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diff --git a/old/67115-h/67115-h.htm b/old/67115-h/67115-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 4eefb6e..0000000 --- a/old/67115-h/67115-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3600 +0,0 @@ -<!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" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - Their Child, by Robert Herrick—A Project Gutenberg eBook - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } - - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - - - -.tdr {text-align: right;} - - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; -} - -.pagenum2 { - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - margin-left: 1.1em; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; -} - -.x-ebookmaker .pagenum2 {display: none;} - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 5%; -} - - - -.poetry-container {text-align: center;} -.poetry {display: inline-block; text-align: left;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold; text-align: center;} - - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; -} - -.ph1 {text-align: center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;} -.ph2 {text-align: center; font-size: xx-large; font-weight: bold;} -.ph3 {text-align: center; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;} - -.large {font-size: 125%;} - -div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;} -div.titlepage p {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 2em;} - -.gap {padding-left: 6em;} -.gapright {padding-right: 6em;} - -.antiqua { - font-family: Blackletter, Fraktur, Textur, "Old English Text MT", "Olde English Mt", "Olde English", Gothic, serif, sans-serif;} - -.hangingindent {text-indent: -2em; } - -img.drop-cap -{ - float: left; - margin: -0.25em 0.5em 0 0; -} - -img.drop-cap2 -{ - float: left; - margin: -0.25em 0.5em 0 0; -} - -p.drop-cap:first-letter -{ - color: transparent; - visibility: hidden; - margin-left: -1em; -} - -p.drop-cap2:first-letter -{ - color: transparent; - visibility: hidden; - margin-left: -1.4em; -} - -.x-ebookmaker img.drop-cap -{ - display: none; -} - -.x-ebookmaker img.drop-cap2 -{ - display: none; -} -.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap:first-letter -{ - color: inherit; - visibility: visible; - margin-left: 0; -} - -.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap2:first-letter -{ - color: inherit; - visibility: visible; - margin-left: 0; -} - -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; - padding: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - - </style> - </head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Their Child, by Robert Herrick</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Their Child</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Robert Herrick</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: Seymour M. Stone</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 6, 2022 [eBook #67115]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by University of California libraries)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THEIR CHILD ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/cover.jpg" width="40%" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph1"><span class="gapright"><i>LITTLE NOVELS BY</i></span><br /> -<span class="gap"><i>FAVOURITE AUTHORS</i></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_dongle.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p class="center"><span class="large">Their Child</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_singledongle.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p class="center">ROBERT HERRICK</p> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_logo.jpg" alt="" /></div> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_0"></span> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" alt="" /></div> -<p class="caption"><i>Robert Herrick</i></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="titlepage"> -<p class="ph2">Their Child</p> - -<p>BY<br /> - -<span class="large">ROBERT HERRICK</span><br /> - -AUTHOR OF “THE WEB OF LIFE,” “THE MAN<br /> -WHO WINS,” “THE GOSPEL OF FREEDOM,”<br /> -ETC.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p><span class="antiqua">New York</span><br /> - -<span class="large">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</span><br /> - -LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.<br /> - -1903<br /> -<br /> -<i>All rights reserved</i></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center"> -<span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1903,<br /> -<span class="smcap">By</span> THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> -<br /> -Set up, electrotyped, and published October, 1903.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Norwood Press<br /> -J. B. Cushing Co.—Berwick & Smith Co.<br /> -Norwood Mass., U.S.A.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span> -</div> -<div class="hangingindent"> -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>MR. ROBERT HERRICK, the author of -“The Gospel of Freedom,” “The Web of -Life,” and “The Real World,” was born -in Cambridge, Mass., April 26, 1868. -His father was a lawyer, practising in -Boston. His people on both sides were -of New England stock, the Herricks -running back in New England to 1632, -and the Emerys, Mannings, Hales, and -Peabodys, with whom among others his -genealogy is connected, having much the -same history. Mr. Herrick was educated -at the Cambridge public schools, and at -Harvard University, graduating in 1890. -His freshman year and part of his sophomore -year were spent in travelling in -the West Indies, Mexico, California, -Alaska, and other regions, in company -with his classmate, Philip Stanley Abbot. -While in college Mr. Herrick paid special -attention to English studies, attending -courses of lectures delivered by the late -Professor Child, Professor James, and -Professor Barrett Wendell, among others.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum2" id="Page_2">[2]</span>For a year he was one of the editors of the -<i>Harvard Advocate</i>, and contributed several -stories to that magazine. Later he -was editor of the <i>Harvard Monthly</i>—the -purely literary magazine of the University,—contributing -frequently to its -pages. One of his fellow-editors was -Norman Hapgood, the author of “Abraham -Lincoln: the Man of the People,” -and “George Washington.”</p> - -<p>After graduation Mr. Herrick began to teach -English at the Massachusetts Institute of -Technology, under Professor George R. -Carpenter (now of Columbia University), -and continued to correct themes and to -give an occasional course in literature -until 1893, when he resigned his position -in Boston to accept an instructorship in -English at the University of Chicago. -In 1895 he was appointed Assistant Professor -of Rhetoric in the University, and -he has since taught chiefly Rhetoric and -English Composition.</p> - - - -<p>The summer of 1892 he spent in England<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_3">[3]</span> -and on the Continent. In 1895 he went -abroad for fifteen months, for rest and -literary work, living in Paris and Florence -during most of the period. While -in Europe he wrote the first draft of “The -Man Who Wins,” which was published -two years later; also the first form of -“The Gospel of Freedom,” and various -short stories, which were first published -in the magazines and afterward reprinted -in “Literary Love Letters and Other -Stories,” and in “Love’s Dilemmas.” -In addition to his writing in the line of -fiction, Mr. Herrick has done a great -deal of work on more or less professional -topics. Magazine articles about methods -of teaching rhetoric, introductions and -notes for school editions of classics, one -or two text-books on rhetoric,—these -items give an idea of the sort of work -which has occupied Mr. Herrick’s attention -apart from fiction. He is one of the -few modern American writers who have -the courage and the strength to paint life<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_4">[4]</span> -exactly as they see it,—in its joy, its -beauty, its sombreness, and its sorrow -alike,—without making it seem happier -or nearer the ideal than it is.</p> -</div></div> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">[v]</span> -<h2 class="nobreak">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> -</div> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" summary="table"> - - -<tr><td>Portrait of Robert Herrick</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_0"> <i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><td> </td><td class="tdr"><small>FACING PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td>“His wife was ... hurriedly undressing the child”</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_50"> 50</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>“She knelt beside him and took his head in her hands”</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_90"> 90</a></td></tr> -</table> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span> -<h1>THEIR CHILD</h1> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_001.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p class="ph2">THEIR CHILD</p> - -<h2 class="nobreak">I</h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_dropcapt.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - - -<p class="drop-cap2">“THERE he comes with Dora! -I am so glad. I wanted you -to see him so much—all of -you.”</p> - -<p>The company gathered in the drawing-room -smiled sympathetically at the -mother’s pride. They craned their necks -about the window to get sight of the -small boy. He was a white speck in -the long green lawn.</p> - -<p>“Comes rather reluctantly,” observed -Dr. Vessinger, with a touch of irony. -“Doesn’t seem to have his mother’s -taste for society!”</p> - -<p>“The little dear! How cunning!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span> -A perfect dear!” the women exclaimed -with more or less animation.</p> - -<p>“Why, he is in such a temper! Little -Oscar! What is the matter with little -Oscar?”</p> - -<p>The child’s screams could be heard -plainly, coming upward from the lawn, -in shrill bursts of infantile passion. Mrs. -Simmons was troubled with a mother’s -confusion and distress. The nurse was -holding little Oscar at arm’s length, for -safety, while the child circled about her, -kicking and thrusting with legs and -arms. Mrs. Simmons stepped through the -open window to the terrace and called:</p> - -<p>“Oscar! Oscar!” But neither nurse -nor child paid any attention to her.</p> - -<p>“He is occupied with a greater passion,” -the doctor laughed.</p> - -<p>“Unconscious little animals, children,” -observed one of the women.</p> - -<p>“He has temperament—”</p> - -<p>“His mother’s?” another woman suggested -slyly. She was large, very -blonde, very well preserved, and was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> -known by her intimates as “the Magnificent -Wreck.”</p> - -<p>The shrill cries penetrated at last -even the room beyond the large drawing-room -where the people were gathered, -and aroused the father, who had -been called on a matter of business into -the study. He stepped briskly into the -room,—a handsome man of forty, with -black curling hair and crisp black beard -cut to a point. His cheek-bones were -high, and the skin of his upper face was -ruddy, as from much living in the open -air.</p> - -<p>“What is the matter with the boy?” -he demanded abruptly.</p> - -<p>“Just a case of ‘I don’t want to,’” -observed Dr. Vessinger. “When we -are young and feel that way, we let the -world know it all of a sudden.”</p> - -<p>“And when we are grown,” joined in -the large, blonde woman, smiling at the -doctor, “we say nothing, but do as we -like.”