for other eyes to read; and for a long time they left him awed and +silent.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + + +<p>Kate made the long drive back to Storm, which was to have been her +wedding journey, with Philip beside her. They rarely spoke. Conversation +was never necessary between them, and now both were busy with their +thoughts. She drove, sitting erect as was her custom, her hands very +light upon the lines, steadying the young horses now and then with a +word, never urging or hurrying them; yet after a few coltish alarms and +excursions they settled down to their work with a long, steady trot that +ate up the miles like magic.—It was always a pleasure to Philip to see +her drive. It was her great gift, he thought, settling men and horses +alike to their stride.</p> + +<p>They stopped for the nooning at a farmhouse where they were expected, +and where their hostess met them eagerly at the gate. But when she saw +who was Kate's companion, her face fell, and she hurried to her +dining-room to remove from the table a large cake, decorated in candy +roses. She asked no questions. There was that in the Madam's face which +made questioning impossible.</p> + +<p>After the meal and a brief rest for the horses, they drove on, still in +silence, the colts trotting steadily now like old, sedate roadsters. +Philip's thoughts were still too chaotic for speech. Disappointment, +sorrow for his father, admiration, struggled with an unwilling relief, a +secret gladness that made him sick with shame.</p> + +<p>"Poor father! What am I thinking of!" he said to himself, angrily. "He +may be ill, he may be without money. Why did I not ask more questions? +Oh, I must find him somehow, I must! And yet—What a solution! She is +here beside me. He will not take her from me. How did he know? I shall +never have to call her 'mother.' He gives her to me. His whole life has +been a sacrifice. What was it he wrote—'We must consider nothing now +except her happiness, you and I, except her greatest good.' I wonder, I +wonder—"</p> + +<p>He dared not look at her often, but sat quite still through the long +miles, thrilling to the touch of her skirts when they blew against his +knees. The thoughts within him clamored so that sometimes he feared she +must be aware of them.</p> + +<p>But Kate had forgotten that he was there. Her eyes gazed straight before +her down the white road, over which yellow August butterflies hovered +like drifting flowers; across the dappled, fragrant fields of the wide +valley they crossed to the hills, whose vanguard, Storm, was already to +be distinguished by the pennant of smoke flying from its tip. She longed +for her home with a great longing, as children who have been hurt yearn +for the comfort of their mother's arms.</p> + +<p>Her mind was too bruised, too weary for consecutive thought. Sometimes +the dream she had at dawn came back to her.—How broken he was, how +frail! It did not seem to her that she had seen only a vision. It was +Jacques himself. She understood now what promise he had made her. He was +indeed never so far away that any need of hers could fail to reach him. +He was giving her back her child, giving her back the land she loved, +the work she loved; he was giving her what he could of happiness. But he +was taking with him the hope that had kept her young.</p> + +<p>Storm stood out clearly now against its background of hills, and a cloud +of dust approached down the road, which presently revealed the galloping +figure of Jacqueline, waving a large bouquet.</p> + +<p>"Your wedding bouquet, Mummy," she cried from afar off, with rather +tremulous gaiety. "Welcome home! Welcome home!"</p> + +<p>Then, as her eyes made out the second figure in the phaeton, her +expressive face changed. "Why—it's only you, Philip? Where is <i>he</i>?"</p> + +<p>Philip said huskily, "We do not know."</p> + +<p>"You don't know! You—you haven't <i>lost</i> him?"</p> + +<p>Philip nodded. To his surprise he found that he was sobbing, crying as +he had not cried since he was a boy.</p> + +<p>"Oh—<i>oh</i>!" gasped Jacqueline. Then, "Stop, please, Mummy. I want to get +in and comfort Phil."</p> + +<p>She turned her horse loose with a slap on the flank, and clambered in +between them.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline knew a great deal about comforting people. It was a knowledge +that had been given to her with her warm lips, and her crooning voice, +and her clinging, caressing hands. She said nothing, because she could +think of nothing to say; but for the rest of the way Philip was aware of +a young arm wound tight about his shoulders, and more than once of lips +fluttering against his cheek. Jacqueline's kisses were like the dew from +heaven, which falls alike upon the just and the unjust; none the less +blessed, perhaps, for that.</p> + +<p>Philip had more than his share of these attentions, because Kate did not +seem to need them. She still drove silently, sitting upright, staring +straight before her.</p> + +<p>Once the girl leaned far out of the phaeton, and waved a handkerchief +three times, as if she were signaling. There was an answering flutter +from beneath the juniper-tree.</p> + +<p>"Who is that in the eyrie?" It was the first time Kate had spoken for +hours, and her voice seemed to come with a great effort.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's the Blossom, Mother. She hasn't gone yet. She was waiting +till the last possible moment, to be sure whether—whether Philip's +father was with you. I promised to signal her yes or no."</p> + +<p>Kate turned suddenly and looked at her. "Why did Jemima think he might +not be with me?"</p> + +<p>The girl answered very low, "Because—because she wrote to him."</p> + +<p>The colts with a last gallant effort breasted the hill at a trot. At the +door a wagon was waiting with a trunk in it, and Jemima stood beside it, +dressed for traveling. But as they appeared, she dropped the satchel out +of her hand and ran toward the phaeton.</p> + +<p>"Bring brandy, Mag—be quick!" she called over her shoulder as she ran.</p> + +<p>She had seen what the others had failed to notice: that her mother, +still sitting upright with the lines in her hands, was quite +unconscious.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + + +<p>Years before, when gentle Mrs. Leigh turned her back forever upon the +beloved Bluegrass town of her youth, and came to spend the remaining +years of her life at Storm—for with all her ineffectiveness she was not +the woman to leave her daughter alone in disgrace and sorrow—Kate had +tried to make the strange country more homelike for her by building an +Episcopal church. Meeting-houses of several denominations had been long +established there; but to Mrs. Leigh, with Virginia and English +antecedents, "church" meant candles on the altar, a vested choir, a +rector in robes reading the familiar service of her childhood. She was +willing to concede to Methodists, Baptists, Campbellites, other +attendants of meeting-houses, a possible place in heaven; but hardly in +the best society of heaven; and she was one of the people who cannot +worship God comfortably except in the best society.</p> + +<p>The church Kate built was small and plain—she had found her husband's +estate heavily encumbered with debt. But it had its cross, its choir, +and its rector, a scholarly old man who persuaded Philip into the +ministry and who on his death was succeeded by him. And from the first +it had its congregation. The farming people of that section of the State +had come, or their immediate forebears had come, almost entirely from +Virginia, so that the English service was as much a part of their +traditions as of Mrs. Leigh's. The building of the first Episcopal +church in that country did more to break down the enmity toward Basil +Kildare's young widow than any of her patient efforts to win their +friendship; and this despite the fact that she herself rarely entered +it.</p> + +<p>The little edifice stood in a grove of fine beeches between Storm and +the crossroads village; a four-square structure of field boulders, with +a modest steeple, and a gallery across the back for negroes, in the +patriarchal Virginia fashion. The mistress of Storm saw to it that this +gallery was well filled. The corner-stone bore an inscription that +excited much comment in the community, as Kate intended it should:</p> + + +<h4><span class="smcap">Erected in Memory of Basil Kildare</span><br /> +By His Two Children</h4> + + +<p>It was the first word of her answer to the world, and it had its weight.</p> + +<p>"It says <i>his</i> two children. She wouldn't dare to tell a lie on stone!" +was the current opinion.</p> + +<p>Near the church was the rectory, one of those log-cabins boarded over +and whitewashed, which are still quite common in Kentucky, sturdy +mementoes of the sturdy pioneers whom they have outlived and will +outlive for many a generation yet to come. Lilac, hollyhock, and +hydrangea bloomed in season about this cabin, and it had a door-yard +that made women linger enviously and men smile in scorn; for to these +rough, hard-working, hard-living farmers it seemed that a young man +might find better use for his leisure than the tending of flowers.</p> + +<p>He had other weaknesses than flowers. The walls of his long living-room +were lined with books, many of them "poetry-books," and the rector was +reported to have read them all. Passers-by often heard him playing +softly on his mother's old piano, and more than once he had been +discovered in the kitchen, cooking his own dinner. The one servant he +kept was an ancient negress addicted to the use of whisky and cocaine. +To those who remonstrated with him for keeping the old woman, he +explained that he got her very cheap because of her habits; but the +community suspected other reasons, and despised him accordingly.</p> + +<p>Their scorn of his "softness," however, failed to extend to the man +himself. Different, they found him, reserved, a little cold, unless they +happened to be in trouble; but never alien. For one thing, he had +inherited from his father a gift that made "the French doctor" long +remembered in that horse-raising community. It was an understanding of +horses, indeed of all brute creatures, that amounted almost to wizardry. +There was never a colt so unmanageable that he could not bring it to +terms, without the aid of either whip or spur; never an equine ailment +too subtle for him to discover and alleviate. At all hours of the day or +night owners of sick beasts sent for the young rector as they had sent +for his father, confident of willing assistance.</p> + +<p>He had created his reputation by entering, against all protests, the +stall of a crazed stallion which had just mangled its groom. "I want to +look at his mouth," he explained. "Just as I thought! It's an ulcerated +tooth. Give me my lancet. No wonder the poor beast was vicious!"</p> + +<p>Philip had made the discovery among animals made by his father among +men, that most wickedness may be traced to physical causes. He had also +been heard to say, not very originally, that horses needed more care +than people, because people had speech and religion to help them and +horses had neither; a saying which deeply endeared him to a community +that ranks its thoroughbreds with its wives.</p> + +<p>Two other qualities of his offset, in the eyes of the neighborhood, the +matter of the flowers, the poetry-books, and the cooking. He had +courage, and he had a temper, both proved. A few years previously, +during the "tobacco-war" which upset the State, when the entire +countryside was terrified by the outrages of the Night-Riders who had +taken justice into their own hands, after the fashion of the moribund +Ku-Klux Klan, young Benoix alone, of all the pastors in his +neighborhood, did not hesitate to denounce from his pulpit Sunday after +Sunday the men who resorted to masked terrorism as sneaks, cowards, and +murderers. And this, despite the fact that the majority of his +congregation were in sympathy with the Night-Riders for the best of +reasons—kinship. Indeed, more than one man who listened to him with a +stolid face had worn the mask and wielded the whip and torch himself. +Benoix knew it; they knew that he did. They knew also that no possible +circumstance could persuade him to give up one of the names he suspected +to the law he was determined to uphold.</p> + +<p>Anonymous letters came to him, warning, insulting, threatening his +personal safety. More than one advised him to go armed. His board of +vestrymen themselves remonstrated, counseling moderation for fear of +alienating the congregation. His reply became famous throughout the +State.</p> + +<p>"Look here!" he cried, his blue eyes suddenly ablaze. "You want me to +shut up, do you? Then behave yourselves, and see that your sons behave +themselves. I'm talking to you, and you, and you—" he pointed direct at +several of his vestrymen. "I want you to understand that I'm a disciple +of peace. And, by God, I'm going to have peace in this parish if I have +to fight for it with my fists!"</p> + +<p>Such a man was Philip Benoix, priest, dreamer, idealist, son of a +convicted murderer, lover of the woman who for seventeen years had been +faithful to his father. He believed his great devotion a secret. +Probably the only person within twenty miles who had not guessed it long +ago was Kate Kildare herself....</p> + +<p>Some Sundays after his father's release from prison, Philip, striding +across the rectory garden in gown and cassock, was aware of a subdued +stir among the men who lounged at the church door, waiting for service +to begin. A light surrey was approaching which he knew well, drawn by +the Madam's favorite bay colts. It was the second Storm vehicle to +arrive that morning. Jemima and Jacqueline were already within; Jemima +at the organ, which she manipulated capably if unemotionally; Jacqueline +marshaling her choir of farm boys and girls into a whispering, giggling +semblance of order. In the gallery sat the usual quota of Storm +servants, for Kate Kildare's household took its religion each week as +faithfully as it took its tonics and calomel in due season.</p> + +<p>With a throb of the heart, Philip realised that it must be his lady +herself who drove those prancing bays. He thought over his sermon +hastily.—Yes, it was good enough.</p> + +<p>She drew the colts up on their haunches, flung the lines with a smile to +the nearest bystander, and walked up the aisle with her free, swinging +step, followed by a girl carrying a baby. The girl was Mag Henderson.</p> + +<p>The sensation caused by this double appearance was immense. It was the +first time many of the congregation had seen the Madam since the +much-talked-of disappearance of Dr. Benoix, and they were eager to see +how she took it. From all appearances she seemed to be taking it very +calmly; a little paler than usual, perhaps; her eyes extraordinarily +dark, but nothing to suggest the illness that had been rumored. Rather +disappointed, they turned their eyes upon her companion; and then the +whispering broke out like the buzzing of a swarm of angry bees.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare had brought Mag's baby to be baptized. Philip wondered why +she had come without warning. He did not guess that only an impulse of +sudden courage had brought her there at all. She remembered too keenly +the last time she had come to church with a baby to be baptized.</p> + +<p>That was why, perhaps, she so rarely honored with her presence the +church she had built; but she could not explain this reluctance to +Philip. "Church is too small for me," she said to him, airily. "My soul +doesn't breathe between walls very well. I have to do my praying in the +open."</p> + +<p>It had long been her custom on Sunday mornings to ride among the +deserted fields with her dogs, taking note of what had been accomplished +during the week past, planning work for the week to come, visiting such +of her tenants or laborers as were sick or incapacitated. Sometimes as +she passed she heard Philip's voice in the pulpit, and stopped for a +while to listen to him. It was no unusual thing for him to see her +there, framed in the sunny square of the open doorway, sitting her +restive horse, surrounded by dogs who leaped and gamboled eagerly, but +in perfect silence, out of respect for the long whip she carried. At +such moments his congregation nudged each other in sympathetic +amusement. Without turning to see, they knew by his flush and his +halting speech who was outside.</p> + +<p>But to-day there was no flushing or faltering of speech. Unprepared as +he was, the priest in Philip woke to the necessity, and in his message +the messenger forgot himself. Noting the women's curious, hostile +glances, the buzzing whispers, the stiff-necked anger of the men, +several of whom did not enter the church at all, he laid aside the text +he had prepared and spoke to his people directly and very simply of that +most dramatic episode in history, when Christ said to the crowd in the +streets, "Let him who is without sin cast the first stone."</p> + +<p>While he spoke, he watched the girl sitting beside Mrs. Kildare, and at +the first sign of shrinking, of embarrassment, he would have slipped at +once into another theme. But there was no shrinking in that pretty, +empty face. Indeed, after the first few moments of shyness before so +large an audience, the girl looked about her openly, bridling, pleased +with the attention she was attracting in her new dress and with her new +baby. If there was menace in those staring faces, the Madam was there to +protect her. It was no new thing to the girl to be prayed over; this had +come to be an attention she expected from preachers. Young as she was, +there had been good reason for her leaving the town from which she came +to Storm. But a whole sermon about herself, right out in church! It was +a proud moment for Mag.</p> + +<p>Benoix, his eyes on her face, sighed even as he spoke, realizing the +probable hopelessness of Mrs. Kildare's effort.</p> + +<p>The congregation was free to leave at the close of the regular service, +without waiting for the christening. But it did not leave. For one +thing, there was the Madam to be welcomed to church—excuse enough for +those who needed excuse. To their shocked surprise the child was +christened by the Madam's own name, "Katherine."</p> + +<p>Afterwards, to each of the women who shook her hand, Kate said some such +thing as this:</p> + +<p>"You know Mag Henderson here, don't you? We've discovered that she is +quite a wonderful dressmaker. Yes, she made the dress I have on, and +those my girls are wearing. She is a stranger among us, too, so that of +course we must find her plenty of work. That is only hospitable."</p> + +<p>Kate knew her people when she appealed to their hospitality. Many a +village gossip, many a virtuous farmer's wife who had pursed her lips +and kept her skirts from degrading contact with the notorious Mag +Henderson, found herself pledged to employ the Madam's protégée for her +next dressmaking.</p> + +<p>"It does beat all," Mrs. Sykes was heard to murmur helplessly, "how that +woman gets folks to do whatever she wants 'em to! 'Birds of a feather,' +<i>I</i> say. But there! If she's willin' to give that misbegotten child her +own Christian name, it won't do for the rest of us to be too +toploftical. And them girls," she added, "certainly do dress stylish."</p> + +<p>Philip usually took his Sunday dinner at Storm, and the congregation had +the further privilege of watching their rector drive away in the same +surrey with the Madam and Mag, apparently upon the most intimate and +cordial relations with Mag's infant.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare, more sensitive of disapproving eyes for her friends than +for herself, suggested that he come home with Jemima and Jacqueline +instead.</p> + +<p>"I'm a little uneasy about the mare Jacqueline is driving," she said, +for an excuse.</p> + +<p>"Pooh! Jacqueline can handle anything I can," Philip smiled. "Besides, I +want to speak to you about something in particular."</p> + +<p>"You usually do," murmured Kate, teasingly. She found his open +partiality for her society rather amusing.</p> + +<p>He was silent until they had passed the long line of homeward-bound +vehicles, drawn respectfully out of the Madam's way. Then he said in a +low voice, "Henderson is back in his cabin. Did you know it?"</p> + +<p>Low as he spoke, the girl on the back seat heard him. "Not Pappy?" she +cried. "Oh, oh, he's come for me agin! Please don't let me go back to +him, <i>please</i> don't! I don't want to, I don't want to!"</p> + +<p>"Why?" demanded Kate, sharply. "Was he cruel to you, Mag?"</p> + +<p>"No'm, he wa'n't. He was always real kind, even if he was drunk; never +kicked me, nor cussed me, nor nuthin'. But I don't want to go back to +him. I'd ruther stay with you. Hit don't matter so much about me—I'm +spiled anyway—but I don't never want Pappy to git my baby!"</p> + +<p>Kate gave Philip a puzzled glance, which he met gravely. "Let her +explain to you," he said.</p> + +<p>"Is it because you are more comfortable that you want to stay with me?" +asked Mrs. Kildare. "Is it that?"</p> + +<p>"That ain't all." The girl's hands were working together. "'Tain't safe +for Pappy here, noways. Them Night Riders'll git him, shore. And he's so +po'ly he couldn't stand a whippin'. It'd kill him. Oh, please, you make +him go 'way, Miss Kate! Tell him I'll send him money soon as ever I git +work, but make him go 'way. He shan't have my baby, he shan't!" She +began to sob.</p> + +<p>"There, there, Mag, don't be foolish. What would he want with your +baby?"</p> + +<p>"She's a gal."</p> + +<p>Vaguely, understanding began to drift in to Kate. Her voice shook +suddenly as she said, "What do you mean about the Night Riders getting +your father? He is in no danger from them with you not there. It was you +they threatened."</p> + +<p>"No'm, 't were Pappy. That's how he come to run away. They got down on +him fer makin' me do like I done."</p> + +<p>"<i>Making</i> you—?" gasped Kate Kildare.</p> + +<p>"Yes'm! It were him what found the men and brought 'em round. But it +wa'n't no business of them Night Riders," said the girl resentfully. "I +didn't mind. It were a easy way of makin' money, easier 'n workin'. +Pappy's so po'ly, he ain't got the strength to work hisself. Only—" she +began to cry again—"I know it ain't nice, and I don't want my baby +should do that-a-way, not ever. I want she should grow up a lady, like +you."</p> + +<p>Kate was shivering uncontrollably. Over the brooding Sabbath stillness +of her fields it seemed to her that a strange miasma was creeping, which +shadowed the light of the sun. She had read of such horrors as this. She +had thought of that strange traffic, the White Slave trade, as of some +hideous, modern depravity that belonged to another and harsher world +than her own. Yet here, almost within sight of the home that sheltered +her children, here in the domain where her will was law, where she had +believed herself cognizant of the doings of every man and woman and +child—the thing had been going on unknown to her; the sacrifice of a +little girl creature, not in the name of love (her tolerant mind found +it difficult to condemn the sinning of stupid, healthy young human +animals) but in the name of filial piety.—"Filial piety!" Always +afterward the smug phrase was hideous to her.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Philip, rather hoarsely, "what are we to do with this—this +man?"</p> + +<p>"Let the Night Riders have him, and welcome!"</p> + +<p>But Mag intervened once more in her father's behalf. "No, no, they'd +kill him, shore! He's so sickly. Don't you let 'em git him, Miss Kate, +don't you! He's always been real kind to me, even when he's drunk. Don't +you let 'em git him!"</p> + +<p>"Do you love him, Mag?" asked Kate, wonderingly.</p> + +<p>"In co'se I do. He's my Pappy."</p> + +<p>The others could not speak for a moment. Her unexpected loyalty to the +father who had been "real kind" to her got them by the throat.</p> + +<p>"What do you want me to do with him?" Mrs. Kildare asked at last.</p> + +<p>"Jes' make him go away. Tell him he dassent come back no more. I reckon +he thinks you'll take keer of him 'cause you're takin' keer of me. Ef he +knows you ain't a-goin' to, he'll go away."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said the other, gently, "he shall go away. And, Mag—" she +reached back to grip the girl's hand strongly with hers—"he shall never +have your baby. She shall grow up as nearly a 'lady' as I can make her. +You have my word for that."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + + +<p>Kate, at this juncture, was filling her days to the brim with work, +turning to it as to a tried friend, tested in many a crisis. Her recipe +for avoiding thought was extreme physical fatigue; a good recipe, but +one which was telling upon her physically. Philip's were not the only +eyes which noticed the beginning of a change in Mrs. Kildare; a certain +lack of buoyancy, an effect of effort in what she accomplished. Jemima, +secretly alarmed, had insisted upon having in a doctor after her +mother's fainting attack, but he made little of it. He was a bluff, +cheerful, young countryman, shrewd but without subtlety, the son and the +worthy successor of Jacques Benoix' successful rival, "Doc" Jones.</p> + +<p>"She's as sound as a dollar," he pronounced admiringly. "Don't often see +such a specimen of perfect health as the Madam. Nerves? Not likely. +Probably over-fatigue—she does the work of ten men. Let me see, how old +is she? Nearly forty—humph! Looks twenty-five. Make her take a rest. +She'll be all right."</p> + +<p>But rest, inactivity, was the one thing Kate would not allow herself. +She dared not. She threw herself heart and soul into the business of her +estate, and tried to feel the same interest, the same sense of large +accomplishment, that had buoyed her up through so many years of +loneliness.</p> + +<p>On the Monday after Mag's child was christened, it happened that she was +due to appear at a fair in an adjoining county, where she was exhibiting +shorthorn cattle. But before she left, she did not forget to send a +peremptory message to the man Henderson.</p> + +<p>During her not infrequent absences from home, she had no uneasiness +about her daughters, amply protected as they were by the numerous +servants in the quarters back of the "great house," to say nothing of +the small army of dogs which fattened upon her bounty. The housewoman +who had been with her for years slept on such occasions on a pallet +outside the girls' door, and Big Liza, the cook, also took up a position +in the house, lying across the stairs in the great hall, whence her +massive snores would have deterred the most reckless of marauders from +entering.</p> + +<p>But it chanced that this particular Monday was the occasion of the +annual colored picnic in the village, held under the auspices of the +Ladies of the Evening Star, of which organization both the housewoman +and Big Liza were officials. So from dusk until midnight the young +ladies were to be left in the charge of no one but Lige, the stable-boy +who had once figured as butler, to whose unhappy lot this honor had +fallen because of his known slave-like devotion to Jacqueline. Every +other member of the domestic force was off rejoicing with the Ladies of +the Evening Star.</p> + +<p>This youth was making the rounds of the house with one of the Madam's +pistols in his belt, taking some comfort in the dramatization of his +unlucky rôle, when breathless yells were heard approaching, and a small +Ethiopian made his appearance over the back fence, yelling for help and +the Madam in the same breath.</p> + +<p>"The Madam's done gone away fum heah, an' lef me in charge," said Lige, +grandly. "Whut kin I do fer you, young chile?"</p> + +<p>A window opened in the house. "What's the matter, Lige? What's Cæsar +Jackson yelling that way for?" demanded Jacqueline, who knew by name +every creature, on two legs or four, in the county.</p> + +<p>"Hit's de Riders!" gasped Cæsar Jackson. "De Riders is comin'!"</p> + +<p>"Here? Nonsense! Why should Night Riders come to Storm? They wouldn't +dare!" But she thought suddenly of Mag Henderson, and her jaw set.</p> + +<p>"I yeared 'em, Miss Jacky! I hid behine a tree an' seed 'em pass with +dey false-faces on!" The little negro shivered with that superstitious +awe which had made the Ku-Klux Klan possible. "Dey 'lowed dey was +a-gwine ter git old man Henderson."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline gave a quick breath of relief. "Then they're too late. He has +gone. Mother sent him word to leave the cabin last night. They won't +find him."</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, dey will, kase I seed 'im! I snuck erlong 'cross de fiel', an' +dey was a light in de winder, an' I calls out, 'Run lak de debbil, kase +de Riders is on dey way!' But he can't do it, run—he's too drunk. An' +he say, 'Go an' git de Madam. Fo' God's sake git de Madam!' So I run, +an' I run, an' I yells fit to bust myse'f—"</p> + +<p>"You certainly did, Cæsar Jackson," said Jacqueline, patting his head. +"You couldn't have yelled better if you had been a white boy. The Madam +shall hear of this. She likes people who keep their wits about +them.—What must we do, Jemmy?" The older girl had followed her out. "Do +you suppose they mean Henderson any real harm?"</p> + +<p>There was a sobbing cry from Mag behind them. "They'll kill him, that's +what they'll do! Oh, pore Pappy! They'll beat him up, an' it'll kill +him, he's so puny. Oh, my Gawd! Cain't nobody stop 'em? They'll <i>kill</i> +my Pappy!"</p> + +<p>The two girls exchanged startled glances.</p> + +<p>"What ef dey does? Nuffin but po' w'ite trash nohow," murmured Lige +scornfully. He knew what he knew.</p> + +<p>Jemima hushed him, sternly. "Poor white or not, we can't have tenants on +our property murdered. I'll get help!" She started for the telephone.</p> + +<p>"No time for that. They must be at the cabin already. We are the only +neighbors, Jemmy. It's up to us. I wonder what mother would do if she +were here?"</p> + +<p>Even as she spoke she was running toward the stable. She knew that at +least her mother would not be standing idle.</p> + +<p>Mag cried after her, "Miss Jacky, whar you goin'? Don't you try it, +honey, don't you! How could you stop 'em all by yourself? They might +whip you, too, ef you was to make 'em mad."</p> + +<p>"Whip me? <i>Whip me?</i>" Jacqueline threw up her head and laughed. Her +purpose had not been clear in her mind, but Mag's plea settled it.</p> + +<p>She jerked the pistol out of Lige's belt—an able, well-conditioned +weapon it was, in whose use both girls were as proficient as their +mother. Lige and the breathless pickaninny trotted faithfully beside +her. Jemima's voice could be heard at the telephone, resolute and +distinct, rousing the countryside to the rescue of Henderson. Number +after number she called, gave her brief message, and rang again.</p> + +<p>"But I bet we get there first!" murmured Jacqueline, with an excited +giggle. "Three horses out, Lige. Don't stop to saddle. I suppose you can +ride, Cæsar Jackson?" She laughed at her own question. Was there ever a +country-born darky, or a city-born one, for that matter, unable to +straddle a horse from the moment he left his cradle?</p> + +<p>"Laws, Miss Jacky, what we-all up to dis time?" murmured Lige, +apprehensively. It was not the first time he had followed his divinity +into reckless adventure.</p> + +<p>He led out the three horses, amid soft nickering from other stalls.</p> + +<p>"They all want to come, the dears! What a pity there's nobody to ride +them! We'd be quite a troop—Storm cavalry to the rescue!" Inspiration +came to her. "Lige, it's awfully dark! Do you suppose it would be seen +that they were riderless?"</p> + +<p>"My golly!" chuckled Lige, grasping the situation.</p> + +<p>"Fetch 'em all out!"</p> + +<p>Herding the riderless horses before them, a feat in which both had had +experience, they took a short cut across back fields to the road that +ran behind Storm hill toward the Henderson cabin. The first of these +fields was known as the hospital pasture, where grazed several mules +recovering from stone-bruises, harness galls, and the like. Mrs. Kildare +always kept invalided stock under her own eyes.</p> + +<p>"Suppose," said Jacqueline, suddenly, "that we were to add a few mules +to the regiment?"</p> + +<p>Lige and the pickaninny Cæsar Jackson responded to this suggestion with +a pleased alacrity. Eleven strong, they galloped into the lower pasture, +where steers were being fattened for market.</p> + +<p>"Lige," cried out Jacqueline, "can steers gallop?"</p> + +<p>"Dey kin wid me behine 'em. <i>Whee-ow!</i>" yelled her faithful henchman.</p> + +<p>Cæsar Jackson rushed ahead and opened the gate, and the cavalry from +Storm swept out into the road.</p> + +<p>The girl had planned her sortie with the lightning instinct of a born +general, an inheritance, perhaps, from various Kildares who had played +their parts in the wars of the world. The road behind Storm resembled +the fateful sunken lane of Waterloo, hidden between higher land on +either side, topped by fences which made scattering of forces +impossible. Nothing was to be heard in the darkness except the dull +thudding of hoofs, an occasional startled bellow, the choked laughter of +the two lieutenants as they herded their forces along at a smart trot.</p> + +<p>Where a side road branched toward the Henderson cabin, Jacqueline gave +her final instructions. "Silence till I shoot off the pistol, then yell, +yell for all you're worth! and drive 'em in at a gallop."</p> + +<p>"My <i>golly</i>!" gasped Lige, in an ecstasy that almost lost him his seat.</p> + +<p>Everything was propitious. An obliging moon came suddenly from the +clouds and showed them a group of horses tethered about the cabin; +showed them also men tying a struggling figure to a tree in the front +yard. Then came a sound that drove the mirth out of the girl's face, and +left it white and stern—the cry of a man in mortal terror.</p> + +<p>"Brutes, beasts!" she muttered. "Now then, you boys—"</p> + +<p>Off went the pistol. Out of three pairs of young and vigorous lungs +burst such a rebel yell as might have startled Grant's army in its long +sleep, let alone twelve or fourteen nervous and uneasy "Possum Hunters."</p> + +<p>They did not stop to see what was upon them. They heard the yell, the +shot, the soft thunder of many galloping feet, and they made for their +horses. Some got away straddling the crupper, some embracing their +steeds about the neck. After them galloped the regiment from Storm, +bellowing and braying, with its rearguard of two boys and a girl quite +helpless with laughter.</p> + +<p>Where the lane debouched into the highroad the rout became sheer panic, +for there pursued and pursuers ran full tilt into the glare of a large +automobile, from which a voice called "Halt!"</p> + +<p>"The Sheriff, the Sheriff!" cried somebody.</p> + +<p>Night Riders were to be seen scattering in all directions, leaping into +cornfields, scurrying into the woods. In a moment there was nothing left +of the raid except a few sweating, quivering thoroughbreds, and many +steers and mules that fell at once to cropping the wayside grass with +the composure of true philosophy.</p> + +<p>Then from the darkness behind (for the moon, her work done, had retired +again) came guffaws, and gurgles, and wails of laughter. The three men +in the automobile eyed each other inquiringly. The laughter drew nearer. +They could distinguish, amid mirth unmistakably negroid, a beautiful +contralto voice demanding. "<i>Did</i> you see 'em skedaddle, Lige? Oh, +wasn't it glorious! Riding on their stomachs, their ears, any old way. +Holding on with their toe-nails—Oh, Lord!"</p> + +<p>One of the men jumped out of the machine. He had recognized that voice. +"Jacqueline Kildare, you wild hoodlum! What have you been up to?"</p> + +<p>Into the lamplight rode a disheveled figure straddling a horse bareback, +her pink gingham skirts well up above her knees, hair flowing in a +cascade of splendor about her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Reverend Flip, were you in time for the fun?" she asked, weakly. +"'The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold.' Those bold, bad +'Possum Hunters' will never be able to hold up their heads in <i>this</i> +county again! Routed by a girl with a troop of cattle!" (It may be added +that she spoke no less than prophecy.)</p> + +<p>"The 'Possum Hunters'! Do you mean to say <i>you've</i> been mixed up in this +performance? My dear girl," said Philip, sternly, "what will your mother +say."</p> + +<p>"She'll kick herself to think of missing it!" cried Kate Kildare's +daughter, and was off on another peal of laughter in which the three men +joined with a will.</p> + +<p>"I should have been sorry to miss it myself," said a voice which +Jacqueline recognized, behind the headlight. "Better one night of +Kentucky than a cycle of Cathay."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline made ineffectual attempts upon her skirts, blushing, but she +said demurely enough, "Why, if it isn't the author, just in time for +some more local color! Where did you come from, Mr. Channing?"</p> + +<p>"From Holiday Hill, where I am visiting my friend Farwell. Your sister +telephoned for help, and we were on our way to the rescue. Farwell," +continued Channing, "is now nudging me in the ribs and demanding to be +properly introduced. Do you mind? Mr. Farwell, Miss Kildare."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline's eyes were sparkling. "One ahead of Jemmy," she thought, +triumphantly. The owner of the great new house five miles away which +made Kate Kildare feel crowded, was an object of no small interest to +her daughters.</p> + +<p>"We've been <i>so</i> anxious to see you, Mr. Farwell! I wish it weren't +dark," she said with her usual frankness. "We've been so afraid you +would be old, or fat, or married, or something like that."</p> + +<p>"What have I done," murmured a plaintive voice, "to deserve such unkind +suspicions? Why old and fat?"</p> + +<p>"Because rich. They usually go together—in books, at any rate. And it +would be just our luck to have you married, when we're so dreadfully in +need of beaux. <i>Are</i> you married?"</p> + +<p>"Alas, yes! But does marriage bar one absolutely?"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline considered. "Well, no, I don't suppose it does—except for +marrying purposes. Not unless you're old and fat, too," she added, +gravely.</p> + +<p>"I do assure you!" Mr. Farwell leaped nimbly out of the car and struck +an attitude in the full glare of the headlight, as one who would say, +"Take a look at me. Gaze your fill."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline did so with full and unqualified approval. Mr. Farwell was +distinctly worth looking at.</p> + +<p>"What a pity you are married!" she said sadly. "It will be a great blow +to Jemima.—I must go home and break it to her. I suppose she's still at +the telephone assembling the clans. Did she telephone you too, Philip, +man of peace?"</p> + +<p>"Naturally, sensible girl that she is, instead of charging about in the +dark like an avenging fury in pink gingham."</p> + +<p>She made a face at him. "Just the same, it was me and not Jemmy who +saved Henderson a whipping!" she remarked, with more satisfaction than +grammar.</p> + +<p>"And where is Henderson now?"</p> + +<p>Her face went blank. "Good gracious, I forgot all about him! He's tied +to a tree in front of the cabin."</p> + +<p>"I'm not surprised. Perhaps we'd better go and untie him," suggested +Benoix. "Thanks for the lift, Mr. Farwell. It saved me a long walk. My +old horse was too done to take out this evening. Are you ready, +Jacqueline?"</p> + +<p>He caught one of the grazing thoroughbreds and straddled it with an ease +that filled the author's soul with envy. Channing was no horseman.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say you are going to ride that prancing beast without +either bit or bridle?" he murmured.</p> + +<p>The clergyman smiled. "It doesn't take much riding to persuade a horse +to go home. Besides, Mrs. Kildare's horses know me. Come, Jacqueline."</p> + +<p>Farwell protested. "Why not let me run Miss Kildare home in the machine, +while you go and liberate the late victim? She must be tired after such +an experience."</p> + +<p>Benoix answered for her, rather brusquely. "Jacqueline is too young to +know what it is to be tired. I'll go home with her, thanks. Good night."</p> + +<p>He turned up the lane, and the girl followed, leaving her scattered +cavalry to be herded home by the two negro boys. It would have been +pleasant, she thought, to have appeared at Storm in an automobile, with +not only the author in tow, but the interesting stranger as well, to the +confounding of Jemima. Her voice came back through the darkness rather +wistfully.</p> + +<p>"Good-by. Wasn't it lucky you happened along in time?"</p> + +<p>"It was indeed!" they replied with one voice.</p> + +<p>"I hope," she called sweetly, "that you will think it necessary to come +and inquire about my health. That would be only polite, don't you +think?"</p> + +<p>They agreed with her.</p> + +<p>"There!" she said to Philip. "Didn't I do that nicely? Jemmy herself +couldn't have been more young lady-like. Do tell me how you happened to +know Mr. Farwell, and why you haven't introduced him to us? Didn't you +know we were wild to see him?"</p> + +<p>Benoix did not answer. His silence gave an effect of displeasure.</p> + +<p>She put her horse closer to his, and laid a coaxing hand on his arm. +"Why, Reverend Flip, I believe you are cross with me! What about—not +because I came to Henderson's rescue, surely? I couldn't let those men +get poor Mag's father! She said they would have killed him."</p> + +<p>Philip murmured, "Not such a bad thing if they did."</p> + +<p>"Philip! What did you say?"</p> + +<p>"I said," he replied mendaciously, "that you have behaved foolishly and +riskily, and with no dignity whatever. 'Young lady-like' indeed! Riding +about the country bareback, with your hair down, and your skirts above +your knees! What do you suppose those strange men thought of that?"</p> + +<p>"I think they liked it," she said candidly. "They looked as if they did. +You see neither of them is my spiritual pastor and master, so they don't +have to be shocked by me." She gave him a demure, sidelong glance.</p> + +<p>"I am not shocked either, you know that. Only—" said Philip.</p> + +<p>"Only you wish I were more like Jemmy," she pouted. "Stiff, and proper, +and prim—"</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to be like any one but yourself," he said warmly, and +paused. Suddenly he realized the change that was coming over this little +playmate of his, half child and half woman as she was. The woman was +beginning to predominate. He remembered her with Mag's baby, her almost +passionate tenderness, her precocious knowledge of the child's needs. He +remembered her manner with the two men they had just left, coquettish, +innocently provocative. It had startled him. Evidently, Jacqueline was +becoming aware of certain powers in herself which she was not averse to +practising upon whatever victims came to hand; even upon her spiritual +pastor and master.</p> + +<p>"Jacqueline," he said gravely, "you are growing up. You must remember +it. Why did you talk to a strange man like that?"</p> + +<p>She chuckled. "Like what?"</p> + +<p>"You know what I mean."</p> + +<p>"Well—because I wanted him to come and see us. He's a neighbor, and we +ought to be friends with him. And then—I'll tell you this, Philip, +because you're my chum—I wanted that author man to notice me! He +treated me like a silly child the last time. He won't again."</p> + +<p>"I see,"—Philip smiled in spite of himself. "Nevertheless, you can't be +too careful and dignified with strange men, dear."</p> + +<p>She recognized the change in his voice; a change that usually came soon +or late when people endeavored to scold Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>"Now you're nice again," she said with satisfaction, slipping her hand +into his. "You don't disapprove of me, anyway, half as much as you think +you do. You might kiss me, just to show it."</p> + +<p>He resisted gently. "No, my dear, you're getting too old for that."</p> + +<p>"Too old for what?" she cried out.</p> + +<p>"To kiss men. I told you you must be careful—"</p> + +<p>She burst out laughing. "But you're not 'men,' you old goose!" +Unexpectedly she jerked his head down to hers, and gave him a resounding +smack on the cheek. "There! I'm going to kiss people I love, men or +women, till I'm as old as Methuselah—'specially if they're cross with +me. You may as well get used to it.—Now kiss me back, nicely."</p> + +<p>Philip succumbed to the inevitable with as good grace as possible. He +wished, with a sigh, that this child of the woman he loved could remain +as she was forever; innocent, frank, unspoiled by the encroachment of +womanhood. Jacqueline was particularly dear to him, perhaps because of +her resemblance to her mother....</p> + +<p>They found the man Henderson in a whimpering heap at the foot of a tree, +about which his arms were still tied. Vigorous rubbing restored the +circulation to his wrists, and a few drops of whisky from Philip's +pocket-flask completed the restoration.</p> + +<p>"Now, then, you're able to walk. Go!" said Philip. "Get your things and +march. You were told to get out last night."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline looked at him in surprise. This sharp, cold voice was quite +unlike Philip's usual gentleness with the unfortunate.</p> + +<p>The man began to whimper and whine, "How kin I go? I ain't got no money, +and I ain't got the stren'th to walk. I'm jes' a pore ole man what don't +mean no harm to nobody. Take me along with you-all! I'm afeared the +Riders'll git me ag'in. I come back to see my darter, the onliest chile +I got in the worl'. I ain't got no other place to go at. The Madam won't +let a pore ole man suffer. I wants to see my darter."</p> + +<p>"Stop talking about your daughter!" interrupted Benoix, harshly, "I give +you five minutes to get your things together and bring me your key."</p> + +<p>"Why, Philip!" cried Jacqueline, hot with indignation. "Of course he's +in no condition to go now, after the scare he's had. The poor thing! +We'll take him home to Storm. Mother'll expect us to."</p> + +<p>Henderson fawned upon her eagerly. "Bless yore purty sweet face! You +won't let 'em git the ole man. That's right. Take me along with you to +see my darter." He put a wheedling hand on her arm.</p> + +<p>"You dare to touch that young lady—!" Philip spoke in a voice +Jacqueline had never heard, shaken with rage. He had a stout switch in +his hand. Suddenly, uncontrollably, he brought it down across the man's +shoulders again and again.</p> + +<p>Henderson cowered away from him. In less than the five minutes he had +been given, he was shuffling down the lane, all his worldly goods slung +over his shoulder in a handkerchief.</p> + +<p>Then Jacqueline's shocked astonishment burst bounds.</p> + +<p>"Why, Philip Benoix, you wicked, cruel man! To turn that poor old thing +out of his home without even giving him a chance to see his daughter! +And you struck him, too, struck him to hurt—you, a minister of the +Gospel! Oh, oh, you 're as bad as those 'Possum Hunters,' kicking a dog +when he's down. You, a man of peace!"</p> + +<p>"It seems," said Philip, ruefully, "that I am also a man of wrath."</p> + +<p>During the ride back to Storm both remained silent, Jacqueline nursing +with some difficulty her displeasure against her friend. So this was +Philip's famous temper, in which she had never quite believed! In truth, +that sudden outburst of inexplicable rage on the part of the grave, +quiet, young clergyman had appealed strongly to the love of brute force +that is inborn in all women.</p> + +<p>But it had frightened Philip himself. He realized for the first time +that he was indeed the son of a man who had killed in anger. He touched +more than once the little inconspicuous gold cross that hung at his +belt, wondering whether he were fitted after all for the vocation he had +chosen.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + + +<p>There stood, in the ravine which separated Storm hill from the property +that had formerly belonged to Jacques Benoix, a roofless, tumbledown +stone cabin which had been from childhood Jacqueline's own particular +playground, as sacred to her as the eyrie to her mother. She called it, +grandiloquently, the Ruin. The place had a sinister reputation, and was +sedulously avoided by both negroes and whites of the neighborhood; which +suited Jacqueline's purposes excellently. All dreamers feel the need of +a hidden place where they may retire, free from the gaze of a not too +sympathetic world; and the Ruin made a strong appeal to the imagination +of Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>If the place was haunted, as the neighborhood averred, it was perhaps +not without reason. The cabin had once been a slave-house where an +earlier Kildare kept certain human livestock to be fattened like hogs +for the market, overcrowding and neglecting them, however, as he would +not have dared to neglect and overcrowd hogs, so that the venture was +not altogether successful. Recently, workmen laying drainage pipes +through the ravine had uncovered a long trench filled with many bones, +ghastly witness to the folly of neglecting livestock, human or +otherwise. Cholera was the first ghost to haunt that spot, but it had +left others which were heard about the cabin on windy nights, moaning +and rattling chains and, because they were the ghosts of negroes, +singing.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline, unaware of this episode in the proud Kildare history, had +nevertheless been faithfully warned by the negroes of "ha'nts" in the +ravine, which added materially to her pleasure in the place. Not every +budding genius has at her private disposal a haunted ruin; and at this +period of her career Jacqueline was being a budding genius.</p> + +<p>Their mother had recently taken both girls to a near-by city for their +first taste of grand opera, completing the effect by the purchase of a +graphophone and opera records. Since that time Jacqueline had nourished +the more or less secret ambition of becoming the world's greatest +<i>diva</i>. She had taken to singing in church with an impassioned ardor +which startled, even while it titillated, the ear of the congregation. +As Mrs. Sykes put it, "Folks hadn't ought to sing hymns as if they was +love-songs, no matter how nice it sounds."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline had not taken her family, even her adored mother, entirely +into her confidence, having a shrewd conviction that her ambition would +meet with slight encouragement from them. Of late, since the disturbance +about Philip's father, both Jemima and her mother were too <i>distrait</i>, +too absorbed in their own affairs, to pay much attention to Jacqueline. +Whatever confidences trembled on her lips, remained unsaid. She felt +that they had more important things to think about. Once, indeed, she +had ventured to join her voice to that of the Victrola in the mad scene +from "Lucia," acting at the same time her conception of the part; and +her family, staring in amazement, had suddenly roared with laughter, the +first laughter heard in that house for many a day.</p> + +<p>So Jacqueline and her hurt dignity sought refuge in the Ruin, there to +rehearse her art hereafter untroubled by the jeers of an untemperamental +world. Her faithful audience and inseparable companion was Mag's baby, +who crowed and gurgled impartially over the woes of <i>La Tosca</i>, +<i>Camille</i> or <i>Manon</i>, having inherited the easy-going placidity of her +mother. Sometimes Kate, coming and going about her work, paused to +listen, smiling at the arias soaring up out of the ravine, and thought, +"It is a good thing that child has all outdoors at her disposal! +Whatever should I do with her between four walls?"</p> + +<p>Here, on the afternoon following her raid upon the raiders, Jacqueline +posed and strutted happily, making the welkin ring with the piteousness +of <i>Madame Butterfly</i>. From without came distant, languid, sounds of +late summer, grass-mowers whirring in the hay-meadows, a stallion +nickering in his stall for the freedom of the pasture, crickets and +katydids shrilling their cheerful dirge for the summer that was passing. +All of these sounds the girl knew and savored in the intervals between +her singing. Now and then a bird hopped down from the branches that hung +over the roofless cabin, and searched fearlessly for provender at her +very feet. Mag's baby, on a bed of moss and leaves, crooned to herself, +kicking fat legs toward heaven and clutching at stray sunbeams with +futile hands.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline broke off. "Oh, dear, I could sing so much better if somebody +would listen!" she complained aloud to the birds and the baby and the +world at large. "It takes two to make real music, a singer and a +listener."</p> + +<p>She began again. Suddenly, just outside, a very passable tenor took up +the air just where a tenor should. Jacqueline was startled but not +nonplussed; she had been hoping a miracle might occur that day. At +seventeen, the age of miracles has not passed. She finished her share of +the duet with a flourish, and on the last note of his, Percival Channing +appeared in the doorway.</p> + +<p>"Weren't we splendid together?" she greeted him. "Just like the +Victrola. Let's do it again!"</p> + +<p>They did it again, and afterwards shook hands in mutual congratulation.</p> + +<p>"What you said was quite true—music without some one to share it is +only half music," he remarked. "But whom did you say it to?" He looked +about him curiously.</p> + +<p>"Oh, to my familiars!" She waved an airy hand. "This place is haunted, +you know; but the ghosts run when they see a stranger.—You <i>do</i> make +unexpected appearances, Mr. Channing!"</p> + +<p>"Nothing compared with yours. The banister-rail, riding bareback 'out of +the night,' as the romantics love to say—But unexpected? Come now, Miss +Jacqueline—" he smiled quizzically—"surely you did expect me to +inquire for your health?"</p> + +<p>She dimpled. "Yes—but not quite so soon."</p> + +<p>"You do yourself an injustice!" He added, with an air of formality, "I +have come to make my dinner call. Is your mother at home?"</p> + +<p>"You know very well that she's away, because you heard Philip say so +last night! There's Jemima, though."</p> + +<p>"Is your sister at home?" he asked politely.</p> + +<p>"She's making pickle this afternoon, and she's always rather cross when +she makes pickle. But I'm sure she'll see you, if you wish."</p> + +<p>"I don't," said Channing.</p> + +<p>"I thought not," murmured Jacqueline, and made a place for him to sit +down beside her. "Look out—you'll squash the baby!"</p> + +<p>Channing jumped. "A baby? Beg pardon, infant—" he poked a finger toward +young Kitty, who promptly conveyed it to her mouth. "It's biting me," he +said plaintively. "Call it off—What are you doing with a baby?"</p> + +<p>"I'm winning it away from its mother so that she'll let me keep it for +good," said Jacqueline in confidence.</p> + +<p>"Humph! Rather a high-handed proceeding, that."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no—I don't think Mag really wants a baby much, not like I do. +She's fond of it in a way, just as cats are fond of their kittens; but +they soon outgrow it, you know. Why, once we had a cat who ate her +kittens!"</p> + +<p>"Shocking of her," said Channing.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it was because she didn't want to have them—any more than +Mag did. She never had a husband, you see, and that makes it so +awkward."</p> + +<p>"Meaning the cat?" murmured Channing.</p> + +<p>The author of erotic novels was rather pink about the gills. He wondered +how much of the girl's naïveté was natural and how much pose. On the +whole, judging from her antecedents and environment, he decided that it +was largely pose, but thought none the less of her for that. The +artificial always interested him more than the natural.</p> + +<p>He looked at the baby again with a certain distaste. He had heard from +Farwell the story of Mag's adoption into the Storm household, and it had +rather shocked him. What was the woman thinking of to surround her young +daughters with such influences? Naturally one would not expect prudery, +conventionality, from the mistress of Storm, but in his experience quite +<i>declasée</i> women guarded more carefully than this the morals of their +young.</p> + +<p>"I can't think why you want to keep the infant," he said.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline looked at him in surprise. "Why, she's perfectly sweet! Look +at her precious little curls, and her chubby feet, and all!" She +gathered the small Kitty up in her arms protectively. "Didn't the bad +old man admire her, then? Bless its heart! Just shows what a stupid he +is—Why, Mr. Channing, everybody wants a baby!"</p> + +<p>He murmured, "Yes? But in the natural course of events, surely—"</p> + +<p>"I might have some of my own, you mean? I hope so—oh, I do hope so! +Lots and lots of them. But I might not, you know. The natural course of +events doesn't always happen. I might be an old maid. Or I might be +wedded to my Art. 'A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.' Have +you ever thought how perfectly <i>awful</i> it would be to go through life +without any children at all?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Channing admitted that he had not, and changed the subject. "What +particular Art are you thinking of being wedded to?"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline looked at him reproachfully, hurt. "I should think you'd +know. Didn't you hear me practising?"</p> + +<p>The author did not smile. Crude and untrained as it was, he had +recognized in that young contralto a quality that made him start. He was +always very quick to recognize talent.</p> + +<p>"I was going to speak to you about that," he said seriously. "Do you +know that you have quite a remarkable voice, Miss Jacqueline?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I know it! But what's the use if nobody else does? A voice +with nobody to listen to it is—is like being pretty with nobody to tell +you so."</p> + +<p>"Does nobody tell you <i>that</i>?" he murmured.</p> + +<p>She dimpled again, flushing under his frank gaze. "They think I'm too +young for compliments! As for my voice, it's getting so strong that +Mummy and the Blossom are always saying to me, 'Not so loud.' If I let +it out in the house, they put their fingers in their ears. If I let it +out in church, Jemmy says I'm drowning the soprano—and so I am. What +can I do?"</p> + +<p>"Learn to use it," said Channing. "You must have lessons, of course."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've had them. The best singing-teacher in Lexington came here once +a week all last winter."</p> + +<p>"Lexington!" Channing smiled.</p> + +<p>"You think I ought to have one from Louisville or Cincinnati?" she asked +anxiously. "I didn't really seem to learn very much from the Lexington +one."</p> + +<p>Channing smiled again. "I'm afraid you won't get the sort of training +you need this side of Europe. Your mother must send you to Germany, or +at least to New York."</p> + +<p>She made a gesture of despair. "Then there's no use talking about it. +I'll never leave mother, never! I'll just have to go on practising out +here as best I can, with nobody to listen to me."</p> + +<p>"I'll listen to you," consoled Channing, "whenever you'll let me."</p> + +<p>"But you'll be going away soon."</p> + +<p>"Not very soon," he said. He did not add that he had decided on the +moment to remain Farwell's guest until he had exhausted this new +interest thoroughly. Channing was not the man to deny himself the luxury +of any passing sensation.</p> + +<p>He had found himself pleasurably wakeful during the night, thinking of +the picture the girl made as she rode into the glare of lamplight, +skirts and hair in disarray, laughing like a young Bacchante, the spirit +of youth and joy incarnate. Now he drew her out very skilfully, so that +he might watch the changing expressions on her vivid face as she talked, +or smiled, or bent broodingly over the child in her arms. Here, he +thought, was temperament as well as talent. Properly handled, the girl +had a career before her.</p> + +<p>Nor was his curiosity about her entirely impersonal. Channing, as a +rule, felt rather at a loss with girls. Occasionally in his work he +found it necessary to introduce the young person, chiefly by way of +contrast, and then he did extravagant justice to her rose-white flesh +and her budding curves, and got her as speedily as possible into the +arms of the villain; after which she became interesting. His natural +taste in heroines was for the lady with a past, preferably several +pasts. The blot on the woman's character was as piquant to him as the +mole upon her shoulder. He had spent an impressionable youth in Paris.</p> + +<p>But this Bouncing Bet of the Banister, as he had called her, this young +wildwoods creature with all the instincts and none of the experience of +his own class, gave an effect of warmth, of vitality, that thrilled him. +His gaze kindled as he watched her. She promised to be even lovelier +than she was, never as beautiful as the mother, perhaps, but quite +beautiful enough to be disturbing, with her soft, thick-lashed eyes, her +tender mouth, her slender, straight, finely molded body; no finished +product this, but a bit of virgin soul-clay waiting to be modeled; an +empty, exquisite vase waiting to be filled with life.</p> + +<p>He thought suddenly of that matchless nude of Ingres', "La Source." +Young Jacqueline Kildare might have posed for it.</p> + +<p>Percival Channing; at thirty-four, had moments of regretting that he had +not conserved his energies more carefully, been more truly "wedded to +his Art," to use the girl's quaint phrase. He felt latterly a little +stale, a little jaded and world-worn. It had occurred to him during the +night that contact with so vital a personality might refresh him, might +do for him what contact with the earth did for the giant Antæus. Indeed, +to his imagination she suggested the earth, field and pasture and wooded +stream, nature in her abundance, promise. She was the very essence of +this Kentucky, this half-tamed wilderness that he had come to study and +to portray.</p> + +<p>There is no more charming companion than your temperamentalist, when +once the spark is struck. Jacqueline for the first time in her life +enjoyed that most subtle flattery of being understood. Here was a +person, a thoroughly "grown-up" person, who did not pet and humor her, +and tease her as if she were a child; who on the other hand did not +demand of her the impossible formalities of young ladyhood. Famous +author as he was, he accepted her just as he found her, and liked her +that way. She compared him with Philip, always suggesting some change, +always trying to improve her; and after all Philip was nothing but a +country clergyman!</p> + +<p>When she had exhausted her own eager confidences, Mr. Channing paid her +the compliment of talking about himself. He made confidences in return. +She learned that he, like her, had suffered and was still suffering from +a lack of sympathy on the part of his family. They failed completely to +appreciate the necessities, the difficulties, of the artistic +temperament. In fact, he had practically given up his family, and was a +homeless wanderer upon the face of the earth, seeking his encouragement +among strangers.</p> + +<p>"But surely they must appreciate you now," cried Jacqueline. "Why, you +are famous!"</p> + +<p>He admitted it, rather sadly. "Famous—and lonely," he said.</p> + +<p>She gave him an impulsive hand by way of sympathy. "I'd be willing to be +lonely, if I could be famous. But I wouldn't be willing to have mother +lonely," she added. "I never could make up my mind to leave her here +alone."</p> + +<p>"Alone? But there's your sister."</p> + +<p>"No, there isn't. Not now. She's here, of course, but—" The girl's face +shadowed, but she did not explain. The shock of that terrible scene +between the two beings she loved best was a thing that did not bear +thinking of, much less speaking of. Sometimes at night she woke +trembling and sobbing with the memory of it, as from a nightmare. But by +day she put it from her determinedly, and tried to pretend that +everything was as it always had been in her home.</p> + +<p>"Have you told your mother about this ambition of yours?" he asked +curiously.</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "No. I've hinted, but they—they laughed at me, and +Jemmy said that it wouldn't be lady-like to go on the stage, even in +grand opera."</p> + +<p>Channing smiled. "The standards of the world, fortunately, vary somewhat +from the standards of rural Kentucky. Some of the greatest 'ladies' I +have known happened to be on the stage, and not always in grand opera."</p> + +<p>He went on to speak of various singers and actors and painters and +writers of his acquaintance, of studios and greenrooms, customs in +European countries, famous friendships between royalty and artists; and +she had her first glimpse of a world that made her own seem as barren +and desolate as some desert isle.</p> + +<p>Certain racial inheritances awoke in her and clamored. Her mother's +family had been people of culture and travel and wide social +affiliations. It had not occurred to her before that her life was +singularly empty. She would have said that her friends were legion. The +horses, the dogs, the negroes, the humbler country folk of the +neighborhood, the tenants on her mother's property—all accepted the +Madam's youngest daughter as one of themselves, and loved her +accordingly. But of intercourse with her own kind, she had none. Her +mother, Philip, Professor Thorpe, even Jemima—regarded Jacqueline as a +playful, happy, charming tomboy, whose sole duty in life was to amuse +herself and them. Philip, indeed, was beginning to observe the deeper +instincts stirring in her; but Charming was the first of her equals to +treat her quite as an equal, and the fact that she looked upon him as a +dazzlingly superior order of being made his recognition of her as a +kindred spirit a rather heady thing. Jacqueline was capable, as only +seventeen may be, of a vast and uncritical hero-worship, that gave with +both hands and never tired of giving.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she said at last, with a long sigh. "Listening to you is just like +reading the most exciting book, all about crowned heads, and far +countries, and society, and things like that. Jemmy ought to hear you. I +wonder why Professor Jim has never sent us any of your novels? He is +always giving us books."</p> + +<p>"I told you," remarked Charming, "that my family did not appreciate me."</p> + +<p>He was not quite sure whether it was a disappointment or a relief to +realize that this wide-eyed girl had not, after all, read his books.</p> + +<p>"Will you send me some?" she asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>"I will not," he said decidedly. "But if you care for verse—" he +hesitated.</p> + +<p>"What? You write poetry, too?" Jacqueline clasped her hands. "Recite +some for me at once!"</p> + +<p>He chose one of his less erotic sonnets, and spoke it well and simply, +with the diffidence which occasionally besets the most confident of +authors with regard to their own performances.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline listened dreamily. At last she said, "That's very musical. +I'd like to sing it."</p> + +<p>The comment pleased him exceedingly, musical phrases being his +specialty. "You shall," he said. "I'll set it to music for you."</p> + +<p>Her eyes opened wide. "You don't mean to say you're a composer as well +as an author and a poet, Mr. Charming? That's <i>too</i> much! It isn't +fair."</p> + +<p>He blushed quite boyishly. It is a curious fact that people are often +more avid of praise for the thing they cannot do, than for the thing +they can. Channing, who had met with no small success as a novelist, +secretly yearned to win impossible laurels as a composer of parlor +music. "Talents usually go in pairs," he said modestly.</p> + +<p>She commanded an instant performance, which he refused, explaining that +his songs were never written for men's voices. "They have no thrill, no +appeal. Who wants to hear a bull bellowing?"</p> + +<p>"Or a cow lowing, for that matter?" she laughed.</p> + +<p>"But that is very different. A cow lowing makes one think of twilight +and the home pastures, of little stumbling, nosing calves, of the +loveliest thing in life, maternity—"</p> + +<p>She smiled, drawing the sleeping Kitty close. "You can say things like +that, and yet you wonder why I want to keep this baby! You're a fraud, +Mr. Channing!"</p> + +<p>"A poet—The same thing," he murmured cynically. "We wear our sentiments +on our sleeves for publishers to peck at." (he made a mental note of +this epigram for future use.) "I've an idea! Suppose you run home with +me now and try over some of my songs, will you? There's a lot of stuff +that might interest you. I've got one of Farwell's machines down in the +road."</p> + +<p>"Go over to Holiday Hill in an automobile?" Her eyes sparkled. "But +could I take the baby?"</p> + +<p>His face fell. "Why—er—won't it have to be fed or something? I'm +afraid Farwell's bachelor establishment, complete as it is, offers no +facilities for the feeding of infants."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's a bottle baby," she said casually. "But perhaps you're +right—I'll take her up to the house.—No, if I do that, Jemmy'll want +to know where I'm going, and stop me."</p> + +<p>"Don't tell her."</p> + +<p>"You don't know Jemmy!—I have it. Lige shall come and get the baby."