Katrine: A Novel

  XXIV

  "I WILL TAKE CARE OF YOU"

  After a brief exchange of incivilities with Dermott, Frank went to hisown room with a flushed cheek, a kindling eye, and something like a songof victory singing low and strong in his heart. It was a strange mood tofollow such an interview, for there was scarcely a sentence of hisduring the talk with Katrine of which he was not ashamed. The lack oftaste, of delicacy, the rawness of his conduct came back to him,producing a singular sense of elation; for by them he realized that hislove was a thing stronger than himself; a thing which carried him alongwith it; buffeted him, did with him as it would, while consideredconduct and the well-turned phrase stood pushed aside to watch thetorrent as it passed.

  There had been times when he feared that his ancestry of inheritedself-indulgence had left him without the ability to desire anythingcontinuously or over-masteringly, feared that he was over-raced, withno grasp nor feeling for the jugular vein of events. These had beenunworded doubts of his concerning himself in the three years past. Butafter the talk with Katrine he knew himself capable of great love, oflove which was stronger than himself, and the new manhood in him gloriedin the surrender.

  He dressed early, hoping to have a word with Katrine before the otherguests came down, but she was the last to enter the drawing-room beforedinner was announced. Standing by the doorway, he saw her coming alongthe wide hall alone. She wore black, unqualified black, low andsleeveless. Her hair, which seemed blacker than the gown, was worn high,not in the loose curls he knew so well, but in some statelier manner,with an old jewelled comb placed like a coronet, and she held herselfmore aloof from him than ever before, her eyes avoiding his glance andher cheeks exquisitely flushed.

  But at sight of Dermott her bearing changed, and Frank saw with jealousythat she went quickly toward the Irishman, holding out both hands andsaying, "Dermott," in a voice which seemed to have a sob in it as wellas a claim for protection.

  During dinner Ireland was easily triumphant, for while Katrine sat atNicholas van Rensselaer's right, Dermott had been placed on her otherside, and Frank, sitting by deaf old Mrs. van Rensselaer, had abundanttime to mark McDermott's gift for society. "One might think him thehost," Ravenel thought, critically, noting that the laugh, the jokes,the gallantries were ever in the Irishman's vicinity, and the head ofthe table was easily where the McDermott sat.

  When the ladies were leaving, Dermott took the situation in both hands,as it were, by rising with them and turning a laughing face to the men,who were calling his name.

  "I'm going to join the ladies now, if they will have me!" he cried. "Ihave less of their society than I like, belonging, as I do, to theworking-classes. And besides," he waved a hand, white and beautifullyslender, toward them, "I know you all, unfortunately well, as it is!"

  A chorus of friendly insults were thrown after him, but he dropped thecurtain with no further word, and an hour later Frank encountered himwalking slowly up and down the terrace in the moonlight with Katrine.

  They were talking earnestly, McDermott urging something which Franciswas glad to see Katrine was far from yielding. Twice he saw her shakeher head with great firmness, and once, as they came near him, he heardher say, "I will not, Dermott," and, knowing the girl as he did, Frankfelt that, whatever the matter, it was settled with finality.

  Try as he surely did, he found it impossible to have a word alone withher that evening, and the next morning he learned from the servants thather luggage was to be taken to the station the following day at an earlyhour.

  She was not at luncheon, and Frank was meditating on the possibility ofleaving with her on the early train, when a note was brought to him byher maid.

  Would you care to walk with me now? [it read] I should like to tell you something before I leave.

  KATRINE DULANY.

  This was surely the unexpected, and he waited for her on the porticowith the feeling that there was some mistake, and that the maid mightreappear any minute to ask the missive back again.

  But Katrine herself came around the corner from the greenhouses andcalled to him from below. She wore a black walking-skirt, a blackleather jacket, and a three-cornered black hat, and Frank involuntarilycompared this very aristocratic-looking young person with the littlegirl in the short-waisted frocks he had known, so many years ago, itseemed, in North Carolina.

