_Nineteen_
THE DYING OF ELSPETH
Rich! This was the thought that awakened Harry Cresswell to a sense ofendless well-being. Rich! No longer the mirage and semblance of wealth,the memory of opulence, the shadow of homage without the substance ofpower--no; now the wealth was real, cold hard dollars, and in piles. Howmuch? He laughed aloud as he turned on his pillow. What did he care?Enough--enough. Not less than half a million; perhaps three-quarters ofa million; perhaps--was not cotton still rising?--a whole round million!That would mean from twenty-five to fifty thousand a year. Greatheavens! and he'd been starving on a bare couple of thousand and tryingto keep up appearances! today the Cresswells were almost millionaires;aye, and he might be married to more millions.
He sat up with a start. Today Mary was going North. He had quiteforgotten it in the wild excitement of the cotton corner. He hadneglected her. Of course, there was always the hovering doubt as towhether he really wanted her or not. She had the form and carriage; herbeauty, while not startling, was young and fresh and firm. On the otherhand there was about her a certain independence that he did not like toassociate with women. She had thoughts and notions of the world whichwere, to his Southern training, hardly feminine. And yet even theypiqued him and spurred him like the sight of an untrained colt. He hadnot seen her falter yet beneath his glances or tremble at his touch. Allthis he desired--ardently desired. But did he desire her as a wife? Herather thought that he did. And if so he must speak today.
There was his father, too, to reckon with. Colonel Cresswell, with theperversity of the simple-minded, had taken the sudden bettering of theirfortunes as his own doing. He had foreseen; he had stuck it out; hiscredit had pulled the thing through; and the trust had learned a thingor two about Southern gentlemen.
Toward John Taylor he perceptibly warmed. His business methods were suchas a Cresswell could never stoop to; but he was a man of his word, andColonel Cresswell's correspondence with Mr. Easterly opened his eyes tothe beneficent ideals of Northern capital. At the same time he could notconsider the Easterlys and the Taylors and such folk as the socialequals of the Cresswells, and his prejudice on this score must still bereckoned with.
Below, Mary Taylor lingered on the porch in strange uncertainty. HarryCresswell would soon be coming downstairs. Did she want him to find her?She liked him frankly, undisguisedly; but from the love she knew to beso near her heart she recoiled in perturbation. He wooed her--whetherconsciously or not, she was always uncertain--with every quietattention and subtle deference, with a devotion seemingly quite toodelicate for words; he not only fetched her flowers, but flowers thatchimed with day and gown and season--almost with mood. He had a woman'spremonitions in fulfilling her wishes. His hands, if they touched her,were soft and tender, and yet he gave a curious impression of strengthand poise and will.
Indeed, in all things he was in her eyes a gentleman in the fineold-fashioned aristocracy of the term; her own heart voiced all he didnot say, and pleaded for him to her own confusion.
And yet, in her heart, lay the awful doubt--and the words kept ringingin her ears! "You will marry this man--but heaven help you if you do!"
So it was that on this day when she somehow felt he would speak, hisfootsteps on the stairs filled her with sudden panic. Without a word sheslipped behind the pillars and ran down among the oaks and sauntered outupon the big road. He caught the white flutter of her dress, and smiledindulgently as he watched and waited and lightly puffed his cigarette.
The morning was splendid with that first delicious languor of the springwhich breathes over the Southland in February. Mary Taylor filled herlungs, lifted her arms aloft, and turning, stepped into the deep shadowof the swamp.
Abruptly the air, the day, the scene about her subtly changed. She felta closeness and a tremor, a certain brooding terror in the languidsombre winds. The gold of the sunlight faded to a sickly green, and theearth was black and burned. A moment she paused and looked back; shecaught the man's silhouette against the tall white pillars of themansion and she fled deeper into the forest with the hush of death abouther, and the silence which is one great Voice. Slowly, and mysteriouslyit loomed before her--that squat and darksome cabin which seemed tofitly set in the centre of the wilderness, beside its crawling slime.
She paused in sudden certainty that there lay the answer to her doubtsand mistrust. She felt impelled to go forward and ask--what? She did notknow, but something to still this war in her bosom. She had seldom seenElspeth; she had never been in her cabin. She had felt an inconquerableaversion for the evil hag; she felt it now, and shivered in the warmbreeze.