</p> + +<p>Cupping her hands about her mouth she let out a peculiar, clear yodel +that promptly brought an answering call from the top of the ravine. In +response to Jacqueline's peremptory, "Come here!" her faithful +lieutenant descended with manifest reluctance.</p> + +<p>Ten yards from the cabin he halted. "I dassent come no furder, Miss +Jacky, not for nobody," he pleaded.</p> + +<p>"Don't be a coward! The ha'nts won't hurt you. I come here every day, +and they never hurt me."</p> + +<p>"No 'm, reck'n dey knows dere place—Dey's culled ha'nts," explained +Lige, and stayed where he was.</p> + +<p>But as Jacqueline put the child in his arms, he suddenly let out a +frightened yell. "I sees smoke—oh, my Lawd! I sees smoke an' fire an' +brimstone comin' out'n dat cabin!" he gasped, and fled, clutching the +placid Kitty.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline chuckled. "He saw the smoke from your cigarette," she +explained to Channing. "Naturally he thought that it was a little +manifestation from hell for his benefit. He's got religion, you see. So +much the better. Now we'll never be disturbed here!"</p> + +<p>The "we" amused Channing. It was evident that he was expected to call +again at the Ruin.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + + +<p>It was an epoch-making afternoon for Jacqueline, and not the least part +of the enchantment was her first experience of automobiling. The +wheezing, coughing little equipage known to Professor Thorpe's friends +as the Ark had induced in her the belief that automobiles were a very +poor substitute for horses, and she scorned to enter it. But this +powerful, silent car of Farwell's, capable of such incredible speed and +yet controlled by a lever or a button quite as easily as she herself +could have handled a horse—it gave her the feeling that she was riding +a tamed whirlwind.</p> + +<p>"Nice car, isn't it? I like it best of all Farwell's machines. It is to +be mine while I'm here," said Channing.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say Mr. Farwell owns more than one of them?" asked +Jacqueline, awed. "How in the world did he ever get to be so rich? He's +an artist, isn't he? And I thought artists were never rich."</p> + +<p>"It depends upon the kind of art. Farwell gives the people what they +want, which always pays."</p> + +<p>"He must sell a lot of pictures to buy a machine like this!"</p> + +<p>"Pictures!" He turned and stared at her. "Why, I don't believe you know +who he is!" He chuckled. "What a blow for Morty! I must tell him that +there's actually a girl in America who doesn't recognise him on sight. +He is <i>the</i> Farwell—Mortimer Farwell himself, my dear."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline looked blank.</p> + +<p>"What, never even heard of him? Mortimer Farwell is—or was—the most +popular matinée idol on the stage. He's resting on his laurels at +present, but I don't think he will rest long. Between you and me, he +misses the footlights."</p> + +<p>"On the stage! You mean he's an actor? And I'm going to his house! What +<i>will</i> Jemmy say when she hears of this?" Jacqueline looked rather +alarmed.</p> + +<p>Channing said, much amused, "Actors don't bite, my dear child. Farwell's +a gentleman. And I am here to protect you."</p> + +<p>She still felt uneasy. Her experience of actors had been confined to the +barn-stormers who occasionally drifted into the nearest town and out +again as speedily as possible. Though the theatres of Frankfort and +Lexington were only a few hours away, they belonged to the life Mrs. +Kildare shunned.</p> + +<p>"At least he's married," murmured Jacqueline with some relief. "Is she +on the stage, too? Will I like her?"</p> + +<p>"His wife? Oh, Mrs. Farwell never comes here, you know. It's a bachelor +place. That's why he calls it Holiday Hill."</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" she said, puzzled. "Don't they like each other, then?"</p> + +<p>"Very much, I believe. It's an extremely comfortable arrangement. She +makes her engagements, he makes his; all very friendly and no questions +asked. Quite the ideal match."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline looked doubtful. "But what about the children?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, there aren't any children, of course. Fancy May Farwell with +children!"</p> + +<p>"But if people are going to live that way, what is the use of getting +married?"</p> + +<p>"There is none," said Channing, earnestly. "Believe me, there is none. +Many have made that discovery. I mean to profit by their example."</p> + +<p>"You mean never to marry at all?" asked Jacqueline, and sighed a little; +so far and fast does maiden fancy roam once it slips the leash.</p> + +<p>Channing was not unaware of that sigh, and not displeased by it. But +what he did fail to notice was the smile that immediately succeeded it; +a demure and secret smile which said more plainly than words, "We shall +see, Mr. Percival Channing! We shall see!"</p> + +<p>The word "forbidden" had always upon young Jacqueline an opposite effect +to that intended.</p> + +<p>Hours passed as if on wings. Farwell, so they were informed by a correct +man-servant at the door, was away for the afternoon and evening, so that +they had the house to themselves. Jacqueline went from room to beautiful +room of the bachelor establishment, lost in admiration of the +ivory-paneled walls, the charming pictures, the delicate French +furniture and brocade hangings of the bedrooms, each with a marble bath +attached that was luxurious enough for a Roman emperor.</p> + +<p>"To think of just a man having things like this!" she marveled.</p> + +<p>It was her first glimpse of luxury, a thing unknown to the rough and +simple comfort of Storm. Vaguely it oppressed her. She felt shy for the +first time in her life, self-conscious. It seemed to her that her +gestures were awkward, her voice too big and crude. Channing detected +the chagrin in her expressive face, and had the tact to lure her into +the music room, where she forgot herself entirely.</p> + +<p>Music was far more of a passion with the girl than Kate Kildare was +capable of realizing. She had done what she could to cultivate in both +her daughters a taste that had been in her day part of the education of +every lady. She herself enjoyed music, and she intended to supplement +their singing and piano lessons with occasioned visits to Cincinnati to +hear grand opera. There was an excellent musical library at Storm, and +the best records to be had for the graphophone were sent to her +regularly. She felt that from a musical standpoint she was doing her +full duty by her children.</p> + +<p>Of the physical reaction that music produces in some finely strung +temperaments, Kate knew nothing at all. Jacqueline's was a nature +similar to hers, but far less balanced, and lacking as yet an outlet for +its abounding energy. There were possibilities in her which would have +startled the mother, had she guessed them.</p> + +<p>Percival Channing, with his carefully developed flair for character +study, guessed them from the first. Susceptibility to musical +intoxication was a thing which he understood, a thing to which he +himself was more or less subject. He knew the danger and the value of +it. Without some such susceptibility, he believed, artistic +accomplishment was not possible. He had been thrown much into the +company of singers, players, painters, people whose profession was the +charming of a capricious public, and he saw in the girl many of the +requisites for success—not only the voice, so far unspoiled by bad +training, but the sensitiveness, the beauty, even the splendid physical +strength necessary to that most strenuous of all professions, operatic +singing. It flattered his vanity to realize that he was the discoverer +of a possible celebrity.</p> + +<p>Song after song they tried together, Channing playing the +accompaniments. He played well, and made the most of rather faulty +music. Jacqueline thought the songs wonderful. It was her introduction +to the sensuous, discordant harmonies of Strauss and de Bussy, of whom +Channing was an ardent disciple. They puzzled and stirred her oddly.</p> + +<p>Now and then as she leaned over Channing's shoulder to interpret the +difficult manuscript score, he glanced up to meet her eyes, no longer +merry and mischievous as was their wont, but curiously somber, languid. +He saw that she was giving herself to music as an opium eater surrenders +to the drug he loves, indifferent to her surroundings, unaware of them, +perhaps; but not unaware of him. It was to him she sang, however +unconsciously. Jacqueline had found the audience she needed, and she was +singing as she had never sung in her life before.</p> + +<p>It was with some difficulty that Channing kept his attention on the +score.</p> + +<p>Unnoticed, the long August twilight had come into the room, and a +servant shut it out unobtrusively with silken curtains. Later he +returned and announced dinner. Jacqueline's eyes opened suddenly as if +from sleep.</p> + +<p>"What did he say?" she asked.</p> + +<p>The servant cleared his throat and repeated, "Dinner is served."</p> + +<p>"Dinner?" Jacqueline started. "You mean supper? Why, it's dark, and the +candles are lighted! Mr. Channing, what time is it? Goodness, I must +hurry! Mother'll be home by this time."</p> + +<p>"Please, no," he protested. "I took the liberty of telling the servants +you would dine with me to-night. Why not, Miss Jacqueline? Do take pity +on my loneliness. Farwell does not return till to-morrow."</p> + +<p>She hesitated, longingly. "It would be fun."</p> + +<p>"Of course it would. And perfectly harmless. Farwell's servants are +discreet. He has trained them. Nobody need know."</p> + +<p>But it was not any doubts of propriety that made her hesitate. For +Jacqueline, conventions did not exist. Moreover, the breaking of bread +seemed too natural and simple a thing to take with any seriousness. It +was her democratic custom to present herself for a meal at any table +near which the meal hour happened to find her. Farmers, tenants, even +negroes in the field, had on occasion proudly shared their bacon and +corn-pone with the Madam's youngest daughter.</p> + +<p>"It's Mother," she explained, "She has just come home, and I haven't +seen her for three days. If I am not there to pet her and make a fuss +over her, she will miss me, and worry.—No," she corrected herself, +"Mother never worries, but she'll wonder. I must go."</p> + +<p>"There's to be a rum cake," murmured Channing, craftily. "And—do you +like champagne?"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline's eyes sparkled. "I've never tasted it, or rum cake either. I +<i>would</i> like to—" her eyes wandered wistfully toward the dining-room. +"Suppose I telephone and ask Mother whether she'd mind?"</p> + +<p>"If you do that, she's sure to mind. Mothers always do. Besides, think +of the firm sister. Do you suppose she'll consent to your dining in a +strange actor's house? Never!"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline tossed her head. "It's none of Jemmy's business. She's only +two years older than I am.—Besides, I needn't tell her where I've been, +need I?"</p> + +<p>Channing had accomplished his purpose.</p> + +<p>The girl's hunger for the things that were to him matters of everyday, +touched him. She stood a moment in the door of the dining-room, gazing +in delight at the long carven oak table, with Florentine candelabra at +each end and a strip of filet across the center, at either side of which +their plates were laid, separated by a vase of white alabaster, holding +a few hothouse roses, crimson as blood. Untrained as her eyes were, they +appreciated the æsthetic at sight.</p> + +<p>"It is all so different," she said with a little sigh. "The very food is +different, and beautiful."</p> + +<p>"Farwell does himself very well at what he calls his little backwoods +farmhouse. But why the sigh?"</p> + +<p>"Because—" she looked away shyly, then looked at him again. "I was +thinking that I don't belong in this sort of place, and—and you do."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" He leaned across the table, and laid his hand on hers. "You +belong wherever things are most beautiful, my dear. As for environment, +you can make it what you choose," he said. "Don't you realize that? +Whatever you choose, Jacqueline."</p> + +<p>"Can I?" Her eyes met his in a long gaze. The languor of the music was +still in them, but he saw another expression growing there, a grave and +womanly sweetness. "I wonder—" The hand under his turned so that the +warm fingers clasped his.</p> + +<p>At that moment the discreet servant entered with a small bottle wrapped +in a napkin. Channing withdrew his hand abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Of course you can!" he smiled and lifted a glass shaped like a lily, +filled with sparkling gold. "To your future career!" he said, and drank.</p> + +<p>She echoed the toast, "To my future career."</p> + +<p>Perhaps the career she had in mind was not entirely an operatic one, +however.</p> + +<p>Very shortly afterwards, he took her home. She went rather reluctantly, +glancing in at the music-room with a wistful sigh. But he was adamant. +He had no idea of arousing maternal watchfulness.</p> + +<p>"I wish we had time for a little more music," she said.</p> + +<p>"We shall have a great deal more music before we are done with each +other, little girl," he assured her.</p> + +<p>She answered naïvely, "But it will never be quite like this again. The +next time I come, Mr. Farwell will probably be here."</p> + +<p>Channing laughed. "I can promise you he won't! Morty's an awfully good +sort, and not keen on music. We shall have his music-room to ourselves +whenever we like."</p> + +<p>She nestled against him in the machine confidingly, feeling the reaction +of the day's excitement, and perhaps of the champagne, to which Basil +Kildare's daughter had taken very kindly.</p> + +<p>"I feel so tired all of a sudden," she murmured. "Do you mind if I put +my head on your shoulder?"</p> + +<p>Channing did not mind. "Make yourself comfortable!"</p> + +<p>She lay there, gazing up happily at the stars that were beginning to +show in the wide curve of the sky, and singing under her breath,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"When you come to the end of a perfect day—"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"I wish," she said presently, half to herself, "that this day could just +have gone on forever."</p> + +<p>Channing did not answer. He was beginning to congratulate himself on the +self-control that kept his hands to the steering-wheel. Jacqueline, +drowsy and sweet as a tired child, was rather hard to resist; but +Channing had certain inconvenient ideas as to the duties of a host and a +gentleman, ideas that were the sole remnant of a careful New England +upbringing.</p> + +<p>She lapsed into contented silence, and they did not speak again until +they reached the foot of Storm hill. There Channing stopped his car.</p> + +<p>"Wake up, and run along home now, little girl," he said, his voice more +tender than he meant it to be.</p> + +<p>She roused herself and smiled at him, a wonderful, wide smile. She was +very grateful to this new friend of hers for his sympathy, his +understanding, grateful for the glimpse he had given her of a world +hitherto unguessed, grateful for the look in his eyes at that moment.</p> + +<p>"I do wish," she said, holding out both hands, "that I knew how to—to +thank you!"</p> + +<p>Channing's admirable self-control slipped a cog. He took the hands. "I +can show you how to thank me," he said, quite hoarsely for a mere +collector of impressions.</p> + +<p>She jerked her hands away, dimpling, and jumped out of the car. The +imminent prospect of being kissed had not shocked her—in fact, she was +rather surprised that she had not been kissed before. But she had her +instincts of the sex that flees. So she turned and ran, neither very +fast nor very far—</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" she whispered presently against Channing's lips, "what would +old Philip say to this? He told me I couldn't be too careful with +strange men. I'm not being <i>very</i> careful, am I?"</p> + +<p>"Damn Philip! Kiss me again," said the author.</p> + +<p>Breathless and radiant, she ran her blithe way up the dark hill road. +She had been hungry for other things than music and sympathy and +friendship, this youngest of the wild Kildares of Storm.</p> + +<p>Her mother was standing in the door, Philip Benoix beside her.</p> + +<p>"There you are, Jacky girl! I was just about to send Philip out to find +you, gadabout. Have you had any supper?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, Mummy darling, I took some with me." It was the first lie of +Jacqueline's life, and the ease with which it came surprised her. She +ran into her mother's arms and hugged her close. "Oh, Mummy, I am so +happy, happy!"</p> + +<p>"There, there," murmured Kate, moved. "Glad to have me home again, my +precious? But you needn't crack my ribs in your belated ardor. Where +have you been so late?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, just roaming around," she said vaguely. "The twilight was so +lovely."</p> + +<p>"Little dreamer!" Sighing, she knew not why, Kate drew the glowing face +to her own.</p> + +<p>But for once Jacqueline of the eager lips turned her cheek, so that her +mother's kiss should not disturb the memory of certain others.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + + +<p>If Mrs. Kildare's eyes had been of their usual observant keenness in +those days, she could not have failed to notice the change in +Jacqueline; a new loveliness, a sudden bursting into bloom of the +womanhood that had lain hidden in the bud. Her eyes took on a starry +softness quite different from their usual glint of mischief, the rich +blood in her cheeks came and went with her thoughts, her very hair had a +sort of sheen upon it like the luster on the wings of pigeons in the +spring. Blossom time, that comes once in life to every woman, with its +perilous short gift of the power that moves the world, had come in turn +to Jacqueline. It is a moment when a girl most needs her mother; but +Kate's thoughts were elsewhere.</p> + +<p>People were saying among themselves, "The Madam's beginning to show her +age." But they could not have said in just what way she showed it. There +was no diminution of her tireless energy; she rode her spirited horses +with the same supple ease; no pallor showed in her warm cheeks; no lines +in the broad space between her brows; no gray in the glinting chestnut +of her hair, as abundant and as splendidly vital as Jacqueline's own. +The change was as subtle as the change in Jacqueline; yet many people +spoke of it.</p> + +<p>Sometimes on the road she passed acquaintances without seeing them; or +in the midst of some important conversation, they became aware that she +was listening only with her eyes. She spent much time under the juniper +tree, sitting idle, her gaze fixed on the shadow over the distant +penitentiary, which it had for years avoided. When that shadow hung over +Jacques Benoix, her thoughts had at least known where to seek him, as +the Moslem when he prays turns toward the east. Now her thoughts had no +Mecca. They sought him homeless throughout the world.</p> + +<p>Unused to introspection as she was, Kate had made a discovery about +herself. Of the two types of strong-hearted women created, the +mother-type and the lover-type, she would have said that she belonged +indubitably to the former; that hers was a life led chiefly for and in +her children. Now she knew that it was not so. Her work for them, her +absorption in their welfare, their property and education and +character—what were these but so much makeshift to fill the empty years +until Jacques came to her?</p> + +<p>She had been so sure, so passionately sure, that he would come to her. +Vitality, beauty, youth, she had deliberately hoarded for him, like +precious unguents to be poured out at his feet. What was she for but to +atone to him for the bitterness that life had brought him, through her +fault? Since he rejected her, of what use was she in the world?</p> + +<p>A strange restlessness came over her, a feeling of waste, of +unfulfilment. She was so intensely alive, so eager, so sentient—surely +there must be some purpose for her yet in life; not as the mistress of +Storm, not as the mother of Basil Kildare's daughters, but as herself, +Kate, the woman. She tried to explain this restlessness to Philip, +always her confidant, content for the present with any rôle that brought +him in contact with her; faithfully, as his father had hidden him, +biding his time.</p> + +<p>"What am I for?" was her cry. "What is the use of me, Philip?"</p> + +<p>For weeks she did not give up hope of Jacques' relenting, but it was a +hope in which Philip did not encourage her. He recognized his father's +decision as final, even as wise and just; though his heart was torn +between pity and admiration for a man who was capable of such sacrifice. +And he understood his dear lady better, far better, than she understood +herself.</p> + +<p>But if this new unrest of hers kindled certain hopes which he had never +before dared to entertain, love taught him to offer her nothing now but +comfort, the comfort of devoted friendship. It was a thing she sorely +needed, for Kate had lost, and knew it, not only the man she loved, but +her daughter Jemima.</p> + +<p>The relations between them were evident to all observers: on the girl's +part a scrupulous, cold courtesy; on the mother's, wistful and tentative +efforts to please that would have touched any heart less youthfully hard +than Jemima's. Kate's was a nature too great to harbor resentment. Grief +had obliterated, almost as soon as it was born, her anger at the girl's +treachery in writing to Benoix; if indeed anything so open and frank as +Jemima's act could be called treachery.</p> + +<p>The doctor had hardly left after Kate's unprecedented fainting attack, +when the girl confessed: "Mother, I think you ought to know that I +myself wrote to Dr. Benoix advising him not to come to this house. I +told him that if he did so I should leave you."</p> + +<p>"Is that all you told him?" asked Kate. "Did you tell him the terms of +your father's will?"</p> + +<p>The girl flushed. "Certainly not, Mother. That would not have been quite +fair, when you had promised to make good any loss that came to +Jacqueline and me through your marriage. I think," she said, "that you +may always count upon me to be quite fair."</p> + +<p>Kate nodded, wearily. It was true, Jemima was always fair.—She thought, +"This was the baby Jacques loved"—who had clung to him as she never +clung to her own father, who had listened as eagerly as she herself +listened for the pit-a-patter of his racking horse, who had refused to +be consoled when he passed without stopping. This was the baby, this +stern, hard-eyed young girl, who had been their constant companion in +the days of their unspoken love, equally dear to both of them, lavishing +upon both her impartial ardors. Does memory only commence with thought, +then? Do the loves through which we pass from cradle to grave disappear +without leaving even a tenderness to show where they have been?</p> + +<p>Jemima's throat contracted with hate at the very mention of Jacques' +name. Had she learned so suddenly, perhaps, to hate her mother, too?</p> + +<p>Nothing more was said of the girl's leaving home. She remained in her +mother's house, but without capitulation. It was "her mother's house" +now, no longer home. She was one of those proud, not ignoble natures +whose affection is entirely dependent upon respect. Her mother had been +the great figure in her rather narrow life, object of a silent, +critical, undemonstrative affection which was the furthest possible +remove from Jacqueline's or Kate's own idea of love, but which in its +way amounted to hero-worship. When Kate with her own lips destroyed her +daughter's faith in her, she had unwittingly destroyed an idol.</p> + +<p>The moral lapse to which she admitted was as incomprehensible to this +cool and level-headed observer of nineteen as actual sin. She realized +that her mother had been unfaithful to her father—whether literally or +spiritually did not matter—and that instead of repenting she was +prepared to augment her unfaithfulness by putting in her husband's place +the man who had killed him. These were the facts that stood out before +her in all their naked horror, and it was impossible for her temperament +to find either palliation or excuse.</p> + +<p>The tragedy of the discovery left its mark upon young Jemima. Her lips +retained permanently a certain cold fixity, that reminded more than one +person who remembered him of Basil Kildare, and it was significant that +she was never called again by her old pet-name of "the Apple-Blossom."</p> + +<p>Kate made many efforts to break down the barrier between them, efforts +which Philip and even the unobservant Jacqueline found piteous. But they +did not touch Jemima. She turned to the girl often for advice—a new and +strange thing indeed for the Madam; discussed business matters with her, +asked her opinion with a deference that would once have flattered Jemima +immensely. Now she responded politely, with forced interest, as if she +were a guest in her mother's house.</p> + +<p>Kate asked once, "What about those parties you were going to have, dear? +Surely you have not given up the social campaign?"</p> + +<p>"No, Mother," answered the girl, "I don't often give things up, you +know."</p> + +<p>Kate did know. Neither had Basil Kildare often "given things up."</p> + +<p>She went on with some effort, "I've been thinking lately over some of +the good times we used to have when I was a girl. Those of us who lived +outside of town, as you do, used to invite the others to +house-parties—only we did not call them 'house-parties' in those days, +or 'week-ends.' We called it 'staying all night.' Why shouldn't you and +Jacky have young people out to stay all night? There's room enough for +dozens of them at a time, and plenty of horses to ride. Boys and girls +don't need much in the way of amusement except each other." She paused. +"What do you say, daughter—shall I have a bathroom or two put into the +guest-wing, and some fresh papers and curtains, and make it all ready +for company again?"</p> + +<p>"That would be very nice, Mother," said the girl, slowly, "only, you +see, we don't know any young people to invite."</p> + +<p>"I've thought of that, too!" Kate spoke with an eagerness more pathetic +than tears. "Of course many of those boys and girls I used to know have +boys and girls of their own now. It's many years since I've seen them, +but—I think they won't all have forgotten me. If you like, I'll write +and ask some of them to let their children visit us?"</p> + +<p>If Jemima had any knowledge of the wincing courage this offer cost, she +did not show it. "You're very kind to think of it," she said, "but I +believe it will be better if Jacqueline and I make our own friends now, +thank you."</p> + +<p>Cut to the quick, Kate made no further effort to promote the social +campaign. But it went on without her.</p> + +<p>One evening Professor Thorpe, after his weekly supper at Storm, followed +her into her office with an air of mingled embarrassment and importance.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear!" she thought. "It's coming again."</p> + +<p>But she was mistaken. He had a proposal of another sort to make; in fact +an announcement.</p> + +<p>"I am about to give an entertainment," he said, clearing his throat. "A +party. A dancing party."</p> + +<p>She looked at him in amazement. "You? A dancing party?"</p> + +<p>"Why not? It is to be for your girls, and I shall expect you to chaperon +it."</p> + +<p>She threw back her head and laughed aloud. "Dear old Jim! I should be as +much out of place in a ballroom now as—as a plow horse. But the girls +will be overjoyed. How did you happen to evolve such an idea?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't. It—er—was evolved for me. Jemima—"</p> + +<p>Kate sobered. "I might have known it, Jim! I cannot have you so imposed +upon. You must not undertake such a thing."</p> + +<p>"But I wish to," he insisted stoutly. "I am very much obliged to Jemima +for thinking of it. It is quite true, as she says, that I am under +obligation to many people who have been most kind to me. It is true also +that I have joined a country club, more by way of encouraging an +infant—er—industry than with any idea of pleasure to myself. But, as +Jemima says, when one joins a club one should patronize it. She tells me +that it will be quite possible to make a dancing man of me with a few +weeks' practice, and that in her opinion exercise and young society are +what is needed to—er—to round out my individuality. Jemima is +doubtless right—she usually is. So I shall issue invitations to a +dancing party at the Country Club, preceded by dinner, as is customary."</p> + +<p>Kate laughed again, but with dim eyes. The stanch devotion of this +gentle, kindly scholar was a thing she found very touching. "Dear old +Slow-poke!"—she used the name she and her livelier companions had +given him in the days when he was the dull and quiet one among her +followers. "So you are going to play sponsor to my children once more!"</p> + +<p>Both fell silent, remembering the day when he had followed her down the +aisle of the church that meant home to her, under the blank, icy stare +of an entire congregation. He lifted her hand to his lips.</p> + +<p>"Jim, I am afraid," she said suddenly. "Women—you know how cruel they +can be! Suppose they choose to punish my children for my sins?" With a +fierce upwelling of the maternal instinct, she dreaded to let her young +go out of her own protection, out of the safe obscurity she had made for +them.</p> + +<p>He reassured her as best he could, reminding her of the years that had +passed, and of her daughters' charm. "Why, those girls would bring their +own welcome anywhere! They are exquisite."</p> + +<p>"You are prejudiced, Jim, dear."</p> + +<p>He admitted it without shame. "But those young men I brought here to +supper—they are not prejudiced, Kate, and I assure you they dog my +footsteps begging to be brought again."</p> + +<p>"Oh, men!—I am never afraid of men. It is the women I dread."</p> + +<p>"Then we won't have any women," cried the Professor.</p> + +<p>Kate smiled. "Oh, yes, you will! Jemima has read about chaperons in +novels. She'll see to that."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't I be a sufficient chaperon?"</p> + +<p>"You can't be a chaperon and a dancing man as well," she teased him. +"Take your choice. Oh, I foresee a strenuous career ahead of you, my +friend! Think of the invitations, and the decorations, and the favors, +and the menu!"</p> + +<p>"I had not thought of it in detail," admitted the Professor, rather +nervously. "You—you alarm me. Still, I shall go through with it."</p> + +<p>"You will indeed, with Jemima at the helm," she murmured. "You poor +lamb! Perhaps the famous nephew will be of some assistance? I dare say +he knows a good deal about balls, and things of that sort."</p> + +<p>"Unfortunately, J. Percival is no longer my guest"—the Professor spoke +a little stiffly. "At present he is visiting your neighbor Mr. Farwell, +at Holiday Hill—an old acquaintance, I understand. You have seen +nothing of him?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "We do not know Mr. Farwell, and we are rather +simple folk to appeal to the literary palate."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said the other dubiously. "I should not call Jemima, for +instance, exactly a simple person. Look out for him, Kate!"</p> + +<p>She raised her eyebrows. "You speak as if your famous nephew were a +ravening wild wolf, Jim!"</p> + +<p>"He's worse—He's a—temperamentalist," said the other, grimly. It was +not the word he had started to use.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + + +<p>The old hall of Storm, with its memories of many a wild festivity, had +never served as background for a prettier sight than Jemima and +Jacqueline Kildare, coming shyly down the steps in their first +ball-dresses, followed by a girl in gingham, equally young and pretty, +with an anxious proprietary eye upon the hang and set of their fineries.</p> + +<p>"Don't you hug 'em, please, Miss Kate," warned this girl as they +descended. "Tulle musses so easy."</p> + +<p>There was a long "A-ah!" of delight from the foot of the stairs, where +the entire household was assembled, to the youngest pickaninny from the +quarters. Jemima, exquisite and fragile as a snow-spirit in her white +tulle, descended with the queenly stateliness that seems possible only +to very small women; but Jacqueline, pink as a rose, flushed and dewy as +if she had just been plucked from the garden, took the final steps with +a run and landed in her mother's arms, despite Mag's warning.</p> + +<p>"Aren't we perfectly grand?" she demanded. "Did you ever see <i>anything</i> +as beautiful as us? See my gloves—almost as long as my arms! And my +neck doesn't look so awfully bony, does it? There's lots of it, anyway, +and it's white." She inflated her chest to full capacity, and looked +around the circle for approval. Philip was there, as well as Professor +Thorpe, who had come to fetch them in the Ark. Each had boxes in their +hands.</p> + +<p>"O-oh!" cried Jacqueline in delight. "Presents! What have you brought +us?"</p> + +<p>Professor Thorpe's boxes proved to contain flowers, and Philip presented +to each of them a charming antique fan.</p> + +<p>"Why, Reverend! How did you know girls used such things? It must be your +French blood cropping out."</p> + +<p>"I found them among mother's things," he explained, "and I knew she +would like you to have them."</p> + +<p>The girl sobered, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Jemima thanked +him quietly, and laid her fan on a table. Philip and Kate exchanged a +quick glance of understanding. It was evident that she meant to accept +nothing from a Benoix. Young Jemima Kildare was of the stuff that makes +the Kentucky blood-feuds possible.</p> + +<p>There was an awkward pause, broken by Professor Thorpe. "We ought to be +starting, I think. The Ark, while willing, has its little weaknesses, +and it would not do for my guests to arrive and find neither host nor +guests of honor present."</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment," said Kate. "I, too, have presentations to make."</p> + +<p>She produced two white velvet boxes bearing the name of a famous New +York jeweler.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what pretty little pinky-white beads!" cried Jacqueline, clasping +hers about her throat and prancing to a mirror to observe the effect.</p> + +<p>Jemima examined hers, and then looked quickly at her mother.</p> + +<p>"Are they pearls?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Kate. "Small ones, but a good investment, I think. Some day +when you're older, girlies, perhaps you'll like to remember that your +mother earned the money that bought them." She spoke to both of them, +but it was to Jemima that her unconscious plea was made.</p> + +<p>The older girl hesitated. Then she murmured, "Thank you, Mother. They +are beautiful," and fastened them about her throat.</p> + +<p>Kate gave a little sigh of relief, echoed by James Thorpe. Both had +feared for a moment that she would refuse her mother's gift as she had +refused Philip's.</p> + +<p>"Come, come," said Professor Thorpe, "we really must start. Two hours' +drive before us!"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline clung to her mother. "Oh, if you were only coming too, Mummy! +If you only were! Just say the word, and I won't go. Why, you'll be here +alone, Mummy, darling, alone all night! You'll miss us <i>dreadfully</i>. +What do I care about beaux and balls. I'd rather be with you than with +any one else in the world—<i>Almost</i> any one else," she added honestly, +flushing.</p> + +<p>Kate laughed, and pushed her away. "Mag is looking daggers at us. We +mustn't crumple that finery any more, precious.—Remember not to talk at +the top of your lungs.—Have you got a pocket-handkerchief?"</p> + +<p>She followed them out to the waiting automobile, smiling; but Philip +noticed that her lips moved now and then silently, and he suspected that +she was praying. He was right. It was the first time in their lives that +her children had gone out of her own protection.</p> + +<p>Mag shrouded them in long dust garments, tucked the robes about them +solicitously, having first wrapped each white-slippered foot in tissue +paper. The passionate interest of the girl in the pleasures of these +other girls, pleasures she could never hope to share, struck two at +least of the onlookers as a rather piteous thing.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, good-by!" Jacqueline leaned out to throw last kisses +impartially. "How I wish you were coming too, Mag and Mummy and Phil, +you dears! I'll remember everything to tell you, compliments, and all, +and dresses especially, Mag. I'll bring home all the goodies I can stuff +into my pockets, too—oh, dear, there aren't any pockets to a ball +dress! Never mind—I'll put 'em in Goddy's pockets. Good-by! When next +you see us, we'll be real young ladies."</p> + +<p>Kate stood gazing after them as wistfully as Mag, both following with +their thoughts two happy young adventurers into a happy world forever +closed to themselves. "You'd like to be going to a ball yourself, +wouldn't you?" said she, to the girl beside her.</p> + +<p>"Would I? Oh, my Gawd! <i>Would</i> I?" gasped Mag, and ran into the house.</p> + +<p>The repressed intensity of the reply startled Mrs. Kildare. She looked +at Philip. "Did you hear that? I wonder if the girl isn't happy here."</p> + +<p>The past few months had done a great deal for Mag Henderson's body, +whatever they had accomplished for her soul. Maternity had developed her +lissome figure into beautiful lines; health, the result of care and good +feeding, colored her lips and her cheeks and her pretty, shallow eyes; +she had learned not only the trick of dressing becomingly, but of +keeping her hair, her hands, and her feet as neat as those of a lady. +Even her voice had lost something of its uncouth drawl, and its lazy +softness had a charm of its own. She was very imitative.</p> + +<p>For some time Philip had been aware that his lady's protégée was +developing into an attractive young woman.</p> + +<p>"You say she seems devoted to the child?" he asked thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"I think so, yes. She is always making clothes for the baby, and playing +with it, and petting it—when Jacqueline will let her. But,"—Kate +sighed faintly—"maternity isn't enough for all women, it seems."</p> + +<p>It was such remarks as this that gave Philip his strong hope for the +future.</p> + +<p>But now he put himself aside to consider the problem of Mag Henderson. +From the first he had foreseen that it was not a problem to be handled +as simply as Kate thought to handle it. The psychological instinct of +the priest was very strong in him—doubtless there had been many a good +curé of souls among past generations of Benoixes, professing an older +faith than his. In moments of clear vision that came to him he battled, +as all thinkers must battle, with a great discouragement, a sense of +helplessness that was almost terrifying. Of what use man's puny human +endeavors against the forces of predestination arrayed against him—the +forces of heredity, temperament, opportunity?</p> + +<p>Mag Henderson cost him a wakeful night; and from her his thoughts kept +straying oddly and unaccountably to Jacqueline, little Jacqueline, his +playmate and pupil and chum, with her mischievous, daredevil impulses +and her generous heart. He jerked his thoughts back angrily to poor Mag +Henderson.</p> + +<p>Why should he bracket the two together thus, the one a weed shooting up +in a neglected fence corner, the other the loveliest and most lovingly +tended blossom in a garden?—why, indeed, except that both were come, +weed and flower alike, to the period of their blooming.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + + +<p>Kate's thoughts, too, were busy with her young adventurers into the +world, throughout a wakeful night; only her anxieties did not concern +themselves with Jacqueline. A nature so trusting, so unconscious, so +bubbling over with friendliness toward all mankind, could not fail to +make friends for itself among strangers, among even enemies. She had +smiled to notice Jacqueline's success with the young men Thorpe had +brought to supper. Her own girlhood had been a succession of just such +triumphs. But belle as she was, many a ballroom had been spoiled for her +by the sight of girls to whom it was not a scene of triumph, to whom it +was no less than a battlefield, where the vanquished face defeat with +the fixed and piteous smile of the hopeless wallflower.</p> + +<p>Her heart yearned over her eldest daughter. Poor, clever, pretty Jemima, +who knew so well what she wanted of life, and wanted it so determinedly! +A world of which carefree gaiety is the essential element might be very +cruel to Jemima. If Kate could have plucked out her own charm by the +roots and given it to her child for a weapon, she would have done it +thankfully.</p> + +<p>She fell asleep at last over one of the prayers that had been +unconsciously upon her lips that day: "Make people nice to them, God! +You must see that my girls have partners, both of them, since I am not +there to attend to it myself."</p> + +<p>Kate's relations with her Creator, while informal, were remarkably +confident, for a woman who believed herself non-religious....</p> + +<p>It was a worn and leaden-eyed professor who returned the adventurers to +Storm late the next day.</p> + +<p>"Take me to a bed," he demanded wearily. "No, I shall not have supper, +nor a julep, nor anything but a bed. I'd like to sleep without stirring +for a week!"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline embraced him with the arm that was not at the moment +embracing her mother. "Poor old Goddy! Was it done to a frazzle, +turkey-trotting with all the chaperons? You ought to have seen 'em, +Mummy! Ladies as old as you are, yes, and older! hopping about like +Dervishes. I'm glad you don't do such things.—But it was glorious! +Crowds of beaux, and I tore all the lace off my petticoat, and we made +the band play 'Home, Sweet Home,' five times. You know that is what they +play when the party is over."</p> + +<p>"Still?" murmured Kate, smiling. She had a momentary recollection of +times when she, too, had made the band repeat "Home, Sweet Home," she +with Basil Kildare....</p> + +<p>"As for Jemmy," went on the eager, excited voice. "You just ought to +have seen her! My, my!"</p> + +<p>"What about Jemmy?" asked the mother, quickly.</p> + +<p>"Why, she gathered in the handsomest man in the room, simply annexed +him. He broke in on every dance and took her to a corner to talk! All +those snippy girls in the dressing-room were wild with jealousy. Don't +ask me how she did it. <i>I</i> don't know! Tell mother how you did it, Jem."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it was simple enough," said the other, shrugging. "I saw that I was +not going to have a very good time unless I had somebody to fall back +on, so I selected him. He wore his hair rather long and romantic. I told +him he had the face of a poet. He spent the rest of the evening reciting +original verses to me. That was all. But it looked well."</p> + +<p>Kate gazed at her daughter with respect. Her anxiety for Jemima's future +died on the spot.</p> + +<p>"And Jacqueline?" she murmured. "Did she, too, manage to distinguish +herself?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jacky never needs to manage," said the older girl, with a pride in +her little sister that was not lacking in nobility. "Whenever I wanted +to find Jacky, I looked for the nearest crowd of men. They were like +flies around a honey-pot."</p> + +<p>Thorpe nodded smiling confirmation. "It was like old times. More than +one person said to me, 'Kate Leigh is back again!'"</p> + +<p>She flushed, incredulously. "They spoke of <i>me</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Of course they did," cried Jacqueline, hugging her. "I was so proud. +All the old men told me I looked like you, and most of them tried to +kiss me when they got me alone."</p> + +<p>"Great Heavens! I hope they didn't succeed?"</p> + +<p>"Not all of them," said Jacqueline, demurely....</p> + +<p>But her mother was not laughing when she followed Jemima into her room, +and closed the door behind them.</p> + +<p>"Now tell me everything that happened. What did Jacqueline mean by +'snippy' girls? Were any of those women rude to you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, Mother, not rude, of course." The lift of Jemima's chin said +quite plainly, "I should not have permitted that."</p> + +<p>"But they were not nice to you?"</p> + +<p>The girl hesitated. Slowly the blood mounted up her delicate cheeks to +the roots of her hair. Kate saw with dismay that her lips were +trembling.</p> + +<p>"My child!"—she took a step toward her.</p> + +<p>But Jemima drew back, mastering herself. "Somebody ought to have told +us, you or Professor Jim, or somebody," she said, quaveringly, "Perhaps +you didn't know, but—Oh, Mother we made a dreadful mistake!"</p> + +<p>"In going?" Kate clenched her hands. The look on her set face boded ill +for people who had hurt her children.</p> + +<p>"Those ball dresses!" Jemima brought it out with a despairing sob. "How +was I to know? The magazines didn't say anything about it, and nobody +told me. But all the other girls wore hats and high necks! Some of them +even had on coat suits!"</p> + +<p>Kate stared. "Is that all?" Suddenly she threw back her head, and +laughed until she cried. She tried to stop, realizing that the thing was +no less than a tragedy to ambitious Jemima. But the relief after what +she had feared for them was too great.</p> + +<p>"It seems to amuse you, Mother," said the girl, with dignity. "Perhaps +you are above such things. Jacqueline and I are not. It was not pleasant +to be thought country green-horns by all those strange, staring people. +That author, Mr. Channing, was there, too,—and never came near me, +though I think he did dance once or twice with Jacqueline.—There is +nothing, nothing in this world," she said passionately, "as terrible as +being different!"</p> + +<p>Somewhere in Kate's reading she had come across a phrase that stuck, +"The Herd-spirit, which shuns abnormality." She searched for the words +to comfort her child, and found them.</p> + +<p>"My dear, since the world began people of unusual ability have found +themselves 'different,' and have suffered because of it. It is not a +matter of dress, or manner, or any outside thing, and assuredly it is +not a difference to be ashamed of. People like us," she said quietly, +"must learn to smile at the Herd-spirit."</p> + +<p>Jemima's eyes met hers squarely. An answering gleam came into them; and +for the moment the barrier between mother and daughter was down. They +recognized each other.</p> + +<p>The following week brought a pleasant surprise, and Jemima was comforted +further. It was a letter from an old school friend of Mrs. Kildare's, +Mrs. Lawrence, reminding her of their early intimacy, speaking of the +pleasure it had been to meet her two lovely daughters, and inviting them +to visit her in Lexington at a date named, that they might share with +her own daughters some of the gaieties of town life.</p> + +<p>Kate suspected Thorpe's hand in this invitation. For twenty years Mrs. +Lawrence had lived within an hour's railroad journey of Storm, and this +was the first reminder of their friendship. But far from resenting the +belated kindness, she was deeply grateful for it; a fact which caused +young Jemima's pride to wince for her mother. She herself, in such +circumstances, would have returned the letter without comment.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, it was she who decided her mother to accept the +invitation. Kate had hesitated, dreading to expose her children for the +second time unprotected to the mercies of people who had ostracized her. +But Jemima said with her usual decision, "We must go, of course, since +you have no personal objection. It would be foolish to decline any +opportunity that offers. That is what Professor Jim gave us the party +for; to create opportunities."</p> + +<p>"Is it?" asked Kate. "I thought it was to make friends."</p> + +<p>"The same thing," explained Jemima. "One has to consider the future."</p> + +<p>To the amaze of both, however, Jacqueline flatly declined to visit Mrs. +Lawrence on any terms whatsoever.</p> + +<p>"I'd rather stay here," was her calm response to all her sister's +pleading.</p> + +<p>"But, Jacky, we must get to know some girls!"</p> + +<p>"Why must we? Silly, giggling, whispering creatures—you go and make the +girl friends, Jemmy! I'd rather have beaux."</p> + +<p>"And how are you to find any around here, I'd like to know?"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline smiled demurely. "Perhaps they'll come and find me." Jemima +could cheerfully have shaken her. "Anyway, I'd rather stay with mummy, +and baby Kitty, and the colts, and all. You go and do the society act +for both of us, sister," she coaxed. "You do it so beautifully. Think +how you annexed that beautiful young man all those girls were smitten +with! And you know how to be politely rude to people. I don't."</p> + +<p>Occasionally her young sister's powers of observation surprised Jemima.</p> + +<p>She heaved a sigh. "I suppose I shall have to go alone, then," she said. +"Somebody will always do your share of the world's work, Jacky,"—but +she kissed her sister even as she scolded her.</p> + +<p>Kate was more than a little puzzled. With a return of her old +shrewdness, she sought for possible reasons that might be keeping this +joyous, pleasure-loving replica of her young self from the scene of +further triumphs. Was it simply shyness? But Jacqueline had never been +self-conscious enough to be shy. Had something occurred to rouse in her +the fierce Kildare pride? Kate dismissed that fear promptly. Snubs and +slights would fall harmless from such an armor of confidence in the +world's friendly intentions toward her. Jacqueline would not recognize +an insult if she saw it.</p> + +<p>Her study of the girl made her aware for the first time of the change +that had taken place in her. She saw, startled, that tender, radiant, +exquisite young woman who had replaced her little daughter.</p> + +<p>Instantly her thoughts went to Philip. Could it be Philip who was +keeping her at home?</p> + +<p>Kate's heart leaped in her breast. This marriage, planned in +Jacqueline's infancy to clear her name and her children's from at least +one stigma that rested upon it, had never been out of her mind. Now it +was the one thing toward which her hopes, so lately torn from their +rooted hold, were still straining. Jacques' son and her daughter—at +least there should be that tie between herself and the man she loved. +Some day perhaps her grandson would look at her with the eyes of +Jacques....</p> + +<p>The girl, she had believed, must be still too young for any thought of +marriage. But was she? Was she? The Leigh women matured early. She +herself had been quite ready for marriage at seventeen. As for Philip, +how was it with him?</p> + +<p>From the day she had brought him home with her from his boarding-school, +a sensitive, lonely lad of fourteen, he had been like a big brother to +her children; at first their guardian playfellow, sharing with them his +lore of field and wood and stream; later their tutor, during the months +when he was not absent at the seminary which the old rector of the +parish had persuaded him to enter; later still, their spiritual adviser +and director, exercising over them a certain quiet authority which +amused their mother but which was not resented in the least by either of +the high-spirited girls. He and Jemima were excellent friends, or had +been until her recent discovery about his father. It was to the older +girl he turned for assistance in parish matters, and Kate realized that +Jemima was far better fitted than her light-hearted sister for the +manifold duties of a clergyman's wife. But from the first, little +Jacqueline had been his especial pet and comrade—possibly because of +her resemblance to her mother. They rode together, sang together, read +together, even quarreled together, with a familiarity which shocked +Jemima's inborn respect for "the Cloth".... Had there been always in +this marked favoritism the germ of love? the mother wondered.</p> + +<p>Of late Philip had been more at the house even than usual. He dropped in +at all hours of the day with the excuse of books to be brought, new +music to be tried, matters of many sorts to be discussed. It reminded +Kate a little sadly of the days when his father had found just such +excuses to spend his time at Storm. To be sure, he rarely found +Jacqueline at home, and as Jemima systematically avoided him nowadays, +he was thrown almost entirely upon her own companionship. But Kate +easily persuaded herself that this was merely an accident, and one which +she might in future control.</p> + +<p>Now that she had thought of it, she had twice lately met Philip with +Jacqueline, riding very slowly and in earnest conversation—those two, +who usually took the roads and the fields at a flying gallop, daring +each other on to further recklessness. Also, she recalled the last miles +of that journey from Frankfort, when the girl sat between them, playing +with hands, lips, and crooning voice her self-appointed rôle of +comforter. It would be a stony-hearted celibate indeed who resisted +little Jacqueline in the rôle of comforter.</p> + +<p>Kate Kildare smiled to herself, content. At least one of her dreams was +coming true. The old lying scandal would die in time and be forgotten. +Fate, her enemy—what match was it for three such allies as propinquity, +nature, and a wise mother?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + + +<p>The fact was that Philip, in his double capacity of priest and of +bodyguard to the household of his liege lady, had been for some time +aware of a thing that troubled him deeply. It was Philip who brought to +the Madam's notice much that required her attention in her domain, but +this he did not bring to her attention. His hands were tied.</p> + +<p>Shortly after the episode of the Night Riders, he had happened to be +driving in an adjoining county, when to his amazement a large automobile +flashed by with Jacqueline at the wheel, speaking over her shoulder to a +man who sat beside her. In the glimpse he had of them, Philip thought he +recognized the man as Percival Channing. They were too absorbed in each +other to notice him, hidden as he was in the depths of his buggy. +Jacqueline's laugh floated back to him as they passed, a soft little +laugh that brought a sudden frown to Philip's face. Her expert handling +of the great car told its own story.</p> + +<p>"That won't do at all!" muttered Philip aloud. Then he took himself up +sharply—"Why won't it do?" The man was James Thorpe's nephew, a +gentleman, a person of some distinction; certainly a fit companion for +Kate's children. Why should he feel uneasy? That Jacqueline had not +mentioned the further acquaintance with him might be merely an +oversight. After all, the girl must marry some day, though the thought +of losing his little playfellow gave Philip a pang.</p> + +<p>"I see," he said casually at Storm that night, "that the author is still +in our midst. I suppose he has called here, hasn't he?"</p> + +<p>He spoke to Kate, not glancing in the direction of Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. We found his cards one afternoon, with Mr. Farwell's," +answered Kate. "I am sorry not to have seen him."</p> + +<p>"He will probably come again," said Jemima, rather importantly. "In fact +I asked him to, the other night at Professor Jim's party."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline made a gleeful face at her sister's back, not unnoted by +Philip.</p> + +<p>"So-o!" he said to himself gravely. "I shall have to make friends with +this gentleman...."</p> + +<p>He was on his way to Holiday Hill the next afternoon, when at the very +gate he met Jacqueline coming out. She laughed; rather consciously for +Jacqueline. "I've been returning that call," she said.</p> + +<p>"So I see. Has Mrs. Farwell come, then?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Farwell? Oh, no. She never comes. Mr. Farwell isn't here either, +just now," she said innocently. "So I dropped in to—to keep Mr. +Channing company." She began to flush, realizing that she had betrayed +herself. "We were practising his songs together. We—we often do." She +stammered a little.</p> + +<p>"I see," he said again, lightly. It was not his policy to discourage +confidences. "So Mr. Channing writes songs, as well as novels?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, wonderful ones, Phil! You'd love them. I do wish you could hear +them."</p> + +<p>"I'd like to. Why not bring me the next time you come to practise?"</p> + +<p>She looked down; then her eyes met his frankly. "I'd rather not, Phil. +He wouldn't like it. Geniuses are peculiar. You see, we sing better when +we're not disturbed. You know how that is, don't you?"</p> + +<p>His heart contracted with sudden sympathy. He knew only too well "how it +was." It seemed to him that lately his life was one long conspiracy +against Fate to find Kate Kildare alone. Abroad, the eyes of the world +seemed always turned upon them; at home she was surrounded by an +impregnable barrier of daughters. On the rare occasions when he did +manage to achieve the coveted <i>solitude à deux</i>, their talk was of +farming, of the parish, of business, and in the end always of his +father, his father. Her dependence upon him, her affection for him, was +evident, but there was a curiously impersonal, almost absent-minded +quality about it that sometimes chilled Philip and his budding hopes. +When she spoke out her inmost thoughts, even when she took his hand or +laid her arm across his shoulders with the impulsive, caressing gestures +that were as common to her as to Jacqueline, he had the feeling that she +was thinking of another man.</p> + +<p>Philip was well fitted to understand Jacqueline just then. "My dear," he +said quietly, "are you in love with Mr. Channing?"</p> + +<p>The question took her by surprise. She paled, and then the lovely rose +came over her face again in a hot flood. "Oh, yes, <i>yes</i>, Phil!" she +cried eagerly. "Do come and ride beside me, and let me tell you all +about it. I've been wanting dreadfully to tell somebody who would +understand. You're <i>such</i> a comfortable sort of person."</p> + +<p>Philip's greatest gift was the art of listening. He employed it now, +turning to her a glance steady and encouraging, concealing the anxiety +that gnawed at his mind, why he could not say. The natural priest is as +intuitive perhaps as the natural woman.</p> + +<p>She took him into her confidence fully, concealing nothing. He learned +about their daily meetings, either at the Ruin, or if Farwell happened +to be absent, at Holiday Hill. She told him of their long automobile +rides together, while she was supposed to be off exercising some of the +horses; of the book he was beginning to write with her assistance; ("I +inspire it," she explained gravely); of his belief in her own future +career as a singer.</p> + +<p>"He's going to help me, to introduce me to singers and teachers +and—impresarios, I think they're called. He's going to make mother send +me abroad to study, first. He says it's wicked to keep me shut up here +away from life. All artists have got to see a great deal of life, you +know, if they're to amount to anything. Oh, isn't it wonderful?" she +broke off, "that such a man as that should ever have noticed me at all?"</p> + +<p>Philip, glancing at the radiant young face, did not find it altogether +wonderful.</p> + +<p>"I suppose he makes love to you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She dimpled. "Of course! But in such a funny way, Phil. He doesn't seem +to mean to, or to want to, exactly. We read a good deal, and talk about +the world, and things like that, and sing—but all the time I know what +he's thinking about, and—and I'm thinking about it, too! We don't read +and sing and talk <i>all</i> the time—" She clasped her hands ecstatically, +lines and all. "Oh, Phil darling, I wish you were in love, too! It's so +perfect.—But you will be some day, and then I hope," she added +quaintly, "that you'll have somebody as dear and comfortable as you are +to confide in. A spiritual pastor and master is so safe, too. You may +scold me, Reverend, and you may laugh at me—you're doing it now—but +you can never tell on me."</p> + +<p>"No," he admitted, "I never can. But why not tell on yourself, dear? Why +so much mystery? Are you ashamed of being in love?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her keenly. But though she hesitated, she met his eyes +without embarrassment. "I think I am, a little. Not ashamed, exactly, +but—shy. It's such a queer feeling, being in love. I never had it +before. It makes you want not to eat, or sleep, or play with the baby, +or do anything but just think of him; how he looked the last time you +saw him, what he said, and—did. If people knew, they'd tease me, and +watch me, and I couldn't bear that. I just couldn't bear it! Then +there's Jemmy. She's so odd. She doesn't like to see me kissing the +baby, even, or loving it. She thinks it isn't quite nice. If she knew +about Mr. Channing—! Besides, she's so much cleverer than I am, so much +more his sort, really. If he'd known her first he would probably have +liked her best. I'd rather—just for a while, I'd rather—"</p> + +<p>"Keep him out of Jemima's reach?" murmured Philip, amused.</p> + +<p>She nodded. "You <i>do</i> understand things, don't you? Jemmy's so much +cleverer than I am. Just until I'm sure of him, Philip—"</p> + +<p>He asked quietly, "You're not sure of him, then?"</p> + +<p>She gave him a demure glance under her infantile lashes. "Oh, yes, I am! +But he's not quite sure of himself." She chuckled. "Mr. Channing +<i>thinks</i> he doesn't want to marry any one, you see!"</p> + +<p>It was what Philip had been waiting for from the first. His voice +changed a little, and became the voice of the priest. "You need not tell +your sister, Jacqueline; but your mother ought to know of this."</p> + +<p>"I don't want her to know."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, because," was the purely feminine answer. She added, troubled by +his grave silence, "Mummy might not want me to see so much of him, if +she knew. She can't realize that I'm grown up now. Old people forget how +they felt when they were young." She was vaguely trying to express +love's dread of being brought to earth, of being hampered by the fetters +of a fixed relation.</p> + +<p>"'Old people!' Your mother?" Philip spoke rather sharply.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, not <i>old</i>, of course. Still, she's too old to fall in +love.—Anyway, there are some things a girl can't talk about with her +mother; you ought to know there are." The glance she gave him was both +embarrassed and appealing.</p> + +<p>Alas for Kate's carefully fostered intimacy with her children, vanished +at the first touch of a warmer breath!</p> + +<p>Philip put his hand over hers on the bridle-rein. "My dear," he said +earnestly, "there is nothing, absolutely nothing, you cannot talk about +with your mother. She's that sort. Always remember it."</p> + +<p>She jerked her hand away with a pettish gesture. "For goodness' sake, +stop being so ancient and fatherly! And what right have you to tell me +anything about mother? I don't mind your explaining about God to me, and +Christian duty, and things like that. It's your business, and I suppose +it bores you as much as anybody. But when you talk as if you had a +special vested right in my own mother,—that's <i>too</i> much! As if you +could possibly know her as well as I do!"</p> + +<p>She spurred her horse and galloped ahead furiously. But at the next turn +of the road she was waiting, remorseful.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me for being a crosspatch, Flippy dear?" Her voice would have +coaxed forgiveness from a stone. "I always am sort of—sort of foolish +about mummy, you know."</p> + +<p>"I have no fault to find with you for being foolish about your mother," +said Philip.</p> + +<p>"Then, that's all right!" She blew him a kiss, and prepared to leave +him. "And of course I will tell her everything, soon. When she knows, +she's going to be glad, gladder than anybody. I remember once,"—the +girl's face grew very tender—"we were just little things, Jemmy and I, +but she was talking to us, like she does. She said, 'When the right man +comes along, my girlies, be sure he is the right man, and then <i>don't be +afraid</i>. Love him with all your might and main, and be sure he knows it. +There's nothing in the world so mean as a niggardly lover!' I—I am not +a niggardly lover, Philip," she added shyly.</p> + +<p>His throat contracted. Jacqueline's naïveté was singularly touching to +him.</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment," he said, detaining her. "Since I must keep the great +secret, I want you to promise me one thing. Do not go to Mr. Farwell's +house alone any more. You see," he explained to her widened eyes, "there +aren't any women there. Girls do not call on men."</p> + +<p>"I go to your house whenever I like!"</p> + +<p>He smiled. "As you yourself said once, I'm 'not men.' But it isn't done, +little girl. Take my word for that, please."</p> + +<p>"Very well!" she chuckled. "You sound like Jemmy!—But I promise. I like +the Ruin better anyway. More private."</p> + +<p>She waved back at him, put her horse lightly over a fence, and was off +across the fields at a full gallop.</p> + +<p>He went his way thoughtfully. Philip was beginning to find his duties as +guardian of Kate Kildare and her children somewhat onerous. He tried to +reassure himself with the thought of Jacqueline's youth. Mature as she +had become in body, in mind she was still a child. At that age, love +could not be lasting.</p> + +<p>But while it lasted, could it not devastate?</p> + +<p>Often in this Kentucky valley he had known languorous Februaries when +orchard and garden, deceived by a fierce-wooing sun, trustingly put +forth their treasures, only to find them blackened and withered when the +true spring came. Dear little Jacqueline, glowing, tremulous, instinct +with the joy and passion of giving—for to Kate Kildare's child love +meant always giving—was she to know so soon the blight of +disillusionment?</p> + +<p>"Not if I can help it," muttered Philip, squaring his jaws, and set his +horse once more in the direction of Holiday Hill.</p> + +<p>He intended to discover just how far and for what reason Percival +Channing was averse to the state of matrimony.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + + +<p>Jacqueline had presently another confidante, who came to her by chance; +not Kate, still absorbed in her readjustment to life without Jacques +Benoix, and not Jemima, even more absorbed in the preparation for her +approaching visit. Jacqueline, indeed, was somewhat in disgrace with her +sister. "Isn't it just like her," thought the older girl impatiently, +"to go and make such a success of herself, and then sit back calmly and +expect me to do the rest?"</p> + +<p>Jemima had from her mother one gift of the born executive: the ability +to recognize other people's abilities as well as their limitations. In a +quite unenvious and impersonal way, she appreciated the superior charm +of her sister, and intended to use it, backed by her own superior +intelligence, for the benefit of both of them. Jacqueline's complete +lack of interest in the social campaign was a serious blow to her plans, +but she met it with stoic philosophy.</p> + +<p>"I shall have to go ahead as best I can without charm," she told +herself, soberly. "Brains always count, if you keep them hid."</p> + +<p>To the casual observer the ambitions of young Jemima at this juncture +might have seemed somewhat petty; but most beginnings are petty. There +was in the girl's mind a determination that cannot be called unworthy, +no matter how it manifested itself—nothing less than the reinstatement +before the world of the family her mother had disgraced, the once-proud +Kildares of Storm. She was going forth to do battle alone for the +tarnished honor of her name, a gallant little knight-errant, +tight-lipped and heavy-hearted, and far more afraid than she dared +admit.</p> + +<p>Something of this the mother sensed, and her heart yearned over her +daughter. But Jemima rebuffed all overtures. She declined sympathy, and +as far as possible she declined help from her mother. She had offered to +return the check-book Kate gave her when she expected to go to New York, +but her mother bade her keep it, saying, "It is time you learned how to +handle your own money."</p> + +<p>So Jemima did her planning and ordering without interference; and +presently express boxes began to arrive from "the city," which caused +much excitement in the household.</p> + +<p>"Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as these," smiled Kate one +day, looking in at the sewing-room where Mag was installed, adding deft +final touches. "Where's Jacky, Jemima? Why isn't she here helping you +two to run ribbons and whip on laces?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jacky!" The other shrugged. "Where would she be? Galloping about +the country, or playing games with herself down at her precious Ruin, I +suppose. Occasionally she wanders into the sewing-room like a young +cyclone, leaving havoc in her wake. I'd rather not have her assistance, +thank you!"</p> + +<p>"Miss Jacky ain't much of a hand with a needle," murmured the girl at +the sewing-machine.</p> + +<p>Kate smiled, as she always smiled when she thought of her youngest +daughter. "Bless her heart! I wonder what she's about down there in the +ravine. We haven't heard her singing lately. Do you suppose she has +abandoned grand opera entirely? I think I must go and investigate."