</p> - -<p>“If we can,” added a young woman,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span> -with nervous anxiety to be in the conversation.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Simmons had disappeared -through the French window that opened -to the terrace. Her husband followed, -and the others lounged, after bandying -words on the occasion. They could see -below them on the slope of the lawn the -young mother, the nurse, the child.</p> - -<p>“Why, Dora! What is the matter?” -they could hear her say. “Oscar, be -still. Be quiet and come to me.”</p> - -<p>She must have spoken reprovingly to -the nurse, for next came in injured Irish -tones:</p> - -<p>“What have <i>I</i> done, mum? The boy -was pounding the breath of life out of -the Vance child. I could not keep his -fists from his face. What have I done? -Indeed!”</p> - -<p>“There, don’t answer any more. -Take Oscar to the nursery, and wash -his face, and bring him down. I want -these ladies and gentlemen to see him.”</p> - -<p>Little Oscar, who had much the same<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span> -coloring and shape of head as his father, -listened quietly while his mother spoke -to the nurse. When she had finished and -Dora tugged at his hand, he shouted:</p> - -<p>“I won’t! Do you hear? I won’t! -Don’t you touch me! I say, don’t you -touch me!”</p> - -<p>He enunciated with great distinctness, -with mature deliberation. When the -nurse tried to take his arm, she received a -well-aimed blow in the pit of her stomach, -delivered with all the vigor of a lusty -five years.</p> - -<p>“Oscar! Why, my little man!” the -mother exclaimed helplessly.</p> - -<p>Mr. Simmons, who had been watching -the group, vaulted over the terrace wall -and strode rapidly down the slope. -Little Oscar, at the apparition of his -long-legged father, turned and fled -around the wing of the house. His -nurse followed grumblingly.</p> - -<p>“Bravo!” exclaimed Dr. Vessinger, -satirically. “Young Hercules needs -the chastening hand of his sire.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>“We shall have to call <i>you</i> in, I guess, -Vessinger, if the kid’s temper gets worse. -It’s too much for his mother now, and -he is only afraid of me because I am -home so little he doesn’t exactly realize -I am his father. When he does, he will -be boxing <i>me</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” sighed Mrs. Simmons, red with -annoyance. “It has come all of a sudden, -too. He was so gentle as a baby, -so sweet. I think it must be the nurse, -Dora.”</p> - -<p>The company looked sympathetic, and -she continued apologetically: “She is a -good woman, but she is so tactless. -She doesn’t know how to manage the -little fellow. She should appeal to his -reason, I think.”</p> - -<p>“It is sometimes difficult to get a -quiet hearing,” observed the doctor.</p> - -<p>“Tiresome creatures, nurses,” the -Magnificent Wreck added sympathetically. -“I can remember how I hated -<i>mine</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Can you?” the younger woman put<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> -in inadvertently, as though called upon -to applaud a triumph of memory.</p> - -<p>“But what a beautiful child!” exclaimed -the Magnificent one, declining -issue with the other. “So like his -father, as he stood there, his head -thrown back. When he whirled past -us just now, there was the gleam of the -Viking in his eyes!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, all he needed was a carving-knife -to be a first-class pirate,” Vessinger -added lightly.</p> - -<p>The father laughed, but not heartily; -and Vessinger, feeling the topic exhausted, -turned to his blonde neighbor:</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Bellflower, there are real clouds -in the sky out there. What do you think -of our chances with the rain?”</p> - -<p>“You mustn’t go!” their host and hostess -protested. Mrs. Simmons added in -an undertone: “I wonder if it <i>could</i> be -the thunder-storm that upset poor little -Oscar so completely? Thunder affects -me, always.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>Dr. Vessinger was at her elbow to say -good-by.</p> - -<p>“It is charming to find you again,” -he said, taking her hand and looking -boldly into her face. “To find you in -this—this splendid scene, with your -charming child and your husband. You -are looking so young that, if it were not -for us others, I might shut my eyes and -believe I was in Sicily!”</p> - -<p>He spoke deliberately, as though he -wished to give two meanings to every -word he uttered. The young woman’s -color changed, and her hands played -with the leaves of a book she had taken -at random from the table.</p> - -<p>“You must come again, often—I -want to see you,” she said abruptly, -looking at him honestly. “I know you -have done some things since that time, -and I am glad of it!”</p> - -<p>“Thank you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, come! This is nonsense. You -aren’t going to slip away on any such -easy excuse as that,” burst in Simmons.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span> -“See, your storm is passing around. -And if it comes, what could be finer -than a gallop back in the clear air after -the rain has washed the dirt out? It -will lay the dust, too.”</p> - -<p>“No, no!” delivered Mrs. Bellflower. -“We don’t want to go yet, doctor. -Maybe we can stay to dinner if it rains. -Let’s go out to the terrace.”</p> - -<p>They stepped out of the open windows -to the broad brick terrace that -completed the east side of the house. -Beneath them in the distance, to the -eastward, lay the great city, and beyond -they knew there was the sea. Over the -lofty chimneys and massy ramparts of -houses lowered the storm, which was -spreading in two forks about the horizon. -Slowly it was climbing up the dome of -the sky toward them. An edging of gold -fired the black mass from time to time.</p> - -<p>“Grand place you have here, Simmons,” -Dr. Vessinger observed. “The -top of a hill not too high,—that’s the -right place for a country house.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>“If Olaf were only here oftener,” -the wife remarked. “He’s just come -home, and he says he must leave soon -again.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, those Jews I work for, the -Techheimer Brothers, mean that I shall -earn my salary. They are dickering for -some new mines in Mexico, and want -me to look them over.”</p> - -<p>“But you are promised to me for the -tenth,” Mrs. Bellflower protested.</p> - -<p>“What are the Techheimers to that?” -commented the doctor.</p> - -<p>“Nothing! I shall put them off -until the eleventh,” Simmons responded -heartily. “It’s going to be a -fierce jaunt, and I am not keen to -start.”</p> - -<p>“Take us! We would all go, wouldn’t -we, Mrs. Simmons?” the younger woman -put in.</p> - -<p>“I am afraid the hotels wouldn’t -please you down there. And queer -things happen sometimes. The last -time I was there—it was ticklish. I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> -never wanted to go back. You wouldn’t -have liked it, not you women.”</p> - -<p>“Tell it! Tell us!” they chorused. -Vessinger lit a cigarette and resigned -himself to watching the assembling -clouds. Imperceptibly he drew away -from the group, as if declining to be -one where he was not first.</p> - -<p>“I <i>adore</i> adventures!” the Magnificent -Wreck added sentimentally, encouragingly. -Simmons folded his arms -across his breast. His eyes flashed pleasantly. -The story interested him, too:—</p> - -<p>“Well, it was in ’91, for the Techheimer -Brothers. One of the first jobs -I did for them. They wired me from -St. Louis that a certain old Don from -whom I had bought several car-loads -of ore, which had been forwarded to -their smelter, had done us very prettily. -He had salted his cars very cleverly. -The ore ran short of the assay by several -thousand dollars, all told. I had made -the assay—you understand?</p> - -<p>“It was my duty to take the three<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> -days’ journey from the City of Mexico to -Don Herara’s headquarters in the little -town of Los Puertos, see the old rascal, -and without having a quarrel, induce him -to refund the money he had cheated us -out of.</p> - -<p>“Los Puertos is almost the loneliest -spot I ever got into, for a town. It is -at the end of a two days’ stage-ride -from the railroad. It is hell! Just peons, -a great adobe barracks where my old -thief lived, a swift river rushing down -from the mountains behind the town—nothing -more.</p> - -<p>“You should have seen us the afternoon -of my arrival, sitting in the old -Don’s office, drinking <i>petits verres</i> and -swapping compliments. ‘Your honorable -excellency,’ said I; ‘Your noble -courtesy,’ said he. And so on. The -Don had white hair, a hawk nose, brown -eyes, that had slunk deep under his -brows, and the long white beard of a -patriarch. He was a most respectable -sinner!</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>“Every time some one stepped across -the room above I wanted to jump. I -thought he must have a dozen or so of -his peons hidden up there to slice me -with their great <i>machetes</i> when he gave -the signal. As the afternoon grew -mellow, I began to suggest in ten-foot -sentences that some rascally servant of -his honorable right-mindedness had been -deceiving his grace, and had caused my -poor masters the loss of some thousands -of dollars, the loss of which was nothing -to them compared with the sorrow they -felt that his honorable good name was -thus sullied by an unworthy servant.</p> - -<p>“My old Don gulped my compliments -without a wink: he had known what I -was after all along, of course. When I -had turned the corner of the last Spanish -sentence, he nodded at me pleasantly, -but his brows were stretched like catgut. -He cleared his throat and spat, and I -seemed to hear all sorts of things going -on over my head. That little room was -the loneliest place on the earth just then.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>“Had you a pistol?” broke in Mrs. -Bellflower, breathlessly.</p> - -<p>“I carefully left that behind me in the -City of Mexico. For if it should come -to that, it would only have complicated -matters. I rarely travel with a -revolver.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bellflower regretted this lack of -picturesqueness.</p> - -<p>“Well, my Don looked at me for a few -minutes. Then he said, ‘Shall we enjoy -the cool of the evening in a gentle -stroll?’ We went out on the stony trail -up toward the black mountains. They -looked cold and bare.</p> - -<p>“‘Los Puertos,’ he remarked philosophically, -‘is a very small place. It is -very far away from your home, Señor -Simmons.’ ‘I have been in places -farther away, sir, and got back, too.’ ‘I -own it all, Señor Americano; every soul -of these people is mine.’ ‘So,’ I answered, -as stiff for the boast as he, ‘the -Techheimers are great people.’ And I -blew a lot about my bosses, how they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> -watched their men and took an eye for -an eye, every time. Finally, we turned -back toward the town and came through -a patch of cactus to the river, which was -brawling along over big stones. There -was a narrow foot-bridge across. ‘After -you,’ says the Don. I looked him in the -eye, and thought I saw the twinkle of -mischief.