As she came in full view of the door, she paused. On the step of thecabin, framed in the black doorway, stood Zora. Measured by the squatcabin she seemed in height colossal; slim, straight as a pine,motionless, with one long outstretched arm pointing to where the pathswept onward toward the town.
It was too far for words but the scene lay strangely clear and sharp-cutin the green mystery of the sunlight. Before that motionless, fatefulfigure crouched a slighter, smaller woman, dishevelled, clutching herbreast; she bent and rose--hesitated--seemed to plead; then turning,clasped in passionate embrace the child whose head was hid in Zora'sgown. Next instant she was staggering along the path whither Zorapointed.
Slowly the sun was darkened, and plaintive murmurings pulsed through thewood. The oppression and fear of the swamp redoubled in Mary Taylor.
Zora gave no sign of having seen her. She stood tall and still, and thelittle golden-haired girl still sobbed in her gown. Mary Taylor lookedup into Zora's face, then paused in awe. It was a face she did not know;it was neither the beautifully mischievous face of the girl, nor thepain-stricken face of the woman. It was a face cold and mask-like,regular and comely; clothed in a mighty calm, yet subtly, masterfullyveiling behind itself depths of unfathomed misery and wild revolt. Allthis lay in its darkness.
"Good-morning, Miss Taylor."
Mary, who was wont to teach this woman--so lately a child--searched invain for words to address her now. She stood bare-haired and hesitatingin the pale green light of the darkened morning. It seemed fit that adeep groan of pain should gather itself from the mysterious depths ofthe swamp, and drop like a pall on the black portal of the cabin. Butit brought Mary Taylor back to a sense of things, and under a suddenimpulse she spoke.
"Is--is anything the matter?" she asked nervously.
"Elspeth is sick," replied Zora.
"Is she very sick?"
"Yes--she has been called," solemnly returned the dark young woman.
Mary was puzzled. "Called?" she repeated vaguely.
"We heard the great cry in the night, and Elspeth says it is the End."
It did not occur to Mary Taylor to question this mysticism; she all atonce understood--perhaps read the riddle in the dark, melancholy eyesthat so steadily regarded her.
"Then you can leave the place, Zora?" she exclaimed gladly.
"Yes, I could leave."
"And you will."
"I don't know."
"But the place looks--evil."
"It is evil."
"And yet you will stay?"
Zora's eyes were now fixed far above the woman's head, and she saw ahuman face forming itself in the vast rafters of the forest. Its eyeswere wet with pain and anger.
"Perhaps," she answered.
The child furtively uncovered her face and looked at the stranger. Shewas blue-eyed and golden-haired.
"Whose child is this?" queried Mary, curiously.
Zora looked coldly down upon the child.
"It is Bertie's. Her mother is bad. She is gone. I sent her. She and theothers like her."
"But where have you sent them?"
"To Hell!"
Mary Taylor started under the shock. Impulsively she moved forward withhands that wanted to stretch themselves in appeal.
"Zora! Zora! _You_ mustn't go, too!"
But the black girl drew proudly back.
"I _am_ there
," she returned, with unmistakable simplicity of absoluteconviction.
The white woman shrank back. Her heart was wrung; she wanted to saymore--to explain, to ask to help; there came welling to her lips a floodof things that she would know. But Zora's face again was masked.
"I must go," she said, before Mary could speak. "Good-bye." And the darkgroaning depths of the cabin swallowed her.
With a satisfied smile, Harry Cresswell had seen the Northern girldisappear toward the swamp; for it is significant when maidens run fromlovers. But maidens should also come back, and when, after the lapse ofmany minutes, Mary did not reappear, he followed her footsteps to theswamp.
He frowned as he noted the footprints pointing to Elspeth's--what didMary Taylor want there? A fear started within him, and something else.He was suddenly aware that he wanted this woman, intensely; at themoment he would have turned Heaven and earth to get her. He strodeforward and the wood rose darkly green above him. A long, low, distantmoan seemed to sound upon the breeze, and after it came Mary Taylor.