</p> + +<p>Mag Henderson sat suddenly rigid. It was she who had become, +inadvertently, Jacqueline's second confidante.</p> + +<p>A few days before, she had made a discovery which she would have been +torn limb from limb rather than betray; for the weakest natures are +capable of one strong trait, and Mag's was loyalty. Just as she had +tried to defend the father who had sold her into worse than slavery, so +she would defend to the last ditch any member of the family who had +rescued her—more particularly Jacqueline. For Jacqueline had done more +than rescue her; she had kissed her.</p> + +<p>She said with a sort of gasp, "Miss Jacky's awful busy, Miss Kate. She +wouldn't like to be disturbed. She's—she's writin' a book."</p> + +<p>Kate laughed. "Come now, Mag! not a <i>book</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, she is, 'cause I seen it."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, what next?" cried Kate. "What sort of chicken have I +hatched? There've been queer developments in the family, but never a +genius that I know of. We must leave her alone, by all means. Maybe she +will get over it."</p> + +<p>Mag breathed more freely; and with the departure next day of Jemima, +accompanied by two trunks and wearing an expression that said plainly, +"I shall return with my shield or on it," Mag's fears for her beloved +Miss Jacky were further allayed. Of late the Storm household had begun +to hold Jemima's seeing eye in even more respect than the Madam's.</p> + +<p>Mag had stumbled upon Jacqueline's secret quite by accident. After her +day's work was over she liked to walk the roads with her baby, dressed +in her prettiest finery, with an eager, hopeful eye out for passing +vehicles. On one of these rambles she happened into the lane which +passed the haunted ravine, and there, concealed by the drooping branches +of a willow beside the road, she had discovered a deserted automobile.</p> + +<p>It aroused her curiosity. What could an automobile be doing in that +unfrequented lane, and where was the owner of it? Fearfully she entered +the ravine, and ventured a few steps toward the green tangle that hid +the ruined cabin. When she came in sight of it, panic conquered +curiosity, and she turned to run. It was very dark and hushed there in +the underbrush.</p> + +<p>But one of the young dogs, who had followed her, suddenly pricked up his +ears and nosed his way to the cabin's threshold, where he paused with +one foot lifted, making violent demonstrations with his tail. Mag +followed him, reassured.</p> + +<p>"A dog would have too much sense to wag hisself at ghosts," she +thought....</p> + +<p>No wonder it was still in the ravine. Birds passing overhead forbore to +sing, out of sheer sympathy. The great trees stood tiptoe, guarding with +finger on lip the love-dream of the little human creature who had played +so long about their feet, and whose playing days were done. Mag and the +young dog were silent, too, and would have gone softly away from the +place where they were not wanted.</p> + +<p>"Miss Jacky's got her a fella!" whispered Mag enviously to herself. +"Ain't that grand?"</p> + +<p>But the baby in her arms had as yet no conception that there might be +places in the world where she was not wanted; poor little waif who had +been unwanted anywhere! She recognized her usual companion wrapped in +the arms of a strange man, and cooed inquiringly.</p> + +<p>The lovers jumped apart.</p> + +<p>"Oh!—It's only you, Mag!" gasped Jacqueline. "I thought Jemmy had +caught us at last!..."</p> + +<p>So it happened that Mag was elevated to the position of confidante; not +a very wise confidante, but a very proud and trustworthy one, eager to +help her Miss Jacky to happiness, such as she conceived the term—a +"fella" to love her and give her presents, which might or might not +include a wedding-ring.</p> + +<p>She was pressed into willing service, carrying notes, arranging +meetings, mounting guard watchfully, thrilled with eager sympathy, and +dreaming a little on her own account; sordid, pathetic dreams they were, +in which, alas! the baby Kitty played no part at all. As Mrs. Kildare +had guessed, maternity was not enough for Mag Henderson.</p> + +<p>Percival Channing, in the midst of the prettiest idyl of his experience, +was bringing to it far more enthusiasm than he would have thought +possible for a mere collector of impressions. He was quite pleased with +himself.</p> + +<p>"Who said I was jaded and world-worn?" he thought amusedly. His critical +faculty did not become atrophied when applied to himself, as is the way +of smaller critical faculties.</p> + +<p>From week to week he prolonged his visit at Holiday Hill, to the content +of Farwell, who was finding the picturesque solitude he had created for +himself rather wearing. Channing thought it necessary to explain that +the country furnished him just the quiet environment he needed for his +work.</p> + +<p>"And eke the inspiration?" murmured Farwell.</p> + +<p>"And eke the inspiration," admitted his guest.</p> + +<p>Farwell puffed at a meditative pipe. He was a tolerant man, popular with +his friends because of his chariness in proffering advice and comment; +so that Channing was surprised when he continued the subject.</p> + +<p>"I fancy the little girl is quite capable of taking care of +herself—these Southern beauties are that way, from the cradle. But +have a care of the old 'un, my boy! There's a glint in that fine gray +eye I wouldn't care to rouse, myself. She's by way of being a queen +around here, you know. I'm told the law asks her permission before it +makes an arrest in this neighborhood. Her subjects neither marry, nor +die, nor get themselves born without her permission—fact! As for her +daughters, hands off! Approach them on your knees.</p> + +<p>"I'll give you a bit of local color, if you like. Have you noticed that +long-tailed whip she carries when she's got the dogs? Well, one day I +saw a couple of negroes fighting in one of the fields; big, burly +brutes, one with a knife, and both full of cocaine, probably. The white +man in charge danced around on the outskirts, afraid to interfere—I +don't blame him! Suddenly there was a cry, 'Here comes the Madam!' And +there she was, galloping into that field, hell-for-leather, unwrapping +her long-tailed whip as she came. When the negroes had had enough of it +and were whimpering for mercy, she turned her attention to the foreman. +But she didn't whip him. She said, her voice as calm as a May morning, +'Go and get your time, Johnson. I've no room on the place for a timid +man!'"</p> + +<p>Farwell's eyes were lit with enthusiasm, but to Channing the story had +been oddly distasteful. "Faugh! What a woman! And yet I'll swear she's a +lady," he said, with an odd thought of introducing Mrs. Kildare to his +rigid family circle in the rôle of mother-in-law.</p> + +<p>"Of course she is! A great lady, of a type we're not familiar with, +that's all. A relic of feudalism. I give you fair warning—don't monkey +with the buzz-saw!"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" Channing flushed. "Who's monkeying with buzz-saws? You're +rather crude, you know."</p> + +<p>"So is she. Don't you make any mistake about that! The Kildare is no +parlor product. A woman who's led the life she has," drawled Farwell, +"would be quite capable of protecting her children, even at the point of +a pistol, I fancy."</p> + +<p>The author gave a short, angry laugh. "You're incurably dramatic, Morty! +You will carry your stage effects into real life. What do you think I'm +up to, anyway? You don't suppose I mean that pretty child any harm?"</p> + +<p>Farwell rolled protesting eyes toward heaven. "The very suggestion +shocks me," he murmured. "But I have noticed that only the juice of the +orange interests you, old man. The rest of it you leave on your plate, +luxurious chap that you are!..."</p> + +<p>His warning had its effect. There were no more stolen drives about the +country in Farwell's automobiles, much to Jacqueline's disappointment; +and once more Channing called in state at Storm, where he was received +cordially by Mrs. Kildare, and took very little notice of demure +Jacqueline in the background. So little, indeed, that Kate afterwards +felt it necessary to apologize for him.</p> + +<p>"You're too young for Mr. Channing, Jacky dear. What a pity Jemima was +not here to talk to him! He's just the sort of man for her," she said.</p> + +<p>Whereat Jacqueline's dimples became riotous, and she kept silence with +difficulty.</p> + +<p>Channing's new caution, however, did not carry him to the length of +giving up his daily visits to the Ruin. He needed the girl too much. His +belonged to the class of creative brain that works only under the +stimulus of emotion. Channing was fond of saying that he took his +material red-hot out of life itself, and his novels represented a series +of personal experiences, psychological and otherwise, which perhaps +accounted for their marked success with a certain public.</p> + +<p>Channing was not without genius. He had to a great degree the poet's +sensitiveness to all things exquisite, and added to that he had a gift +of facile expression. Subtleties of style, that effort to find exactly +the right phrase and shade of meaning which is the stumbling-block of so +many conscientious writers, troubled him not at all. Given the +sensation, words in which to clothe it came instinctively, faster often +than he could write them down. But first he must needs experience the +sensation. This type of brain suffers from one disadvantage. In time the +receptive surface of it becomes dulled, calloused, and as the confirmed +drug-user requires constantly increasing or varying doses to produce +effect, so such an imagination requires constantly increasing or varying +doses of emotion.</p> + +<p>These young Jacqueline Kildare was supplying in full measure. To his +sophisticated palate she was as refreshing as cool spring water. She +roused, among impulses more familiar to his experience, certain others +with which he had not credited himself, impulses of tenderness, of +protection, of chivalry. He began to be aware of a pleasure that was +entirely new to him in the sight of Jacqueline with Mag's baby, their +very frequent companion.</p> + +<p>"I <i>am</i> getting primitive!" he thought. "This is going back to nature +with a vengeance."</p> + +<p>For the first time in his life, the thought of marriage came to him +occasionally and was put away with some regret. "I must not lose my +head," he admonished himself. "It will not last, of course. It never +does."</p> + +<p>Channing knew himself very thoroughly.</p> + +<p>But if he must not offer marriage to the girl, he could at least help +her to a career. It flattered his <i>amour propre</i> to realize that the +object of his present affections, crude young thing as she was, might be +called in a certain sense his equal, a fellow artist, one of the world's +chosen. He spoke very often of her career, and Jacqueline listened, +dreamily.</p> + +<p>Of late she had somewhat lost interest in careers. Or rather, she had +another sort of career in view; that of the lady in the tower, to whom +her knight brings all his trophies. It seemed to her that this might be +the happiest career of all.</p> + +<p>She knew very well what she was doing for Channing. In the morning +hours, and often after he left her far into the night, the author wrote +steadily, with the ease and smoothness of creation that is one of the +most satisfying pleasures known to human experience. Daily, when he came +to her for refreshment, he brought manuscript to read, incidents, +character sketches, whole chapters in the novel he had started. All of +which filled Jacqueline with a new and heady sense of power. If she was +not "writing a book," as Mag reported, she was at least helping to write +one.</p> + +<p>And she gave more to her lover than inspiration. He found her criticism +unexpectedly valuable. There had been no lack of brains in her family, +and the library at Storm was large and excellent. Philip Benoix and +James Thorpe had both supplemented the girls' reading with great wisdom, +so that Jacqueline's taste was formed upon far better literature than +that of the average woman of his acquaintance. She was not easily +shocked—Kate boasted that she had never put her girls' brains into +petticoats—but now and then, despite Channing's growing care, +unconscious product of his new chivalry, matter crept into his pages +which made her shake her head in quick distaste.</p> + +<p>"People might <i>do</i> things like that," she said once, of a particularly +unsavory episode, "but they'd never sit around and talk of it +afterwards. They'd be ashamed!"</p> + +<p>It was a comment on human nature the shrewdness of which he promptly +appreciated. Jacqueline came to represent to him that invaluable portion +of a writer's public, the average female mind. Under her proud guidance, +Channing knew that he was writing the best and by far the cleanest of +his novels.</p> + +<p>It was at such moments that the thought of marriage came to him, and he +reminded himself reluctantly that it would not do. "He travels fastest +who travels alone...."</p> + +<p>"I must speak to your mother about your voice," he said once. "She will +have to let you study in Europe, or at least in New York. You're +seventeen, aren't you? There's a long road to travel. No time to be +lost."</p> + +<p>"New York? But you live in Boston, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Heaven forbid! I was born in Boston, but one gets over it in time."</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure now that it's worth while taking any more lessons," she +said dreamily.</p> + +<p>"You'll never be a singer without them."</p> + +<p>"Well—sometimes I think I don't want to be a singer, Mr. Channing. +Sometimes I think I'd rather be a—housekeeper, for instance."</p> + +<p>"What! Give up fame and fortune for a hypothetical domestic career?"</p> + +<p>"Not for a hypothetical one, no." She gave him a side-wise glance, +dimpling. "But I <i>would</i> love to have a home of my own."</p> + +<p>He humored her, for the sake of watching her rapt and eager face. "What +would you do with a house of your own?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'd have pink silk curtains at all the windows, and loads of books, +and flowers, and a cook who could make things like Mr. Farwell's cook +can—and—and a grand piano, and an automobile, and a stable full of +thoroughbreds and puppies—" She paused for breath.</p> + +<p>"Anything else?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. Babies! All ages and sizes of babies, small red wrinkled ones, +and trot-abouts, and fat little boys in their first trousers—"</p> + +<p>"Help, help!" murmured Channing. "Would there be any room in that house +for a husband?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said softly. "I used to think it was a nuisance, having to +have a husband before you could have babies; but now—" she glanced at +him shyly, and looked away again.</p> + +<p>"But now?" he repeated, leaning toward her.</p> + +<p>"I—I've changed my mind," she murmured, her heart beating very hard. +Was he going to say anything?</p> + +<p>The indications were that he was. His eyes had a look that she called to +herself "beaming," and he put out his arms as if to take her into them. +She swayed a little toward him, to make it easier.</p> + +<p>But at the critical moment, discretion came once more to the rescue. He +fumbled hastily in his pocket for a cigarette, and with that in his +lips, felt safer.</p> + +<p>"There is really no reason," he remarked, puffing, "that the operatic +career may not be combined with the luxuries you mention, +Jacqueline—pink silk curtains, infants, and all."</p> + +<p>"Do singers marry?" she asked; and he could not but admire the +nonchalance with which she covered her disappointment.</p> + +<p>"Rather! Fast and frequently."</p> + +<p>"But surely they don't have babies?"</p> + +<p>"Why not? A friend of mine on the operatic stage"—he mentioned her +name—"assures me that each baby improves her voice noticeably."</p> + +<p>"I think it is very hard on her husband," declared Jacqueline. "You +<i>know</i> he'd rather have her at home taking care of the children +properly, and darning the stockings, and ready to greet him when he +comes home tired at night!"</p> + +<p>"Judging from the size of her income," murmured Channing, "I fancy that +he would not."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline jumped up, scarlet. The chagrin of her recent repulse, the +nervous strain of the past few weeks, the reaction from too exalted a +plane of emotion, all found vent in a burst of temper rare indeed to her +sunny nature.</p> + +<p>"That's a horrid thing to say," she flared out, "and sometimes I think +you're a horrid man! Yes, I do! When you're cynical and—and worldly +that way, I just can't bear you. So there! I'm going straight up to the +house. Good-by! You needn't try to stop me."</p> + +<p>She went, but very slowly, regretting already her foolish anger, waiting +for him to call her back. Her feet lagged. She said to herself that +these clever men could be very stupid....</p> + +<p>But Channing did not call her back. He followed the ascending figure, so +boyishly slender yet so instinct with feminine grace, with eyes that +held regret, and pity, and something else. When it was out of sight +among the upper trees, he heaved a sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>"That was a narrow squeak, Percival, my boy," he admonished himself. +"Another instant, and it would have been all up with you. Time you were +finding pressing business elsewhere!"</p> + +<p>As has been said, Mr. Channing knew himself extremely well; a knowledge +that was the result of expert study. He had learned that men pay a +penalty for keeping their emotions highly sensitized. They react too +readily to certain stimuli; they are not always under perfect control. +There are times when the only safety lies in flight.</p> + +<p>However, he was not quite ready to flee. He had his novel to finish. It +is always a mistake, he had found, to change environment in the middle +of a book.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + + +<p>Philip, true to his promise to himself, deliberately set about the +business of making friends with Jacqueline's lover. He found the matter +less difficult than he had expected. Channing was an agreeable surprise +to him. There was an atmosphere about him, man of the world that he was, +as comforting to the young country cleric as an open fire to one +unconsciously chilled. Philip recognized in the other a certain finish, +a certain fine edge of culture and comprehension, that had set his own +father apart from the people about them, kept him always a stranger in +his environment, even to the perceptions of a young boy. With Channing +he found many tastes in common, the love of books, of music, of art in +every form; as well as a keen interest in the study of humanity, pursued +by both from vastly different angles, but with equal ardor. Philip came +to understand very well the man's fascination for Jacqueline; but the +better he understood it, the more uneasy he became.</p> + +<p>Channing's life seemed so rounded, so filled, so complete—what +permanent place was there in it for a crude, untrained little country +girl? He suspected that the author thought of her, as everybody else had +thought of her, as a charming, impulsive, beautiful child, whose +blandishments were almost impossible to resist; and he knew men well +enough to guess that Channing had not tried very hard to resist them. +Why should he? She was too young to be taken seriously, and she was very +sweet. Philip himself, lover of another woman as he was, had more than +once been quite uncomfortably stirred by the near sweetness of +Jacqueline.... Neither as priest nor as man could he bring himself to +condemn a thing he so well understood. The sense of responsibility +deepened. What was he to do about it?</p> + +<p>Percival Channing, on his part, always sensitive to environment, gave of +his very best to Philip, reason enough for liking whoever brought it +forth. But he had other reasons for liking the grave, simple, courteous +young countryman—a sincere respect for his courage in choosing to live +out his life in the very shadow of his father's disgrace, and also a +very sincere if pagan admiration for the other's physical prowess—the +admiration of the weakling for the man who is as nature meant men to be.</p> + +<p>On the occasion of Philip's initial visit at Holiday Hill, Channing had +stood on the porch watching him ride away, his well-knit body moving in +the perfect accord with his horse that means natural horsemanship, +taking a gate at the foot of the road without troubling to open it, in +one long, clean leap that brought an envious sigh from the watcher.</p> + +<p>"What a man!" thought Channing. "I'll bet he doesn't know what a +headache is, nor a furry tongue, nor a case of morning blues.—Heigho +for the simple life!"</p> + +<p>It was not Philip's last visit to Holiday Hill; and more than once on +returning from his pastoral rounds, he found Channing in possession of +the rectory, deep in one of his father's French books, practising rather +futilely with the punching bag that decorated one corner of the +living-room, or prowling about with an appreciative eye for old bindings +and portraits, and what egg-shell china was left to remind Philip +vaguely of the vague, fragile lady who had been his mother.</p> + +<p>Farwell, too, came to the rectory; an adaptable, friendly soul, +accustomed to fit himself comfortably into whatever surroundings offered +themselves, but underneath his casual exterior extremely observant and +critical of such things as seemed to him important. Philip, having dined +in some elegance at Holiday Hill, had the courage to invite the two to +one of his own simple suppers. And as his ancient negress selected that +occasion, out of sheer excitement, to revert to her unfortunate habits, +Philip himself cooked the meal, serving it without apology or +explanation upon a cloth of fine yellowed damask, with his mother's +egg-shell china, and certain spoons and forks that bore upon their +attenuated tips the worn outlines of a crest. The table was drawn into a +window, through which the scent of Philip's little garden floated in. +There were flowers upon the table, too; garden roses in a low pewter +bowl, and wax tapers in very beautiful bronze candelabra, at sight of +which Farwell's eyes widened enviously.</p> + +<p>The actor, an æsthete to his finger-tips, looked with satisfaction about +the long, low room, wainscoted in vari-colored books, its great +old-fashioned fireplace filled with fragrant pine-boughs, and overhung +by a portrait in an oval frame of a dim gentleman in a stock; the mantel +crowded with pipes, a punching-bag and dumb-bells in one end of the +room, in the other an old square piano, open and inviting, showing +evidence of constant use; shabby, comfortable chairs; a large desk with +many pigeon-holes, very neat and business-like. Indeed, the whole room, +despite its odd agglomeration of furnishings, was neat, meticulously +neat, even to the spotless curtains, darned in many places by Jemima and +the ladies of the Altar Guild.</p> + +<p>Farwell spoke his thought aloud, "There's more character in this room of +yours, Benoix, than in all that fine, self-conscious, art-y house of +mine," he declared. "It could give pointers to any studio I know. It's +the real thing!"</p> + +<p>Philip flushed with surprise and pleasure. His unpretentious household +gods were very dear to him, dear as they are sometimes to women. They +meant more than furniture to the lonely young man; they meant home, and +kindred, and all the gentler things that life had denied him.</p> + +<p>Channing became lyrical over the salad, and was moved to propose a +toast. He lifted his glass of beer—the best Philip's cellar afforded. +"Here's to the greatest nation on earth, one drop of whose blood is +worth more to Art than all the stolid corpuscles that clog the veins of +lesser races. Without it what man can hope to write great prose, or +paint great pictures, or mix a great salad? <i>Vive la France!</i>—Benoix, +who taught you how to cook?"</p> + +<p>"My father," said Philip, in a low voice. He had not often occasion to +speak of his father, except to Mrs. Kildare.</p> + +<p>"I knew it! There's nothing Anglo-Saxon or negroid about this cooking. +Again I say, <i>Vive la France!</i>"</p> + +<p>After they had gone, Philip did not go immediately to bed. He was too +excited—as excited, he thought, smiling, as little Jemima had been with +the success of her first party. He put out the lights, and sat by his +window in the dark for a long time, going over in his mind the talk of +that night. Good man-talk it had been, touching on all the big things +that occupy the world's thought to-day, which hitherto Philip had got +for himself only out of books and periodicals. He had listened eagerly +to these young men, who were interested in larger matters than crops and +stock-breeding and local politics. And they had listened to him—he knew +that. More than once a remark of Channing recurred to him: "You're too +big for this place, you know. Before long you'll be moving on."</p> + +<p>It was a thought that he had often put deliberately out of his mind. His +bishop had been the first to suggest it, some years before.</p> + +<p>He looked now through the darkness toward Storm. "Moving on"? with his +lady there, alone, deserted? He tried to picture Kate Kildare away from +her environment of field and wood and open spaces, sharing with him that +crowded intense life of cities toward which his mind yearned. But it was +impossible. Once more he put ambition from him—if it was ambition that +called. What right has a priest with ambition?</p> + +<p>No!—exile he might be, but exile he would remain, and gladly. What were +they all but exiles—her daughters, his father in prison and out of +prison, James Thorpe, who stayed because she might miss his +friendship—all exiles from the world that called them, because of Kate +Kildare?</p> + +<p>"It's enough to be near her," he said to himself with a little sigh, +looking once more through the darkness toward Storm.</p> + +<p>With Farwell and Channing, too, on their way home, some glow of that +good talk lingered.</p> + +<p>"There's something about the chap—I don't know what it is," murmured +Farwell, vaguely.</p> + +<p>Channing nodded comprehension. "It's that you want him to like you, +somehow. You want him to—respect you, I think."</p> + +<p>Farwell looked around at him mockingly. "What a novel and virtuous +sentiment! You'll be getting religion next." He added after a moment, +"Can't say you're going about it exactly the right way, if you really +want the dominie's respect, you know."</p> + +<p>Channing flushed. "You mean the girl? It's not his girl, Morty—it's the +mother he's after. If it were the girl—damned if I wouldn't get out of +the way and give him a clear field!"</p> + +<p>Farwell jeered. "Yes, you would! With the quarry in full view?"</p> + +<p>"In full pursuit, you mean," said Channing, ruefully. "I wish I could +make you understand that this affair isn't entirely of my own seeking, +Farwell!"</p> + +<p>His companion yawned. "Awkward to be so damned fascinating, isn't it? +Look out—one of these days some of your fair friends are going to band +themselves together, and catch you unawares, and marry you, my boy."</p> + +<p>"One isn't a Mormon, worse luck," grunted the other.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + + +<p>It was a part of Channing's new policy of caution with regard to +Jacqueline that took him occasionally to Storm in the rôle of casual +caller, especially now that the older girl was not there to disconcert +him with her oddly observant gaze. Here he frequently found other +callers, young men who since Professor Thorpe's entertainment had +discovered that the distance between Storm and their homes, by +automobile and even by train, was a negligible trifle.</p> + +<p>These young men Jacqueline referred to, with innocent triumph and +evident justice, as "victims."</p> + +<p>"I <i>told</i> Jemmy there was no need of going away from home to get beaux," +she said complacently to Channing. "Here I've sat, just like a spider in +a web, and—look at them all! To say nothing of you," she added, with a +little gasp at her own daring.</p> + +<p>Channing frowned slightly. He was not altogether pleased with the +numbers and the frequency of the victims; a fact which added distinctly +to Jacqueline's pride in them. But she never allowed her duties as +hostess nor her instincts as coquette to interfere with any engagements +at the Ruin.</p> + +<p>It was Channing's custom, when he called at Storm, to bid her a +nonchalant, not to say indifferent, farewell, and repair by devious ways +to the ravine; where some moments later he welcomed a very different +Jacqueline from the demure young person he had left—ardent, glowing, +very eager to atone to him for the enforced restraint of the previous +encounter. The coquette in Jacqueline was only skin deep.</p> + +<p>One day, arriving at Storm at a belated lunch hour, the hospitable +negress who opened to him led him back at once into the dining-room; and +there he found a guest quite different from Jacqueline's victims. He was +a singular-looking old man, clad in worn butternut jeans; an uncouth, +uncombed, manifestly unwashed person at whose side on the floor rested a +peddler's pack. He was doing some alarming trencher-work with his knife, +and kept a supply of food convenient in his cheek while he greeted +Channing with a courteous, "Howdy, stranger!"</p> + +<p>"No, no, darter"—he continued without interruption his conversation +with Jacqueline. "'Tain't a mite of use puttin' that little washtub in +my room no more, bekase you ain't a-goin' to toll me into it. I takes my +bath when I gits home to Sally. She kinder expects it of me. Hit's a +wife's privilege to cut her man's hair and pare his nails and scrub his +ears an' all them little things, 'specially ef she ain't got no chillun +to do hit fur, an' I'd feel mighty mean ef I disapp'inted her. I don't +do much fer Sally, noways. No, darter, oncet or twicet a year's often +enough fer a human critter to git wet all over, 'cep'n in a nateral way, +by swimmin' in the crick. These here baths and perfumery-soaps an' all +ain't nature. They're sinful snares to the flesh, that's what they be, +not fitten' fer us workers in the Lord's vineyard."</p> + +<p>"You think the Lord prefers you dirty?" murmured Jacqueline, with a side +glance at the astonished Channing.</p> + +<p>"I dunno, darter, but some of His chillun does, an' that's a fack. Ef I +was too clean, I wouldn't seem to 'em like home-folks." He added, in all +reverence, "I 'lows the Lord went dirty Hisself sometimes when He was +among pore folks, jes' to show 'em He wa'n't no finer than what they +be."</p> + +<p>"I haven't a doubt of it," said Philip Benoix, beside him.</p> + +<p>Channing suddenly realized who this peddler was. Jacqueline had spoken +of him often—a protégé of her mother's whom she called the Apostle, +half fanatic and half saint, who appeared at Storm occasionally on his +way between the mountains of his birth and the city where he had taken +unto himself a wife; bringing down to the "Settlements," for sale, +certain crude handiwork of the mountain women, carrying back with him +various products of civilization, such as needles, and shoe-strings, and +stick-candy, and Bibles. It was his zeal in spreading what he called +"the Word of God" along his route that had won the old peddler his title +of "the Apostle."</p> + +<p>Channing looked at him with new interest, the literary eye lighting even +while he frowned at the sight of so uncouth a creature seated at lunch +with ladies.</p> + +<p>The Apostle suddenly turned to him with a gentle, quizzical smile, and +Channing had the startled sensation of having spoken his thoughts +unwittingly aloud.</p> + +<p>"Stranger, I reckon you ain't never been up in them barren mountings, +whar men has to wrastle with the yearth and the Devil fer every mouthful +of food they puts into their bellies? When I comes down from thar, I +always aims a bee line fer Sister Kildare's house, bekase I'm hongry. +She don't never turn no hongry man away. 'Tain't safe to turn a hongry +man away. You cain't never tell," he added slowly and significantly, +"who He might be."</p> + +<p>There was a little pause, uncomfortable on Channing's part. Mysticism +did not often come his way. He decided that the peddler was a trifle +mad.</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Kildare said, "Tell this gentleman something about your own +mountain, Brother Bates. He'd like to hear."</p> + +<p>"I'm mighty discouraged about 'em up thar, an' that's a fack." He shook +his head gloomily. "Folks on Misty is hongrier, and drunker, and meaner +than ever—most as mean as they be in the cities. They're pison +ign'rant. That's the trouble. The Word of God comes to 'em, but they're +too ign'rant to onderstand. 'Tain't wrote in no language they knows, and +ef it was, they couldn't read it. Take this here, now—'Love thy +neighbor as thyself.' What does that mean to 'em? They ain't got no +neighbors to speak of, and them they has, ef they ain't kin-folks, is +enemies. Ef the Book was to say 'Git the drop on thy neighbor before he +gits the drop on thee,' they'd understand. That's their language—but it +ain't God's. I goes on totin' 'em the Word of God in my pack, and them +that won't buy I gives it to. But there ain't nobody to explain it to +'em."</p> + +<p>"What about you? Why can't you explain it to them?" asked Kate Kildare.</p> + +<p>He shook his head again. "None of 'em wants to listen to old Brother +Bates. They know I'm as ign'rant as what they be. I used to think ef I +could manage someway to git book-l'arnin', I might be a preacher some +day. But I dunno. Reckon I never could 'a' yelled and hollered loud +enough, nor scared 'em up proper about hell-fire. I ain't so sure I got +convictions about hell-fire," he admitted, apologetically. "Seems to me +it ain't nateral. Seems to me ef there ever was such a thing, the Lord +in His loving-kindness would 'a' put it out long ago.—And I couldn't +ever have started the hymn for 'em—never could remember a tune in my +born days. No, no! The best I can do for 'em is just to keep on totin' +the Word of God around in my pack, hopin' they'll kind of absorb it in +at the skin, like I done."</p> + +<p>Philip said, "What about the Circuit Riders? Do none of them come to +Misty?" He referred to a class of itinerant preachers who are entitled +to as much honor for the work they have done among Cumberland +mountaineers as any missionaries to the heathen of savage lands.</p> + +<p>"Not no more, they don't. The last Circuit Rider that come was a young +fellow who looked upon a woman to lust after her," explained the peddler +with Biblical simplicity, "and her man shot him up, and I reckon he was +too skeert to come back again. Hit's mighty nigh a year sence there's +bin a proper baptizin' or buryin' or marryin' on Misty, with young folks +pairin' off and babies comin' along as fast as ever. They git tired of +waitin' to be tied proper, you see. They've done backslid even from whar +they was at."</p> + +<p>"I had always understood," murmured the interested Channing, "that +jumping over a broomstick was the accepted form of marriage in these +mountains."</p> + +<p>"Well, stranger, a broomstick's better than nothin', I reckon," replied +the peddler tolerantly. "It kinder stands for law and order, anyway. +I've knowed folks down around these parts, whar they's a-plenty of +preachers, to take up with each other 'thout'n so much as a broomstick +to make things bindin'-like."</p> + +<p>Philip exchanged glances with the author. "<i>Touché!</i>" he murmured. He +turned to Brother Bates. "If I can manage to get away for a week or two, +will you pilot me up to Misty?" he asked. "I might make up a few arrears +of weddings, funerals, and so forth."</p> + +<p>"You, Philip? Good!" exclaimed Kate, heartily.</p> + +<p>The Apostle for the first time allowed his gaze to rest on Philip. He +chuckled, with the sly malice of a child that has played some trick upon +an elder. "I 'lowed you'd be speakin' up purty soon," he said. "I bin +talkin' at you all the time, son. Hit don't matter what kind of a +preacher you be—Methody or Cam'elite, or what—jest so's you kin give +'em the Word strong."</p> + +<p>"I'll give it to them as strong as I can," smiled Philip, "though I must +confess that I share your doubts with regard to hell-fire."</p> + +<p>"Can ye start a tune? That's what gits 'em every time."</p> + +<p>"I can do better than that." He looked at Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>Even as he spoke, inspiration had come to him. It was the answer to the +problem of how to separate Jacqueline from Channing. "Will you come, +too, and be my choir?" he asked her.</p> + +<p>She clapped her hands. "What a lark! Mummy, may I? You know how I've +always longed to go up into the mountains!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly she paused, dismayed. She had remembered Channing.</p> + +<p>But that gentleman rose to the occasion with promptitude, somewhat to +the chagrin of Philip.</p> + +<p>"How would you like to add a passable tenor to your choir, Benoix? If +you will let me in on this missionary expedition, it would be awfully +good of you. Just the opportunity I've been looking for."</p> + +<p>The Apostle beamed on them all. "They's always room for workers in the +Lord's vineyard," he said solemnly.</p> + +<p>Philip could think of no reasonable objection to offer. He murmured +something vague to Kate about the necessity of a chaperon.</p> + +<p>She stared at him in frank amazement. "A chaperon for Jacqueline—with +<i>you</i>? What an idea! You and Mr. Channing will take the best possible +care of my little girl. Of course she shall go! I wish I could go +myself."</p> + +<p>"Why can't you?" he asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "At State Fair time? Impossible, with my head men +away. It would demoralize the farm."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline caught Philip's eye and winked, wickedly. "You'll just have +to be that chaperon yourself, Reverend Flip," she murmured.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + + +<p>Philip did his best, somewhat hampered by the fact that the girl +regarded his enforced chaperonage as a joke, and flirted with Channing +quite brazenly and openly under his very eye. Even the Apostle shortly +became aware of how matters stood, and remarked to Philip benignly, at +an early stage of their journey, "I like to see young folks +sweet-heartin'. It's a nateral thing, like the Lord intended."</p> + +<p>Philip could not agree with any heartiness; but presently the high +spirits of the other two infected him, and he entered into the adventure +with a growing zest. The clean September air was like wine, and they +chattered and laughed like children starting off on a picnic.</p> + +<p>Channing had spent the night before at Storm, to be in time for a +sunrise start, and he appeared at breakfast in a costume which he and +Farwell had evolved as suitable for mountaineering; an affair of +riding-boots, pale corduroy breeches, flannel shirt, and a silk +handkerchief knotted becomingly about the throat. He was disconcerted to +discover that the suit-case of other appropriate garments he had brought +with him must be left behind, his luggage being finally reduced to a +package of handkerchiefs and a toothbrush.</p> + +<p>"But we are to be gone at least a week!" he pleaded unhappily. "Surely a +change of linen—"</p> + +<p>"There'll be a creek handy," said Jacqueline, "and I'm taking a cake of +soap in my bundle. We can't be bothered with luggage."</p> + +<p>When he saw the mules that were to convey them from the mountain town at +which the railroad left them, up to their final destination, he realized +the undesirability of luggage. He also envied the other two their +horsemanship.</p> + +<p>But the mule proved easier riding than he had expected. They traveled at +a slow, steady lope that ate up the miles imperceptibly, through wild +and beautiful country, always climbing; passing at first occasional +groups of unpainted pine houses which gave way, as they penetrated +farther into the hills, to rough log cabins, growing fewer and farther +apart. These had a bare, singularly unkempt look; and although many of +them were so old as to be tumbledown, they did not fit, somehow, into +their surroundings. It was as if nature had never yet accepted man and +his works, still tolerated him under protest, a blot upon her +loveliness.</p> + +<p>Channing commented upon this. "Why are there no vines and flowers about, +nothing to make these pitiful places look as if people lived in them?"</p> + +<p>"Folks is too busy wrestin' a livin' out of the bare yearth to pretty-up +much," explained the Apostle.</p> + +<p>"But why stay here at all? Why not go down into the valleys, where land +is more fertile?"</p> + +<p>The other answered quietly, "Folks that have lived on the mounting-top +ain't never content to be cooped up in the valleys, son."</p> + +<p>"If you think the outsides are pitiful," exclaimed Philip, "wait till +you see the insides! I was only a child when we lived up here, but I +have never forgotten. I ought to have come back long ago. Frankly, I +have shirked it."</p> + +<p>"When <i>you</i> lived up here? Why, Philip! When did you ever live in the +mountains?" cried Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>"Father and I brought my mother up here to get well. It was before you +appeared on the scene, dear."</p> + +<p>"I'd forgotten. And she didn't get well," said the girl, pityingly, +reaching over to touch his hand. "Poor little boy Philip!"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline could think of nothing more dreadful than a world without a +mother in it. The pathos of that lonely little fellow who was so soon to +lose his father, too, came over her in a wave.</p> + +<p>"I <i>wish</i> I had been alive then to comfort you!" she said, quite +passionately.</p> + +<p>This new thing that had come to her lately had made her heart almost too +big and tender. Since she had learned to love Channing, that always +sensitive heart of hers ached and swelled with every grief or joy that +passed, as a wind-harp thrills to the touch of passing airs.</p> + +<p>She looked back at her lover suddenly, to remind herself of the blissful +fact that he was there, and that presently, somehow, they would manage +to be alone together.</p> + +<p>The two had come to the stage where the world seems crowded with +onlookers, and the silent solitude of the heights beyond lured them on +as to a haven of refuge. Philip could not always be with them during the +week ahead, nor Brother Bates. Meanwhile, the most assiduous of +chaperons was powerless to deflect the precious current of consciousness +that flowed between them, striking out sparks at every contact of touch +or glance....</p> + +<p>At noon they rested beside a little clear leaping stream, and +investigated with satisfaction the lunch-basket Big Liza had packed for +them at Storm. Afterwards, Jacqueline curled herself up in the leaves +and went to sleep like a contented young kitten, while the three men +smoked in silence, careful not to disturb her. Once, glancing at +Channing, Philip surprised in his face, as he watched her, such a look +of tenderness that his heart smote him.</p> + +<p>"What a fool I am with my suspicions!" he thought. "Of course he wants +her. Dear little thing! How could he help it?"</p> + +<p>After that he was a more merciful chaperon, and rode ahead up the trail +quite obliviously, engaging Brother Bates in conversation.</p> + +<p>It was sunset before they came to their destination, their high spirits +fallen into rather weary silence, all of them glad of the sight of the +cabin where the peddler had arranged for them to spend the night. He had +sent word ahead to friends of his, and they were evidently expected. A +man watching in the doorway called over his shoulder, "Here they be, +Mehitabel," and came forward with the grave mountain greeting, "Howdy, +strangers."</p> + +<p>They were led in at once to supper, an appalling meal of soggy cornbread +and molasses, with hog-meat swimming in grease. Their host and his two +sons ate with them, waited on by his wife and daughter, all five staring +at Jacqueline in unwinking silence, regarding her friendly efforts to +draw them into conversation as frivolity beneath their notice.</p> + +<p>The author glanced around him with a rather alarmed interest. It was +evident that the room in which they were served not only as kitchen and +living-room, but as bed-chamber also. It was the only room the cabin +boasted, with the exception of a small lean-to, devoted, if he could +trust his nostrils, to the family pig. Each end of the room was filled +by a long bunk, and he came to the correct conclusion that one was for +the women of the household, the other for the men. There were no +windows, no means of ventilation whatever except the two doors opposite +each other, and the rough chimney at which the woman Mehitabel performed +her extremely primitive feats of cooking.</p> + +<p>Channing began to wish that he had been less avid for local color; but +at that moment he caught Jacqueline's eye regarding him demurely, and +was of a sudden reconciled to his surroundings.</p> + +<p>While they ate, through the open door they saw a scattering stream of +people pass along the trail below, all going in the same direction; on +foot, on horseback, and mule-back, and ox-back. Many animals carried +more than one rider. One old plow-horse came along, led by a sturdy +patriarch, crowded from mane to crupper with children of assorted sizes.</p> + +<p>"Why, how queer, when we never passed a single soul all day!" said +Jacqueline. "Where do they all come from, Brother Bates, and where are +they going?"</p> + +<p>"To the meetin'-house down the trail a ways," he explained. "I sont word +ahead that a preacher was comin', and all the folks is turnin' out."</p> + +<p>Philip gave a faint groan. "What, to-night?" He had hoped for a few +hours' rest after the day's journey.</p> + +<p>"Why, in co'se! Hit's moonlight to-night, an' the teacher's done let out +school a-purpose. I done sont word," said the Apostle. "'T ain't no time +to waste. 'Watch and wait lest the Bridegroom cometh and find thee +sleepin'.'"</p> + +<p>"So there's a school even in these wilds? A lonely job for a +school-ma'am, I should think. Is she pretty?" asked Channing, hopefully, +with a thought of the accepted mountain school-teacher of current +fiction.</p> + +<p>"'T ain't no her. It's a him," remarked the host; his one contribution +to the conversation.</p> + +<p>"Reckon a her'd have right smart trouble keepin' school on Misty, +wouldn't she, Anse?" chuckled Brother Bates.</p> + +<p>"'Low she would," grunted the other, and relapsed into silence.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, on their way to the meeting-house, Jacqueline inquired into +his meaning. "Why would a woman have trouble teaching school here? Are +the children so very bad?"</p> + +<p>The Apostle explained, "'T ain't so much the chillun as the grown folks, +specially the men folks. You see Teacher makes 'em all come on moonlight +nights; the paws and maws, and the gran'paws and gran'maws, too. He's +got a whole lot of new-fangled notions, Teacher has. They don't allus +take to 'em kindly—you know how old folks are about new-fangled ways. +But he makes 'em come ef they wants to or not, and he larns 'em, +too—not only spellin' and sums and such-like, but how to take keer of +the babies, and the sick folks, and how to git the hens to lay, and how +to cook, and all!"</p> + +<p>"To cook! That is indeed a noble work," murmured Channing, devoutly, +having recourse to his flask of soda-mints. "Would that our hostess +might take advantage of the opportunity!"</p> + +<p>"She have," said Brother Bates, proudly. "She done nussed the whole +fambly through a fever-sickness a little while ago, doin' like Teacher +told her, and nary one of 'em died. But she ain't got so fur as cookin' +yet."</p> + +<p>"I'd like to meet this teacher," said Philip, heartily. "Will he be at +the meeting to-night?"</p> + +<p>The Apostle sighed. "Reck'n he won't. Ain't it queer how a smart man +like that don't take no stock in the Word of God? 'Lows he's scrambled +along without it all his life, and allus will. But I dunno. I dunno. I +expect the Lord's got a surprise up his sleeve for Teacher."</p> + +<p>The door-yard of the rough cabin that was dignified by the name of +meeting-house was quite crowded with men when they arrived. Philip went +among them pleasantly, saying, "Good evening, my friends," shaking hands +where he could find a hand to shake, greeted here and there by a gruff, +"Howdy, Preacher," but for the most part welcomed in solemn, almost +hostile silence.</p> + +<p>"They're just kind o' bashful," murmured the peddler, in apology for his +people.</p> + +<p>"I know," smiled Philip, himself feeling a little shy, and like an +intruder.</p> + +<p>They filed in silently behind him, each depositing a gun in a rack +beside the meeting-house door.</p> + +<p>"I breathe more easily," murmured Channing in Jacqueline's ear. "For +small mercies, let us be duly thankful. Lord, what a crew!"</p> + +<p>The two followed Philip to the bare, uncarpeted platform that was to +serve as altar. The girl saw to her dismay that there was no piano, not +even a harmonium to assist her singing. Brother Bates acted as master of +ceremonies. The peddler was evidently a man of great importance in the +community, its one traveler, acquainted with the ways of cities.</p> + +<p>"Let marryin' couples set on the right-hand, front benches. Preacher +will attend to 'em after meetin'," he announced.</p> + +<p>Four or five couples obeyed these instructions with subdued tittering, +the fact that several of the brides-to-be carried young infants in their +arms not adding appreciably to their embarrassment.</p> + +<p>"Have they licenses?" murmured Philip.</p> + +<p>"I dunno," replied the Apostle, serenely. "Ef they ain't, they kin git +'em afterwards. The Lord knows how fur they be from law-places."</p> + +<p>The little community of Misty Ridge was at that time one of the poorest +and most uncivilized in the Cumberland Mountains; many hours' ride, over +trails that were at times impassable, from the nearest railroad; +entirely unknown to the world below save when one of its sons was sent, +for good and sufficient reason, down to the penitentiary. It is a +literary fashion of the day to laud the Kentucky mountaineer as an +uncouth hero, a sort of nobleman in disguise, guarding intact in his +wilderness an inheritance of great racial traits for the strengthening +of future generations. Unfortunately, with his good old Saxon name and +his good old Saxon customs, he also inherits occasionally something of +the moral nature which caused his Saxon ancestor to be deported +overseas. The mountains of Kentucky, and of Tennessee, were settled to +some extent by convicts who had served their time in the English penal +colonies along the sea-coast.</p> + +<p>Such an origin, doubtless, might have been claimed by the sparse +settlement on Misty, and time had done nothing to mitigate any curse of +inheritance. The beautiful, barren hills, their hidden riches as yet +undiscovered, yielding so meager a livelihood in return for such bitter +labor, served as ramparts between their people and the world beyond. +Little help at that time reached them from without. Solitude, ignorance, +direst poverty, form a soil in which bodies flourish better than souls, +and even bodies do not flourish exceedingly.</p> + +<p>Channing, gazing about at the faces below him, one and all with eyes +fixed upon the fresh loveliness of Jacqueline, had a moment of acute +uneasiness. What right had Benoix, who knew the mountains, to bring the +girl into contact with such bestiality? The odor of packed humanity that +came to his fastidious nostrils was as sickening as the odor of a +bear-pit. He recalled tales of their untamable fierceness. He remembered +the row of guns even now resting in a rack outside the door. His eye, +going inadvertently to the sturdy figure of the clergyman, noticed a +suspicious bulge in the hip-pocket of his riding-breeches. He started.</p> + +<p>"Does Benoix carry a pistol?" he whispered to Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>"Of course! I've got one, too," she answered cheerfully. "Where's +yours?"</p> + +<p>The author felt that he had lost his taste for mountaineering. He looked +in vain for one of the beauteous mountain maids so satisfyingly frequent +in the pages of current fiction. The women were all sallow, stolid, +sullen, old beyond their years. Even the babies were sallow and stolid +and old. Many of the men were muscular and well-grown, but with a lanky, +stooping height that did not suggest health. Inflamed eyes were common +in that congregation, hollow cheeks flushed with the sign there is no +mistaking, faces vacuous and dull-eyed and foolishly a-grin.</p> + +<p>"Ugh! Think of the germs," he said unhappily, under his breath. "Your +friend the peddler is making signs at you."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline, obedient to the signal, stopped to the edge of the platform +and began to sing the first hymn that came to her mind. She found that +she was singing alone. Channing did not know the air. She glanced +imploringly at Philip, but he did not see her. He was studying his +congregation. They sat in solemn silence, staring at Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>At first her voice shook a little with self-consciousness, but she threw +her head up gallantly, and went on, verse after verse. At the end she +was singing as confidently as if Jemima and the little organ and the +faithful choir of Storm church were behind her. Her voice died away in +the final "Amen," and she went to her seat, still amid dead silence.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you help me out?" she whispered reproachfully to Philip.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't necessary. Look at them!"</p> + +<p>Then she saw that the stupidity, the grimness of all those watching +faces was gone as if by magic. They had become bright, eager, almost +tremulous with pleasure. The girl was touched. She understood why the +peddler had so insisted upon Philip's ability to start a hymn. Music, +such crude and simple music as came their way, meant to these starved +natures all that they knew of beauty, of higher things, perhaps of +religion.</p> + +<p>In the hush that followed, Philip began: "The Lord is in His holy +temple. Let all the earth keep silence before Him."</p> + +<p>It was a strange setting for the stately Episcopal service, simplified +as Philip made it for the occasion; a bare, log-walled room, lit by +smelling kerosene lamps, without altar, candles or cross, without +religious symbol of any sort. Only Jacqueline followed the service, +kneeling where the congregation should have knelt, making the responses +in her clear young voice, joining him in the prayers. But Philip was +aware of no incongruity. He gave them what he had to give, and felt none +the less a priest because of his flannel shirt and his shabby +riding-trousers. Cathedral or log-cabin, it was all one to him. He knew +that with Jacqueline's singing, the Lord had indeed entered into His +holy temple.</p> + +<p>Presently he spoke to them as he would have spoken to his Sunday-school +classes at home, earnestly and very simply, with none of the +condescending blandness of the elder. Some of their homely phrases, +their very accent, had crept unconsciously into his speech, a remnant of +the impressionable days when he had lived for a while among mountain +folk. Jacqueline realized that this unconscious adaptability was the +secret of his hold on people, of their confiding trust in him. Whatever +they might be, he was for the moment one of them, looking at their +temptations, their failures, never from the outside but from their own +point of view.</p> + +<p>Brother Bates, a little worried at first by the mildness of his +protégé's voice and manner, realized after a few moments the +people were listening to him as they had never listened to the +hell-fire-and-damnation preachers of their previous experience. Not a +man in that room, including Percival Channing, escaped the somewhat +uncomfortable feeling that the text, "Do unto others as ye would be done +by," had been chosen particularly for his benefit—which is perhaps the +secret of great preaching.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline, gazing about with great pride in her friend, saw that not +only was the room crowded with listeners, but that others were standing +outside in the porch. One profile, outlined for a few moments against a +window, attracted her attention by contrast with those about it; an +elderly face, worn by evident illness or suffering, sensitive and +intelligent and refined, despite the gray stubble of beard on his cheeks +and the rough flannel collar about his throat. Jacqueline watched him +curiously, until her gaze drew his and he suddenly disappeared.</p> + +<p>"He looked almost like a gentleman," she thought. "I wonder why he did +not come inside?"</p> + +<p>Her mind reverted to this man more than once.</p> + +<p>When they were on their way back up the moonlit trail, she and Channing +lingering behind the others, an explanation suddenly struck her.</p> + +<p>"The non-believing school teacher, of course!" she exclaimed. "Ashamed +to be caught listening to 'the Word of God.' Well, he may not be +interested in the Word of God," she added musingly, "but he certainly +was interested in the word of Philip. Never took his eye off Phil's +face!"</p> + +<p>Channing had taken her hand, which turned and clung to his with its +usual nestling gesture. Now he put his arm around her, drawing her to +him in the shadow of some trees. But close as they stood, he had an odd +feeling that for the moment, the girl was far away from him.</p> + +<p>"What are you thinking of? Tired, sweetheart?"</p> + +<p>She leaned back against him, nodding. "Awfully. What a day! But wasn't +it worth it, just to see those people listening to Philip? Do you know," +she said, "I believe old Reverend Flip is going to be a bishop one of +these days."</p> + +<p>"Really?" he murmured, kissing her. It seemed an unlikely moment for the +discussion of the clergyman, admirable as the fellow was.</p> + +<p>But Jacqueline had no sense of the fitness of things. She said between +one kiss and another, "Philip's so awfully <i>good</i>, you know."</p> + +<p>Channing released her, "I daresay," he remarked with some dryness. +"Being good is his profession, of course."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + + +<p>It was a sore and weary author who at length, having postponed the +inevitable as long as possible, crept into the bunk where his host and +the two sons slept audibly, with Benoix beside them. The latter stirred +a little, and greeted the newcomer.</p> + +<p>"That you, Channing? This is the real thing in democracy, at last!" he +murmured drowsily, and slept again as soundly as the others.</p> + +<p>But Channing, though every aching muscle cried aloud for oblivion, could +not sleep. He tossed and turned, listened to the heavy breathing of the +men beside him, listened to lighter sounds from the far end of the cabin +where Jacqueline was also tasting true democracy in company with the two +mountain women. He had lingered outside the door until the three women +came in from the lean-to where they had prepared for the night, +Jacqueline a tall sprite between her squat, thick-bodied companions, a +heavy rope of bronze hair over each shoulder, small feet showing bare +and white beneath the severe robe of gray flannel which was the nearest +approach to a negligée known to Mrs. Kildare's daughters. The atmosphere +of Storm did not lend itself to the art of the negligée.</p> + +<p>Moonlight shone full upon her, and Channing, watching with quickened +heart-beat, saw her lips move as she gave a quick, shy glance toward the +bunk where he was supposed to be already sleeping.</p> + +<p>"She's telling me good night, the darling!" he thought, quite correctly, +and blew her an unseen kiss.</p> + +<p>There were times of late when the author almost forgot to analyze his +own sensations. The Overmind that observed and registered for future +reference had grown a trifle careless. Occasionally Channing felt, and +acted, quite like an ordinary young man in love.</p> + +<p>Now he lay quite still, that he might hear that low breathing across the +room, trying to distinguish Jacqueline's from the rest. He had taken the +precaution to open both doors of the cabin wide, after his hosts were +safely asleep, letting in the moonlight and a little breeze that smelled +keenly of pine woods. Now and then a faint bird-note broke the hush, or +the mournful quaver of a screech-owl. The situation was not without +picturesque piquancy for a collector of impressions.</p> + +<p>Beside him, Benoix and the other man slept with the abandon of tired +animals, and the sound of their sleeping somewhat disturbed the poetry +of the night. On the whole, however, he preferred them sleeping to +waking. He sent his thoughts, on tiptoe, as it were, across the room. +How exquisite she was, with her slim bare feet, and the hint of a chaste +little ruffle showing at throat and wrist! Those drowsy, dewy eyes—the +fluttering pulse in her soft throat—her clinging lips, which kissed as +unconsciously as a child's until suddenly they were edged with fire....</p> + +<p>Channing's thoughts became so insistent that perhaps they wakened her. +There was a slight stirring in the bunk across the room, a slender gray +shape appeared on the edge of it, feeling about on the floor for shoes. +Still barefoot, with shoes in her hand, Jacqueline crept to the door.</p> + +<p>Channing, all his fatigues forgotten, very carefully extricated himself +from among the slumberers and followed. He congratulated himself upon +the fact that his preparations for the night had been extremely sketchy, +had in fact consisted merely in removing his coat and riding-boots. Once +safe outside the cabin, he pulled on the boots, smoothed his hair with +his fingers, knotted the handkerchief more becomingly about his throat, +and went in pursuit of Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>He had not far to go. She was sitting on the top rail of the nearest +fence, her back toward him, framed in the center of the setting moon. +She turned as he came upon her with a startled gasp:</p> + +<p>"O-oh! You, Mr. Channing!"</p> + +<p>One of the sweetest things about the girl to Channing was the queer +little tender respect with which she always treated him. Even in their +most intimate moments, he was still the great man, the superior order of +being. She could not possibly have called him "Percival." Though he +chided her for this attitude of respect, it did not displease him.</p> + +<p>"I could not sleep in there," she explained, rather breathlessly, "so I +came out to see the last of the moon. Of course I must go in again at +once."</p> + +<p>"Must you? Why, I wonder? I couldn't sleep either. Let's stay where we +are!"</p> + +<p>She asked, blushing: "But would that be quite proper?"</p> + +<p>This first hint of conventionality in the girl surprised and rather +touched him. He saw that she was quite painfully aware of the prim +little wrapper, the unbound hair, the bare feet thrust into her shoes.</p> + +<p>"Why, you little gray nun! Outdoors is quite as 'proper' as +indoors—rather more so, in fact. It's the onlooker that makes things +proper or improper, and here there are no onlookers.—This is all too +wonderful to waste in sleeping!"</p> + +<p>It was wonderful. The girl drew a breath of keen, cold ozone into her +lungs.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it queer," she said with a chuckle, "that mountains smell so +sweet and mountaineers—don't? Ugh! fancy living in that stuffy cabin! +All very well to sleep there once or twice for a lark, but to live +there—!" She rubbed her bare ankles together unhappily. "Mr. Channing, +do you suppose they were mosquitoes—?"</p> + +<p>"Ssh!" he said. "I hold with the ancient belief that 'nothing exists +until it is named.' There'll be several more nights of those bunks, you +know.—If you find log-cabins open to suspicion, you ought to try the +picturesque thatched-roof cots of Mother England! These mountaineers +cling to the old traditions."</p> + +<p>They laughed together, her slight barrier of shyness gone down in the +intimacy of sharing a common peril.</p> + +<p>"But were you ever so close to the moon, before?" she asked dreamily. +"It is right face to face with us now. I believe we could step off into +it."</p> + +<p>"As if it were a great golden door, opening into—who knows +where?—Suppose we try, Jacqueline? If we follow this ravine at our +feet, it will lead us to the edge of the mountain, and so to the +threshold of the moon, without a doubt. Only we must hurry if we are to +get there before the door closes."</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "Too late! Long before we reached the end of the +ravine the moon would be gone, and then it would be dark as a pocket."</p> + +<p>"Pooh! Who's afraid of the dark?" scoffed the city dweller in his +ignorance.</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't be safe," she said seriously. "We'd never be able to find +our way back in the dark. Of course, if we had a lantern—" She dimpled +up at him suddenly. "Do you know, there is a lantern hanging just inside +the cabin door. I saw it."</p> + +<p>Channing tiptoed back and secured the lantern, his heart thumping rather +hard, not entirely for fear of discovery. They had come at last to the +moment that had been in both their minds since the start of the journey, +beneath all their gaiety and laughter—that final desired solitude of +the heights.</p> + +<p>They descended into the shallow ravine—a mere fissure it was in the +surface of the mountain—crossing as they went an almost perpendicular +cornfield of which Jacqueline made mental note as a landmark. They spoke +in whispers, as if fearing to disturb the immemorial silence of the +hills. Here and there a bird woke at their passing, and called a sleepy +note of warning to its mate. Leaves rustled to the touch of the wind +that is never still in high places. Near at hand sounded a sudden eerie +cry, and Jacqueline drew close to Channing with a shudder.</p> + +<p>"Suppose we meet a wildcat, or a bear, or something? What would we do?"</p> + +<p>"Run," he said laconically; but he put a protective arm about her, which +was perhaps what Jacqueline needed. It is usually in the presence of Man +that Woman allows herself the luxury of timidity.</p> + +<p>Soon they ceased to talk at all. He held her very close as they walked, +and sometimes they stood for long moments without moving, embraced. No +talk of Philip or other extraneous matters came between their kisses +now. The young trees with which the ravine was filled hedged them in +close and secret, a friendly guard; and Channing wished to abandon the +expedition to the moon, being well content where he was. But Jacqueline, +impelled by some blind instinct, urged him on toward the open, where a +rim of gold, growing less and ever less, still showed between the +interlacing branches.</p> + +<p>Underbrush impeded them, tore at her skirts and her bare ankles, till +Channing picked her up in his arms and carried her; not easily, for he +was little taller than herself, but very willingly. So with his warm and +fragrant burden, he emerged upon the edge of the mountain. At their feet +was a sheer drop of many hundred feet into a cañon, where a stream +whispered, with the reflection of tumbled stars in its bosom. All about +lay a wide prospect of lesser hills, covered with a mantle of soft and +feathery verdure that stirred very lightly, as if the mountains were +breathing in sleep. As they gazed, the rim of the moon sank slowly, +slowly, till there was nothing left but starlight.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline murmured, "Isn't it lucky we brought the lantern? Let's light +it now." Her voice was rather tremulous.</p> + +<p>"Why, sweetest?" He seated himself in the fragrant pine-needles, and +drew her down beside him. "Look, little girl, how high we are above +earth; out of men's knowledge, all the world asleep. We might be gods on +high Olympus. 'You and I alone in Heaven dancing'"—he finished softly +that most beautiful passage out of "Marpessa."</p> + +<p>But the Overmind chose that moment to return to duty. It suggested to +Channing that he sounded a trifle histrionic, a trifle as though low +music were about to be played by the orchestra. He caught himself +murmuring inwardly, "What a setting! What a perfect setting!"</p> + +<p>"For what?" inquired the Overmind, not at all in disapproval but with a +sort of impersonal interest.</p> + +<p>Just then the gifted Mr. Channing would have traded temperaments with +the dullest lout that ever lost his head over a woman.</p> + +<p>His self-consciousness reacted upon Jacqueline. All her earlier shyness +returned. She drew the prim little wrapper down over her ankles, and sat +quite stiffly erect, submitting to his embrace, but no longer returning +it.</p> + +<p>"I think we'd better be going back now," she said. "Suppose Philip were +to wake up and miss us?"</p> + +<p>Channing had an odd and perfectly irrelevant thought of that bulge in +the clergyman's hip-pocket.</p> + +<p>"Bother Philip! You'd suppose the man was a sort of watch-dog. I believe +you're afraid of me to-night," he teased, turning her face to his.</p> + +<p>Her lips trembled as he kissed them. "It is so dark," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"Little goose! Why should the darkness make a difference to you and me?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know—but it does." Suddenly she pushed him away, and jumped to +her feet. "Give me the matches, Mr. Channing. I want to light the +lantern and go back."