</p> - -<p>“I never wanted to do murder before -or since. But there in the dusk, beside -that dirty river of mud and stones from -the mountains, where he meant to drown -me, I came near wringing his neck. I -guess my nerves had got tired of expecting -things to happen. I walked up -to him, and I must have looked fierce, -for he whistled, and one or two men who -were skulking about joined us. I was -so mad that a moment more and I should -have had my hands about his windpipe, -no matter whether they cut me into -mince-meat the next minute. Do you -know what it is to feel like doing murder? -It’s the drunkest kind of feeling<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span> -you can have—you don’t know yourself -at all—”</p> - -<p>“I should like to try that!” sighed -Mrs. Bellflower.</p> - -<p>At this point there seemed to come -somewhere from the rooms above a -frightened cry.</p> - -<p>“Mercy!” exclaimed the young -woman, “what’s that?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Simmons sprang up, and stood -listening. Then they could all hear -distinctly in a woman’s voice:</p> - -<p>“Oh, oh! He has killed me! Oh, -oh!” Then silence.</p> - -<p>Before the last groans reached their -ears Mrs. Simmons had darted into the -dark drawing-room, calling as she sped, -“Oscar! my little Oscar!”</p> - -<p>On the terrace they could hear again -more faintly the “Oh, oh, oh!” from -above.</p> - -<p>“And what <i>did</i> happen to your old -Don?” Mrs. Bellflower asked with a -show of unconcern.</p> - -<p>“Why, nothing much. I—”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>“Oh, Olaf! Come, Olaf!”</p> - -<p>It was Mrs. Simmons’s voice this time. -Simmons bounded from the terrace, -calling:</p> - -<p>“Yes, Evelyn! Coming, Evelyn!”</p> - -<p>The others jumped from their chairs.</p> - -<p>“Come, Dr. Vessinger!” exclaimed -the Magnificent Wreck. “I think it is -time you and I and Miss Flower were -gone. Where are the horses?”</p> - -<p>“Do you think we should leave quite -yet?” the doctor asked, somewhat cynically. -“It seems to me the story has -just begun.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you may stay for the end. -But I am going!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_024.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">II</h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_dropcaps.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">SIMMONS stumbled across the -hall and up the dark staircase. -The coming storm had suddenly -blackened all the house. The -open doors of the bedrooms sucked out -the swaying air that came in puffs from -the windows. In the eastern room, -above the terrace where they had been -sitting, Simmons found his wife, clasping -their child in a hysterical embrace.</p> - -<p>“What have you done? My darling—my -one—my Oscar!” A dry sob -ended the broken exclamations.</p> - -<p>They were huddled in a heap upon -the floor beside the window. The child’s -face had a look of intense wonder, of -concentrated thought upon some difficult -idea which eluded his baby mind.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> -Across the iron cot at one side of the -room was stretched the inert form of the -nurse.</p> - -<p>“Look at her, Olaf,” said Mrs. Simmons. -“He has—cut her—stabbed -her with the knife.”</p> - -<p>As Simmons approached the bed, he -kicked something with his foot. It fell -upon the tiled fireplace with the tinkle of -steel. The woman on the bed groaned. -Simmons turned on the electric light, -and hastily examined the nurse.</p> - -<p>“She’s not badly hurt, Evelyn. A -scratch along the neck. She fainted at -the sight of blood, I guess. But what -was the knife?”</p> - -<p>He picked up the thing from the fireplace -and examined it. It was a long, -dull, sharp-pointed knife, brought from -the kitchen to cut bread with. Along -the edge it was faintly daubed with -blood. Simmons, still holding it in his -hands, stepped to the window. His -wife was crouching there, sobbing over -the child, whom she held in her arms<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span> -tightly. Little Oscar’s eyes were fixed -upon the thunder-clouds outside. He -neither saw nor heard what was passing -in the room. The father leaned over -and touched his forehead with his hand. -The child shrank away.</p> - -<p>“You must take him out of here, Evelyn!” -he said. “I will look after her.”</p> - -<p>“She must have been cutting the -bread for his supper, and laid the knife -down on the table for a moment. I—I -told her never to leave it about. I have -been afraid—of something!”</p> - -<p>“You have been afraid?” her husband -asked quickly. “Why so?”</p> - -<p>The boy moved uneasily and turned -his head to watch his father.</p> - -<p>“What you got my knife for?” he -demanded. “Give me my knife!”</p> - -<p>“You shall never, never have it -again!” his mother moaned, clasping -him more tightly.</p> - -<p>“Why not?” he asked curiously. -“What’s the matter with Dora? Why’s -she lying on my bed? Tell her to get<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> -up. I am tired. Oscar wants to go to -bed.”</p> - -<p>His eyelids fell and rose, as though -the long search for the mysterious thing -in his mind had put him into a doze.</p> - -<p>“He does not seem to know what he -has done. What is it? Olaf, what is -the matter with him?”</p> - -<p>“Ssh, hush! Don’t rouse him. Get -him to bed. <i>Don’t</i> let him know. I’ll -look after Dora—she’s coming around -now—and then I’ll call Vessinger, if it -is necessary.”</p> - -<p>“No! no! not him,” she protested -vehemently. “I don’t want him to see, -to know anything about it,—no one, but -he least of all.”</p> - -<p>Simmons looked mystified by her vehemence.</p> - -<p>“It all seems dark around me!” she -moaned.</p> - -<p>“There,” he said soothingly. “Wrap -him in that dressing-gown and take him -to your room. I must attend to this -woman.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>In spite of his wife’s objections, however, -he went downstairs to look for -the doctor. The room and the terrace -were both empty; he could see the party -riding, like a group of scuttled birds, at -a hard gallop down the lane at the end -of the lawn.</p> - -<p>“They might have waited to find -out!” he muttered. Great drops of -rain splashed on the bricks about him. -They had fled from his house even in -the teeth of the storm. He returned -hastily to the nurse, bathed the wound in -the neck, and gave her some liquor from -his flask. When she had gone to her -room, he went downstairs once more, -without crossing the hall to his wife’s -room. That took a kind of courage -which he did not have. Servants had -lit the lamps in the long room and pulled -the shades. Outside the rain swept -across the terrace and beat upon the -French windows. He waited, listening, -irresolute, unwilling to take the future -in his hands.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>Finally he detected a dragging step -on the stairs. His wife came slowly -toward him, her erect young woman’s -head crushed under a weight of fear.</p> - -<p>“They have gone,” she sighed with -relief.</p> - -<p>“Yes, they cleared out in the face of -the storm!”</p> - -<p>“I am so glad!”</p> - -<p>“Sit down, dear,” he urged, taking her -cold hands.</p> - -<p>She disengaged herself from him before -he could kiss her, and sat down -beside the long table in a straight stiff -chair. She clasped her hands tightly -and looked at her husband with a face -of misery and horror.</p> - -<p>“What is it, Olaf? Tell me what it -is. Tell me!”</p> - -<p>“Why, what do you mean by <i>it</i>?” he -stammered.</p> - -<p>“You know!” she exclaimed passionately. -“Don’t let us hide it any longer. -What is the matter with little Oscar, with -<i>our</i> child?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>“What do you mean?” He was still -looking for subterfuges.</p> - -<p>“It wasn’t Dora. I knew he would -do it some day, and I have tried to keep -things that he could do harm with from -him. I dreaded this. Something seized -him,—something inside him,—and he -snatched the knife out of her hand. -When I got there, he was looking at the -knife. It was—all bloody. Oh, Olaf! -He was talking to himself. Then he -dropped the knife, and he didn’t seem -to remember. He is sleeping now, just -as if it had never happened.”</p> - -<p>“It’s just his fearful temper, Evelyn,” -the man answered with an effort. “Dora -irritates him, and the thundery air and -all. You must pack up and get to the -seashore or mountains, where it’s more -bracing. He’s just nervous like you -and me, only more so, because he’s -smaller.”</p> - -<p>She shook her head wearily. What -was the use of self-deception? Hadn’t -she watched this habit of rage for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> -months? The child was a part of her; -and more than she knew her hand or -her foot she knew him. Doctors talked -of nerves and diet. But she had seen -the storms gather in the child and -watched them burst.</p> - -<p>“No! That is no use, Olaf. I can’t -tell myself those things any more and -be contented. It is worse!”</p> - -<p>Simmons was walking up and down -the room, hands thrust in his pockets, -his face knit over the problem.</p> - -<p>“All the world like old Oscar,” he -muttered, talking to himself.</p> - -<p>His wife caught up the words greedily.</p> - -<p>“Old Oscar Svenson, your step-father, -the one who brought you up and -gave you your education? The one we -named him after?”</p> - -<p>The man nodded half guiltily.</p> - -<p>“Yes, old Oscar,—the man who gave -me everything,—the chance to live, to -win you—all.”</p> - -<p>He resumed his tramp to and fro -across the rug, scrupulously refraining<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span> -from stepping beyond the border. His -wife still kept her eyes fixed on him, as -though resolved to win from him the -secret of the matter. Suddenly she -rose and went to him, putting her arms -about his neck.</p> - -<p>“Let me look at you! You have -always been a good man, I know. You -need not tell me so. This cannot be -some terrible revenge for your weakness -or wickedness. Have I not held you in -my arms? I should have known, if it -had been you, for whom our boy suffers.”</p> - -<p>He kissed her tenderly and led her to -a couch; then knelt down beside her.</p> - -<p>“No, Evelyn—not that. But you -must be calm or you will lose your head. -You take it too seriously. Oscar is a -baby five years old. A five-year-old -baby!”</p> - -<p>“And some day he will commit -murder. My God, will you tell me to be -quiet and not think of that!”</p> - -<p>A maid entered the room to announce -dinner.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_033.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">III</h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_dropcapm.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">MRS. SIMMONS sat through -the meal, white faced and -silent. Her eyes followed her -husband’s nervous movements, but she -did not seem to be listening to his incessant -talk. He was trying to talk away -the disagreeable thing between them, -and apparently she had not the strength -to join him in the effort. She saw him -across the table, strangely apart from -her,—not the lover and husband who -had been woven into her life. He was -a large, tall man, with clear black eyes, -a resounding laugh, and vehement, expressive -movements. Compared with -Dr. Vessinger he had almost a foreign -intensity and emotionality about him,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span> -which it occurred to her suddenly had -become more prominent during the -years of their marriage, just as his chest -had broadened, his arms and hands had -become thicker, his whole person had -grown mature.</p> - -<p>She recalled him as he was when she -had first seen him, in Colorado Springs, -eight years before, tall, large-boned, -awkward. He had gained from civilization. -The power that she had felt then -in the rough, she had tested in the common -manner of marriage and had never -found it wanting—until now!