  In silence they went down the driveway to the beach road, along the pathto the cliffs. There was a chill in the sea-wind, for the afternoon sungave only a rose-red glow, but little warmth, as they stood looking atthe crumpled reflections in the water. "It is almost sunset," Frankbegan, abruptly, drawing nearer to her. "It might almost be a NorthCarolina sunset, mightn't it? I don't know, Katrine, what you want ofme, but I want, for the sake of that summer full of sunsets which weknew together, that you should let me tell my story and judge me--finestwoman--that--ever--lived--judge me after the telling as it may seem justfor you to do!"

  There was a piteous quiver of her lips as her eyes looked bravely intohis as she nodded an acquiescence.

  "When I left you, Katrine, like the coward I was, that dreadful morning,so long ago, I wandered around like an Ishmaelite, more wretched than Ibelieved it possible for a human creature to be, longing for you,always, day and night, waking with a convulsion of pain in the gray ofthe morning, but still obstinately determined to marry none but some onewhom my forebears would have considered 'suitable.'" He smiled at theword.

  "When the news came of your father's death I was in the Canadian woods.I started home immediately; I had no fixed plan, except to see you, tohelp you in some way. In New York I had a telegram saying that my motherwas very ill at Bar Harbor. There was nothing to do but to go to her, ofcourse. It was before this that she had sent me Nick van Rensselaer'sletter, and the idea came to me from that, that I might be the one to dosomething to make your life a bit happier. You may think it wasreparation for the suffering I had caused you, but it was not. I_couldn't_ let you go out of my life. In this way, I reasoned, I couldkeep in touch with you for years. When I stipulated that you were towrite once a fortnight, I had no idea the letters would be anything butsimple statements of your daily life. You see, I forgot," he smiledagain, the charming, whimsical smile that seemed so much a part of him,"that you were Irish and could do nothing impersonally.

  "Immediately after mother's illness came the matter of the railroad,and"--he hesitated--"Dermott McDermott. You see, Katrine, you hadstirred something in my nature I never knew before-ambition! That waspart, but the desolation that followed your out-going made actionnecessary. Well, the new railroad was to be constructed through theplantation, and I worked with all the energy I could to forget. You seewhat you did for me, Katrine! And at every turn, circumventing,obstructing, legislating against me, urging me on by mental friction,was Dermott McDermott. Am I tiring you?" he asked, tenderly.

  "No," she answered. "I am glad to know how it all was. Over there inParis, when I was alone, I often wondered."

  "The interest in my own railroad naturally led to interests in the twoadjoining ones, and always, always, Katrine, there were those letters ofyours urging me on by your divine belief in me. That you loved me,thought of me, wished me well, prayed for me,--a man has to be worsethan I ever was to fail to be helped by that. And your loyalty, the veryselflessness of your love, your willingness to be hurt if it would helpme--Katrine," he interrupted himself, "there were other women in mylife, but, one by one, I measured them up to the standard of you, andthey became nothing. I remember once, at the club, they brought me twoletters, one from you and one from another woman. It was the one inwhich you wrote, _'I have not forgotten, I do not wish to forget. I wantto make of myself so great a woman that some day he may say, with pride,"Once that woman loved me."'_ I disliked to know that your white letterhad even touched the other one, and that night the man I hope to make ofmyself was born. If there be any achievement in my life that is worthwhile, if I ever count for anything in the world's work, it is you whohave done it, you a
nd the letters which you blame me so much forpermitting you to write."

  She turned toward him, her face flushed and divinely illumined, angerforgotten. "You mean it?" she said.

  "As God hears, it is the truth."

  "Then," she paused, "I am happier than I thought it possible I shouldever be in this life!"

  "And you forgive me?"

  "There is nothing to forgive."

  "That gives me courage to go on," he said. "Do you remember," he put hishand over hers as he spoke, and they both went back in thought to thetime he had laid his hand over hers on the fallen tree, the night oftheir first meeting, "do you remember, Katrine, that when an alliance isto be arranged for a great queen, it is she who must indicate her choiceand her willingness. You have become that, Katrine, a great queen! I'masking, with more humility in my heart than you can ever know, that youchoose--me!"

  As she looked at him, her eyes were incredulous. "Don't let us talk ofsuch a thing," she said, abruptly, turning her small hand upward to meethis in a friendly clasp.