</p> + +<p>He obeyed with a shrug, wondering just where and how he had blundered. A +sense of artistic incompleteness mingled with a keen personal sense of +chagrin. Did the girl care less for him than he had thought? Or was it +merely the instinct of self-preservation that had warned her?</p> + +<p>Now that the blood ran more coolly in his veins, he blushed to realize +that the instinct had been right.</p> + +<p>They went back into the ravine, which, as Jacqueline had prophesied, had +become as dark as a pocket. Without the lantern they could not have seen +a foot ahead of them, and even with the lantern their way was not easy. +They stumbled along, still hand-in-hand and silent; but it was no longer +the delicious, thrilling silence of the earlier adventure. The glamour +of it seemed to have departed with the moon.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline, stiff with an embarrassment she did not understand (she +thought it the fault of the negligée and the stockingless feet) was +eager to get back to the shelter of the crowded cabin. Channing was by +this time as eager as herself, having discovered that riding-boots are +not the most comfortable equipment for mountain tramping.</p> + +<p>"There's our cornfield, at last!" said the girl, and both heaved sighs +of relief.</p> + +<p>They climbed laboriously toward the outline of corn stalks against the +starlit sky, with a darker outline looming behind; but as they came into +better sight of the cabin, she gave a cry of dismay.</p> + +<p>"It's all lighted. Oh, Mr. Channing! They've missed us!"</p> + +<p>"Damn!" said the author.</p> + +<p>At that moment voices reached them: loud, drunken voices, mingled with +laughter, and a snatch of song.</p> + +<p>"Why—why!" muttered Channing, blankly. "That can't be our cabin!"</p> + +<p>Nor was it. They had trusted to the wrong landmark.</p> + +<p>They turned and hurried down into the ravine again. But Channing +stumbled, and the sound reached the quick ears of the mountaineers +above. There was a shout, in a voice suddenly sobered.</p> + +<p>"Who's down thar?"</p> + +<p>It was followed by the sharp ping of a bullet.</p> + +<p>"Good gad, but they're shooting!" gasped Channing.</p> + +<p>"They certainly are," said the girl, with a giggle. "It must be a still +or something, and they think we're revenue officers!"</p> + +<p>"Wh-what shall we do?"</p> + +<p>"Run," she quoted him, laughing, and seizing his hand suited the action +to the word. She seemed perfectly unafraid. "They won't get our range in +the dark. Isn't this exciting?"</p> + +<p>But the bullets followed them, too close for comfort.</p> + +<p>"It's the lantern!" exclaimed Channing, and was about to drop it when +the girl seized it out of his hand.</p> + +<p>"Here—don't do that! We'd be wandering about in this ravine all night +without it."</p> + +<p>She looked at her companion in sheer surprise. It was her first +experience of the type of man who loses his head in the presence of +danger. Her voice became all at once quite motherly and kind.</p> + +<p>"It's all right. You go ahead and I'll carry the lantern. They're +probably too drunk to follow us," she reassured him.</p> + +<p>Channing, to the after mortification of his entire life, obeyed without +demur.</p> + +<p>"It's all right," she repeated. "But go as fast as you can."</p> + +<p>Shots were flying thick and fast about the lantern she held at arm's +length. More than one grazed her closely.</p> + +<p>"You great cowards up there!" she cried out in sudden anger. "Do you +know you're shooting at a girl?"</p> + +<p>There was a sudden silence. Then the shouts began again with a new note. +"A gal, be ye? Boys, hit's a female down thar. Come on up, gal! Let's +see what ye look like."</p> + +<p>But the shots ceased, and the shouts came no nearer.</p> + +<p>"Just as I thought—they 're too drunk to follow us," she said +triumphantly. "Better get out of this neighborhood, though. Hurry on, +Mr. Channing!"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I can't," he said faintly. "You go without me."</p> + +<p>She turned the light of the lantern full upon him, and saw that he was +holding to a tree, swaying where he stood. There was a dark stain on his +breeches, just above the knee, which spread even as she looked.</p> + +<p>Without a word, she turned and began to run up the hillside again.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?" he cried.</p> + +<p>"To get help. You are hurt."</p> + +<p>"Those drunken brutes? Never!"</p> + +<p>"They'll help us. I'm a woman."</p> + +<p>"All the more reason—" he conquered his growing weakness, and put what +force he could into his voice. "Jacqueline, I forbid you to go! Come +here!"</p> + +<p>She obeyed, wringing her hands. "But I don't know what to do for you!" +she quavered.</p> + +<p>"Listen! I must walk as far as I can, and when I'm done, you leave me, +and run ahead for help. We can't be far from our own cabin now."</p> + +<p>Channing had resumed his manhood, and it did not occur to the girl to +argue with him. He was not a coward. He had merely been startled +momentarily out of his self-control, unaccustomed as he was to physical +danger. She realized this thankfully. The literary life does not prepare +a man for the emergency of finding himself a target for bullets out of +the dark.</p> + +<p>Arm-in-arm they stumbled along the ravine. Soon he was obliged to lay an +arm across her sturdy young shoulders, leaning upon her more heavily +with each step. She felt the effort of his every motion, was aware of +the labored breath with which he fought back his weakness. Still he +struggled on. If she had loved him before, she adored him now.</p> + +<p>"Oughtn't I to bandage it, or something?"</p> + +<p>"No," he gasped. "It's not an artery, I think. Must get on. Almost +done."</p> + +<p>She was terrified. All the tenderness she had denied him that night rose +in her, an overwhelming flood. As he faltered she urged him forward with +crooning words, with caresses. "Just a little farther, that's my brave +dear! We're almost there. It can't be far now, darling, beloved, my +precious!"</p> + +<p>He grew too faint to understand her words, but her will toward the last +carried him on, step by step, she staring desperately at the skyline, +looking for the cornfield that was to be her landmark.—Could they have +passed it? Surely they had not come so long a way as this?</p> + +<p>Suddenly the thought occurred to her that in starting back they might +have entered the wrong ravine. There must be many such shallow fissures +on the mountain-side. She heard near at hand the trickling of a spring, +and stopped aghast. They had passed no spring on the way out. She was +too thoroughly country-bred not to have taken note of running water +instinctively, as animals do.</p> + +<p>"Lost!" she whispered to herself; lost in wild country, between midnight +and dawn, with a wounded man on her hands and—no stockings on! The +choking giggle she gave was more than half hysteria.</p> + +<p>Then, without a word, Channing pitched forward on his face.</p> + +<p>That steadied her. In a moment she had brought water in her cupped hands +from that providential spring, had found his pocket-knife, ripped up his +trousers-leg, and bandaged the wound as coolly as Jemima herself might +have done it, though the sight of the blood nauseated her. She bathed +his face with a wet handkerchief, but his eyelids merely fluttered once +and were still again. In a panic she lifted his head to her bosom, +trying to warm his cheeks; kissed him on the lips again and again, +violently, begging him to wake and speak to her. It is a pity that the +collector of impressions was unable to appreciate these man[oe]uvers.</p> + +<p>"What shall I do? What <i>shall</i> I do?" she moaned.</p> + +<p>He had bade her leave him and run for help—but did she dare? Even as +she considered it, there was a rustling in the underbrush, and +startlingly near at hand sounded the eerie cry that had frightened her +earlier in the night. It did not frighten her now, oddly enough. She +regretted the pistol she had left in the cabin. Her hand tightened on +the pocket-knife, however, and she placed herself between Channing and +the direction of the sound.</p> + +<p>"Go away! Get out of this! Scat!" she said firmly, flourishing her +lantern.</p> + +<p>For a tense moment she waited; but the cry was not repeated. It had put +out of the question, however, any thought of leaving Channing there +defenseless. There were wild-cats in these mountains, she knew, +rattlesnakes, too, possibly bears; and even the foxes that barked far +away at intervals were not to be trusted with an unconscious human +smelling of fresh blood.</p> + +<p>There seemed nothing better to do than shout for help, on the chance of +somebody hearing her in this wild and desolate place. Through the ravine +rang the golden voice that might one day enthrall the world, pitched to +fill a wider auditorium than it had ever filled before. From side to +side it rolled and echoed in musical cadences: "Help! Come! Somebody +please hear me! Help!"</p> + +<p>Birds awoke with startled twittering, and various creatures of the +underbrush, which had been attracted to the light of the lantern, fled +away in terror. She sent her voice in the direction of the cabin they +had mistaken for their own. Drunk or not, there were men there, and she +needed them.</p> + +<p>But after some time, an answer came from the other side of the ravine, a +little way beyond. A bobbing light appeared on the edge, and a faint +halloa reached her.</p> + +<p>"What's wrong down there?"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline shouted: "Man hurt! Bleeding! Awfully!"</p> + +<p>The lantern bobbed rapidly downward. Presently a man came into sight, +stoop-shouldered and spectacled, and roughly dressed. He knelt beside +Channing and examined him.</p> + +<p>"Nothing broken. Just loss of blood. That's not a bad bandage. It will +last till we get him up the hill. No need to cry, young lady," he added; +for at the first sound of that pleasant, crisp, gentleman's voice, +Jacqueline had broken into sobs. She knew that her immediate troubles +were over.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + + +<p>The newcomer asked no questions, then or afterwards, but busied himself +with a little satchel he carried. "Drink this, please," he said to +Jacqueline in a moment.</p> + +<p>It was aromatic ammonia, and she spluttered over it and stopped crying. +Then he forced some between Channing's lips; and presently the wounded +man's eyes opened, to Jacqueline's almost sick relief.</p> + +<p>"There! Now you will do nicely, though you will not feel like climbing +my hill, perhaps," the stranger said to him. He eyed Jacqueline +speculatively. "Are you a muscular young lady? I think so."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed!" She doubled up her arm boyishly to exhibit the swelling +biceps.</p> + +<p>He nodded. "Excellent. Then we must make him a ladies' chair, you and I. +Fortunately he is not a large man."</p> + +<p>Channing, however, was heavier than he looked. He was only conscious +enough to keep his arms over their shoulders, otherwise unable to help +them at all. They made slow progress. Frequently they had to put him +down and rest, more for the stranger's sake than for Jacqueline's.</p> + +<p>"I fear my biceps are less creditable than yours," he smiled once, +panting a little. "Or it is the breath, perhaps. One grows older, +unfortunately."</p> + +<p>As he spoke he coughed slightly, and Jacqueline looked with quick +understanding at his thin face. She had heard such a cough before. The +White Plague was one of the enemies which Mrs. Kildare fought untiringly +and unceasingly in her domain.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid this effort is not good for you," she murmured.</p> + +<p>He shrugged deprecatingly, as if to say, "What does it matter?"</p> + +<p>The gesture was oddly familiar to Jacqueline. She had seen Philip Benoix +shrug in just that way. Indeed, there were other things about this man +that seemed oddly familiar. She looked at him, puzzled. The lantern +showed him dressed in coarse jeans, unkempt, unshaven. Yet his clear, +well-modulated, slightly accented speech proved him no genuine +mountaineer. Perhaps the cough accounted for his presence in the +mountains.—But his appearance of familiarity?</p> + +<p>Suddenly Jacqueline placed him. It was the man she had seen outside the +window of the meeting-house, listening so absorbedly to Philip's sermon.</p> + +<p>"You're the school-teacher, aren't you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"At your service," he replied with a slight, courteous formality that +again reminded her of Philip.</p> + +<p>"I saw you at church to-night, and wondered why you did not come in."</p> + +<p>"I am not a Christian," he explained.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but that doesn't matter! That is just why Philip—Mr. Benoix, I +mean—has come up here. To make Christians."</p> + +<p>The other smiled faintly. "The few Christians of my acquaintance have +been born, and not made.—Now, shall we start again?"</p> + +<p>They came at last to the first of two small cabins, whose door the man +kicked open. They deposited their now unconscious burden upon a bed, one +of several that stood in a neat, white row, each with curtains about it.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's a regular dormitory! Is yours a boarding-school?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head. "My hospital extension. It is easier to take care of +sick scholars here than at their homes, and I have often sick scholars. +None at present, however. We have room here for several patients, as you +see, and soon I hope to be able to build another house for women. +Obstetrical cases," he explained, rather absently. While he spoke he was +removing Channing's bandage. "Hum! The shot has fortunately missed the +patella, but it must come out." He rose and began to build a fire in a +small cook-stove at one end of the room. "When I have sterilized these +instruments, young lady, we shall have a try for that bullet."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline paled. "You mean you are going to—to cut him? Are you sure +you know how?"</p> + +<p>He smiled at her, "Quite sure. We mountain teachers have opportunity to +learn many things."</p> + +<p>"Including cooking," she said, with a wan attempt at raillery, +remembering Brother Bates' gossip.</p> + +<p>"Including cooking," he admitted gravely. "Wait until this coffee has +boiled, and you shall see that I know one branch, at least, of my +profession thoroughly."</p> + +<p>He brought her a steaming cup in a moment, which she drained gratefully. +"It's heavenly! May I have some more? Where did you learn to cook—from +books?"</p> + +<p>"From necessity. When I first came to the mountains, it seemed safer to +cook than to be cooked for."</p> + +<p>The girl was paying little attention. She watched Channing fearfully. He +was still unconscious, livid; but the school-teacher appeared to feel no +alarm. He went deftly and quite unhurried about his preparations, +getting out a hypodermic syringe, a bottle of chloroform, placing +certain instruments in the oven, others in boiling water.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline shivered; but she went on with the conversation gallantly, +striving to face the situation as her mother or Jemima would have faced +it.</p> + +<p>"I know one other man who can cook, but he's a minister, and they're +always different, somehow. He learned in the mountains, too, by the way, +because there was nobody but himself and his father to take care of his +sick mother. He learned all sorts of things to help her ... how to sew +on buttons, and mend clothes, and sweep—He can even darn stockings! And +he's not a bit ashamed of it."</p> + +<p>"I should think," murmured the other, "that he might be even proud of +it. You find him unmanly, perhaps?"</p> + +<p>"Unmanly! Philip?" The tone of her voice answered him. "Why, he's the +manliest man I know!"</p> + +<p>The teacher said nothing further; but she got the impression that he was +listening, waiting for her to go on.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," she said, "I feel as if I knew you, as if I might have +known you all my life. Have I never seen you before?"</p> + +<p>"I think not," he replied, in a low voice.—Who can tell how much is +seen by little eyes newly opened upon the world? Perhaps vision is +clearer then than afterwards, when speech and sound and crowding +thoughts come to obscure it.</p> + +<p>"Have you always lived in these mountains?"</p> + +<p>He answered with a slight hesitation. "I came here seventeen years ago."</p> + +<p>"And do you never go down to the lowlands?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Then I can't have known you before," she said disappointedly, "because +I am only seventeen myself."</p> + +<p>A shrewder observer—Jemima for instance—might have noted his +hesitancy, might have realized that coming to a place does not imply +remaining there continuously.</p> + +<p>But Jacqueline was not shrewd. She took people literally, and understood +just what they intended her to understand. The art of prevarication was +unknown to her; though, as has been seen, she could lie upon occasion, +with a large and primitive simplicity.</p> + +<p>"Now then," said the teacher briskly. "If you are ready, young lady, we +shall go after that bullet."</p> + +<p>She shrank away, quivering, all her fine pretense at composure +shattered. "O-oh, but you don't expect <i>me</i> to help you? I can't, I +never can help with things like that! I'm not like mother and Jemmy. I +couldn't bear it. He might groan! I can't stand it when they groan!"</p> + +<p>The other frowned. "You are not a coward, I think, afraid of a little +blood?"</p> + +<p>"It's not the blood—though I don't like that a bit. It's the pain. It's +when they groan. Please, please!—It's horrible enough when you don't +care for them, but when you do—"</p> + +<p>His face softened wonderfully. "Ah!—Yes. It is worse when you care, my +dear; but all the more reason for helping. Come, I have no one else. You +shall keep me from hurting him by holding this little cone over his +face—see, how simple. He will certainly groan, and you will certainly +bear it. Come, then!"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline, sick and shivering, stuck to her post. "If Jemmy could only +see me now!" was the thought with which she stiffened herself. She tried +not to listen to the moaning voice—"They're killing me! Take it away. +Oh, <i>don't</i> hurt me any more—"</p> + +<p>"You said it wouldn't hurt him!" she muttered once, fiercely.</p> + +<p>"And it does not—only his imagination. He has a vivid imagination, this +chap."</p> + +<p>"Of course he has!" She scented disrespect, and was quick to resent it. +"He's a very famous author,—Mr. Percival Channing."</p> + +<p>"So?" But the school-teacher did not appear to be greatly impressed. "A +healthy-looking author, at least, which is in his favor. This should not +give him any trouble.—Aha! Now we have it."</p> + +<p>He held up the bullet for her to see.</p> + +<p>"Now then," he added in a moment, "you shall go into my little +guest-room there while I watch over our patient, and sleep like the +heroine you are for many hours."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline demurred indignantly. "Leave him? Indeed I won't! It's my +place to nurse him, not yours. Go to sleep yourself!"</p> + +<p>He did not venture to drive Woman out of her natural sphere.</p> + +<p>"As you like. Just rest on one of these cots, then, while I attend to +some further matters. I shall rouse you when I am ready to leave."</p> + +<p>"You won't go far?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no. I shall be within call."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline stretched herself luxuriously. The cot was very comfortable. +"I shan't go to sleep, of course," she said....</p> + +<p>Once during the night she stirred suddenly. "Philip will be worried," +she murmured.</p> + +<p>A quiet voice answered beside her, "No, I shall send word to him."</p> + +<p>She lifted her heavy lids. "Oh, is that you, Phil?" she muttered +contentedly, and dozed off again....</p> + +<p>It was not such an odd mistake. The school-teacher, sitting there beside +her, had taken off his spectacles, and the eyes she met when hers +opened, were eyes she had known and trusted all her life; gleaming, +kindly, quizzical eyes, astonishingly blue by contrast with a dark face.</p> + +<p>He tried not to cough for fear of disturbing her. Until dawn and +afterwards he sat there between the two beds, sometimes rising quietly +to minister to Channing's needs, but for the most part gazing at the +sleeping girl, hungrily, wistfully, often through a mist o£ tears; +searching for resemblances, and finding them.</p> + +<p>"Her child!" he whispered to himself. "Her little girl, the babe that +was on her breast!—So like, and yet unlike. A hint of pliancy here, of +weakness perhaps, that is not Kate. Wilfulness with Kate, never +weakness—And already a woman, already come to the time of sacrifice. +Her little girl!—"</p> + +<p>He leaned over Channing, studying intently and anxiously the nervous, +sensuous, intelligent face in its betraying relaxation of slumber. He +shook his head presently, as if in doubt.</p> + +<p>"But she will not see; perhaps she will never see. Yes, she is Kate's +own child!" He sighed, and shrugged.</p> + +<p>"At least there is Philip on guard," he said to himself, finally. "My +sturdy, pious young Atlas, with the world so heavy on his shoulders!—"</p> + +<p>The smile on the teacher's lips was mocking and sad, and very tender.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> + + +<p>It was broad daylight when Jacqueline was awakened by some one calling +her by name, and shaking her none too gently.</p> + +<p>"Come, come, Jacqueline, you must wake up, please! I have no time to +waste."</p> + +<p>She rubbed her eyes, yawning. "Let me alone, Phil! I'm half dead with +sleep.—Heavens, where am I? Why are you so cross? Oh, Phil," she +gasped, memory returning in a flood. "How is he? Is he conscious yet?"</p> + +<p>"Who, Channing? Extremely conscious, I should say, and very much ashamed +of himself. He is making an excellent breakfast in the next room."</p> + +<p>His stern voice caused her to hang her head. "I suppose you're +dreadfully mad at us, Reverend! Were you anxious?"</p> + +<p>"Fortunately I didn't miss you till the school-teacher's messenger woke +us with the news that you and Channing had been found lost in the woods +somewhere. I've brought your clothes. It is a wonder you did not take +pneumonia, wandering about half-dressed!"</p> + +<p>She winced, and put out a wheedling hand, "My wrapper is just as warm as +a dress, and—and it looks almost like one. See! it's—it's quite long, +too, Phil!—I don't think he even noticed that my stockings weren't on."</p> + +<p>"No?" He looked at her searchingly, and his face softened. The gaze that +met his was deprecating and embarrassed, but frank as a child's.</p> + +<p>"Still," she admitted, "it was a dreadful thing to do."</p> + +<p>"It was a very silly thing to do, and as it turned out, very dangerous. +These mountaineers are a wild lot, especially with a little moonshine in +them. You might very well have been shot, instead of Channing."</p> + +<p>"I wish I had been—oh, I <i>wish</i> I had been!" Her lip quivered. "You're +so cross to me," she wailed, "and I've been through <i>such</i> a lot!"</p> + +<p>He relented. "I don't mean to be cross, little girl. But you must see +that I can't take the responsibility of such a madcap any longer. You +will have to go back to civilization."</p> + +<p>Her face fell. "Oh, Phil! You don't mean that you are going to give up +the missionary expedition because of what I've done?"</p> + +<p>"I do not," he said crisply. "I came to accomplish certain things up +here, and I shan't leave till they are done. But I shall have to manage +without my choir. You are going back to Storm, you and Mr. Channing."</p> + +<p>"When must we go?" she asked meekly.</p> + +<p>"To-day. At once."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but Philip, we can't! Mr. Channing couldn't be moved so soon. His +poor leg—"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid he will have to risk that valuable member for the good of +the common cause. He is going to need much attention, that is plain, and +we can't impose on this school-teacher."</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>he</i> won't mind!" interposed Jacqueline, eagerly. "He's as good as +a doctor, and a perfect dear."</p> + +<p>"'Dear' or not, he is a busy man, and we have no claim on his time. +Channing himself wants to go down to the neighborhood of genuine +doctors, I fancy. He seems to be alarmed for fear of blood-poison +developing." Despite himself, Philip's lip curled a little.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe you're one bit sorry for Mr. Channing!"</p> + +<p>"Now that you mention it," murmured Philip, "I don't believe I am. It +serves him damned right!" He turned on his heel and left the room.</p> + +<p>But later when she came out to him, dressed and abjectly penitent, he +spoke more gently. "Jacky dear, I've got to interfere once more in +something that is perhaps not my business. How do matters stand between +you and our author friend? Has he decided yet whether he wants to marry +you?"</p> + +<p>The hot blood rushed into her cheeks. "Why—why, I don't know," she +stammered, "He never—Philip Benoix, that certainly is <i>not</i> your +business! The idea!"</p> + +<p>"Whatever is your mother's business I make mine," he said quietly. +"Jacqueline, since you have tied my hands, I want you to promise me one +thing. As soon as you get back, I want you to tell your mother +everything about this affair with Channing."</p> + +<p>Her head went up angrily. "I'll promise no such thing! What has mother +to do with it? When Mr. Channing is ready," she said very stiffly, "I +daresay he will speak to my mother himself, without any prompting from +you."</p> + +<p>It was her turn to walk away, outraged dignity in every motion.</p> + +<p>Philip looked after her ruefully. "Of course she won't tell Kate, and I +can't, and it would never occur to that dear woman to watch one of her +own daughters.—I do wish," he muttered, "that Jemima were at home!"</p> + +<p>It was an odd fact that many people who usually took young Jemima +Kildare's existence very much for granted had a way of wishing for her +suddenly when any emergency arose.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline's dignity did not carry her far. She came back in a moment to +ask humbly, "How am I ever to get Mr. Channing down to the railroad? He +can't ride, and wheels are out of the question on that rough trail. +Philip, really, he'll <i>have</i> to stay here till the wound is healed. It +won't be any trouble for the teacher. I'll look after him myself."</p> + +<p>"I think not," said Philip, grimly. "You will be safe at Storm by +nightfall."</p> + +<p>"You don't seem to realize that he is terribly wounded!"</p> + +<p>"By no means 'terribly.' The school-teacher—who seems to be a capable +person as well as a 'dear'—has made a very good job of removing the +bullet, and there's no temperature. Believe me, your imaginative friend +will manage to survive this affair. Everything is settled. Brother Bates +will stay and see the school-teacher, and arrange with him about the +mule-litter for Channing. He will go down with you himself, and see you +safely into the train. Sorry I can't, but I'm expected on the other side +of the mountain this morning for a 'buryin,' and as the deceased has +been awaiting the occasion for several months—underground, I trust,—I +don't like to postpone it any longer."</p> + +<p>"Won't you even wait till we start?" she asked forlornly.</p> + +<p>"I can't. Sorry not to see that school-teacher, too. He has gone off +somewhere on an errand, the old woman in charge here says. Doesn't know +when he will be back. I must be off."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you going to say good-by to Mr. Channing?"</p> + +<p>"I have already said good-by, and other things, to Mr. Channing," said +Philip, grimly. "<i>Au revoir</i>, little girl."</p> + +<p>He rode up the trail at a lope, passing as he went a group of laurel +bushes, behind which, had he looked more closely, he might have detected +the crouching figure of a man, who watched him wistfully out of sight. +The teacher's errand had not taken him far.</p> + +<p>When Philip stopped at the schoolhouse again that evening on his return +from the "buryin'," he found it deserted. There was a sign on the door. +"School closed for a week. Gone fishing."</p> + +<p>"A casual sort of school-teacher, this," said Philip, disappointed. "A +regular gadabout! I'm afraid I shan't see him at all. What did you say +his name was?"</p> + +<p>The man Anse, who was his companion, eyed Philip impassively. "Dunno as +I said. Dunno as I ever heerd tell. We calls him 'Teacher' hereabouts."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say you've never <i>asked</i> his name?" demanded Philip.</p> + +<p>"Folks hereabouts ain't much on axin' questions," remarked Anse. "'T +ain't allus healthy, Preacher."</p> + +<p>Philip felt oddly rebuked.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX</h2> + + +<p>As if Philip's wish had materialized her, it was Jemima herself who met +Jacqueline and Channing at the Storm station late that night; Jemima, +fully equipped for the occasion, ambulance and all, brisk and important +and even sympathetic in a professional sort of way.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline hailed her with mingled feelings of relief and sisterly +pleasure, complicated with certain misgivings as to her future freedom.</p> + +<p>"Why, Jemmy! I thought you were going to stay with that Mrs. Lawton at +least three weeks."</p> + +<p>"Lucky I didn't," remarked her sister succinctly. "I had just got home +when your telegram to mother came, telling about the accident, so of +course I took charge of things. Mother wanted to come herself, but she +seemed rather tired, so I made her stop at home. The doctor will be +there to meet us."</p> + +<p>Channing saw the improvised ambulance with thanksgiving. The journey +back to civilization was a chapter in his experience which he had no +wish to repeat....</p> + +<p>It had started gaily enough, Channing quite comfortable in a sort of +litter swung between two mules, led at a foot-pace by the versatile +peddler and a silent young mountaineer, a son of their former host, +Anse. The school-teacher rode with them to the foot of the mountain, to +make sure of the bandages, and Jacqueline brought up the procession on +her mule.</p> + +<p>Before they started, Channing spoke a few appreciative if rather +patronizing words to the school-master. "You've been awfully kind and +clever about this. A surgeon could not have done better. You really +ought to charge me a whopping big price, you know." He put his hand into +his pocket, suggestively.</p> + +<p>The other raised his eyebrows. "My services were not professional, Mr. +Channing. I make no charge for them. It is all part of my day's work."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but really—" insisted the author.</p> + +<p>"Of course if you've plenty of money, you may pay what you like," added +the teacher indifferently, and went back into the schoolhouse for +something he had forgotten.</p> + +<p>Channing grinned. "Of course! I've never seen services yet, professional +or otherwise, that could not be paid for. What do you think I ought to +give him?"</p> + +<p>It was to Jacqueline he spoke, but the Apostle answered: "You don't give +him nothin', son. You puts what you kin in this here box for the +Hospital."</p> + +<p>He obligingly lifted down a box with a slit in it, that hung beside the +schoolhouse door, bearing the inscription, "Hospital Fund." He rattled +it as he did so. "It's gettin' real heavy," he commented with +satisfaction. "Reck'n there must 'a' bin a lot of sick folks lately. +Teacher must be pleased."</p> + +<p>Channing lifted his eyebrows at Jacqueline. "Do you mean to say he +leaves a box of money hanging outside his door at the mercy of any +passing stranger?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?" asked the teacher himself, reappearing.</p> + +<p>"Very few strangers do pass, and though my neighbors have their +failings, dishonesty is not one of them. Besides, it is their own money. +They have given it."</p> + +<p>"Rather an ambitious idea of yours, isn't it, a hospital in these +wilds?"</p> + +<p>"The name is more ambitious than the idea, Mr. Channing. What I hope to +build is merely another small cabin for women, on the other side of my +schoolhouse, and perhaps later an isolated building for contagious +cases."</p> + +<p>"And who is to care for your patients?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I have plenty of assistance. Some of the women have become +excellent nurses, and one or two of the boys show a distinct aptitude +for medicine. We shall make doctors of them yet." He broke off +apologetically. "You will think that I have a partiality for hygienic +matters, and perhaps I have. It is my theory that most crime is +traceable to physical causes; to disease; and as most disease is the +result of ignorance—" he shrugged. "You will see why I consider hygiene +an important part of my school curriculum."</p> + +<p>Channing was looking at him curiously. His manner had lost its +patronage. "May I ask," he said, "whether the State finances this +institution of yours?"</p> + +<p>"No. The nearest school supplied by the State is miles away, over roads +which for part of the year are almost impassable. That is why I happened +to settle here."</p> + +<p>"Then who does finance it? Yourself?"</p> + +<p>The teacher smiled. "It is not 'financed' at all, nor does it need to +be. My pupils supply me with food and fuel and free labor, in return for +which I share with them what 'book-larnin'' I happen to possess. And I +wish there were more of it! What few books are needed I manage to +provide. Mine is more a practical course than an academic one, you see."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline had been listening with deep interest, her face a-glow. "And +yet you think you are not a Christian!" she said softly. "Why, you are +doing just such a thing as Christ might have done Himself."</p> + +<p>"In a more up-to-date manner, I hope, young lady," shrugged the teacher. +"We have gone far in 1900 years."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline subsided, shocked. She wished Philip were there to put this +irreverent person in his place.</p> + +<p>"Have you never," questioned Channing, "considered asking for help from +outside? Rich people go in for this sort of thing a great deal nowadays. +It is quite a fashionable philanthropy."</p> + +<p>"I have no acquaintance among rich people," said the other, "and I do +not think my neighbors would care to accept philanthropy. They are +proud."</p> + +<p>Channing said, rather nicely, "If they are proud, they will understand +that I prefer to pay for value received." He slipped into the box a bill +whose denomination made the Apostle's eyes open wide.</p> + +<p>"Fifty dollars!" he exclaimed in awe, "That's right, son—'Give up all +thou hast and follow Me.' 'It is harder fer a rich man to enter into +heaven than fer a camuel to go thoo the eye of a needle.' That's the way +to git religion!—"</p> + +<p>The teacher bowed, gravely. "The Woman's Ward is now an accomplished +fact. Thank you, Mr. Channing."</p> + +<p>For the first part of the journey down the mountain, the author had +rather enjoyed the novel role of uncomplaining sufferer. The teacher's +presence was both stimulating and reassuring. After he turned back, +however, with a final look at the bandages, reaction set in. The +sufferer's cheerfulness relapsed into a wincing silence, broken +occasionally by faint groans, when a stumble on the part of his bearers +set loose all the various aches that racked his body.</p> + +<p>These aches were the result of exhaustion rather than of his wound; but +he did not know this, nor did Jacqueline. The literary imagination +pictured him in the last stages of blood-poison, and groans became more +frequent. He could have found no surer way of appealing to Jacqueline's +tenderness. She was one of the women to whom weakness is a thing +irresistible. Her moment of ugly doubt when her lover showed panic under +fire had passed instantly with a realization of his dependence upon her. +To give is the instinct of such natures, maternal in their very essence. +The fact that Channing seemed to need her had always been his chief hold +on her fancy.</p> + +<p>She walked beside him most of the way, leading her mule, so that she +might hold his hand; yearning over him, suffering far more than he +suffered, crooning tender words of encouragement.</p> + +<p>"I wish," she said once, passionately, "that you were littler, that you +were small enough to carry in my arms, so that <i>nothing</i> could hurt +you!"—a sentiment which drew a glance of sympathy from even the stolid +young mountaineer at the mule's head, and which set old Brother Bates to +thinking wistfully of the long, long road that lay between him and the +ministrations of his wife, Sally.</p> + +<p>But the author was too far gone in anxiety and bone-weariness to care to +linger just then in any primrose path of dalliance. He even wished +heartily, if inaudibly, that the girl would be quiet and leave him +alone.</p> + +<p>Therefore, the final sight of Jemima and her business-like ambulance was +a most welcome one.</p> + +<p>He demurred politely when he heard where he was to be taken. "I ought +not to impose on your mother's hospitality! Couldn't you get me to +Farwell's house?"</p> + +<p>"And who would take care of you there—men-servants? Nonsense!" said +Jemima, briskly. "Mother wouldn't hear of it, and neither would I. Don't +talk now. Just drink your coffee." (She had brought it hot in a thermos +bottle.) "And thank your stars you weren't killed outright in those wild +mountains. What an expedition!—feckless Jacky, that dreamer Philip, and +a mad peddler! It never would have happened if I'd been at home.—Get up +in front with the driver, Jack."</p> + +<p>But this usurpation of her rights and privileges was more than the +younger one could bear.</p> + +<p>"Feckless I may be, Jemmy Kildare," she cried hotly, "but it was me who +defended Mr. Channing from bears and things, me who helped with the +operation, me who brought him home all by myself! And it's me he wants +now—don't you, dear? Sit up in front yourself, smarty!"</p> + +<p>Jemima obeyed, lifting astonished eyebrows. All the way to Storm her +eyebrows fluttered up and down like flags in a gale of wind. She +listened with straining ears to certain whisperings behind her; to +certain silences more pregnant than whispering.</p> + +<p>"So-o!" she thought. "<i>That's</i> what the child is up to! Calling him +'dear!' <i>That's</i> why she wouldn't go visiting.—Have mother and I been +blind?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> + + +<p>Channing began to be aware, despite the hospitality and comfort which +were provided for him in overflowing measure, that he was seeing very +little of Jacqueline under her mother's roof. In the ten days he had +been there they had managed hardly more than as many minutes alone +together. It was as if the entire household were entered into a +coalition against them.</p> + +<p>No sooner would Jacqueline slip into his room in the morning, bearing a +dainty breakfast tray upon which she lavished all of her growing +domestic artistry, than the series of interruptions began. First it +would be the Madam herself, off on her rounds of inspection, but +stopping long enough for a few minutes' chat with her guest. She would +be followed by the elderly, apologetic housewoman, to put his things in +order, answering Jacqueline's imperious demand for haste with an humble +"Yais 'm, Miss Jacky, I's hurryin' fas' as a pusson kin go, but de Madam +wouldn't like it a bit ef I skimped comp'ny's room."</p> + +<p>Then would come, perhaps, Big Liza the cook, to enquire for "comp'ny's" +health with elephantine coquetries; then Lige, erstwhile stable-boy and +butler, now promoted to the proud role of valet, requesting orders for +the day, and lingering with an appreciative ear for the conversation of +his betters.</p> + +<p>When these were out of the way, a firm tap at the door revealed Jemima, +book in hand or with a basket of sewing, announcing quietly that she now +had an hour or so at Mr. Channing's disposal; whereupon Jacqueline would +give up in despair and flounce away, or resign herself to listen, seated +behind her sister's back where she could make faces at it unseen except +by the invalid.</p> + +<p>The afternoons were quite as bad, the family solicitude being augmented +by the presence of visitors, the most frequent of whom was Farwell; and +in the evenings all sat together about the great fireplace in the +hall—for the nights were growing chill—playing games, or listening to +Jacqueline's music, or telling stories like children, until nine +o'clock; at which hour Mrs. Kildare assembled her household, white and +black, read a few prayers in a firm but inattentive manner, and sent +everybody to bed.</p> + +<p>The life had a simple charm which Channing savored with due +appreciation; but it gave him very little of Jacqueline, and both +thought longingly of the Ruin, at present inaccessible. In one thing +Jemima's inexperience played her false. To a man of Channing's +temperament, occasional and tantalizing glimpses of the <i>inamorata</i> had +an allure that unrestricted intercourse might soon have lessened. But +considering her youth, Jemima was doing very well indeed.</p> + +<p>Mag Henderson was the lovers' only ally. Notes still passed between them +with a frequency which eluded Jemima's vigilance; and notes make very +good fuel for a fire, if there is none better available.</p> + +<p>One of these, extracted by Channing from his napkin under the very eye +of the enemy, read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Jemmy is certainly taking notice. Look out! We must put her off the +track somehow. Couldn't you make love to her—a little? Not much, +and, oh, please, <i>never</i> before me, because I just couldn't bear +it!—This is a kiss. O</p></div> + +<p>Channing appreciated this Machiavellian policy, and endeavored to put it +into practice; but without success.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Nothing doing! (He wrote in answer). There's a look in that cool, +greenish eye that sheds Cupid's darts like chain armor. If I must +make love to any one but you, darling, it will have to be your +mother. She's human. I tell you no man living would have the +courage to breathe airy nothings into your sister's ear more than +once.—Here's two kisses. O O</p></div> + +<p>"Poor Jemmy!" thought Jacqueline, gently, when she read this.</p> + +<p>"Poor Jemmy," indeed. Possibly she had made some such discovery for +herself.</p> + +<p>The time came when the author reluctantly admitted to himself that he +had no further excuse to trespass upon Mrs. Kildare's hospitality. From +the first he had been able to limp about the house, pale but courageous; +now he found it difficult even to limp with any conviction. At last +Farwell quite bluntly advised him that he would better be moving on.</p> + +<p>"Your book is calling you, eh, what? If not, it ought to be. The old 'un +is looking rather firm, if you ask me. Polite, of course, even +cordial—it would not enter the creed of these people to be anything +else, so long as one is under their roof. But firm, nevertheless."</p> + +<p>Channing started. "You don't think she's on?"</p> + +<p>Farwell shrugged—a gesture carefully done from the model of Philip +Benoix. "How did you explain your accident up there?"</p> + +<p>"Told her we happened to be prowling about the hillside, and ran upon a +moonshine still that didn't like us."</p> + +<p>"Did you mention the hour of your innocent ramble?"</p> + +<p>Charming flushed. "It <i>was</i> an innocent ramble, you know.—I did not +mention the hour, however."</p> + +<p>"What about Benoix? He and Mrs. Kildare are very thick."</p> + +<p>Channing flushed again. The memory of his last conversation with the +clergyman rankled. "Benoix's not the talking sort," he muttered. +"Besides, he's still up in the mountains, arranging about a mission or +something."</p> + +<p>Farwell looked at him thoughtfully. "Not the talking sort—you're right, +he's the acting sort. Typical Kentuckian and all that. His father's a +convicted 'killer,' by the way."</p> + +<p>"Oh, shut up!" said the author, inelegantly. "What if I have made love +to Jacqueline? Does every girl who gets love made to her have to be led +forthwith to the altar? The notorious Mrs. Kildare would hardly be a +squeamish mama, I think. Why, she's got a common woman of the streets +here in the house as a sort of maid-companion to her young daughters! +What can you expect?"</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless," demanded his friend, significantly, "how much have you +seen of the girl since you have been here? You know, and I know, that +the most squeamish of mamas are ladies who happen to be acquainted with +the ropes themselves. <i>Verbum sap.</i>—Besides, there is your uncle. Might +he have—er—conversed too freely, perhaps?"</p> + +<p>Channing stirred uneasily. "He regards the recent episode, to which I +suppose you refer, as somewhat of a blot upon the family escutcheon. It +isn't likely he would mention it. But you're right—perhaps it behooves +me to be moving before all is lost.—Damn it, Morty," he said savagely, +"what an ass I have made of myself!"</p> + +<p>He put his face in his hands, and groaned.</p> + +<p>The actor regarded him curiously.</p> + +<p>"Hard hit, eh? But you've been hard hit before, and got over it. Cheer +up!"</p> + +<p>"That's it," grunted Channing. "I will get over it, and—I don't want +to, Morty! Every fellow's got a best time in his life. This is mine, and +I know it. I want it to last. She's—she's sweet, I tell you! I could +marry a girl like that...."</p> + +<p>The other whistled. "Well, why not? She'd wait."</p> + +<p>"She might—but what about me?" Channing spoke with a sort of +desperation. "You know me! If I go away from her, I'm bound to get over +it. If I don't go away from her—" he broke off, and walked restlessly +around the room, limping occasionally from force of habit. "It's easy +enough for a cold-blooded chap like you to say 'wait.' But she doesn't +help me, she doesn't help me! You phlegmatic people don't know how +emotion, even the sight of emotion, goes to the head—or you'd never be +actors. You wouldn't dare.—I am mad about her now, absolutely mad about +her. Absurd, isn't it?" He gave a forlorn laugh. "In the words of the +classic, 'I want what I want—when I want it.'"</p> + +<p>Farwell was quite unconsciously and methodically making mental notes of +his friend's gestures and expressions for future use. "The old boy's in +earnest for once," he thought; and congratulated himself anew that he +himself was no genius, merely a person with a knack for imitation, and a +habit of keeping his finger on the pulse of the public. It puzzled him +that a man who knew his own weaknesses so thoroughly should make no +effort to deny or conquer them. Channing seemed to observe his ego as +casually as if it belonged to a stranger; and with as little attempt to +interfere with it. That, thought Farwell, must be one of the earmarks of +genius. Mere men like himself, when they choose to fracture what rules +have been laid down for them, do it as blindly as possible, with an +ostrich-like hiding of their heads in the sand; but genius sees exactly +what it is about, and does it just the same.—So ran the cogitations of +Mr. Farwell.</p> + +<p>"What would you do if you were I?" asked Channing, appealingly.</p> + +<p>"Me? I'd go away from here while the going is good."</p> + +<p>"Away from Storm, you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Away from Kentucky."</p> + +<p>Channing groaned. "Damn it all, I will, then! Though it's going to play +hob with my book.—No time like the present. I'll go back with you +to-day, Morty, and put my things together.—It 's been the best time of +my life!" he sighed, already beginning to dramatize himself as the +self-denying Spartan.</p> + +<p>He sought out his hostess in her office an hour later, and confessed to +her that he had no longer any excuse for remaining under her roof.</p> + +<p>"We authors are such slaves," he murmured. "I must get back to my native +habitat, like a bear to its cave." (he had almost said "wounded bear.")</p> + +<p>"You are leaving Kentucky, then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, after a few days at Holiday Hill to get my things together."</p> + +<p>"You are sure you are quite well and strong again?" she asked slowly.</p> + +<p>"I fear I am. Better than I've ever been in my life, and fatter, alas! +thanks to your excellent cook."</p> + +<p>She did not give him an answering smile. "I am glad of that, because I +should not like any guest, above all Jim Thorpe's nephew, to leave my +house until he was quite ready to do so.—And I have been waiting," she +added, very quietly, "until you were quite well and strong to speak to +you about a certain matter."</p> + +<p>His tongue went dry in his mouth; a sensation that reminded him of +episodes in his schooldays, when circumstances led him not infrequently +into the office of the headmaster.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare said quite suddenly, "I understand that you are courting my +daughter Jacqueline, Mr. Channing."</p> + +<p>For the moment a reply failed him. He had not expected quite such a lack +of delicacy.</p> + +<p>She went on. "Something my daughter Jemima noticed led us to that +conclusion. Perhaps she was mistaken? You will understand, Mr. Channing, +that I must be father as well as mother to my children."</p> + +<p>She paused again; and still the usually fluent Channing had not found +his voice.</p> + +<p>"I thought it best," she went on, "to write to my friend Professor +Thorpe, who introduced you to our house. Be kind enough to read his +reply."</p> + +<p>Channing took the letter, and made pretense of reading it, though he was +only too well aware of its contents.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">My Dear Kate</span>:</p> + +<p>Your letter overwhelms me. I had no idea that my nephew was on +terms of any intimacy in your household. Jemima, in fact, assured +me that the contrary was the case, and Jemima is not often +mistaken.</p> + +<p>I blame myself deeply for having introduced Percival at Storm +without explanation. It is painful for me to have to inform you +that my sisters son is at present under somewhat of a cloud. To be +frank, he recently made a journey to Canada in company with a +certain young person whom he had the hardihood to introduce at +various hotels, clubs, etc., as his wife. When he wished to +terminate the arrangement, he found himself unable to do so because +the woman entered claims upon him as what is termed a common-law +wife.</p> + +<p>The matter has with some difficulty been kept out of the public +prints, and is now in the hands of lawyers for adjustment. My +sister meanwhile claimed my hospitality for her son until such time +as the scandal shall have blown over. I need not say that I regret +having acceded to her request.</p> + +<p>My nephew, being in no position to marry, was of course culpably +wrong in offering attentions to any young girl. I can only hope +that the peculiarities of his temperament prevented him from +realizing what he was doing, and that he possibly regards +Jacqueline merely as an extremely charming child, which she is. +Surely the affair cannot go deeply with one so immature as +Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>On my return to Kentucky, I shall hasten to make apologies to you +in person for myself and for my nephew. I do not trust myself to +communicate with Percival at present, lest I forget what is due the +undeniable ties of blood.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your devoted servant,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Thorpe</span>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Postscriptum: Percival is an egregious young ass.</p> + +<p>J. T.</p></div> + +<p>Channing finished the letter, adding to it a heartfelt if unspoken +"Amen!"</p> + +<p>"Well?" asked Mrs. Kildare. "What have you to say, please? Do you regard +Jacqueline as merely a charming child?"</p> + +<p>"No," he was impelled to answer. "Not—not now."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Not now." Kate's lips set grimly, but she continued in a very quiet +voice, "Have you anything to say, perhaps? I do not wish to be unfair."</p> + +<p>Channing had a great deal to say, but he found some difficulty in saying +it. He found some difficulty in meeting Mrs. Kildare's eyes. He felt +more and more like a schoolboy who is about to receive a well-deserved +whipping.—And then, quite suddenly, he recalled the past career of this +outraged mother, with her righteous indignation; and fluency returned to +him.</p> + +<p>"My dear lady, it's all such a tempest in a tea-pot! My uncle's an old +fogy. But you're a woman of the world—you will understand.—I made a +fool of myself in that affair, of course. Still, who would have supposed +the woman wouldn't play the game? She's an old hand, an ex-chorus girl, +and all that—Fay Lanham—any one can tell you about her. I don't know +what got into her, except that I'm making a good deal of money nowadays, +and I suppose she's ready to settle down. It was all quite understood, I +assure you—"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare suddenly rose, and he saw for the first time how tall she +was. "I am not and have never been a woman of the world, but I know men, +if that is what you mean. And I know"—her voice cut like a whip—"that +when these things occur among men of honor, at least the names of their +victims are not mentioned."</p> + +<p>He stared at her in genuine surprise. Chivalry in connection with Fay +Lanham!—the combination was fantastic. "Oh, but—professionals!" he +murmured. "I assure you she was no 'victim'—not as much a victim, +perhaps, as myself."</p> + +<p>"That does not interest me. What I wish to know is whether you are free +to marry or not."</p> + +<p>"Frankly, I don't know, Mrs. Kildare. The lawyers are to settle that."</p> + +<p>"And not knowing, you have dared to court my daughter Jacqueline?"</p> + +<p>The repetition of the old-fashioned phrase jarred his over-strung +nerves. "My dear lady, if you mean by 'courting,' Have I proposed +marriage to your daughter? I have not. If you mean, Have I made love to +her? Yes. Naturally. Why not? I assure you, she has met me more than +half way."</p> + +<p>The instant the words were out, he would have given much to recall them. +Why could he not have been simple and natural, told her that he loved +Jacqueline, and that he was most heartily ashamed of himself?</p> + +<p>Kate reached for the bell-rope and jerked it. When Lige came +running—the service at Storm was not elegant, but it was prompt—she +said, "Pack Mr. Channing's bag, and bring it down at once."</p> + +<p>Then she spoke to Channing without looking at him. "My little girl is +only seventeen. You are the nephew of my oldest and most trusted friend. +It has never occurred to me to warn my daughters against gentlemen. I +had forgotten it was necessary. I blame myself very deeply.—Now you +will give me your word to make no effort to communicate with Jacqueline +again in any way."</p> + +<p>He protested. "Surely you will let me see her once, Mrs. Kildare! To +explain?—to—to say good-by?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, in my presence. Your word of honor, please."</p> + +<p>He gave it with as much dignity as he could muster.</p> + +<p>She immediately opened the door and led him out into the hall, where +Farwell and the two girls were amusing themselves with the graphophone.</p> + +<p>"I know you will be sorry," she said from the threshold, "to hear that +Mr. Channing is leaving us at once."</p> + +<p>At the tone of her voice, Farwell gave a startled glance toward his +friend, and Jemima suddenly put an arm around her sister, further rising +to the occasion with polite murmurings of regret. But Jacqueline with +one gesture brushed aside tact and subterfuge. She ran to Channing and +caught his hand.</p> + +<p>"Why, what's the matter?" she cried. "What has happened? Why is mother +sending you away?"</p> + +<p>"Jacqueline! Am I in the habit of sending guests away from my house?"</p> + +<p>"You're doing it now, and I know why!" She threw back her head and +laughed. "It's too late, Mummy dear! I suppose the fat's in the +fire—but it was fun while it lasted! You didn't suspect your little +girl was big enough to have a real sweetheart, did you?" A lovely blush +spread over her face. She tugged at Channing's hand. "Come, why don't +you tell her everything? Time to 'speak for yourself, John!'"</p> + +<p>The silence puzzled her. She looked from one to the other. "Mummy, +you're not really angry because we kept it a secret? Remember!—didn't +you keep it a secret from your mother, too, just at first? It's a thing +girls <i>have</i> to keep to themselves, just at first, till they're used to +it—Jemmy," she cried, suddenly turning on her sister, "<i>why</i> are you +looking so sympathetic at me?"</p> + +<p>Channing lifted the little hand that was clutching his to his lips. +"This is good-by," he said hoarsely. "I'm sorry—Your mother will +explain.—I must go away."</p> + +<p>"But you're coming back soon?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Why, but—I'll see you again before you go, won't I?" Her voice was +piteous.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Channing has given me his word," said her mother, "to make no +further attempt to communicate with you."</p> + +<p>The girl took a long breath. Her chin lifted. "Oh! So you are still +going to treat me as a little girl?" she said. "That's a mistake, +Mother!"</p> + +<p>Without any further effort to detain Channing, she walked to the stairs +and up them, her chin still high.</p> + +<p>Channing looked back once from the door. Mrs. Kildare, standing in the +center of the hall, bowed to him gravely, as a queen might in dismissing +an audience. Jemima, on guard at the foot of the staircase, also bowed +in stately fashion.</p> + +<p>But halfway up, Jacqueline paused and turned; and as his miserable gaze +met hers, she distinctly winked at him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> + + +<p>More and more, as the days passed, Kate congratulated herself on having +taken Jacqueline's affairs in hand before any harm was done. Startled +out of her own preoccupation by Jemima's discovery of how matters stood +between Jacqueline and the author, she continued to watch the younger +girl narrowly; but she saw no signs of secret grief, nor even of wounded +pride. The girl had never been more radiant, her cheeks a-glow, her eyes +so soft and lustrous that sometimes her mother's grew dim at sight of +them. She remembered a time when her own mirror had shown her just such +a look of brooding revery.</p> + +<p>"Channing has done nothing more than wake her womanhood," thought the +mother. "And now, now it is Philip's turn!"</p> + +<p>Philip, since his return from the mountains, spent more time than ever +at Storm. Kate noted with satisfaction the added gentleness of his +manner with Jacqueline, and threw them together as much as possible. +Jemima, too, seemed to have a great deal of time to give her younger +sister in those days. Between them all, Jacqueline was rarely alone; but +she had no longer any wish to be alone. She avoided the Ruin now, and +took no more long rides about the country, except with Kate. She clung +to her mother with the persistency of a child who is recovering from an +illness.</p> + +<p>Jemima had taken it upon herself to watch the mails, and reported that +there were no letters for Jacqueline. Channing evidently intended to +keep his word implicitly.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline had received her mother's explanation of his conduct quite +calmly.</p> + +<p>"Let's not discuss it, Mummy," she begged, flushing a little. "Of course +if Mr. Charming was already married, that way, he couldn't ask me to +marry him. I understand." She attempted one little apology for him. +"Geniuses aren't quite—quite like other men, and they ought to be +judged differently, Mummy."</p> + +<p>Her sister, who was present at the interview, came over to her here, and +bestowed one of her rare kisses. Pride and dignity always had a strong +appeal for Jemima....</p> + +<p>When she had first gone to her mother with her suspicions, Kate was +aghast. "In love with each other, child! Why, that's impossible. Where +have they seen each other? He is an intellectual, sophisticated young +man of the world,—and our Jacky—!"</p> + +<p>"The attraction of opposites," Jemima reminded her.</p> + +<p>For just one moment, the mother's thoughts were selfish. If Jacqueline +after all did not marry Philip, what would become of her own +vindication, that triumphant answer to the world for which she had so +patiently waited? She put the old plan from her with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"Of course Channing would be a good match for little Jacqueline. But I +had hoped," she said, half to herself, "that my child might marry +Philip."</p> + +<p>Jemima gave her a queer, quick glance. "You think Philip wants that?"</p> + +<p>Kate nodded. "Perhaps he does not know it yet, though."</p> + +<p>The girl said haltingly, "I have always thought that Philip was rather +fond of—you, Mother."</p> + +<p>"Of me? So he is. Philip has loved me since he was a little boy," she +answered, smiling tenderly. "All the more reason for him to love my +Jacqueline. We are very much alike, only that she is prettier, and +younger—which counts, of course.—But now you say she wants to marry +this Channing."</p> + +<p>"I do not say that he wants to marry her."</p> + +<p>"Jemmy!"</p> + +<p>"Well, why should he?" asked the girl, evenly. "It would not be a good +match for Mr. Channing. His family are conservative Boston people. Can +you imagine Jacky among conservative Boston people? Sliding down +banisters, riding bareback, making eyes at all the men—"</p> + +<p>"That is not what you mean," said her mother, rather white about the +lips. "You mean the scandal about me. Yes, that would make a +difference.—You think it is only a flirtation, then?"</p> + +<p>"On his part, yes. On Jacqueline's—I don't know. But even flirtation is +not very safe for Jacqueline. Remember her inheritance." Jemima met her +mother's wincing eyes firmly.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" gasped the older woman.</p> + +<p>"I mean—that Jacqueline is oversexed." She had no intention of seeing +her little sister come to grief for lack of frankness. "I know it, and +you know it, and we both know that it is not her fault." She added after +a moment, "I have reason to believe that Mr. Channing is not a marrying +man. There was talk in Lexington—If I were you I should write to +Professor Jim and ask him."</p> + +<p>Kate promptly took her advice, with the results that have been seen; and +her respect for the acumen of her elder child became somewhat akin to +awe.</p> + +<p>Nor was Jemima at the end of her surprises for her mother.</p> + +<p>One morning she followed Kate rather aimlessly into her office; a thing +almost unprecedented, for Mrs. Kildare was rarely disturbed in her +sanctum except upon matters of business.</p> + +<p>"You wish to see me about something, daughter?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, I just wanted to talk."</p> + +<p>Kate's heart thumped suddenly. It was a long time since the girl had +sought her out for one of their old confidential chats about nothing in +particular. She had been almost glad of the trouble about Jacqueline +because for the moment it had brought her close again to her other +child. The newly formed alliance was evidently to continue.</p> + +<p>She said lightly, "Talk away, then!"</p> + +<p>Jemima wandered about the room, examining this thing and that, without +attention. "You've never asked me a question about the visit to Mrs. +Lawton, nor why I came home sooner than I had expected to."</p> + +<p>"I did not dare," admitted Kate, smiling a little. "I was afraid the +great experiment had not proved a success."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but it was. A great success!—That is not why I came home so soon."</p> + +<p>"Why, then?"</p> + +<p>Jemima gave a most unexpected answer. "Because I was homesick."</p> + +<p>Tears of pure pleasure came into Kate's eyes.</p> + +<p>"You see, I'd never been away from home before, and I had no idea how +much I should miss you-all. But people were very kind to me; on +Professor Jim's account, I think."</p> + +<p>"Dear old Jim!" said Kate, softly. "He deserves loyal friends, because +he knows so well how to be one.—I have missed him lately. When is he +coming home again?"</p> + +<p>"To-day. He will be out to-morrow for supper, as usual."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, it is Friday, isn't it? What an odd idea, that lecture +tour!—so unlike Jim. He has always been so shy and retiring. I wonder +what made him undertake it?"</p> + +<p>"I did," said Jemima.</p> + +<p>"You?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes. Some of his lectures seemed to me most unusual, much too good +to waste there in Lexington. So when the opportunity was offered to him +to speak in several other places, I persuaded him to accept it. We went +over the talks together and made them simpler; more popular, you know. +Sometimes he forgets that every audience is not composed of scholars."</p> + +<p>Kate stared at her child in amused respect. "Do you mean to say you have +added literary censorship to your various other accomplishments?"</p> + +<p>Jemima smiled deprecatingly. "I was glad to be able to help him a +little, after all he has done for us.—Look here, Mother,"—she began to +finger the papers on the desk—"do you care at all for Professor Jim?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do!"</p> + +<p>"No—I don't mean that way. I mean—Are you ever going to marry him, do +you think?"</p> + +<p>Kate's speechless surprise was sufficient answer.</p> + +<p>"Because if you're not,"—the girl cleared her voice—"don't you think +it would be kinder to say so once and for all? You see, if he were sure +you would not have him" (suddenly hot color surged over her face), "he +might want to marry some one else."</p> + +<p>"Old Jim marry! Jemima! What are you driving at? What can you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean—me," gasped the girl, and suddenly turned and fled from the +room.</p> + +<p>It took Kate some moments to regain sufficient presence of of mind to +follow her. She found her level-headed daughter face downward among the +pillows of her bed, sobbing most humanly.</p> + +<p>Kate sat down beside her and pulled the golden head over into her arms, +where she smoothed and caressed it as she had rarely done since the +girl's babyhood.</p> + +<p>"Now tell mother all about it. What put such a strange idea into your +wise little old pate? Not Jim himself—I'm sure of that."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!—But it isn't a strange idea," protested the muffled voice from +her lap. "I don't want to be an old maid—" (sniff, sniff). "He hasn't +asked me yet, exactly—but he would if he were quite sure you didn't +want him—" (sob). "And I'm twenty years old, now. I want to be married, +like other women."</p> + +<p>"Only twenty years old!" repeated her mother, gently.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know it sounds young, but it isn't always as young as it sounds" +said the girl with unconscious pathos. "Look at me, Mother—I'm older +than you, right now! I don't believe I ever was very young."</p> + +<p>"But you may be yet," said Kate. "With your first lover, your first +baby—Ah, child, child, you <i>must</i> not run the risk of marrying without +love! You don't know what love can do to you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do," whispered Jemima.</p> + +<p>"What! You can't tell me you're in love with old Jim?"</p> + +<p>The girl sat erect, and propounded certain decided views of hers on love +and marriage as earnestly as if her little nose were not pink with +embarrassed tears, and her eyes swimming with them like a troubled +baby's.</p> + +<p>"Being in love doesn't seem as important to me as it does to some +people. Of course it's necessary, or the world would not go on. There +has to be some sort of glamour to—to make things possible.—But I'm +sure it's not a comfortable feeling to live with, any more than hunger +would be.—Being in love does quite as much harm as good, anyway. Half +the crimes in the world are the result of it, and all the unnecessary +children. I don't want love, Mother! It hurts, and it makes fools of +otherwise intelligent persons. I shouldn't like, ever, to lose my +self-control.—And the feeling doesn't last! Look at you, for instance. +I suppose once you were in love with my father?"</p> + +<p>Kate nodded.</p> + +<p>"And then in a very little while you were in love with—some one else. +Did it make you any happier, all that loving, or any better? I think +not. Only unhappier, in the long run.—No, no, Mother! I don't want it. +I don't want <i>any</i> emotions!"—She spoke with a queer distaste, the same +fastidious shrinking with which she had often watched Jacqueline +cuddling Mag's baby. "I only want to be safe."</p> + +<p>"Marriage isn't always safe, my little girl."</p> + +<p>"Mine will be. That's why I've chosen Professor Jim."</p> + +<p>Kate made a helpless gesture with her hands. "Child, you don't know what +you're giving up! You can't!"</p> + +<p>Jemima swallowed hard. The confession she had to make was not easy. +"Yes, I do. Because I tried love first, to be sure."</p> + +<p>"My dear! You—tried love?"