</p> - -<p>Now, from this fear which beset her, -this trouble growing from them both in -the person and soul of the child, she -could feel no help in him. He was -turning away his gaze and chattering, -believing only in gross physical ills, -such as sickness and sudden death, loss -of money and accident,—calamities -which one might name to one’s neighbors, -discuss with one’s doctor, and -bemoan quite aloud. But for this which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span> -was unnamable, the fear of destiny, he -had no courage: he refused to see! -She must grope her way to the understanding -of the riddle; she must begin, -alone, the struggle with the future....</p> - -<p>The maid poured Simmons a second -glass of whiskey and water, and handed -him a box of cigars. He leaned back -in his chair, stretching forward his feet -in physical comfort, emphasized by the -roar of the summer tempest, which had -finally broken in full fury outside. -Forked streaks of light illumined the -pallid curtains; furious bursts of rain -hit sharply the casement windows, as -with the thongs of whips. Lull and -sullen quiet; then the fury of the tempest—thus -it repeated itself.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Simmons left the room, noiselessly -crossing the hall and mounting -the stairs. By the time her husband -finished his cigar she had returned, -with the same stealthy, restless step, the -same questioning eyes.</p> - -<p>“He is lying so quietly, Olaf,” she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span> -said. “His arm is doubled under his -head, and his little fingers are open. -His lips tremble with his breath. He -is my angel again! I cannot believe -anything else. Why should <i>my</i> child be -that demon?”</p> - -<p>Her husband put his arm about her -affectionately and led her into the -drawing-room.</p> - -<p>“There! You are coming to look at -it sensibly, Evelyn,” he said encouragingly.</p> - -<p>She drew away from his caress.</p> - -<p>“No, no! I know what is there. I -had rather see him dead in his bed there -to-night than to see that fire in his eyes -grow and burn and kill him!”</p> - -<p>Suddenly she burst into tears.</p> - -<p>“To fear it always. To think of it -day and night. To know that it will -come back and seize him some hour -when I am not there to help him! O -God, why did it come to me? What -have I done?”</p> - -<p>She wept miserably, but when he tried<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span> -to comfort her she held herself aloof. -In their misery they were apart, God -dealing with each one in his sorrow -separately.</p> - -<p>“Come, Evelyn!” the husband broke -out. “Enough of this! To-morrow -we’ll have in a doctor, the best you can -find in the city. Maybe he’ll just give -him a dose of something and jog his -liver.”</p> - -<p>But his wife, who had been standing -beside the window, her forehead pressed -against the cold pane, whirled about and -faced him.</p> - -<p>“Did you—ever think—that—you -were old Oscar’s son?”</p> - -<p>“What put that into your head? I -told you all I knew—the story old -Oscar told me. The whole camp had -it the same way.”</p> - -<p>“That he found you in the frozen -cabin of those Vermonters up among -the Rockies? Your father and mother -had died from cold and hunger, and he -found you just in time?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>“Yes, that was it.”</p> - -<p>He hesitated a moment; and then he -added honestly:</p> - -<p>“It must have been so; but I have -never found a man who knew anything -about the cabin, or those Vermonters. -Well, it made no difference—so long as -you took me.”</p> - -<p>“No, it made no matter to me. I -said so then when you asked me to marry -you.” She waited a moment before -adding, “And I say so now. <i>Nothing</i> -can make it any different!”</p> - -<p>“Bless you for that!”</p> - -<p>But she quickly parted from his kiss.</p> - -<p>“Tell me about old Oscar. He was -rough and bad at times, wasn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, rough,—not bad—a fierce -customer, a regular Berserker, when he -was taken that way,—when he was -drunk or in a bad humor. But I don’t -want to think of that—he was so good -to me, brought me up, gave me my education, -taught me my profession himself, -and put me in the way of having<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span> -a happy life. It isn’t right to remember -his bad side.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean? You never -told me he was bad. I thought you -meant he was rough and uneducated—that -he made his way without a cent -from the time he landed in New York. -What else do you mean? Was he a -bad man? Was he wicked?”</p> - -<p>The man walked to and fro, disturbed -and puzzled. He had stumbled on the -worst idea in the world for his wife to -feed her imagination upon, and yet he -knew that she was aroused—he could -not put her off with excuses. He had -never told her of his old barbarian benefactor’s -darker side, partly because he -did not like to mention rude vices to -her and partly because it seemed disloyal -to his kindest friend. And he -was not skilful in handling the truth. -What he had to say, he was forced to -blurt out plainly.</p> - -<p>“Why, it wasn’t drawing-room life in -a Colorado camp in those days, anyway,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span> -and the older crowd were a pretty rough -lot, all of them. Oscar Svenson was -better than most, generally. But he -would have his times of being drunk -and disorderly, and he was such a big -fellow and so strong that when he got -violent the camp generally knew it. -I can remember once when I was a -little fellow sitting in the corner of -the saloon when he had one of his -fits. He was a giant, a head taller -than I am, with a great mane of hair -all over his head, growing down the -nape of his neck in a thick mat under -his shirt.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Simmons started, and twisted -her hands nervously. But she controlled -herself.</p> - -<p>“Go on!”</p> - -<p>“When he was drunk, he didn’t shoot—that -wasn’t his way. He would use -his knife, or take up a man in his arms -and crush him like a bear with his two -hands. That day—but, pshaw! It’s -all nonsense, my sitting here and telling<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span> -you fool stories to make you creepy. -The rain has stopped. I’ll tell Tom to -harness up, and we’ll drive over to the -Country Club to see if they’ve got the -election returns yet. Come, dear! Try -to be strong and patient.”</p> - -<p>“No! I shall not go out to-night -one single step. I can’t get that cry -out of my head, and I should hear it -worse if I were away from the house. -Tell me about that terrible old man. -Did he kill a man before your eyes?”</p> - -<p>“I hate to have you think of him so. -He gave me everything, even <i>you</i>.”</p> - -<p>She smiled forlornly.</p> - -<p>“He was different in nature from us -tame folk in the States. He came from -a people that drink deep and have fiery -passions,—big-boned, strong-hearted -people, as gentle as women and as savage -as bulls. I’ve seen him—”</p> - -<p>“What makes you stop so short, -when you are just ready to tell something? -I want to hear the worst thing -you remember.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>He stammered and hunted for an -excuse.</p> - -<p>“Come, come. It’s all rot. They -tell stories about men. Such a fellow -as old Oscar Svenson you must make -allowances for, take the good with the -bad. There were plenty of better men -than he at his worst, but few as good as -he at his best. You can’t line such -men up with meeting-house folk. I’ll -tell you how he saved the Irish family -off Keepsake trail, all alone. But it is -stifling here. Come out to the terrace, -now the rain has stopped.”</p> - -<p>There they sat together on a bench -in the corner of the terrace, while he -told the story of old Oscar’s magnificent -courage and will. The big Norwegian -had ploughed his way ten -miles up the mountains in a blinding -snowstorm to carry food to a woman -and some children. The woman’s -husband was too cowardly to leave -the camp. And when old Oscar had -reached the cabin, finding one child<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> -sick, he had gone back to the camp for -medicine.</p> - -<p>As Simmons told the story, the stars -came out in the soft summer heavens; -the damp odor of cut grass filled the -air. The parched earth, having drunk, -breathed forth. But the woman’s tense -gaze never softened. When he had finished, -she said:</p> - -<p>“Now you must tell me the worst -thing he ever did. I will know it!”</p> - -<p>“They say he threw a man over a -precipice once, and nearly broke his -back. The fellow had been stealing -water, when there wasn’t enough to -go around, and he had had his share. -He lied about it, too. Old Oscar -just chucked him off the trail like a -rat. He would call that justice. I -don’t know. That was before I knew -him.”</p> - -<p>She shivered, and held her husband’s -hand more tightly.</p> - -<p>“Go on!”</p> - -<p>“There were other stories of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span> -same thing; well, we’d call it murder -now, maybe!”</p> - -<p>And she forced him to tell much—the -dark deeds of this old Berserker in -his mad rages,—swift, brutal love, -murder—all that the furies of blood -drive a man to do. Bit by bit, she had -them all,—stories whispered here and -there on the slopes of mountains, in far-off -mining camps and towns, where the -Norseman had spent his life; things -remembered out of that rough childhood -for which she had pitied her husband, -for which she had loved him the more, -with a woman’s desire to make the bitter -sweet. As the soft summer night got -on, she heard the story of that killing, -the sole one which he had seen with his -own eyes. He had locked it tight -within his breast all the years since: -the quarrel with a friend about some -insignificant trifle, the burst of anger, -the sudden blow, and then, while the -boy tried to part the men, a strange -look of wonder on the fierce face from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span> -which the red passion was paling. -And the next morning forgetfulness -of it all!</p> - -<p>“But it troubled him always like a -bad dream—he could never remember -exactly what he had done. He never -thought <i>I</i> knew.”</p> - -<p>She rose from the bench and walked -away from him to the end of the -terrace.</p> - -<p>“And, my Evelyn,” he pleaded, “you -loved me first because <i>he</i> had been all I -had had. You asked nothing of me—you -gave me all your love gladly.”</p> - -<p>He had an uneasy feeling that something -strange and impalpable was pushing -its way between them.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she murmured. “It was—a -long time ago.”</p> - -<p>“Seven years. Is that a long time?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I was a girl then. It is always -a long time to when one was a -girl.”</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t seem to me a long time!”</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s a great while since, since<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span> -<i>this</i> came up—like a mountain. The -past is on the other side.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what you mean. No -kind of trouble should divide man and -wife!”</p> - -<p>For a few moments there was silence; -then she cried, in the accent of reproach, -of accusation:</p> - -<p>“Can’t you see? You were <i>his</i> child!”</p> - -<p>“Old Oscar’s?... Sometimes I have -thought it might be so. I am dark like -him. But we can never know it now.”