VII
WITH HER VEIL DOWN
On the instant he recognised that no common interview lay before him.She was still the mysterious stranger, and she still wore her veil--afact all the more impressive that it was no longer the accompaniment ofa hat, but flung freely over her bare head. He frowned as he met hereyes through this disguising gauze. This attempt at an incognito forwhich there seemed to be no adequate reason, had a theatrical lookwholly out of keeping with the situation. But he made no allusion to it,nor was the bow with which he acknowledged her presence and ushered herinto the room, other than courteous. Nevertheless, she was the first tospeak.
"This is very good of you, Judge Ostrander," she remarked, in a voiceboth cultured and pleasant. "I could hardly have hoped for this honour.After what happened this morning at your house, I feared that my wishfor an interview would not only be disregarded by you, but that youwould utterly refuse me the privilege of seeing you. I own to feelinggreatly relieved. Such consideration shown to a stranger, argues aspirit of unusual kindliness."
A tirade. He simply bowed.
"Or perhaps I am mistaken in my supposition," she suggested, advancing astep, but no more. "Perhaps I am no stranger to you? Perhaps you know myname?"
"Averill? No."
She paused, showing her disappointment quite openly. Then drawing up achair, she leaned heavily on its back, saying in low, monotonous tonesfrom which the former eager thrill had departed:
"I see that the intended marriage of your son has made very littleimpression upon you."
Aghast for the moment, this was such a different topic from the one heexpected, the judge regarded her in silence before remarking:
"I have known nothing of it. My son's concerns are no longer mine. Ifyou have broken into my course of life for no other purpose than todiscuss the affairs of Oliver Ostrander, I must beg you to excuse me. Ihave nothing to say in his connection to you or to any one."
"Is the breach between you so deep as that!"
This she said in a low tone and more as if to herself than to him. Then,with a renewal of courage indicated by the steadying of her form and aspirited uplift of her head, she observed with a touch of command in hervoice:
"There are some things which must be discussed whatever our wishes orpreconceived resolves. The separation between you and Mr. OliverOstrander cannot be so absolute (since whatever your cause of complaintyou are still his father and he your son) that you will allow his wholelife's happiness to be destroyed for the lack of a few words betweenyourself and me."
He had made his bow, and he now proceeded to depart, severity in hisface and an implacable resolution in his eye. But some impulse made himstop; some secret call from deeply hidden, possibly unrecognised,affections gave him the will to say:
"A plea uttered through a veil is like an unsigned message. It partakestoo much of the indefinite. Will you lift your veil, madam?"
"In a minute," she assured him. "The voice can convey truth as certainlyas the features. I will not deny you a glimpse of the latter after youhave heard my story. Will you hear it, judge? Issues of no commonimportance hang upon your decision. I entreat--but no, you are a justman; I will rely upon your sense of right. If your son's happiness failsto appeal to you, let that of a young and innocent girl lovely as feware lovely either in body or mind."
"Yourself, madam?"
"No, my daughter! Oliver Ostrander has done us that honour, sir. He hadevery wish and had made every preparation to marry my child, when--ShallI go on?"
"You may."
It was shortly said, but a burden seemed to fall from her shoulders atits utterance. Her whole graceful form relaxed swiftly into its naturalcurves, and an atmosphere of charm from this moment enveloped her, whichjustified the description of Mrs. Yardley, even without a sight of thefeatures she still kept hidden.
"I am a widow, sir." Thus she began with studied simplicity. "With myone child I have been living in Detroit these many years,--ever since myhusband's death, in fact. We are not unliked there, nor have we lackedrespect. When some six months ago, your son, who stands high in everyone's regard, as befits his parentage and his varied talents, met mydaughter and fell seriously in love with her, no one, so far as I know,criticised his taste or found fault with his choice. I was happy, aftermany years of anxiety; for I idolised my child and I had suffered frommany apprehensions as to her future. Not that I had the right to behappy; I see that now. A woman with a secret,--and my heart held a wofuland desperate one,--should never feel that that secret lacks power todestroy her because it has long lain quiescent. I thought my child safe,and rejoiced as any woman might rejoice, and as I would rejoice now, ifFate were to obliterate that secret and emancipate us all from thehorror of it."
She paused, waiting for some acknowledgment of his interest, but notgetting it, went on bitterly enough, for his stolidity was a very greatmystery to her:
"And she WAS safe, to all appearance, up to the very morning of hermarriage--the marriage of which you say you had received no intimationthough Oliver seems a very dutiful son."
"Madam!"--The hoarseness of his tone possibly increased its peremptorycharacter--"I really must ask you to lay aside your veil."
It was a rebuke and she felt it to be so; but though she blushed behindher veil, she did not remove it.
"Pardon me," she begged and very humbly, "but I cannot yet. You will seewhy later.--Let me reveal my secret first. I am coming to it, JudgeOstrander; I cannot keep it back much longer."
He was too much of a gentleman to insist upon his wishes, but she saw bythe gloom of his eye and a certain nervous twitching of his hands thatit was not from mere impassiveness that his features had acquired theirrigidity. Smitten with compunction, she altered her tone into one moredeprecatory:
"My story will be best told," she now said, "if I keep all personalelement out of it. You must imagine Reuther, dressed in her weddingfinery, waiting for her bridegroom to take her to church. We weresitting, she and I, in our little parlour, watching the clock,--for itwas very near the hour. At times, her face turned towards me for a briefmoment, and I felt all the pang of motherhood again, for her lovelinesswas not of this earth but of a land where there is no sin, no--There!the memory was a little too much for me, sir; but I'll not transgressagain; the future holds too many possibilities of suffering for me todwell upon the past. She was lovely and her loveliness sprang from apure hope. We will let that suffice, and what I dreaded was not whathappened, inexcusable as such blindness and presumption may appear in awoman who has had her troubles and seen the desperate side of life.
"A carriage had driven up; and we heard his step; but it was not thestep of a bridegroom, Judge Ostrander, nor was the gentleman he leftbehind him at the kerb, the friend who was to stand up with him. ToReuther, innocent of all deception, this occasioned only surprise, butto me it meant the end of Reuther's marriage and of my own hopes. Ishrank from the ordeal and stood with my back half turned when, dashedby his own emotions, he bounded into our presence.
"One look my way and his question was answered before he put it. JudgeOstrander, the name under which I had lived in Detroit was not my realone. I had let him court and all but marry my daughter, without warninghim in any way of what this deception on my part covered. Butothers--one other, I have reason now to believe--had detected myidentity under the altered circumstances of my new life, and surprisedhim with the news at this late hour. We are--Judge Ostrander, you knowwho we are. This is not the first time you and I have seen each otherface to face." And lifting up a hand, trembling with emotion, she putaside her veil.