</p> + +<p>"There was a young man—You remember, Jacqueline called him 'the most +beautiful man in the room'? He was very handsome, and—nice to me. +That's why I went to visit Mrs. Lawton, chiefly. I wanted to see more of +him.—Whenever he touched my hand, or even my dress, little shivers ran +up my back. I—I liked it. That's being in love, isn't it? Sometimes we +went driving, in a buggy. Once it was moonlight, and I knew when we +started that something was going to happen.—I meant it to. I flirted +with him."</p> + +<p>"Did you, dear!" murmured the mother, between tears and laughter. "I +didn't suppose you knew how!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, those things come, somehow. I've watched Jacky.—After a while, he +kissed me. But do you know, Mother, that was the end of everything! I +stopped having thrills the minute he did it. His mouth was so—so mushy, +and his nose seemed to get in the way.—Still, I went on flirting. I +wanted to give him every chance.—He didn't kiss me again, though. When +we got home I asked him why that was. He said it was because he +respected me too much."</p> + +<p>She made a scornful gesture, "You see, it's just as I thought! Kisses +and all that sort of thing have nothing to do with respect, with real +liking. And if my own thrills couldn't outlast one moonlight buggy-ride, +they would not do to marry on. It will be better for me to marry on +respect."</p> + +<p>"But poor Jim!" said Kate, unsteadily. "Must he, too, marry on respect?"</p> + +<p>Jemima met her gaze candidly. "Why, no. Men are different, I think, even +intellectual ones. He has thrills. I can feel him having them, when I +dance with him. That's how I knew he wanted me. And I'm rather glad of +it," she finished, her voice oddly kind.</p> + +<p>Kate at the moment could think of nothing further to say. The thing was +incomprehensible to her, appalling, yet strangely touching. This +twenty-year-old girl, groping her way toward safety, that refuge of the +middle-aged, as eagerly as other young things grasp at happiness, at +romance!—She recalled phrases spoken by another startled mother to +another girl quite as headstrong: "You are only a child! He is twice +your age! You don't <i>know</i>!"</p> + +<p>She did not give them utterance. What was the use? In this, if in +nothing else, Jemima was her mother's daughter. She would always make +her own decisions.</p> + +<p>The girl went on presently to mention various advantages of the proposed +marriage.</p> + +<p>"Of course Professor Jim is quite rich—Oh, yes, didn't you know that? I +asked him his income, and he told me. With that, and the money you have +promised me, we can travel and see the world, and keep a good house to +come back to. I could do a good deal for Jacqueline, of course. You will +visit us, too, whenever you like. It may be my only chance of getting +away from Storm, you see. I do not meet many young men, and I'm not the +sort they are apt to marry, anyway."</p> + +<p>"Are you so anxious to get away from Storm?" interrupted poor Kate. "You +said you were homesick for us."</p> + +<p>"And will be again, often. But that's a weakness one has to get over. +And then, though I have been happy here, I've been unhappy, too. Lonely +and a little—ashamed, lately." She forgot for the moment to whom she +was speaking. Kate had ceased to be a person, was only "mother" to her, +a warm, enfolding comprehension, such as perhaps children are aware of +before they come to the hour of birth.—"Oh, it <i>will</i> be good to live +among people who don't know, who aren't always staring and whispering +behind their hands about us Kildares!" she sighed.</p> + +<p>Kate forced herself to say, impartially, "Lexington is not far away. I +am afraid there will always be people there who know about us Kildares, +dear."</p> + +<p>"Lexington?" The girl's lip curled. "You don't suppose I shall let my +husband spend the rest of his life in a little place like that! He has +been wasted there too long already, he is a brilliant scholar, Mother, +far more brilliant than people realize, too modest and simple to make +the most of himself. You wait! I'll see to that."</p> + +<p>Kate gave up. She lifted her daughter in her arms, and held her close +for a long moment.</p> + +<p>"You must do whatever you think best, my girl."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mother. I always do," said Jemima.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> + + +<p>And so Mrs. Kildare had her second interview with a man who wanted, not +herself, but one of her children. It made her feel very old, as if she +were becoming a looker-on at life, almost an outsider.</p> + +<p>Jemima had firmly led her choice to the door of the office and left him +there, with reassuring whispers that were quite audible to the mother +within. It was evident that she was bestowing counsel, and straightening +his tie, and otherwise preparing him for conquest.</p> + +<p>"Well, old Jim?" Kate looked up as he entered with a tremulous smile +that drove from his mind irrevocably the fine speech he had prepared.</p> + +<p>The professor was attired in new and dapper tweeds; the eye-glasses upon +his aristocratic nose had dependent from them a rather broad black +ribbon; and the shirtfront across which it dangled was of +peppermint-striped silk, its dominant color repeated in silk socks +appearing above patent-leather shoes. But dazzling raiment did not seem +to produce in the inner man that careless courage which, as a +psychologist, he had been led to expect.</p> + +<p>"To think of coming to this house, to this room, and asking your +permission to—to marry some one else! Kate," he blurted out, "I never +felt such a fool in all my life!"</p> + +<p>"And you never looked so handsome. Why, Jim, you're a boy again!" She +rose and put her two hands on his shoulders, studying his sensitive, +plain face, forcing his embarrassed eyes to meet hers. "My dear friend, +my dear friend—So after all I am able to give you your happiness," she +said softly, and kissed him for the first time in their acquaintance.</p> + +<p>In such fashion was her consent to his marriage with Jemima asked and +granted; and with it full forgiveness for his treachery to a devotion of +over twenty years.</p> + +<p>They turned their attention hastily away from sentiment to settlements. +Thorpe was astonished by the amount of the dower Kate spoke of settling +upon Jemima.</p> + +<p>"Why, it is a small fortune! How did you make all this money?"</p> + +<p>"Mules," she said. "Also hogs and dairy products, my three specialties. +Mustn't the old horse-breeding Kildares turn over in their graves out +there at the desecration? When I came into the property, I soon saw that +racing stock was a luxury we could not afford, so I used the grass lands +for mules instead. We have been lucky. Storm mules have the reputation +now that Storm thoroughbreds used to have in Basil's day: and they sell +at a far surer profit.</p> + +<p>"Then I sent to an agricultural college for the best scientific farmer +they had, and the best dairyman—a big expense, but they have paid. +Also, we sell our products at city prices, since I persuaded the +railroad to give us a spur here. We've cleared most of the land that +Basil kept for cover, now, and are using every acre of it.—Oh, yes, I +have made money, and I will make more. When I die the girls are going to +be rich. The original Storm property will be divided between them then, +according to Basil's will, you remember."</p> + +<p>"I do remember it," said Thorpe, quietly. "There was another provision +in that will.... The girls will never inherit Storm, my dear, because +some day Benoix will come back to you."</p> + +<p>She looked away out of the window. "I have given up hope, Jim. Months +now, and no word from him. He has gone. Philip thinks so, too.—But you +are right. If he does come, the girls will not inherit, because I shall +marry him. Even if we are old people, I shall marry him."</p> + +<p>She had lifted her head, and her voice rang out as it had rung through +the prison when she cried to her lover that she would wait.</p> + +<p>Thorpe kissed her hand. "And when that happens," he said gently, "I want +you to know that Jemima will understand. I can promise that. I shall +teach my wife to know her mother better."</p> + +<p>She smiled at him, sadly. She suspected that he was promising a miracle +he could not perform, counting upon an influencing factor that did not +exist. "Was he fatuous enough to believe that Jemima loved him? Her +fears for her child's happiness suddenly became fears for the happiness +of this life-long friend. She felt that she must warn him.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if you know just the sort of woman you are marrying, Jim? +Jemima is very intelligent, and like many intelligent people she is a +little—ruthless. Honorable, clear-sighted; but hard. She is more her +father's child than mine. I do not always understand her, but—I do know +that she is not sentimental, Jim dear."</p> + +<p>He touched her hand reassuringly. "She has told me that she is not +marrying me for love, if that is what you are trying to say. She has +given me to understand, quite conscientiously, that she is merely +accepting the opportunities I can offer her—I, a dull, middle-aged, +dyspeptic don in a backwater college!" he chuckled. "But," he added—and +the glow in his eyes was quite boyish—"I have had occasion to observe +in Jemima certain symptoms—a proprietary interest in my belongings, for +instance, my rooms, my welfare, my health, my—er—personal +appearance—which lead me to believe that her regard for me is not +entirely intellectual. In fact, I know rather more about Jemima's inner +workings, so to speak, than she knows herself. One is not a psychologist +for nothing! The—er—the tender passion manifests itself in various +ways. Some women love with their emotions, as it were; some, God bless +them! with their capable hands and brains."</p> + +<p>Kate was deeply touched. "Perhaps you're right, Jim. I hope so, my dear. +I do hope so!"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline received the news of her sister's engagement with shouts of +glee. "What a joke on you, Mummy! <i>What</i> a joke! Old Faithful carried +off under your very nose, by your own child! And Jemmy, of all people! +That's the way she did to that young man at Goddy's party. Good old +Jemmy! When she warms up, I tell you she can trot a heat with the best."</p> + +<p>"Jacky, hush!" Kate laughed despite herself. "You're getting too big to +use that stable-talk. You would suppose Jemima had actually tried to +entice him out of my clutches!"</p> + +<p>"And didn't she, didn't she just? Why, you blessed innocent, she's had +this up her sleeve for some time! I <i>thought</i> she was being mighty +attentive to Goddy, teaching him to dance, and making him ties and +all—only it never occurred to me she'd want—this!—Gracious!" she +said, suddenly grave, "you don't suppose she kisses him, Mummy?"</p> + +<p>"I hope so, dear. Why not? You've kissed him often enough yourself."</p> + +<p>"And shall again, the funny old lamb! But not that way. Ugh!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare winced to realize how far the education of her youngest had +proceeded without her supervision.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline's volatile thoughts had taken a new direction. "That means +Jemmy is going away to live. 'Way off to Lexington."</p> + +<p>Kate sighed. "Farther than that, if I know Jemima."</p> + +<p>"Then," said the girl, slowly, "when—if—I ever go away, you'd be here +all alone, Mummy!"</p> + +<p>"Mothers expect that, dear. Always we know that some day we shall be +left alone. But we do not mind, we are even glad. We risk our lives to +give life to our children, and we want them to have it all, life at its +fullest. Otherwise we feel that we have been failures, somehow. Breath +is such a small part of life!—So when your time comes, too, my girlie, +you are not to hesitate because of me. Take your future in your two +hands—just as all your many mothers have done before you.—Women have +even less right to show cowardice than men" (it was a favorite theme +with her), "because they have to be the mothers of men, and the maternal +strain is nearly always the dominant—or so Jim Thorpe says—But I don't +believe that you, at least, will ever go very far away from your +mother!"</p> + +<p>She was thinking, of course, of Philip.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline was rather pale. Her eyes dropped. "I'm not so sure. I've +been thinking lately—Mummy, could I possibly go to New York? I'm <i>so</i> +tired of home!"</p> + +<p>Kate was troubled. This restlessness was the first indication she had +noticed that the affair with Channing might have left its effect. But +she said, as if the girl's wish were very natural, "To New York? That's +not impossible. It's a long time since I have been out of the State +myself, and I've been thinking for some time of taking you and Jemmy for +a trip. Suppose we go to New York, all three of us, and buy Jemmy's +trousseau? And we'll take Philip, too—it's always pleasant to have a +man about. We'll have a regular old orgy of theaters and shops and +galleries, such as I used to have sometimes with my father and mother, +years ago. Would that please you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it would be wonderful! But—" the girl crimsoned, "that is not +quite what I meant, Mummy darling. When I go to New York, I want to +stay. For years."</p> + +<p>"<i>Years!</i> But why?"</p> + +<p>"To study music. To begin my career."</p> + +<p>Kate sat down in the nearest chair. Since childhood Jacqueline had been +talking at intervals about this career of hers, an ambition varying in +scope from journalism to, more latterly, the operatic stage. It was a +favorite family joke, Jacqueline's career. And here it stared her +suddenly in the face, no longer a joke. Jacqueline was in earnest.</p> + +<p>She watched her mother's face anxiously. "I know it would be horribly +expensive, lessons and all. But we can afford to be expensive, can't +we?"</p> + +<p>Kate's lips set. "We can, but we won't. Not in the matter of careers. +What put this into your head, my girl?"</p> + +<p>"It's always been there, I think. But you remember Mr. Channing spoke to +you—"</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, Mr. Channing! I do remember; but that is hardly a +recommendation that appeals to me," said Kate, drily.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Channing has heard all the great singers of the world, and knows +them, too." Jacqueline spoke with a firmness new to her. "And if he says +I have a voice, I have. I ought to waste no more time, Mother."</p> + +<p>"I also have a 'voice,' my dear, and I've found it extremely useful +without having recourse to a career."</p> + +<p>"How—useful!"</p> + +<p>"Singing lullabies to my children, for one thing. It did not seem to me +a waste of time—No, no, my girlie, no stage women in this family! We've +been conspicuous enough without that."</p> + +<p>"Would you really mind so very much?" asked Jacqueline, wistfully.</p> + +<p>"So much," answered her mother, smiling but grave, "that I should lock +you into the cellar on a bread-and-water diet, at the first hint of such +a thing! Understand me, I forbid it absolutely. You may put this +nonsense out of your head."</p> + +<p>Kate had rarely occasion to speak to her children in such a tone, and +Jacqueline looked at her, rather frightened. But she said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Why, Jacqueline, little daughter, why should you spend your youth and +your loveliness on a public that will cast you aside like an old glove +when it is worn out? No, no, there's a larger purpose for you in life +than any mere career. Careers are for the women who miss the other +things, and who use in default the best they have. Fame, bah! It does +not outlast a generation—or if it does, you will not know it. What you +have to give will outlast many generations, will never die, will become +part of the muscle and sinew and back-bone of your nation. Sons! Big, +clean, lusty, well-born children!—Why, don't you suppose you and my +clever Jemima—yes, and even my little crippled Katharine—were better +gifts for me to bring the world than a mere passing pleasure in my +voice?—Ah, Jacky, there's just one career open to women like you and +me. You know very well what it is."</p> + +<p>The girl was oddly stirred. When her mother spoke like this, she always +thought, for some reason, of a statue she had never seen, a great bronze +Liberty, with torch aloft, lighting into her safe harbor the ships of +all the world.</p> + +<p>But she said, after a moment, "You put me on a par with Mag Henderson, +Mother. Has she fulfilled the purpose of her creation, then?"</p> + +<p>Kate was startled anew. Jacqueline in the rôle of thinker was +unexpected. But she answered, honestly as always, "I believe she has. +Nature often makes use of unworthy vessels to accomplish her own +ends—poor little vessels! Mag is waste, perhaps. Her child will not be +waste.—I'll see to that. So the balance of economy is kept.—But you +are no unworthy vessel, Jacqueline, thank God!"</p> + +<p>The girl went to the window and stood looking out, over the garden that +merged into a pasture, and so down gradually into the ravine where the +ruined slave-house stood.</p> + +<p>"Suppose," she asked in a muffled voice, "suppose I couldn't marry? What +then?"</p> + +<p>Kate believed she understood. The affair with Channing had left more of +a hurt than she had realized. Jacqueline, at seventeen, doubtless +considered herself a blighted being.—She controlled the smile that +twitched at her lips, and said cheerfully, "Then you will just have to +be a prop for my declining years. You won't begrudge me a prop, dear? +Surely <i>you</i> don't want to go away from me?"</p> + +<p>The unconscious emphasis on the pronoun went to Jacqueline's heart. She +remembered the day Jemima had shut them out into the world of people who +were not Kildares, she and her mother together....</p> + +<p>She came back at a run, and plumped herself down on Kate's knees, great +girl that she was, hiding her face in that sheltering breast, holding +her mother tight, tight, as if she could never let her go.</p> + +<p>Kate returned the embrace with interest. She, too, remembered.</p> + +<p>"It will be something bigger than a career that takes you away from your +mother!" she whispered.</p> + +<p>"Something bigger than a career," echoed Jacqueline, clinging closer.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> + + +<p>Kate broached the subject of the New York trip at supper that night, but +met with no encouragement whatever from her elder daughter, somewhat to +her surprise.</p> + +<p>"What is the use of buying an expensive trousseau? Mag sews quite well +enough, and anyway I have more clothes now than I know what to do with," +she argued practically. "If you think I haven't enough lingerie and all +that, I can take some of Jacky's. It seems rather mean to desert a man +just as soon as you get engaged to him. Besides, James and I shall be +going to New York next month, on our wedding-trip."</p> + +<p>"Next month?" cried Kate.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, Mother. There's no use putting it off, I think. James has +been alone so many years; and he certainly needs some one to look after +him. If you could see the pile of perfectly good socks in his closet +that only need a little darning!" She spoke unsentimentally as ever; but +there was a tone in her voice that made her mother give her hand a +little squeeze.</p> + +<p>"Very well, dear. You shall be married to-morrow, if you like."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow is a little soon. Suppose we say three weeks from to-day?"</p> + +<p>Kate gasped, but consented.</p> + +<p>Preparations for the wedding went on apace at Storm, though it was to be +a very quiet affair, not the fashionable ceremony, with bridesmaids and +champagne, for which Jemima's heart privately yearned.</p> + +<p>"I don't know any girls well enough to ask them to be bridesmaids," she +explained wistfully to her fiance, who made a mental note to supply her +with young women friends hereafter, if he had to hire them.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, it was something of a ceremony. The Madam did not have a +daughter married every day. For days beforehand the negroes were busy +indoors and out, cleaning, painting and whitewashing, exhibiting a +tendency to burst into syncopated strains of Lohengrin whenever Jemima +or the Professor came into view. The kitchen chimney belched forth smoke +like a factory; for though no invitations were sent out, it was +inevitable that the countryside, white and black, would arrive to pay +its respects to the newly wedded, and Big Liza, with an able corps of +assistants, was preparing to welcome them in truly feudal fashion.</p> + +<p>Gifts began to arrive, silver and glass and china from friends of the +Professor and business connections of Mrs. Kildare. A magnificent +service of plate came from Jemima's great-aunt, for whom she was named. +("We must make friends with Aunt Jemima, James," was the bride's +thoughtful comment on the arrival of this present.) Philip could not +afford to buy a handsome enough gift, and so parted with the bronze +candelabra which Farwell had so covetously admired; a sacrifice which +did much to break down the hauteur of the bride's recent manner with +him. She knew how well he loved his few Lares and Penates.</p> + +<p>There were other presentations of less conventional nature. These +Professor Thorpe, whom the panting Ark conveyed nightly from the +university to Storm and back again, eyed with a mixture of interest and +dismay.</p> + +<p>"This suckling pig, now," he murmured. "How are we to accommodate him in +a city apartment, Jemima? And that highly decorative rooster—I fear we +shall have some difficulty in persuading my janitor to accept him as an +inmate. Do you suppose <i>all</i> your mother's tenants will feel called upon +to supply us with livestock?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, Goddy! Look at this crazy quilt," chuckled Jacqueline, busily +unwrapping parcels, "It is made of the Sunday dresses of all Mrs. Sykes' +friends and relations. She thought it might remind Jemmy of home. It +will. Oh, it will! You've only to look at it and you'll see the entire +congregation nodding over one of Phil's sermons!" She made a little face +at the cleric, who responded by rumpling her hair. "Then the Housewives' +League mother organized has crocheted enough perfectly hideous lace for +all the sheets and things. Your bed-linen is going to bristle with it +like a porcupine."</p> + +<p>"It's very good of them," said Jemima, reprovingly. "As for the +livestock, James, we can eat it.—Look at this barrel of potatoes, and +these home-cured hams, and all the pickle. Stop laughing at my friends!"</p> + +<p>Thorpe murmured meek apologies.</p> + +<p>The evening before the wedding, Big Liza came striding into the hall +where the family sat assembled, bearing aloft a large round object +wrapped in newspaper.</p> + +<p>"Huh! Look at what dat 'ooman Mahaly had the owdaciosity to bring fo' a +bridal gif'!" she snorted, swelling with indignation. "Reck'n she 'lows +dey ain't nary a cook at Sto'm good enough to make no bride-cake. Allus +was a biggity, uppity piece, dat Mahaly!"</p> + +<p>She placed it on a table, and waddled scornfully out again.</p> + +<p>The professor undid the wrappings in a somewhat gingerly manner. There +was an element of the unexpected about his wedding-gifts which intrigued +curiosity. This time he gave a rather startled exclamation, blushed and +backed away.</p> + +<p>It was a mammoth white cake, which bore, besides certain garlands and +other decorations of a distinctly Cubist tendency, the legend done in +silver candies: <span class="smcap">For the Baby</span>.</p> + +<p>"D-dear me!" murmured the professor, hastily shrouding it once more in +its wrappings.</p> + +<p>"That means Jemima," smiled Kate. "To Mahaly, Jemmy has always been 'The +Baby.' She nursed her, you know."</p> + +<p>"Nursed me—that mulatto woman who lives in the white people's +neighborhood? I never knew that," said the girl. "How strange! She never +comes here with the other old servants, even at Christmas time, and I've +never gone to see her. Why was I not told?"</p> + +<p>Kate did not answer.</p> + +<p>"Did you have to dismiss her, Mother—was it that? Was she dishonest, or +something of the sort?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Kate, with an odd reluctance. "She was a very good servant in +every way, and perfectly devoted to you and to little Katharine."</p> + +<p>Jemima looked at her in surprise. It was very unlike the Madam to lose +touch with any creature, human or otherwise, who had once faithfully +served her. She waited for an explanation.</p> + +<p>"Mahaly has never come to Storm," said Kate in a low voice, "since your +father's death. She was his servant for many years before I came here."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Jemima. The negress had evidently been one of her father's +loyal supporters, resenting what she must have seen at Storm. "I see! In +that case, Mother, I should like to do something for her. People who are +faithful to my father—"</p> + +<p>There was an uncomfortable stir in the room.</p> + +<p>"Mahaly has been given the cottage in which she lives, as a present from +you and little Katharine," interrupted Kate.</p> + +<p>"I am glad of that," said the girl with a certain stateliness. "I was +going to say that people who are faithful to my father must never be +forgotten by his children."</p> + +<p>"Nor by his wife," said Kate, with quiet dignity....</p> + +<p>Despite the preoccupation of the wedding, Kate did not make the mistake +of neglecting Jacqueline's affairs. She had had her warning. Moreover, +though she would have denied it even to herself, the younger girl had +come to occupy a far larger share of her heart than had even been given +to the self-reliant Jemima. She had felt, lately (and the thought +frightened her) that in watching Jacqueline she was watching her own +youth over again. What possibilities lay in the girl's nature for +strength and weakness, for hot-headed folly, for sacrifice and passion +and unselfish service, she knew as do those who have been the victims of +such natures themselves. Jacqueline, if it were in human possibility to +compass it, should profit by her mother's bitter mistakes.</p> + +<p>She redoubled her vigilance on learning that Channing had after all not +left the vicinity. Philip had passed him one day in one of Farwell's +machines, and hastened to report the encounter at Storm.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he has come back for your wedding," she said thoughtfully to +Thorpe.</p> + +<p>The Professor's lips closed grimly. "He is not invited to my wedding. J. +Percival and I have, so to speak, severed diplomatic relations. Look out +for him, Kate!"</p> + +<p>Philip, too, was not so certain as she that Channing was keeping to his +promise with regard to Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>But the girl was under her mother's eye all day long, excited as Jemima +herself over the preparations, stitching with unwonted diligence on the +bridal finery, running errands, seeing visitors, happy and busy and +asking nothing better than to be with Kate or her sister whatever they +were about. It was a little touching to both, as if the madcap girl had +suddenly realized that the old companionship of home was about to be +broken up, and wanted to have as much of it as possible.</p> + +<p>There was no hour in the full days when she might have seen Channing, +even had she wished. And Jemima continued to watch her mail with a +hawk's eye.</p> + +<p>Channing's word of honor not to communicate with the girl would have +seemed, in itself, an insufficient safeguard to Kate, had not her +knowledge of men reassured her. She believed that her daughter was not +the type to arouse more than a passing interest in such a man as +Channing. Her beauty, her flattered response to his attentions, her +fresh, unsophisticated charm of gaiety, might well appeal to him for a +time, adding the fillip of the unaccustomed to a jaded palate. But it +was an appeal that must be constantly renewed, that would not outlast +any continued absence. She believed that Channing, while he would accept +with eagerness whatever good thing came to his hand, was too indolent +and too self-centered to overcome many obstacles in the pursuit of a +fancy.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline herself was reassuring, too. Her manner of receiving the news +of Channing's perfidy had showed her no stranger to the Kildare pride. +She seemed to regard the affair as a closed incident.</p> + +<p>"Do you think," said Kate proudly to Philip, "that my daughter would +care to have anything to do with the man, now that she knows his utter +unworthiness?"</p> + +<p>"It is just possible that she was attracted to Channing by other +qualities than worthiness," commented Philip. "Weakness, for instance. +Women have been attracted by weakness before this."</p> + +<p>"Phil, Phil," Kate laughed, "you are an 'elderly young man,' as Jacky +says! Almost as elderly and wise as our Jemima. Stop croaking and come +and see the new wedding garments Mag is putting on my old chairs."</p> + +<p>She flung an affectionate arm about him, and led him indoors, his heart +beating too hard and suddenly to make further speech possible just +then.—Yet there was much he wished to say, and not about Jacqueline. +These wedding preparations stirred certain yearnings in his breast, +certain eager hopes. It seemed to him that his lady was warmer lately, +more approachable, more present, somehow. Was she, too, stirred by all +this thought and talk of marriage? It was hard to wait patiently. Yet he +was too good a horseman to rush his fences.</p> + +<p>Mag on her knees, her mouth full of pins, was cleverly fitting slips of +gay-flowered cretonne over the masculine chairs and sofas, assisted, or +at least not hindered, by Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>"The old hall won't know itself, will it?" cried the latter, waving them +a welcome. "All got up in ruffles and things, looking as frivolous as +the lion in the circus with a bow on his tail!"</p> + +<p>She ran after her disappearing mother with some question, and Philip, +finding himself alone with Mag, was reminded of a certain duty he had to +perform.</p> + +<p>He stood a moment gazing down at her, she so intent upon her labors that +she did not notice he was there. As always, the pathos of the girl moved +him strongly; so young she was to be already one of life's failures, so +helplessly a victim of early environment. Believed from care and +hardship, well-fed and well-clothed and sheltered, she had grown sleek +and soft and pretty as a petted kitten, and there should have been a +look of content about her which he missed. Her mouth drooped a little, +and now and then a visible shadow crossed her face.</p> + +<p>He sighed. Rumor was once again busy with the name of Mag Henderson. +Sometimes Philip wearied of his job as the neighborhood's spiritual +policeman.</p> + +<p>He asked gently: "Mag, you're not happy here at Storm?"</p> + +<p>She looked up with a start. "Why—I didn't know no one was there! Why, +yes, sir. They're real good to me and baby here."</p> + +<p>"And you like your work, don't you?"</p> + +<p>Again he noticed the shadow on her face. "I reckon so—as well as I'd +like any work." People were always frank with Philip. "A gal gits kind +o' tired of workin' all the time, though. I make dresses and trim hats +for most of the ladies round about, now, and they pay me good, too. +But...."</p> + +<p>"But it's all work and no play, eh?"</p> + +<p>"That's it," she said, grateful for his understanding. "I don't never +have no fun. I ain't got no gen'leman friends, nor nothing. What's the +use of havin' good clothes, and lookin' pretty and all, ef you don't get +to go somewhere so that folks kin see you? I'm <i>tired</i> of bein' looked +down on," she complained fretfully. "I ain't got a friend on this place +'cep'n Miss Jacky, and now she—"</p> + +<p>Mag stopped short. Philip wondered what she had been about to say, but +he was too good a confessor to force confidences.</p> + +<p>"You've always got the Madam," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but she don't care nothing about <i>me</i>. She's kind enough, but so's +she kind to any cur dog that comes along. What am I to her?"</p> + +<p>"You've got your baby, Mag."</p> + +<p>But the childish, fretful face did not soften. "Babies are more trouble +than company to a person. Besides, she likes Miss Jacky now bettern't +her own mammy. She cries to go to her from me.—It's fun I want, like +other gals. Everybody, it seems like, has fun but me, even the niggers. +Parties, and picnics, and weddin's and all—Oh, my, but don't I <i>wisht</i> +I was Miss Jemmy!"</p> + +<p>Evidently the wedding preparations had stirred longings in more hearts +than Philip's.</p> + +<p>"Even if she is marryin' an old man an' a cast-off beau of her ma's, +look at the ring he give her! A di'mon' big as my thumb-nail. She let me +put it on my finger once, and it looked grand. Oh, my, I'd do 'most +anything for a ring like that!"</p> + +<p>"Would you, really, Mag?" he asked curiously, wondering at the +fascination shining bits of stone possess for women far more civilized +than this little savage. "Do you think a diamond ring would make you any +happier?"</p> + +<p>"In co'se it would," she said, impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I dunno—it would make me look prettier, I expect."</p> + +<p>He said, kindly: "You do not need to look any prettier. You are quite +pretty enough, as it is."</p> + +<p>Her whole expression changed. She gave him a conscious upward glance. +"Am I? Why, Mr. Philip, I never thought a preacher'd notice how a gal +looked!"</p> + +<p>It told him all and more than he wanted to know. He continued to meet +her gaze with grave eyes, and after a moment her own dropped.</p> + +<p>"'T ain't much use bein' pretty round here," she muttered. "The city's +the place for pretty gals."</p> + +<p>"Who told you that? The drummer I saw you talking with behind the +village store a few days ago?"</p> + +<p>She tossed her head. "Well, what if it was? I got the right to pass the +time o' day with a fellow, ain't I? You'd suppose I was in prison!"</p> + +<p>Philip sought out his lady again with a troubled heart. "Sorry to croak +any more at this busy time, but Mag will bear watching. She's been seen +about with men once or twice lately."</p> + +<p>Kate sighed with exasperation. "'Give a dog a bad name.' I shall have to +acquire the hundred eyes of Argus to keep up with my household nowadays, +it seems!"</p> + +<p>It was not the first warning that had come to her about her protégée. +Big Liza, for years her confidential friend and ally, had said to her +one day: "Dat white gal ain't keerin' so much about de chile no mo', +Miss Kate. She's allus a-leavin' her with me, ef Miss Jacky ain't got +her. Gawd He knows I ain't complainin' about havin' a chile aroun', +seein' as how I done raise nine of my own, right heah under ma kitchen +stove, like so many little puppy-dawgs. But dey wuz cullud chillun, an' +dat's diffunt. Is dishyer hot kitchen any place to raise up a w'ite +chile in? Now I ax you! 'Pears to me like dat gal don' keer for nothin' +no mo' but traipsin' down to de sto' an' gallivantin' roun' de roads wid +her fine clo'es on. She ain't no better'n a yaller nigger gal!"</p> + +<p>Kate asked reluctantly (she did not take kindly to spying), "Have you +ever seen her with men, Liza?"</p> + +<p>The black woman compressed her lips. "No'm, Miss Kate, I ain't nebber +prezackly <i>seed</i> 'em—but laws, honey, dat kin' ob goin's-on don't aim +to be seed!"</p> + +<p>Now that she had a more definite rumor to go by, Kate said sorrowfully +to Philip, "You told me it was a mistake to bring her here in the first +place. It seems to me I make a great many mistakes!" She sighed again.</p> + +<p>"At least," said he, "they are the sort of mistakes that will get you +into heaven."</p> + +<p>She laughed mirthlessly. "You always talk, you clergymen, as if you had +special advices from heaven in your vest-pockets!"</p> + +<p>But she was comforted, nevertheless. She would have found it hard to do +without Philip's steady adulation.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> + + +<p>The night after the wedding proved to be for Kate Kildare one of the +<i>nuits blanches</i> that were becoming common with her in the past few +weeks. For many years the cultivated habit of serenity had carried her +through whatever crises came into her life, following her days of +unremitting labor with nights of blessed oblivion. But lately she found +herself quite often waking just before daylight, with that feeling of +oppression, that blank sense of apprehension, that is the peculiar +property of "the darkest hour."</p> + +<p>This night she occupied her brain as soothingly as possible with details +of the wedding; smiling to remember the unaccustomed frivolity of the +old hall, which the negroes had decorated with flowers and ribbons +placed in all likely and unlikely places. Every antler sported its bow +of white; the various guns which hung along the walls, as they had hung +in the days of Basil's grandfather, each trailed a garland of blossoms; +even the stuffed racehorse was not forgotten, so that he appeared to be +running his final race with Death while incongruously munching roses.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline as bridesmaid was, oddly enough, the only one of the +wedding-party who seemed in the least upset. She was white as a sheet +and trembling visibly, and when Philip greeted Jemima formally as "Mrs. +Thorpe," she suddenly burst into tears, and refused to be comforted.</p> + +<p>"He's so <i>old</i>!" she sobbed on her mother's shoulder. "Oh, poor Blossom! +He's so <i>old</i>!"</p> + +<p>Yet the bridegroom had looked to Kate's eyes amazingly young; and as he +stood gazing down at the exquisite little white-clad figure beside him, +there was such an expression of pride in his face, of incredulous, +reverent happiness, that it was all his new mother-in-law could do to +keep from kissing him before the ceremony was over.</p> + +<p>Jemima herself was as calm as might have been expected; perhaps calmer. +At the critical moment, when Philip's grave voice was beginning: "Dearly +beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God"—the bride +was heard to murmur to her attendant, "Jacky, pull my train out +straight." Thereafter, she fixed her eye upon a certain flintlock rifle +over the mantel-piece, which had won the first Kentucky Kildare his way +into the virgin wilderness, and went through the ceremony with the +aplomb of a general directing his forces into battle. The mother +wondered what the girl was thinking of, staring so fixedly at the old +rifle. Perhaps she was vowing to be worthy of it in the new wilderness +she was about to tread.</p> + +<p>Afterwards for an hour or so Mr. and Mrs. Thorpe had graciously received +the uninvited guests of both colors who had come "to see the bride off." +Then the two sisters went upstairs together to change into the +going-away dress; and Kate, presently following, found Jemima alone.</p> + +<p>"I thought you would come, Mother. That's why I sent Jacky away."</p> + +<p>Kate, a little tremulous herself, had counted upon the bride's composure +to carry the day; but behold! it was suddenly a thing of the past. She +ducked her head and ran into her mother's arms as if she were trying to +hide from something, breathless, panic-stricken; and Kate soothed her +silently with tender hands.</p> + +<p>Presently Jemima whispered in a queer little voice, "Mother? Now that we +are both married women, tell me—Was my father—was my father good to +you?"</p> + +<p>"My little girl! You need never worry about Jim's being good to you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jim—of course!—I'm not thinking of him, I'm thinking of you. +If—if my father was not good to you, I can understand—I see—"</p> + +<p>Then Kate realized what she was trying to say. This cold, proud child of +hers was willing to give up her pride in her father, if so be she might +hold fast again to the old faith in her mother.</p> + +<p>The temptation was great, but Kate put it from her. She could not rob +dead Basil of his child's respect.</p> + +<p>"You must never blame your father, dear, for any weakness of mine," she +said, steadily.</p> + +<p>But the girl still clung to her, whispering another strange thing. +"Often, when I am half awake, I remember some one—Not you, Mother. Some +one with a deep laugh, whose coat feels smooth on my cheek—who used to +toss me up in the air, and play with me, and pet me if I was frightened. +I always want to cry when he goes.—Is that my father, Mother?"</p> + +<p>A pulse beat thickly in Kate's throat. She had some difficulty in +answering. "Perhaps. Who knows? A baby's dreams, dear. But cling to +them, cling to them—"</p> + +<p>She knew very well it was not Jemima's father, but the man who should +have been her father, Jacques Benoix. So, after all, the first loves of +life are not forgotten, even by Jemimas....</p> + +<p>Lying there, despite the depressing hour, content stole over her; a +feeling that all was well with her elder child, at least.</p> + +<p>She turned her thoughts to Jacqueline. There, too, things were going +better. None of Philip's growing interest and tenderness for his little +playmate had escaped her notice. Motherwise, she exaggerated these into +symptoms of greater import. Blunderer that she was, she had at least +managed to bring the child safe through the perils of a first passion, +that rock upon which so many young lives wreck, even as hers had +wrecked. In the rebound from the affair with Channing, the girl could +not fail to appreciate the superior charm of Jacques' big and simple +son, who was so much like Jacques himself. She was sure that Jacqueline +already loved Philip without suspecting it. Women ere this have loved +two men at once.</p> + +<p>Then, as suddenly as pain that has been waiting for the first motion on +the part of its victim to pounce, the apprehension she had been fighting +came back upon her, twofold.—<i>Was</i> she so certain? And had she not in +her blundering life been certain of too many things? That she would be a +true wife to Basil Kildare, for instance; that she could justify Jacques +before the world; that at least she might atone to him for all he had +lost through her. And in each of these things she had been wrong. She, +with all her boast of efficiency, she the successful Mrs. Kildare of +Storm, what was she in the end but a failure—a wife whose husband had +not trusted her, a woman who had ruined her lover's life, a mother whose +daughter married without love, to get away from her?</p> + +<p>She wondered, as at all such moments, what was the purpose for which she +had been created; or whether there had indeed been a purpose. This +humanity that takes itself so seriously, may it be after all only a +superior sort of spider-egg, hatching out in due season, spinning busy +webs for the world to brush away, laying other eggs, and so on, <i>ad +infinitum</i>? Perhaps the God of simple people, such as her mother and +Philip Benoix and Brother Bates, the God upon whom she herself called at +times because of the force of early habit—perhaps He was only +life-principle—the warmth of the sun, for instance—an impersonal, +intangible something which started the universe as one winds a clock, +and left it to go on ticking till the mechanism runs down.... Good or +bad, wise or foolish—what difference? Spin our webs no matter how +carefully, they are only gossamer, visible for a moment with the dew or +the frost upon them and then—vanished. Human and spider alike, unnoted, +innumerable, self-perpetuating....</p> + +<p>Poor Kate Kildare! When natures such as hers lose their self-reliance, +life becomes as unsubstantial as an opium dream. If they cannot count +upon themselves, what then may they count upon?</p> + +<p>She jumped out of bed, and went to the window, where she stood for a +while in the cold starlight, letting the wind blow in across her +feverish face. She wrapped blankets around her, and sat listening to the +sounds of the sleeping country; an owl mournfully hooting, a premature +cock crowing lustily, the drowsy whickering of horses stirring in their +stalls; for it was two o'clock, and the countryside was beginning to +dream of day. She stayed for a long while brooding over the land she +loved, as over a sleeping child. Always the great out-of-doors had its +balm for her....</p> + +<p>Suddenly she sat erect. In the shadows back of the stables something had +moved. One of the dogs, perhaps? Then out into the starlight, crossing +rapidly toward the house, flitted the slight figure of a girl, with +several of the dogs leaping and gamboling about her in a silence that +showed her to be no stranger. She was shrouded in a long hooded cape, +and passed out of Kate's range too quickly lo be recognizable.</p> + +<p>"Now which of the wenches was that?" thought Kate, frowning. The amorous +adventures of their black servants have come to be accepted by Southern +housekeepers with unenquiring philosophy. "But why was she coming to the +house at this hour?" she wondered further.</p> + +<p>The negroes had their quarters well at the back, and no one slept in the +"great house" with Kate and her daughters, except the housewoman, Ella, +too elderly for midnight adventure, and Mag Henderson, who with her baby +occupied a room in the guest-wing, under the Madam's immediate +supervision.</p> + +<p>She listened acutely. Her bedroom door rattled a little in the draught +of another door which opened and closed. She heard an unmistakable +creaking of the back stairs that led to a hall behind her room and the +girls' rooms, and which also led to the guest-wing.</p> + +<p>"It's Mag!" she thought.</p> + +<p>In the morning, anxious and distressed, she hurried to consult Philip. +He shrugged. "I'm not surprised, but I honestly don't know how to advise +you, Miss Kate. I never wanted you to take her to Storm, but now that +she's there, I suppose only the devil himself would get her away from +you."</p> + +<p>"It looks as if the devil were going to have a try at it," she +commented, grimly.</p> + +<p>"Are you perfectly sure it was Mag?"</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not. It was too dark to see her face, and she was wrapped in a +big cape.—Now that I come to think of it, it was the cape we always +keep hanging by the side door for whoever happens to be going out. None +of the negroes would dare to put that on. So it must have been Mag."</p> + +<p>"At least we must be definitely sure before we say anything to her. It +is a delicate matter. Sometimes a lack of trust at the wrong moment.—Be +very sure, Miss Kate!"</p> + +<p>"I'll watch to-night. Perhaps the poor little fool will try to slip off +again."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Midnight found the Madam seated at her dark window, dressed and fully +prepared for any emergency—except that she happened to be asleep. Black +coffee had not been sufficient to offset the treacherously soothing +effect of a rain-laden breeze full of soft earth-odors, that blew across +her eyelids. She might have slept there placidly till morning, had not a +clap of thunder awakened her with a start.</p> + +<p>The night had become very tense and still. The trees seemed to hold +themselves rigid, as if they listened for something. Now and then, +lightning stabbed viciously through the dark. Beneath her the old house +creaked, bracing itself once more to meet the onslaught of its life-long +enemy, the wind. Far away across the plateau came a faint rushing sound, +that grew in volume rapidly. Once again the thunder boomed.</p> + +<p>Kate rose, yawning. "No amorous adventures for Mag to-night, that's +certain! It's going to be the first big storm of the season. There's +bite as well as bark in that sky."</p> + +<p>But at the moment, a flash of lightning showed her a slight girl's +figure running, not toward, but away from the house.</p> + +<p>Kate was startled. "It's serious then, poor silly creature, if she goes +out on a night like this!" For Mag had even more than the usual +cowardice of her class. Thunder-storms reduced her to abject terror.</p> + +<p>For a moment Kate thought of following, before she realized the folly of +the idea. How could she hope to catch so fleet a pair of heels, already +lost in the darkness? Then a faint cry came to her, the sound of a child +wailing forlornly.</p> + +<p>She slipped out into the passage, careful not to wake Jacqueline. +Whatever was to be done with Mag, one duty lay plain before her—to +comfort the deserted baby.</p> + +<p>She opened Mag's door without knocking.—The baby was not deserted. Mag +herself stood at the window in her nightdress, cringing from the +lightning, and wringing her hands and weeping. The baby wept in +sympathy.</p> + +<p>When she saw who had entered, Mag ran forward with a terrified cry, and +fell on her knees, clinging to Kate's skirts as a dog crouches against +its master to escape a beating.</p> + +<p>"'T ain't my fault, 't ain't my fault! I done begged her not to go +to-night, I done prayed her, Miss Kate! Oh, oh, look at that lightnin'! +She'll be kilt!"</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about? Pull yourself together, Mag!" Even then the +truth did not dawn on Kate. She thought she must have been the victim of +some optical illusion. Mag had to tell her in so many words.</p> + +<p>"Miss Jacky's gone to meet her fella again, and I <i>know</i> she's goin' to +git kilt!"</p> + +<p>Kate reeled against the wall. "Again?" she whispered.</p> + +<p>"I done begged her not to, no more. I knowed he'd git her into trouble +if she kep' it up.—Oh, I helped 'em, and toted notes for 'em, an' all, +'cause I liked to see her so happy—but I didn't never think it would +come to this! I'd 'a' tol' you if I dared, Miss Kate, but I dassent, I +dassent. She liked me—she kissed me once. Oh, oh, and now she's gone!"</p> + +<p>Kate forced her stiff lips into speech. "This—has been going on for +some time?"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, right smart. Ever since he was sick here. I took'n him a letter +from her the day he went away."</p> + +<p>Even in that moment, Kate's whirling brain did Channing justice. He had +kept his word, the letter of it, at least. He had not sought Jacqueline. +It was she who had sought him.</p> + +<p>She was getting back her breath. "Now," she said, "where shall I find +them?"</p> + +<p>Mag's wails broke forth anew. "I dunno! Reckon it's too late. Oh, my +Lordy! I took'n her bag to the Ruin before supper, and he was to come +for her there at midnight. Reckon it's past that now. They've done +gone!"</p> + +<p>"Gone?" The word was a gasping cry. "Gone—where?"</p> + +<p>"I dunno. The city, I reckon, or wherever he lives at.—Oh, my Gawd, +lissen at that!" The wind struck the house a great buffet, and the +thunder was rattling steadily as artillery now.</p> + +<p>Kate's knees refused to support her. She held herself upright by +clinging to the bed.</p> + +<p>The sight of the Madam thus stricken and speechless sobered Mag out of +her own fears. She bethought herself suddenly of the letter Jacqueline +had left for her mother.</p> + +<p>"Here! Maybe it says in the letter where she's gone at. Don't look that +way, Miss Kate! I wa'n't to give you the letter till mornin', but here +it is. You kin have it now, see, Miss Kate!"</p> + +<p>Only a few sentences of the long, incoherent screed in her hand +penetrated to Kate's brain.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I can't bear to leave you, I just can't bear it; but I love him so, +Mummy!—He needs me, and you don't. He can't finish his book +without me.—We're going abroad, and I'll study my singing while he +writes. Some day you'll be proud of your little girl—You said when +the time came to take my life in my two hands, and it's come. You +know it is not his fault that we can't be married right away—but +what does all that matter? You'll be the first to understand, +because I'm doing just what you would have done for Philip's +father, if it hadn't been for us children. I know! I understand you +so well, darling Mummy. I'm your own child.—We're not niggardly +lovers, you and I! We're not afraid to give all we have—</p></div> + +<p>Kate uttered a hoarse exclamation, and dropped the letter. Her moment of +helplessness had passed. She ran down stairs, two steps at a time, Mag +at her heels. She jerked open the side door, and was almost driven from +her feet by a great gust of driving rain. It was Mag who wrapped around +her the first cloak that came to hand, the big, hooded cape Jacqueline +had worn the night before, Kate stopped for nothing except to seize the +rawhide whip which hung on its accustomed nail beside the door.</p> + +<p>"What you goin' to do with that?" gasped Mag.</p> + +<p>"My pistols are upstairs," muttered the other.</p> + +<p>Mag stood at the door as long as she could, catching glimpses as the +lightning flashed of a shrouded, hooded figure running with the wind, +fast, fast, like some wild witch abroad upon the elements.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> + + +<p>It seemed to Kate presently, as she ran, that the wind was a friend, +trying to help her. The driving rain on her face cleared her brain. Even +the lightning was a friend, for without it she could not have seen a +foot of her way ahead in the blackness.</p> + +<p>Each time it flashed she stared about her, hoping to catch sight of +Jacqueline. Suddenly she lifted up her voice and prayed aloud: "God, if +You are up there, if there really is a You, now's Your chance to prove +it! You hear me, God?" It was more a challenge than a prayer.</p> + +<p>She knew that the girl had perhaps twenty minutes' start of her, but she +might yet overtake her, and in this storm Channing might well be late. +She slipped as she started down the ravine, and fell and rolled half +way, bruising herself on tree roots and boulders, the wet grass soaking +her to the skin.—No matter, it lost her no time. She fought her way +through dripping, clinging underbrush to the ruins of the slave-house. +The lightning showed it empty.—Could she have passed Jacqueline somehow +in the darkness? She dared not wait to see, but ran on into the lane +beyond. Nobody was in sight.</p> + +<p>"I am too late!" she moaned, wringing her hands. "What shall I do now?"</p> + +<p>She was convinced that Channing had already come for Jacqueline. She +started running down the road, as if she might overtake the automobile +on foot.</p> + +<p>If she had waited at the cabin for a second lightning flash, she could +not have failed to notice the traveling-bag left by Mag beside the door. +Jacqueline, slipping into one of the stables to escape the first brunt +of the storm, had lingered a moment to say good-by to her friends the +horses; and it was at that moment that her mother passed. Kate had +reached the Ruin first.</p> + +<p>But she did not know it. When at the turn of the road she saw the glare +of a headlight, she thought, "He's got her!" She was nearly exhausted by +this time, too dazed to realize that the machine was approaching, not +leaving, Storm. She gripped her rawhide whip and stepped directly into +the path of the automobile.</p> + +<p>It swerved violently, and came to a stand not a foot from her.</p> + +<p>"Good God, Jacqueline! I almost ran you down," cried Channing. "Quick, +jump in. You must be soaked to the bone, you plucky little darling!"</p> + +<p>Quick as thought, Kate pulled open the door of the tonneau and slipped +in behind. His mistake had stimulated her failing wits. Let him think +her Jacqueline as long as possible! She choked back a laugh of rising +excitement.</p> + +<p>"You're wise—it's drier there than in front. Gad, what a storm! I was +almost afraid it would scare you off. But I might have known better!"</p> + +<p>Kate, listening acutely, detected a rather odd expression about the last +words, and wondered suddenly whether Jacqueline's nonappearance might +not have been something of a relief to Mr. Channing. Her eyes glittered, +and she drew the shrouding hood closer about her face.</p> + +<p>He had started the engine, and was turning the machine around. So far he +had given her no opportunity to speak, and had to shout himself to be +heard above the noise of the engine and the storm.</p> + +<p>"We're going to have a run for it. I've arranged to have the 12:45 stop +a second to take us on, and I'm late—This damned wind!"</p> + +<p>The powerful car leaped forward. On two wheels it made the turn of the +road, full into the teeth of the storm. Channing bent over his wheel. +"Plenty of time to talk afterwards. Hold on tight!" His voice blew back +to her, faint in the roar of the blast.</p> + +<p>Kate settled back for the wild ride with a smile on her face, just such +a grim, gay little smile as her daughter had worn when she led her +cavalry charge against the Night Riders. She was secure from discovery +for a few precious moments; while back there at the mouth of the ravine +the real Jacqueline waited, bag in hand, anxious, crying a little +perhaps, watching for a lover who would not appear.—Let her cry! She +was safe there, safe with the friendly storm, the wind, the rain, and +the lightning that do nothing worse than kill.</p> + +<p>Far away across the wide plateau before them sounded the shrill whistle +of a train. It shot into sight, a long, slim, glittering thing, flying a +pennant of fiery smoke. Kate laughed exultingly. She never heard these +trains shrieking their way through the darkness without a shuddering +memory of her night of vigil in Frankfort, listening for the one which +was to carry away her child, and which had taken instead the man she +loved better than any child. She was a little beyond herself now, a +little <i>exaltée</i>, as the French say, with the excitement of the moment; +and it seemed to her that the approaching train was an old enemy upon +whom she was about to be avenged by robbing it of its prey.</p> + +<p>"Hurry, hurry!" she cried, leaning forward, forgetting in her excitement +that she must not speak.</p> + +<p>Charming laughed back over his shoulder. "You joy-rider! We're doing the +best we can now—but we'll make it."</p> + +<p>They drew up at the platform just as the train paused, a grinning porter +waiting on the step with his box.</p> + +<p>"Got your bag? Run for it," cried Channing, and followed through the +pelting rain with his own luggage.</p> + +<p>The train started even as the chuckling porter helped her on.</p> + +<p>"Stateroom fo' N'Yawk,—yessir, yessir! Right in dis way, miss. I done +seed you-all comin'. You suttinly did tek yo' foot in yo' han' an' +trabbel—yessir! yes, <i>suh</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Lord, what a run!" Channing was saying behind her. "I left the engine +going, too—old Morty will be furious when he finds her! You must be wet +as an otter in spite of that great cape.—Well, little sweetheart, here +we are! Let 's—"</p> + +<p>He stopped short. Kate had turned, slipping the cape from her +shoulders.—There they were, indeed. The train sped on, gathering speed +with each mile.</p> + +<p>She began to laugh, softly at first, then more and more heartily, till +her whole body shook and the tears streamed down her face. The +romance-loving porter, listening outside, chuckled in sympathy. Channing +essayed a sickly smile.</p> + +<p>She stopped as suddenly as she had begun, and a silence fell.</p> + +<p>Channing broke it, of course. It was his misfortune in moments of +emergency always to become chatty.</p> + +<p>"You have taken me by surprise, really!—I—I didn't recognize you at +first. That cape—Look here, this isn't entirely my fault. You must know +that! I meant to keep my word, I tried to. But Jacqueline would insist +upon seeing me to—to prove that she trusted me. I <i>told</i> her it +wouldn't do. She said she had made no promise.—Oh, hang it all, how +could I help myself, with the girl throwing herself at my head like +that? I'm no anchorite."</p> + +<p>"No?" murmured Kate.</p> + +<p>"No, certainly not! That is.—Look here, it's not what you think at all! +I've been meeting her at night—it was the only way we could manage. But +I <i>am</i> a gentleman, you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" murmured Kate.</p> + +<p>He tried again, perspiring freely. "This looks bad, I know, but I assure +you—Jacqueline understands that I mean to marry her as soon as things +are definitely settled. She understands me absolutely, the only woman, +perhaps, who ever has. She has temperament herself. Why, that's the +reason I consented to take her away," he continued eagerly, gaining +confidence from the other's silence. "She really ought to have her +training for opera. You don't realize what a voice it is, Mrs. Kildare! +I could offer her certain opportunities, lessons abroad, introductions, +a career, in fact—"</p> + +<p>"And meanwhile you were going to act as her protector?" broke in Kate.</p> + +<p>"Why—why, yes. Exactly!"</p> + +<p>The faintest smile just lifted her lip. "From yourself?" she murmured.</p> + +<p>Channing's eyes dropped. He would have given years of his life to meet +without flinching that little smile. "I repeat, I would have married +Jacqueline as soon as it was possible." He spoke with an effort for +quiet dignity that was not convincing, even to himself; perhaps because +he noticed just then, for the first time, the dog-whip which Mrs. +Kildare was twisting and untwisting in her strong fingers.</p> + +<p>"I suppose that dream is over now," he added sadly—a little hastily.</p> + +<p>"I think we may safely say," she admitted, "that that dream is over."</p> + +<p>He could not lift his eyes from those slender, muscular fingers. Across +his too-vivid imagination had flashed Farwell's picture of the Madam +going to the rescue of her fighting negroes. A little shudder went down +his back. He wondered what he should do if she suddenly attacked him. +Could he lay his hands upon a woman? Should he call for help? Must he +simply stand there and let her—whip him?...</p> + +<p>At that moment a whistle sounded, and the train began to slow down for a +station. To his almost sick relief, Mrs. Kildare drew her cape about her +shoulders. "I get off here," she said.</p> + +<p>He rushed into speech. "Will you please tell Jacqueline how miserably +sorry I am—how I regret—"</p> + +<p>She cut him short. "I will tell Jacqueline nothing, and neither will +you. All this"—she waved an inclusive hand about the stateroom—"<i>it +never happened</i>."</p> + +<p>"What! You mean—she is to believe I did not come for her?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly. You have disappeared. And without any explanations to +anybody."</p> + +<p>"But, Mrs. Kildare! Good Lord! What will she think of me?"</p> + +<p>"That you have simply broken your word again; which," said Kate, "is +what I intend her to think. She shall not be further humiliated by the +knowledge that there has been—an audience."</p> + +<p>He began to understand. Kate knew her daughter. Pride was to be called +to the rescue, and he himself would play a very sorry part hereafter in +the memory of Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>"But, Mrs. Kildare!" his vanity protested. "Really, I can't—"</p> + +<p>His eyes dropped again, as if magnetized, to that twisting whip.</p> + +<p>The author was not of the material out of which he created his heroes. +He had a dread, an acute physical dislike, of what is called "a +scene."—Very well! (he thought); if it helped poor, dear little +Jacqueline to remember him as a cowardly wretch, as the sort of +ungentlemanly villain of the piece who made engagements to elope with +young women and then broke them—very well, let her so remember him.</p> + +<p>Also, the thought occurred to him that if no explanations were to be +made to any one, Philip Benoix would perhaps never hear of the thing he +had tried and failed to do this night. For some odd reason, not entirely +connected with the pistol he had seen in the clergyman's pocket, +Channing wanted to be remembered as pleasantly as possible by Philip +Benoix.</p> + +<p>He sighed. "I see! You mean that Jacqueline shall learn to hate me.—As +you wish, of course. I will make no explanations. I give you my word of +honor never to write to her, or—"</p> + +<p>"Your word of honor!" For one moment he met the full blast of the scorn +in Kate's eyes, before his own fell again. "Never mind promises, sir. It +will be to your advantage, Mr. Channing, to keep out of my way. +Hereafter I take care of my own!"</p> + +<p>For the first time her gaze followed his to the whip in her hands, and +once more she burst out laughing; clear, ringing laughter that wakened +half the car.</p> + +<p>"Just a dog-whip," she explained from the door, reassuringly. Her voice +was never sweeter. "I find after all that I shall not need it, you poor +little prowling tomcat!—Good-by."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> + + +<p>A rather watery sun was just showing over the tree-tops when Mrs. +Kildare dismissed at her door the automobile she had commandeered, +hoping to slip into the house unnoticed. But the dogs betrayed her. They +were lingering hopefully about the kitchen door, with an eye on Big +Liza, already up and about, for the Madam permitted no shiftless habits +at Storm; and the sound of wheels brought them barking to the front of +the house. Big Liza's curiosity was aroused, and she followed.</p> + +<p>"My Lawdy, Miss Kate! whar you bin at?" she demanded, round-eyed. "You +look lak a ghos', you sholy does!"</p> + +<p>The Madam put her finger on her lip. "Business—I don't want it +mentioned, Liza. You understand?"</p> + +<p>The cook nodded importantly, pursing up her mouth. There is no safer +confidante, as a rule, than a negro servant. The race is very amenable +to the flattery of being trusted, and not too inquisitive about the +doings of a superior order of beings. Kate had no fears with regard to +Liza. It was Mag who bothered her.</p> + +<p>The girl, who had not slept that night, met her at the foot of the +stairs, looking terrified. "Oh, Miss Kate, whatever happened? Miss Jacky +done come back an hour ago, and she's up in her room cryin' fit to break +her heart. You—ain't <i>killed</i> him?" she whispered. It did not seem an +unlikely question to ask of that white, set face with its burning eyes.</p> + +<p>Kate drew her into the office and shut the door. "What have you told +her?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>"Who, Miss Jacky? I ain't told her nothin'. I didn't git a chance."</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" murmured the mother.</p> + +<p>All the way home her head had been spinning like a top with plans for +keeping Jacqueline from knowing of her interference.</p> + +<p>"She came in all wet and lookin' so queer!—No'm, she wa'n't cryin' +then, but she looked kind o' pinched and old-like. She didn't say +nothin' to me, except ask for the letter she done left for you, and when +I give it to her, she thanked me that pretty way she has, for bein' so +good to her.—Me, <i>good</i> to her! when I'd gone and told, and +everything!" Mag began to blubber.</p> + +<p>"Telling," muttered Kate, "was the one good thing you did for her.—What +then?"</p> + +<p>"Why, she went in her room an' locked the door, and when I axed through +the keyhole didn't she want somethin' hot to drink, 'cause she was so +wet, she said no, just let her alone, and please not to wake her up for +breakfas' 'cause she might have a headache."</p> + +<p>Kate's face softened. "Poor child! If it's nothing worse than a +headache!—Now, then, my girl, I want to tell you what your 'goodness' +might have done for Jacqueline." Her voice became harder and sterner +than Mag had ever heard it. "Should you like to see her such a creature +as you were before I brought you here, hunted, looked down upon, ashamed +to face people—the kind of woman that the Night Riders try to drive out +of decent communities?"</p> + +<p>The girl cowered away from her. "Miss Jacky like <i>me</i>? Oh, she couldn't +be, not ever! She's a lady," she cried piteously. "Her fella would have +married her—you'd 'a' made him!"</p> + +<p>"He could not, as it happens. He would have turned her, perhaps, into +just such an outcast as you were, and you helping him! This is the +return you have made me for my charity, Mag Henderson!"</p> + +<p>The girl crouched with her face hidden, as if she expected a beating. "I +didn't know, I didn't know!" she moaned. "I just wanted her to be happy +with her fella—What you goin' to do with me, Miss Kate?"</p> + +<p>"God knows," said the other bitterly.</p> + +<p>Mag caught at her skirts, lifting her face in abject pleading. "Whatever +you does to me, don't send little Kitty away! Don't git a mad on the +baby! Say you won't, Miss Kate, say you won't!"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" Kate spoke more gently. "Nobody's going to 'do' anything to +you, or to the baby, either. I suppose you cannot help your ignorance. +That's our job.—But it is evident that you can't be trusted."</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, I kin!" sobbed the girl, childishly. "Yes'm, I kin, too! Just +you try me."</p> + +<p>"Very well, I'll try you." Kate made a quick decision. "Listen to me, +Mag! It was I who met Mr. Channing and—persuaded him to go away. But +Jacqueline does not know this, and she must never know it. I will not +have my girl shamed before her mother. She must think he went off of his +own accord, because he was afraid to take her.—Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>Mag nodded, sniffling.</p> + +<p>"You are to say nothing of what has happened to-night, either to +Jacqueline or to any one else. You have been sound asleep all night! Do +you hear?"</p> + +<p>"But supposin'," said Mag fearfully, "supposin' Miss Jacky axes me +questions?"</p> + +<p>"Then you must lie. You know how to do that, I suppose!" said Kate, with +some impatience.