</p> - -<p>“<i>I</i> know it! The devil in that bad -old man has slept in you and is waking -in little Oscar,—my child, <i>my</i> child! -That is what you have brought me for -my love. I took you because I loved -you, because I was mad to have you. I -wanted you just for myself, just to give -me joy. Now! Now!... I can sit -and watch the child who is me fight -with that devil. Oh! there is nothing -but pain!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_047.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">IV</h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_dropcapm.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">MOODS of the night pass with -their tragic glooms, and the -first lines of sorrow fade into -dull distaste and distant apprehension. -Husband and wife met day by day, and -slowly the black cloud between them -became imperceptibly mist: the man -dared raise his eyes to that pitiable face, -and the silent wife began to speak. -Doctors had come and applied their -poultices against panic,—the vast circle -of probabilities, the excellences of -regimen.</p> - -<p>Then the engineer, in the fulfilment -of his business engagements, had gone -away for six weeks, which the mother -and child had spent at the seacoast for -a change of air. Early in September<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> -they were living once more in the pleasant -country house outside the great -city, and husband and wife were talking -almost confidently of what they should -do in this matter and that, speaking with -more and more certainty as the days -slipped past. Something grave in the -woman’s voice, a touch of doubt in the -glance between them—those signs alone -remained, and the memory.</p> - -<p>Another trip to the mines was to be -made; the date of departure Simmons -put off, in order that he might take his -wife to the large dance at the Bellflowers’. -On this day he returned from the city -by an early afternoon train. When the -coachman drew up before the house, no -one could be seen about the place. -Simmons called out heartily:</p> - -<p>“I say, where are you? Is any one -about? Evelyn!”</p> - -<p>Windows and doors were open; the -summer wind blew through the house. -There was a vacancy about it all which -impressed the man.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>“There was somethin’ or other goin’ -on when I hitched up,” the coachman -ventured to remark. “There were a lot -of hollerin’ and screamin’, sir; somethin’ -up with the children.”</p> - -<p>He had the air of being able to tell -more if necessary. Mr. Simmons jumped -to the ground and entered the house. -A servant, who finally appeared in answer -to his repeated calls, told him that -she had seen Mrs. Simmons crossing the -meadow below the lawn, in the direction -of the little river at the bottom of the -grounds. She had little Oscar with her, -so said the maid, and she seemed to be -hurrying.</p> - -<p>He hastened to the little boat-house -on the river. Hot summer afternoons it -was a common thing for his wife to row -upon the river, yet every moment he -quickened his steps until he was on the -run. From the meadow wall he could -see his boat tied to a stake in the stream, -riding tranquilly. Evelyn was not on -the river. He followed the foot-path,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> -hesitatingly, beside the sluggish stream, -calling in a voice which he tried to make -quite natural:</p> - -<p>“Evelyn! Oscar! Evelyn—where -are you?”</p> - -<p>There was a yard or two of sandy -beach beside the boat-house, and there -he found them. His wife was kneeling -down on the sand, her face to the river, -engaged in hurriedly undressing the -child. She had him almost stripped of -his clothes, and she was talking to him, -while he listened with the attention, the -thoughtfulness, of a man. Suddenly -spying his father, he laughed and broke -from his mother’s arms.</p> - -<p>“There’s Dad!” he cried. “Are you -going away, too, with mamma and me? -She’s going to take me far out into the -river, away and away, and we are never -coming back any more, never going to -play any more up there on the lawn!”</p> - -<p>His voice rose in the childish treble -of wonder, and he added, after a moment:</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_050.jpg" alt="" /></div> -<p class="caption">“<span class="smcap">His wife was ... hurriedly undressing<br /> -the child.</span>”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>“Now you come, too, Dad.”</p> - -<p>“Evelyn! What does this mean?”</p> - -<p>She had risen hastily when little -Oscar called out to his father. Her -eyes were red with tears, and her hands -shook with nervousness.</p> - -<p>“I thought it would be all done, all -over, before you came,” she murmured. -“But he would not come with me unless -I took off his clothes. I tried to take -him in my arms, but he broke away.”</p> - -<p>The man shuddered as he gradually -comprehended what it meant. Little -Oscar ran back to his mother and put -his face close to hers.</p> - -<p>“Mamma is sick,” he said gently. -“You must take her home and put her -to bed and have Dora sing to her.”</p> - -<p>His lithe little body danced up and -down. The hot wind waved his black -curls around his neck. His mother -pushed him away.</p> - -<p>“Take him,” she groaned. “It kills -me to look at him.”</p> - -<p>Simmons gathered up the child’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> -clothes and began to put them on the -dancing figure.</p> - -<p>“What has crazed you?” he demanded -roughly of his wife.</p> - -<p>“I will tell you—when he is gone,” -she answered wearily, leaning her head -against the shingled wall of the boat-house.</p> - -<p>Little Oscar ran to and fro in his -drawers, wet the tips of his feet, and -threw sand into the water, while his -father was trying to dress him. Finally -the mother took the child, put on his -shirt, and told him to run home. He -dashed into the thicket of alders beside -the river with a shout. Soon they heard -his voice in the meadow, ringing with -the joy of living, the animal utterance -of life.</p> - -<p>“It was this afternoon,” the mother -explained. “The Porters’ children and -the Boyces’ boy were playing on the -terrace. Dora was away. I was reading -in my bedroom—I had told Dora -I would look after the children. I must<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> -have dropped asleep with the heat—perhaps -a minute, perhaps longer. Suddenly, -I <i>felt</i> something fearful. I seemed -to hear a choking, a gurgling. When I -jumped up, awake, everything was still, -quiet,—too quiet, I thought; and I ran -to the window over the terrace.”</p> - -<p>She covered her face with her hands -to shut out the sight of it, and the rest -came brokenly through her smothered -lips:</p> - -<p>“Oscar was there—he and little Ned -Boyce. Ned was lying—down on the -brick floor—and Oscar had his hands -about his throat choking him. I must -have screamed. Oscar jumped up, and -looked around. He said—he said just -like himself,—‘What is it, mamma?’”</p> - -<p>She stopped again and swallowed her -tears.</p> - -<p>“When I got down there, Ned was -white and still. I thought he was dead. -It was a long, long time before he got -his breath, before he was himself. If, if -I hadn’t wakened just then—”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>Above them in the mottled sunshine -on the lawn they could see little Oscar -running, then stopping and listening, -like some sprite escaped from the river -alders. The man watched him springing -over the turf, his little shirt fluttering -in the breeze, and gradually his -head sank. Then he straightened himself, -and taking his wife’s hand led -her back along the river path into the -meadow.</p> - -<p>“Ned Boyce is a bad-tempered little -fellow: he irritated and exasperated -Oscar until with the heat and all that -he clutched him. We must think so at -any rate. I’ll lick it out of him, if I -catch him at it!” He ended with this -feeble, masculine threat, this desire to -take his exasperation out on somebody -else—to be paid for his distress of -mind. “But it frightens me to think of -your coming here and thinking of doing -such a thing!”</p> - -<p>He turned his mood of reproach -directly to her.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>“If you had seen Ned lying there so -white—it was whole minutes before he -opened his eyes,”—she protested; and -then it seemed to come over her in a -wave that in her struggle with this evil -she was alone,—her husband did not -really understand what it meant. To -him it was trouble, like difficulty with -servants,—something which his buoyant -nature refused to take altogether seriously. -For him there was always a -way out of a situation: to her there was -no avenue out in this situation. She -took her hand from his arm and stepped -forth steadily by herself.</p> - -<p>She had done him wrong! In his -slower, less vivid mind, the tragedy -was printing itself. He no longer could -talk comfort. Something heavy and -hard settled down on his spirit: he saw -himself and this tender woman caught -in a rocky bed of circumstance. In the -gloom of his mind he could see no light, -and he groaned.</p> - -<p>Thus, together they mounted the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span> -slope of the lawn to the pleasant cottage, -side by side and yet withdrawn from -one another. As they reached the -terrace little Oscar darted out, like a -fleet arrow, from the big syringa where -he had lain hidden. His voice rippled -with joy:</p> - -<p>“You’re so slow, you two! Do you -see what I got? A piece of Mary’s -Sunday cake. And <i>that’s</i> what’s left. -I’ll give you that, mamma, if you’ll be -good.”</p> - -<p>“Take him away!” his mother exclaimed -fretfully. “I can’t look at him -yet. I have had enough for one day.”</p> - -<p>She entered the house and locked herself -in her room. Later, when her -husband knocked, she opened the door; -she had been sitting before her dressing-table, -looking vacantly into the mirror.</p> - -<p>“I don’t suppose you want to go over -there to their party?” he ventured -timidly. “I’ll send Tom over with a -note.”</p> - -<p>“Why would I not go? Why should<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> -I stay at home? Is this the sort of -place a woman would want to stay in all -the time, do you think? Heavens! if -anything could make me forget for one -quarter of an hour <i>this</i> idea,—anything, -I would go—and sin for it too! Do -you understand?”</p> - -<p>The man’s face winced for the pain -she had to bear. Again she burst out, -looking into the mirror, her hair fallen -about her strong young breast and -shoulders:</p> - -<p>“You brought this to me, you! Why -didn’t something tell me of all that was -hidden away in you, all that some day -would come out from you and be mine? -You did not let me know. Now I cannot -get away from it! O my God! -Why do you make me live? What -right have you to make me live and -endure?”</p> - -<p>He did not resent her bitter reproaches. -It was the instinctive recoil -of her young body from terrible suffering, -the first twitch of the flesh from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> -knife. There were no tears left in the -eyes now; nothing shone there but passion -and resentment.</p> - -<p>“Stay at home? It’s the night of all -others I’d go somewhere—get something. -No! I won’t give in. I’ll get away -from it, forget it, and be happy again. -I will—see me do it.... They dine at -half-past eight. Have the carriage at -eight. I shall be ready.”</p> - -<p>He walked to and fro in the dressing-room, -wishing to say something that -could soften her mood. At last he put -his hand gently on her beautiful bare -shoulders and lowered his face to hers.</p> - -<p>“We must take this together, love,” -he whispered simply.</p> - -<p>“Don’t speak of it!” she cried, drawing -herself from his touch. “Don’t -touch me. I shall go mad, mad! You -will have two instead of one, then.