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diff --git a/7517-h/7517-h.htm b/7517-h/7517-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f8598c0 --- /dev/null +++ b/7517-h/7517-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4013 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Sanctuary, by Edith Wharton + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + .side { float: right; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; margin-left: 0.8em; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sanctuary, by Edith Wharton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Sanctuary + +Author: Edith Wharton + + +Release Date: February, 2005 [EBook #7517] +This file was first posted on May 13, 2003 +[Last updated: October 1, 2017] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SANCTUARY *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, William Flis, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team; the HTML file was provided by +David Widger. + + + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + SANCTUARY + </h1> + <h2> + By Edith Wharton + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART"> PART I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> PART II </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART" id="link2H_PART"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART I + </h2> + <p> + It is not often that youth allows itself to feel undividedly happy: the + sensation is too much the result of selection and elimination to be within + reach of the awakening clutch on life. But Kate Orme, for once, had + yielded herself to happiness; letting it permeate every faculty as a + spring rain soaks into a germinating meadow. There was nothing to account + for this sudden sense of beatitude; but was it not this precisely which + made it so irresistible, so overwhelming? There had been, within the last + two months—since her engagement to Denis Peyton—no distinct + addition to the sum of her happiness, and no possibility, she would have + affirmed, of adding perceptibly to a total already incalculable. Inwardly + and outwardly the conditions of her life were unchanged; but whereas, + before, the air had been full of flitting wings, now they seemed to pause + over her and she could trust herself to their shelter. + </p> + <p> + Many influences had combined to build up the centre of brooding peace in + which she found herself. Her nature answered to the finest vibrations, and + at first her joy in loving had been too great not to bring with it a + certain confusion, a readjusting of the whole scenery of life. She found + herself in a new country, wherein he who had led her there was least able + to be her guide. There were moments when she felt that the first stranger + in the street could have interpreted her happiness for her more easily + than Denis. Then, as her eye adapted itself, as the lines flowed into each + other, opening deep vistas upon new horizons, she began to enter into + possession of her kingdom, to entertain the actual sense of its belonging + to her. But she had never before felt that she also belonged to it; and + this was the feeling which now came to complete her happiness, to give it + the hallowing sense of permanence. + </p> + <p> + She rose from the writing-table where, list in hand, she had been going + over the wedding-invitations, and walked toward the drawing-room window. + Everything about her seemed to contribute to that rare harmony of feeling + which levied a tax on every sense. The large coolness of the room, its + fine traditional air of spacious living, its outlook over field and + woodland toward the lake lying under the silver bloom of September; the + very scent of the late violets in a glass on the writing-table; the + rosy-mauve masses of hydrangea in tubs along the terrace; the fall, now + and then, of a leaf through the still air—all, somehow, were mingled + in the suffusion of well-being that yet made them seem but so much dross + upon its current. + </p> + <p> + The girl’s smile prolonged itself at the sight of a figure approaching + from the lower slopes above the lake. The path was a short cut from the + Peyton place, and she had known that Denis would appear in it at about + that hour. Her smile, however, was prolonged not so much by his approach + as by her sense of the impossibility of communicating her mood to him. The + feeling did not disturb her. She could not imagine sharing her deepest + moods with any one, and the world in which she lived with Denis was too + bright and spacious to admit of any sense of constraint. Her smile was in + truth a tribute to that clear-eyed directness of his which was so often a + refuge from her own complexities. + </p> + <p> + Denis Peyton was used to being met with a smile. He might have been + pardoned for thinking smiles the habitual wear of the human countenance; + and his estimate of life and of himself was necessarily tinged by the + cordial terms on which they had always met each other. He had in fact + found life, from the start, an uncommonly agreeable business, culminating + fitly enough in his engagement to the only girl he had ever wished to + marry, and the inheritance, from his unhappy step-brother, of a fortune + which agreeably widened his horizon. Such a combination of circumstances + might well justify a young man in thinking himself of some account in the + universe; and it seemed the final touch of fitness that the mourning which + Denis still wore for poor Arthur should lend a new distinction to his + somewhat florid good looks. + </p> + <p> + Kate Orme was not without an amused perception of her future husband’s + point of view; but she could enter into it with the tolerance which allows + for the inconscient element in all our judgments. There was, for instance, + no one more sentimentally humane than Denis’s mother, the second Mrs. + Peyton, a scented silvery person whose lavender silks and neutral-tinted + manner expressed a mind with its blinds drawn down toward all the + unpleasantness of life; yet it was clear that Mrs. Peyton saw a + “dispensation” in the fact that her step-son had never married, and that + his death had enabled Denis, at the right moment, to step gracefully into + affluence. Was it not, after all, a sign of healthy-mindedness to take the + gifts of the gods in this religious spirit, discovering fresh evidence of + “design” in what had once seemed the sad fact of Arthur’s inaccessibility + to correction? Mrs. Peyton, beautifully conscious of having done her + “best” for Arthur, would have thought it unchristian to repine at the + providential failure of her efforts. Denis’s deductions were, of course, a + little less direct than his mother’s. He had, besides, been fond of + Arthur, and his efforts to keep the poor fellow straight had been less + didactic and more spontaneous. Their result read itself, if not in any + change in Arthur’s character, at least in the revised wording of his will; + and Denis’s moral sense was pleasantly fortified by the discovery that it + very substantially paid to be a good fellow. + </p> + <p> + The sense of general providentialness on which Mrs. Peyton reposed had in + fact been confirmed by events which reduced Denis’s mourning to a mere + tribute of respect—since it would have been a mockery to deplore the + disappearance of any one who had left behind him such an unsavory wake as + poor Arthur. Kate did not quite know what had happened: her father was as + firmly convinced as Mrs. Peyton that young girls should not be admitted to + any open discussion of life. She could only gather, from the silences and + evasions amid which she moved, that a woman had turned up—a woman + who was of course “dreadful,” and whose dreadfulness appeared to include a + sort of shadowy claim upon Arthur. But the claim, whatever it was, had + been promptly discredited. The whole question had vanished and the woman + with it. The blinds were drawn again on the ugly side of things, and life + was resumed on the usual assumption that no such side existed. Kate knew + only that a darkness had crossed her sky and left it as unclouded as + before. + </p> + <p> + Was it, perhaps, she now asked herself, the very lifting of the cloud—remote, + unthreatening as it had been—which gave such new serenity to her + heaven? It was horrible to think that one’s deepest security was a mere + sense of escape—that happiness was no more than a reprieve. The + perversity of such ideas was emphasized by Peyton’s approach. He had the + gift of restoring things to their normal relations, of carrying one over + the chasms of life through the closed tunnel of an incurious cheerfulness. + All that was restless and questioning in the girl subsided in his + presence, and she was content to take her love as a gift of grace, which + began just where the office of reason ended. She was more than ever, + to-day, in this mood of charmed surrender. More than ever he seemed the + keynote of the accord between herself and life, the centre of a delightful + complicity in every surrounding circumstance. One could not look at him + without seeing that there was always a fair wind in his sails. + </p> + <p> + It was carrying him toward her, as usual, at a quick confident pace, which + nevertheless lagged a little, she noticed, as he emerged from the + beech-grove and struck across the lawn. He walked as though he were tired. + She had meant to wait for him on the terrace, held in check by her usual + inclination to linger on the threshold of her pleasures; but now something + drew her toward him, and she went quickly down the steps and across the + lawn. + </p> + <p> + “Denis, you look tired. I was afraid something had happened.” + </p> + <p> + She had slipped her hand through his arm, and as they moved forward she + glanced up at him, struck not so much by any new look in his face as by + the fact that her approach had made no change in it. + </p> + <p> + “I am rather tired.—Is your father in?” + </p> + <p> + “Papa?” She looked up in surprise. “He went to town yesterday. Don’t you + remember?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course—I’d forgotten. You’re alone, then?” She dropped his arm + and stood before him. He was very pale now, with the furrowed look of + extreme physical weariness. + </p> + <p> + “Denis—are you ill? <i>Has</i> anything happened?” + </p> + <p> + He forced a smile. “Yes—but you needn’t look so frightened.” + </p> + <p> + She drew a deep breath of reassurance. <i>He</i> was safe, after all! And + all else, for a moment, seemed to swing below the rim of her world. + </p> + <p> + “Your mother—?” she then said, with a fresh start of fear. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not my mother.” They had reached the terrace, and he moved toward + the house. “Let us go indoors. There’s such a beastly glare out here.” + </p> + <p> + He seemed to find relief in the cool obscurity of the drawing-room, where, + after the brightness of the afternoon light, their faces were almost + indistinguishable to each other. She sat down, and he moved a few paces + away. Before the writing-table he paused to look at the neatly sorted + heaps of wedding-cards. + </p> + <p> + “They are to be sent out to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + He turned back and stood before her. + </p> + <p> + “It’s about the woman,” he began abruptly—“the woman who pretended + to be Arthur’s wife.” + </p> + <p> + Kate started as at the clutch of an unacknowledged fear. + </p> + <p> + “She <i>was</i> his wife, then?” + </p> + <p> + Peyton made an impatient movement of negation. “If she was, why didn’t she + prove it? She hadn’t a shred of evidence. The courts rejected her appeal.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then—?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she’s dead.” He paused, and the next words came with difficulty. + “She and the child.” + </p> + <p> + “The child? There was a child?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Kate started up and then sank down. These were not things about which + young girls were told. The confused sense of horror had been nothing to + this first sharp edge of fact. + </p> + <p> + “And both are dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know? My father said she had gone away—gone back to the + West—” + </p> + <p> + “So we thought. But this morning we found her.” + </p> + <p> + “Found her?” + </p> + <p> + He motioned toward the window. “Out there—in the lake.” + </p> + <p> + “Both?” + </p> + <p> + “Both.” + </p> + <p> + She drooped before him shudderingly, her eyes hidden, as though to exclude + the vision. “She had drowned herself?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, poor thing—poor thing!” + </p> + <p> + They paused awhile, the minutes delving an abyss between them till he + threw a few irrelevant words across the silence. + </p> + <p> + “One of the gardeners found them.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing!” + </p> + <p> + “It was sufficiently horrible.” + </p> + <p> + “Horrible—oh!” She had swung round again to her pole. “Poor Denis! + <i>You</i> were not there—<i>you</i> didn’t have to—?” + </p> + <p> + “I had to see her.” She felt the instant relief in his voice. He could + talk now, could distend his nerves in the warm air of her sympathy. “I had + to identify her.” He rose nervously and began to pace the room. “It’s + knocked the wind out of me. I—my God! I couldn’t foresee it, could + I?” He halted before her with outstretched hands of argument. “I did all I + could—it’s not <i>my</i> fault, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Your fault? Denis!” + </p> + <p> + “She wouldn’t take the money—” He broke off, checked by her awakened + glance. + </p> + <p> + “The money? What money?” Her face changed, hardening as his relaxed. “Had + you offered her <i>money</i> to give up the case?” + </p> + <p> + He stared a moment, and then dismissed the implication with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “No—no; after the case was decided against her. She seemed hard up, + and I sent Hinton to her with a cheque.” + </p> + <p> + “And she refused it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What did she say?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t know—the usual thing. That she’d only wanted to prove + she was his wife—on the child’s account. That she’d never wanted his + money. Hinton said she was very quiet—not in the least excited—but + she sent back the cheque.” + </p> + <p> + Kate sat motionless, her head bent, her hands clasped about her knees. She + no longer looked at Peyton. + </p> + <p> + “Could there have been a mistake?” she asked slowly. + </p> + <p> + “A mistake?” + </p> + <p> + She raised her head now, and fixed her eyes on his, with a strange + insistence of observation. “Could they have been married?” + </p> + <p> + “The courts didn’t think so.” + </p> + <p> + “Could the courts have been mistaken?” + </p> + <p> + He started up again, and threw himself into another chair. “Good God, + Kate! We gave her every chance to prove her case—why didn’t she do + it? You don’t know what you’re talking about—such things are kept + from girls. Why, whenever a man of Arthur’s kind dies, such—such + women turn up. There are lawyers who live on such jobs—ask your + father about it. Of course, this woman expected to be bought off—” + </p> + <p> + “But if she wouldn’t take your money?” + </p> + <p> + “She expected a big sum, I mean, to drop the case. When she found we meant + to fight it, she saw the game was up. I suppose it was her last throw, and + she was desperate; we don’t know how many times she may have been through + the same thing before. That kind of woman is always trying to make money + out of the heirs of any man who—who has been about with them.” + </p> + <p> + Kate received this in silence. She had a sense of walking along a narrow + ledge of consciousness above a sheer hallucinating depth into which she + dared not look. But the depth drew her, and she plunged one terrified + glance into it. + </p> + <p> + “But the child—the child was Arthur’s?” + </p> + <p> + Peyton shrugged his shoulders. “There again—how can we tell? Why, I + don’t suppose the woman herself—I wish to heaven your father were + here to explain!” + </p> + <p> + She rose and crossed over to him, laying her hands on his shoulders with a + gesture almost maternal. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let us talk of it,” she said. “You did all you could. Think what a + comfort you were to poor Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + He let her hands lie where she had placed them, without response or + resistance. + </p> + <p> + “I tried—I tried hard to keep him straight!” + </p> + <p> + “We all know that—every one knows it. And we know how grateful he + was—what a difference it made to him in the end. It would have been + dreadful to think of his dying out there alone.” + </p> + <p> + She drew him down on a sofa and seated herself by his side. A deep + lassitude was upon him, and the hand she had possessed herself of lay in + her hold inert. + </p> + <p> + “It was splendid of you to travel day and night as you did. And then that + dreadful week before he died! But for you he would have died alone among + strangers.” + </p> + <p> + He sat silent, his head dropping forward, his eyes fixed. “Among + strangers,” he repeated absently. + </p> + <p> + She looked up, as if struck by a sudden thought. “That poor woman—did + you ever see her while you were out there?” + </p> + <p> + He drew his hand away and gathered his brows together as if in an effort + of remembrance. + </p> + <p> + “I saw her—oh, yes, I saw her.” He pushed the tumbled hair from his + forehead and stood up. “Let us go out,” he said. “My head is in a fog. I + want to get away from it all.” + </p> + <p> + A wave of compunction drew her to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “It was my fault! I ought not to have asked so many questions.” She turned + and rang the bell. “I’ll order the ponies—we shall have time for a + drive before sunset.” + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + With the sunset in their faces they swept through the keen-scented autumn + air at the swiftest pace of Kate’s ponies. She had given the reins to + Peyton, and he had turned the horses’ heads away from the lake, rising by + woody upland lanes to the high pastures which still held the sunlight. The + horses were fresh enough to claim his undivided attention, and he drove in + silence, his smooth fair profile turned to his companion, who sat silent + also. + </p> + <p> + Kate Orme was engaged in one of those rapid mental excursions which were + forever sweeping her from the straight path of the actual into uncharted + regions of conjecture. Her survey of life had always been marked by the + tendency to seek out ultimate relations, to extend her researches to the + limit of her imaginative experience. But hitherto she had been like some + young captive brought up in a windowless palace whose painted walls she + takes for the actual world. Now the palace had been shaken to its base, + and through a cleft in the walls she looked out upon life. For the first + moment all was indistinguishable blackness; then she began to detect vague + shapes and confused gestures in the depths. There were people below there, + men like Denis, girls like herself—for under the unlikeness she felt + the strange affinity—all struggling in that awful coil of moral + darkness, with agonized hands reaching up for rescue. Her heart shrank + from the horror of it, and then, in a passion of pity, drew back to the + edge of the abyss. Suddenly her eyes turned toward Denis. His face was + grave, but less disturbed. And men knew about these things! They carried + this abyss in their bosoms, and went about smiling, and sat at the feet of + innocence. Could it be that Denis—Denis even—Ah, no! She + remembered what he had been to poor Arthur; she understood, now, the vague + allusions to what he had tried to do for his brother. He had seen Arthur + down there, in that coiling blackness, and had leaned over and tried to + drag him out. But Arthur was too deep down, and his arms were interlocked + with other arms—they had dragged each other deeper, poor souls, like + drowning people who fight together in the waves! Kate’s visualizing habit + gave a hateful precision and persistency to the image she had evoked—she + could not rid herself of the vision of anguished shapes striving together + in the darkness. The horror of it took her by the throat—she drew a + choking breath, and felt the tears on her face. + </p> + <p> + Peyton turned to her. The horses were climbing a hill, and his attention + had strayed from them. + </p> + <p> + “This has done me good,” he began; but as he looked his voice changed. + “Kate! What is it? Why are you crying? Oh, for God’s sake, <i>don’t</i>!” + he ended, his hand closing on her wrist. + </p> + <p> + She steadied herself and raised her eyes to his. + </p> + <p> + “I—I couldn’t help it,” she stammered, struggling in the sudden + release of her pent compassion. “It seems so awful that we should stand so + close to this horror—that it might have been you who—” + </p> + <p> + “I who—what on earth do you mean?” he broke in stridently. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t you see? I found myself exulting that you and I were so far + from it—above it—safe in ourselves and each other—and + then the other feeling came—the sense of selfishness, of going by on + the other side; and I tried to realize that it might have been you and I + who—who were down there in the night and the flood—” + </p> + <p> + Peyton let the whip fall on the ponies’ flanks. “Upon my soul,” he said + with a laugh, “you must have a nice opinion of both of us.” + </p> + <p> + The words fell chillingly on the blaze of her self-immolation. Would she + never learn to remember that Denis was incapable of mounting such + hypothetical pyres? He might be as alive as herself to the direct demands + of duty, but of its imaginative claims he was robustly unconscious. The + thought brought a wholesome reaction of thankfulness. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well,” she said, the sunset dilating through her tears, “don’t you + see that I can bear to think such things only because they’re + impossibilities? It’s easy to look over into the depths if one has a + rampart to lean on. What I most pity poor Arthur for is that, instead of + that woman lying there, so dreadfully dead, there might have been a girl + like me, so exquisitely alive because of him; but it seems cruel, doesn’t + it, to let what he was not add ever so little to the value of what you + are? To let him contribute ever so little to my happiness by the + difference there is between you?” + </p> + <p> + She was conscious, as she spoke, of straying again beyond his reach, + through intricacies of sensation new even to her exploring + susceptibilities. A happy literalness usually enabled him to strike a + short cut through such labyrinths, and rejoin her smiling on the other + side; but now she became wonderingly aware that he had been caught in the + thick of her hypothesis. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the difference that makes you care for me, then?” he broke out, with + a kind of violence which seemed to renew his clutch on her wrist. + </p> + <p> + “The difference?” + </p> + <p> + He lashed the ponies again, so sharply that a murmur escaped her, and he + drew them up, quivering, with an inconsequent “Steady, boys,” at which + their back-laid ears protested. + </p> + <p> + “It’s because I’m moral and respectable, and all that, that you’re fond of + me,” he went on; “you’re—you’re simply in love with my virtues. You + couldn’t imagine caring if I were down there in the ditch, as you say, + with Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + The question fell on a silence which seemed to deepen suddenly within + herself. Every thought hung bated on the sense that something was coming: + her whole consciousness became a void to receive it. + </p> + <p> + “Denis!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + He turned on her almost savagely. “I don’t want your pity, you know,” he + burst out. “You can keep that for Arthur. I had an idea women loved men + for themselves—through everything, I mean. But I wouldn’t steal your + love—I don’t want it on false pretenses, you understand. Go and look + into other men’s lives, that’s all I ask of you. I slipped into it—it + was just a case of holding my tongue when I ought to have spoken—but + I—I—for God’s sake, don’t sit there staring! I suppose you’ve + seen all along that I knew he was married to the woman.” + </p> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <p> + The housekeeper’s reminding her that Mr. Orme would be at home the next + day for dinner, and did she think he would like the venison with claret + sauce or jelly, roused Kate to the first consciousness of her + surroundings. Her father would return on the morrow: he would give to the + dressing of the venison such minute consideration as, in his opinion, + every detail affecting his comfort or convenience quite obviously merited. + And if it were not the venison it would be something else; if it were not + the housekeeper it would be Mr. Orme, charged with the results of a + conference with his agent, a committee-meeting at his club, or any of the + other incidents which, by happening to himself, became events. Kate found + herself caught in the inexorable continuity of life, found herself gazing + over a scene of ruin lit up by the punctual recurrence of habit as + nature’s calm stare lights the morrow of a whirlwind. + </p> + <p> + Life was going on, then, and dragging her at its wheels. She could neither + check its rush nor wrench loose from it and drop out—oh, how + blessedly—into darkness and cessation. She must go bounding on, + racked, broken, but alive in every fibre. The most she could hope was a + few hours’ respite, not from her own terrors, but from the pressure of + outward claims: the midday halt, during which the victim is unbound while + his torturers rest from their efforts. Till her father’s return she would + have the house to herself, and, the question of the venison despatched, + could give herself to long lonely pacings of the empty rooms, and + shuddering subsidences upon her pillow. + </p> + <p> + Her first impulse, as the mist cleared from her brain, was the habitual + one of reaching out for ultimate relations. She wanted to know the worst; + and for her, as she saw in a flash, the worst of it was the core of + fatality in what had happened. She shrank from her own way of putting it—nor + was it even figuratively true that she had ever felt, under faith in + Denis, any such doubt as the perception implied. But that was merely + because her imagination had never put him to the test. She was fond of + exposing herself to hypothetical ordeals, but somehow she had never + carried Denis with her on these adventures. What she saw now was that, in + a world of strangeness, he remained the object least strange to her. She + was not in the tragic case of the girl who suddenly sees her lover + unmasked. No mask had dropped from Denis’s face: the pink shades had + simply been lifted from the lamps, and she saw him for the first time in + an unmitigated glare. + </p> + <p> + Such exposure does not alter the features, but it lays an ugly emphasis on + the most charming lines, pushing the smile to a grin, the curve of + good-nature to the droop of slackness. And it was precisely into the + flagging lines of extreme weakness that Denis’s graceful contour flowed. + In the terrible talk which had followed his avowal, and wherein every word + flashed a light on his moral processes, she had been less startled by what + he had done than by the way in which his conscience had already become a + passive surface for the channelling of consequences. He was like a child + who had put a match to the curtains, and stands agape at the blaze. It was + horribly naughty to put the match—but beyond that the child’s + responsibility did not extend. In this business of Arthur’s, where all had + been wrong from the beginning—where self-defence might well find a + plea for its casuistries in the absence of a definite right to be measured + by—it had been easy, after the first slip, to drop a little lower + with each struggle. The woman—oh, the woman was—well, of the + kind who prey on such men. Arthur, out there, at his lowest ebb, had + drifted into living with her as a man drifts into drink or opium. He knew + what she was—he knew where she had come from. But he had fallen ill, + and she had nursed him—nursed him devotedly, of course. That was her + chance, and she knew it. Before he was out of the fever she had the noose + around him—he came to and found himself married. Such cases were + common enough—if the man recovered he bought off the woman and got a + divorce. It was all a part of the business—the marriage, the bribe, + the divorce. Some of those women made a big income out of it—they + were married and divorced once a year. If Arthur had only got well—but, + instead, he had a relapse and died. And there was the woman, made his + widow by mischance as it were, with her child on her arm—whose + child?—and a scoundrelly black-mailing lawyer to work up her case + for her. Her claim was clear enough—the right of dower, a third of + his estate. But if he had never meant to marry her? If he had been trapped + as patently as a rustic fleeced in a gambling-hell? Arthur, in his last + hours, had confessed to the marriage, but had also acknowledged its folly. + And after his death, when Denis came to look about him and make inquiries, + he found that the witnesses, if there had been any, were dispersed and + undiscoverable. The whole question hinged on Arthur’s statement to his + brother. Suppress that statement, and the claim vanished, and with it the + scandal, the humiliation, the life-long burden of the woman and child + dragging the name of Peyton through heaven knew what depths. He had + thought of that first, Denis swore, rather than of the money. The money, + of course, had made a difference,—he was too honest not to own it—but + not till afterward, he declared—would have declared on his honour, + but that the word tripped him up, and sent a flush to his forehead. + </p> + <p> + Thus, in broken phrases, he flung his defence at her: a defence + improvised, pieced together as he went along, to mask the crude + instinctiveness of his act. For with increasing clearness Kate saw, as she + listened, that there had been no real struggle in his mind; that, but for + the grim logic of chance, he might never have felt the need of any + justification. If the woman, after the manner of such baffled huntresses, + had wandered off in search of fresh prey, he might, quite sincerely, have + congratulated himself on having saved a decent name and an honest fortune + from her talons. It was the price she had paid to establish her claim that + for the first time brought him to a startled sense of its justice. His + conscience responded only to the concrete pressure of facts. + </p> + <p> + It was with the anguish of this discovery that Kate Orme locked herself in + at the end of their talk. How the talk had ended, how at length she had + got him from the room and the house, she recalled but confusedly. The + tragedy of the woman’s death, and of his own share in it, were as nothing + in the disaster of his bright irreclaimableness. Once, when she had cried + out, “You would have married me and said nothing,” and he groaned back, + “But I <i>have</i> told you,” she felt like a trainer with a lash above + some bewildered animal. + </p> + <p> + But she persisted savagely. “You told me because you had to; because your + nerves gave way; because you knew it couldn’t hurt you to tell.” The + perplexed appeal of his gaze had almost checked her. “You told me because + it was a relief; but nothing will really relieve you—nothing will + really help you—till you have told some one who—who <i>will</i> + hurt you.” + </p> + <p> + “Who will hurt me—?” + </p> + <p> + “Till you have told the truth as—as openly as you lied.” + </p> + <p> + He started up, ghastly with fear. “I don’t understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “You must confess, then—publicly—openly—you must go to + the judge. I don’t know how it’s done.” + </p> + <p> + “To the judge? When they’re both dead? When everything is at an end? What + good could that do?” he groaned. + </p> + <p> + “Everything is not at an end for you—everything is just beginning. + You must clear yourself of this guilt; and there is only one way—to + confess it. And you must give back the money.” + </p> + <p> + This seemed to strike him as conclusive proof of her irrelevance. “I wish + I had never heard of the money! But to whom would you have me give it + back? I tell you she was a waif out of the gutter. I don’t believe any one + knew her real name—I don’t believe she had one.” + </p> + <p> + “She must have had a mother and father.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I to devote my life to hunting for them through the slums of + California? And how shall I know when I have found them? It’s impossible + to make you understand. I did wrong—I did horribly wrong—but + that is not the way to repair it.” + </p> + <p> + “What is, then?” + </p> + <p> + He paused, a little askance at the question. “To do better—to do my + best,” he said, with a sudden flourish of firmness. “To take warning by + this dreadful—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, be silent,” she cried out, and hid her face. He looked at her + hopelessly. + </p> + <p> + At last he said: “I don’t know what good it can do to go on talking. I + have only one more thing to say. Of course you know that you are free.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke simply, with a sudden return to his old voice and accent, at + which she weakened as under a caress. She lifted her head and gazed at + him. “Am I?” she said musingly. + </p> + <p> + “Kate!” burst from him; but she raised a silencing hand. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” she said, “that I am imprisoned—imprisoned with + you in this dreadful thing. First I must help you to get out—then it + will be time enough to think of myself.” + </p> + <p> + His face fell and he stammered: “I don’t understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t say what I shall do—or how I shall feel—till I know + what you are going to do and feel.” + </p> + <p> + “You must see how I feel—that I’m half dead with it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—but that is only half.” + </p> + <p> + He turned this over for a perceptible space of time before asking slowly: + “You mean that you’ll give me up, if I don’t do this crazy thing you + propose?” + </p> + <p> + She paused in turn. “No,” she said; “I don’t want to bribe you. You must + feel the need of it yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “The need of proclaiming this thing publicly?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + He sat staring before him. “Of course you realize what it would mean?” he + began at length. + </p> + <p> + “To you?” she returned. + </p> + <p> + “I put that aside. To others—to you. I should go to prison.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so,” she said simply. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to take it very easily—I’m afraid my mother wouldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Your mother?” This produced the effect he had expected. + </p> + <p> + “You hadn’t thought of her, I suppose? It would probably kill her.” + </p> + <p> + “It would have killed her to think that you could do what you have done!” + </p> + <p> + “It would have made her very unhappy; but there’s a difference.” + </p> + <p> + Yes: there was a difference; a difference which no rhetoric could + disguise. The secret sin would have made Mrs. Peyton wretched, but it + would not have killed her. And she would have taken precisely Denis’s view + of the elasticity of atonement: she would have accepted private regrets as + the genteel equivalent of open expiation. Kate could even imagine her + extracting a “lesson” from the providential fact that her son had not been + found out. + </p> + <p> + “You see it’s not so simple,” he broke out, with a tinge of doleful + triumph. + </p> + <p> + “No: it’s not simple,” she assented. + </p> + <p> + “One must think of others,” he continued, gathering faith in his argument + as he saw her reduced to acquiescence. + </p> + <p> + She made no answer, and after a moment he rose to go. So far, in + retrospect, she could follow the course of their talk; but when, in the + act of parting, argument lapsed into entreaty, and renunciation into the + passionate appeal to give him at least one more hearing, her memory lost + itself in a tumult of pain, and she recalled only that, when the door + closed on him, he took with him her promise to see him once again. + </p> + <h3> + IV + </h3> + <p> + She had promised to see him again; but the promise did not imply that she + had rejected his offer of freedom. In the first rush of misery she had not + fully repossessed herself, had felt herself entangled in his fate by a + hundred meshes of association and habit; but after a sleepless night spent + with the thought of him—that dreadful bridal of their souls—she + woke to a morrow in which he had no part. She had not sought her freedom, + nor had he given it; but a chasm had opened at their feet, and they found + themselves on different sides. + </p> + <p> + Now she was able to scan the disaster from the melancholy vantage of her + independence. She could even draw a solace from the fact that she had + ceased to love Denis. It was inconceivable that an emotion so interwoven + with every fibre of consciousness should cease as suddenly as the flow of + sap in an uprooted plant; but she had never allowed herself to be tricked + by the current phraseology of sentiment, and there were no stock axioms to + protect her from the truth. + </p> + <p> + It was probably because she had ceased to love him that she could look + forward with a kind of ghastly composure to seeing him again. She had + stipulated, of course, that the wedding should be put off, but she had + named no other condition beyond asking for two days to herself—two + days during which he was not even to write. She wished to shut herself in + with her misery, to accustom herself to it as she had accustomed herself + to happiness. But actual seclusion was impossible: the subtle reactions of + life almost at once began to break down her defences. She could no more + have her wretchedness to herself than any other emotion: all the lives + about her were so many unconscious factors in her sensations. She tried to + concentrate herself on the thought as to how she could best help poor + Denis; for love, in ebbing, had laid bare an unsuspected depth of pity. + But she found it more and more difficult to consider his situation in the + abstract light of right and wrong. Open expiation still seemed to her the + only possible way of healing; but she tried vainly to think of Mrs. Peyton + as taking such a view. Yet Mrs. Peyton ought at least to know what had + happened: was it not, in the last resort, she who should pronounce on her + son’s course? For a moment Kate was fascinated by this evasion of + responsibility; she had nearly decided to tell Denis that he must begin by + confessing everything to his mother. But almost at once she began to + shrink from the consequences. There was nothing she so dreaded for him as + that any one should take a light view of his act: should turn its + irremediableness into an excuse. And this, she foresaw, was what Mrs. + Peyton would do. The first burst of misery over, she would envelop the + whole situation in a mist of expediency. Brought to the bar of Kate’s + judgment, she at once revealed herself incapable of higher action. + </p> + <p> + Kate’s conception of her was still under arraignment when the actual Mrs. + Peyton fluttered in. It was the afternoon of the second day, as the girl + phrased it in the dismal re-creation of her universe. She had been + thinking so hard of Mrs. Peyton that the lady’s silvery insubstantial + presence seemed hardly more than a projection of the thought; but as Kate + collected herself, and regained contact with the outer world, her + preoccupation yielded to surprise. It was unusual for Mrs. Peyton to pay + visits. For years she had remained enthroned in a semi-invalidism which + prohibited effort while it did not preclude diversion; and the girl at + once divined a special purpose in her coming. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton’s traditions would not have permitted any direct method of + attack; and Kate had to sit through the usual prelude of ejaculation and + anecdote. Presently, however, the elder lady’s voice gathered + significance, and laying her hand on Kate’s she murmured: “I have come to + talk to you of this sad affair.” + </p> + <p> + Kate began to tremble. Was it possible that Denis had after all spoken? A + rising hope checked her utterance, and she saw in a flash that it still + lay with him to regain his hold on her. But Mrs. Peyton went on + delicately: “It has been a great shock to my poor boy. To be brought in + contact with Arthur’s past was in itself inexpressibly painful; but this + last dreadful business—that woman’s wicked act—” + </p> + <p> + “Wicked?” Kate exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton’s gentle stare reproved her. “Surely religion teaches us that + suicide is a sin? And to murder her child! I ought not to speak to you of + such things, my dear. No one has ever mentioned anything so dreadful in my + presence: my dear husband used to screen me so carefully from the painful + side of life. Where there is so much that is beautiful to dwell upon, we + should try to ignore the existence of such horrors. But nowadays + everything is in the papers; and Denis told me he thought it better that + you should hear the news first from him.” + </p> + <p> + Kate nodded without speaking. + </p> + <p> + “He felt how <i>dreadful</i> it was to have to tell you. But I tell him he + takes a morbid view of the case. Of course one is shocked at the woman’s + crime—but, if one looks a little deeper, how can one help seeing + that it may have been designed as the means of rescuing that poor child + from a life of vice and misery? That is the view I want Denis to take: I + want him to see how all the difficulties of life disappear when one has + learned to look for a divine purpose in human sufferings.