</p> + +<p>As it happened, that was one thing Mag Henderson did not know how to do, +certainly not with the clear, candid eyes of Jacqueline upon her. But an +alternative occurred to her, and she made her promise.</p> + +<p>"I won't never tell, I won't never tell nobody, Miss Kate, cross my +heart and hope to die!"</p> + +<p>"Very well, then." Mrs. Kildare was rather touched by the girl's +contrition, her eagerness to be trusted. She held out a forgiving hand. +"Shake hands on it, and remember this is for Jacky's sake."</p> + +<p>Mag, with a gulp, put her hand into the Madam's, and forgot for the +moment that she had been a creature hunted, looked down upon, ashamed to +face decent people. Whatever harm she had done, she intended to atone +for, even with sacrifice.</p> + +<p>Kate patted her on the shoulder. "Now then, run and bring a pot of black +coffee to my room, and see that I am not disturbed for at least two +hours."</p> + +<p>When she emerged at the end of that time, a little hollow-eyed and +stiff, but ready for the day's routine, she found upon inquiry that +Jacqueline had kept to her room with the prophesied headache and did not +wish to be disturbed; also, that Mag had gone down to the village on an +errand. She paused uncertainly at Jacqueline's door, but decided finally +to respect the girl's desire for privacy, glad herself of a little +longer respite before their meeting. Duplicity was not her forte, and +she knew it. Her heart ached with tenderness for her child, a tenderness +that she must not show.</p> + +<p>All day long, as she rode upon her rounds, inspecting the damage wrought +by last night's storm, she was rehearsing inwardly her first meeting +with Jacqueline; planning to show her, without exciting suspicion, the +depth of her love and her understanding. If only practical, unemotional +Jemima were there, to act as buffer between them! She thought of +consulting Philip, but decided that Jacqueline's secret was not hers to +share.</p> + +<p>One friend, however, she did consult, having so recently tested Him and +found Him not wanting. Philip, happening into his always-open church +early in the afternoon, was astounded to discover no less a person there +than the Madam, on her knees, intent upon rendering unto God the things +that are God's, as honestly as she rendered unto Cæsar the things that +are Cæsar's.</p> + +<p>He withdrew unnoticed; and thereafter, to his great delight, Kate +Kildare was a regular frequenter of the church she had built, sitting +with a rather bored expression through the service from first to last, +while her horse and her dogs waited patiently at the door for their +Sabbath exercise....</p> + +<p>Kate shared the midday meal that day with workmen who were repairing +damages to a favorite bit of beech-wood—frequently her custom when work +was on hand that required her special attention. So it was not until +dark that she rode wearily back to Storm, to discover her household +seething with excitement.</p> + +<p>Mag Henderson had never returned from her errand into the village. She +had been gone since breakfast. A servant had just discovered, in Kate's +room, a sealed letter addressed to the Madam, and pinned to her +pillow.—Poor Mag had followed as closely as possible the example set by +her beloved Miss Jacky.</p> + +<p>Kate's face was very sad and discouraged as she read the little note:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I dassent stay cause if Miss Jacky was to ax me questions I'd be +bound to tell and then you wuddent trust me no more but ef i go +away I cain't answer no questions. You kin kepe Kitty. I luv her +but I giv her to you cause I ain't got nothing else nice to give +and you been awful kind to Me. plese let her be yore little Hands +and feet, miss Kate, and kepe her always and fetch her up a lady +like you not like me. plese mam dont you <i>never</i> let her do like +me, and ef my Pappy ever comes to git her and says she's his'n for +Gawds sake she aint no such thing she's yourn. There's a city fella +a drummer been settin up to me right smart, and he says a purty gal +is a fool to stay and not have no fun and just make close for other +gals to ware and in the city ennyway gals have more chanct So he +wanted me to go along with him but I wuddent becos of Kitty but now +I reckon yore glad to git shut of me so no more at present from +yores truly</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mag.</span></p> + +<p>Plese tell miss Jaky ef she brushes Kittys hare the wrong way evry +day mebbe it will come curly.</p></div> + +<p>Kate looked about her at the circle of black faces, all rather pleased +and eager-looking over Mag's downfall, for the "poor white" is never +popular with the better class of negroes, and Mag's position in the +household had aroused some jealousy.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it's too late to catch her," she said dully. "There have been +a dozen trains to the city—we don't even know what city.—Oh, I've done +this, I've done this!" She was speaking to herself, though she spoke +aloud.</p> + +<p>Big Liza took it upon herself to administer consolation. "No you ain't, +honey, no, you ain't! She was jes' nachelly bo'n dat-a-way. In co'se +it's natchel enough fo' a body to take up with a gemman friend, but to +leave her own baby-chile behine her—why, dat gal's aimin' fer hell-fire +jus' as fas' as she kin trabbel!"</p> + +<p>Kate was reminded of poor Mag's parting gift, her "little hands and +feet." She asked, sighing:</p> + +<p>"Where is the baby?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Jack's got her in her room."</p> + +<p>She entered unheard, and found Jacqueline holding the little whimpering +creature tight against her breast, rocking and crooning to it.</p> + +<p>"There, there, precious! Did it miss its mama? Never mind, I know. +They're tired of us, they've left us—I know. They just didn't want us +any more. Never mind, pet! You've got me."</p> + +<p>Kate slipped away again with dim eyes, leaving Jacqueline and the +deserted baby to comfort each other.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2> + + +<p>Jacqueline had waited all that day for news from Channing, disappointed, +more than a little humiliated, to think that he had failed where she had +not, but making every allowance for him as a city-bred man not +accustomed to storms such as that of the night before. Perhaps he had +taken for granted that she would not venture out in it herself.</p> + +<p>Then, as no word came from him, either by note or by telephone, she +began to worry. The lightning had been very bad. After all, storms can +be dangerous. Possibly he had met with an accident.</p> + +<p>At last she could restrain herself no longer, and telephoned to Holiday +Hill.</p> + +<p>A noncommittal man-servant informed her that Mr. Farwell was still away +(he had gone to Cincinnati on business for several days), and that the +other gentleman had left unexpectedly the night before. He did not add +that the household was all agog with the extreme unexpectedness of his +leaving.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline asked, rather tremulously, whether he would be returning +soon. The servant thought not, as he had since telegraphed for all his +luggage to be sent on to New York.</p> + +<p>It was then that she began to realize what had happened to her. She +still made excuses for him to herself. He had been thinking of her—he +had decided that he could not accept her sacrifice. Perhaps he had been +thinking a little of her mother, too, left alone there at Storm. Yes, +she was sure he had been thinking a little of her mother, whom he so +greatly admired, not understanding how eager Mrs. Kildare was for her +children's happiness.—He would write, of course, and explain....</p> + +<p>She dared not think of the blank and dreary future, but lived from hour +to hour, watching for the mails. When the postman stopped on his daily +round at the foot of Storm Hill, she was always waiting for him. +Sometimes she met him down the road, in her eagerness. But there was +never a letter for her, except now and then a line from the traveling +Mrs. Thorpe.</p> + +<p>Kate saw this eager watchfulness, and her heart smote her, and her +secret lay heavy on her breast. But she made no comment, even when she +noticed that the girl was neglecting her food in a manner unprecedented, +and heard her prowling about the house at night, when she should have +been asleep, like an unhappy little ghost.</p> + +<p>"I must give her time, poor girlie," she thought, and wished that she +might consult Philip.</p> + +<p>Philip, however, was doing some observing on his own account. He had +come across a phrase in a book recently that recurred to him whenever he +saw Jacqueline nowadays: "God gives us our eyes, our parents gives us +our noses, but we make our own mouths."</p> + +<p>It occurred to him that Jacqueline was "making her mouth" far too +rapidly. Of a sudden the lips had lost all their childish softness and +were settling into a firm, curved line of great beauty, but which had +more than a hint of pathos. "She has no right to such a mouth at her +age!" he thought.</p> + +<p>The fact of Channing's final disappearance was known to him, though not +the manner of it; and at first it had filled him with satisfaction. Now, +however, he realized that to get Channing out of sight was by no means +to get him out of mind. His thoughts went back over the constant and +secret companionship of many weeks, reaching as a climax the night the +two had lost themselves in the mountains. He was uneasy—far more uneasy +than Kate, who had in view a consolation for Jacqueline which Philip did +not as yet suspect.</p> + +<p>One day he happened in at Storm, to find Farwell making one of his +frequent visits there. Jacqueline was chatting and laughing with him +with her usual gaiety, but Philip, even as he entered, sensed a certain +air of distress about the girl. It was Farwell's first call since +Channing's disappearance.</p> + +<p>"Hello, dominie," the actor greeted him cheerfully, evidently relieved +by his arrival. "We've just been discussing the mysterious Percival. You +knew, of course, that he'd gone without so much as a by-your-leave to +me? Not that only, but took my favorite car and left it running in the +mud, simply shaking itself to pieces. A queer devil!—I had gone to +Cincinnati for a day or two, and when I got back, not a sign of my +guest, neither hair nor hide of him!"</p> + +<p>"Rude enough," commented Benoix.</p> + +<p>"Oh, rude! Channing and I are old pals, and dropped our manners long +ago. But unfriendly, that's what I call it! Leaving me in the lurch in +that gloomy young barn of mine, without giving me a chance to get +somebody in his place.—I tell you, this thing of being a country +gentleman's the loneliest job I ever tackled! Do come and give me a +cheering word now and then, Benoix.—And the only explanation the rotter +made," he continued resentfully, "was a mere line saying he had been +called to New York on urgent business. Urgent tommyrot! The only +business he knows by sight is his own pleasure."</p> + +<p>"His writing?" commented Jacqueline, quietly. "That isn't just +pleasure."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, it is, or you may be sure he wouldn't be doing it! I know +Channing. He's selfish to the bone. Oh, I'm done with the chap!—The +fact is," he added, very careful not to look at Jacqueline, "these +geniuses aren't to be relied upon, either as friends or anything else, +you see. They're just—geniuses."</p> + +<p>"That's quite enough to be expected of them, isn't it?" remarked the +girl, with a steady little smile.</p> + +<p>Farwell changed the subject, having said what he had come to say; but +inwardly he thought, "She's a brick! She's a loyal, plucky little brick, +and Channing is a—skunk! Perhaps she chucked him, though," he reminded +himself hopefully. "Serve him good and plenty if she did."</p> + +<p>Thereafter the master of Holiday Hill spent as much time as he possibly +could at Storm, Kate looking on at Jacqueline's friendly flirtation with +him with something between a smile and a sigh.</p> + +<p>The girl was doing a good deal in the way of flirtation just then, not +only with Farwell, but with several of the earlier "victims" who +continued to come out from Lexington occasionally, and were encouraged +to come more often. Kate had been through just such a stage of +unhappiness herself, the reckless, desperate, defiant stage, when +trouble is to be kept at bay only by sheer bravado. And she had been +watched safely through it by the understanding eyes of Jacques Benoix, +even as Jacqueline would be watched through it by the understanding eyes +of his son.</p> + +<p>For it was only with Philip the girl dared to be quite herself just +then, <i>distraite</i> and talkative by turns, subject to long silences, +followed by bursts of wild gaiety. The change in his manner to her was +very marked, he no longer teased and chaffed her as he had been wont to +do, but treated her with a quiet affection, almost a deference; the +<i>camaraderie</i> offered to a friend who has come abreast of oneself on the +hard path of life. Jacqueline in trouble, gallant and uncomplaining and +piteously gay, was a Jacqueline who appealed to every instinct of +chivalry in his fine nature.</p> + +<p>If it had not been for Kate herself, the thing she so greatly desired +might very well have come to pass just then. He might have fallen in +love with Jacqueline. But unfortunately Kate was there, never lovelier +than in her guarding, tender maternity; and for Philip other women, as +women, did not exist.</p> + +<p>Into this rather disturbed atmosphere of Storm arrived one day the new +Mrs. Thorpe, quite unexpectedly and with something of a flourish.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline, hearing outside the sound of a mellifluous horn which she +did not recognize, ran to the window and reported company approaching, +"But it isn't Mr. Farwell, Mummy, and it isn't victims. It's a lady all +dressed up. Why, Mummy, it's—no, it can't be. Yes it is too! It's the +bride and groom, in a new Ark!"</p> + +<p>Jemima was herself engineering a smart blue-painted touring-car up the +hill, somewhat cautiously but with her usual air of determination. She +remarked tensely to the beaming gentleman beside her, "Wave to them, +James, please. I can't spare a hand."</p> + +<p>When the excited greetings were over, Jemima looked about her with a +contented sigh. "New York was very grand and rich, but I'm glad to be +back in this queer, shabby old house. Aunt Jemima asked all about +everything, Mother—whether you had left the stuffed horse's head on the +wall, whether the turkeys still tried to roost on the front porch, what +you had done with father's old servants, especially Mahaly—she seemed +to be particularly interested in Mahaly, for some reason or other. I +told her everything was just as it had been always—and it is, thank +goodness!" She spoke as if she had expected to find cataclysmic changes +after an absence of three weeks. "Dogs overrunning the place, and Big +Liza warbling at the top of her lungs in the kitchen, and you in your +second-best riding skirt at this hour in the afternoon—naughty mother! +Everything just the same as if—" Her roving eyes chanced to rest on her +sister's face, and she stopped short.</p> + +<p>"So you saw your Aunt Jemima?" asked Kate quickly, to change the +subject.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, of course, Mother. That's one reason we went to New York." She +was full of the visit to her father's aunt, and forgot for the moment +her shock at the change in Jacqueline. "Such a wonderful place—a house +as big as a hotel, and lawns that are evidently shaved and clipped and +bathed as regularly as her pet poodle. But—think of it! She is seventy +years old, and powdered and rouged like an actress!—Her manner was just +a little—patronizing at first, but she soon got over that."</p> + +<p>Thorpe chuckled. "My wife astonished her into a lamb-like meekness. She +informed her that while she resembled the Kildare portraits to some +slight degree, most of them were rather handsomer."</p> + +<p>"Jemmy! Why, she was a famous beauty in her day!"</p> + +<p>"Well, she isn't now; and I did not care for her manner," said the +bride, calmly. "Besides, as it turned out, she liked rudeness. Some +people do, you know. They think it's smart, and she's a very smart old +person—likes a fast motor-car, and plays cards for money—hates to +lose, too—and smokes, Mother! I kept thinking how surprised you would +have been to see her."</p> + +<p>"Pooh, that's nothing," said Jacqueline, moved to defend the honor of +Storm. "Lots of women around here smoke. Why, you'll catch Big Liza with +a pipe in her mouth at any time you go out in the kitchen!"</p> + +<p>"Jacky, a pipe! The idea! Aunt Jemima has little gold-tipped cigarettes +with her monogram on them. It's very much done."</p> + +<p>"Blossom," cried Jacqueline accusingly, "did you smoke, yourself?"</p> + +<p>The bride tossed her head, flushing. "Of course. One can't be too +provincial." (The <i>a</i> in her "can't" had achieved a new and impressive +breadth—which, considering that the honeymoon had been of only three +weeks' duration, may serve to show something of the force and +adaptability of Jemima's character.) "Still," she added, "I should not +care to see mother smoking. I was rather—shocked by Aunt Jemima."</p> + +<p>Kate smiled. She would not have been shocked. Her husband had too often +spoken of his aunt as a true Kildare, and related with pride certain +incidents in her career which had done their share toward creating the +reputation of "the wild Kildares." It had always been a matter of +astonishment to her that this wicked old woman, whose past might +certainly have made for leniency in judgment, should have shown herself +so hotly unforgiving toward the one episode she had selected to regard +as the family scandal.</p> + +<p>James Thorpe, the psychologist, could have told her that the recognized +tolerance of innocence for vice has its complement in the approval with +which unblemished reputations are regarded by those who have them not. +Also, there was an unspoken tradition among her husband's people, as in +many families, that while born Kildares, male or female, might exercise +their Heaven-sent prerogative of behaving as they chose, it was for +their mates to maintain the balance of discretion. Poor Kate had +maintained no balance.</p> + +<p>"Oh, speaking of New York," said the bride suddenly, "whom else do you +suppose I saw there? Your friend the author, Jacky! Oh, not to speak to, +of course ... James has broken with him entirely. Besides, he was with a +person, a very blonde and pretty person, whom I did not care to meet." +She smoothed down her skirts, the gesture of conscious rectitude the +world over. "I should not be surprised if she were that woman—you know! +Fay Something-or-other—"</p> + +<p>Kate's warning glance reached her, and she bit her tongue.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline had gone over to a window and stood looking out. "I miss the +old Ark," she said after a moment. "What have you done with it?"</p> + +<p>Jemima rushed into speech, her eyebrows flying distress signals at her +mother. "Oh, that old thing? Why, when James bought the new car, I +thought it would be nice to have the other painted and fixed up and give +it to Philip for a present."</p> + +<p>"Splendid!" said Kate. "It will be the greatest sort of help to him in +his parochial visits—if you can persuade him to accept it. I've been +trying for months to give him a decent horse to take the place of old +Tom. What made you think of it?"</p> + +<p>Jemima looked rather embarrassed. "Why, you see I have not been +very—nice to Phil, lately. Not friendly, at least, as I used to be. But +he's gone on just the same, as if nothing were the matter, just as +dignified, and kindly; marrying us so beautifully, and sending us those +rare candelabra, and all ... I like that way of acting, Mother, and I +like Philip. So I thought it would be nice to give him the Ark as—as a +sort of apology, you see."</p> + +<p>Kate and James Thorpe exchanged a glance of mutual congratulation. +Evidently the incipient feud was a thing of the past. Marriage was +already rubbing off some of Jemima's edges.</p> + +<p>"In that case," said Kate warmly, "I am sure Philip will accept the Ark, +daughter. He would never refuse an apology.—Jacky, why don't you go and +telephone him that the Thorpes are here, and that he is expected for +supper?"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline slipped out of the room very gratefully. The tears had been +welling up behind her eyes so fast that she was afraid some of them +would spill over. She wanted desperately to be alone until she had +accustomed herself to the thought of Channing with another woman. A +blonde, pretty person, Jemima had said.—At least she did not sound like +a person who could help him to write books!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> + + +<p>As soon as they were alone, Jemima demanded explanations of her mother. +"What has happened to Jacky? Why, she's all eyes! I never saw such a +change! Her smile makes you want to cry, somehow.—Mother, it can't +be—Channing?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid it is—" sighed Kate.</p> + +<p>"Then she really cared for him? Why, but that's incredible! Such a man, +Mother! James has told me a good deal about him. He's a sort of male +vampire, always needing a woman to pet and admire him—any sort of +woman. And our Jacqueline!" Her lips set. "Humph! If the child still +cares for him, I'll see that she hears the whole truth about him. +Jacky's not lacking in pride."</p> + +<p>"I hope and pray it is only her pride that is suffering now," said Kate, +and took Jemima fully into her confidence. It was a great relief to talk +it over with somebody. She realized how she had missed this cool and +level-headed child of hers.</p> + +<p>But when she had finished, Jemima was by no means cool and level-headed. +All her pretty married complacency had gone. She was more excited than +her mother had ever seen her. She jumped up and began to walk around the +room, muttering rather surprising things.</p> + +<p>"Why did you let him go? The horrid beast! Oh, poor little Jacky, poor +little Jacky! Why did you let him off, Mother? Why didn't you—shoot +him?"</p> + +<p>"Daughter!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't care," muttered the girl, defiantly. "I can understand +killing a man like that, I can!"</p> + +<p>A queer little smile twitched at Kate's lips. "Can you, my dear?"</p> + +<p>Jemima stopped short, and her eyes met her mother's, widening. She +realized of what Kate was thinking. "Yes, I can," she repeated, +breathlessly. "A man like that ... Mother! <i>Was my father—a—man like +that?</i>"</p> + +<p>But Kate spoke quickly, as if she had not heard. "Then you think I did +right in letting Jacqueline believe Channing had failed her?"</p> + +<p>The girl thought it over. "No," she said at last, with her usual +ruthlessness. "I don't. No good ever comes of deception, Mother. Look +what it has done already! Poor Mag ran away because she was afraid of +not keeping your secret."</p> + +<p>Kate winced. "But I have Jacqueline!"</p> + +<p>"And of course," conceded the other thoughtfully, "Mag would have gone +to the bad anyway, soon or late.—Oh, yes, she would, Mother! No use +blinking facts. As she used to say, she was 'spiled anyway.' On the +whole," Jemima decided, "I think you have done the best thing possible. +But I wish <i>I</i> had been here!—What are you going to do with Jacky now? +Let her study singing?"</p> + +<p>Kate realized the silence that had latterly fallen on Storm. The girl +had not sung a note in weeks. Both piano and graphophone had been idle. +She spoke of this.</p> + +<p>"That's bad! Music has always meant so much to Jacky. She'll have to +have an outlet of some sort. Better let her come home with me, Mother. +I'll get her interested in something."</p> + +<p>Kate shook her head. "Try, if you like, but she won't go. She's more +'mommerish' than ever just now, poor baby. She needs mothering, I +think—and marrying!"</p> + +<p>Jemima looked up quickly. "You mean Philip? Surely, Mother, you've given +up the Philip idea, after <i>this</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Why should I?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Mother! Would it be fair to him? Don't you realize that poor +little Jacky has been almost—wicked?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, dear, never wicked! Only ignorant, and desperately in love. It +seemed to her the honorable thing to do to go away openly with the man +she loved, instead of concealing it.—Oh, can't you understand? Don't +you see the difference between generous, blind sacrifice, and what you +call 'wickedness'?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Jemima, with pursed lips. "I must confess I can't. That +happens to be my weakness.—But I can see, and have always seen, that +Jacqueline is one of the sort of people who ought to be married as early +in life as possible."</p> + +<p>"Exactly! And who better for her than Philip?"</p> + +<p>Jemima looked at her mother in utter exasperation. Was it possible that +she was still blind to the thing that was the gossip of the countryside? +Or—a new thought!—was it possible that she was going to take advantage +of Philip's devotion to her, of his idealism and capacity for +self-immolation, to persuade him into carrying out her long-laid plans? +Jemima herself might have been capable of such a ruthless thing, but on +consideration she did not believe it of her mother. There was a certain +large innocence about Mrs. Kildare, an almost virginal shyness of mind, +that made it difficult for her to conceive, even in the face of direct +evidence, that a man younger than herself, a man whom she chose to +regard as a son, could be regarding her in turn with eyes other than +filial. Jemima did her the justice to recognize this.</p> + +<p>She opened her lips to inform her mother of the truth, but somehow found +herself saying instead, rather lamely, "She's not in love with Philip!"</p> + +<p>Kate smiled. "This from <i>you</i>, my dear?"</p> + +<p>The bride flushed. "When I spoke as I did about love not being necessary +to marriage, I was thinking of myself, not of Jacqueline," she explained +with dignity. "People have different requirements. Besides, I happened +not to be in love with anybody else."</p> + +<p>"That does make a difference, but I am counting on time," said the +mother. "Time and propinquity. You are not old enough yet to realize the +strength of those two factors, my dear. I am.—You said once that +Jacqueline was oversexed. I think you are wrong. She simply matured very +early, without our realising it. Certain instincts are very strong in +her—the maternal instinct, for one—stronger than her judgment.—Just +as it was with me. She is not the first poor little trusting dreamer to +put up her altar to the Unknown God, and worship before the first who +chooses to usurp it. But the altar remains, when the usurper has +passed."</p> + +<p>"For Philip to occupy? Poor Phil!" murmured Jemima under her breath.</p> + +<p>Her mother wheeled round upon her. "Why do you say 'poor Phil'?" she +demanded indignantly. "Do you suppose I would offer Jacques' son +anything but the best I have to give? Don't you know that I am thinking +of his happiness quite as much, perhaps more than of Jacqueline's? His +is a bigger nature than yours, my daughter. He would never make the +mistake of thinking the child capable of 'wickedness,' no matter what +folly she might commit."</p> + +<p>"And does he know of her latest 'folly,' Mother?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know how much he may suspect, but that is not my affair. +Jacqueline will tell him about it herself, doubtless ... after they are +married," replied Kate, serenely.</p> + +<p>Others entering the room just then put a stop to the conversation; but +for the rest of the evening young Mrs. Thorpe was thoughtful. She knew +the Madam's capacity for carrying out intentions. Watching Philip +closely, his brotherly tenderness to Jacqueline contrasted with the +silent, almost worshipful adoration her mother took so astonishingly for +granted, she realized that it would be difficult for his lady to put any +test to his devotion too difficult for him to perform. It seemed +probable that Kate would succeed in covering one blunder with another +blunder.</p> + +<p>A great sympathy for Philip came over her—sympathy being a recently +developed trait of Jemima's. She saw him suddenly as a piteous figure, +even more piteous than her listless young sister, who would, after all, +revive like a thirsty flower with the first draft of love that came to +her reaching roots. Her mother had been right there.—But what was to +atone to Philip for his lonely childhood, his lonely youth, always with +the shadow resting upon it; his hopeless infatuation for a woman who +would not see, his whole life devoted to that cold and thankless lot of +service to others?</p> + +<p>"We've taken too much from Philip as it is," she thought. "I must put a +stop to this, somehow!"</p> + +<p>She decided to drop a hint of warning to Jacqueline herself. Treachery +it might be, but, as has been seen, Jemima was quite capable of +treachery when it marched with expediency.</p> + +<p>Drop a hint she accordingly did, one of her own especial brand of hints, +as delicate and as subtle as a dynamite bomb.</p> + +<p>It occurred at bedtime, when Jemima—the Thorpes were spending the +night—slipped across into the room that had been the nursery to chat +with her sister in the old-time intimacy of hair-brushing. Indeed, the +room was still a nursery, for the crib that had been in turn Jemima's +and Jacqueline's was drawn up close beside Jacqueline's bed, and +contained the rosy, sleeping Kitty, with a favorite rattle tight clasped +in one pink fist.</p> + +<p>"Isn't she too precious, Jemmy?" whispered her foster-mother, who was +leaning over the crib as her sister entered.</p> + +<p>Jemima responded without particular enthusiasm—to her small Kitty would +always represent in concrete form the doctrine of Original Sin. She +said, "Come and let me show you how to fix your hair, dear, as they do +it in New York. You're old enough now to wear it up."</p> + +<p>"I try to, but it won't stay put, there's such a mop of it!" She +submitted willingly to the other's deft ministrations. "Neither mother +nor I look half as nice since you got married, Jemmy. Oh, I do love your +smooth hands!" She held one affectionately to her cheek. "They're so +nimble and sure of themselves, as if each finger had a little brain of +its own that knew just exactly what it was about."</p> + +<p>"I suppose, if one has a brain at all, it's everywhere, in the fingers +as well as the head; just like God in the universe," said the other, +rather absently. "Anyway, if I've got brains, you've got hair, and I +don't know but what that's more important. You'll be a lovely creature +like mother when I'm a weazened little old woman, as bald as a +monkey—or with false things on, like Aunt Jemima. Intellectual hair is +always so thin and brittle."</p> + +<p>"Why, Blossom! Yours is just like curly sunlight!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, pretty while it lasts," said the other, dispassionately. "But +not vital, like yours and mother's. You're both so splendidly vital. +That's why—Look here, Jacky, Philip's more gone on mother than ever, +isn't he? He just follows her around with his eyes, like that +sentimental hound puppy who is always trying to crawl into her lap—"</p> + +<p>"And spilling off," finished Jacqueline, with a chuckle. "I know! If she +says 'good dog' to him, he wags steadily for an hour.—I used to think +you were wrong about it," she added seriously, "and that Phil couldn't +possibly be in love with any one so old as mother; not like men are with +girls, you know. But lately—I'm not so sure."</p> + +<p>Poor Jacqueline had learned a good deal lately about the possibilities +of loving.</p> + +<p>Jemima commented with satisfaction. "I'm glad <i>you</i> see it, anyway!"</p> + +<p>"Of course he has not told me anything, but he—understands so well," +sighed the other, without explaining what it was that he understood. "I +wish he didn't, Jemmy. I <i>would</i> like to see dear old Phil happy! He's +such a darling.—Do you suppose we could possibly persuade mother ever +to marry him?"</p> + +<p>Jemima started and dropped her hair-brush. That was a solution which had +not occurred to her.</p> + +<p>"I think it would be such a good thing, don't you, Jemmy? They're both +so wonderful."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" said Jemima sharply, recovering from the shock. "What an +idea! Mother wouldn't <i>dream</i> of such an unseemly thing, of course."</p> + +<p>"I'm not so sure," said Jacqueline, with her new pathetic little wisdom. +"She's awfully sweet to Phil, always wanting him round, and petting him, +and making a fuss over him."</p> + +<p>"Just as she does over that hound puppy! No, my dear, you may be sure +that whatever she does, mother will never do anything so undignified as +to marry Dr. Benoix' son. On the contrary, I happen to know that she is +plotting to marry him to some one else."</p> + +<p>"Jemmy! Our Philip? To whom?"</p> + +<p>The hint dropped. "To you," said Jemima.</p> + +<p>But it was not greeted with the shocked surprise, the incredulous +dismay, which she had counted upon. Jacqueline considered the matter in +silence for some moments. At length she said, musingly, "That might not +be a bad idea. Philip really ought to get married—the Bishop told him +so. It creates confidence, like with young doctors. And if you really +think mother never will—Of course I could keep house for him, and hold +the Mothers' Meetings and all, and make him more comfortable than that +wretched Dilsey."</p> + +<p>Jemima gasped.—"Do you mean to say you <i>would</i>?—So soon?" She bit her +tongue, but Jacqueline did not seem to notice the unfortunate reference.</p> + +<p>"Oh, me?" she said a little wearily. "What does it matter about me? I +mean—I suppose a girl has to marry some time, and I'm used to Philip. +I'm awfully fond of him, really. He'd make a wonderful father, wouldn't +he?"</p> + +<p>"Jacqueline Kildare!" cried the bride, blushing.</p> + +<p>The girl met her startled eyes in the glass. For the moment she seemed +the older of the two. "Why, didn't you think of that when you married +Goddy? No, you wouldn't have, I suppose. But it seems to me the most +important thing of all, you know. It is something that will last, +when—other things—don't. It seems to me people could stand a great +deal of unhappiness," she said haltingly, "if they had babies. They +wouldn't always be asking themselves, Why? Why? The answer would be +there, right in their arms.—So if mother really wants me to marry +Philip, and he doesn't mind ... I don't believe I shall mind, either."</p> + +<p>Jemima made her last stand. "Suppose Philip does mind?"</p> + +<p>"Then he won't ask me, of course, goosie!—Do show me how you made that +perfectly beautiful puff."</p> + +<p>Jemima returned to her lord and master somewhat subdued and crestfallen. +She realized that for once she had overreached herself.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL"></a>CHAPTER XL</h2> + + +<p>Jemima's opposition had the effect, usual with determined natures, of +crystallizing Mrs. Kildare's purpose, and she watched with impatience a +situation that appeared rather slow in developing. Philip, touched to +the heart by the change in Jacqueline, devoted much time and thought to +her comforting, overtures which the girl met more than half way. The two +were constantly together now, galloping over the frosty fields, driving +about the country in the newly arrived Ark (which understanding Philip +had accepted with a generosity that matched Jemima's), or reading aloud +to each other in front of the roaring fire in Storm hall.</p> + +<p>Kate, realizing however unconsciously that when she was about he had +less attention for her daughter, kept out of their way as much as +possible. It occurred to her that Philip was rather neglecting his +parish in Jacqueline's behalf. She smiled to herself, and frequently +commended Providence for its assistance.</p> + +<p>But Providence moved a trifle slowly for a woman accustomed to prompt +and decisive action. She yearned to advise Philip to strike while the +iron was hot, to claim the girl for his own before her natural youth and +high spirits reasserted themselves and made her less susceptible to +tenderness. She wanted to see the two she loved happy together, as she +had wanted nothing else since she put the thought of happiness out of +her own life. Why were they wasting so much priceless time?</p> + +<p>Suddenly, one afternoon, as she was riding home to Storm, the reason +occurred to her. Philip's pride! the same pride that would permit him to +accept no help from her even as a boy, when the small income his mother +left him would have been insufficient to carry him through school and +seminary if he had not managed to secure tutoring positions to eke out. +He had accepted, perforce, the home she offered him during vacations, +but nothing more, not even a horse for his personal use. He was a poor +man, would perhaps always be a poor man, dependent upon the meager +salary of a country clergyman; and he was the son of a convict to boot. +Was it likely that he would ask in marriage the hand of one of the young +heiresses of Storm? How stupid she had been!</p> + +<p>"Bless the boy! I'll have to take this thing in hand myself," thought +Kate Kildare, glad of an excuse, and turned her horse's head toward the +rectory.</p> + +<p>Philip, absorbed in putting final touches to his next day's sermon, +looked up from his desk to see her smiling in at the door of the room +that was his study, his dining-room and his parlor combined.</p> + +<p>He sprang to his feet. "You!" he cried, with a look in his eyes that +might have told its own story to a woman less accustomed to appreciative +male glances. "I—I was just thinking of you."</p> + +<p>That was true enough. She would have found it difficult to come upon him +at a time when he was not thinking of her, somewhere in the back of his +mind. Lately, whenever he had been with Jacqueline, the girl reminded +him so constantly, so almost poignantly, of her mother that sometimes he +caught himself speaking to her in the very voice he used with his lady, +a softer, deeper voice that was the unconscious expression of the inmost +man. His congregation heard it sometimes, too, now that Mrs. Kildare had +come to sit among them.—He had been writing out his sermon with unusual +care because he had remembered that she would listen to it.</p> + +<p>He ran to wheel his shabby wing-chair up to the fire, where a pot of +coffee simmered on the hob, with a covered plate beside it.</p> + +<p>"My supper," he explained, with a gesture of apology. "I often cook in +here because it seems more cozy than the kitchen."</p> + +<p>"Is Dilsey misbehaving again?"</p> + +<p>He nodded ruefully. "I can't think where she gets the stuff, Miss Kate; +the store won't sell it to her."</p> + +<p>"Out of your emergency cupboard, I fancy. You give her all your keys, of +course, for fear she will imagine you don't trust her? Oh, Phil, Phil," +she laughed at his guilty face. "How you do need a wife to look after +you!"</p> + +<p>She settled herself comfortably in the comfortable chair, looking about +the pleasant, twilit room with the sense of well-being that always came +to her there. It was more homelike to her than the home where she had +lived for twenty years, her big rough house that had taken on so +irrevocably the look of the Kildares. Here faded brocade furniture, +books, well-shaded lamps, a blue bowl filled with rosy apples, a jar of +cedar-boughs that took the place of flowers now that the garden had gone +to its winter rest—all these things spoke to her, as they spoke to +Philip, of other days, of his father, even of the shadowy lady with her +slight, patient cough who had been his mother, and whom Kate always +winced to remember. In this place she felt among friends. She was happy +to think of her Jacqueline come at last into such a haven as Philip's +home.</p> + +<p>"Bring me some of your supper—especially the coffee, it smells so +good!—and then come and sit beside me. Here—" she indicated a low +hassock at her feet—"where I can tweak your ear if I want to; because +I'm going to scold."</p> + +<p>Philip obeyed in silence. He had fallen rather shy of her, now that he +had her here as he had so often dreamed, sitting beside him in the +twilight, sharing his supper, leaning her head against the cushions of +his own chair, her slender arched feet, in their trim riding-boots, +resting upon his fender. It was not often that the Madam found time or +occasion to stop at the Rectory. What need, indeed, when Philip was so +constantly at Storm? But the image of her sat more often than she +guessed just as she was sitting now, with a worshiper at her feet.</p> + +<p>His own thoughts, more than her presence, kept him silent. The phrase +she had uttered so carelessly (he did not altogether know his lady +there!) had set them clamoring—"How you do need a wife to look after +you...."</p> + +<p>Philip tried in vain to remember a time when he had not loved this +woman. As a child, made older than his years by the shadow of his +mother's invalidism, he had treasured his glimpses of the reckless, +beautiful girl with her two babies, as other children might treasure +glimpses into fairyland. As an older boy, with his world already in +ruins about him, he had idealized his one friend into a sort of goddess, +a super-human deity who could do no wrong, whose every word was magic +and whose slightest wish law. At that period, if Kate had bade him rob a +bank or commit a murder, he would have done it unquestioningly, happy +only to be of service to her. Later, as he grew into a thoughtful young +manhood, he came to understand that even deities may have their faults; +but Kate's were dear faults, never of the heart. As she became less +goddess she became more human, and so nearer to him, until at last she +was woman to his man. But a very wonderful woman, to be approached, even +in thought, with reverence. Philip's love had so grown with him, step by +step, as to be part of the fabric of himself, large now as his very +nature; and that was large indeed.</p> + +<p>Yet never once in all the years had he imagined the sacrilege of making +her his wife, until there came the farewell letter from his father in +prison; that man used to reading the hearts of men, who saw the truth +between the lines of his son's letters, and deliberately gave the woman +both loved into his son's keeping.</p> + +<p>"She is still young," Jacques Benoix had written, "and you are young, +and my time is over. You must be to her what I would have been. We must +consider now nothing but her greatest happiness, you and I, her greatest +good."</p> + +<p>Since then Philip, if he had not thought of it before, thought of little +else than of marrying Kate Kildare.</p> + +<p>Not soon, of course; not until time should have brought its blessed balm +of forgetfulness, when both the girls would be married and gone, +perhaps, and she in her loneliness would turn to him. Meanwhile he must +be at hand to take care of her, as his father had bidden him; to watch +over her unobtrusively, helping her as he had with Jacqueline, sharing +any trouble that came to her; making himself necessary in every way +possible, so that more and more he should take with her the place of his +father.</p> + +<p>Kate was wrong in her ideas that his poverty had much influence upon +Philip. Poverty and wealth mean little to the idealist; and his faith +was very strong. He knew that if God gave this beloved woman into his +keeping, He would provide very surely the means of keeping her.</p> + +<p>He was patient, too; yet lately all the talk of love and of marriage, +the companionship of wistful, lovelorn Jacqueline, perhaps, the sight of +James Thorpe's almost fatuous happiness, had made patience newly +difficult; had stirred a restlessness in him that sometimes he believed +his lady noticed. When she was in the room with him, whether they spoke +or not, he found it almost impossible to keep his eyes from her; and +when at such times their glances met, it seemed to him there was a quick +flash of response in hers, an understanding look, almost of expectancy, +as if she were waiting for him to say something he did not say.</p> + +<p>Philip was of course right. Nothing of the change in him had been lost +on Kate; only she attributed it unfortunately to another cause—to +Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>She was chattering desultorily about many things, as they sat there in +the deepening November dusk, by the fire; but he did not hear what she +was saying. He began to look covetously out of the corner of his eye +toward one of her hands that lay on the arm of the chair close beside +him; a big, beautiful hand like Kate herself, capable as little +Jemima's, but with the warmth, the healing in its touch, of Jacqueline's +own. When he pictured her to himself, he always saw first her eyes, +clear and direct as a boy's; then her lovely, curved lips; then these +sentient hands of hers. He wished that he had the courage to take the +hand in his own, to hold it against his breast, his cheek. It had been +his often enough to hold, and even to kiss; but always of her own +volition. She was as generous of caresses as her youngest daughter; but +it never occurred to Philip, nor had it perhaps occurred to other men +who loved her, that they might venture to take what she did not offer. +Kate was the giver, always.</p> + +<p>Even now, as if aware of his thoughts, the hand lifted, strayed over to +touch the hair on his temples lightly as a butterfly, and came to rest +on his shoulder, drawing him a little closer. He sat very still, +thrilling to its touch. She might as well at that moment have laid her +hand on his bare heart. He wondered how many more seconds he could bear +it before he flung himself on his knees beside her and buried his face +in her lap....</p> + +<p>"It's nice in here, so warm and dusky and comfy," she said. "Easier to +talk here than in that bare, ugly office of mine. I'm glad I came.—Now +the scolding is going to commence." The hand patted him affectionately. +"Phil, dear, are you <i>quite</i> as frank with me as you used to be? Do you +still tell me everything you think and do and are? Isn't there something +you keep back nowadays?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," he answered in a rather choked voice, making one mental +reservation.</p> + +<p>"If I hadn't your full confidence, I should miss it more than I can say. +You've spoiled me, dear. I want to be in everything that concerns you."</p> + +<p>"You are," breathed poor Philip.</p> + +<p>She leaned a little toward him. "No confidences, then? Nothing to ask +me, boy? Because it would be yours without asking." She waited a moment. +Silence—a very tense silence. "I don't know whether I've ever told you +how much I love you, how much I admire you. Only it's more than that. +You are the sort of man—my dear, if I could have had a son like you, I +should have been the proudest woman in the world! It breaks my heart to +think that Jacques does not know his great boy."</p> + +<p>She felt him trembling under her touch, and went on with her +encouragement. "Think of what you have to offer the woman you love! Most +men come to us soiled, with fingerprints on them which the most +forgiving wife can never seem to wash quite away. But you—you are as +clean as your mother left you.—Look at me, Philip! Yes, I knew it.—And +what a home you will make for her! Money never made a home yet—it +spoils more homes than it helps, I think, because it does away with the +effort that makes anything worth while.—Oh, my dear boy, I think I +shall be envious of the girl you marry!"</p> + +<p>The voice speaking was the one she had kept, as she once told +Jacqueline, to sing lullabies to her babies with—surely the most +exquisite, tender, caressing voice in the world, thought Philip. He +tried to listen to what she was saying, but heard only the voice. His +senses were swimming in it. Suddenly he leant over and laid his cheek +against her rough riding-skirt.</p> + +<p>"Why, dearest boy!" The voice softened still more, and he felt her hands +in his hair. "Did you think you could hide anything from <i>me</i>? What a +goose! Don't you suppose I saw? I have been wondering for days why you +didn't tell me. And then I knew. The money—is that, it? But how +perfectly silly, dear! There's enough and more than enough for two, but +if you prefer it, your bride shall come to you as poor as any +churchmouse, glad and proud to do with whatever you are able to give +her. We don't care much for—just <i>things</i>, we Kildares!"</p> + +<p>He raised his face, incredulous, listening at last to her words; a +dawning rapture in his eyes. She had seen. Was she offering herself to +him, Philip, as a goddess might lean to a mortal? He could not speak....</p> + +<p>"And then I've thought," she went on, "that perhaps the thing between +your two fathers was holding you back. Don't let it, ah, don't let it! +Before that all happened, they were friends, dear friends. Your father +was the one man Basil loved. And some day when we are all together +somewhere, afterwards—if there is an afterwards!—I believe they will +be friends again. It was all a hideous mistake. Surely mistakes can't +last through eternity? That is my idea of what Heaven is; a place where +we shall understand each other's mistakes, and forgive them. But you and +Jacqueline—oh, Philip! Philip! try not to make any mistakes, you two! I +couldn't bear that."</p> + +<p>Philip was himself now, hearing every word. He whispered haltingly, +praying that he had misunderstood, "What—was it you thought I—wished +to say to you?"</p> + +<p>She laughed a little. "I thought—and think—you were trying to summon +up courage to ask me for my Jacqueline!"</p> + +<p>He had risen to take his blow standing. In the dusk that filled the room +above the fire-line, she could not see his face.</p> + +<p>She went on after a moment, "And I can't, <i>can't</i> tell you how happy it +made me, how secure.—For a while I was so troubled. Channing, you +know—I thought I should have to give up my hopes.—But now he has gone, +and you are here; dear, faithful fellow, so big and true! For years I've +dreamed of this, ever since she was born. You and Jacqueline, his child +and mine, finding together all that we have missed. And some day, your +children—Ah, my dear, don't waste your moments! Years go so fast, and +they do not come back."</p> + +<p>He made a queer, hoarse sound in his throat. Kate peered up at him, for +the first time suspecting something amiss. "Philip," she exclaimed, "why +don't you say something? Aren't you glad that I am glad?"</p> + +<p>Glad!—In the chaos that was his mind, only one thing stood out clear to +him. His fingers unconsciously gripped the small gold cross that hung at +his belt, and clung to it. He had dedicated his life to service, first +of God and second of his fellow-men, chief of whom was the woman before +him. All his life he had dreamed of serving her. In his boyish heroics +he had defended her from lions, rescued her and her children from +Indians, carried her on his back out of burning houses. Lonely youth and +lonely man, dreams formed a greater part of his life than of most men's, +and all of them centered about the great figure of his existence, Kate +Kildare.</p> + +<p>Now the opportunity was come. He was to serve her indeed, and +sacrificially. He saw with a horrible clarity where his duty lay, and +wondered that he had not seen it before. She needed him for Jacqueline +as she would never need him for herself. Young Benoix was of the stuff +of which martyrs are made; but as he stood there, gripping the little +cross of his calling, he prayed wordlessly, desperately, that his cup +might pass from him.</p> + +<p>Kate had risen too, and stood dismayed by his silence, trying to read +his face by the flickering light. "Philip, what is it? Have I made a +mistake after all? Don't you love Jacqueline?" Her heart began to beat +rather fast. Something of what was in the air she sensed, but without +understanding.</p> + +<p>What was it she was asking him? Oh, yes—whether he loved Jacqueline. +Dear little clinging, pathetic child! of course he loved her. He must +answer. He made a great effort and spoke, nodding his head.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Oh, yes. I do love her."</p> + +<p>Kate came closer, close enough to see the dumb pain in his eyes. She +exclaimed aloud, "Philip! Is it Channing then, after all? You think he +has come between you—irrevocably? No, but you are wrong! That is over, +absolutely over. It is for you to take out the sting.—See, Philip, I am +going to be quite frank with you, franker than women generally are, even +with themselves. You don't know much about girls. I do—about my own +girl, at least, for I was just such a girl once.—There comes a time to +young women, as to all young animals, when we look about us for our +mates. We may not seek, perhaps, but we look about. And the first that +comes—is very welcome, Philip.—That is all. Nature's way. If +Jacqueline still thinks of Channing—well, it is only blessed human +instinct to put aside the thing that hurts. But you must help her—she +can't do it, alone. Only a new love drives out the hurt of the old. +Jacqueline needs you, dear."</p> + +<p>He put out a protesting hand. She was asking him for help, his lady. He +must not let her beg....</p> + +<p>He said with stiff lips, "You think—she—would be willing—to marry +me?"</p> + +<p>Kate nodded. "I suspect she'd like to show Mr. Channing as soon as +possible how little impression he has left behind him!—But it wouldn't +be that, of course," she added, seriously. "Underneath the other affair, +she's always been a little in love with you, Philip. Women are complex +creatures, with a capacity for being attracted quite in proportion to +their capacity for attracting.... And after you are once married—You +know, there's really no mystery about mating, except what the poets +make. Nature goes about it with a beautiful simplicity. Given two young +creatures, handsome, clean, healthy, mutually sympathetic, throw them +together a while without too many distractions—and there you are! It's +as inevitable as that two and two make four. Don't think too much about +it, dear—you're too watchful, too introspective. Just let go, and be +natural. She's very sweet, my Jacqueline, very loving and tender. And +you—well, you're not unattractive, you know! Don't worry.—Why, I give +you my word as a mother, as a woman," she exclaimed, "that a month after +you and Jacqueline are married, you will both have forgotten any +ridiculous little obstacle that ever kept you apart!..."</p> + +<p>She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Come soon," she whispered. "It +will comfort the child just now to know that she is wanted."</p> + +<p>Philip had taken the kiss with closed eyes. When he opened them again, +his room was empty. He ran to the window, and saw her, a shadow shape, +swing into her saddle with a shadowy wave of the hand for him. He stood +there watching her out of sight, so soon out of sight; his lady, the +woman he loved, so infinitely kind, and beautiful, and cruel, heedless +as the gods are of homage they do not need.</p> + +<p>He groped his way back to the chair where she had sat, leaned his cheek +where hers had rested—the place was still warm—and said good-by to +her....</p> + +<p>An hour later, before his courage had a chance to fail him, he rode to +Storm and asked Jacqueline to marry him.</p> + +<p>The girl put up her lips simply as a child. "I'd love to marry you, +Phil, darling. How sweet of you to ask me! And now," she said eagerly, +"let's go and tell Mummy. She'll be so pleased!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLI" id="CHAPTER_XLI"></a>CHAPTER XLI</h2> + + +<p>So there was presently another wedding at Storm, or rather in the church +at Storm; and Kate could have sung with the Psalmist: "Now lettest thou +thy servant depart in peace according to thy ways, for mine eyes have +seen thy salvation."</p> + +<p>Jemima, who spent as much time as her husband would spare her at Storm, +in the interval between the formal engagement and the wedding, tried +conscientiously to summon up courage to end in some way a situation that +seemed to her impossible. But her hints and innuendoes, broad as she +dared make them, had no effect upon the radiant satisfaction of her +mother, nor upon Philip himself, hedged around as he was with a sort of +calm serenity, an uplifted, detached air, which she had not sufficient +experience to recognize as the elation that goes with martyrdom.</p> + +<p>She began to wonder if after all she had been mistaken in Philip's +feeling for her mother. He seemed quite content, even happy. +Nevertheless, there was something about him that awed Jemima a little, +made her usual frankness with him quite impossible.</p> + +<p>With Jacqueline, however, she had no such feeling of awe, and she +watched her sister with amazed impatience. Her infatuation for Channing +had been a thing inexplicable to the fastidious Jemima; even more +inexplicable was the ease with which she appeared to forget him for +another lover.</p> + +<p>Much of the girl's gaiety had returned to her. She entered into the +wedding preparations with the eagerness of a child playing with a new +toy. She spoke of Philip constantly, was always watching for his +arrival, greeted him when he came with the utmost enthusiasm, clinging +to him, sitting on the arm of his chair, kissing him, regardless of +onlookers. True, she was quite as demonstrative with her mother, with +James Thorpe, even with Jemima, when permitted; but, as the older girl +said to herself in distaste, she was not going to marry them!</p> + +<p>One day, shortly before the wedding, when Jemima arrived at Storm she +was met by her mother at the door with finger upon lip.</p> + +<p>"Hush! Jacky is singing again," whispered Kate, delightedly.</p> + +<p>It was the first time the girl had been to the piano for weeks.</p> + +<p>The two stood and listened. She sang to herself very softly, unconscious +of an audience, one of the Songs of the Hill:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A little winding road<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goes over the hill to the plain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little road that crosses the plain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And comes to the hill again."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Kate realized the difference in Jacqueline's voice since she had heard +it last in that Song of the Hill; clear and expressionless, then, as a +boy's; so throbbing now, so poignant with understanding, that the +mother's eyes filled with tears. Jemima's, too, were a little moist, and +she blinked them hard, and steeled herself to say to Jacqueline that day +what she had come to say.</p> + +<p>The child must not slip further into an irrevocable mistake, if she +could help it.</p> + +<p>She made an opportunity as soon as possible to get her alone. "Jacky," +she said abruptly, "are you quite sure you want to marry Philip,—and +that he wants to marry you?"</p> + +<p>The girl turned a startled face upon her—"Why, Jemmy, he asked me! Why +would he ask me if he didn't want me?"</p> + +<p>"I suspect Philip does many things he does not want to.—Didn't he know +all about—Mr. Channing?" She looked mercifully away from the other's +blanching face, "I wonder if that might have anything to do with his +asking you?"</p> + +<p>She waited nervously for a reply. Even the most confident of surgeons +have their moments of suspense.</p> + +<p>It came very low, "I never thought of that, Jemmy. Perhaps you are +right.—Oh, if that is so, I just <i>can't</i> be loving enough to him to +make up for his goodness, can I? Darling old Phil!—You see it was +because he did know all about Mr. Channing" (the voice was almost +inaudible now) "that I knew I could marry him. We understand each other, +you see. I'd never expect to be first with him, to take mother's place +with him, any more than he expects to take—And—and so—we could +comfort each other." The voice failed utterly here, and Jacqueline ran +blindly out of the room, up to the never-failing solace of Mag's baby; +leaving Jemima with the miserable sensation of having been cruel where +she meant to be kind, and cruel to no purpose.</p> + +<p>That night, when Philip came at his usual time, Jacqueline settled the +matter once for all. She perched upon the arm of his chair, holding his +head against her shoulder so that he could not look at her.</p> + +<p>"Reverend Flip, dear," she began, "I want you to tell me +something—truly, truly, truth now! Before it is too late. People +shouldn't marry each other unless they're going to be quite honest with +each other, should they?"</p> + +<p>"No, dear," he answered. "Fire away."</p> + +<p>"You're sure, quite sure, that you really want to marry me?" She +abandoned her strangle-hold, and leaned down with her cheek on his hair, +to make the telling of anything disagreeable more easy for him.</p> + +<p>She felt him start, but he said, "Very sure, sweetheart."</p> + +<p>"And you're not just being noble," she asked, wistfully, "like Jemmy +thinks?"</p> + +<p>Philip cried, "Jemima be darned!" and pulled her down into his arms +quite roughly.</p> + +<p>Her relief and gratitude pierced through the armor of his abstraction.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Phil, you <i>are</i> sweet!" she whispered, holding him tight. "And I'll +make up to you somehow for it. I will! I will!"</p> + +<p>The wedding was more Jemima's idea of what such an affair should be than +her own had been; with a bishop officiating, and a choir in surplices +(rather weak-voiced and tearful, without their beloved leader) and a +matron-of-honor in a very smart New York frock, and the little church +crowded to its doors, and even spilling into the road beyond. Nor was +the congregation entirely composed of country-folk, tenants and the +like. There was quite a sprinkling of what Jemima called "worth-while +people"; not only Jacqueline's victims, who came <i>en masse</i> and looking +rather depressed, but Mrs. Lawton and her daughters and several other +women whom Jemima had firmly brought to Storm (one could not be friends +with young Mrs. Thorpe without being friends with her family as well) +and who needed no urging to come a second time.</p> + +<p>Well toward the front there sat another guest, whom the eye of the +matron-of-honor encountered with some distaste; an unwashed-looking +person with a peddler's pack on the floor at his feet, whose beaming, +innocent gaze missed no detail of the ceremony. Brother Bates was in the +habit of carrying up to Misty other things besides his stock in trade +and the Word of God. Very little that occurred at Storm was unknown to +the man he called "Teacher."</p> + +<p>Nobody who had any possible claim to be present missed that wedding. It +was the nine days' wonder of the community. As Mrs. Sykes murmured to +her chosen intimates: "To think of both them beautiful young gals bein' +content to take their ma's cast-off leavin's!"—for the heart-affairs of +the Madam were viewed by her realm with a certain proprietary, +disapproving interest, not entirely unmixed with pride. And more than +one noted that the bridegroom, waiting at the altar-steps with his best +man, Farwell, was careful never to glance toward the pew where Mrs. +Kildare sat, quite as beautiful and far more radiant than the young +creature in white, who moved dreamily up the aisle as if her thoughts +were far away. There was a certain amount of buzzing among the +congregation.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline was married in a sort of daze. She had remembered quite +mechanically to keep five paces behind Jemima, to lift her skirts at the +step so as not to stumble over them, even to smile at Philip because he +smiled at her—a very tender, encouraging smile. As she spoke the words +that made her his wife she thought triumphantly, "If Mr. Channing could +only see me now!"</p> + +<p>It was not until she was going down the aisle again on her husband's arm +that the daze lifted suddenly. Her husband! She looked up at him with a +little gasp, and Philip, feeling her tremble, pressed her hand, +murmuring, "Steady, dear," as he would have spoken to a frightened colt.</p> + +<p>Then she remembered that after all it was only old Philip, her +friend....</p> + +<p>Some hours later they drove back in the Ark from Storm to the +rectory—their only wedding-journey—through a world white with the +first snow, in honor of their nuptials. They went hand in hand through +the little blanketed garden toward the welcome of the firelight that +glowed through the cabin windows; and the door was eagerly opened to +them by the elderly housewoman, Ella, and proud Lige, both of whom Mrs. +Kildare had spared from Storm to replace the worthless Dilsey.</p> + +<p>"We all's got two more presents!" announced Lige, a-grin from ear to ear +with the joy of the occasion. "Come and look."</p> + +<p>He led the way with a lantern toward Philip's modest stable, where they +found a pretty little Jersey cow with a placard tied to her crumpled +horn, which read, "Compliments of the Possum Hunters."</p> + +<p>It was the final activity of Night Riders in that community.</p> + +<p>They found the second present on the dressing-table in the room which +Philip had fitted up, without consulting anybody, as Jacqueline's +boudoir; just such a room as the girl had dreamed of, with slender white +furniture, and rosy curtains, and a little shelf of her favorite books, +and a lovely photograph of her mother hanging beside her bed—which had +once been Philip's photograph. She could hardly withdraw her attention +from the delights of her room long enough to notice the present, a small +pasteboard box addressed to "Mrs. Philip Benoix," which Philip finally +opened for her.</p> + +<p>He gave an exclamation. The box contained a ring of oddly wrought pale +gold, set with a sapphire cut in a crest. It was a ring which his father +had worn as far back as Philip could remember. The card enclosed said +simply, "For my new little daughter, Jacqueline."</p> + +<p>"Then the warden does know where he is!" cried Philip. He had written to +his father about his approaching wedding, addressing the letter in care +of the state penitentiary, on the chance of its reaching him. "But how +did the box get here?"</p> + +<p>Inquiry produced no results. Ella had found it on a table beside the +door. In the excitement of that day, there had been a constant stream of +people coming and going, the altar guild and the choir to decorate the +house with evergreens, neighbors to inspect the preparations for the +bride, negroes with offers of assistance, taking the delight of their +race in anything that resembles an Occasion. Any one of these visitors +might have left the ring unobserved.</p> + +<p>Ella did not think to mention that among them had been the old mountain +peddler, who had come to the door to ask whether there was a Bible in +that house, and been routed by Ella with a scornful, "Go 'way f'um here. +Don't you know Mr. Philip's a preacher?"</p> + +<p>But busy as she was, Ella had found time to run and get him a glass of +milk, remembering that he was a protégé of the Madam's, and that the +Madam never permitted people to go from her door hungry.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLII" id="CHAPTER_XLII"></a>CHAPTER XLII</h2> + + +<p>The weeks that followed were the most contented of Kate Kildare's life, +despite her loneliness in her great house, with no companion except the +negro servants and Mag's baby. She felt like a captain who has carried +his ship into port after a stormy passage. Her children were provided +for; they were safe; life, which had treated her so harshly, was +powerless to hurt them now. It was an attitude of mind that is apt to be +rather tempting to the gods....</p> + +<p>Jacqueline entered into her new rôle with touching eagerness. Somewhat +to his surprise, Philip found her quite invaluable in his parochial +work. She took much of the visiting off his hands, held Mothers' +Meetings and Bible classes; taught Sunday-school; busied her +unaccustomed needle quite happily with altar-cloths and vestments, and +even more happily with socks and buttons. She discussed housekeeping +matters very seriously with her mother and Jemima, more seriously than +she practised them, perhaps, for Ella, trained by the Madam, had taken +her two "young folks" into her protection with a capable thoroughness +that is the acme of good African service, and proceeded to create such +an atmosphere of comfort in the rectory as Philip had not thought +possible.</p> + +<p>He had always found his little home a pleasant place to come to; but now +it was more than pleasant, with Jacqueline's eager face watching for him +at the window, or her beautiful voice mingling in the twilight with the +tinkling notes of his old piano. The punching-bag and other purely +masculine paraphernalia had been banished to his own room, and the +living-room, alas! had lost its aspect of meticulous neatness. But when +Philip found a darning-basket spilled into his usual chair, or a +riding-glove of Jacqueline's lying among the scattered sheets of his +half-finished sermon, he did not frown. He told himself he would get +used to it presently. In fact, he rather liked it. And he decidedly +liked her funny little maternal airs with his clothes, and his health +(which was excellent), and his finances (which were not).</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildare had insisted upon continuing Jacqueline's usual allowance +until her coming of age; and Philip had felt it not quite fair to the +girl herself to refuse; but Jacqueline knew better than to use the +smallest part of that allowance toward expenses which Philip might +consider his. So she consulted anxiously with her mother on the cost of +food-supply, and was very firm with Ella in the matter of flour and +eggs; somewhat to the amusement of both older women.