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_059.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">V</h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_dropcapy.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap2">“YOUR husband seems to be -having a good time,” Dr. -Vessinger observed, twirling -his champagne glass between his strong -bony fingers. “Does he often enjoy—these -good spirits—this—enthusiasm?”</p> - -<p>Below them in the main portion of -the large dining-room of Mrs. Bellflower’s -house, the guests were supping -at small tables. Dr. Vessinger had -captured one of the few tables in the -breakfast room at one side. Simmons -was seated next to Mrs. Bellflower. His -good-natured, bearded face was thrown -back, and his eyes shone with champagne. -His wife looked at him with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span> -surprise; she had not noticed him before. -He was talking a great deal, and -repeating what he said to right and -left, in a loud voice, with much laughter. -She could not hear what he was saying, -but she divined that it was silly.</p> - -<p>“No! I never saw him so—excited, -before,” she answered her companion. -“He doesn’t usually drink champagne.”</p> - -<p>“He seems to like it rather well,” the -doctor replied, watching him drain a -fresh glass. “It’s a good thing to have -such good spirits, isn’t it?” He turned -his eyes to hers, and raised his glass. -“To your beautiful self, Evelyn!”</p> - -<p>She could feel the warmth of her -blood as it rushed over her face and -neck, at his deliberate words.</p> - -<p>“Why do you call me that?” she -asked brusquely.</p> - -<p>“You may remember that I called -you that once before,” he replied, unperturbed; -“and then you had no objection -to my familiarity.”</p> - -<p>They were both silent, while in their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> -minds rose that “once before”: the -roses blooming in the Sicilian garden, -husbanded by bees; the young American -doctor sent south to recover from -a sickness; the romance of their hearts -beating in unison with the romance of -the place.</p> - -<p>Gradually her eyes fell from the -doctor’s face. For, later, she had forgotten -him, measured him by another -and found him less than she desired. -She had sent him away, the young -American doctor of the Sicilian garden, -and had never thought to ask herself -before, whether she could regret it. -Now she raised her eyes to his face and -wondered whether she were regretting it.</p> - -<p>He was handsome and mundane. In -those eight years he had pushed himself -from obscurity to a point of worldly -ease. Perhaps she had done that for -him by sending him away! To her, -now, though married, he was more interesting -than ever before. What she had -done to him then he had surmounted;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> -and now, somehow, it seemed the gods -had put the cards into his hands.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, while she was wondering, -he leaned nearer to her and said:</p> - -<p>“You are miserable. I can tell it -from the lines in your forehead. And -your eyes are hot with fever.”</p> - -<p>He spoke impersonally; it was like -the soothing hand of the physician -to his patient. Simmons was laughing -still more hilariously, and his neighbor, -the Magnificent Wreck, was laughing -with him; those near them were shouting -and clapping their hands; they were -urging him to do something. To his -wife it all seemed silly.</p> - -<p>“Does <i>that</i> worry you?” continued -Vessinger, following her eyes.</p> - -<p>She looked at her husband again with -a sudden sense of detachment from him. -He was foolish, like a child, and she -suspected why he was foolish and drank -too much: he wished not to think. She -despised his male way of trying to escape -from himself. His was the man’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span> -simple, coarse instinct—to drink, to -laugh, to forget!</p> - -<p>Suddenly he was just a man in black -and white, like all the others who had -come to her that evening and said words -and smiled and danced and gone away. -He was just a man, like one-half creation.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she replied steadily to the doctor. -“I am miserable. Does it make -you happy to know that?”</p> - -<p>She did not comprehend what inferences -he might draw from the juxtaposition -of acts and words.</p> - -<p>“In a way, it does,” he answered -calmly. “But I shouldn’t let <i>that</i> -bother you. Our hostess, good woman, -loves a laughing guest, and your husband -is colossal. The best of men forget -themselves, you know, and on the -morrow they are ashamed. A good -wife forgives—that is her <i>métier</i>.”</p> - -<p>The racket below increased until -every one stopped his eating or his talk -to find out what made the disturbance. -Simmons was rising somewhat unsteadily<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span> -to his feet. His tie had come undone. -His large brown eyes, usually twinkling -with gentle kindliness, flashed with the -passion of the moment.</p> - -<p>“Bravo! Simmons! Bravo! A -song!” rose from some of the guests. -“Sing your old song, Sim!” one called -out. The guests jostled into the dining-room, -deserting the terrace, where they -had been supping and flirting. There -were some among the men who had -been at the School of Mines and knew -his college fame.</p> - -<p>“So your husband sings?” Dr. Vessinger -asked.</p> - -<p>“We will hear,” his wife replied -tranquilly. “Listen!”</p> - -<p>The drinking song, which was not -meant for dinner-parties where any -proprieties were observed, rolled out, -at first uncertainly and then with -greater force. At the end of the -stanza, young men’s voices from all -over the house shouted out the chorus. -One or two of the older men shook<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> -their heads, and while laughing said: -“No, no. That’s too bad! Some one -should stop him.”</p> - -<p>“It seems to take,” Dr. Vessinger -murmured to Mrs. Simmons. “He has -chosen that moment of inspiration when -we are all drunk enough to think it a -great song and not too drunk to join -the chorus. Bravo! More, more!” -he called with those who were applauding.</p> - -<p>It was, apparently, a tremendous success. -Men were patting Simmons on -the back, and a servant was filling his -glass with champagne. The calls for -another stanza grew more clamorous.</p> - -<p>His wife looked at him stonily. She -did not make much of his unaccustomed -drinking, of the spectacle he was offering -of himself to their public. She was -wondering at his male mind. How -could <i>he</i> find it in him—just now with -the truth they both knew but two hours -cold in his memory—how could he -find the heart to drink and sing? She<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span> -had said to him defiantly that she would -get joy in spite of all. But was there -anything in life which could make her -drink and sing and forget? Her heart -was shut to pleasure, and she looked -at him coldly, as one might look at a -bad actor who is much applauded.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He, poor man! had sat down to the -feast with the twin devils of despair and -remorse by his side. The others around -him laughed and were merry. Why -should <i>his</i> food taste bitter when to -them it seemed sweet? Why should his -be the wife and his the child? He felt -himself to be a common man, and wished -to have their taste for the feast, their -content with common life. So he began -to drink because it was pleasant -to drink. The devils faded as the spirit -of champagne entered him. At last he -was comfortable, and then happy. The -woman by his side, the Magnificent -Wreck, became beautiful, witty, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span> -alluring. The woman at his left smiled -with a pretty doll’s smile, showing her -nice teeth, white like porcelain. He -was drunk; he knew it, and he was -happy!</p> - -<p>So he wanted to sing, to make the -room ring with his new joy. There -seemed to open a concealed door in his -mind, and out tramped words and -sounds, expressing beautiful, happy -feelings; he was singing....</p> - -<p>“On the table! On the table!” they -shouted to him. “Up, up!”</p> - -<p>The older men were trying to calm -the racket to a more decorous note. -But already they had cleared the dishes -and glass from his end of the table, and -the Magnificent Wreck, with glistening -eyes, was applauding, urging him on. He -hopped on his chair, like a boy, as he -had done years ago at college dinners. -He placed one foot on the table to -steady himself, raised the long-stemmed -wine-glass above his head, and, less certainly, -out rolled the second stanza.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>It was good to be drunk, if this were -being drunk! Again, with all the volume -of the first time, sprang the notes -of the chorus.</p> - -<p>Simmons raised his long-stemmed -glass and waved it slowly in a circle -above his head. They clapped and -stamped and sang over again the -chorus.</p> - -<p>“Why not leave? Why inflict this -on yourself?” the doctor asked his -companion.</p> - -<p>“<i>That</i> does not make me miserable,” -she answered coldly, recognizing how he -had mistaken her. “It is foolish, of -course, to drink too much. He will be -sorry to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“What is it then that burns your eyes, -and gives you that look of pain?”</p> - -<p>“I will <i>never</i> tell you!”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I can guess,” he answered -at random.</p> - -<p>Her eyes lost their defiance. Perhaps -this subtle doctor, who could -read the miseries of life, had seen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span> -and comprehended all, that afternoon -when he had come to call. The shame -that she vowed to herself he should know -last of all, he knew, perchance, <i>best</i> of -all.</p> - -<p>“Don’t reject my sympathy,” he -added. “I pity you.”</p> - -<p>His voice had softened from the tone -of irony. His gentleness broke down -her pride. There was something humanly -warm and kindly in his sympathy. -It seemed to reach farther than -her husband’s. A mist gathered in her -eyes, and she lowered her head that he -might not see the possible tears and the -quivering lips....</p> - -<p>Would her fate have been thus cruel, -if, in the years gone by, in the Sicilian -garden, she had preferred this man,—if -this man, who loved her, had been -bound with her? Would she have -known the clutch of terror and felt the -wound from the arms of her son? The -child who was hers and another’s—might -he not have been wholly hers?</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>She thought bitterly how the male -heart had its escape from misery,—such -an easy, common one! She wanted <i>her</i> -escape. She could not drink and shout; -she could fly, leave the terror behind -her, and seek a new self in a new -world.</p> - -<p>“To one that loves you as I do, your -misery is his misery, and your despair -is his.”</p> - -<p>She felt that she should resent -his words, but her heart welcomed -them.</p> - -<p>There was a cry in the room below -them, then a crash, and the song came -to an inglorious end. Simmons had -circled the swaying yellow ball of sparkling -wine in too ample an arc. The -champagne dashed upon the laughing, -upturned face of their hostess; the glass -shattered on the floor. A kindly hand -saved Simmons from falling.</p> - -<p>Dr. Vessinger’s sharp eyes detected -the glance of contempt in the wife’s -face.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>“I think a breath of night air would -suit us both better than this hubbub,” -he suggested, opening the casement -window behind him. “Will you take -my arm, Evelyn?”