He met her with tender solicitude, and she was glad to feel his armbeneath hers.
"I've been searching for you," he said after a silence. "You should notwander here alone--it is dangerous."
"Why, dangerous?" she asked.
"Wandering Negroes, and even wild beasts, in the forest depths--andmalaria--see, you tremble now."
"But not from malaria," she slowly returned.
He caught an unfamiliar note in his voice, and a wild desire to justifyhimself before this woman clamored in his heart. With it, too, came acooler calculating intuition that frankness alone would win her now. Atall hazards he must win, and he cast the die.
"Miss Taylor," he said, "I want to talk to you--I have wanted to for--ayear." He glanced at her: she was white and silent, but she did nottremble. He went on:
"I have hesitated because I do not know that I have a right to speak orexplain to--to--a good woman."
He felt her arm tighten on his and he continued:
"You have been to Elspeth's cabin; it is an evil place, and has meantevil for this community, and for me. Elspeth was my mother's favoriteservant and my own mammy. My mother died when I was ten and left me toher tender mercies. She let me have my way and encouraged the bad in me.It's a wonder I escaped total ruin. Her cabin became a rendezvous fordrinking and carousing. I told my father, but he, in lazy indifference,declared the place no worse than all Negro cabins, and did nothing. Iceased my visits. Still she tried every lure and set false stories goingamong the Negroes, even when I sought to rescue Zora. I tell you thisbecause I know you have heard evil rumors. I have not been a goodman--Mary; but I love you, and you can make me good."
Perhaps no other appeal would have stirred Mary Taylor. She was in manyrespects an inexperienced girl. But she thought she knew the world; sheknew that Harry Cresswell was not all he should be, and she knew toothat many other men were not. Moreover, she argued he had not had a fairchance. All the school-ma'am in her leaped to his teaching. What heneeded was a superior person like herself. She loved him, and shedeliberately put her arms about his neck and lifted her face to bekissed.
Back by the place of the Silver Fleece they wandered, across the BigRoad, up to the mansion. On the steps stood John Taylor and HelenCresswell hand in hand and they all smiled at each other. The Colonelcame out, smiling too, with the paper in his hands.
"Easterly's right," he beamed, "the stock of the Cotton Combine--" hepaused at the silence and looked up. The smile faded slowly and the redblood mounted to his forehead. Anger struggled back of surprise, butbefore it burst forth silently the Colonel turned, and muttering someunintelligible word, went slowly into the house and slammed the door.
So for Harry Cresswell the day burst, flamed, and waned, and thensuddenly went out, leaving him dull and gray; for Mary and her brotherhad gone North, Helen had gone to bed, and the Colonel was in town.Outside the weather was gusty and lowering with a chill in the air. Hepaced the room fitfully.
Well, he was happy. Or, was he happy?
He gnawed his mustache, for already his quick, changeable nature wasfeeling the rebound from glory to misery. He was a little ashamed of hisexaltation; a bit doubtful and uncertain. He had stooped low to thisYankee school-ma'am, lower than he had ever stooped to a woman. Usually,while he played at loving, women grovelled; for was he not a Cresswell?Would this woman recognize that fact and respect him accordingly?
Then there was Zora; what had she said and hinted to Mary? The wench wasalways eluding and mocking him, the black devil! But, pshaw!--he pouredhimself a glass of brandy--was he not rich and young? The world was his.
His valet knocked.
"Gentleman is asking if you forgits it's Saturday night, sir?" said Sam.
Cresswell walked thoughtfully to the window, swept back the curtain, andlooked toward the darkness and the swamp. It lowered threateningly;behind it the night sky was tinged with blood.
"No," he said; "I'm not going." And he shut out the glow.
Yet he grew more and more restless. The devil danced in his veins andburned in his forehead. His hands shook. He heard a rustle of departingfeet beneath his window, then a pause and a faint halloo.
"All right," he called, and in a moment went downstairs and out intothe night. As he closed the front door there seemed to come faintly upfrom the swamp a low ululation, like the prolonged cry of some wildbird, or the wail of one's mourning for his dead.