</p> + +<p>Others besides Philip realized the charm of that picturesque cabin with +its young and hospitable mistress. Farwell was a faithful visitor, and +even some of the "victims" respectfully renewed their allegiance, to +Jacqueline's frank pleasure. The Thorpes came out from town very often, +with an automobile filled with friends; Jemima having come to appreciate +more fully at a distance something of the unusual atmosphere of her +former home. It was no rare thing for Philip to return from an afternoon +gallop and find his house full of guests, drinking tea or toddies +according to their sex, and unmistakably grouped around Jacqueline as +the central figure. The party usually adjourned to Storm for supper, to +the huge delight of Big Liza and the quiet pleasure of the Madam +herself, who looked forward to these incursions of Jemima's with a +combination of dread and eagerness.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline, on these occasions, was surprised to note the ease with +which Philip entered into the duties of host, making his guests +comfortable with the sort of effortless charm that usually comes only +with much experience of entertaining. She realized it was the same +adaptability he had shown among the mountain folk, and among the simple +people of his own parish; and she began to be very proud of her husband.</p> + +<p>Invitations poured in on them from Lexington and Frankfort and the +surrounding Bluegrass country. "Why don't we go to some of these +parties!" he suggested one day. "Of course I'm not a dancing-man, but I +could take you very easily, thanks to the Ark, and once there I daresay +you will not lack for beaux, you staid old married woman!"</p> + +<p>"Do you <i>want</i> to go to parties?" she asked, rather wistfully.</p> + +<p>"I love to see you enjoy yourself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I enjoy myself without parties," she said; adding quickly, +"Would it be better for the parish if I went?"</p> + +<p>He laughed and put an arm around her. "No, Mrs. Rector. It's not that +kind of parish, thank goodness!"</p> + +<p>"Then—" she nestled against him—"I'd rather stay home at night. +Wouldn't you?"</p> + +<p>Philip admitted that he would.</p> + +<p>His suggestion had come as the result of much covert study of his little +wife. Despite her pretty, matronly airs, her contented preoccupation +with new duties, he was not altogether satisfied with the look of +Jacqueline. He saw things her mother failed to notice—a faint shadow +beneath her eyes which made them look oddly dark, a little hollowing of +the cheeks, rosy as they were; above all a certain listlessness, a sort +of abstraction that she covered by forced gaiety. She appeared to have +lost interest in many of the things that used to be her joy; sang often, +it is true, but without enthusiasm; rarely rode the fine saddle horse +that had come from Storm stables to keep old Tom company, preferring to +drive with Philip in the hitherto-despised Ark—preferring apparently +above all things to sit at home in front of the fire, with a puppy and +her sewing for company. Tomboy Jacqueline with a needle in her hands was +a sight which somehow troubled Philip even more than it amused him. +Often when he came upon her unexpectedly, he noted traces of tears about +her eyes—a signal always for the sudden flow of high spirits which +Philip found at times almost painful.</p> + +<p>The girl was not happy. Channing had certainly left his mark.</p> + +<p>"Damn the fellow!" said Philip to himself, most unclerically; and his +anger did not cool with time.</p> + +<p>He redoubled his tender care of Jacqueline; considerate of every mood, +constantly praising and encouraging her, daily planning little surprises +for her pleasure (the puppy had been one of them); doing everything +possible, in fact, except make love to her. That would have been +possible, too, for she was very sweet, a true daughter of Helen; and he +a young and normal man, sorely in need of comforting. But guessing what +he did of the girl's heart, he would not have offered her the indignity +of unwelcome love-making.</p> + +<p>"It is just like being married to a dear big brother," Jacqueline +explained naïvely to her mother. "Philip is the best friend in the +world!"</p> + +<p>"I know. He would be, dear fellow," Kate replied, well content, +remembering with a sudden shudder, despite the years which had passed, a +husband who had never been a friend to her.</p> + +<p>Kate was seeing very little of her new son-in-law in those days. Often +as she came to the rectory—and she had formed the habit of dropping in +once or twice a day on her way to and from her lonely house—she rarely +found Philip at home.</p> + +<p>"What does he find to do that keeps him so busy these winter days?" she +marveled.</p> + +<p>"Oh, sick parishioners, and ailing cows, and things like that. He's +always tearing about on horseback, or making long journeys somewhere in +the Ark—I wish Jemmy had never given it to him! He manages to find +duties that keep him out of doors just as long as there's any daylight +to see by. And as if that weren't enough, he has fixed up the choir-room +over at the church for a sort of study, because he says he can't write +sermons with me about—I'm too distracting! Did you ever hear such +nonsense? When I sit just as quiet as a mouse, and don't do a thing but +watch him, or perhaps sit on a foot-stool beside him and hold the hand +he isn't using. You don't need both hands to write a sermon!"</p> + +<p>Kate laughed at the picture, looking at her daughter with a fond +maternal eye. She could understand that the girl might be somewhat +distracting, in her demure little house-dress turned in at the soft +throat, and her hair done neatly on top of her head as became a matron, +but escaping about her face in glinting chestnut tendrils.</p> + +<p>"I suspect it <i>is</i> rather difficult to be a spiritual pastor and master +and an attentive bridegroom at the same time," she commented.</p> + +<p>She put the infrequency of Philip's appearances at Storm down to the +same cause. "Young birds to their own nest," she thought, a little +drearily. It is a rule that is rather hard on older birds.</p> + +<p>But Jacqueline, her eyes already opened by Jemima, was more observant, +and began to realize at last that Philip was trying to avoid her mother.</p> + +<p>The thought troubled and frightened her. What had she done? They were +her entire world now, Philip and her mother; and any world of +Jacqueline's must necessarily be a world of much loving-kindness.</p> + +<p>She consulted her sister, distressfully.</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said Jemima, and would have liked to add, "I told you so!"—but +did not dare.</p> + +<p>Thoughts, however, have an annoying way of communicating themselves +independent of words, and Jacqueline nodded sadly, as though she had +spoken.</p> + +<p>"I know. I oughtn't to have married Philip—you were right. I only +wanted to make him happier, and I thought he could go on adoring mother +just the same, with me to comfort him in between whiles. But he won't +let me,—he won't let me! And he's unhappier than ever.—Oh, Jemmy, what +shall I do?"</p> + +<p>Jemima for once was at a loss for advice to offer. She thought harsh +things of her headstrong, single-minded mother, and yearned over this +poor, ignorant, immolated young creature who seemed destined to waste +her loveliness on those who could not value it.</p> + +<p>"There's nothing to do," she sighed; adding with a cynicism of which she +was not aware, "Except to wait for mother to grow old. It won't be long +now. She <i>can't</i> go on looking like a girl forever!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jemmy!" exclaimed Jacqueline, shocked and flushing. "Philip's +not—that sort!"</p> + +<p>"Every man's that sort," remarked the experienced Mrs. Thorpe.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIII" id="CHAPTER_XLIII"></a>CHAPTER XLIII</h2> + + +<p>As the winter closed in—it was one of the open, keen, out-of-door +winters which have done their share to make the dwellers on the great +central plateau of Kentucky so sturdy a race of men—the Thorpe +automobile was seen less frequently on the road to Storm. Kate smilingly +accused Jemima of neglecting her for the furthering of her social +campaign.</p> + +<p>"A social campaign in <i>Lexington</i>? How absurd!" shrugged Jemima; to her +mother's amusement.</p> + +<p>It was difficult to keep pace with the development of Jemima.</p> + +<p>"To tell the truth—I did not mean to speak of it until later—but we +are finishing a book!"</p> + +<p>"'We'?" laughed Kate.</p> + +<p>"Yes. James has been at work on it in a desultory way for a number of +years, and I am very busy looking up references, and verifying +quotations, and prodding. You know scholarly men are inclined to +be—procrastinating."</p> + +<p>(The word "lazy" was to Jemima's thinking too great an insult to be +applied to any one for whom she cared.)</p> + +<p>"Is it a novel, with you in it?" demanded Jacqueline, eagerly, with +unconscious wistfulness. Once she herself had hoped to be the heroine of +a novel; and she surreptitiously read all the book reviews she could lay +hands upon to see whether Channing had been able to finish it without +her.</p> + +<p>"A novel—pooh! It is a treatise on the Psychology of the Feminist +Movement; and I think," added Jemima complacently, "that it will be more +salable than James' previous works."</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt of it," murmured her mother. "But just what is this +Feminist Movement I read so much about nowadays, dear? Votes, and +strongmindedness in general?"</p> + +<p>Jemima looked at her mother, thoughtfully. "If you but knew it, you +yourself are a leader in the Feminist Movement. It is seeing such women +as you denied the ballot that has made most of us suffragists."</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens! Are you <i>that</i>?" gasped her mother.</p> + +<p>"All thinking women are 'that' nowadays," replied Jemima, reprovingly. +"Besides, it's very smart."</p> + +<p>Shortly after the book in question made its appearance, Jemima arrived +at Storm one day quite pale with excitement. "It's come," she cried, +"it's come at last! James has been offered the Presidency of ——" (she +named a well-known Eastern university) "and he's already found a +substitute for Lexington, and we're going on at once!"</p> + +<p>"To live?" cried Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>"Of course! Isn't it splendid? Oh, I've seen it coming ever since that +lecture tour, and the book clinched matters."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline embraced her sister in unselfish delight. "Think of it—'Mrs. +President'! And all the young professors kowtowing, and the nice +undergraduates to dance with—and what a wonderful place to live! Dear +old Goddy! Oh, I <i>am</i> glad. That famous college! Why, it's perfectly +amazing!"</p> + +<p>"Nice, of course, but hardly amazing," corrected Jemima, herself once +more. "James is a very brilliant man, you know. I always expected +recognition for him. He should have had some such position long ago. But +he had no knowledge of how to—take advantage of opportunities."</p> + +<p>Kate found her voice at last. "I congratulate you, dear," she said +quietly—a tribute which the other accepted with a simple nod, as +becomes true greatness.</p> + +<p>And then, suddenly and quite unexpectedly to herself, the face of the +triumphant Mrs. Thorpe crumpled up into a queer little mask of distress, +and she flung herself into her mother's arms and wept aloud.</p> + +<p>The others tried to console her, weeping too. Mag's baby, dozing in +front of the fire, sensed the general grief and lifted up her voice in +sympathy. Big Liza, attracted by the commotion, learned the cause of it +and added herself to the group with loud Ethiopian howls of dismay. The +housemaid came running; and soon it was known throughout the quarters +and at the stables that Miss Jemmy was going far away to live, and would +never come back any more. There had not been such excitement of gloom at +Storm since Basil Kildare was brought into the house dead.</p> + +<p>It was, characteristically, Jemima herself who quelled the tides of +emotion she had started.</p> + +<p>"We mustn't be f-foolish," she gulped, mopping her eyes impartially with +her mother's sleeve and Liza's apron. "It isn't as if I was af-afraid to +go and live among strangers—I'm used to it. B-but I can't help +wondering how you all will manage to get along without me!" The tears +flowed again.—"You're such a <i>helpless</i> person, Mother!"</p> + +<p>This to the Madam, the famous Mrs. Kildare of Storm! Jacqueline gasped +at the irreverence.</p> + +<p>But for once Kate was not tempted to smile at the girl's egotism. She +was already foretasting the dreariness of life without the critical, +corrective, and withal stimulating presence of her elder child.</p> + +<p>The Thorpes' going, after a last Christmas together at Storm, left Kate +and Jacqueline more than ever dependent upon each other. If Philip had +been more exacting as a husband, he might well have complained of his +wife's constant attendance on her mother in those days. But he was so +far from complaining that it was at his suggestion Jacqueline formed the +habit of taking her midday meal at Storm.</p> + +<p>It was the first real breaking of ties in Kate's little family, and he +knew his lady well enough to realize that her cheerful, quiet exterior +concealed a very lonely heart just then. So lonely, indeed, that Kate +more than once considered the idea of asking Philip and Jacqueline to +come and live with her at Storm, for she missed her old-time +confidential talks with Philip almost as much as she missed Jemima.</p> + +<p>But Philip was spared at least that test of devotion.</p> + +<p>"Young birds to their own nest," she reminded herself, sighing.</p> + +<p>Occasionally she sent for Philip as in the old days, for the purpose of +discussing business or parish matters. He always came, schooling himself +to the manner that might be expected of an affectionate son-in-law, but +usually managing to bring Jacqueline with him. She was puzzled and a +little hurt by his new intangible reserve. She could not quite +understand the change in him, and decided with some bitterness that he +had lost interest in her now that she had given him what he wanted of +her—namely, Jacqueline. That, she reminded herself, was the way of the +world. She who knew men should not have been surprised.</p> + +<p>And Jacqueline made up to her as best she could for Philip's defection. +She had gone back lately to the ways of her little girlhood, loved to +sit at Kate's feet in front of the grate fire, or even in her lap—no +small accomplishment, for she was almost as tall a woman as her +mother—listening while Kate read aloud, interrupting her frequently +with caresses, making love to her as only Jacqueline could. Kate laughed +at her for what she called her "mommerish" ways; but she found them very +sweet, nevertheless. It was as if the girl were trying to be two +daughters in one, and a faithless Philip to boot.</p> + +<p>Kate, too, had gone back to old ways that winter, and occupied her hands +with much sewing for Mag's baby. She had been, in the days before larger +affairs took up so much of her time, a tireless needlewoman, and knew +well the mental relaxation that comes to those who occasionally "sit on +a cushion and sew a fine seam." She explained smilingly that she was +preparing for old age, when nothing would be expected of her but to make +clothes for her grandchildren; and meanwhile Mag's baby reaped the +benefit.</p> + +<p>Small Kitty had grown apace, a placid, dimpled little creature, who +stayed with great docility wherever she was put, content to amuse +herself with her ten fingers, or the new accomplishment of blowing +bubbles out of her mouth. In all characteristics she was so different +from what her own two strenuous, exacting babies had been that Kate +marveled anew at the power of heredity.</p> + +<p>"I <i>wish</i> you'd let me have her!" said Jacqueline one day, renewing an +old complaint. "You don't love her half so much as I do, and anyway +you've had three of your own."</p> + +<p>Kate smiled to herself, and did not make the obvious answer. Instead she +said, "It was to me Mag gave her, dear, to be made a 'lady' of."</p> + +<p>"Poor Mag! Do you think you can ever do it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," admitted Kate, rather helplessly. A year ago she would +have said "Yes" with confidence; but the year had done much to shake her +faith in her own ability. "At least I shall make a useful woman of her, +which is more to the point."</p> + +<p>Only once any sign had come out of the oblivion which had engulfed Mag +Henderson. It was a little cheap string of gilt beads, addressed to Mrs. +Kildare and accompanied by a scrap of paper which read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>For little Kitty, so she kin have somethin' purty to remember her +mama by.</p></div> + +<p>Kate had put the poor little gift away sadly, dreading to think how the +girl must have earned even the trifling outlay it had cost. It seemed a +pitifully suitable memento of that mother—a string of cheap gilt beads, +already tarnished....</p> + +<p>Jacqueline's handiwork on these occasions was a rather ambitious +venture, a peppermint-striped silk shirt, reminiscent of Professor +Thorpe's courting finery, which she was making as a surprise for +Philip's birthday. Kate eyed this surprise with some misgivings, and +hoped that she would not be asked for an opinion upon it. The sleeves of +the thing looked rather odd, as if they were facing the wrong direction; +also, the buttonholes might have been spaced more evenly.</p> + +<p>In its beginning she ventured one remonstrance. "Isn't striped silk just +a little giddy for the Cloth, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Phil needs to be giddy, Mother. I mean that my husband shall be just as +stylish as Jemmy's. Besides, it won't show under his clerical vest."</p> + +<p>"But if it won't show, what's the use of all this grandeur?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Mummy, what a vulgar thought! It will feel, of course!—You know +how it is when there are ribbons and lace on our underthings—we feel +sort of superior and extra lady-like."</p> + +<p>"Do we?" laughed Kate. "I must try it and see."</p> + +<p>"And then men admire silk tremendously," Jacqueline informed her, +seriously. "Whenever I ask Phil what to put on, he chooses something +silk, and I don't believe he's ever owned anything silk in all his life; +unless perhaps a handkerchief. Oh, he's going to love this shirt, you'll +see!"</p> + +<p>"I am sure he is," said Kate tenderly, and thereafter held her peace.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline was right, Philip's delight in his "surprise" was almost +touching. It was perhaps the first thing that any woman had made for him +with her own hands since the days when his mother prepared for his +arrival in the world. He bragged about his shirt to all of his +acquaintance, loyally concealing its weaknesses; and would have worn it +with equal pride had it been as uncomfortable as the shirt of Nessus.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline, highly elated, embarked upon a series of silken adventures. +If firm intention could have done it, she would have become in those +days as accomplished a needlewoman as her mother and sister.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIV" id="CHAPTER_XLIV"></a>CHAPTER XLIV</h2> + + +<p>Jacqueline had never quite thought out to herself the reason for +Channing's unexplained disappearance. It was a subject upon which her +mind dwelt constantly whenever she was alone; hence she managed to be +alone as little as possible. The realization that he was a coward, as +she had more than once suspected—afraid to face the consequences of his +own act; afraid (the weakest cowardice of all!) of what people might +say—had done much to help her pride through the humiliation of +desertion, had done much, indeed, to banish him from her heart.</p> + +<p>But she could not banish him from her mind. Again and again her thoughts +went over all that had passed between them, trying piteously to +discover what had happened to put them apart. He had been so madly +in love, had wanted her so desperately—or was it she who had wanted +him? Had she shown that too plainly?—Had she not shown him plainly +enough?—Sometimes she reproached herself bitterly for her little +instinctive coquetries with him. More often she asked herself in a +terrified whisper whether he had ever really loved her at all, whether +it was she herself who had done the seeking, the demanding?—she a +shameless creature, blinded by her own feeling, to whom he had responded +out of pity, perhaps (Jacqueline shivered), laughing at her all the +while in his sleeve.</p> + +<p>Poor Jacqueline! It was no wonder that her eyes were shadowed, her +manner listless. Always, in these dreaded meditations, she came to a +certain point where she dared think no further, but ran away from +herself in a sort of panic, to the comfort of whoever happened to be +nearer, Philip or her mother. And she saw to it that one of them was +always near.</p> + +<p>It was the frequency of these sudden, unexplained attacks of frantic +affection that had driven Philip to the necessity of another study, +where he might write sermons and attend to necessary matters free from +the distraction of a wife who at any moment might fling herself into his +arms demanding wordlessly to be comforted.</p> + +<p>Not that he begrudged the little bruised soul any comfort he had to +offer. He at least had gone into marriage with his eyes wide open. He +understood Jacqueline far better than did her mother, who ascribed her +varying moods to the whims and megrims usual with young wives in the +first difficult year or two of married life.</p> + +<p>Frequently these panics occurred at night, when she suddenly found +herself awake in the black loneliness, remembering Channing. Then she +would jump out of bed and run into her husband's room, a distraught, +white ghost of a figure, and climb in beside him to hide her head in the +ready refuge of his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Nightmares again?" he would ask.</p> + +<p>And she, nodding, buried her head deeper, while he held her close and +silent until her shuddering ceased, and he knew by her light breathing +that she was asleep there in his arms.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was a comforting that worked both ways, for Philip sometimes +had nightmares of his own.</p> + +<p>One day Jacqueline, after lunch with her mother, was glancing over the +numerous magazines that littered the reading-table, when she came across +something which riveted her attention. Kate, getting no answer to a +twice-repeated question, looked over her shoulder to see what she was +reading. On the front page she saw a picture of Percival Channing, with +a notice of his new book, just published.</p> + +<p>"He finished it without me after all, you see," said Jacqueline faintly. +"He—he said he couldn't."</p> + +<p>Kate made no comment. The mention of Channing always embarrassed her +quite as much as it did Jacqueline. Her duplicity in the matter of his +disappearance weighed heavily on her conscience, and she longed for the +time to come when she could make full confession and be absolved. She +wondered if the time had come already, since Jacqueline spoke of him of +her own accord.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I ought to be proud to have helped at all with such a book as +that," went on the girl, haltingly. "It says here it is the greatest +book he has ever written.—And I'm in it, Mother. It's a great honor, +isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"It's a great impertinence," exclaimed Kate.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline flushed. "Mummy, dear, you've never been quite fair to Mr. +Channing, and—it's not like you. If you realized how much I—I cared +for him, you would be fairer.—Mother, I want to tell you something, now +that it's all done and over."</p> + +<p>Kate braced herself for what she knew was coming.</p> + +<p>"I—I kept on seeing Mr. Channing, even after you told me not to—You +never made <i>me</i> promise anything, you know."</p> + +<p>"I trusted you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but it isn't fair to trust people when they don't want you to! If +you had asked me any questions, I think I should have told you the +truth—I <i>think</i> so. But you didn't ask me any questions.—It wasn't his +fault, Mummy. I made him come. I used to meet him in the Ruin every +night." She peered at her mother anxiously, and Kate got up abruptly and +crossed the room so that her face should not be visible.</p> + +<p>"That isn't all," went on the hurried voice, rather breathless now. "You +see—it didn't seem very honorable, somehow, to go on meeting him like +that, on your place, when you didn't know about it—"</p> + +<p>"No," agreed Kate.</p> + +<p>"So—so I thought I'd just better go away with him.—Oh, he didn't ask +me to, he didn't really want me to—he said it was too much of a +sacrifice to ask of me. But—you and I know, Mother, don't we? that +there's no sacrifice too great to make when you love a man!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my little girl," groaned Kate, "how could you love him like that +when you knew about—that woman, knew what sort of man he was?"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline said eagerly, "But he explained all about that woman. He +never really loved her at all, but he was lonely, and she was very +beautiful and fascinating, as that sort of woman knows how to +be. And artistic people are so susceptible. It was a sort of +experiment—experience is an author's stock in trade, you know." (Kate +could almost hear Channing saying it.) "It turned out wrong, of course. +Why, Mother, she was <i>horrid</i>! The fact that a bad woman had got hold of +him was all the more reason for a good woman to—to win him back. Oh, I +suppose he was weak—I know he was—but weak people are the very ones +who need us most, Mother, aren't they?"</p> + +<p>Kate came behind her chair and laid her cheek on the girl's hair. "Don't +say anything more, dear. I know, I understand. Surely nobody, neither +God nor man, can condemn us women for our divine gift of pity."</p> + +<p>But Jacqueline had dedicated herself to honesty that day. "It wasn't +just pity, Mummy. I——I wanted him, too! I wanted him as much as he +wanted me—more, I think, because after all he never came for me. Just +went away without a word." Suddenly she hid her face in her hands. "Oh, +Mummy, and I loved him so! I adored him!—I loved him as much as you +loved Phil's father."</p> + +<p>Kate opened her lips in quick protest, but did not speak. How could she +explain the difference between this childish infatuation for a first +lover and her own devotion to such a man as Jacques Benoix? Was there, +after all, such a difference? It is not the recipient but the giver that +makes love a holy thing.</p> + +<p>She knelt beside the girl, and put both arms around her. "My dear!—Did +it hurt very much when he did not come?"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline leaned her head on the warm shoulder that had received so +many of her griefs, and gave way freely to the relief of weeping.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, it hurt," she said between sobs. "It still hurts."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean that you still—care for him?"</p> + +<p>The other raised tear-filled eyes in surprise. "Now that I am married to +Philip? Why, of course not! How could I? My husband is the dearest thing +in the world!"</p> + +<p>Kate laughed in sheer relief.</p> + +<p>But the girl's lips were still quivering, and she ducked her head down +on the comfortable shoulder again. "I can't help feeling ashamed, +though," she sobbed. "Ashamed be-because Mr. Channing proved to be +such—such a coward, and because—he never could have loved me at all, +or he would have come for me, or written, or something!—He must have +been glad to get away from me, just as he was from that other woman."</p> + +<p>"Listen, darling!" Kate realized that her own moment of confession had +arrived. "He <i>did</i> come for you! It is my fault that he has never +explained to you;"—and with the girl's widening, incredulous eyes fixed +upon her, she told every detail of her experience that night of the +storm.</p> + +<p>When she finished, Jacqueline was on her feet, queerly white and still. +"You knew," she whispered as if to herself, "and you let me think him—? +You never told me—you let me suffer—Oh, <i>Mother</i>!—Why, it was deceit! +It was a lie!"</p> + +<p>Kate frowned. "What of it? Lying, deceit—what are they to me beside +your happiness? I only wanted that—and thank God I've got it!"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline gave her a strange look. "My happiness," she repeated.</p> + +<p>The tone of her voice startled Kate. "You <i>are</i> happy?" she said, +quickly, between a statement and a question. "You told me yourself that +Philip was the dearest thing in the world to you!"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline answered, "Mother, I love Philip now better than I ever +dreamed it was possible to love any one. But—It does not make you +exactly happy to feel that way about a man who—who doesn't know you're +there, unless you remind him."</p> + +<p>"Jacqueline! Philip does not love you—?"</p> + +<p>"He tries his best to," said the girl with a hopeless little smile, "but +he can't. Oh, it's quite true!"—she stopped her mother's protest by a +gesture. "I knew it before I married him. Jemmy told me—Oh, do you +think I would have done such a thing, do you dream I would have accepted +such a sacrifice, if I had seen anything else to do? If I had guessed +that Mr. Channing really wanted me?—I belonged to Mr. Channing, +Mother.—Now do you see what you have done?"</p> + +<p>Kate had risen, too, her hands shaking. A strange and appalling thought +had forced itself into her head. She asked in a sort of whisper, +"Daughter, <i>why did you marry Philip</i>?"</p> + +<p>The answer came with a terrible simplicity, "Because I did not want to +be like Mag Henderson. Because I thought—if a baby came—you never can +tell—it would be better to have a father for it."</p> + +<p>In the silence that followed, innumerable little familiar home-sounds +came to Kate's ears; the crackling of a log in the fire, a negro voice +out of doors calling "Soo-i, soo-i," to the pigs, Big Liza in the +distant kitchen chanting a revival hymn while she washed the dishes. Her +eyes in that one moment took in, as do the eyes of a drowning person, +every detail of her surroundings; the sturdy masculine furniture covered +incongruously with its wedding crétonne, the piano and books that had +been a part of her childhood's home, her open office beyond, with its +business-like array of maps and ledgers; and all these things seemed to +accuse her of something, of being a traitor to some trust. Her eyes came +to rest at last upon the old flintlock rifle over the mantel-shelf, +beneath the wooden, grim-faced Kildare who had carried it.</p> + +<p>"And I did not kill him!" she muttered aloud, as if in apology to the +rifle.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline, who had been watching her fearfully, ran with a little cry +and clung to her close.</p> + +<p>"Mummy, don't look like that, don't stare so queerly! You frighten me," +she wailed. "Didn't you guess—didn't you understand, when I told you +how I adored him? I—I thought you would. How could I help it? I didn't +know—I—Oh, Mummy!"</p> + +<p>Kate with a gesture brushed aside her incoherences, brushed aside the +thing she was confessing—a thing she saw to have been inevitable, +taking into account the girl's nature, her inheritance ("From both +sides," the mother reminded herself, grimly), and the man she had had to +deal with. Kate told herself she was a fool not to have suspected it +from the first; or rather to have allowed Channing to dull her suspicion +of it with his halting statement that he was, after all, "a gentleman."</p> + +<p>Even in that moment of sickening surprise, she faced and accepted and +took upon herself the burden of her child's weakness. It was not that +sin which roused in her a rapidly mounting tide of furious anger against +Jacqueline. It was her sin against Philip Benoix.</p> + +<p>"You accused me of deceit, of a lie. You!" Her voice was curiously +thick, and she spoke with great effort. "Ah! There have been bad women +in this family of yours, my girl, but never before, I think, a +dishonorable one."</p> + +<p>Jacqueline recoiled from her.</p> + +<p>"Dishonorable! And my daughter! Stealing a good man's name to cover her +own shame. How dared you, how <i>dared</i> you?" She began to stride up and +down the room, the words pouring from her lips at white heat. Kate +Kildare was one of the people whose quiet serenity covers a great power +of anger, all the more forceful for being kept within bounds. Rarely +indeed had she allowed it to force the flood-gates; and Jacqueline +cowered away from her, staring, hardly believing it was herself to whom +this cold fury of speech was addressed.</p> + +<p>"Philip, left to my care by his father, Philip for whom I wanted +everything good in life even more than for my own children! Oh, how +dared you? So devoted to us, so grateful to me—how could he refuse? +What chance had he? Even if he had known—" She turned on Jacqueline +with a sudden gleam of hope. "<i>Did</i> he know? Were you honest enough to +tell him?"</p> + +<p>The girl gasped. "How could I?" The blood came up over her face in a +painful flood and her head drooped. "But—but I think he—understood. +He—seemed to."</p> + +<p>The other gave a short, hard laugh. "Not likely! Men, even such men as +Philip, don't marry the—Magdalens, however much they pity them. Unless +somebody makes them, as I made Philip.—Oh, my God! And I thought he was +too modest to ask for you! I thought I was offering him the best I had!"</p> + +<p>A faint voice interrupted her. "Did you—offer me to Philip?"</p> + +<p>If Kate was aware of the cruelty of her words, she was beyond +compunction just then. "Yes! Offered you?—Good Heavens, I insisted upon +it! Oh, what a fool I have been, what a blind, blundering fool! Now I +understand why he was so queer, so quiet.—Taking advantage of his +devotion to shunt my disgrace onto him—Jacques' son!"</p> + +<p>At last her anger exhausted her, and she sank into a chair, quite limp +and silent. She did not know just when Jacqueline left the house, had +been only vaguely aware of a horse galloping down the hill recklessly, +as Jacqueline, like her father before her, was wont to gallop. In the +reaction of emotion, she felt rather ill, and had to struggle with a +physical weakness that threatened to overcome her.</p> + +<p>Some time later a servant, entering to announce supper, found her there +in the dark, and receiving no reply to her summons, ran back to the +kitchen in some alarm.</p> + +<p>Big Liza, with the wisdom of the simple, herself brought a tray of +nourishing food, and stood over her mistress firmly while she ate, +obediently enough, but tasting nothing of what she put into her mouth.</p> + +<p>Presently, however, the food had its effect. Weakness passed; and Kate +found that her anger had dissipated, leaving only a great, aching +sorrow, not only for her daughter, but with her. Philip receded to the +back of her mind. Channing was there only as one is aware of the +presence of some crawling, hidden thing in the grass, whom one intends +presently to crush with a heel. All her thoughts rested now upon +Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>She saw her as she had cowered away from that torrent of wrath, her +tearless, strained eyes fixed incredulously upon the mother who was +hurting her. She remembered all her little tender, clinging ways, her +piteous loyalty to the man who had deserted her, her gallant effort to +bear gaily the load of fear that must for so long have been upon her +heart. She remembered farther back than that—her fierce rage with the +accusing Jemima, her arms wound tight about the mother whose weakness +she had learned, her cry, "If she is bad, then I'll be bad, too! I'd +rather be bad like her than good as—as God!"</p> + +<p>Kate began to shiver. She, the defender of Mag Henderson, of all weak +and helpless creatures, she had failed her own daughter!...</p> + +<p>Her mind went still further back into the past, and recalled the scene +between herself and Jacques Benoix, when she had offered herself to him, +when only the fact that her lover was stronger than herself had kept her +from far worse sinning than Jacqueline's—worse, because less ignorant. +What right had she, Kate Leigh, reckless, headstrong, hot-hearted, to +expect of her child either the sort of strength that resists temptation, +or the sort that declines to shield itself at the expense of another?</p> + +<p>Gradually she came to absolve Jacqueline from blame even in the matter +of Philip. She had not sought Philip's help, she had only accepted what +had been offered her—what her mother had prompted him to offer. Poor +little victim, passive in the hands of stronger natures, in the hands of +circumstance, heredity, character—that Fate which the ancient gods +surely meant by their cryptic saying: "The fate of all men we have hung +about their necks...."</p> + +<p>If it had not been so late she would have gone to her daughter then, and +begged for forgiveness. Instead she sat on before the dying fire, +shivering without knowing it, sometimes unconsciously beating her breast +with her hand, as Catholics beat their breasts during the mass, when +they murmur, "<i>Mea culpa, mea culpa</i>."</p> + +<p>It was almost dawn when she realized that the fire was out, and went +stiffly up to bed, careful not to wake Mag's baby, who slept beside her +in the crib that had held in turn each of her own children.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLV" id="CHAPTER_XLV"></a>CHAPTER XLV</h2> + + +<p>It was so rarely that the Madam overslept herself that her servants had +no precedent to follow in the matter. The housewoman, who finally +entered on tiptoe to remove the placidly protesting Kitty, reported the +Madam sleeping "like a daid pusson, and mighty peaked-lookin' in the +face." So it was decided not to disturb her; and the morning was well +advanced before Kate reached the Rectory, where her thoughts had been +hovering since her first waking moment.</p> + +<p>The counsels of the night had taught her a new humility. She came to +Jacqueline as a suppliant, begging to be forgiven not only for her +moment of cruel anger but for her stupid and bungling interference in +her child's life. Nothing was very clear in her mind except that Philip +must be told the truth, and that, whatever happened, she and her child +would bear it together.</p> + +<p>She was disappointed to find that both Jacqueline and Philip were out, +Jacqueline having driven away soon after Philip left the house.</p> + +<p>"Driven? She was not riding?" asked Kate in some surprise. Jacqueline, +like her mother, rarely used a vehicle if a saddle-horse was at hand.</p> + +<p>"She tooken de buggy, an' she tooken Lige, too," explained Ella. "No'm, +I dunno whar she went at, kase I wa'n't here when dey lef', but I reckon +she'll be gone a right smart while, 'cause she lef' me word jes what I +was to feed dat puppy. As ef a pusson raised at Sto'm wouldn't know how +to take keer of puppy-dawgs!" She exchanged with her former mistress a +smile of indulgent amusement. "I 'lows she's goin' to tek her dinner +with you-all like she ginally does, ain't she?"</p> + +<p>Kate doubted it, after what had passed; but she went back to her house +and waited, hopefully.</p> + +<p>At about the dinner-hour she was called to the telephone, and for a +moment failed to recognize Philip's voice over the wire. It sounded +unnatural.</p> + +<p>"Is Jacqueline there?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no. Not yet. Is she coming?"</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know. Look here!—don't worry, but she's been gone for some +hours, and she 's taken a trunk with her."</p> + +<p>"A trunk?" cried Kate.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Do you know anything about it? Has she spoken to you of making a +visit, or anything?" He repeated his question, patiently; but Kate could +not find her voice to answer. A premonition of disaster struck her dumb.</p> + +<p>"You're not to worry," said Philip again. "Lige drove her over to the +trolley-line, and he should be back soon. I'll telephone you what he has +to say."</p> + +<p>But Kate could not wait. She ran out to the stables and saddled a horse +with her own hands, impatiently pushing aside the slower negroes.</p> + +<p>Halfway to the rectory she met Philip, in the Ark. He held out to her an +open letter.</p> + +<p>"Lige brought it back to me. It's from Jacqueline. Read it," he said, +dully.</p> + +<p>Seated upon a restive horse that backed and filled nervously about the +puffing engine, the paper fluttering in her fingers, Kate read aloud +Jacqueline's farewell to her husband, only half grasping its meaning:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I didn't mean to be dishonorable, darling Philip; I didn't know I +was being, till mother told me. I never thought. I only thought, +suppose I have a baby, and it's a poor little thing without a +father, like Mag's, that nobody wants except me, and that mother +and Jemmy and everybody would be ashamed of? I couldn't bear +it!—And I didn't know mother asked you to marry me—I thought you +wanted to, because you were unhappy and wanted me for +company—we're so used to each other. Truly, I thought that! And I +thought you knew, Philip. It seemed to me that you knew, without my +telling you.</p></div> + +<p>Kate looked up here. "Did you know?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He nodded, without speaking.</p> + +<p>Kate's head drooped over the letter. "And her mother didn't," she +thought.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>But it's all been wrong, somehow, and the only way I know to make +it right is to go away, as your father did. Please, please let that +make it right! You don't believe in divorce, of course, but I know +enough to know this marriage of ours is not a real marriage, and +could be put aside if people knew what sort of girl I have been. +The Bishop will help you, I am sure. So I have written him all +about it.</p></div> + +<p>Kate gasped; but the courage of it brought up her drooping head again.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>You must forgive me if you can, darling Philip, and thank you, +thank you, thank you for being so sweet to me always! You must +never worry about me, either. I am not going to die or anything +like that. There is somebody who will help me, who always would +have, only I didn't know it. I did him an injustice. Mother did not +tell me. I can't forgive mother for that quite yet, but I will some +day; and some day, perhaps, she will forgive me. You'll make her, +won't you, Phil?</p> + +<p>Oh, I do love you both so much! It nearly breaks my heart to go +away from the precious little house, and the puppy, and Storm, and +baby Kitty, and everything. I've never been away before.—You won't +take off your winter flannels till the frost is out of the ground, +will you? Promise me! And don't try to find me, because I <i>don't +want to be found</i>. Only don't let mother fret about me. I shall +think about you always, no matter where I am.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Jacqueline.</span></p></div> + +<p>The two stared at each other for a moment without a word. Then Philip +said hoarsely, "She means Channing, of course!"</p> + +<p>"No, no!" muttered the mother, shrinking, fighting against her own +conviction. "She loves you too much for that. It is you she loves, now. +She couldn't! She must have gone to Jemima. Oh, I am sure she has gone +to Jemima! Come, we'll telegraph."</p> + +<p>She started for the Rectory at a gallop, her thoughts as usual +translating themselves into action. Over the telephone she dictated a +long wire to Jemima, carefully worded so that the curiosity of a country +telegraph operator should not be aroused. Her brain never worked better +than in an emergency.</p> + +<p>"Now," she said briskly, turning to the dazed and silent Philip, "come +up and show me what you want in your bag."</p> + +<p>"Where am I to go?" he asked vaguely.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you as soon as I hear from Jemima. But there is no time to +waste."</p> + +<p>He stood quite idle in the little rose and white bower he had prepared +for his bride, watching Kate hurrying about his own room beyond, packing +necessities into his worn old leather satchel, somewhat hampered by the +activities of Jacqueline's puppy, who made constant playful lunges at +her feet.</p> + +<p>He could not quite realize what had happened—that Jacqueline, his +playmate, his little friend, his wife, had gone out of the safe haven of +his home back to the man who had betrayed and deserted her. It seemed +like a hideous dream from which he must soon awake. How had he failed +her? What desperate unhappiness must have hidden itself in this pretty +white room where he had hoped she might be happy!</p> + +<p>At intervals during the night before, he had waked to hear her softly +stirring about, and wondered why she did not come to him as usual, to be +soothed into drowsiness. Once he had almost broken his custom and gone +in to her, feeling that she had need of him. How he wished now that he +had followed this impulse! Yes, and many another like it....</p> + +<p>Looking about, he noticed that her glass lamp was quite empty of oil, +and that her darning basket stood beside it, full to overflowing with +neatly darned and rolled socks of his own. So that was how she had spent +the night, doing her best to leave him comfortable! A great lump rose in +his throat. He saw, too, that both his own photograph and that of her +mother were gone. She had taken them with her.</p> + +<p>His daze began to break. He remembered phrases in Jacqueline's letter: +"I didn't mean to be dishonorable ... I didn't know mother <i>asked</i> you +to marry me ... I did him an injustice."</p> + +<p>He went in to Kate, and demanded abruptly to know how this thing had +come about.</p> + +<p>It was a question she had been dreading, but she answered it fully and +frankly, sparing herself not at all. He listened with an oddly judicial +air, new in her experience of him. When she described her share in +Channing's disappearance, he interrupted her quickly.</p> + +<p>"You deceived her?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I know now that it was wrong."</p> + +<p>He made no comment; but when she came to her confession to Jacqueline +that it was she who had suggested their marriage and not Philip, he +interrupted her again.</p> + +<p>"Kate," he said slowly and incredulously, "you have been cruel!"</p> + +<p>At any other time he would have noticed how her never-idle hands were +shaking, the paleness of her lips, the dark shadow of pain in her eyes. +But just then he was not thinking of her. He was thinking of Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>He turned away abruptly, and looked over the portmanteau she had been +packing. On the top lay the peppermint-striped silk shirt his wife had +made for him. He saw it through a sudden blur of tears.</p> + +<p>"There's one thing you've forgotten to pack," he muttered, and slipped +into the bag something which Kate removed as soon as his back was +turned. It was a pistol.</p> + +<p>She was startled by this. "Perhaps I'd better go after Jacqueline +myself," she suggested.</p> + +<p>"It is my right. I am her husband," was the stern answer.</p> + +<p>In an incredibly short space of time, the telephone rang with Jemima's +return message.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>No word from Jack. P. C.'s address in New York is No. 5, Ardmore +Apartments. James and I will meet her there. Don't worry.</p></div> + +<p>"Thank Heaven for Jemima!" uttered her mother, turning from the +telephone. "You'll have time to catch the evening train in Frankfort for +New York, Philip. I'll meet you at the trolley station with money and +all that."</p> + +<p>He had not thought of money, would have started upon his quest with +empty pockets. But it was characteristic of a new era that he accepted +her financial help now quite simply, without demur, without thought, +even, as he might have accepted it from his own mother.</p> + +<p>The last thing he saw as the train pulled out of the station was Kate's +face gazing up at him whitely from the platform, and he leaned far out +of the window to promise, "I will not come back without her!"</p> + +<p>But not then, nor until long afterwards, did he realize that for hours +he had been with his dear lady at a time of great distress to her, +without once realizing her presence; his thoughts yearning and his heart +aching for another woman, for his wife, Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>It was the moment of Kate's justification, of her triumph, had she but +known it. But she did not know it.</p> + +<p>She rode home slowly and yet more slowly through the twilight world, +into which came presently a pale winter moon, serene and beautiful and +mocking. There was no longer need of action, to stimulate her. She had +reached the end of her strength.</p> + +<p>The sensitive horse beneath her moved with increasing care, sedately and +cautiously, as if he realized that he must be brains as well as feet for +two. He was an experienced animal, and had known what it was to carry +children on his back.</p> + +<p>When he came to the front door of Storm, he paused of his own accord, +and nickered anxiously.</p> + +<p>So the servants found the Madam, and when they saw that she could not +dismount, it was Big Liza who lifted her down in her strong old arms, as +she had lifted her once before when she came, a bride, to Storm. She +carried her in to a couch, moaning over her, "Oh, my lamb, my po' lamb; +what is dey done to you now?"</p> + +<p>The Madam could not answer.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Jemima Thorpe reached her mother's bedside two days later, greatly to +the relief of the household, and of Dr. Jones.</p> + +<p>"No, it does not seem to have been a stroke of any sort," explained that +worthy and anxious man. "If Mrs. Kildare were an ordinary woman, I +should call it hysteria, but she's not the neurotic type. It appears to +be acute exhaustion, following, possibly, a shock of some kind." He +looked at Jemima inquisitively, but without eliciting the information he +sought. "At any rate, I am glad you have come, and I should suggest that +Benoix and his wife be sent for. I hear they've gone off on a trip to +New York?"</p> + +<p>"To Europe," amended Jemima calmly. "They are now on the ocean, so they +can't be sent for."</p> + +<p>The doctor's eyes widened. Journeys to Europe were not usual among his +patients. "Europe! Isn't that very sudden?"</p> + +<p>"Very sudden," agreed Jemima. "Now shall we go in to mother?"</p> + +<p>Perforce, he opened Mrs. Kildare's door, and announced with his +cheeriest bedside manner, "Here's your girl home again."</p> + +<p>The heavy eyes flew open. "Jacqueline!" she whispered.</p> + +<p>But when she saw that it was not Jacqueline, the lids closed, and it +seemed too much trouble to lift them again.</p> + +<p>Jemima went on her knees, and laid a timid cheek on her mother's hand, +that strong, beautiful hand lying so strangely limp now upon the +counterpane. For the first time in her life she knew the feeling of +utter helplessness. Her efficiency had failed her. In this emergency, +she could not produce the thing her mother needed.</p> + +<p>She wished with all her heart for her inefficient sister.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVI" id="CHAPTER_XLVI"></a>CHAPTER XLVI</h2> + + +<p>Philip's pursuit of his wife came to have for him, before it was done, +something of the strangeness of a nightmare, one of those endless dreams +that come to fever patients, filled with confused, vague details of +places and persons among whom he passed, leaving nothing clear to the +memory afterwards except unhappiness.</p> + +<p>And indeed the mental condition that urged him on was not unlike fever, +compounded as it was of passionate pity for Jacqueline, and white-hot +rage against the man who had taken his wife from him. He could not bear +to think of the frightened misery that must have driven the girl to such +a step, nor of the wretched disillusionment in store for her. Jacqueline +ashamed; his gallant, loyal, high-hearted little playmate cowering under +the whips of the world's scorn—it was a thought that drove all the +youth out of Philip's face, and left it so grim and fierce that many a +passing stranger stared at him covertly, wondering what tragedy lay +behind such a mask of pain.</p> + +<p>Only once did the effect of Jacqueline's shame upon his own life occur +to Philip, and then he wrote a hasty line to the Bishop of his diocese, +offering to resign at once from the ministry. No other alternative +occurred to him. If Jacqueline had needed him when he married her, how +infinitely greater was her need of him now! What came to either of them +they would share together, he and his wife.</p> + +<p>Nor was his decision entirely altruistic. Her going had already taught +him one thing. "We are so used to each other," the piteous little letter +had said. Yes, they were used to each other; so used that they would +never again be able to do without each other.</p> + +<p>His search did not end in New York. He found there only the news, +gathered by James and Jemima Thorpe, that Channing had sailed a few +hours before for Europe, and not alone. The steamship office had +registered the name of a Mr. James Percival and wife, in whom it was not +difficult to recognize the author.</p> + +<p>Philip followed by the next boat, but found some difficulty, +inexperienced traveler that he was, in coming upon traces of the pair, +who doubled and twisted upon their tracks as if conscious of pursuit. It +was some weeks before he ran his quarry to earth in Paris, having been +directed to one of those "coquettish apartments" known to experts in the +art of travel, who scorn the great, banal caravansaries of the ordinary +tourist.</p> + +<p>Entering an unpretentious gate between an apothecary shop and a +<i>patisserie</i>, he found himself in one of the hidden court-yards of the +old city, where a placid, vine-covered mansion dozed in the sun, remote +from the rattle of cobblestones and the vulgar gaze of the passing +world. Doves preened themselves on the flagging, a cat occupied herself +maternally with her young on the doorstep, birds were busy in the ivy. +It was an ideal retreat for a honeymoon.</p> + +<p>Philip, his jaw set and his heart pounding, jerked at the old-fashioned +bell-handle, and the door was presently opened by a mustachioed lady in +the dressing-sacque and heelless slippers which form the conventional +morning-wear of the lower bourgeoisie. But, yes; she admitted in answer +to his inquiry; the American Madame was <i>chez elle</i>. "Also Monsieur," +she added, with smiling significance. "Ah, the devotion of <i>ces nouveaux +mariés</i>!"</p> + +<p>She added that if Monsieur would attend but one moment, she would mount +to announce his arrival.</p> + +<p>The clink of a coin arrested her. "If Madame will have the goodness to +permit," suggested Philip, in French as fluent and far more correct than +her own, "I prefer to announce my arrival in person."</p> + +<p>She shrugged. "But perfectly! As Monsieur wishes. It is a little effect, +perhaps? Monsieur is the brother, possibly; the cousin?" she asked, with +the friendly curiosity of her kind.</p> + +<p>"Monsieur is the husband," said Philip grimly, and passed.</p> + +<p>The concierge gasped. "The husband! Name of a name!"</p> + +<p>But seeing that he was already mounting the stairs, paying no attention +whatever to her virtuous horror, the French-woman followed him on +tiptoe, murmuring to herself, "<i>Mais comme c'est chic, ça</i>!" She had her +racial taste for the spectacular.</p> + +<p>At first she was somewhat disappointed. Applying alternately eye and ear +to the keyhole, she detected none of the imprecations, the excited +chatter, the nose-tweaking, the calling down of the just wrath of +Heaven, which the occasion seemed to demand.</p> + +<p>"Ah bah, these English!" she muttered scornfully, "If but my Henri were +to discover me in such a situation—la, la!"</p> + +<p>Philip, entering without knocking, had begun quietly and methodically to +remove his coat before Channing was aware of his presence. The author +looked up from his desk, surprised, and jumped to his feet, with an +expression of pleasure in his face. Philip's brain registered that fact +without attempting to explain it. Channing was undoubtedly glad to see +him.</p> + +<p>"Why, Benoix! Where have you dropped from? I did not hear you knock! +What in the name of all that's pleasant brings you to Paris?"</p> + +<p>He advanced with outstretched hand. Just at that moment, a woman entered +from the room beyond.</p> + +<p>Philip, bracing himself, turned to face his wife....</p> + +<p>But it was not Jacqueline. It was a Titian-haired, lissome young woman +upon whom he had never laid eyes before, and who returned his stare with +self-possessed interest.</p> + +<p>Philip gave a great gasp. "Channing! Who—who is this woman?"</p> + +<p>"My wife," announced the author, with a laughing bow. "You seem +surprised. Hadn't you heard? But of course not—it was all so sudden. +And I'm glad to say the papers don't seem to have got hold of it yet, +thanks to my forethought in booking passage under only half my name. +Some time before I sailed, Fay and I decided to—to let matters rest as +they were, and—she came with me." He was a trifle embarrassed, but +carried off the introduction with an air. "Mrs. Channing—Mr. Benoix!"</p> + +<p>Philip was utterly bewildered. "Do you mean to say you have not seen +Jacqueline?"</p> + +<p>"Jacqueline Kildare?" Channing's smiling ease left him. "Yes, I did see +her in New York, the day I left. You didn't think—" An inkling of the +other's errand dawned on him. He was suddenly alarmed, and, as usual in +moments of emergency, burst into his unfortunate glibness of speech. +"Why, she came to see me about studying for opera, something of that +sort—that was all. I had promised her introductions. Unfortunately she +came just as I was preparing to leave, and I had no time to do much for +her. I gave her letters to several teachers, and got her the address of +a good boarding-place...."</p> + +<p>Philip muttered an exclamation.</p> + +<p>"Oh, and I did more than that," said Channing quickly. "I talked to her +like a Dutch uncle; advised her to go straight back to Kentucky, and not +to do anything without her mother's permission—a great woman, Mrs. +Kildare! I told her New York was no place for a young girl alone, and +that she had been most indiscreet to come to me. I told her about +my—er—my marriage, of course. I offered her money—"</p> + +<p>"You did <i>what</i>?" asked Philip, suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Why—er—yes!" Channing was taken aback by his tone. "Why not? You know +what an impulsive, reckless child she is—she might very well have run +off without any money in her pocket, and I should have been +uncomfortable, quite miserable, to think—"</p> + +<p>Philip's fist stopped the flow of words upon his lips.</p> + +<p>"Wh-what did you do that for?" stammered the author, backing away.</p> + +<p>"Put up your fists, if you've got any," was the answer.</p> + +<p>Channing defended himself wildly, but without hope. He felt that his +time had come. A certain conviction paralyzed his already sluggish +muscles, "He knows!" he thought. "She's told him!"</p> + +<p>Various things swam into his dizzy memory—the business-like +punching-bag in the rectory at Storm, the pistol in Philip's +riding-breeches, the fact that his father had been a convicted "killer" +in the penitentiary. "He means to do for me!" thought Channing, and +looked desperately around for help.</p> + +<p>But there was no help. The woman he had acknowledged as his wife stood +in a corner of the room, her skirts drawn fastidiously about her, +looking on with unmistakable and fascinated interest. At the keyhole +<i>Madame la concierge</i> also looked on, unobserved, breathing hard and +thinking better thoughts of the Anglo-Saxon race.</p> + +<p>Channing, his chin cut, his nose swollen to twice its natural size, +undertook a series of masterly retreats. It was then that Madame, at the +keyhole, began to fear for her furniture, and considered interference. +Chairs were overturned, the table went crashing. At last a foot-stool +completed what Philip's fists had begun. Channing tripped over it, fell +heavily for the third time, and lay without moving.</p> + +<p>His utter panic had saved him. Philip was tired of knocking him down, +and jerking him to his feet, and knocking him down again. He let him lie +this time, turned him over with a contemptuous foot, and put on his +coat.</p> + +<p>"It was like punching a meal-bag!" he muttered, and strode out of the +room without a glance for either the woman in the corner, or the one he +surprised on the threshold.</p> + +<p>Madame had been of two minds, as to whether to shriek for the +<i>gendarmes</i>, now that all was safely over, or to fling herself upon the +bosom of this gallant defender of his marital honor. But Philip was too +quick for her. She did neither.</p> + +<p>Presently Channing opened a puffy and wary eye. "Gone?" he asked +faintly. "Then for God's sake why don't you get me something to stop +this infernal nose-bleed?"</p> + +<p>His wife brought him a towel and a basin of cold water, and presented +them to him rather absently.</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens, <i>what</i> an experience! Why, the brute might have killed +me!—it runs in his family. Why didn't you go for help?"</p> + +<p>"I was too interested," explained Mrs. Channing. "I've never seen a +clergyman fight before." She added, with an impartiality unusual in a +bride of several weeks, "You're not much of a man, are you, Percival +dear?"</p> + +<p>Out in the street Philip strode along buoyantly, his clerical collar +somewhat awry, a black eye making itself rapidly apparent, indifferent +to the curious glances of the people who passed. Now and then he stood +still and laughed aloud, while Paris gazed at him indulgently, always +sympathetic with madness.</p> + +<p>To think that he had imagined Jacqueline capable of leaving him for a +creature like Channing, flabby, wordy, feebly vicious! Somewhere at home +she was waiting for him; lonely, perhaps, wondering why her husband did +not come to her, but safe and unashamed. Possibly her mother and Jemima +had already found her.</p> + +<p>The thought reminded him of certain letters in his pocket, given him +that morning at the American Express, and unopened in the excitement of +at last running Channing to cover. He drew them out, hoping to find +among them one from Storm.</p> + +<p>The first was from his bishop, pooh-poohing his offer to resign from the +ministry, and suggesting a long vacation. It ended with a sentence that +touched Philip deeply: "Assure your brave little wife of the lasting +friendship of an old man who collects rare virtues (other people's +virtues) as certain connoisseurs collect etchings, and who considers +moral courage the rarest of the lot."</p> + +<p>Philip turned to his other letter. At sight of the hand-writing he +started, and looked quickly at the postmark. It was that of a little +town in the Kentucky mountains.</p> + +<p>Lately he had thought very often of his father, as he always thought in +all the critical moments of his life. At such times the man whose face +he had forgotten seemed very near to him. The feeling of nearness +deepened as he opened his letter, the first from Jacques Benoix since he +had left prison. It was almost as if his father stood there beside him, +with a hand on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>When he had finished reading, he turned blindly into a church he was +passing (it happened to be the cathedral of Notre Dame) and knelt with +hidden face before the statue of that coquettish, charming, typically +Parisienne madonna, who is not unaccustomed to the sight of men praying +with tears.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVII" id="CHAPTER_XLVII"></a>CHAPTER XLVII</h2> + + +<p>A fleeting, illusory hint of spring appeared for the moment in that +street known among all the world's great avenues—the Champs Elysées, +the Nevsky Prospect, the Corso, Unter den Linden—as "The Avenue." Its +pavements glistened with a slippery coating of mud that had yesterday +been snow, its windows blossomed with hothouse daffodils and narcissi, +also with flowery hats and airy garments that made the passer-by shiver +by their contrast with the cutting March wind. In and out, among +automobiles and pedestrians, darted that fearless optimist, the +metropolitan sparrow, busy already with straws and twigs for his spring +building.</p> + +<p>A girl, moving alone and rather wearily among the chattering throng, +caught this hint of changing seasons, and a wave of nostalgia passed +over her that was like physical illness. A flower-vendor held out a tray +of wilted jonquils. She bought a few of them—only a few, because she +must needs be careful of her money—and held them to her face hungrily. +They brought to her mind gardens where such flowers were already pushing +their fat green buds up out of the fragrant earth—Storm garden, +Philip's little patch of bloom—encouraged by a breeze that was full of +sunlight. She saw the birds that flitted to and fro over those gardens +upon their busy errands: sweet-whistling cardinals, bluebirds with rosy +breasts, exquisite as butterflies; the flashing circles of white made by +mocking-birds' wings as they soar and swoop. The noisy street faded from +her eyes and ears, and she moved among the crowd as if she were walking +a Kentucky lane, with the March wind in her hair.</p> + +<p>So she was not at all surprised to meet a familiar face, and murmured +absently, her thoughts on other matters, "That you, Mag?"</p> + +<p>Then she came to herself with a start. The woman to whom she had spoken +had passed quickly. Jacqueline wheeled in time to catch a glimpse of her +in the crowd; a flashily dressed, too-stylish figure, mincing along on +very high heels, and dangling in one hand a gilt-mesh bag. The paint +that made a mask of her face, the heavy black rimming her eyes, the very +perfume that left its trail behind her, told their own story. But the +carriage of the head, the free, country-girl's swing of the shoulders, +were unmistakable. It was Mag Henderson.</p> + +<p>Jacqueline followed her, half running. She had so longed for the sight +of a face from home that the thought of losing her seemed unbearable. It +did not matter to Kate Kildare's daughter that this was a woman of the +streets, a hopeless derelict. She remembered only that she had once been +her faithful, devoted ally.</p> + +<p>But it mattered to Mag Henderson. Impossible that she had failed to +recognize Jacqueline; impossible that she did not hear the clear, +ringing voice crying after her, "Mag, wait for me, wait!"</p> + +<p>Her cheeks were flushed with something besides rouge, the loose lips +trembled. She, too, knew what it was to be hungry for the sight of a +face from home.... Perhaps the recording angel put it down to Mag +Henderson's account that she did not once hesitate, did not once look +back, moving on so rapidly that at last Jacqueline, impeded by the +staring throng, breathless, almost weeping in her disappointment, lost +sight of her entirely, and gave up the pursuit.</p> + +<p>She went her way, with hanging head. "Mother would have caught her," she +thought, "or Jemmy. They'd have <i>made</i> her wait!"</p> + +<p>For long afterwards she was haunted by that brief glimpse of the +creature who a few months before had been as round and sleek and pretty +as a petted kitten; the tragic eyes, old for all their feverish +brilliance, the soft cheeks already hollow beneath their paint. However +unjustly, Mag Henderson came to typify for Jacqueline the spirit of New +York.</p> + +<p>Her feet were dragging when she reached the respectable, shabby +brownstone front that housed her and her ambitions, together with those +of some thirty other more or less hopeful aspirants to fame and fortune, +who might be heard as she entered amid much clattering of dishes in the +basement dining-room.</p> + +<p>The halls were faintly reminiscent of meals that had gone before, and +Jacqueline, holding her jonquils to her face, decided against dinner. +She made her way up two flights to her room, and sat down upon the bed, +shivering, battling with a sense of discouragement that was almost +panic.</p> + +<p>The streets had lost their fleeting semblance of Spring long before she +reached this place she called home, and were like bleak cañons through +which the wind whistled hungrily. Jacqueline remembered a time not long +since when she had found the wind bracing, stimulating, a playmate +daring her to a game of romps. But that was a country wind, coming clean +over wide spaces of hill and meadow; not this thing which filled her +eyes and lungs with gritty dust, and whirled old newspapers and +orange-peel and filthy rags along the gutters.</p> + +<p>It was not the first time she had found herself lately battling with a +sense of acute discouragement. Her singing-master, a fat and +onion-smelling artist recommended very wisely by Channing, had been at +first enthusiastic about the possibilities of her voice; but recently +she had found it difficult to please him.