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton rested a moment on this period, as an experienced climber + pauses to be overtaken by a less agile companion; but presently she became + aware that Kate was still far below her, and perhaps needed a stronger + incentive to the ascent. + </p> + <p> + “My dear child,” she said adroitly, “I said just now that I was sorry you + had been obliged to hear of this sad affair; but after all it is only you + who can avert its consequences.” + </p> + <p> + Kate drew an eager breath. “Its consequences?” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton’s voice dropped solemnly. “Denis has told me everything,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “Everything?” + </p> + <p> + “That you insist on putting off the marriage. Oh, my dear, I do implore + you to reconsider that!” + </p> + <p> + Kate sank back with the sense of having passed again into a region of + leaden shadow. “Is that all he told you?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton gazed at her with arch raillery. “All? Isn’t it everything—to + him?” + </p> + <p> + “Did he give you my reason, I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “He said you felt that, after this shocking tragedy, there ought, in + decency, to be a delay; and I quite understand the feeling. It does seem + too unfortunate that the woman should have chosen this particular time! + But you will find as you grow older that life is full of such sad + contrasts.” + </p> + <p> + Kate felt herself slowly petrifying under the warm drip of Mrs. Peyton’s + platitudes. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” the elder lady continued, “that there is only one point + from which we ought to consider the question—and that is, its effect + on Denis. But for that we ought to refuse to know anything about it. But + it has made my boy so unhappy. The law-suit was a cruel ordeal to him—the + dreadful notoriety, the revelation of poor Arthur’s infirmities. Denis is + as sensitive as a woman; it is his unusual refinement of feeling that + makes him so worthy of being loved by you. But such sensitiveness may be + carried to excess. He ought not to let this unhappy incident prey on him: + it shows a lack of trust in the divine ordering of things. That is what + troubles me: his faith in life has been shaken. And—you must forgive + me, dear child—you <i>will</i> forgive me, I know—but I can’t + help blaming you a little—” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton’s accent converted the accusation into a caress, which + prolonged itself in a tremulous pressure of Kate’s hand. + </p> + <p> + The girl gazed at her blankly. “You blame <i>me</i>—?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be offended, my child. I only fear that your excessive sympathy + with Denis, your own delicacy of feeling, may have led you to encourage + his morbid ideas. He tells me you were very much shocked—as you + naturally would be—as any girl must be—I would not have you + otherwise, dear Kate! It is <i>beautiful</i> that you should both feel so; + most beautiful; but you know religion teaches us not to yield too much to + our grief. Let the dead bury their dead; the living owe themselves to each + other. And what had this wretched woman to do with either of you? It is a + misfortune for Denis to have been connected in any way with a man of + Arthur Peyton’s character; but after all, poor Arthur did all he could to + atone for the disgrace he brought on us, by making Denis his heir—and + I am sure I have no wish to question the decrees of Providence.” Mrs. + Peyton paused again, and then softly absorbed both of Kate’s hands. “For + my part,” she continued, “I see in it another instance of the beautiful + ordering of events. Just after dear Denis’s inheritance has removed the + last obstacle to your marriage, this sad incident comes to show how + desperately he needs you, how cruel it would be to ask him to defer his + happiness.” + </p> + <p> + She broke off, shaken out of her habitual placidity by the abrupt + withdrawal of the girl’s hands. Kate sat inertly staring, but no answer + rose to her lips. + </p> + <p> + At length Mrs. Peyton resumed, gathering her draperies about her with a + tentative hint of leave-taking: “I may go home and tell him that you will + not put off the wedding?” + </p> + <p> + Kate was still silent, and her visitor looked at her with the mild + surprise of an advocate unaccustomed to plead in vain. + </p> + <p> + “If your silence means refusal, my dear, I think you ought to realize the + responsibility you assume.” Mrs. Peyton’s voice had acquired an edge of + righteous asperity. “If Denis has a fault it is that he is too gentle, too + yielding, too readily influenced by those he cares for. Your influence is + paramount with him now—but if you turn from him just when he needs + your help, who can say what the result will be?” + </p> + <p> + The argument, though impressively delivered, was hardly of a nature to + carry conviction to its hearer; but it was perhaps for that very reason + that she suddenly and unexpectedly replied to it by sinking back into her + seat with a burst of tears. To Mrs. Peyton, however, tears were the signal + of surrender, and, at Kate’s side in an instant she hastened to temper her + triumph with magnanimity. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t think I don’t feel with you; but we must both forget ourselves for + our boy’s sake. I told him I should come back with your promise.” + </p> + <p> + The arm she had slipped about Kate’s shoulder fell back with the girl’s + start. Kate had seen in a flash what capital would be made of her emotion. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, you misunderstand me. I can make no promise,” she declared. + </p> + <p> + The older lady sat a moment irresolute; then she restored her arm to the + shoulder from which it had been so abruptly displaced. + </p> + <p> + “My dear child,” she said, in a tone of tender confidence, “if I have + misunderstood you, ought you not to enlighten me? You asked me just now if + Denis had given me your reason for this strange postponement. He gave me + one reason, but it seems hardly sufficient to explain your conduct. If + there is any other,—and I know you well enough to feel sure there + is,—will you not trust me with it? If my boy has been unhappy enough + to displease you, will you not give his mother the chance to plead his + cause? Remember, no one should be condemned unheard. As Denis’s mother, I + have the right to ask for your reason.” + </p> + <p> + “My reason? My reason?” Kate stammered, panting with the exhaustion of the + struggle. Oh, if only Mrs. Peyton would release her! “If you have the + right to know it, why doesn’t he tell you?” she cried. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton stood up, quivering. “I will go home and ask him,” she said. + “I will tell him he had your permission to speak.” + </p> + <p> + She moved toward the door, with the nervous haste of a person unaccustomed + to decisive action. But Kate sprang before her. + </p> + <p> + “No, no; don’t ask him! I implore you not to ask him,” she cried. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton turned on her with sudden authority of voice and gesture. “Do + I understand you?” she said. “You admit that you have a reason for putting + off your marriage, and yet you forbid me—me, Denis’s mother—to + ask him what it is? My poor child, I needn’t ask, for I know already. If + he has offended you, and you refuse him the chance to defend himself, I + needn’t look farther for your reason: it is simply that you have ceased to + love him.” + </p> + <p> + Kate fell back from the door which she had instinctively barricaded. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps that is it,” she murmured, letting Mrs. Peyton pass. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Mr. Orme’s returning carriage-wheels crossed Mrs. Peyton’s indignant + flight; and an hour later Kate, in the bland candle-light of the + dinner-hour, sat listening with practised fortitude to her father’s + comments on the venison. + </p> + <p> + She had wondered, as she awaited him in the drawing-room, if he would + notice any change in her appearance. It seemed to her that the + flagellation of her thoughts must have left visible traces. But Mr. Orme + was not a man of subtle perceptions, save where his personal comfort was + affected: though his egoism was clothed in the finest feelers, he did not + suspect a similar surface in others. His daughter, as part of himself, + came within the normal range of his solicitude; but she was an outlying + region, a subject province; and Mr. Orme’s was a highly centralized + polity. + </p> + <p> + News of the painful incident—he often used Mrs. Peyton’s vocabulary—had + reached him at his club, and to some extent disturbed the assimilation of + a carefully ordered breakfast; but since then two days had passed, and it + did not take Mr. Orme forty-eight hours to resign himself to the + misfortunes of others. It was all very nasty, of course, and he wished to + heaven it hadn’t happened to any one about to be connected with him; but + he viewed it with the transient annoyance of a gentleman who has been + splashed by the mud of a fatal runaway. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Orme affected, under such circumstances, a bluff and hearty stoicism + as remote as possible from Mrs. Peyton’s deprecating evasion of facts. It + was a bad business; he was sorry Kate should have been mixed up with it; + but she would be married soon now, and then she would see that life wasn’t + exactly a Sunday-school story. Everybody was exposed to such disagreeable + accidents: he remembered a case in their own family—oh, a distant + cousin whom Kate wouldn’t have heard of—a poor fellow who had got + entangled with just such a woman, and having (most properly) been sent + packing by his father, had justified the latter’s course by promptly + forging his name—a very nasty affair altogether; but luckily the + scandal had been hushed up, the woman bought off, and the prodigal, after + a season of probation, safely married to a nice girl with a good income, + who was told by the family that the doctors recommended his settling in + California. + </p> + <p> + <i>Luckily the scandal was hushed up</i>: the phrase blazed out against + the dark background of Kate’s misery. That was doubtless what most people + felt—the words represented the consensus of respectable opinion. The + best way of repairing a fault was to hide it: to tear up the floor and + bury the victim at night. Above all, no coroner and no autopsy! + </p> + <p> + She began to feel a strange interest in her distant cousin. “And his wife—did + she know what he had done?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Orme stared. His moral pointed, he had returned to the contemplation + of his own affairs. + </p> + <p> + “His wife? Oh, of course not. The secret has been most admirably kept; but + her property was put in trust, so she’s quite safe with him.” + </p> + <p> + Her property! Kate wondered if her faith in her husband had also been put + in trust, if her sensibilities had been protected from his possible + inroads. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think it quite fair to have deceived her in that way?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Orme gave her a puzzled glance: he had no taste for the by-paths of + ethical conjecture. + </p> + <p> + “His people wanted to give the poor fellow another chance; they did the + best they could for him.” + </p> + <p> + “And—he has done nothing dishonourable since?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I know of: the last I heard was that they had a little boy, and + that he was quite happy. At that distance he’s not likely to bother <i>us</i>, + at all events.” + </p> + <p> + Long after Mr. Orme had left the topic, Kate remained lost in its + contemplation. She had begun to perceive that the fair surface of life was + honeycombed by a vast system of moral sewage. Every respectable household + had its special arrangements for the private disposal of family scandals; + it was only among the reckless and improvident that such hygienic + precautions were neglected. Who was she to pass judgment on the merits of + such a system? The social health must be preserved: the means devised were + the result of long experience and the collective instinct of + self-preservation. She had meant to tell her father that evening that her + marriage had been put off; but she now abstained from doing so, not from + any doubt of Mr. Orme’s acquiescence—he could always be made to feel + the force of conventional scruples—but because the whole question + sank into insignificance beside the larger issue which his words had + raised. + </p> + <p> + In her own room, that night, she passed through that travail of the soul + of which the deeper life is born. Her first sense was of a great moral + loneliness—an isolation more complete, more impenetrable, than that + in which the discovery of Denis’s act had plunged her. For she had vaguely + leaned, then, on a collective sense of justice that should respond to her + own ideas of right and wrong: she still believed in the logical + correspondence of theory and practice. Now she saw that, among those + nearest her, there was no one who recognized the moral need of expiation. + She saw that to take her father or Mrs. Peyton into her confidence would + be but to widen the circle of sterile misery in which she and Denis moved. + At first the aspect of life thus revealed to her seemed simply mean and + base—a world where honour was a pact of silence between adroit + accomplices. The network of circumstance had tightened round her, and + every effort to escape drew its meshes closer. But as her struggles + subsided she felt the spiritual release which comes with acceptance: not + connivance in dishonour, but recognition of evil. Out of that dark vision + light was to come, the shaft of cloud turning to the pillar of fire. For + here, at last, life lay before her as it was: not brave, garlanded and + victorious, but naked, grovelling and diseased, dragging its maimed limbs + through the mud, yet lifting piteous hands to the stars. Love itself, once + throned aloft on an altar of dreams, how it stole to her now, storm-beaten + and scarred, pleading for the shelter of her breast! Love, indeed, not in + the old sense in which she had conceived it, but a graver, austerer + presence—the charity of the mystic three. She thought she had ceased + to love Denis—but what had she loved in him but her happiness and + his? Their affection had been the <i>garden enclosed</i> of the Canticles, + where they were to walk forever in a delicate isolation of bliss. But now + love appeared to her as something more than this—something wider, + deeper, more enduring than the selfish passion of a man and a woman. She + saw it in all its far-reaching issues, till the first meeting of two pairs + of young eyes kindled a light which might be a high-lifted beacon across + dark waters of humanity. + </p> + <p> + All this did not come to her clearly, consecutively, but in a series of + blurred and shifting images. Marriage had meant to her, as it means to + girls brought up in ignorance of life, simply the exquisite prolongation + of wooing. If she had looked beyond, to the vision of wider ties, it was + as a traveller gazes over a land veiled in golden haze, and so far distant + that the imagination delays to explore it. But now through the blur of + sensations one image strangely persisted—the image of Denis’s child. + Had she ever before thought of their having a child? She could not + remember. She was like one who wakens from a long fever: she recalled + nothing of her former self or of her former feelings. She knew only that + the vision persisted—the vision of the child whose mother she was + not to be. It was impossible that she should marry Denis—her inmost + soul rejected him ... but it was just because she was not to be the + child’s mother that its image followed her so pleadingly. For she saw with + perfect clearness the inevitable course of events. Denis would marry some + one else—he was one of the men who are fated to marry, and she + needed not his mother’s reminder that her abandonment of him at an + emotional crisis would fling him upon the first sympathy within reach. He + would marry a girl who knew nothing of his secret—for Kate was + intensely aware that he would never again willingly confess himself—he + would marry a girl who trusted him and leaned on him, as she, Kate Orme—the + earlier Kate Orme—had done but two days since! And with this + deception between them their child would be born: born to an inheritance + of secret weakness, a vice of the moral fibre, as it might be born with + some hidden physical taint which would destroy it before the cause should + be detected.... Well, and what of it? Was she to hold herself responsible? + Were not thousands of children born with some such unsuspected taint?... + Ah, but if here was one that she could save? What if she, who had had so + exquisite a vision of wifehood, should reconstruct from its ruins this + vision of protecting maternity—if her love for her lover should be, + not lost, but transformed, enlarged, into this passion of charity for his + race? If she might expiate and redeem his fault by becoming a refuge from + its consequences? Before this strange extension of her love all the old + limitations seemed to fall. Something had cleft the surface of self, and + there welled up the mysterious primal influences, the sacrificial instinct + of her sex, a passion of spiritual motherhood that made her long to fling + herself between the unborn child and its fate.... + </p> + <p> + She never knew, then or after, how she reached this mystic climax of + effacement; she was only conscious, through her anguish, of that lift of + the heart which made one of the saints declare that joy was the inmost + core of sorrow. For it was indeed a kind of joy she felt, if old names + must serve for such new meanings; a surge of liberating faith in life, the + old <i>credo quia absurdum</i> which is the secret cry of all supreme + endeavour. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART II + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + “Does it look nice, mother?” + </p> + <p> + Dick Peyton met her with the question on the threshold, drawing her gaily + into the little square room, and adding, with a laugh with a blush in it: + “You know she’s an uncommonly noticing person, and little things tell with + her.” + </p> + <p> + He swung round on his heel to follow his mother’s smiling inspection of + the apartment. + </p> + <p> + “She seems to have <i>all</i> the qualities,” Mrs. Denis Peyton remarked, + as her circuit finally brought her to the prettily appointed tea-table. + </p> + <p> + “<i>All</i>,” he declared, taking the sting from her emphasis by his + prompt adoption of it. Dick had always had a wholesome way of thus + appropriating to his own use such small shafts of maternal irony as were + now and then aimed at him. + </p> + <p> + Kate Peyton laughed and loosened her furs. “It looks charmingly,” she + pronounced, ending her survey by an approach to the window, which gave, + far below, the oblique perspective of a long side-street leading to Fifth + Avenue. + </p> + <p> + The high-perched room was Dick Peyton’s private office, a retreat + partitioned off from the larger enclosure in which, under a north light + and on a range of deal tables, three or four young draughtsmen were busily + engaged in elaborating his architectural projects. The outer door of the + office bore the sign: <i>Peyton and Gill, Architects</i>; but Gill was an + utilitarian person, as unobtrusive as his name, who contented himself with + a desk in the workroom, and left Dick to lord it alone in the small + apartment to which clients were introduced, and where the social part of + the business was carried on. + </p> + <p> + It was to serve, on this occasion, as the scene of a tea designed, as Kate + Peyton was vividly aware, to introduce a certain young lady to the scene + of her son’s labours. Mrs. Peyton had been hearing a great deal lately + about Clemence Verney. Dick was naturally expansive, and his close + intimacy with his mother—an intimacy fostered by his father’s early + death—if it had suffered some natural impairment in his school and + college days, had of late been revived by four years of comradeship in + Paris, where Mrs. Peyton, in a tiny apartment of the Rue de Varennes, had + kept house for him during his course of studies at the Beaux Arts. There + were indeed not lacking critics of her own sex who accused Kate Peyton of + having figured too largely in her son’s life; of having failed to efface + herself at a period when it is agreed that young men are best left free to + try conclusions with the world. Mrs. Peyton, had she cared to defend + herself, might have said that Dick, if communicative, was not + impressionable, and that the closeness of texture which enabled him to + throw off her sarcasms preserved him also from the infiltration of her + prejudices. He was certainly no knight of the apron-string, but a + seemingly resolute and self-sufficient young man, whose romantic + friendship with his mother had merely served to throw a veil of suavity + over the hard angles of youth. + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Peyton’s real excuse was after all one which she would never have + given. It was because her intimacy with her son was the one need of her + life that she had, with infinite tact and discretion, but with equal + persistency, clung to every step of his growth, dissembling herself, + adapting herself, rejuvenating herself in the passionate effort to be + always within reach, but never in the way. + </p> + <p> + Denis Peyton had died after seven years of marriage, when his boy was + barely six. During those seven years he had managed to squander the best + part of the fortune he had inherited from his step-brother; so that, at + his death, his widow and son were left with a scant competence. Mrs. + Peyton, during her husband’s life, had apparently made no effort to + restrain his expenditure. She had even been accused by those judicious + persons who are always ready with an estimate of their neighbours’ + motives, of having encouraged poor Denis’s improvidence for the + gratification of her own ambition. She had in fact, in the early days of + their marriage, tried to launch him in politics, and had perhaps drawn + somewhat heavily on his funds in the first heat of the contest; but the + experiment ending in failure, as Denis Peyton’s experiments were apt to + end, she had made no farther demands on his exchequer. Her personal tastes + were in fact unusually simple, but her outspoken indifference to money was + not, in the opinion of her critics, designed to act as a check upon her + husband; and it resulted in leaving her, at his death, in straits from + which it was impossible not to deduce a moral. + </p> + <p> + Her small means, and the care of the boy’s education, served the widow as + a pretext for secluding herself in a socially remote suburb, where it was + inferred that she was expiating, on queer food and in ready-made boots, + her rash defiance of fortune. Whether or not Mrs. Peyton’s penance took + this form, she hoarded her substance to such good purpose that she was not + only able to give Dick the best of schooling, but to propose, on his + leaving Harvard, that he should prolong his studies by another four years + at the Beaux Arts. It had been the joy of her life that her boy had early + shown a marked bent for a special line of work. She could not have borne + to see him reduced to a mere money-getter, yet she was not sorry that + their small means forbade the cultivation of an ornamental leisure. In his + college days Dick had troubled her by a superabundance of tastes, a + restless flitting from one form of artistic expression to another. + Whatever art he enjoyed he wished to practise, and he passed from music to + painting, from painting to architecture, with an ease which seemed to his + mother to indicate lack of purpose rather than excess of talent. She had + observed that these changes were usually due, not to self-criticism, but + to some external discouragement. Any depreciation of his work was enough + to convince him of the uselessness of pursuing that special form of art, + and the reaction produced the immediate conviction that he was really + destined to shine in some other line of work. He had thus swung from one + calling to another till, at the end of his college career, his mother took + the decisive step of transplanting him to the Beaux Arts, in the hope that + a definite course of study, combined with the stimulus of competition, + might fix his wavering aptitudes. The result justified her expectation, + and their four years in the Rue de Varennes yielded the happiest + confirmation of her belief in him. Dick’s ability was recognized not only + by his mother, but by his professors. He was engrossed in his work, and + his first successes developed his capacity for application. His mother’s + only fear was that praise was still too necessary to him. She was + uncertain how long his ambition would sustain him in the face of failure. + He gave lavishly where he was sure of a return; but it remained to be seen + if he were capable of production without recognition. She had brought him + up in a wholesome scorn of material rewards, and nature seemed, in this + direction, to have seconded her training. He was genuinely indifferent to + money, and his enjoyment of beauty was of that happy sort which does not + generate the wish for possession. As long as the inner eye had food for + contemplation, he cared very little for the deficiencies in his + surroundings; or, it might rather be said, he felt, in the sum-total of + beauty about him, an ownership of appreciation that left him free from the + fret of personal desire. Mrs. Peyton had cultivated to excess this + disregard of material conditions; but she now began to ask herself + whether, in so doing, she had not laid too great a strain on a temperament + naturally exalted. In guarding against other tendencies she had perhaps + fostered in him too exclusively those qualities which circumstances had + brought to an unusual development in herself. His enthusiasms and his + disdains were alike too unqualified for that happy mean of character which + is the best defence against the surprises of fortune. If she had taught + him to set an exaggerated value on ideal rewards, was not that but a + shifting of the danger-point on which her fears had always hung? She + trembled sometimes to think how little love and a lifelong vigilance had + availed in the deflecting of inherited tendencies. + </p> + <p> + Her fears were in a measure confirmed by the first two years of their life + in New York, and the opening of his career as a professional architect. + Close on the easy triumphs of his studentships there came the chilling + reaction of public indifference. Dick, on his return from Paris, had + formed a partnership with an architect who had had several years of + practical training in a New York office; but the quiet and industrious + Gill, though he attracted to the new firm a few small jobs which + overflowed from the business of his former employer, was not able to + infect the public with his own faith in Peyton’s talents, and it was + trying to a genius who felt himself capable of creating palaces to have to + restrict his efforts to the building of suburban cottages or the planning + of cheap alterations in private houses. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton expended all the ingenuities of tenderness in keeping up her + son’s courage; and she was seconded in the task by a friend whose + acquaintance Dick had made at the Beaux Arts, and who, two years before + the Peytons, had returned to New York to start on his own career as an + architect. Paul Darrow was a young man full of crude seriousness, who, + after a youth of struggling work and study in his native northwestern + state, had won a scholarship which sent him abroad for a course at the + Beaux Arts. His two years there coincided with the first part of Dick’s + residence, and Darrow’s gifts had at once attracted the younger student. + Dick was unstinted in his admiration of rival talent, and Mrs. Peyton, who + was romantically given to the cultivation of such generosities, had + seconded his enthusiasm by the kindest offers of hospitality to the young + student. Darrow thus became the grateful frequenter of their little <i>salon</i>; + and after their return to New York the intimacy between the young men was + renewed, though Mrs. Peyton found it more difficult to coax Dick’s friend + to her New York drawing-room than to the informal surroundings of the Rue + de Varennes. There, no doubt, secluded and absorbed in her son’s work, she + had seemed to Darrow almost a fellow-student; but seen among her own + associates she became once more the woman of fashion, divided from him by + the whole breadth of her ease and his awkwardness. Mrs. Peyton, whose tact + had divined the cause of his estrangement, would not for an instant let it + affect the friendship of the two young men. She encouraged Dick to + frequent Darrow, in whom she divined a persistency of effort, an artistic + self-confidence, in curious contrast to his social hesitancies. The + example of his obstinate capacity for work was just the influence her son + needed, and if Darrow would not come to them she insisted that Dick must + seek him out, must never let him think that any social discrepancy could + affect a friendship based on deeper things. Dick, who had all the + loyalties, and who took an honest pride in his friend’s growing success, + needed no urging to maintain the intimacy; and his copious reports of + midnight colloquies in Darrow’s lodgings showed Mrs. Peyton that she had a + strong ally in her invisible friend. + </p> + <p> + It had been, therefore, somewhat of a shock to learn in the course of time + that Darrow’s influence was being shared, if not counteracted, by that of + a young lady in whose honour Dick was now giving his first professional + tea. Mrs. Peyton had heard a great deal about Miss Clemence Verney, first + from the usual purveyors of such information, and more recently from her + son, who, probably divining that rumour had been before him, adopted his + usual method of disarming his mother by taking her into his confidence. + But, ample as her information was, it remained perplexing and + contradictory, and even her own few meetings with the girl had not helped + her to a definite opinion. Miss Verney, in conduct and ideas, was patently + of the “new school”: a young woman of feverish activities and broad-cast + judgments, whose very versatility made her hard to define. Mrs. Peyton was + shrewd enough to allow for the accidents of environment; what she wished + to get at was the residuum of character beneath Miss Verney’s shifting + surface. + </p> + <p> + “It looks charmingly,” Mrs. Peyton repeated, giving a loosening touch to + the chrysanthemums in a tall vase on her son’s desk. + </p> + <p> + Dick laughed, and glanced at his watch. + </p> + <p> + “They won’t be here for another quarter of an hour. I think I’ll tell Gill + to clean out the work-room before they come.” + </p> + <p> + “Are we to see the drawings for the competition?” his mother asked. + </p> + <p> + He shook his head smilingly. “Can’t—I’ve asked one or two of the + Beaux Arts fellows, you know; and besides, old Darrow’s actually coming.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” Mrs. Peyton exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “He swore he would last night.” Dick laughed again, with a tinge of + self-satisfaction. “I’ve an idea he wants to see Miss Verney.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” his mother murmured. There was a pause before she added: “Has Darrow + really gone in for this competition?” + </p> + <p> + “Rather! I should say so! He’s simply working himself to the bone.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton sat revolving her muff on a meditative hand; at length she + said: “I’m not sure I think it quite nice of him.” + </p> + <p> + Her son halted before her with an incredulous stare. “<i>Mother</i>!” he + exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + The rebuke sent a blush to her forehead. “Well—considering your + friendship—and everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Everything? What do you mean by everything? The fact that he had more + ability than I have and is therefore more likely to succeed? The fact that + he needs the money and the success a deuced sight more than any of us? Is + that the reason you think he oughtn’t to have entered? Mother! I never + heard you say an ungenerous thing before.” + </p> + <p> + The blush deepened to crimson, and she rose with a nervous laugh. “It <i>was</i> + ungenerous,” she conceded. “I suppose I’m jealous for you. I hate these + competitions!” + </p> + <p> + Her son smiled reassuringly. “You needn’t. I’m not afraid: I think I shall + pull it off this time. In fact, Paul’s the only man I’m afraid of—I’m + always afraid of Paul—but the mere fact that he’s in the thing is a + tremendous stimulus.” + </p> + <p> + His mother continued to study him with an anxious tenderness. “Have you + worked out the whole scheme? Do you <i>see</i> it yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, broadly, yes. There’s a gap here and there—a hazy bit, rather—it’s + the hardest problem I’ve ever had to tackle; but then it’s my biggest + opportunity, and I’ve simply <i>got</i> to pull it off!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton sat silent, considering his flushed face and illumined eye, + which were rather those of the victor nearing the goal than of the runner + just beginning the race. She remembered something that Darrow had once + said of him: “Dick always sees the end too soon.” + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t too much time left,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Just a week. But I shan’t go anywhere after this. I shall renounce the + world.” He glanced smilingly at the festal tea-table and the embowered + desk. “When I next appear, it will either be with my heel on Paul’s neck—poor + old Paul—or else—or else—being dragged lifeless from the + arena!” + </p> + <p> + His mother nervously took up the laugh with which he ended. “Oh, not + lifeless,” she said. + </p> + <p> + His face clouded. “Well, maimed for life, then,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton made no answer. She knew how much hung on the possibility of + his winning the competition which for weeks past had engrossed him. It was + a design for the new museum of sculpture, for which the city had recently + voted half a million. Dick’s taste ran naturally to the grandiose, and the + erection of public buildings had always been the object of his ambition. + Here was an unmatched opportunity, and he knew that, in a competition of + the kind, the newest man had as much chance of success as the firm of most + established reputation, since every competitor entered on his own merits, + the designs being submitted to a jury of architects who voted on them + without knowing the names of the contestants. Dick, characteristically, + was not afraid of the older firms; indeed, as he had told his mother, Paul + Darrow was the only rival he feared. Mrs. Peyton knew that, to a certain + point, self-confidence was a good sign; but somehow her son’s did not + strike her as being of the right substance—it seemed to have no + dimension but extent. Her fears were complicated by a suspicion that, + under his professional eagerness for success, lay the knowledge that Miss + Verney’s favour hung on the victory. It was that, perhaps, which gave a + feverish touch to his ambition; and Mrs. Peyton, surveying the future from + the height of her material apprehensions, divined that the situation + depended mainly on the girl’s view of it. She would have given a great + deal to know Clemence Verney’s conception of success. + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + Miss Verney, when she presently appeared, in the wake of the impersonal + and exclamatory young married woman who served as a background to her + vivid outline, seemed competent to impart at short notice any information + required of her. She had never struck Mrs. Peyton as more alert and + efficient. A melting grace of line and colour tempered her edges with the + charming haze of youth; but it occurred to her critic that she might + emerge from this morning mist as a dry and metallic old woman. + </p> + <p> + If Miss Verney suspected a personal application in Dick’s hospitality, it + did not call forth in her the usual tokens of self-consciousness. Her + manner may have been a shade more vivid than usual, but she preserved all + her bright composure of glance and speech, so that one guessed, under the + rapid dispersal of words, an undisturbed steadiness of perception. She was + lavishly but not indiscriminately interested in the evidences of her + host’s industry, and as the other guests assembled, straying with vague + ejaculations through the labyrinth of scale drawings and blue prints, Mrs. + Peyton noted that Miss Verney alone knew what these symbols stood for. + </p> + <p> + To his visitors’ requests to be shown his plans for the competition, + Peyton had opposed a laughing refusal, enforced by the presence of two + fellow-architects, young men with lingering traces of the Beaux Arts in + their costume and vocabulary, who stood about in Gavarni attitudes and + dazzled the ladies by allusions to fenestration and entasis. The party had + already drifted back to the tea-table when a hesitating knock announced + Darrow’s approach. He entered with his usual air of having blundered in by + mistake, embarrassed by his hat and great-coat, and thrown into deeper + confusion by the necessity of being introduced to the ladies grouped about + the urn. To the men he threw a gruff nod of fellowship, and Dick having + relieved him of his encumbrances, he retreated behind the shelter of Mrs. + Peyton’s welcome. The latter judiciously gave him time to recover, and + when she turned to him he was engaged in a surreptitious inspection of + Miss Verney, whose dusky slenderness, relieved against the bare walls of + the office, made her look like a young St. John of Donatello’s. The girl + returned his look with one of her clear glances, and the group having + presently broken up again, Mrs. Peyton saw that she had drifted to + Darrow’s side. The visitors at length wandered back to the work-room to + see a portfolio of Dick’s water-colours; but Mrs. Peyton remained seated + behind the urn, listening to the interchange of talk through the open door + while she tried to coordinate her impressions. + </p> + <p> + She saw that Miss Verney was sincerely interested in Dick’s work: it was + the nature of her interest that remained in doubt. As if to solve this + doubt, the girl presently reappeared alone on the threshold, and + discovering Mrs. Peyton, advanced toward her with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Are you tired of hearing us praise Mr. Peyton’s things?” she asked, + dropping into a low chair beside her hostess. “Unintelligent admiration + must be a bore to people who know, and Mr. Darrow tells me you are almost + as learned as your son.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton returned the smile, but evaded the question. “I should be + sorry to think your admiration unintelligent,” she said. “I like to feel + that my boy’s work is appreciated by people who understand it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I have the usual smattering,” said Miss Verney carelessly. “I <i>think</i> + I know why I admire his work; but then I am sure I see more in it when + some one like Mr. Darrow tells me how remarkable it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Does Mr. Darrow say that?” the mother exclaimed, losing sight of her + object in the rush of maternal pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “He has said nothing else: it seems to be the only subject which loosens + his tongue. I believe he is more anxious to have your son win the + competition than to win it himself.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a very good friend,” Mrs. Peyton assented. She was struck by the + way in which the girl led the topic back to the special application of it + which interested her. She had none of the artifices of prudery. + </p> + <p> + “He feels sure that Mr. Peyton <i>will</i> win,” Miss Verney continued. + “It was very interesting to hear his reasons. He is an extraordinarily + interesting man. It must be a tremendous incentive to have such a friend.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton hesitated. “The friendship is delightful; but I don’t know + that my son needs the incentive. He is almost too ambitious.