  "But, Katrine, it is the only thing in the world I care to talk about.Oh," he said, "I know how hard it is for you, that you are going to makeit hard for me, that you are not going to believe me, nor in me. But,whether you believe it or not, it is the white truth I tell you, thatever since the first night I saw you I loved you, and wanted you for mywife."

  She sat on the brown rocks, her knees clasped in her slender arms,looking through the sea-mist at the sun going down behind the MagnoliaHills.

  "Don't let us talk of it," she said, decisively; "the thing is utterlyimpossible. Tell me about yourself instead: the new railroad; the work;and Dermott McDermott." He turned, looking up at her curiously beforeanswering.

  "The last four years of my life have contained something overmuch ofDermott McDermott--" And then, the animosity gone from him, "Katrine,"he cried, "in Heaven's name, what did I ever do to him? He seems tospend his time trying to circumvent my plans. He hates me so that itseems"--he waited for an appropriate word--"funny," he ended, with alaugh. "I have sometimes thought he was in love with you. Is he in lovewith you, Katrine?"

  "Tell me about the railroad," she said, taking no note whatever of hisquestion. "I have heard many things of it."

  "Well," he began, "there were many things to hear. One by one the menwho had pledged themselves 'went back on me,' as the Street phrase is,which brought out all the obstinacy in me. I built it myself. It's asuccess, and it's lucky," he ended, "for if it weren't I don't knowwhere I should have ended in a money way. I was desolate and, as youtold me cheerfully in one of the letters to the Great Unknown, 'full ofignorances and narrow-mindedness.' There was never anything better cameto me, save one, than the work. I think it has made me better. I hopeso."

  "It's queer, queer, queer, this little world, isn't it?" she demanded,abruptly.

  "It is, indeed."

  "Here are we, together again, after many years, talking about ourselves,just as we did in those other days."

  The old Katrine was beside him, with the pleading, explaining, dependentnote in her voice, the same rapid, short sentences, the same shy lookwhich was ever hers when doing a kindness. "I must tell you the reason Iwrote the note. Last night I was very angry at you. I forgot Josef, whoshowed me that anger is for fools only. Then Dermott came, and while wewere walking on the terrace I told him everything: that I owed youmoney; that I wanted it paid at once. He is Madame de Nemours' executor.She left me--not a great fortune, you know, but more than enough torepay your loan to me. So much is simple. But there is more." Shehesitated before slipping her small, bare hand in his again. "Dermottthinks he knows something which will cause you much sorrow and trouble.He is not certain. He is waiting letters from France. And I wanted totell you that it will rest almost entirely with me to say what shall bedone about this bad news which may arrive. And I want you, when troublecomes, to remember that once I said I would come from the end of theearth to serve you--Well," she said, the look of unreckoning, honest,_boyish_ loyalty in her eyes, "I will keep my word. You must not worry;I will take care of you." It was like a mother's promise to protect achild, and, save for the sweet confidence in her own powers, Frank, notunderstanding, could have laughed aloud. "I want you to think of thisto-night, when Dermott talks to you--will you?--and to remember that thematter is far from proven. Madame de Nemours herself did not believeit."

  "Katrine," he cried, impressed by her serious face and tone, "what isthis mysterious trouble that is coming to me? Can't _you_ tell me?"

  "I have thought of that, but I believe that you would be happier in thefuture to know that we had never discussed it together. I know _I_should. It's all so foolish," she ended.

  "You are really going to-morrow, Katrine?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "It is better."

  "For you?"

  "For both of us."

  "Ah, Katrine, why? You are a great enough woman to forgive. Can't you doit? You have done so much already."

  "I am afraid," she answered. "I suffered too much. It was too horrible.Only," and she touched his shoulder gently, "you are not to think that Idon't care for you. It mayn't be in just the way that I used to do; butnobody else could ever be to me what you have been. I don't believe awoman, a real woman, ever loves twice in her life, do you?" She askedthe question with the manner distinctively her own, of comradeship, ofwanting to touch souls even on this question most vital to them both.

  "I hope it's true of you, Katrine."

  The gray sea broke in white lines on the shore beneath them; the gullsuttered shrill, clattering cries above their heads, before Katrine rose.

  "We must be going--on!" she said, looking seaward, her hands clasped infront of her, her face saddened and white.