</p> + +<p>"Der organ is there, <i>ja wohl</i>, der organ. But Herr Gott im Himmel, is +it mit der organ alone dot zinging makes himself? Put somesing <i>inside</i> +der organ, meine gnädiges fraülein, I beg of you!"</p> + +<p>That was just what Jacqueline seemed no longer able to do. What energy, +what spirit she had, went into the mere business of living, and there +was none left for song. A voice is, more than any other physical +attribute, the essence of vitality; and nature had other uses just then +for Jacqueline's vitality.</p> + +<p>She did not understand, however, and sat there shivering uncontrollably, +facing the grim fact of failure. Worse than failure—fear.</p> + +<p>From where she sat, she could see her reflection in the mirror, and she +looked at herself with frowning distaste. Jacqueline's beauty was oddly +under eclipse just then. "I'm getting ugly—and whoever heard of an ugly +prima donna?" she groaned in her innocence.</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, she saw what had been in her landlady's mind when, +happening to pass her in the hall that morning, the woman had remarked +casually, "You said you was <i>Miss</i> Leigh, didn't you? or was it <i>Mrs.</i> +Leigh?"</p> + +<p>Jacqueline had answered as casually; but now she understood the +question. With a sharp intake of breath, she realized that the time had +come for her to seek another home in this great, homeless wilderness of +houses, that heeded her unhappy presence "as the sea's self should heed +a pebble cast."</p> + +<p>She unlocked a drawer, and proceeded to investigate her finances rather +anxiously. She had come away with nothing but the money that happened to +be in her purse, and her little string of pearls, her one jewel, upon +which a pawnbroker, realizing her utter ignorance of values, had made +her an infinitesimal advance. The lessons she was taking were expensive, +and she knew that she must save for a time of need not far in the +future. It was tantalizing to know that the generous allowance from her +mother was accumulating untouched in a Frankfort bank, because she did +not dare to draw upon it for fear of being traced.</p> + +<p>"Though if mother really wanted to find me, she could have done it +without that!" thought the girl, and suddenly buried her head in a +pillow, sobbing for her mother.</p> + +<p>She did not allow herself to cry long. "It is not good for me," she told +herself soberly; and presently achieved a quivering smile at the thought +of her mother's face when at last she should send for her and show what +she had to show.</p> + +<p>"There won't be any need of forgiveness then," she whispered. "Not for +either of us!"</p> + +<p>Of Philip she did not allow herself to think at all. The girl was +gaining a strength of will in those days that exerted itself even over +her thoughts, and her lips had become as firm as Mrs. Kildare's.... +Philip was done with her, of course, since he did not come to her—just +as she was done forever with Percival Channing.</p> + +<p>In her first revulsion of feeling on learning that her lover had after +all not deserted her of his own free will, she had turned to him, +bruised and hurt as she was by that terrible hour with her mother, +confident of his help in her need. No lesson of life was ever to make +Jacqueline anything less than confident of the world's kindness.</p> + +<p>But marriage with Philip had at least taught her a better judgment of +men, and at her first sight of Percival Channing she knew that never +again would there be anything he could offer her which she would care to +accept. She realized at last the full depth and enormity of her mistake, +but she set herself proudly to abide by the consequences, asking no +quarter.</p> + +<p>Art was still left to her, fame; and these she must win with no +assistance except her own determination. Her career lay open before her. +Perhaps some day her mother and Philip would cease to be ashamed of her; +would even be a little proud of her....</p> + +<p>Now, after all, was Art to fail her? Was she never to be famous after +all?</p> + +<p>Jacqueline hurriedly turned up the corners of her mouth, having read +somewhere that it is impossible to despair so long as the lips are kept +in that cheerful position. But the fear at her heart remained.</p> + +<p>She did not know where to go. Landladies asked questions, and she was +not a very good liar. Suppose they should be rude to her? In all her +life, nobody had ever been rude to Jacqueline. She felt that it would be +more than she could bear.—And at the last to go to some strange +hospital, to suffer, perhaps to die, among people whose names she did +not know, she who had known by name every man, woman, child, and beast +within twenty miles of Storm!... Was there none of all those friends who +would befriend her now, who would take her in without question, and +stand by her until her need was past? Surely somewhere, somewhere....</p> + +<p>From long habit, she went on her knees to think her problem out; and the +answer came, as it so often comes to people on their knees—came with a +remembered fragrance of sun upon pine-branches, a steady sound among +tree-tops of the wind that always blows above the world.</p> + +<p>Some hours later Jacqueline took a train for Frankfort; and she passed +Storm station at night, on her way to a town in the Kentucky mountains.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>So it happened that there came to Philip, in Paris, the letter that told +him he had found both his father and his wife.</p> + +<p>Jacques Benoix, glancing out of his schoolhouse door at the unwonted +sound of wheels in the trail below, had been startled to see a woman +descending from a wagon, whom he at first mistook for Kate Kildare +herself. She was helped by Bates the peddler, met by good chance in the +town below.</p> + +<p>"Here comes another worker for the Lord's vineyard!" beamed the peddler, +as the school-teacher, recovering his breath, hurried to meet them.</p> + +<p>"And a most welcome one! If I were a religious man, I should think you +an answer to prayer, so great is our need of help."</p> + +<p>"Help? Do you think <i>I</i> can be of any help?" asked Jacqueline, +wistfully—a very changed Jacqueline she was, pale and drawn-looking, +and with a new little dignity about her which the physician was quick to +observe. "I'm not a capable person, you know, like mother and Jemmy. I +do know a little about sewing, though, and cooking, and housekeeping, +and—and—"</p> + +<p>"Singing, I remember," smiled her host, "and making people comfortable, +I think? The very things we need most, my dear. It is maddening in a +place like this to be limited to one set of brains, and arms, and +legs—and those masculine. Ah, but I am glad that you have come!"</p> + +<p>"So am I." Jacqueline breathed a grateful sigh. "But—" she swallowed +hard, and looked him squarely in the face—"I want you to know that I am +hiding away from everybody.—Must I tell you why?"</p> + +<p>He took off his spectacles, so that she saw his eyes. Great kindliness +dawned in them, a warm, understanding, tender gravity that had once +before reminded her of somebody she trusted. He leaned toward her.</p> + +<p>"I, too, am hiding away from those I love.—Must I tell you why, my +daughter?"</p> + +<p>She stared at him, her gaze widening. Suddenly she knew him, and with a +little cry, her arms went about his neck.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVIII" id="CHAPTER_XLVIII"></a>CHAPTER XLVIII</h2> + + +<p>It was some time before her mother began to do much credit to Jemima's +reputation as a nurse. The nature of her illness, if illness it could be +called, was baffling. She had neither pain nor temperature, her pulse +was steady, though not strong, she ate and even slept as she was bidden, +with a docility that was one of the most alarming symptoms of all in the +Madam, hitherto impatient as a healthy man of restraint and control. She +was content, to lie day after day in her room, she who had perhaps not +spent more than a few weeks in bed during the whole course of her +previous life, and then only when her children were born.</p> + +<p>"I can't understand it," wrote young Mrs. Thorpe to her husband—a +humiliating confession for Jemima. "She listens to me, and talks a +little, seems rather glad that I am with her. But if I were not, I think +it would not matter. She takes no interest in anything, seems hardly +aware of anything, though she always makes the right answer when one +speaks to her. Otherwise I might think.... Even Philip's letters leave +her unmoved. She never opens them; simply hands them to me and says +listlessly, 'See if he has found her.' And when I answer no, she does +not seem to care particularly.... Sometimes I feel as if it weren't +mother here beside me at all, as if she had gone away, and left just her +body and her voice and her smile—and I wish she had taken the smile +with her. It's hard to bear!... She was a little like this after Dr. +Benoix disappeared, but not so bad.—Oh, James, you don't think, do you, +that there can really be such a thing as a broken heart?"</p> + +<p>The Professor comforted his wife with sensible and practical advice; but +he was as uneasy as herself. Psychologist that he was, he know that the +strongest natures cannot bend and bend indefinitely, without in time +reaching the breaking-point.</p> + +<p>It was at his suggestion that a famous nerve-specialist was sent for +from a distant city, much to the relief of honest and futile Dr. Jones.</p> + +<p>The eminent gentleman made himself extremely comfortable at Storm, +enjoyed the scenery and the Southern cooking, and occasionally conversed +upon topics of the day with Mrs. Kildare, who exerted herself according +to her traditions to put her guest at ease, even to the extent of +sitting up in bed and allowing Jemima to dress her hair in the latest +fashion.</p> + +<p>"Mental trouble? Nonsense!" he pronounced, to Jemima's almost sick +relief. "I wish my own mentality were as sound! For years she has been +using up her nervous vitality without replacing it, that is all. This +mental torpor is Nature's way of giving her a rest. Let her alone! That +splendid body of hers will reassert itself presently. Rest is what she +needs. And happiness," he added casually, with an insight which proved +his right to the enormous fee he pocketed.</p> + +<p>But it was a prescription rather difficult to fill.</p> + +<p>Jemima tried conscientiously to catch her mother's attention with talk +about farm matters, business affairs, the conduct of the dairy and +stable; only to be put aside with a listless, "Better see Jenkins about +that, dear. He's very efficient."</p> + +<p>Jenkins was a young man trained by herself into efficiency, who had long +been anxious to assume a more important part in the management of Storm, +and was rising to his opportunity very creditably.</p> + +<p>At last a letter came from Philip which Jemima believed would rouse Kate +from her apathy. She read it—she opened all her mother's mail in those +days—and rushed into her mother's room, almost tearful with her news.</p> + +<p>"He's found Channing at last!" she cried; "and Jacqueline was not with +him! Do you hear, Mother? Jacqueline was not with him at all! She never +had been. It was another woman—some one he has married. Oh, Mother, +<i>don't you understand</i>?"</p> + +<p>Kate's eyes lifted very slowly to her face. "Then what," each word was +an effort, "has he done with my Jacqueline?—Is she dead?"</p> + +<p>Jemima caught her hands. "No, no, dear! Listen!"—she spoke very +distinctly. "It was all a dreadful mistake—our mistake. She never went +to Mr. Channing at all. She simply ran away to New York to study her +singing, Philip says, and has been there all this time.—Oh, how can I +ever make it up to poor little Jacky? Imagine thinking such a thing of +her! I must have been crazy, jumping to such a <i>wicked</i> conclusion!" In +her distress she wrung her hands. "And what must Jacqueline have been +thinking of us, leaving her alone there so long? Oh, Mother!—" a happy +idea had come to her. "Don't, let's leave her alone another day! Philip +may not have reached her yet—this letter was mailed in Paris, just +before he sailed. Let's go and find her ourselves, you and I!"</p> + +<p>But the answering spark of eagerness she hoped for did not come.</p> + +<p>"If Jacqueline wants me," said Kate, closing her eyes, "she will let me +know."</p> + +<p>The coldness of the reply chilled Jemima. It seemed so utterly unlike +her impulsive, warm-hearted generous mother.</p> + +<p>"Don't you realize how we have misunderstood her? Why, she hasn't +been—been wicked at all! She simply saw she had made a mistake, and +tried to undo it by going away—foolish, but so like Jacky, poor +darling!—Mother! You don't mean to say you're not going to <i>forgive</i> +her for running away?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Forgive?</i>" repeated Kate wonderingly. Then she remembered that Jemima +had never been a mother.</p> + +<p>"It is Jacqueline who cannot forgive me," she explained, in her dull and +lifeless voice.</p> + +<p>Jemima gave up in despair. There was something about all this beyond her +understanding.</p> + +<p>In a few days a second letter came from Philip, postmarked New York, +telling her that he had at last learned the where-abouts of his wife, +and hoped soon to be going to her. He begged Kate to have patience, +explaining that he was under promise not to reveal Jacqueline's +hiding-place.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>We must humor her now (he wrote). It is only because of the +intervention of a friend she has found that she has consented to +let me come to her presently. God knows what thoughts of us who +love her and could not trust her have been in her head through +these lonely weeks! We must give her time to get over them. She is +not ready for us yet. You will understand, you who understand +everything. Wait. And meanwhile comfort yourself as I do with the +knowledge that she is safe, safe!</p></div> + +<p>This letter puzzled Jemima almost unbearably, but she dared ask no +question of her mother as to what had occurred. She was grateful to see +that it at least roused the invalid to a show of interest. Kate took it +into her languid hand and read it over twice, looking for some possible +message for herself from Jacqueline, some little word of love that +Jemima might have overlooked.</p> + +<p>But finding nothing, she relapsed into the old listlessness.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIX" id="CHAPTER_XLIX"></a>CHAPTER XLIX</h2> + + +<p>It was a very trivial and unimportant thing, to Jemima's thinking, which +presently lifted Kate out of her languor into action once more. Big +Liza, entering timidly one morning, as she did many times in the day, to +gaze with miserable eyes at the figure on the bed, murmured to Jemima: +"They's a message come fum that 'ooman Mahaly, down in the village, +sayin' she's dyin', and wants to see the Madam. She 'lows she cain't die +in peace 'thout'n she sees Miss Kate."</p> + +<p>"Of course that's impossible," said Jemima in the same low tone. "Send +word that we're very sorry. See that she has whatever she needs. If +necessary, I'll go myself."</p> + +<p>"Did you say she was dying?" asked an unexpected voice from the bed.</p> + +<p>"Yais'm, Miss Kate! but don't you keer, honey. Tain't nothin but that +mulatter 'ooman, Mahaly—You 'members about <i>her</i>!" she added +scornfully.—Very little had passed among her "white folks" that was +unknown to the sovereign of the kitchen.</p> + +<p>To the amaze of both, Kate slipped without apparent effort out of the +bed where she had lain for weeks. "Where are my clothes?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>Jemima ran to her with a cry of protest. "Mother, be careful! What, you +aren't thinking of going to see her? You can't—you're not strong +enough!"</p> + +<p>"Mahaly must not die before I speak with her."</p> + +<p>"Then," said Jemima calmly, "I'll have her brought to you."</p> + +<p>"A dying woman? Jemmy, don't be silly!" Kate spoke with an asperity that +brought a wide grin to Big Liza's face, because it sounded as though the +Madam were come back again.</p> + +<p>Jemima, alarmed, continued to protest; at last ran to the telephone and +called Dr. Jones to her assistance. Meanwhile Kate, scolded at, fussed +over, but in the end helped by her cook, got into out-door clothes; and +before Doctor Jones was on his way to Storm, she had taken the road for +the village.</p> + +<p>She sat erect in her surrey, pale, but scorning the proffered arm of +Jemima, driven by a proud and anxious coachman behind the quietest pair +of horses in the stable; and people as she passed stared at her with +utter amaze—with more; with a delight that rose in some cases to the +point of tears. For the first time, Kate realized that she had won +something besides respect and dependence and fear from her realm. She +had won love. The realization pierced through her apathy. A faint color +came into her cheeks. More than once, as she paused to exchange +greetings with some beaming and incoherent acquaintance, her own lips +were tremulous.</p> + +<p>"Why are they so glad to see me, Jemmy?" she asked once. "Did they think +I was very ill?"</p> + +<p>Her daughter nodded, not trusting her own voice. It seemed as if a +miracle had occurred before her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Well, I've fooled them," smiled Kate, drawing into her lungs a great +breath of the keen, rain-swept air that was bringing new life into a +world done with winter.</p> + +<p>She asked one other question as they drove. "Jemmy, what does the +neighborhood think about—Jacqueline?"</p> + +<p>Jemima explained that she had allowed the impression to go abroad that +Philip and Jacqueline had taken advantage of an opportunity to go to +Europe on a belated honeymoon journey.</p> + +<p>She did not say, because she did not know, that the countryside, always +with an interested eye upon its betters, had connected the extreme +suddenness of this journey with Philip's vanished father, picturing to +itself touching death-bed scenes, and eleventh-hour repentances. +Remembering the Madam's brief illness at the time of Dr. Benoix' +disappearance, the neighborhood had connected her present illness also +with its romantic imaginings; with the result that what was left of its +disapproval had been swallowed up in a sudden and quite human wave of +sympathy for that faithful woman and the man she loved.</p> + +<p>When they reached a neat little cottage in the portion of the village +devoted to white workingmen's homes, Kate allowed herself to be assisted +to the door, where she dismissed her daughter, telling her to return in +half an hour.</p> + +<p>"I must see Mahaly alone," was her only answer to Jemima's uneasy +protests.</p> + +<p>She was ushered respectfully into a neat, clean room, hung with the +enlarged crayon portraits dear to the colored race, and boasting a +parlor-organ draped in Battenberg lace. The window was open—a rare +thing in a negro home, despite her efforts with the Civic League. The +bed was stiffly starched and unoccupied, and the woman she had come to +see sat upright in a chair, propped with pillows, panting with the +effort of keeping breath in her lungs. She was dying of heart-disease.</p> + +<p>She had been in her day rather a handsome creature, with the straight +hair and high features that indicate a not unusual admixture of Indian +blood. But though she must have been of about the same age as Mrs. +Kildare, she looked by comparison withered and superannuated, with the +grayish film across her eyes that one sees in those of aged animals.</p> + +<p>These blurred eyes stared at Kate with a queer hostility, mixed with +something else; as they had stared on the day she came a bride to Storm. +She made a slight, futile attempt to rise.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Mahaly! Don't move," said the Madam, kindly. "This is no time +for manners."</p> + +<p>She closed the door behind her, and would have closed the window had it +not been for the woman's need of air and the inevitable faint odor that +clings about negro habitations, no matter how cleanly they are kept. +What she and her old servant had to say to each other must not be +overheard. Fancying that she detected sounds as of some one moving on +the porch outside, she called briefly: "Keep out of ear-shot, please." +She was too accustomed to obedience to investigate results.</p> + +<p>"You wanted to see me, Mahaly?" she said. "You wanted to explain +something to me, perhaps?"</p> + +<p>The woman struggled with her laboring breath. She was very near the end. +Kate found it painful to look at her, and her gaze wandered away to the +crayon portraits on the wall. The one over the bed, in the place of +honor, was a portrait of her husband, Basil Kildare. Her face hardened. +This was an impertinence! And yet....</p> + +<p>Mahaly was speaking. "You-all ain't—found the French doctor yet—is +you?"</p> + +<p>"No. We will not discuss that, if you please.... Mahaly, we may never +see each other again, you and I. Will you tell me now how you came—to +hate me so bitterly?"</p> + +<p>Mahaly's eyes dropped. "I never! I tried to, but—I couldn't, Miss Kate. +You was—so kin' to me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I was kind. I meant to be. I liked you, and trusted you. I gave +you my children to nurse.—Mahaly, only once—no, twice—in my life have +I trusted people, and had them fail me."</p> + +<p>"The other time was Mr. Bas," whispered the woman. "I knows. It +didn't—never do to trus'—Mr. Bas."</p> + +<p>Her dying eyes followed Kate's to the picture, and dwelt upon it +wistfully.</p> + +<p>Once more the lady changed the subject. "Will you tell me why you tried +to hate me, Mahaly?" She paused. "Was it because you were—jealous of +me?"</p> + +<p>The reply had a certain dignity. "It ain't fitten—for a yaller gal—to +be jealous—of a w'ite pusson."</p> + +<p>"Then, why?"</p> + +<p>There was a silence. Gropingly the colored woman's hand went to a table +at her side, and held out to Kate a tintype photograph in a faded pink +paper cover. Kate looked at it. She saw Mahaly as she had been in the +days of her youth, comely and graceful; in her arms a small, beady-eyed +boy. The pride of motherhood was unmistakable.</p> + +<p>"Your baby! Why, I never knew you had a baby." She looked closer, and +her voice softened. "A cripple, like my little Katherine. Poor little +fellow! Oh, Mahaly, did he die?"</p> + +<p>There was a dull misery in the answer that went to her heart. "I dunno. +I couldn't—never fin' out."</p> + +<p>"<i>You don't know?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Bas done sent him away—when you was comin'. He was real kin'—to +him before, though he wa'n't never one—to have po'ly folks about, much. +But when you—was comin'—he done sent him away, an' he wouldn't never +tell me—whar to."</p> + +<p>"Mahaly! <i>Why</i> did he send him away?"</p> + +<p>Kate had risen, in her horror of what she knew was coming.</p> + +<p>"Bekase he looked—too much—like his—paw," said Mahaly, and she spoke +with pride....</p> + +<p>Kate put her hands over her eyes. She remembered the sense of something +sinister that had come to her when she first saw Storm; recalled the +mystery which had hung about the mulatto girl, and which she had not +quite dared to probe; the innuendoes of old Liza, from the first her +ally and henchman; Mahaly's later passionate and hungry devotion to her +own children. She remembered the fate, too, of Basil's hound Juno, and +her mongrel pups.</p> + +<p>"No wonder you hated me," she whispered, shuddering. "No wonder you +hated me! To think that even he could have done such a thing!—Oh, but, +Mahaly, how was I to know? How could you have blamed me?"</p> + +<p>"I never. Only I 'lowed—that ef you was to git sent away—fum +Sto'm—mebbe he would lemme have my baby—back agin." Mahaly's voice was +getting very weak. She began fighting the air with her hands.</p> + +<p>Kate dipped her handkerchief quickly into a glass of water and laid it +on the woman's face. "No more talking now," she said, and would have +gone for help; but the negress caught at her hand.</p> + +<p>"Got—suthin' mo'—to say—fust—" she gasped painfully. "Miss +Kate!—the French doctor didn't—kill him—"</p> + +<p>"<i>What?</i>"</p> + +<p>"I seed. I was—hidin' in de bushes—waitin' to speak to Mr. Bas" (only +an iron effort of will made the words audible), "an' I riz up—out'n de +bushes—when I yeard 'em quar'lin'—and dat skeert de hoss—an' he +ra'red up and threw—Mr. Bas off. De French doctor done flung—a rock, +yes'm—but it ain't—never—teched him—"</p> + +<p>"You know this? My God, Mahaly! You <i>know</i> this?"</p> + +<p>"Yais'm, kase—it was me—de rock hit—" she turned her cheek, to show +the scar it had left.</p> + +<p>"Take that down in writing. Mother!" commanded a tense voice from the +window, where Jemima was leaning in. "You must get it down in writing, +before witnesses! Here!" She jumped into the room, and opened the door, +calling, "Some of you come here, quick! I want witnesses."</p> + +<p>"She's dying," muttered Kate, dazed.</p> + +<p>"No, she isn't! She sha'n't, before she says that again. Leave her to +me! Now then, Mahaly"—she shook the gasping woman none too gently. +"Come, come! You saw—Speak up! Oh, for God's sake, speak up!"</p> + +<p>But Mahaly had said all that she had to say. For a terrible moment the +sound of her losing battle filled the room. Then, of a sudden there was +silence, peace; into which broke presently the mournful, savage note of +negro wailing.</p> + +<p>Jemima led her mother in silence out to the carriage. During the drive +home she made only one remark, in a low whisper because of the coachman.</p> + +<p>"Do you think the court will accept our word, Mother?"</p> + +<p>Kate answered her meaning. "It would do no good. Jacques would say that +the intention was there, whatever the fact. He meant to kill Basil. And +it is too late now. He has paid the penalty."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>That night, after Jemima was supposed to be in bed, Kate's door opened, +and a slim little figure stole in, looking very childlike in its +nightgown. But the voice that spoke was not childlike.</p> + +<p>"Are you asleep, Mother?"</p> + +<p>Kate held out her hand. She had expected Jemima. The girl clutched it +fast.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered.</p> + +<p>Kate wondered silently how much of Mahaly's confession she had heard.</p> + +<p>The girl answered as if she had spoken. "I was there from the first. It +was I you heard when you gave the order to go out of ear-shot."</p> + +<p>"And you didn't go out of ear-shot? That wasn't quite honorable, +daughter."</p> + +<p>"No, but it was sensible. Do you think I'd have left you there alone to +a trying death-bed scene, weak as you are? Honorable!—how do you expect +me to be honorable?" she burst out, bitterly, "when you know the sort of +father I had? Sometimes of late I suspected, I began to think.... But +you would not tell me, you were too fine to tell me. And you let me make +a fool of myself, a perfect fool! Oh, I was so proud of being a Kildare, +one of the Kildares of Storm; so ashamed of anything that did not quite +come up to the standard of—of my father! Bah—<i>my father</i>! Not even man +enough to take the consequences of his sin, to stand by them. My +father," she cried fiercely, "was a coward! And I thought that +everything that is good in me, pride and courage, and truthfulness, +whatever manly virtues I may have, came from him, instead of—from you!"</p> + +<p>"No, no—from yourself, dear," said Kate, quickly. "For everything that +is best in you, you have yourself to thank."</p> + +<p>Jemima lifted up her head, and made her confession of renewed faith, +there in the dark. "But I'd rather thank you, Mother!"</p> + +<p>It was Kate's first dose of the happiness the specialist had prescribed.</p> + +<p>After a long pause, the voice spoke again out of the dark. "Mother—I +want you to marry Dr. Benoix. Do you understand? We owe it to him—all +of us. I <i>want</i> you to marry him."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" whispered Kate. "If I only could!"</p> + +<p>"You've not given up? Oh, but you mustn't give up! He shall be found! +I'll find him myself, and bring him back to you, because it was I who +sent him away." (Kate smiled faintly at the egotism, but she did not +correct it.) "Oh, Mother, put your will into it!" urged the girl, +leaning over her. "You know you've never failed in anything you've put +your will into."</p> + +<p>"I? Never failed?" repeated Kate, in bitter mockery.</p> + +<p>"Now you're thinking of Jacqueline and Philip. That wasn't an error of +will, but of judgment.—This time, <i>I'm</i> judging."</p> + +<p>Boast that it was (Jemima was not the person to underrate her +abilities), somehow it put new heart into Kate, made her realize that +she had at hand a staff to lean upon, a counselor who, despite her +youth, possessed a certain wisdom that her mother could never hope to +gain.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jemmy," she sighed as one equal to another, "if you had been in my +place, what would you have done about Jacqueline?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Thorpe took the matter into consideration. At length she pronounced +gravely, "If I had been in your place, there never would have been a +Jacqueline"; which ended the conversation for that night.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_L" id="CHAPTER_L"></a>CHAPTER L</h2> + + +<p>It was not long after this that Kate woke to a realization of the +sacrifices her daughter was making to remain at Storm, and sent her back +post-haste to her patient, neglected husband, and to the new worlds that +remained to conquer.</p> + +<p>"Of course I shall be lonely," she admitted in answer to Jemima's +protest. "But I must get used to that. And I shall have my work, now +that I am quite strong again."</p> + +<p>Nor would she listen to Jemima's plea, seconded heartily by James +Thorpe, that she leave Storm for a while and make them a visit.</p> + +<p>"Suppose Jacqueline should come home, and not find me here?"</p> + +<p>Jemima knew that it was not only Jacqueline of whom she thought.</p> + +<p>But when Kate said that she had her work to return to, she had reckoned +without her henchman Jenkins, a new broom that was sweeping very clean +indeed. It is an axiom that while it requires creative genius to start +an enterprise, once the momentum is gained any mediocre intelligence may +keep it going. Kate learned this for herself.</p> + +<p>During her illness, things had gone on much as usual. Her affairs were +in excellent order. The spring planting had been arranged for; at the +appointed season foals and calves and tottering new lambs made their +appearance in their usual numbers among her pastures; the books showed +no falling off in credits nor increase in debits; fences and roads were +in excellent repair. Jenkins was manifestly eager and able to spare her +all responsibility and trouble. She understood his ambition. There +seemed no reason for her to resume the reins of authority from such +capable hands.</p> + +<p>She turned to her immediate household; but there, too, the efficiency +which had been her fetish made interference unnecessary. Her +well-trained servants chuckled among themselves at the Madam's sudden +interest in housecleaning, in linen-closet and pantry, in cookery.</p> + +<p>"Laws, Miss Kate, honey! Huccom you dirtyin' up yo' hands with niggers' +work?" demanded Big Liza, reproachfully.</p> + +<p>The village, too, seemed to be getting on surprisingly well without her. +The Housewives' League she had organized had made amazing strides during +her absence. It had elected a president and a secretary and was +governing itself according to Roberts' Rules of Order quite as capably +as it had been governed in the past by the Madam. It was even, thanks to +Jemima's recent activities in the neighborhood, beginning to discuss in +a shy and tentative manner the question of Votes for Women. Kate felt +that she had created a Frankenstein.</p> + +<p>Nor was the problem of the negro element any longer hers to struggle +with alone. She had tried to meet it by starting among the colored +people of the village a Civic League, quiescent during the winter, but +coming to life each spring with garden-time, and progressing +enthusiastically through the summer to the culmination of prize-giving, +and a procession, with the prize-winners riding proudly at the front in +decorated carriages. Now she found that Philip's successor, a city-bred +young fellow trained in social service, had already taken the Civic +League in hand and had converted the colored school into a Neighborhood +House of the most approved pattern, where innocent entertainment might +be had on two nights out of the week, winter and summer. The effect upon +a gregarious, pleasure-loving race which, as John Wise has said, never +outgrows mentally the age of seventeen, was already apparent. Kate +wished humbly that she herself had thought of a Neighborhood House.</p> + +<p>Gradually she came to the conclusion that she had outlived the +community's need of her. She, Kate Kildare, not yet forty, with energy +flowing back into her veins even as the sap was coming back into the +trees after their winter's rest, could find no outlet for it.</p> + +<p>There was nothing to fill the endless days. She tried to resume her +long-neglected musical studies, but the piano was haunted for her now by +the silent voice of Jacqueline, and she turned from it at last in +despair. In this time of need, even books failed her. With her returning +vigor full upon her, she could not find the patience to sit for hours +poring over the thoughts of professional thinkers, or the imaginary +deeds of people who had never lived—she who had lived so hard, and +whose own thoughts came up aching out of her heart.</p> + +<p>Mag's baby was her one occupation. Storm would have been indeed a dreary +place just then without Mag's parting legacy to it. The small Kitty was +somewhat young to begin her education, but begin it she did, +nevertheless. She was as docile and anxious to please as her mother +before her, and after days of patient training, managed to master the +intricate syllables of what the doggie says and what the pussy says. She +also learned to navigate alone the distance from a chair-leg to Kate's +knee; a fearful adventure, this, accomplished with much wild waving of +arms and not a few tears, for Kitty was not of the intrepid, determined +stuff to which Kate was accustomed in the way of infants.</p> + +<p>However, she made a cuddlesome, drowsy armful to hold during the long +Spring twilights; and often sitting so, alone in her great hall, Kate +forgot what child it was she held, and went back to the days of her +first motherhood, dreaming that the door would presently open and admit +Jacques Benoix, come to sit for a while with his friend.</p> + +<p>Few visitors troubled the monotony of Storm. During her illness the +neighborhood had been assiduous with broths and jellies, but now that +she was well again the old awe of the Madam returned, and it did not +occur to the modest country folk that she would have been glad of their +company. Holiday Hill was in charge of caretakers. Farwell, after months +of the rôle of the Southern country gentleman, had suddenly yielded to +the irresistible lure of the footlights, and was once more making his +final appearance upon any stage. Philip's substitute occasionally paid a +conscientious call, which Kate recognized, with some amusement, as a +parochial visit. He was an earnest young man, with views, and it was +evident that he regarded Mrs. Kildare's frank indifference to matters of +dogma as a serious defect in her character.</p> + +<p>Somewhat to her surprise, one day the Bishop of the diocese came out +from Lexington to see her. She had met him before, as Philip's friend, +and even entertained him at Storm on occasion; but their acquaintance +was very slight, and she was at a loss to account for this visit.</p> + +<p>He seemed to have come chiefly to talk about Philip. "I have been +watching young Benoix since he first left the Seminary. We have many +promising men in our clergy," he said, "many indefatigable workers, many +beautiful spirits, many fine intellects. But a combination of all these +qualities is rare in any profession. And besides these," he added +quietly, "Benoix has the right sort of wife."</p> + +<p>Kate's steady eyes met his without flinching. Though nothing was said +about Jacqueline's letter to the Bishop, the thought of it had not for a +moment been absent from their minds. "You think that?" she asked in a +low voice.</p> + +<p>"I know it! The right sort of wife is important to any man, but more to +a clergyman than to others. Charm, tact, the kindliness that comes from +the heart itself, above all, understanding—these are the things your +little Jacqueline has brought to help her husband, and he will go far. +Mark my words!—Presently I shall have to take those two young people +away from you, into a wider field."</p> + +<p>He watched her compressed, tremulous lips shrewdly and sympathetically. +Jacqueline's confession and her voluntary atonement had touched his +broad nature to the quick; and he had come to Storm of his own volition +for the purpose of reconciling her with a presumably unforgiving mother. +But his first glimpse of the mother's face showed him the needlessness +of such an errand so far as she was concerned, and his sympathies turned +into another channel.</p> + +<p>He said lightly, "I suppose you hear often from the honeymooners?"</p> + +<p>Kate shook her head.</p> + +<p>"No? Young people are sometimes thoughtless in their happiness, +forgetful of the rights of mothers.—My dear," he said suddenly, +abandoning his pretense of ignorance, "why don't you go to them, take +her by surprise? Things are so much better said face to face, and before +any hurt has had time to rankle. Why don't you go to them?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know where they are."</p> + +<p>The Bishop looked thoughtful. "I can tell you," he said at last. "And I +think I shall."</p> + +<p>But Kate stopped him. The temptation had been great. She was weary of +waiting for the word that never came, for the chance to hold her child +in her arms again, and kiss away all the grief and pain and remorse that +lay between them.</p> + +<p>But she knew it was best for Jacqueline and Philip to come to their +readjustment without her. Long meditation had taught her at last to +understand that it was she herself who, unwittingly and unwillingly, had +stood between them.</p> + +<p>When the Bishop rose to go, he held her hand between his own for some +moments. "When will you come to Lexington, my dear? I am an old and busy +man, but I cannot afford to lose touch with such a woman as you. Will +you come to see me occasionally?"</p> + +<p>Kate replied quietly that she never went to Lexington. He understood. +Though it had happened before his time, he had not failed to hear of the +occasion when young Kate Leigh had brought her children home to be +christened, and had been cut by an entire congregation.</p> + +<p>He said gently, "The world's memory is short—shorter than you think. If +you were to come to Lexington now, you would find that you have many +friends there."</p> + +<p>She gave no promise. The world's memory might be short, but she was not +of the world, and hers was long.</p> + +<p>"Then I must even come to you," said the Bishop; and was as good as his +word thereafter....</p> + +<p>As the long days lengthened into weeks, Kate gave up all pretense of +activity, and resigned herself to waiting; waiting for she knew not +what.</p> + +<p>At first it had been Jacqueline; some word of her, or message from her. +But, gradually, thoughts of her child merged somehow into thoughts of +Jacques Benoix. She found herself dreaming of him as she had not allowed +herself to dream since she first heard that he was coming out of the +penitentiary, when their meeting seemed close, imminent, something to be +prepared for constantly lest the shock of joy should be too great. She +tried now to stop these dreams, in fear of the awakening; but could not.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was April in her blood, bringing to life the old habit of +wanting her mate in the mating-season. Perhaps it was her talk with +Jemima, and the girl's promise that Jacques Benoix should be found. +Jemima rarely broke a promise.—Whatever the cause, the sense of his +approach, his nearness, was sometimes so vivid that Kate felt she had +but to turn her head to see him standing there behind her.</p> + +<p>But if she turned it, there were only the dogs, eagerly waiting her +pleasure, their tails astir; or perhaps a servant coming from the house +with a wrap for her, because the breeze was damp.</p> + +<p>She rarely rode abroad now. Pasture and field and meadow, Nature itself, +had lost charm for her since she seemed to have no longer a share in +bringing about their miracles. She was content to sit day after day in +her eyrie, gazing out over the greening valley, watching the great +flocks of martins, grackle, and robins that passed noisily overhead, +going to meet the Spring farther north.</p> + +<p>All about her sounded the murmur of bluebirds, which came each year to +live in the old trees about Storm. She wondered why the bluebird should +have been taken as a symbol of happiness. There is nothing more +plaintive in nature than its nesting-song, a cadence of little dropping +minor notes, which Kate, grown fanciful in her idleness, translated for +herself:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Love and loss, loss and love. Take them together, while there is +time. Better together than not at all. Quick—for the Spring is +passing by.—</p></div> + +<p>Yet one who saw her sitting there, the breeze blowing tendrils of bright +hair about her face, her strong, lithe hands clasped youthfully about +her knees, her beautiful eyes darkling or brightening with the thoughts +that passed, could not have connected her with the mere passivity of +waiting, of remembering.</p> + +<p>Sometimes the pale sunlight, growing daily in warmth, touched her cheek +or her hand like a caress, and stirred her to a sudden restlessness.</p> + +<p>"It can't be all over for me," she thought, then. "It can't!"</p> + +<p>It seemed to her that she had been like the Lady of Shalott, doomed to +see life only in a mirror, while her hands weaved eternally at a task of +which she had grown weary; hoping always for one to pass, that she might +turn and break the spell, and be done forever with the mirror....</p> + +<p>At length a message came that put out of her mind both herself and the +man she loved. It was a telegram from Philip, sent from the mountain +town whence he and Jacqueline and Channing and Brother Bates had set +forth on their missionary expedition.</p> + +<p>The telegram read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Jacqueline wants you. Will meet morning train. Please bring Mag's +baby.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span></p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LI" id="CHAPTER_LI"></a>CHAPTER LI</h2> + + +<p>She was disappointed to find that Philip, despite his telegram, was not +at the station to meet her, but had sent instead a wagon which, its +driver explained, was to take her as far as wheels were feasible after +the Spring rains, and then return.</p> + +<p>"Reckon thar'll be a mule or somethin' to tote you the rest of the way," +he added, indifferently.</p> + +<p>He was unable to answer any of her questions, or to allay the fears +which, despite the eager happiness in her heart, were beginning to make +themselves felt. Jacqueline wanted her at last—but why?</p> + +<p>Mile after mile they drove in utter silence, Kate's thoughts racing +ahead of her; while small Kitty, on a pile of quilts in the bottom of +the bouncing wagon, adapted herself to circumstances with the ease of a +born traveler, and alternately dozed, or imbibed refreshment out of a +bottle, or rehearsed her vocabulary aloud for the pleasure of the world +at large. She would have preferred a more attentive audience, but she +could do without it.</p> + +<p>Where the road degenerated into a mere trail along the mountain-side, +Kate found a mule awaiting her, in charge, not of Philip, as she had +hoped, but of a mountaineer even more taciturn than the driver. Her +fears became more acute.</p> + +<p>"Can you tell me whether my daughter—young Mrs. Benoix—is ill?" she +asked her new conductor, anxiously.</p> + +<p>The man took so long to answer that she thought he had not heard her, +and repeated the question.</p> + +<p>He spat exhaustively—he was chewing tobacco—and finally replied, "The +gal at Teacher's house? Dunno as I've heerd tell."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you a neighbor of hers?"</p> + +<p>He gave a brief nod of assent.</p> + +<p>"Then," she persisted, "you surely would have heard if she were ill, +wouldn't you?"</p> + +<p>Another long pause. "Dunno as I would. We-all ain't much on talk."</p> + +<p>"You certainly are not!" exclaimed Kate with some asperity.</p> + +<p>It seemed to her anxious impatience that his taciturnity was deliberate, +hostile. He was a rough, unkempt, savage-looking creature; yet the +tenderness and skill with which he held little Kitty before him on his +ungainly mount would have done credit to any woman.</p> + +<p>Kate remarked presently, observing this, "You've had children of your +own?"</p> + +<p>"Thirteen on 'em."</p> + +<p>"Thirteen? Splendid! All living?"</p> + +<p>He spat again. "All daid. Died when they was babies."</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens! This must be looked into!" exclaimed Kate, with a touch +of the old authority; and then remembered that she was not in her own +domain.</p> + +<p>Presently, as they mounted, her attention was attracted to a woman +planting in a steep and barren-looking field, swinging her arms with the +fine free grace of a Millet figure.</p> + +<p>"What's she trying to raise there—corn?" Kate inspected the soil with a +professional eye. "She won't do it—not in that soil! It needs +fertilizing."</p> + +<p>Her companion remarked impartially, "Ben raisin' corn thar a right smart +while."</p> + +<p>"All the more reason to give it a rest! I suppose you've never heard of +rotation of crops?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I hev," was the unexpected reply. "Fum Teacher." He spat with +great success, and added, "We-all ain't much on new-fangled idees."</p> + +<p>Kate attempted no more conversation. She began to feel the fatigue of +the hurried journey, and to her secret fears was added a growing dread +of the end of it, a sudden shyness about meeting not only Jacqueline, +but Philip, after the conclusion to which her long meditations had led +her. She had recalled again and again, and always with a sharp twinge of +shame, the hurt bewilderment on Philip's face when she had offered him +Jacqueline in marriage. What a blind and stubborn fool she had been not +to understand! If he still had that look in his eyes, that patient +acquiescence in her will, Kate felt that she could not bear it.... But +surely he had forgotten her, now that he was with Jacqueline? Surely the +girl was lovely enough, and piteous enough in her great need of him, to +drive any other woman out of his mind?</p> + +<p>After many miles, the mountaineer volunteered a remark: "Thar's the +school buildin's."</p> + +<p>She saw on the rise beyond a group of log-cabins, the central one small +and old, the two wings much larger and evidently of recent construction. +In the doorway of one a man stood, looking out; and as he started down +the slope toward them Kate recognized him. It was Philip.</p> + +<p>"Mother!—At last!" he cried out. "I would have gone to meet you, but +she could not spare me. She's been asking for you every moment.—Wait, +let me help you!"</p> + +<p>The tone of his voice laid to rest all her misgivings with regard to +him. Even as he welcomed her, he was thinking of his wife.—As for +Philip, if he remembered a time when to call this woman "mother" would +have been like a knife-thrust in his breast, he thought only that the +time was very long ago.</p> + +<p>Kate sprang down unaided, her fatigue forgotten. "Jacqueline?" she +demanded eagerly.</p> + +<p>"A little stronger to-day. But—the baby—"</p> + +<p>Kate gave a cry. Her unspoken fears had been true. "A baby?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. It did not live.—That is why I asked you to bring little Kitty."</p> + +<p>Kate put her hands before her eyes. "My poor little girl! Oh, my poor +little girl!—Let me go to her."</p> + +<p>At the door she was not surprised to find Jemima, in a neat +nursing-dress, her eyes heavily lined with fatigue.</p> + +<p>"I've been here several days. Jacky forgot to make them promise not to +send for me. She never thought of me," she explained humbly.... "Oh +Mother, it has been pretty bad! Jacky was so—so brave!" She broke down +a little in Kate's arms.</p> + +<p>"Steady, there," whispered Philip behind them. "She can't stand any +excitement yet."</p> + +<p>But the two had assumed charge of too many sickrooms together to need +his admonition.</p> + +<p>Kate took off her hat, smoothed her hair, and went in to Jacqueline, as +calmly as if they had parted yesterday.</p> + +<p>The sight of the wan, thin face among the pillows, with eyes that looked +by contrast enormous and black, shook her composure a little, and she +gathered Jacqueline up against her breast without speaking. Jacqueline, +too, was silent, clinging to her, touching her mother's hair and cheeks +with feeble hands, as if to be sure it was really Kate.</p> + +<p>"I knew you would come," she said at last, with a great sigh.</p> + +<p>"Come! Oh, my darling, why didn't you send for me sooner?"</p> + +<p>"Because I wanted to surprise you, Mummy. Because I knew when you saw +baby, you'd forgive me, you wouldn't care, nothing would matter, except +him.... But now there isn't any baby!" The weak voice suddenly rose to a +wail. "There isn't any baby! Nothing has turned out as I had planned. +Oh, Mummy! He was going to be so little, and sweet, and fat—nobody who +saw him <i>could</i> have stayed angry with me!... And I never heard him cry, +I never even felt his tiny hand clutching my finger!... It's because I +was wicked," she moaned, tossing about so that Kate caught the waving +hands and held them tight. "God wanted to get even with me. So He took +the thing I wanted most in all the world. He took my baby. Oh, but that +was cruel of Him, no matter how bad I'd been! Wasn't it? Wasn't it, +Mummy?"</p> + +<p>"Hush, child!" whispered Kate. "Hush! God isn't that sort!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, He is, too! 'The Lord thy God is a <i>jealous</i> God'—ask Phil!—Oh, +where <i>is</i> Phil?" She looked wildly around, her voice growing higher and +higher. "He promised he wouldn't go away—he promised he wouldn't ever +leave me again. I want him! Phil, Phil!—Oh, <i>there</i> you are!" The +relief in her tone was pitiful. "Don't get where I can't see you again, +Flippy darling. It frightens me so! Come here, I want to hold on to +you.... Now, tell mother all about the baby. She didn't see him, you +know, and I didn't see him either, very well. Oh, why did you let them +make me stupid with chloroform, so I couldn't see him? Tell mother about +his little ears, and his feet just exactly like mine—"</p> + +<p>"Quiet, now," soothed Philip, striving to hush that painful, excited +babble. "See, your mother is tired! Let's not talk about it now."</p> + +<p>"But I want to talk! I want to, before I forget anything about him. It's +the only baby I'll ever have. Mother wants to hear—don't you, Mummy? It +was her grandson, you see."</p> + +<p>"What nonsense!" interrupted Kate with tremulous cheerfulness. "The +<i>only</i> baby? You're just eighteen—you shall have all the babies you +want!"</p> + +<p>"That shows how much you know about it!" cried Jacqueline with a sort of +agonized triumph. "I can't have any more! The doctor said so. I heard +him whispering to Jemmy, when he thought I was asleep, and I made her +tell me. She didn't want to, but she thought I'd better know.... It +isn't as if it would kill <i>me</i> to have them, Mother—that wouldn't +matter! But it would kill them. It takes too long. Something is wrong +about me."</p> + +<p>Kate glanced at Philip in shocked questioning. He nodded slightly.</p> + +<p>"So now you know the sort God is, Mother! Cruel, cruel! Just because I +wasn't good.... Think of it, never any babies! No one to play with, and +pet, and take care of.... No one that needs me, or wants me...."</p> + +<p>Philip bent over her, "My darling, the world is full of babies!"</p> + +<p>"But not mine. Not one that wants <i>me</i>.—Oh, how my breast aches, how my +breast aches."</p> + +<p>"This won't do," murmured Jemima, anxiously. "She's working herself up +into a fever again. I'm going to call the doctor."</p> + +<p>Philip whispered something in her ear, and she hurried to the door.</p> + +<p>There was a sound outside that stopped the frantic words on Jacqueline's +lips. "<i>What's that?</i>" she breathed. It came again; the fretful whimper +of a sleepy child.</p> + +<p>Jemima came into the room, carrying small Kitty, newly awakened from a +nap on somebody's comfortable knees, and naturally resentful.</p> + +<p>"O-oh!" gasped Jacqueline on a long-drawn breath. "<i>Give</i> her to me!"</p> + +<p>Presently, held warm against that aching breast, Mag's baby slept again; +and Jacqueline looked from one to the other of those about her with the +first dawning of her old, wide, radiant smile.</p> + +<p>Soon her own eyes drooped. The three tiptoed toward the door; but quiet +as they were the faint voice from the bed followed them: "Phil, Phil! +where are you?"</p> + +<p>"I can't leave her," he whispered apologetically. "You see how it is!" +(Kate was glad indeed to see how it was.) "Will you go into the next +room, and say good-by to—our son?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LII" id="CHAPTER_LII"></a>CHAPTER LII</h2> + + +<p>Kate stood gazing down at the grandchild she had so longed for, +Jacqueline's baby; an old, wrinkled, strangely wise little face, as +befitted one who had solved with his first breath both the mysteries of +Life and of Death. His tiny fists were clenched, his brow puckered, as +if that momentary glimpse of knowledge had not been a happy one.</p> + +<p>No woman who has not gazed so into the face of her own dead child can +understand the hopelessness, the sense of bafflement, of the futility of +all human endeavor, which surged through Kate Kildare at that moment. +The waste of it! The utter, insensate waste of so much passion and hope +and tenderness, of such desperate agony, of such courage to bear...! +There is no spendthrift so prodigal as Nature. For one perfected product +that pleases her, hundreds of preciously guarded lives, such as this, +thrown aside like so many pot-shards, useless, done for—and all to what +purpose?... For the moment Kate visualised Nature as some incredible, +insatiable goddess, a female Moloch, who must be propitiated always with +mother's tears....</p> + +<p>Then she had a thought of her husband; of his tenderness with their +little suffering Katherine, his remorse-stricken grief over the child's +death. Was that the purpose? For the moment, she forgot the other Basil +whom she knew better, the one who had put aside his own flesh and blood +as ruthlessly as Nature herself had put aside this little son of +Jacqueline.</p> + +<p>"Basil would be sorry for this," she whispered, half aloud. "Poor +Basil!"</p> + +<p>She did not know that she was weeping, or that she was not alone, till +Jemima touched her hand; the girl's nearest approach to a caress.</p> + +<p>"So this," said the latter, in a queer, small voice, "is the last of the +Kildares of Storm!... Why do you cry, Mother? Aren't you <i>glad</i>?" She +spoke fiercely. "Isn't it time we made way in the world for—better +people?"</p> + +<p>Kate tried haltingly to explain the sorrow that was upon her. "He wasn't +all Kildare, this little fellow.... You never knew my father, or his +father. They were gallant gentlemen, Jemima. All my life I have wanted +sons like them, and like—the Benoix men. I have been proud of my +health, my strength. I have lived honorably, I have tried to keep myself +a—a—"</p> + +<p>"A gallant gentleman," said Jemima, nodding.</p> + +<p>"Yes. So that the spark should remain alive, for my grandsons. It seemed +to me—"</p> + +<p>She broke off, finding it impossible to put into words what she felt; +that her own indomitable vitality, her energy, her courage, the thing +she had called "the spark," was something which had been put in her +hands to guard for the long future, and that, instead, here in her hands +it had gone out.</p> + +<p>This meant death to Kate Kildare, far more than the separation of body +and spirit would mean death.</p> + +<p>Each woman was busy with her own thoughts for a while; widely different +thoughts. Jemima murmured presently, "Philip said 'our son,' Mother! Oh, +do you suppose that was—true? Or was he—"</p> + +<p>She did not finish her own question; nor did Kate attempt to answer it.</p> + +<p>"That would be like Philip," muttered the girl at last. "Anyway, it's +his own affair."</p> + +<p>She saw that her mother was sobbing.</p> + +<p>"Don't!" she whispered in distress. "Don't! I—I never know what to do +when people cry. Please!" Her voice altered suddenly. "Mother, you wait +here a minute! You just wait here!"</p> + +<p>Kate heard her leave the room, and then stooped to kiss her grandson +good-by.</p> + +<p>As she knelt there, tears raining fast on the tiny, unresponsive face in +the coffin, she heard a step behind her. Thinking it was Jemima again, +she did not look around.</p> + +<p>It was some moments later that a memory came to her, so clear as to be +almost a vision; the memory of her dream in Frankfort—a man standing +near, with bent shoulders and gray hair, but eyes as blue as a child's, +as tender as a woman's, gazing down at her, smiling down....</p> + +<p>Behind her sounded a slight cough.</p> + +<p>She lifted her head, suddenly trembling. "Who—who is there?" she +whispered.</p> + +<p>A voice answered, very low—"Kate!—Kate!"</p> + +<p>Without another word, without a glance to make sure, she rose and went +blindly into the arms that were ready for her.</p> + +<p>It was like coming home.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="AFTERWORD" id="AFTERWORD"></a>AFTERWORD</h2> + + +<p>The Madam made one final appearance at Storm, no longer as Mrs. Kildare +but as Mrs. Benoix, remaining only long enough to put affairs in order +for resigning her stewardship of the estate.</p> + +<p>She had been married in the mountains to Dr. Benoix, over-ruling all his +protests with a quiet, "Do you think I am going to run the risk of +losing you again?"</p> + +<p>And indeed his protests were not very heartfelt. He was unaware until +too late of the clause in Basil Kildare's will by which Kate's +re-marriage would lose Storm to herself and her children. His chief +objection was on the score of his health, and to it Kate had replied +simply, "That in itself would be a reason for our marriage, if there +were no other. Oh, Jacques, if you could know how I <i>love</i> to be +needed!"</p> + +<p>He made his last weak protest. "But I cannot bear to think of you +wasting your loveliness, your charm, here among these uncouth people, +you who should shine in courts and palaces!"</p> + +<p>She laughed softly. "I never have shone in any courts or palaces, goose! +As for what you call my 'loveliness and charm'—they have been most +valuable assets, I assure you, in dealing with my fellow-men." Her eyes +danced with the daring that had made Kate Leigh's bellehood remembered +beyond its time. "Why should beauty be wasted here more than elsewhere? +There's less of it, and your mountaineers have eyes—though not very +sound ones, poor dears!"</p> + +<p>She went down to Storm alone, partly because of that little sinister +cough of her husband's, which she made light of but never forgot; partly +because she wished to spare him the publicity of the nine days' wonder +that their marriage was.</p> + +<p>But it was a publicity she need not have dreaded. Slowly enough, there +had come about a great change in the feeling of the community toward +Basil Kildare's widow; and when it was learned that she was at last +relinquishing her great estate to marry the man for whom she had waited +twenty years, the thing that had been scandal became suddenly romance. +Kate woke one day to find herself a heroine.</p> + +<p>There was a constant passage of vehicles Stormward in the fortnight she +remained there, ranging from humble farm-wagons to luxurious limousines; +for not only her neighbors shared in the ovation, but people from her +girlhood's home recalled the old-time friendship, and made haste to +renew it. Something of the Bishop's influence might be felt here, +perhaps; something, too, of the influence of young Mrs. Thorpe, whose +brief stay among them had been by no means forgotten.</p> + +<p>Kate accepted it all with a pleased surprise; received her guests, when +she had time, in all friendliness, but with a certain reserve which was +partly shyness. She found very little to say to people, especially +women, of her own class, after all these years; and they went away to +speak with some awe of one who seemed dedicated, set apart from life, +like a nun who is about to take the veil. It was very different talk +from that which had raged around the name of Kate Kildare twenty years +before!</p> + +<p>When at last she turned her back on Storm forever, her going was +something in the nature of an Hegira. She took with her certain members +of her household, notably Big Liza, who had grown too old in her service +to adapt themselves to other ways; also a few favorite horses, and those +of the dogs for whom she had not found suitable homes; to say nothing of +cattle, hogs, and poultry, chosen for the purpose of showing Jacques' +mountaineers how livestock ought to look.</p> + +<p>This cavalcade was joined in the village, somewhat to Kate's dismay, by +the Ladies of the Evening Star, in a body, also the Civic League, with a +brass band, which accompanied her to the train, playing all the way as +lustily as for a funeral. The final act of the performance was the +presentation, rather fussily overseen by Philip's successor, of a +mammoth bouquet of Spring blossoms, raised in the reclaimed dooryards of +the Civic League.</p> + +<p>Kate's last look, as the train pulled away, was for the old +juniper-tree, her eyrie, lifting its hoary head, green now with tender +leaves, across the wide valley where she had been for so long a +prisoner.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The time came, when, as the Bishop had prophesied, Philip and Jacqueline +were called away from the mountains into a wider field; to a crowded, +dingy district in a city larger than any of Kentucky, where Jacqueline's +mothering arms have never an excuse to be empty, and where, as her +husband proudly confesses, more people are attracted to his church by +the quality of the music it provides than the quality of the sermons. +But it is something else than music or sermons which attracts to these +two all people who are in trouble, or in need; all derelicts of life. +The hearts of Philip and his wife have not contracted about happiness of +their own. They understand.</p> + +<p>Mag's baby is with them, already learning, a docile, womanly little +creature of six years, to pick up the stitches dropped by busy, +careless, eager Jacqueline. It is a household Jacques Benoix loves to +hear about, and Kate to visit.</p> + +<p>But she never stays long. Cities bewilder her with their crowded +indifference—men hurrying hither and thither like ants in an ant-hill, +heedless of the wide sky above, heedless of each other, heedless of +everything except each the small burden he carries on his back. Always +she turns home to Jacques and the mountains with a sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>Often, for she is not the woman to neglect a duty because it is painful, +Kate goes down to Storm, a home now for crippled children, both white +and black. It seems to her that the old house has grown less grim and +forbidding under the influence of the little people who are happy there +because of Basil Kildare's memory of his crippled daughter;—and also, +perhaps, of another crippled child, his son.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Often, too, she makes one of her flying visits to James and Jemima +Thorpe.</p> + +<p>Once, some years since, she was called in haste to nurse Jemima through +what her husband's telegram indicated as a "slight indisposition"; and +upon hurrying to the sickroom was astounded to find Mrs. Thorpe propped +up in bed, ministering very deftly to the needs of an infant son, so +like his father that it was rather a shock to see him without +eye-glasses.</p> + +<p>It took Kate several days to recover her breath.</p> + +<p>At last, happening one day to discover Jemima gazing down at her +gourmand child with something more than tolerance in her expression, +Kate blurted out:</p> + +<p>"But I thought you did not believe in babies, Blossom!"</p> + +<p>"Believe in them? Why, of course, Mother! Babies are quite indispensable +to the scheme of things—but not to me."</p> + +<p>"Then—why—?"</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Jemima, practically, "it seemed rather a pity that there +should be no one to inherit Aunt Jemima's money. And then—well, +intelligences such as James' and mine really ought to be perpetuated, I +suppose. As you once said—my baby isn't all Kildare!"</p> + +<p>She gave her husband a quick, shy smile that was rather demonstrative +for Jemima.</p> + +<p>He leaned over and took her hand. "Why not tell your mother the truth, +my dear?"</p> + +<p>She flushed. "That is the truth, of course! Or—well, not perhaps <i>all</i> +the truth.... You see, Mother, you were so upset about poor Jacky's +baby.... Of course it's not quite the same, she is more like you than I +am. But still ... And what you said about the 'spark.' ... So, you +see—"</p> + +<p>In her dread of sentiment, she was bungling the explanation so badly +that James Thorpe took it out of her hands.</p> + +<p>"Kate, you may regard the young person in question" (he grinned down at +it fatuously) "as <i>our</i> child in only the technical sense of the word. +It is, in fact, Jemima's gift to you. She came to the conclusion that +she could offer you nothing you would prefer to a grandson."</p> + +<p>"But," choked Kate, between laughter and tears, "suppose it had been a +granddaughter?"</p> + +<p>"Evidently you don't yet know our Jemima," remarked the husband.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Even Kate's grandson, however, does not keep her long away from the +mountains and Jacques.</p> + +<p>She knows that their time together, hers and her husband's, must be +short. Neither misunderstands the significance of the little cough with +which he has fought, for years, a losing battle. But they know, too, +that it is given to few to taste the splendor of life as they have +tasted it together; the joy of dreams realized, of service shared.</p> + +<p>Kate was right in her belief that Jacques could take no advantage of the +disclosure made by Mahaly. "The stone I threw was meant for Basil," he +said. "Nevertheless—I am glad it failed to strike him. And I think that +Basil, wherever he is, must be glad, too."</p> + +<p>"<i>Wherever he is?</i>" repeated Kate, quickly. The subject of the hereafter +was become of poignant interest to her, facing as she must what lay +before them. "Oh, Jacques! Are you beginning to believe—to believe—?"</p> + +<p>He interrupted her sadly. "I can believe only what I can understand. You +must forgive me, my Kate. Only, sometimes there are dreams a man has, +echoes perhaps out of his childhood—" he broke off with a shrug, "And +one is envious when one sees a faith such as Philip's in his God, so +strong, so sure.—Like his little-boy faith that his father was the best +and greatest of men, all-wise, infallible."</p> + +<p>Kate said, with her hand on his, "Sometimes a little boy is right, +dear."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There have been great changes on Misty Ridge since Kate went to live in +the mountains. The work Dr. Benoix started alone has grown beyond +belief, and the influence of it extends now far beyond his immediate +locality.</p> + +<p>He has many other assistants than his wife, though none more able—a +young oculist who specializes in trachoma, and makes no complaint of +lack of practice; two trained teachers to help in the classrooms; even a +clergyman fresh from his seminary to take the place left vacant by +Philip, greatly to the satisfaction of Bates the peddler, and somewhat +to the satisfaction of Dr. Benoix himself.</p> + +<p>As he once explained to the visiting Bishop: "I will undertake to treat +as best I can any ill of the human body or the human mind; but when it +comes to the human soul—that calls for a bolder man than I am!"</p> + +<p>The State is beginning to take notice of Misty Ridge, and offers of +assistance come more rapidly than Kate can decline them. She does +decline them; for the work there is Jacques Benoix' work, and she guards +it for him jealously, to be his monument in the eyes of men when the +great spirit that created it shall have passed into some other sphere of +usefulness.</p> + +<p>She herself, for all her share in the life of Jacques' people, their +birth, their death, and the hard interval between, is nothing more to +the dwellers on Misty Ridge than "Mrs. Teacher"—sometimes "Ole Mrs. +Teacher," now that the glow of her hair is touched with gray, and +beautiful lines are growing about her beautiful eyes.</p> + +<p>But it is a name she loves above all other names—"Ole Mrs. Teacher." +She wears it far more proudly than she ever wore her former title of +"the Madam."</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30291 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/30291-h/images/frontis.jpg b/30291-h/images/frontis.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cdadb78 --- /dev/null +++ b/30291-h/images/frontis.jpg |