</p> - -<p>She hesitated a moment, a sense of -duty to be done detaining her. Then, -with another look at her husband, at -the noisy room of flushed people, repugnance -mounted too high; she placed -her hand on the doctor’s arm, and -stepped down to the terrace beneath -the casement. Beyond lay the scented -gardens, the breadth of cool heavens, -the velvet darkness outside the range of -light from the cottage windows, pointed -in places by tall poplars.</p> - -<p>“Let us get beyond the sound of their -noise,” the doctor murmured, drawing -her more closely to him. A fresh burst -of laughter, doubtless caused by some -new antic of her husband, sped her steps -away from the band of light about the -house. She shivered with distaste of it. -Not that! Rather to flee away in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span> -cool, dark night, away forever from the -life which she had known and which -was a failure,—to find escape from the -threatening horror which was hers and -his!</p> - -<p>Vessinger drew her wrap more closely -about her, with an air of domination, -and she followed submissively through -the deserted alleys of the dark garden, -listening to his tense words, in a lethargy -of spirit....</p> - -<p>There was an eruption from the -brilliant house. Men’s voices reached -the pair in the garden. The voices -protested, coaxed; for a time they faded -away to the other side of the house. -Then they returned, and the woman in -the garden heard her husband speaking -thickly and loudly.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right, boys. But I must -find my wife, first. Dixey says he -saw her go out here, when I was -singing.”</p> - -<p>She started involuntarily, but the -doctor restrained her.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span>“They will take him away,” he whispered, -“in a minute.”</p> - -<p>Evidently that was what his companions -were endeavoring to do, but -Simmons with drunken obstinacy persisted -in his point.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, in his loud, confident -voice, “I’ll go with you all right, just -as soon as I find my wife. Never left -my wife. It wouldn’t be right, you -know!”</p> - -<p>She slipped her arm from her companion, -and walked rapidly toward the -terrace, Vessinger following her.</p> - -<p>“I am here, Olaf,” she said, going up -to the knot of men. “Are you looking -for me?”</p> - -<p>His companions separated awkwardly,—all -but one, who held Simmons’s swaying -figure.</p> - -<p>“That you, Evelyn? Wanted to tell -you that I am going in town with these -fellows. Let me get the carriage for -you. Don’t mind going home alone, do -you, Evelyn?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>“I will take Mrs. Simmons to her -carriage,” Vessinger offered, stepping -forward.</p> - -<p>“Excuse me!” Simmons replied, -waving him back. “Will you take my -arm, Evelyn?”</p> - -<p>Together in some fashion, they -reached the <i>porte-cochère</i>, and there -again Vessinger tried to put Mrs. Simmons -in the carriage, to whisper a word -privately to her.</p> - -<p>“Shan’t I drive back with Mrs. Simmons?” -he asked. Simmons wavered -unsteadily, looking at Vessinger all the -time. Then he said very distinctly:</p> - -<p>“No thank you, Vessinger. We can -trust the coachman,—good man, the -coachman.”</p> - -<p>He handed his wife to the carriage.</p> - -<p>“Won’t you come, Olaf?” she asked. -“I think you had better come with me.”</p> - -<p>Her tone was cold and hard. The -man drew himself up quickly.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Evelyn. I had rather -not. Good-night.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>He closed the carriage door, and -turned to the men, who had been awkwardly -watching the performance from -a distance.</p> - -<p>“Drive on, Tom. Ready now, boys.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_076.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">VI</h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_dropcapt2.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">THE morrow was close and sultry. -The sun pursued its -course through the heavens, -round and red like a ball of heated -metal. Careful housewives in suburban -cottages scrupulously drew in the shutters, -pulled the shades, and closed the -windows against the fierce heat. Thus -they produced the musty coolness of the -tomb, in which they existed languidly -until late afternoon. Then easterly windows -were opened, admitting fresh air.</p> - -<p>On the eastern piazza of the Simmons -house, as the sun sank, there appeared -two people. Mrs. Simmons moved here -and there restlessly, her face pale with -the heat of the day, dark circles beneath -her blue eyes. She looped up the wilted -tendrils of the climbing vine, patting the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span> -belated blossoms with her soft, plump -hands. Behind her in the shade of the -long house Dr. Vessinger lounged on a -chair, smoking a cigarette.</p> - -<p>“Evelyn!”</p> - -<p>The doctor’s low voice just reached -to her. She started and turned her -face to him. He was a slight man, -with an active, well-proportioned body. -How much he had done for himself since -those far-off days when she had first -known him! He was Some One now; -she had a vague movement of pride that -she had held his fancy all these years.</p> - -<p>“You knew I should be out to-day?” -he questioned, following her with his -intelligent eyes.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she answered dully. “I suppose -I did. It was the proper thing to -do,” she added bitterly. “No! I -don’t mean that! I know you are kind—only -I suffer so!”</p> - -<p>“Has your husband turned up yet?”</p> - -<p>“No, but he telephoned that he should -be back for dinner, late, quite late.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>“Oh! Pat Borden took care of him. -He was well looked after. You needn’t -worry.”</p> - -<p>“Why should I, about him?” she -asked inquiringly, as if she failed to -see any significance in what he said. -“He telephoned; he is well; he will be -here this evening. I do not think about -him especially.”</p> - -<p>“I hope you have thought about—”</p> - -<p>“No, no, please don’t say those foolish -things. They don’t sound well the day -after.”</p> - -<p>He threw away his cigarette and -joined her.</p> - -<p>“You men are all alike!” she continued -musingly. “You are all at the -bottom brutal; you don’t care for anything -but—what it means to <i>you</i>. I -wonder if there was ever a man born -who could care for a woman more than -for himself?”</p> - -<p>“If there were, the woman would tire -of him in a week.”</p> - -<p>“Mamma! You here?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>Oscar came skipping out of the house, -making one long leap from the drawing-room -window to the railing of the veranda. -Then he ran toward his mother, -arms stretched out to hug her.</p> - -<p>“Nice little fellow,” Dr. Vessinger -remarked propitiatingly. “Won’t you -come here, little man?”</p> - -<p>“No, no!” the mother objected hastily. -“Run away, Oscar. Ask Dora -to take you to the Laurels. It will be -shady and cool there.”</p> - -<p>The child looked steadily and curiously -at the doctor.</p> - -<p>“Who is that gentleman, mamma?” -he demanded.</p> - -<p>“Ha, ha, well said!” the doctor -laughed. “He wants to know who your -friends are, madam. He will manage -<i>you</i> one of these days. Come here, sir!”</p> - -<p>Instead of running forward at the -doctor’s invitation, the child backed -steadily into his mother’s dress, eying -the stranger with dislike. Mrs. Simmons -glanced up at the doctor, surprised<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> -and annoyed at his conduct. Did -he not understand? How could he -anger the child, perhaps provoke one -of his frightful paroxysms? It was -disagreeable in him to dwell thus on her -misery, to play with the child.</p> - -<p>“Go away, Oscar,” she said, leading -him away from the terrace.</p> - -<p>At the same moment Dr. Vessinger -walked toward the mother and child. -Oscar stood still, his limbs stiffening, his -under lip trembling. Tears began to -gather in the mother’s eyes. She was -frightened, and she hated the imperious -man.</p> - -<p>“Come, dear,” she urged. “Come -with mamma. Be good and do as I -want you to.”</p> - -<p>She had leaned down to him, and he -threw one arm about her neck and drew -her close to him, looking defiantly at the -doctor.</p> - -<p>“Is he the man who makes you cry, -mamma?” he asked. “Send him away. -I will drive him away!”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>As the mother watched him, standing -there with his head thrown back, the -black curls falling on his brown neck, -he recalled to her vividly his father. -She had seen the man in something like -the attitude of the child. Commanding, -erect, noble, defiant,—so she had seen -him and worshipped him during the -months of their ardent first love. The -little mite was like her lover born -again.</p> - -<p>“Fiery little devil, isn’t he?” the -doctor remarked, hesitating and disconcerted. -“Looks as if he would like to -smash me, stick a knife into me, or something. -Handsome, though!”</p> - -<p>“I think you had better sit down,” -Mrs. Simmons answered coldly. As -the man stood irresolute, she added -vehemently:</p> - -<p>“Why do you tease the child? Go -back!”</p> - -<p>The doctor turned back to his chair -sulkily. The mother kissed the boy’s -face, gently loosening the grasp of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span> -strong little arm about her neck. -“Come, Oscar,” she whispered. “We -will go together!”</p> - -<p>She led him from the terrace, he looking -backward constantly and scowling -at the unacceptable guest.</p> - -<p>“Send him away, mamma,” he said. -“I don’t like him.”</p> - -<p>“Ssh, ssh,” his mother murmured reprovingly, -seeking to soften his barbarian -instincts.</p> - -<p>She was gone for what seemed to the -doctor an interminable time, and when -she returned there was something cold -and severe in her pale face. Before she -seated herself, she began to say what -she had in mind:</p> - -<p>“Dr. Vessinger, there is something I -must say to you, all at once, now, and then -you must go. You have made love to me,—yesterday -evening,—and I listened. -I was in great agony of mind, and so -foolishly absorbed in my pain that I -thought you—you understood what my -trouble was. I wanted to escape from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span> -it—at any price. I was wild and bad. -Now, well, you don’t understand; and I -know, myself, I could not get any joy or -give any, without him, little Oscar.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t understand,” Dr. Vessinger -exclaimed, thoroughly mystified.</p> - -<p>“No, you don’t understand,” she -admitted with cool irony. “Perhaps it -is not necessary that you should. You -doubtless see that I could not give you -the pleasure you look for.”</p> - -<p>“I do not admit that for one moment,” -he protested, rising.</p> - -<p>She held out her hand.</p> - -<p>“I was right—eight years ago; that -is all, my friend.”</p> - -<p>He took her hand and held it, trying -to come nearer, to melt the icy mood of -the woman. She smiled pleasantly at -him, unmoved, confident, and in another -world of feeling than his.</p> - -<p>“You are not well,” he stammered, -“not yourself!”</p> - -<p>“Who can tell what <i>is</i> yourself? Last -night I wanted the freedom of my youth.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> -Now I am ready to take the other thing, -which makes us old,—pain. Good-by.”</p> - -<p>He still held her hand, and she smiled -at him, aloof. Just then a man’s voice -sounded from inside the house, and -Simmons poked his head out of the -drawing-room window.</p> - -<p>“Oh! You here, Evelyn?”