XXII
ON THE SECOND TERRACE
My first step on leaving Homewood was to seek a public telephone.Calling up Doctor Pool in Yonkers, I assured him that he might rest easyas to the young patient to whose doubtful condition he had called myattention. That she was in good hands and was doing well. That I hadseen her and would give him all necessary particulars when I came tointerview him later in the day. To his uneasy questions I vouchsafedlittle reply. I was by no means sure of the advisability of taking himinto my full confidence. It was enough for him to know that his demandshad been complied with without injury to the child.
Before hanging up the receiver, I put him a question on my own behalf.How was the boy in his charge? The growl he returned me was verynon-committal, and afforded me some food for thought as I turned back toMrs. Carew's cottage, where I now proposed to make a final visit.
I entered from the road. The heavily wooded grounds looked desolate. Thecopper beeches which are the glory of the place seemed to have lostcolor since I last saw them above the intervening hedges. Even thehouse, as it gradually emerged to view through the close shrubbery, worea different aspect from usual. In another moment I saw why. Everyshutter was closed and not a vestige of life was visible above or below.Startled, for I had not expected quite so hasty a departure on her part,I ran about to the side door where I had previously entered and rang fitto wake the dead. Only solitary echoes came from within and I was aboutto curse the time I had lost in telephoning to Doctor Pool, when I hearda slight sound in the direction of the private path, and, leapinghastily to the opening, caught the glimpse of something or somebodydisappearing down the first flight of steps.
Did I run? You may believe I did, at least till I had descended thefirst terrace; then my steps grew gradually wary and finally ceased; forI could hear voices ahead of me on the second terrace to which I hadnow come, and these voices came from persons standing still. If I rushedon I should encounter these persons, and this was undesirable. Iaccordingly paused just short of the top, and so heard what raised themoment into one of tragic importance.
One of the speakers was Mrs. Carew--there was no doubting this--theother was Mr. Rathbone. From no other lips than his could I hope to hearwords uttered with such intensity, though he was guarded in his speech,or thought he was, which is not always the same thing.
He was pleading with her, and my heart stood still with the sense ofthreatening catastrophe as I realized the attitude of the pair. He, asevery word showed, was still ignorant of Gwendolen's fate, consequentlyof the identity of the child who I had every reason to believe was atthat very moment fluttering a few steps below in the care of the coloredmaid, whose voice I could faintly hear; she, with his passion to meetand quell, had this secret to maintain; hearing his wild entreaties withone ear and listening for the possible outbursts of thenot-to-be-restrained child with the other; mad to go--to catch her trainbefore discovery overwhelmed her, yet not daring to hasten him, for hismood was a man's mood and not to be denied. I felt sorry for her, andcast about in my mind what aid to give the situation, when the passionof his words seized me, and I forgot her position in the interest Ibegan to feel in his.
"Valerie, Valerie," he was saying, "this is cruelty. You go with no goodcause that I can see--put the sea between us, and yet say no word tomake the parting endurable. You understand what I suffer--my hatefulthoughts, my dread, which is not so much dread as--Oh, that I should sayit! Oh, that I should feel it!--hope; guilty, unpardonable hope. Yet yourefuse me the little word, the kindly look, which would alleviate theoppression of my feelings and give me the thought of you to counteractthis eternal brooding upon Gwendolen and her possible fate. I want apromise--conditional, O God! but yet a promise; and you simply bid me tohave patience; to wait--as if a man could wait who sees his love, hislife, his future trembling in the balance against the fate of a littlechild. If you loved me--"
"Hush!" The feeling in that word was not for him. I felt it at once; itwas for her secret, threatened every instant she lingered there by somemove, by some word which might escape a thoughtless child. "You do notunderstand me, Justin. You talk with no comprehension of myself or ofthe event. Six months from now, if all goes well, you will see that Ihave been kind, not cruel. I can not say any more; I should not havesaid so much. Go back, dear friend, and let me take the train withHarry. The sea is not impassable. We shall meet again, and then--" Didshe pause to look behind her down those steps--to make some gesture ofcaution to the uneasy child? "you will forgive me for what seems crueltyto you now. I can not do differently. With all the world weeping overthe doubtful fate of this little child, you can not expect me to--tomake any promise conditional upon her _death_."
The man's cry drove the irony of the situation out of my mind.
"Puerilities! all puerilities. A man's life--soul--are worth somesacrifices. If you loved me--" A quick ingathering of his breath, then alow moan, then the irrepressible cry she vainly sought to hush, "OValerie, you are silent! You do not love me! Two years of suffering! twoyears of repression, then this delirium of hope, of possibility, and you_silent_! I will trouble you no more. Gwendolen alive or Gwendolen dead,what is it to me! I--"
"HUSH! THERE IS NO DOUBT ON THAT TOPIC; THE CHILD ISDEAD. LET THAT BE UNDERSTOOD BETWEEN US."]
"Hush! there is no doubt on that topic; the child is _dead_. Let that beunderstood between us." This was whispered, and whispered very low, butthe air seemed breathless at that moment and I heard her. "This is mylast word to you. You will have your fortune, whether you have my loveor not. Remember that, and--"
"Auntie, make Dinah move away; I want to see the man you are talkingto."
Gwendolen had spoken.