  "But, Katrine," he cried, "look at me, Katrine! Nothing has been settledbetween us. I have asked you to marry me. You say you will not. Youtell me you still care some little for me. It's a foolish situation. Iwas a cad, an ignorant and colossally selfish cad, but I am humbled andoh, I want you so!"

  There was nothing but kindness and affection in her face as she stoodwith appealing eyes looking up at him.

  "Do you want me to tell you what I believe to be the truth?"

  "Yes; but, Katrine, don't make it hurt too much," he said.

  "I think," she spoke the words softly, "if I had gone out of your life,had had no voice, had not succeeded, if the world had not spoken my nameto you, you would have forgotten me in a year. I believe it is notKatrine Dulany, the daughter of your Irish overseer, whom you love, butLa Dulany, who happens to have a gift, the adopted daughter of theCountess de Nemours, the woman whom you have heard the Duc de Launaywishes to marry!"

  "Oh, Katrine!"

  "I don't want to hurt you! indeed, _indeed_ I don't," she repeated. "Iwanted you to know exactly what I think. Ah," she cried, "be fair! Doyou blame me?"

  "No," he answered. "I blame you for nothing; but it is not true! I lovethe soul of you, Katrine. And there has been between us love, lovestronger than ourselves or our foolish prejudices. I believe thatneither of us can forget, that something stronger than your will or minedraws us together. I will not accept your refusal. And you will notforget me! I mean to see to it that you shall not."

  They returned to the house, through the incoming sea fog, in silence. Atthe foot of the side-stair they shook hands and said "good-bye" softly.

  He had not expected to see her again in the evening. But here he failedto understand that the excitement under which she was laboring madeeither solitude or inaction unendurable. She was among the first to comedown to dinner, and never, he reviewed the entire past before he came tothe conclusion, had he seen her more beautiful. She wore pink, modish inthe extreme, with many jewels--he recalled that he had never before seenher wear jewels--and she seemed in sky-scraping spirits, her eyes alightwith fire and vivacity; and at the table he could hear the droll tonesof her voice before the laughter came; and altogether she went fartoward driving him daf
t by an apparent gayety at parting with himforever.

  Immediately after the ladies left the table Dermott touched Franklightly on the arm. "Could I have a few words with you in the gun-room?"he asked. "It's the place where we shall be the least likely to beinterrupted."

  Ravenel followed him, after a nod of acquiescence, and stood on one sideof a great chimney, which was filled with glowing logs, waiting for theIrishman to speak. He was entirely unprepared, however, for theconsideration, even the impersonal kindness in Dermott's voice as hesaid, "I'm afraid I'm letting you in for a pretty bad time, Ravenel."

  Frank bowed. Even McDermott was forced to admire his serene manner.

  "Miss Dulany told me last night of her obligation to you."

  Frank waited with no change of expression for Dermott to proceed.

  "She said she desired her money obligation to be paid immediately."

  "It is an affair of small moment," Frank answered.

  "You know, perhaps, that my cousin, Madame de Nemours, left her propertyto Miss Dulany?"

  "I heard of it at the time," Frank returned.

  "And named me as executor," Dermott explained.

  "A fact which escaped me," Ravenel answered, suavely.

  "It has taken some time to settle the estate," Dermott continued,"because of a certain claim which, if proven, makes the estate a veryvaluable one. This claim nearly concerns you."

  "Go on," Frank said, briefly, discourteously as well.

  "I do not know," Dermott continued, "whether you are aware or not thatyour father made an earlier marriage than the one with your mother."

  An ominous chill passed over Frank, though he answered, bravely, "I wasnot."

  "When he was living at Tours he married a girl, an Irish girl, who ranaway from a convent to become his wife. She was but sixteen at the time.Her name was Patricia McDermott, my cousin, afterward the Countess deNemours."

  Frank continued to listen, but, although his eyes held keen apprehensionand his face was white, he showed a fine courage.