Within the cabin, Elspeth heard. Tremblingly, she swayed to her feet, ahaggard, awful sight. She motioned Zora away, and stretching her handspalms upward to the sky, cried with dry and fear-struck gasp:
"I'se called! I'se called!"
On the bed the child smiled in its dreaming; the red flame of thefirelight set the gold to dancing in her hair. Zora shrank back into theshadows and listened. Then it came. She heard the heavy footstepscrashing through the underbrush--coming, coming, as from the end of theworld. She shrank still farther back, and a shadow swept the door.
He was a mighty man, black and white-haired, and his eyes were the eyesof death. He bent to enter the door, and then uplifting himself andstretching his great arms, his palms touched the blackened rafters.
Zora started forward. Thick memories of some forgotten past came pilingin upon her. Where had she known him? What was he to her?
Slowly Elspeth, with quivering hands, unwound the black and snake-likeobject that always guarded her breast. Without a word, he took it, andagain his hands flew heavenward. With a low and fearful moan the oldwoman lurched sideways, then crashed, like a fallen pine, upon thehearthstone. She lay still--dead.
Three times the man passed his hands, wave-like, above the dead. Threetimes he murmured, and his eyes burned into the shadows, where the girltrembled. Then he turned and went as he had come, his heavy feetcrashing through the underbrush, on and on, fainter and fainter, as tothe end of the world.
Zora shook herself from the trance-like horror and passed her handsacross her eyes to drive out the nightmare. But, no! there lay the deadupon the hearth with the firelight flashing over her, a bloated,hideous, twisted thing, distorted in the rigor of death. A moment Zoralooked down upon her mother. She felt the cold body whence thewandering, wrecked soul had passed. She sat down and stared death in theface for the first time. A mighty questioning arose within, aquestioning and a yearning.
Was Elspeth now at peace? Was Death the Way--the wide, dark Way? She hadnever thought of it before, and as she thought she crept forward andlooked into the fearful face pityingly.
"Mammy!" she whispered--with bated breath--"Mammy Elspeth!" Out of thenight came a whispered answer: "_Elspeth! Elspeth!_"
Zora sprang to her feet, alert, fearful. With a swing of her arm, shepulled the great oaken door to and dropped the bar into its place. Overthe dead she spread a clean white sheet. Into the fire she thrustpine-knots. They glared in vague red, and shadowy brilliance, waving andquivering and throwing up thin swirling columns of black smoke. Thenstanding beside t
he fireplace with the white, still corpse between herand the door, she took up her awful vigil.
There came a low knocking at the door; then silence and footstepswandering furtively about. The night seemed all footsteps and whispers.There came a louder knocking, and a voice:
"_Elspeth! Elspeth! Open the door; it's me._"
Then muttering and wandering noises, and silence again.
The child on the bed turned itself, murmuring uneasily in its dreams.And then _they_ came. Zora froze, watching the door, wide-eyed, whilethe fire flamed redder. A loud quick knock at the door--a pause--an oathand a cry.
"_Elspeth! Open this door, damn you!_"
A moment of waiting and then the knocking came again, furious and longcontinued. Outside there was much trampling and swearing. Zora did notmove; the child slept on. A tugging and dragging, a dull blow that setthe cabin quivering; then,--
"_Bang! Crack! Crash!_"--the door wavered, splintered, and dropped uponthe floor.
With a snarl, a crowd of some half-dozen white faces rushed forward,wavered and stopped. The awakened child sat up and stared with wide blueeyes. Slowly, with no word, the intruders turned and went silently away,leaving but one late comer who pressed forward.
"What damned mummery is this?" he cried, and snatching at the sheet,dragged it from the black distorted countenance of the corpse. Heshuddered but for a moment he could not stir. He felt the midnight eyesof the girl--he saw the twisted, oozing mouth of the hag, blue-black andhideous.
Suddenly back behind there in the darkness a shriek split the night likea sudden flash of flame--a great ringing scream that cracked and swelledand stopped. With one wild effort the man hurled himself out the doorand plunged through the darkness. Panting and cursing, he flashed hishuge revolver--"_bang! bang! bang!_" it cracked into the night. Thesweat poured from his forehead; the terror of the swamp was upon him.With a struggling and tearing in his throat, he tripped and fellfainting under the silent oaks.