</p> - -<p>Perceiving Vessinger, he added -gruffly:</p> - -<p>“Where is Jane or some one? I must -be off to-night, and I want them to pack -my bag and give me some dinner!”</p> - -<p>“How are you, Simmons?” the doctor -called out in his cool manner. “Come -out here and let’s have a look at you!”</p> - -<p>“I’m all right, Vessinger,” Simmons -answered sulkily, stepping through the -window.</p> - -<p>“That was a great performance you -gave us last night, Simmons, a triumph! -I never heard anything better. Your -waving that glass over the Bellflower’s -crown of false hair was magnificent!”</p> - -<p>Simmons glowered at the man and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> -looked furtively at his wife. She seemed -to be gazing at something at the other -end of the lawn.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” Simmons muttered. “Damn -nonsense!”</p> - -<p>His handsome face looked thin and -pale, as if he had been paying well for -his moments of forgetfulness.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” continued the doctor, with an -insistence which seemed to Mrs. Simmons -to be petty malice. “You were -the success of the evening. Mrs. Bellflower -ought to thank you for your -parlor tricks.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! damn,” commented the harassed -man, looking miserably toward -his wife.</p> - -<p>She turned suddenly to the two men.</p> - -<p>“We have had enough of last night, -haven’t we?”</p> - -<p>“So you’re off again?” the doctor -persisted, seeking a new topic.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, long trip. God knows -when I shall get back.” This last he -muttered to himself. Vessinger did not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span> -hear it, but Mrs. Simmons looked quickly -at her husband. He hung his head.</p> - -<p>“You—you are going away?” she -asked in a low voice, forgetting the -other man’s presence. “To leave me? -Going to-night?”</p> - -<p>“Why, those Jews telegraphed me—last -night—got it this morning—must -be in Chicago to meet them.”</p> - -<p>He turned to enter the house. Mrs. -Simmons followed him without regarding -Vessinger.</p> - -<p>“I am off,” the doctor said to her. -“Good-by.”</p> - -<p>But no one heeded him.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_087.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">VII</h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i_dropcapo.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - - -<p class="drop-cap2">“OLAF!”</p> - -<p>There was a note of dread -in her voice, which arrested -the man’s footsteps.</p> - -<p>“What?” he asked curtly.</p> - -<p>“You will not leave me, <i>now</i>! You -are not going away?”</p> - -<p>“You can’t want me around much, -after last night,” he answered hesitatingly.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” she asked -quickly, a flush coming to her face.</p> - -<p>“There’s no use of going over it, is -there? I began to drink, of course, because -I was so damned blue about the -boy and you. It seemed as if everything -was helplessly mixed up, and there was -no way of straightening it out. After<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span> -all the fight I made to be something, -and to win you, and to give you a good -place in the world,—all that was suddenly -smashed. I couldn’t stand sitting -there and thinking of nothing but that. -And when I looked about at those folks, -and saw how gay and lively and light-hearted -they were, I said to myself: -‘Why haven’t I a right to a good time, -too? What’s the use of mulling over -this black stuff in my mind?’ But I -couldn’t make a big enough effort to -keep away from it! I kept on thinking -of you and little Oscar, with all those -gay people talking and laughing and -handsome women. ‘My God,’ I said to -myself, ‘if I can’t stop thinking of this, -I shall have to get up and go outside.’ -So I took up my glass of champagne, -which I hadn’t touched,—never drink -it, as you remember; it was the stuff old -Oscar used to start in with when he was -on a blow-out—that is why I never -could bear it.</p> - -<p>“That first glass made everything<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> -easier and more natural. It untied the -knots in my face. And another made -things pleasant; well, there’s no use in -going on! I made a beastly fool of myself, -sang that fool song, disgraced you -before all your friends. Showed them -how you had married just a hand out -of the mines! My God, I should think -you’d <i>want</i> me to go away and never -come back!”</p> - -<p>He had dropped into a chair, and lay -there limp, his head fallen forward upon -his hands. She listened to him with increasing -wonder, trying to comprehend -the significance of his abasement. What -was it which he made so much of? -Singing a silly song, drinking too much -wine. That was his man’s way of escape -from the pain of living, which had -fastened upon them both. Thus he had -tried to live for himself and defy God -to make him wretched!</p> - -<p>And her way? She reddened with the -shame of it, and was silent. Both of -them, so she saw, had been trying to flee<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> -from the grief that had overtaken them; -to take their lives out of the place of despair, -away to some new peace and joy. -She saw it now very clearly, and she -knew suddenly that through that gate -there was no escape for either of them. -The trap that had caught them was set -in the obscure past and was made secure.</p> - -<p>“But you would not really leave me, -Olaf? You could not. You could not! -I and our child would follow you in your -thoughts everywhere.”</p> - -<p>She knelt beside him and took his -head in her hands.</p> - -<p>“I tried to run away, too. And I -could not. Nor could you. Mine was so -much worse than yours! I will tell you -some day. Yours was nothing to me, -nothing. Believe me. I think nothing -of it, nothing more than if you spilled a -glass of wine on my dress, or went out -in the rain without your coat, or did -something else foolish. Don’t think of -that, Olaf! We have so much else to -feel, you and I.”</p> - - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_090.jpg" alt="" /></div> -<p class="caption">“<span class="smcap">She knelt beside him and took his head<br /> -in her hands.</span>”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>She drew his head to her. She was -his mother and yearned, and yet was -afraid, also. The man’s tired eyes -looked into her eyes. He, too, had -suffered in his male way as she had -suffered. About his face there was a -look, wistful and young and tender, such -as it had been in the past when she had -loved him passionately. She kissed -his lips, thus wiping away his self-contempt.</p> - -<p>“Do you remember, Olaf?” she -whispered. “Do you remember the -night you carried me down the mountain, -when the horse stumbled on the -trail and you were afraid to trust him -again? Your arms were a shield about -my body. I want them now, my -husband!”</p> - -<p>He saw that black night, the slipping -sand and rocks beneath his feet, the precious -body in his arms, the white face -upturned to his. When he could go no -farther safely, they had camped among -the rocks under a scrawny fir. He had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span> -built a wind screen of brush against a -boulder, and they had crawled within. -There he had held her locked in his -arms the whole night that she might -rest while he watched and loved....</p> - -<p>Other memories of their ardent years -crowded this one. First she had taken -the journeys with him, going to the -mines, living in the camps. Then she -had waited for him here at home, where -he had placed her among her old friends, -in this pleasant country house. He was -often away, but he worked the more -fiercely to get back to her. Once -he had come wilfully, without warning, -from British Columbia, three thousand -six hundred miles, without a pause, -hurled on his course by an irresistible -desire to know that his joy was real, to -see that she lived on the earth still and -was his. He had arrived after dinner, -and found her dressed to go out,—tall, -white, beautiful,—more wonderful than -in the camp he had dreamed she was. -When she looked up and saw him,—the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span> -unexpected, welcome one,—she had -given a glad cry, and lifted her arms -and face to his, careless of the maid, her -gown, his travel-stained self....</p> - -<p>“I had two or three days, and I -thought I would come on,” he had said, -repaid already in good fact....</p> - -<p>She had her memories, too. Her -woman’s life was woven with the little -intimacies of the seven married years. -Their life together, their passion and -joy,—it blazed before her in the stillness. -She had thought it was to go on like -that always, for many years, fading perchance -when they were old into something -gentler, less abundant. Now, -suddenly, in the space of a few days, she -was brought to see that such joy had -a term set within her own experience. -It was past!</p> - -<p>“We have loved so much,” she murmured. -“We have been so happy. -That is over now.”</p> - -<p>He nodded, bringing her hands to his -lips. He knew what she meant. The old<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span> -joy, the careless pleasure of their early -selves, had gone under the shadow. -Something out of them had been created -in those hours of freedom, which was -now asserting its control over them,—something -from the past, unknown to -them, gathered up and expressed through -them. <i>They</i> were now to be less, and -this which had come out of them was to -be more. Sorrow or satisfaction, it was -all one,—it was to be met and borne -with. Youth had passed; selfish joy had -been blown away—there remained their -child.</p> - -<p>“Little Oscar,” the mother murmured. -“We must do what we can for him, -mustn’t we?”</p> - -<p>“All that can be done!” he exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“Live with him, take him away from -here, fight for him,” she whispered. -“As long as he lives. As long as we -live!” Her tears fell upon his hands.</p> - -<p>“Yes! that is it. We must fight together -for the child as long as we live!”</p> - -<p>And they both divined something of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span> -how the years must be, living not for -themselves but largely for their child, -changing their life as his needs changed, -preparing to struggle with him against -the odds of his fate.</p> - -<p>“Where is he?” he asked.</p> - -<p>They found him playing by himself -under a great tree. When he saw them -coming across the lawn, he stood very -still and watched their faces, looking at -them keenly. His mother took his hand -and leaned over to kiss him. He put -his other hand up to his father. Thus -they walked slowly back toward the -house, the child gravely marching between -his parents, holding them to him, -one on either hand.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph3"><i>The Macmillan Little Novels</i></p> -</div> - -<p class="center">BY FAVOURITE AUTHORS</p> - -<p class="center">Handsomely Bound in Decorated Cloth</p> - -<p class="center">16mo <span class="gap"> 50 cents each</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p><span class="large"><i>Philosophy Four</i></span></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>A STORY OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY. By -<span class="smcap">Owen Wister</span>, author of “The Virginian,” etc.</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="large"><i>Man Overboard</i></span></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>By <span class="smcap">F. 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