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Verney looked up brightly. “Can one be?” she said. “Ambition is so + splendid! It must be so glorious to be a man and go crashing through + obstacles, straight up to the thing one is after. I’m afraid I don’t care + for people who are superior to success. I like marriage by capture!” She + rose with her wandering laugh, and stood flushed and sparkling above Mrs. + Peyton, who continued to gaze at her gravely. + </p> + <p> + “What do you call success?” the latter asked. “It means so many different + things.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I know—the inward approval, and all that. Well, I’m afraid + I like the other kind: the drums and wreaths and acclamations. If I were + Mr. Peyton, for instance, I’d much rather win the competition than—than + be as disinterested as Mr. Darrow.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton smiled. “I hope you won’t tell him so,” she said half + seriously. “He is over-stimulated already; and he is so easily influenced + by any one who—whose opinion he values.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped abruptly, hearing herself, with a strange inward shock, + re-echo the words which another man’s mother had once spoken to her. Miss + Verney did not seem to take the allusion to herself, for she continued to + fix on Mrs. Peyton a gaze of impartial sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “But we can’t help being interested!” she declared. + </p> + <p> + “It’s very kind of you; but I wish you would all help him to feel that his + competition is after all of very little account compared with other things—his + health and his peace of mind, for instance. He is looking horribly used + up.” + </p> + <p> + The girl glanced over her shoulder at Dick, who was just reentering the + room at Darrow’s side. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do you think so?” she said. “I should have thought it was his friend + who was used up.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton followed the glance with surprise. She had been too + preoccupied to notice Darrow, whose crudely modelled face was always of a + dull pallour, to which his slow-moving grey eye lent no relief except in + rare moments of expansion. Now the face had the fallen lines of a + death-mask, in which only the smile he turned on Dick remained alive; and + the sight smote her with compunction. Poor Darrow! He did look horribly + fagged out: as if he needed care and petting and good food. No one knew + exactly how he lived. His rooms, according to Dick’s report, were fireless + and ill kept, but he stuck to them because his landlady, whom he had + fished out of some financial plight, had difficulty in obtaining other + lodgers. He belonged to no clubs, and wandered out alone for his meals, + mysteriously refusing the hospitality which his friends pressed on him. It + was plain that he was very poor, and Dick conjectured that he sent what he + earned to an aunt in his native village; but he was so silent about such + matters that, outside of his profession, he seemed to have no personal + life. + </p> + <p> + Miss Verney’s companion having presently advised her of the lapse of time, + there ensued a general leave-taking, at the close of which Dick + accompanied the ladies to their carriage. Darrow was meanwhile blundering + into his greatcoat, a process which always threw him into a state of + perspiring embarrassment; but Mrs. Peyton, surprising him in the act, + suggested that he should defer it and give her a few moments’ talk. + </p> + <p> + “Let me make you some fresh tea,” she said, as Darrow blushingly shed the + garment, “and when Dick comes back we’ll all walk home together. I’ve not + had a chance to say two words to you this winter.” + </p> + <p> + Darrow sank into a chair at her side and nervously contemplated his boots. + “I’ve been tremendously hard at work,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I know: <i>too</i> hard at work, I’m afraid. Dick tells me you have been + wearing yourself out over your competition plans.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, I shall have time to rest now,” he returned. “I put the last + stroke to them this morning.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton gave him a quick look. “You’re ahead of Dick, then.” + </p> + <p> + “In point of time only,” he said smiling. + </p> + <p> + “That is in itself an advantage,” she answered with a tinge of asperity. + In spite of an honest effort for impartiality she could not, at the + moment, help regarding Darrow as an obstacle in her son’s path. + </p> + <p> + “I wish the competition were over!” she exclaimed, conscious that her + voice had betrayed her. “I hate to see you both looking so fagged.” + </p> + <p> + Darrow smiled again, perhaps at her studied inclusion of himself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, <i>Dick</i>’s all right,” he said. “He’ll pull himself together in no + time.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke with an emphasis which might have struck her, if her sympathies + had not again been deflected by the allusion to her son. + </p> + <p> + “Not if he doesn’t win,” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Darrow took the tea she had poured for him, knocking the spoon to the + floor in his eagerness to perform the feat gracefully. In bending to + recover the spoon he struck the tea-table with his shoulder, and set the + cups dancing. Having regained a measure of composure, he took a swallow of + the hot tea and set it down with a gasp, precariously near the edge of the + tea-table. Mrs. Peyton rescued the cup, and Darrow, apparently forgetting + its existence, rose and began to pace the room. It was always hard for him + to sit still when he talked. + </p> + <p> + “You mean he’s so tremendously set on it?” he broke out. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton hesitated. “You know him almost as well as I do,” she said. + “He’s capable of anything where there is a possibility of success; but I’m + always afraid of the reaction.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, Dick’s a man,” said Darrow bluntly. “Besides, he’s going to + succeed.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish he didn’t feel so sure of it. You mustn’t think I’m afraid for + him. He’s a man, and I want him to take his chances with other men; but I + wish he didn’t care so much about what people think.” + </p> + <p> + “People?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Verney, then: I suppose you know.” + </p> + <p> + Darrow paused in front of her. “Yes: he’s talked a good deal about her. + You think she wants him to succeed?” + </p> + <p> + “At any price!” + </p> + <p> + He drew his brows together. “What do you call any price?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—herself, in this case, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + Darrow bent a puzzled stare on her. “You mean she attached that amount of + importance to this competition?” + </p> + <p> + “She seems to regard it as symbolical: that’s what I gather. And I’m + afraid she’s given him the same impression.” + </p> + <p> + Darrow’s sunken face was suffused by his rare smile. “Oh, well, he’ll pull + it off then!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton rose with a distracted sigh. “I half hope he won’t, for such a + motive,” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “The motive won’t show in his work,” said Darrow. He added, after a pause + probably devoted to the search for the right word: “He seems to think a + great deal of her.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton fixed him thoughtfully. “I wish I knew what <i>you</i> think + of her.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I never saw her before.” + </p> + <p> + “No; but you talked with her to-day. You’ve formed an opinion: I think you + came here on purpose.” + </p> + <p> + He chuckled joyously at her discernment: she had always seemed to him + gifted with supernatural insight. “Well, I did want to see her,” he owned. + </p> + <p> + “And what do you think?” + </p> + <p> + He took a few vague steps and then halted before Mrs. Peyton. “I think,” + he said, smiling, “that she likes to be helped first, and to have + everything on her plate at once.” + </p> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <p> + At dinner, with a rush of contrition, Mrs. Peyton remembered that she had + after all not spoken to Darrow about his health. He had distracted her by + beginning to talk of Dick; and besides, much as Darrow’s opinions + interested her, his personality had never fixed her attention. He always + seemed to her simply a vehicle for the transmission of ideas. + </p> + <p> + It was Dick who recalled her to a sense of her omission by asking if she + hadn’t thought that old Paul looked rather more ragged than usual. + </p> + <p> + “He did look tired,” Mrs. Peyton conceded. “I meant to tell him to take + care of himself.” + </p> + <p> + Dick laughed at the futility of the measure. “Old Paul is never tired: he + can work twenty-five hours out of the twenty-four. The trouble with him is + that he’s ill. Something wrong with the machinery, I’m afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m sorry. Has he seen a doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “He wouldn’t listen to me when I suggested it the other day; but he’s so + deuced mysterious that I don’t know what he may have done since.” Dick + rose, putting down his coffee-cup and half-smoked cigarette. “I’ve half a + mind to pop in on him to-night and see how he’s getting on.” + </p> + <p> + “But he lives at the other end of the earth; and you’re tired yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not tired; only a little strung-up,” he returned, smiling. “And + besides, I’m going to meet Gill at the office by and by and put in a + night’s work. It won’t hurt me to take a look at Paul first.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton was silent. She knew it was useless to contend with her son + about his work, and she tried to fortify herself with the remembrance of + her own words to Darrow: Dick was a man and must take his chance with + other men. + </p> + <p> + But Dick, glancing at his watch, uttered an exclamation of annoyance. “Oh, + by Jove, I shan’t have time after all. Gill is waiting for me now; we must + have dawdled over dinner.” He went to give his mother a caressing tap on + the cheek. “Now don’t worry,” he adjured her; and as she smiled back at + him he added with a sudden happy blush: “She doesn’t, you know: she’s so + sure of me.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton’s smile faded, and laying a detaining hand on his, she said + with sudden directness: “Sure of you, or of your success?” + </p> + <p> + He hesitated. “Oh, she regards them as synonymous. She thinks I’m bound to + get on.” + </p> + <p> + “But if you don’t?” + </p> + <p> + He shrugged laughingly, but with a slight contraction of his confident + brows. “Why, I shall have to make way for some one else, I suppose. That’s + the law of life.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton sat upright, gazing at him with a kind of solemnity. “Is it + the law of love?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + He looked down on her with a smile that trembled a little. “My dear + romantic mother, I don’t want her pity, you know!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Dick, coming home the next morning shortly before daylight, left the house + again after a hurried breakfast, and Mrs. Peyton heard nothing of him till + nightfall. He had promised to be back for dinner, but a few moments before + eight, as she was coming down to the drawing-room, the parlour-maid handed + her a hastily pencilled note. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t wait for me,” it ran. “Darrow is ill and I can’t leave him. I’ll + send a line when the doctor has seen him.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton, who was a woman of rapid reactions, read the words with a + pang. She was ashamed of the jealous thoughts she had harboured of Darrow, + and of the selfishness which had made her lose sight of his troubles in + the consideration of Dick’s welfare. Even Clemence Verney, whom she + secretly accused of a want of heart, had been struck by Darrow’s ill + looks, while she had had eyes only for her son. Poor Darrow! How cold and + self-engrossed he must have thought her! In the first rush of penitence + her impulse was to drive at once to his lodgings; but the infection of his + own shyness restrained her. Dick’s note gave no details; the illness was + evidently grave, but might not Darrow regard her coming as an intrusion? + To repair her negligence of yesterday by a sudden invasion of his privacy + might be only a greater failure in tact; and after a moment of + deliberation she resolved on sending to ask Dick if he wished her to go to + him. + </p> + <p> + The reply, which came late, was what she had expected. “No, we have all + the help we need. The doctor has sent a good nurse, and is coming again + later. It’s pneumonia, but of course he doesn’t say much yet. Let me have + some beef-juice as soon as the cook can make it.” + </p> + <p> + The beef-juice ordered and dispatched, she was left to a vigil in + melancholy contrast to that of the previous evening. Then she had been + enclosed in the narrow limits of her maternal interests; now the barriers + of self were broken down, and her personal preoccupations swept away on + the current of a wider sympathy. As she sat there in the radius of + lamp-light which, for so many evenings, had held Dick and herself in a + charmed circle of tenderness, she saw that her love for her boy had come + to be merely a kind of extended egotism. Love had narrowed instead of + widening her, had rebuilt between herself and life the very walls which, + years and years before, she had laid low with bleeding fingers. It was + horrible, how she had come to sacrifice everything to the one passion of + ambition for her boy.... + </p> + <p> + At daylight she sent another messenger, one of her own servants, who + returned without having seen Dick. Mr. Peyton had sent word that there was + no change. He would write later; he wanted nothing. The day wore on + drearily. Once Kate found herself computing the precious hours lost to + Dick’s unfinished task. She blushed at her ineradicable selfishness, and + tried to turn her mind to poor Darrow. But she could not master her + impulses; and now she caught herself indulging the thought that his + illness would at least exclude him from the competition. But no—she + remembered that he had said his work was finished. Come what might, he + stood in the path of her boy’s success. She hated herself for the thought, + but it would not down. + </p> + <p> + Evening drew on, but there was no note from Dick. At length, in the shamed + reaction from her fears, she rang for a carriage and went upstairs to + dress. She could stand aloof no longer: she must go to Darrow, if only to + escape from her wicked thoughts of him. As she came down again she heard + Dick’s key in the door. She hastened her steps, and as she reached the + hall he stood before her without speaking. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him and the question died on her lips. He nodded, and walked + slowly past her. + </p> + <p> + “There was no hope from the first,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The next day Dick was taken up with the preparations for the funeral. The + distant aunt, who appeared to be Darrow’s only relation, had been duly + notified of his death; but no answer having been received from her, it was + left to his friend to fulfil the customary duties. He was again absent for + the best part of the day; and when he returned at dusk Mrs. Peyton, + looking up from the tea-table behind which she awaited him, was startled + by the deep-lined misery of his face. + </p> + <p> + Her own thoughts were too painful for ready expression, and they sat for a + while in a mute community of wretchedness. + </p> + <p> + “Is everything arranged?” she asked at length. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Everything.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have not heard from the aunt?” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Can you find no trace of any other relations?” + </p> + <p> + “None. I went over all his papers. There were very few, and I found no + address but the aunt’s.” He sat thrown back in his chair, disregarding the + cup of tea she had mechanically poured for him. “I found this, though,” he + added, after a pause, drawing a letter from his pocket and holding it out + to her. + </p> + <p> + She took it doubtfully. “Ought I to read it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + She saw then that the envelope, in Darrow’s hand, was addressed to her + son. Within were a few pencilled words, dated on the first day of his + illness, the morrow of the day on which she had last seen him. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Dick,” she read, “I want you to use my plans for the museum if you + can get any good out of them. Even if I pull out of this I want you to. I + shall have other chances, and I have an idea this one means a lot to you.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton sat speechless, gazing at the date of the letter, which she + had instantly connected with her last talk with Darrow. She saw that he + had understood her, and the thought scorched her to the soul. + </p> + <p> + “Wasn’t it glorious of him?” Dick said. + </p> + <p> + She dropped the letter, and hid her face in her hands. + </p> + <h3> + IV + </h3> + <p> + The funeral took place the next morning, and on the return from the + cemetery Dick told his mother that he must go and look over things at + Darrow’s office. He had heard the day before from his friend’s aunt, a + helpless person to whom telegraphy was difficult and travel inconceivable, + and who, in eight pages of unpunctuated eloquence, made over to Dick what + she called the melancholy privilege of winding up her nephew’s affairs. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton looked anxiously at her son. “Is there no one who can do this + for you? He must have had a clerk or some one who knows about his work.” + </p> + <p> + Dick shook his head. “Not lately. He hasn’t had much to do this winter, + and these last months he had chucked everything to work alone over his + plans.” + </p> + <p> + The word brought a faint colour to Mrs. Peyton’s cheek. It was the first + allusion that either of them had made to Darrow’s bequest. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course you must do all you can,” she murmured, turning alone into + the house. + </p> + <p> + The emotions of the morning had stirred her deeply, and she sat at home + during the day, letting her mind dwell, in a kind of retrospective piety, + on the thought of poor Darrow’s devotion. She had given him too little + time while he lived, had acquiesced too easily in his growing habits of + seclusion; and she felt it as a proof of insensibility that she had not + been more closely drawn to the one person who had loved Dick as she loved + him. The evidence of that love, as shown in Darrow’s letter, filled her + with a vain compunction. The very extravagance of his offer lent it a + deeper pathos. It was wonderful that, even in the urgency of affection, a + man of his almost morbid rectitude should have overlooked the restrictions + of professional honour, should have implied the possibility of his + friend’s overlooking them. It seemed to make his sacrifice the more + complete that it had, unconsciously, taken the form of a subtle + temptation. + </p> + <p> + The last word arrested Mrs. Peyton’s thoughts. A temptation? To whom? Not, + surely, to one capable, as her son was capable, of rising to the height of + his friend’s devotion. The offer, to Dick, would mean simply, as it meant + to her, the last touching expression of an inarticulate fidelity: the + utterance of a love which at last had found its formula. Mrs. Peyton + dismissed as morbid any other view of the case. She was annoyed with + herself for supposing that Dick could be ever so remotely affected by the + possibility at which poor Darrow’s renunciation hinted. The nature of the + offer removed it from practical issues to the idealizing region of + sentiment. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton had been sitting alone with these thoughts for the greater + part of the afternoon, and dusk was falling when Dick entered the + drawing-room. In the dim light, with his pallour heightened by the sombre + effect of his mourning, he came upon her almost startlingly, with a + revival of some long-effaced impression which, for a moment, gave her the + sense of struggling among shadows. She did not, at first, know what had + produced the effect; then she saw that it was his likeness to his father. + </p> + <p> + “Well—is it over?” she asked, as he threw himself into a chair + without speaking. + </p> + <p> + “Yes: I’ve looked through everything.” He leaned back, crossing his hands + behind his head, and gazing past her with a look of utter lassitude. + </p> + <p> + She paused a moment, and then said tentatively: “to-morrow you will be able + to go back to your work.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—my work,” he exclaimed, as if to brush aside an ill-timed + pleasantry. + </p> + <p> + “Are you too tired?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” He rose and began to wander up and down the room. “I’m not tired.—Give + me some tea, will you?” He paused before her while she poured the cup, and + then, without taking it, turned away to light a cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “Surely there is still time?” she suggested, with her eyes on him. + </p> + <p> + “Time? To finish my plans? Oh, yes—there’s time. But they’re not + worth it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not worth it?” She started up, and then dropped back into her seat, + ashamed of having betrayed her anxiety. “They are worth as much as they + were last week,” she said with an attempt at cheerfulness. + </p> + <p> + “Not to me,” he returned. “I hadn’t seen Darrow’s then.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence. Mrs. Peyton sat with her eyes fixed on her + clasped hands, and her son paced the room restlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Are they so wonderful?” she asked at length. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + She paused again, and then said, lifting a tremulous glance to his face: + “That makes his offer all the more beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + Dick was lighting another cigarette, and his face was turned from her. + “Yes—I suppose so,” he said in a low tone. + </p> + <p> + “They were quite finished, he told me,” she continued, unconsciously + dropping her voice to the pitch of his. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then they will be entered, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course—why not?” he answered almost sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Shall you have time to attend to all that and to finish yours too?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I suppose so. I’ve told you it isn’t a question of time. I see now + that mine are not worth bothering with.” + </p> + <p> + She rose and approached him, laying her hands on his shoulders. “You are + tired and unstrung; how can you judge? Why not let me look at both designs + to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + Under her gaze he flushed abruptly and drew back with a half-impatient + gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m afraid that wouldn’t help me; you’d be sure to think mine best,” + he said with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “But if I could give you good reasons?” she pressed him. + </p> + <p> + He took her hand, as if ashamed of his impatience. “Dear mother, if you + had any reasons their mere existence would prove that they were bad.” + </p> + <p> + His mother did not return his smile. “You won’t let me see the two designs + then?” she said with a faint tinge of insistence. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course—if you want to—if you only won’t talk about it + now! Can’t you see that I’m pretty nearly dead-beat?” he burst out + uncontrollably; and as she stood silent, he added with a weary fall in his + voice, “I think I’ll go upstairs and see if I can’t get a nap before + dinner.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Though they had separated upon the assurance that she should see the two + designs if she wished it, Mrs. Peyton knew they would not be shown to her. + Dick, indeed, would not again deny her request; but had he not reckoned on + the improbability of her renewing it? All night she lay confronted by that + question. The situation shaped itself before her with that hallucinating + distinctness which belongs to the midnight vision. She knew now why Dick + had suddenly reminded her of his father: had she not once before seen the + same thought moving behind the same eyes? She was sure it had occurred to + Dick to use Darrow’s drawings. As she lay awake in the darkness she could + hear him, long after midnight, pacing the floor overhead: she held her + breath, listening to the recurring beat of his foot, which seemed that of + an imprisoned spirit revolving wearily in the cage of the same thought. + She felt in every fibre that a crisis in her son’s life had been reached, + that the act now before him would have a determining effect on his whole + future. The circumstances of her past had raised to clairvoyance her + natural insight into human motive, had made of her a moral barometer + responding to the faintest fluctuations of atmosphere, and years of + anxious meditation had familiarized her with the form which her son’s + temptations were likely to take. The peculiar misery of her situation was + that she could not, except indirectly, put this intuition, this foresight, + at his service. It was a part of her discernment to be aware that life is + the only real counsellor, that wisdom unfiltered through personal + experience does not become a part of the moral tissues. Love such as hers + had a great office, the office of preparation and direction; but it must + know how to hold its hand and keep its counsel, how to attend upon its + object as an invisible influence rather than as an active interference. + </p> + <p> + All this Kate Peyton had told herself again and again, during those hours + of anxious calculation in which she had tried to cast Dick’s horoscope; + but not in her moments of most fantastic foreboding had she figured so + cruel a test of her courage. If her prayers for him had taken precise + shape, she might have asked that he should be spared the spectacular, the + dramatic appeal to his will-power: that his temptations should slip by him + in a dull disguise. She had secured him against all ordinary forms of + baseness; the vulnerable point lay higher, in that region of idealizing + egotism which is the seat of life in such natures. + </p> + <p> + Years of solitary foresight gave her mind a singular alertness in dealing + with such possibilities. She saw at once that the peril of the situation + lay in the minimum of risk it involved. Darrow had employed no assistant + in working out his plans for the competition, and his secluded life made + it almost certain that he had not shown them to any one, and that she and + Dick alone knew them to have been completed. Moreover, it was a part of + Dick’s duty to examine the contents of his friend’s office, and in doing + this nothing would be easier than to possess himself of the drawings and + make use of any part of them that might serve his purpose. He had Darrow’s + authority for doing so; and though the act involved a slight breach of + professional probity, might not his friend’s wishes be invoked as a secret + justification? Mrs. Peyton found herself almost hating poor Darrow for + having been the unconscious instrument of her son’s temptation. But what + right had she, after all, to suspect Dick of considering, even for a + moment, the act of which she was so ready to accuse him? His unwillingness + to let her see the drawings might have been the accidental result of + lassitude and discouragement. He was tired and troubled, and she had + chosen the wrong moment to make the request. His want of readiness might + even be due to the wish to conceal from her how far his friend had + surpassed him. She knew his sensitiveness on this point, and reproached + herself for not having foreseen it. But her own arguments failed to + convince her. Deep beneath her love for her boy and her faith in him there + lurked a nameless doubt. She could hardly now, in looking back, define the + impulse upon which she had married Denis Peyton: she knew only that the + deeps of her nature had been loosened, and that she had been borne forward + on their current to the very fate from which her heart recoiled. But if in + one sense her marriage remained a problem, there was another in which her + motherhood seemed to solve it. She had never lost the sense of having + snatched her child from some dim peril which still lurked and hovered; and + he became more closely hers with every effort of her vigilant love. For + the act of rescue had not been accomplished once and for all in the moment + of immolation: it had not been by a sudden stroke of heroism, but by + ever-renewed and indefatigable effort, that she had built up for him the + miraculous shelter of her love. And now that it stood there, a hallowed + refuge against failure, she could not even set a light in the pane, but + must let him grope his way to it unaided. + </p> + <h3> + V + </h3> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton’s midnight musings summed themselves up in the conclusion that + the next few hours would end her uncertainty. She felt the day to be + decisive. If Dick offered to show her the drawings, her fears would be + proved groundless; if he avoided the subject, they were justified. + </p> + <p> + She dressed early in order not to miss him at breakfast; but as she + entered the dining-room the parlour-maid told her that Mr. Peyton had + overslept himself, and had rung to have his breakfast sent upstairs. Was + it a pretext to avoid her? She was vexed at her own readiness to see a + portent in the simplest incident; but while she blushed at her doubts she + let them govern her. She left the dining-room door open, determined not to + miss him if he came downstairs while she was at breakfast; then she went + back to the drawing-room and sat down at her writing-table, trying to busy + herself with some accounts while she listened for his step. Here too she + had left the door open; but presently even this slight departure from her + daily usage seemed a deviation from the passive attitude she had adopted, + and she rose and shut the door. She knew that she could still hear his + step on the stairs—he had his father’s quick swinging gait—but + as she sat listening, and vainly trying to write, the closed door seemed + to symbolize a refusal to share in his trial, a hardening of herself + against his need of her. What if he should come down intending to speak, + and should be turned from his purpose? Slighter obstacles have deflected + the course of events in those indeterminate moments when the soul floats + between two tides. She sprang up quickly, and as her hand touched the + latch she heard his step on the stairs. + </p> + <p> + When he entered the drawing-room she had regained the writing-table and + could lift a composed face to his. He came in hurriedly, yet with a kind + of reluctance beneath his haste: again it was his father’s step. She + smiled, but looked away from him as he approached her; she seemed to be + re-living her own past as one re-lives things in the distortion of fever. + </p> + <p> + “Are you off already?” she asked, glancing at the hat in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I’m late as it is. I overslept myself.” He paused and looked vaguely + about the room. “Don’t expect me till late—don’t wait dinner for + me.” + </p> + <p> + She stirred impulsively. “Dick, you’re overworking—you’ll make + yourself ill.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense. I’m as fit as ever this morning. Don’t be imagining things.” + </p> + <p> + He dropped his habitual kiss on her forehead, and turned to go. On the + threshold he paused, and she felt that something in him sought her and + then drew back. “Good-bye,” he called to her as the door closed on him. + </p> + <p> + She sat down and tried to survey the situation divested of her midnight + fears. He had not referred to her wish to see the drawings: but what did + the omission signify? Might he not have forgotten her request? Was she not + forcing the most trivial details to fit in with her apprehensions? + Unfortunately for her own reassurance, she knew that her familiarity with + Dick’s processes was based on such minute observation, and that, to such + intimacy as theirs, no indications were trivial. She was as certain as if + he had spoken, that when he had left the house that morning he was + weighing the possibility of using Darrow’s drawings, of supplementing his + own incomplete design from the fulness of his friend’s invention. And with + a bitter pang she divined that he was sorry he had shown her Darrow’s + letter. + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to remain face to face with such conjectures, and though + she had given up all her engagements during the few days since Darrow’s + death, she now took refuge in the thought of a concert which was to take + place at a friend’s house that morning. The music-room, when she entered, + was thronged with acquaintances, and she found transient relief in that + dispersal of attention which makes society an anesthetic for some forms of + wretchedness. Contact with the pressure of busy indifferent life often + gives remoteness to questions which have clung as close as the flesh to + the bone; and if Mrs. Peyton did not find such complete release, she at + least interposed between herself and her anxiety the obligation to + dissemble it. But the relief was only momentary, and when the first bars + of the overture turned from her the smiles of recognition among which she + had tried to lose herself, she felt a deeper sense of isolation. The + music, which at another time would have swept her away on some rich + current of emotion, now seemed to island her in her own thoughts, to + create an artificial solitude in which she found herself more immitigably + face to face with her fears. The silence, the <i>recueillement</i>, about + her gave resonance to the inner voices, lucidity to the inner vision, till + she seemed enclosed in a luminous empty horizon against which every + possibility took the sharp edge of accomplished fact. With relentless + precision the course of events was unrolled before her: she saw Dick + yielding to his opportunity, snatching victory from dishonour, winning + love, happiness and success in the act by which he lost himself. It was + all so simple, so easy, so inevitable, that she felt the futility of + struggling or hoping against it. He would win the competition, would marry + Miss Verney, would press on to achievement through the opening which the + first success had made for him. + </p> + <p> + As Mrs. Peyton reached this point in her forecast, she found her outward + gaze arrested by the face of the young lady who so dominated her inner + vision. Miss Verney, a few rows distant, sat intent upon the music, in + that attitude of poised motion which was her nearest approach to repose. + Her slender brown profile with its breezy hair, her quick eye, and the + lips which seemed to listen as well as speak, all betokened to Mrs. Peyton + a nature through which the obvious energies blew free, a bare open stretch + of consciousness without shelter for tenderer growths. She shivered to + think of Dick’s frail scruples exposed to those rustling airs. And then, + suddenly, a new thought struck her. What if she might turn this force to + her own use, make it serve, unconsciously to Dick, as the means of his + deliverance? Hitherto she had assumed that her son’s worst danger lay in + the chance of his confiding his difficulty to Clemence Verney; and she + had, in her own past, a precedent which made her think such a confidence + not unlikely. If he did carry his scruples to the girl, she argued, the + latter’s imperviousness, her frank inability to understand them, would + have the effect of dispelling them like mist; and he was acute enough to + know this and profit by it. So she had hitherto reasoned; but now the + girl’s presence seemed to clarify her perceptions, and she told herself + that something in Dick’s nature, something which she herself had put + there, would resist this short cut to safety, would make him take the more + tortuous way to his goal rather than gain it through the privacies of the + heart he loved. For she had lifted him thus far above his father, that it + would be a disenchantment to him to find that Clemence Verney did not + share his scruples. On this much, his mother now exultingly felt, she + could count in her passive struggle for supremacy. No, he would never, + never tell Clemence Verney—and his one hope, his sure salvation, + therefore lay in some one else’s telling her. + </p> + <p> + The excitement of this discovery had nearly, in mid-concert, swept Mrs. + Peyton from her seat to the girl’s side. Fearing to miss the latter in the + throng at the entrance, she slipped out during the last number and, + lingering in the farther drawing-room, let the dispersing audience drift + her in Miss Verney’s direction. The girl shone sympathetically on her + approach, and in a moment they had detached themselves from the crowd and + taken refuge in the perfumed emptiness of the conservatory. + </p> + <p> + The girl, whose sensations were always easily set in motion, had at first + a good deal to say of the music, for which she claimed, on her hearer’s + part, an active show of approval or dissent; but this dismissed, she + turned a melting face on Mrs. Peyton and said with one of her rapid + modulations of tone: “I was so sorry about poor Mr. Darrow.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton uttered an assenting sigh. “It was a great grief to us—a + great loss to my son.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I know. I can imagine what you must have felt. And then it was + so unlucky that it should have happened just now.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton shot a reconnoitring glance at her profile. “His dying, you + mean, on the eve of success?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Verney turned a frank smile upon her. “One ought to feel that, of + course—but I’m afraid I am very selfish where my friends are + concerned, and I was thinking of Mr. Peyton’s having to give up his work + at such a critical moment.” She spoke without a note of deprecation: there + was a pagan freshness in her opportunism. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton was silent, and the girl continued after a pause: “I suppose + now it will be almost impossible for him to finish his drawings in time. + It’s a pity he hadn’t worked out the whole scheme a little sooner. Then + the details would have come of themselves.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton felt a contempt strangely mingled with exultation. If only the + girl would talk in that way to Dick! + </p> + <p> + “He has hardly had time to think of himself lately,” she said, trying to + keep the coldness out of her voice. + </p> + <p> + “No, of course not,” Miss Verney assented; “but isn’t that all the more + reason for his friends to think of him? It was very dear of him to give up + everything to nurse Mr. Darrow—but, after all, if a man is going to + get on in his career there are times when he must think first of himself.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton paused, trying to choose her words with deliberation. It was + quite clear now that Dick had not spoken, and she felt the responsibility + that devolved upon her. + </p> + <p> + “Getting on in a career—is that always the first thing to be + considered?” she asked, letting her eyes rest musingly on the girl’s. + </p> + <p> + The glance did not disconcert Miss Verney, who returned it with one of + equal comprehensiveness. “Yes,” she said quickly, and with a slight blush. + “With a temperament like Mr. Peyton’s I believe it is. Some people can + pick themselves up after any number of bad falls: I am not sure that he + could. I think discouragement would weaken instead of strengthening him.” + </p> + <p> + Both women had forgotten external conditions in the quick reach for each + other’s meanings. Mrs. Peyton flushed, her maternal pride in revolt; but + the answer was checked on her lips by the sense of the girl’s unexpected + insight. Here was some one who knew Dick as well as she did—should + she say a partisan or an accomplice? A dim jealousy stirred beneath Mrs. + Peyton’s other emotions: she was undergoing the agony which the mother + feels at the first intrusion on her privilege of judging her child; and + her voice had a flutter of resentment. + </p> + <p> + “You must have a poor opinion of his character,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Miss Verney did not remove her eyes, but her blush deepened beautifully. + “I have, at any rate,” she Said, “a high one of his talent. I don’t + suppose many men have an equal amount of moral and intellectual energy.” + </p> + <p> + “And you would cultivate the one at the expense of the other?” + </p> + <p> + “In certain cases—and up to a certain point.” She shook out the long + fur of her muff, one of those silvery flexible furs which clothe a woman + with a delicate sumptuousness. Everything about her, at the moment, seemed + rich and cold—everything, as Mrs. Peyton quickly noted, but the + blush lingering under her dark skin; and so complete was the girl’s + self-command that the blush seemed to be there only because it had been + forgotten. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say you think me strange,” she continued. “Most people do, because + I speak the truth. It’s the easiest way of concealing one’s feelings. I + can, for instance, talk quite openly about Mr. Peyton under shelter of + your inference that I shouldn’t do so if I were what is called + ‘interested’ in him. And as I <i>am</i> interested in him, my method has + its advantages!” She ended with one of the fluttering laughs which seemed + to flit from point to point of her expressive person. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton leaned toward her. “I believe you are interested,” she said + quietly; “and since I suppose you allow others the privilege you claim for + yourself, I am going to confess that I followed you here in the hope of + finding out the nature of your interest.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Verney shot a glance at her, and drew away in a soft subsidence of + undulating furs. + </p> + <p> + “Is this an embassy?” she asked smiling. + </p> + <p> + “No: not in any sense.” + </p> + <p> + The girl leaned back with an air of relief. “I’m glad; I should have + disliked—” She looked again at Mrs. Peyton. “You want to know what I + mean to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I can only answer that I mean to wait and see what he does.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that everything is contingent on his success?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> am—if I’m everything,” she admitted gaily. + </p> + <p> + The mother’s heart was beating in her throat, and her words seemed to + force themselves out through the throbs. + </p> + <p> + “I—I don’t quite see why you attach such importance to this special + success.” + </p> + <p> + “Because he does,” the girl returned instantly. “Because to him it is the + final answer to his self-questioning—the questioning whether he is + ever to amount to anything or not. He says if he has anything in him it + ought to come out now. All the conditions are favourable—it is the + chance he has always prayed for. You see,” she continued, almost + confidentially, but without the least loss of composure—“you see he + has told me a great deal about himself and his various experiments—his + phrases of indecision and disgust. There are lots of tentative talents in + the world, and the sooner they are crushed out by circumstances the + better. But it seems as though he really had it in him to do something + distinguished—as though the uncertainty lay in his character and not + in his talent. That is what interests, what attracts me. One can’t teach a + man to have genius, but if he has it one may show him how to use it. That + is what I should be good for, you see—to keep him up to his + opportunities.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton had listened with an intensity of attention that left her + reply unprepared. There was something startling and yet half attractive in + the girl’s avowal of principles which are oftener lived by than professed. + </p> + <p> + “And you think,” she began at length, “that in this case he has fallen + below his opportunity?” + </p> + <p> + “No one can tell, of course; but his discouragement, his <i>abattement</i>, + is a bad sign. I don’t think he has any hope of succeeding.” + </p> + <p> + The mother again wavered a moment. “Since you are so frank,” she then + said, “will you let me be equally so, and ask how lately you have seen + him?” + </p> + <p> + The girl smiled at the circumlocution. “Yesterday afternoon,” she said + simply. + </p> + <p> + “And you thought him—” + </p> + <p> + “Horribly down on his luck. He said himself that his brain was empty.” + </p> + <p> + Again Mrs. Peyton felt the throb in her throat, and a slow blush rose to + her cheek. “Was that all he said?” + </p> + <p> + “About himself—was there anything else?” said the girl quickly. + </p> + <p> + “He didn’t tell you of—of an opportunity to make up for the time he + has lost?” + </p> + <p> + “An opportunity? I don’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + “He didn’t speak to you, then, of Mr. Darrow’s letter?” + </p> + <p> + “He said nothing of any letter.” + </p> + <p> + “There <i>was</i> one, which was found after poor Darrow’s death. In it he + gave Dick leave to use his design for the competition. Dick says the + design is wonderful—it would give him just what he needs.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Verney sat listening raptly, with a rush of colour that suffused her + like light. + </p> + <p> + “But when was this? Where was the letter found? He never said a word of + it!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “The letter was found on the day of Darrow’s death.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don’t understand! Why has he never told me? Why should he seem so + hopeless?” She turned an ignorant appealing face on Mrs. Peyton. It was + prodigious, but it was true—she felt nothing, saw nothing, but the + crude fact of the opportunity. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton’s voice trembled with the completeness of her triumph. “I + suppose his reason for not speaking is that he has scruples.” + </p> + <p> + “Scruples?” + </p> + <p> + “He feels that to use the design would be dishonest.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Verney’s eyes fixed themselves on her in a commiserating stare. + “Dishonest? When the poor man wished it himself? When it was his last + request? When the letter is there to prove it? Why, the design belongs to + your son! No one else had any right to it.” + </p> + <p> + “But Dick’s right does not extend to passing it off as his own—at + least that is his feeling, I believe. If he won the competition he would + be winning it on false pretenses.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should you call them false pretenses? His design might have been + better than Darrow’s if he had had time to carry it out. It seems to me + that Mr. Darrow must have felt this—must have felt that he owed his + friend some compensation for the time he took from him. I can imagine + nothing more natural than his wishing to make this return for your son’s + sacrifice.” + </p> + <p> + She positively glowed with the force of her conviction, and Mrs. Peyton, + for a strange instant, felt her own resistance wavering. She herself had + never considered the question in that light—the light of Darrow’s + viewing his gift as a justifiable compensation. But the glimpse she caught + of it drove her shuddering behind her retrenchments. + </p> + <p> + “That argument,” she said coldly, “would naturally be more convincing to + Darrow than to my son.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Verney glanced up, struck by the change in Mrs. Peyton’s voice. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, then you agree with him? You think it <i>would</i> be dishonest?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton saw that she had slipped into self-betrayal. “My son and I + have not spoken of the matter,” she said evasively. She caught the flash + of relief in Miss Verney’s face. + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t spoken? Then how do you know how he feels about it?” + </p> + <p> + “I only judge from—well, perhaps from his not speaking.” + </p> + <p> + The girl drew a deep breath. “I see,” she murmured. “That is the very + reason that prevents his speaking.” + </p> + <p> + “The reason?” + </p> + <p> + “Your knowing what he thinks—and his knowing that you know.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton was startled at her subtlety. “I assure you,” she said, + rising, “that I have done nothing to influence him.” + </p> + <p> + The girl gazed at her musingly. “No,” she said with a faint smile, + “nothing except to read his thoughts.” + </p> + <h3> + VI + </h3> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton reached home in the state of exhaustion which follows on a + physical struggle. It seemed to her as though her talk with Clemence + Verney had been an actual combat, a measuring of wrist and eye. For a + moment she was frightened at what she had done—she felt as though + she had betrayed her son to the enemy. But before long she regained her + moral balance, and saw that she had merely shifted the conflict to the + ground on which it could best be fought out—since the prize fought + for was the natural battlefield. The reaction brought with it a sense of + helplessness, a realization that she had let the issue pass out of her + hold; but since, in the last analysis, it had never lain there, since it + was above all needful that the determining touch should be given by any + hand but hers, she presently found courage to subside into inaction. She + had done all she could—even more, perhaps, than prudence warranted—and + now she could but await passively the working of the forces she had set in + motion. + </p> + <p> + For two days after her talk with Miss Verney she saw little of Dick. He + went early to his office and came back late. He seemed less tired, more + self-possessed, than during the first days after Darrow’s death; but there + was a new inscrutableness in his manner, a note of reserve, of resistance + almost, as though he had barricaded himself against her conjectures. She + had been struck by Miss Verney’s reply to the anxious asseveration that + she had done nothing to influence Dick—“Nothing,” the girl had + answered, “except to read his thoughts.” Mrs. Peyton shrank from this + detection of a tacit interference with her son’s liberty of action. She + longed—how passionately he would never know—to stand apart + from him in this struggle between his two destinies, and it was almost a + relief that he on his side should hold aloof, should, for the first time + in their relation, seem to feel her tenderness as an intrusion. + </p> + <p> + Only four days remained before the date fixed for the sending in of the + designs, and still Dick had not referred to his work. Of Darrow, also, he + had made no mention. His mother longed to know if he had spoken to + Clemence Verney—or rather if the girl had forced his confidence. + Mrs. Peyton was almost certain that Miss Verney would not remain silent—there + were times when Dick’s renewed application to his work seemed an earnest + of her having spoken, and spoken convincingly. At the thought Kate’s heart + grew chill. What if her experiment should succeed in a sense she had not + intended? If the girl should reconcile Dick to his weakness, should pluck + the sting from his temptation? In this round of uncertainties the mother + revolved for two interminable days; but the second evening brought an + answer to her question. + </p> + <p> + Dick, returning earlier than usual from the office, had found, on the + hall-table, a note which, since morning, had been under his mother’s + observation. The envelope, fashionable in tint and texture, was addressed + in a rapid staccato hand which seemed the very imprint of Miss Verney’s + utterance. Mrs. Peyton did not know the girl’s writing; but such notes had + of late lain often enough on the hall-table to make their attribution + easy. This communication Dick, as his mother poured his tea, looked over + with a face of shifting lights; then he folded it into his note-case, and + said, with a glance at his watch: “If you haven’t asked any one for this + evening I think I’ll dine out.” + </p> + <p> + “Do, dear; the change will be good for you,” his mother assented. + </p> + <p> + He made no answer, but sat leaning back, his hands clasped behind his + head, his eyes fixed on the fire. Every line of his body expressed a + profound physical lassitude, but the face remained alert and guarded. Mrs. + Peyton, in silence, was busying herself with the details of the + tea-making, when suddenly, inexplicably, a question forced itself to her + lips. + </p> + <p> + “And your work—?” she said, strangely hearing herself speak. + </p> + <p> + “My work—?” He sat up, on the defensive almost, but without a tremor + of the guarded face. + </p> + <p> + “You’re getting on well? You’ve made up for lost time?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes: things are going better.” He rose, with another glance at his + watch. “Time to dress,” he said, nodding to her as he turned to the door. + </p> + <p> + It was an hour later, during her own solitary dinner, that a ring at the + door was followed by the parlour-maid’s announcement that Mr. Gill was + there from the office. In the hall, in fact, Kate found her son’s partner, + who explained apologetically that he had understood Peyton was dining at + home, and had come to consult him about a difficulty which had arisen + since he had left the office. On hearing that Dick was out, and that his + mother did not know where he had gone, Mr. Gill’s perplexity became so + manifest that Mrs. Peyton, after a moment, said hesitatingly: “He may be + at a friend’s house; I could give you the address.” + </p> + <p> + The architect caught up his hat. “Thank you; I’ll have a try for him.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton hesitated again. “Perhaps,” she suggested, “it would be better + to telephone.” + </p> + <p> + She led the way into the little study behind the drawing-room, where a + telephone stood on the writing-table. The folding doors between the two + rooms were open: should she close them as she passed back into the + drawing-room? On the threshold she wavered an instant; then she walked on + and took her usual seat by the fire. + </p> + <p> + Gill, meanwhile, at the telephone, had “rung up” the Verney house, and + inquired if his partner were dining there. The reply was evidently + affirmative; and a moment later Kate knew that he was in communication + with her son. She sat motionless, her hands clasped on the arms of her + chair, her head erect, in an attitude of avowed attention. If she listened + she would listen openly: there should be no suspicion of eavesdropping. + Gill, engrossed in his message, was probably hardly conscious of her + presence; but if he turned his head he should at least have no difficulty + in seeing her, and in being aware that she could hear what he said. Gill, + however, as she was quick to remember, was doubtless ignorant of any need + for secrecy in his communication to Dick. He had often heard the affairs + of the office discussed openly before Mrs. Peyton, had been led to regard + her as familiar with all the details of her son’s work. He talked on + unconcernedly, and she listened. + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later, when he rose to go, she knew all that she had wanted to + find out. Long familiarity with the technicalities of her son’s profession + made it easy for her to translate the stenographic jargon of the office. + She could lengthen out all Gill’s abbreviations, interpret all his + allusions, and reconstruct Dick’s answers from the questions addressed to + him. And when the door closed on the architect she was left face to face + with the fact that her son, unknown to any one but herself, was using + Darrow’s drawings to complete his work. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Peyton, left alone, found it easier to continue her vigil by the + drawing-room fire than to carry up to the darkness and silence of her own + room the truth she had been at such pains to acquire. She had no thought + of sitting up for Dick. Doubtless, his dinner over, he would rejoin Gill + at the office, and prolong through, the night the task in which she now + knew him to be engaged. But it was less lonely by the fire than in the + wide-eyed darkness which awaited her upstairs. A mortal loneliness + enveloped her. She felt as though she had fallen by the way, spent and + broken in a struggle of which even its object had been unconscious. She + had tried to deflect the natural course of events, she had sacrificed her + personal happiness to a fantastic ideal of duty, and it was her punishment + to be left alone with her failure, outside the normal current of human + strivings and regrets. + </p> + <p> + She had no wish to see her son just then: she would have preferred to let + the inner tumult subside, to repossess herself in this new adjustment to + life, before meeting his eyes again. But as she sat there, far adrift on + her misery, she was aroused by the turning of his key in the latch. She + started up, her heart sounding a retreat, but her faculties too dispersed + to obey it; and while she stood wavering, the door opened and he was in + the room. + </p> + <p> + In the room, and with face illumined: a Dick she had not seen since the + strain of the contest had cast its shade on him. Now he shone as in a + sunrise of victory, holding out exultant hands from which she hung back + instinctively. + </p> + <p> + “Mother! I knew you’d be waiting for me!” He had her on his breast now, + and his kisses were in her hair. “I’ve always said you knew everything + that was happening to me, and now you’ve guessed that I wanted you + to-night.” + </p> + <p> + She was struggling faintly against the dear endearments. “What <i>has</i> + happened?” she murmured, drawing back for a dazzled look at him. + </p> + <p> + He had drawn her to the sofa, had dropped beside her, regaining his hold + of her in the boyish need that his happiness should be touched and + handled. + </p> + <p> + “My engagement has happened!” he cried out to her. “You stupid dear, do + you need to be told?” + </p> + <h3> + VII + </h3> + <p> + She had indeed needed to be told: the surprise was complete and + overwhelming. She sat silent under it, her hands trembling in his, till + the blood mounted to his face and she felt his confident grasp relax. + </p> + <p> + “You didn’t guess it, then?” he exclaimed, starting up and moving away + from her. + </p> + <p> + “No; I didn’t guess it,” she confessed in a dead-level voice. + </p> + <p> + He stood above her, half challenging, half defensive. “And you haven’t a + word to say to me? Mother!” he adjured her. + </p> + <p> + She rose too, putting her arms about him with a kiss. “Dick! Dear Dick!” + she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “She imagines you don’t like her; she says she’s always felt it. And yet + she owns you’ve been delightful, that you’ve tried to make friends with + her. And I thought you knew how much it would mean to me, just now, to + have this uncertainty over, and that you’d actually been trying to help + me, to put in a good word for me. I thought it was you who had made her + decide.” + </p> + <p> + “I?” + </p> + <p> + “By your talk with her the other day. She told me of your talk with her.” + </p> + <p> + His mother’s hands slipped from his shoulders and she sank back into her + seat. She felt the cruelty of her silence, but only an inarticulate murmur + found a way to her lips. Before speaking she must clear a space in the + suffocating rush of her sensations. For the moment she could only repeat + inwardly that Clemence Verney had yielded before the final test, and that + she herself was somehow responsible for this fresh entanglement of fate. + For she saw in a flash how the coils of circumstance had tightened; and as + her mind cleared it was filled with the perception that this, precisely, + was what the girl intended, that this was why she had conferred the crown + before the victory. By pledging herself to Dick she had secured his pledge + in return: had put him on his honour in a cynical inversion of the term. + Kate saw the succession of events spread out before her like a map, and + the astuteness of the girl’s policy frightened her. Miss Verney had + conducted the campaign like a strategist. She had frankly owned that her + interest in Dick’s future depended on his capacity for success, and in + order to key him up to his first achievement she had given him a foretaste + of its results. + </p> + <p> + So much was almost immediately clear to Mrs. Peyton; but in a moment her + inferences had carried her a point farther. For it was now plain to her + that Miss Verney had not risked so much without first trying to gain her + point at less cost: that if she had had to give herself as a prize, it was + because no other bribe had been sufficient. This then, as the mother saw + with a throb of hope, meant that Dick, who since Darrow’s death had held + to his purpose unwaveringly, had been deflected from it by the first hint + of Clemence Verney’s connivance. Kate had not miscalculated: things had + happened as she had foreseen. In the light of the girl’s approval his act + had taken an odious look. He had recoiled from it, and it was to revive + his flagging courage that she had had to promise herself, to take him in + the meshes of her surrender. + </p> + <p> + Kate, looking up, saw above her the young perplexity of her boy’s face, + the suspended happiness waiting to brim over. With a fresh touch of misery + she said to herself that this was his hour, his one irrecoverable moment, + and that she was darkening it by her silence. Her memory went back to the + same hour in her own life: she could feel its heat in her pulses still. + What right had she to stand in Dick’s light? Who was she to decide between + his code and hers? She put out her hand and drew him down to her. + </p> + <p> + “She’ll be the making of me, you know, mother,” he said, as they leaned + together. “She’ll put new life in me—she’ll help me get my second + wind. Her talk is like a fresh breeze blowing away the fog in my head. I + never knew any one who saw so straight to the heart of things, who had + such a grip on values. She goes straight up to life and catches hold of + it, and you simply can’t make her let go.” + </p> + <p> + He got up and walked the length of the room; then he came back and stood + smiling above his mother. + </p> + <p> + “You know you and I are rather complicated people,” he said. “We’re always + walking around things to get new views of them—we’re always + rearranging the furniture. And somehow she simplifies life so + tremendously.” He dropped down beside her with a deprecating laugh. “Not + that I mean, dear, that it hasn’t been good for me to argue things out + with myself, as you’ve taught me to—only the man who stops to talk + is apt to get shoved aside nowadays, and I don’t believe Milton’s + archangels would have had much success in active business.” + </p> + <p> + He had begun in a strain of easy confidence, but as he went on she + detected an effort to hold the note, she felt that his words were being + poured out in a vain attempt to fill the silence which was deepening + between them. She longed, in her turn, to pour something into that + menacing void, to bridge it with a reconciling word or look; but her soul + hung back, and she had to take refuge in a vague murmur of tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “My boy! My boy!” she repeated; and he sat beside her without speaking, + their hand-clasp alone spanning the distance which had widened between + their thoughts. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + The engagement, as Kate subsequently learned, was not to be made known + till later. Miss Verney had even stipulated that for the present there + should be no recognition of it in her own family or in Dick’s. She did not + wish to interfere with his final work for the competition, and had made + him promise, as he laughingly owned, that he would not see her again till + the drawings were sent in. His mother noticed that he made no other + allusion to his work; but when he bade her good-night he added that he + might not see her the next morning, as he had to go to the office early. + She took this as a hint that he wished to be left alone, and kept her room + the next day till the closing door told her that he was out of the house. + </p> + <p> + She herself had waked early, and it seemed to her that the day was already + old when she came downstairs. Never had the house appeared so empty. Even + in Dick’s longest absences something of his presence had always hung about + the rooms: a fine dust of memories and associations, which wanted only the + evocation of her thought to float into a palpable semblance of him. But + now he seemed to have taken himself quite away, to have broken every fibre + by which their lives had hung together. Where the sense of him had been + there was only a deeper emptiness: she felt as if a strange man had gone + out of her house. + </p> + <p> + She wandered from room to room, aimlessly, trying to adjust herself to + their solitude. She had known such loneliness before, in the years when + most women’s hearts are fullest; but that was long ago, and the solitude + had after all been less complete, because of the sense that it might still + be filled. Her son had come: her life had brimmed over; but now the tide + ebbed again, and she was left gazing over a bare stretch of wasted years. + Wasted! There was the mortal pang, the stroke from which there was no + healing. Her faith and hope had been marsh-lights luring her to the + wilderness, her love a vain edifice reared on shifting ground. + </p> + <p> + In her round of the rooms she came at last to Dick’s study upstairs. It + was full of his boyhood: she could trace the history of his past in its + quaint relics and survivals, in the school-books lingering on his crowded + shelves, the school-photographs and college-trophies hung among his later + treasures. All his successes and failures, his exaltations and + inconsistencies, were recorded in the warm huddled heterogeneous room. + Everywhere she saw the touch of her own hand, the vestiges of her own + steps. It was she alone who held the clue to the labyrinth, who could + thread a way through the confusions and contradictions of his past; and + her soul rejected the thought that his future could ever escape from her. + She dropped down into his shabby college armchair and hid her face in the + papers on his desk. + </p> + <h3> + VIII + </h3> + <p> + The day dwelt in her memory as a long stretch of aimless hours: blind + alleys of time that led up to a dead wall of inaction. + </p> + <p> + Toward afternoon she remembered that she had promised to dine out and go + to the opera. At first she felt that the contact of life would be + unendurable; then she shrank from shutting herself up with her misery. In + the end she let herself drift passively on the current of events, going + through the mechanical routine of the day without much consciousness of + what was happening. + </p> + <p> + At twilight, as she sat in the drawing-room, the evening paper was brought + in, and in glancing over it her eye fell on a paragraph which seemed + printed in more vivid type than the rest. It was headed, <i>The New Museum + of Sculpture</i>, and underneath she read: “The artists and architects + selected to pass on the competitive designs for the new Museum will begin + their sittings on Monday, and to-morrow is the last day on which designs + may be sent in to the committee. Great interest is felt in the + competition, as the conspicuous site chosen for the new building, and the + exceptionally large sum voted by the city for its erection, offer an + unusual field for the display of architectural ability.” + </p> + <p> + She leaned back, closing her eyes. It was as though a clock had struck, + loud and inexorably, marking off some irrecoverable hour. She was seized + by a sudden longing to seek Dick out, to fall on her knees and plead with + him: it was one of those physical obsessions against which the body has to + stiffen its muscles as well as the mind its thoughts. Once she even sprang + up to ring for a cab; but she sank back again, breathing as if after a + struggle, and gripping the arms of her chair to keep herself down. + </p> + <p> + “I can only wait for him—only wait for him—” she heard herself + say; and the words loosened the sobs in her throat. + </p> + <p> + At length she went upstairs to dress for dinner. A ghostlike self looked + back at her from her toilet-glass: she watched it performing the + mechanical gestures of the toilet, dressing her, as it appeared, without + help from her actual self. Each little act stood out sharply against the + blurred background of her brain: when she spoke to her maid her voice + sounded extraordinarily loud. Never had the house been so silent; or, stay—yes, + once she had felt the same silence, once when Dick, in his school-days, + had been ill of a fever, and she had sat up with him on the decisive + night. The silence had been as deep and as terrible then; and as she + dressed she had before her the vision of his room, of the cot in which he + lay, of his restless head working a hole in the pillow, his face so + pinched and alien under the familiar freckles. It might be his death-watch + she was keeping: the doctors had warned her to be ready. And in the + silence her soul had fought for her boy, her love had hung over him like + wings, her abundant useless hateful life had struggled to force itself + into his empty veins. And she had succeeded, she had saved him, she had + poured her life into him; and in place of the strange child she had + watched all night, at daylight she held her own boy to her breast. + </p> + <p> + That night had once seemed to her the most dreadful of her life; but she + knew now that it was one of the agonies which enrich, that the passion + thus spent grows fourfold from its ashes. She could not have borne to keep + this new vigil alone. She must escape from its sterile misery, must take + refuge in other lives till she regained courage to face her own. At the + opera, in the illumination of the first <i>entr’acte</i>, as she gazed + about the house, wondering through the numb ache of her wretchedness how + others could talk and smile and be indifferent, it seemed to her that all + the jarring animation about her was suddenly focussed in the face of + Clemence Verney. Miss Verney sat opposite, in the front of a crowded box, + a box in which, continually, the black-coated background shifted and + renewed itself. Mrs. Peyton felt a throb of anger at the girl’s bright air + of unconcern. She forgot that she too was talking, smiling, holding out + her hand to newcomers, in a studied mimicry of life, while her real self + played out its tragedy behind the scenes. Then it occurred to her that, to + Clemence Verney, there was no tragedy in the situation. According to the + girl’s calculations, Dick was virtually certain of success; and unsuccess + was to her the only conceivable disaster. + </p> + <p> + All through the opera the sense of that opposing force, that negation of + her own beliefs, burned itself into Mrs. Peyton’s consciousness. The space + between herself and the girl seemed to vanish, the throng about them to + disperse, till they were face to face and alone, enclosed in their mortal + enmity. At length the feeling of humiliation and defeat grew unbearable to + Mrs. Peyton. The girl seemed to flout her in the insolence of victory, to + sit there as the visible symbol of her failure. It was better after all to + be at home alone with her thoughts. + </p> + <p> + As she drove away from the opera she thought of that other vigil which, + only a few streets away, Dick was perhaps still keeping. She wondered if + his work were over, if the final stroke had been drawn. And as she + pictured him there, signing his pact with evil in the loneliness of the + conniving night, an uncontrollable impulse possessed her. She must drive + by his windows and see if they were still alight. She would not go up to + him,—she dared not,—but at least she would pass near to him, + would invisibly share his watch and hover on the edge of his thoughts. She + lowered the window and called out the address to the coachman. + </p> + <p> + The tall office-building loomed silent and dark as she approached it; but + presently, high up, she caught a light in the familiar windows. Her heart + gave a leap, and the light swam on her through tears. The carriage drew + up, and for a moment she sat motionless. Then the coachman bent down + toward her, and she saw that he was asking if he should drive on. She + tried to shape a yes, but her lips refused it, and she shook her head. He + continued to lean down perplexedly, and at length, under the interrogation + of his attitude, it became impossible to sit still, and she opened the + door and stepped out. It was equally impossible to stand on the sidewalk, + and her next steps carried her to the door of the building. She groped for + the bell and rang it, feeling still dimly accountable to the coachman for + some consecutiveness of action, and after a moment the night watchman + opened the door, drawing back amazed at the shining apparition which + confronted him. Recognizing Mrs. Peyton, whom he had seen about the + building by day, he tried to adapt himself to the situation by a vague + stammer of apology. + </p> + <p> + “I came to see if my son is still here,” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma’am, he’s here. He’s been here most nights lately till after + twelve.” + </p> + <p> + “And is Mr. Gill with him?” + </p> + <p> + “No: Mr. Gill he went away just after I come on this evening.” + </p> + <p> + She glanced up into the cavernous darkness of the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Is he alone up there, do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma’am, I know he’s alone, because I seen his men leaving soon after + Mr. Gill.” + </p> + <p> + Kate lifted her head quickly. “Then I will go up to him,” she said. + </p> + <p> + The watchman apparently did not think it proper to offer any comment on + this unusual proceeding, and a moment later she was fluttering and + rustling up through the darkness, like a night-bird hovering among + rafters. There were ten flights to climb: at every one her breath failed + her, and she had to stand still and press her hands against her heart. + Then the weight on her breast lifted, and she went on again, upward and + upward, the great dark building dropping away from her, in tier after tier + of mute doors and mysterious corridors. At last she reached Dick’s floor, + and saw the light shining down the passage from his door. She leaned + against the wall, her breath coming short, the silence throbbing in her + ears. Even now it was not too late to turn back. She bent over the stairs, + letting her eyes plunge into the nether blackness, with the single glimmer + of the watchman’s lights in its depths; then she turned and stole toward + her son’s door. + </p> + <p> + There again she paused and listened, trying to catch, through the hum of + her pulses, any noise that might come to her from within. But the silence + was unbroken—it seemed as though the office must be empty. She + pressed her ear to the door, straining for a sound. She knew he never sat + long at his work, and it seemed unaccountable that she should not hear him + moving about the drawing-board. For a moment she fancied he might be + sleeping; but sleep did not come to him readily after prolonged mental + effort—she recalled the restless straying of his feet above her head + for hours after he returned from his night work in the office. + </p> + <p> + She began to fear that he might be ill. A nervous trembling seized her, + and she laid her hand on the latch, whispering “Dick!” + </p> + <p> + Her whisper sounded loudly through the silence, but there was no answer, + and after a pause she called again. With each call the hush seemed to + deepen: it closed in on her, mysterious and impenetrable. Her heart was + beating in short frightened leaps: a moment more and she would have cried + out. She drew a quick breath and turned the door-handle. + </p> + <p> + The outer room, Dick’s private office, with its red carpet and + easy-chairs, stood in pleasant lamp-lit emptiness. The last time she had + entered it, Darrow and Clemence Verney had been there, and she had sat + behind the urn observing them. She paused a moment, struck now by a fault + sound from beyond; then she slipped noiselessly across the carpet, pushed + open the swinging door, and stood on the threshold of the work-room. Here + the gas-lights hung a green-shaded circle of brightness over the great + draughting-table in the middle of the floor. Table and floor were strewn + with a confusion of papers—torn blue-prints and tracings, crumpled + sheets of tracing-paper wrenched from the draughting-boards in a sudden + fury of destruction; and in the centre of the havoc, his arms stretched + across the table and his face hidden in them, sat Dick Peyton. + </p> + <p> + He did not seem to hear his mother’s approach, and she stood looking at + him, her breast tightening with a new fear. + </p> + <p> + “Dick!” she said, “Dick!—” and he sprang up, staring with dazed + eyes. But gradually, as his gaze cleared, a light spread in it, a mounting + brightness of recognition. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve come—you’ve come—” he said, stretching his hands to + her; and all at once she had him in her breast as in a shelter. + </p> + <p> + “You wanted me?” she whispered as she held him. + </p> + <p> + He looked up at her, tired, breathless, with the white radiance of the + runner near the goal. + </p> + <p> + “I <i>had</i> you, dear!” he said, smiling strangely on her; and her heart + gave a great leap of understanding. + </p> + <p> + Her arms had slipped from his neck, and she stood leaning on him, + deep-suffused in the shyness of her discovery. For it might still be that + he did not wish her to know what she had done for him. + </p> + <p> + But he put his arm about her, boyishly, and drew her toward one of the + hard seats between the tables; and there, on the bare floor, he knelt + before her, and hid his face in her lap. She sat motionless, feeling the + dear warmth of his head against her knees, letting her hands stray in + faint caresses through his hair. + </p> + <p> + Neither spoke for awhile; then he raised his head and looked at her. “I + suppose you know what has been happening to me,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She shrank from seeming to press into his life a hair’s-breadth farther + than he was prepared to have her go. Her eyes turned from him toward the + scattered drawings on the table. + </p> + <p> + “You have given up the competition?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and a lot more.” He stood up, the wave of emotion ebbing, yet + leaving him nearer, in his recovered calmness, than in the shock of their + first moment. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t know, at first, how much you guessed,” he went on quietly. “I + was sorry I’d shown you Darrow’s letter; but it didn’t worry me much + because I didn’t suppose you’d think it possible that I should—take + advantage of it. It’s only lately that I’ve understood that you knew + everything.” He looked at her with a smile. “I don’t know yet how I found + it out, for you’re wonderful about keeping things to yourself, and you + never made a sign. I simply felt it in a kind of nearness—as if I + couldn’t get away from you.—Oh, there were times when I should have + preferred not having you about—when I tried to turn my back on you, + to see things from other people’s standpoint. But you were always there—you + wouldn’t be discouraged. And I got tired of trying to explain things to + you, of trying to bring you round to my way of thinking. You wouldn’t go + away and you wouldn’t come any nearer—you just stood there and + watched everything that I was doing.” + </p> + <p> + He broke off, taking one of his restless turns down the long room. Then he + drew up a chair beside her, and dropped into it with a great sigh. + </p> + <p> + “At first, you know, I hated it most awfully. I wanted to be let alone and + to work out my own theory of things. If you’d said a word—if you’d + tried to influence me—the spell would have been broken. But just + because the actual <i>you</i> kept apart and didn’t meddle or pry, the + other, the you in my heart, seemed to get a tighter hold on me. I don’t + know how to tell you,—it’s all mixed up in my head—but old + things you’d said and done kept coming back to me, crowding between me and + what I was trying for, looking at me without speaking, like old friends + I’d gone back on, till I simply couldn’t stand it any longer. I fought it + off till to-night, but when I came back to finish the work there you were + again—and suddenly, I don’t know how, you weren’t an obstacle any + longer, but a refuge—and I crawled into your arms as I used to when + things went against me at school.” + </p> + <p> + His hands stole back into hers, and he leaned his head against her + shoulder like a boy. + </p> + <p> + “I’m an abysmally weak fool, you know,” he ended; “I’m not worth the fight + you’ve put up for me. But I want you to know that it’s your doing—that + if you had let go an instant I should have gone under—and that if + I’d gone under I should never have come up again alive.” + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sanctuary, by Edith Wharton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SANCTUARY *** + +***** This file should be named 7517-h.htm or 7517-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/5/1/7517/ + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, William Flis, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team; the HTML file was provided by +David Widger. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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