  "My uncle, her father, was an ardent Roman Catholic," Dermott explained,"a gloomy, overfed, and melancholy man who never forgave his daughter.In a short time your father seemed to have"--Dermott coughed--"tired ofthe affair," he explained, lightly, "and, his studies being finished, heleft his wife and child and returned to America. I do not desire todwell on the misery of my cousin and her child. She was cared for bysome poor folks; my uncle gave her a death-bed forgiveness; the childdied, and in process of time she married the Count de Nemours. After thedeath of her second husband, she gave me full charge of her affairs, andamong her papers I found documents relating to this early marriage. Theyear before your father's death I met him, quite by accident, in NewYork. The name was familiar to me. I asked questions, found he wasmarried and had a son, yourself.

  "Mr. Ravenel," Dermott changed his tone of recital to a more intimateone, "to speak truth, the matter is inexplicable to me. Your father wasa brilliant man; a man of the world who, if he had no religious scrupleson the subject of bigamy, must have had respect for law. Why," Dermottrose from the table by which he had been sitting, and stood directlyfacing Frank--"why he should have made a second marriage, with a wifeand child living in France, is beyond explanation."

  Frank drew back, his face colorless, his lips drawn, and, as the horridimport of the news became clear, "Ah, God!" he whispered; and then, withmemory of his father uppermost, "It's a damned lie!" he cried.

  "It may be," Dermott returned, calmly. "Most things are open to thatinterpretation. I'm afraid, however, you will have difficulty in provingit so. I have had the certificates of the marriage and of the birth ofthe child for a long time, but international law requires much. I haveliving witnesses. In Carolina, in looking up the matter," he spoke theword vaguely, "I failed to find anything which would disprove the pointsI have just placed before you. I was awaiting some letters from Francebefore explaining the case to you, when Katrine demanded that her debtto you be paid immediately. There are many reasons why I do not wish topay that debt now, reasons which we, as men, can understand. She mightnot comprehend them, and she certainly would not give the idea a straw'sweight if she did, having once made up her mind. Now I'm going to tellher that I've paid her debt, Mr. Ravenel. It will comfort her. But withthe matter which I have revealed to you still a little unsettled, andthe markets in the state they are in, I cannot do my duty as executorand fulfil her desires immediately. After all, it is a small amount, andif my personal check--" He waited, and Ravenel spoke.

  "Mr. McDermott, Miss Dulany's indebtedness to me is too slight toconsider. About this other terrible business, I shall search my father'spapers! It is necessary that I do everything I can to protect mymother's name as well as my own."

  "That's reason," Dermott agreed.

  "As to Miss Dulany--"

  Both men turned, for at the far end of the room Katrine stood, under theswinging light of a Japanese lamp, regarding them.

  She came rapidly toward them, her head a little forward, her cheeksscarlet, and a gleam of temper in her eyes, which Frank had never seen,but with which Dermott was not unfamiliar, and took a place betweenthem.

  "See!" she cried, smiling, and there was never another woman in all theworld who had the appealing smile of Katrine Dulany. "Don't let us makethis all so dreadful. There is just some mistake," she said, with agesture of impatience; and from here she went on with a certainterrifying ability, peculiarly her own, to come directly to a point.

  "Oh," she said, with a gesture including them both, "you've done what Iasked you not to do, Dermott!" she said. "You've claimed a yet unproventhing. I'm tired of the whole of it. It is better that we three shouldunderstand one another altogether and not go talking by twos," and shefaced Dermott as she turned. "You may prove everything, and I'll neverbelieve a word of it! Give me Ravenel, and I'll return it to those towhom it belongs. It's his," indicating Frank, "and his mother's, andthey shall keep it, no matter what you prove! As for me!" she laughed,giving herself a shake as a bird does. "Hark!" she cried, raising onefinger. Softly, as a bird calls to the purpling east at dawn, she took anote, listening intently, going up, up, up, till the tone, a mere threadof gladness, reached high E, where it swelled, rounder and fuller, untilit seemed to fill all space, descending in a sparkling shower ofchromatics to lower G.

  "Did you mark that?" she cried, in a defiant bit of appreciation ofherself. "What do I need with money? I can go out on the streets andcome back with hands full." And before they could answer she haddisappeared through one of the long windows of the piazza.

  "And what do you think of that, now?" demanded Dermott of Frank, with atouch of the brogue, as they stood together in some bewilderment,looking after her.