CHAPTER XXXI
IN WHICH DAVID AND HIS MOTHER DO NOT AGREE
The day after Cassandra's flight from Queensderry David returned.Although greatly prolonged, his African expedition had been successful,and he was pleased. He had improved his opportunities to learn politicalconditions and know what might best advance England's power in thatremote portion of her possessions.
Mr. Stretton had informed him that he might soon be called to a seat inthe House, and he was glad to be in a measure prepared to hold opinionsof his own on a few, at least, of the vital issues. Canada he alreadyknew well, and to be conversant also with the state of affairs in SouthAfrica gave him greater confidence.
The first afternoon of his return he spent in looking over the changeswhich had been in progress at Daneshead during his absence. In spite ofhis weariness, he seemed buoyant and gay, more so, his mother thought,than at any time since his return from America. She said nothing aboutthe episode of Cassandra's call,--possibly for the time it wasforgotten,--but as they parted for the night, when they were alonetogether, Lady Thryng again broached to her son the subject of hismarriage.
"We have had a visit from Lady Clara Temple," she said.
David lay upon a divan with his hands clasped beneath his head, and thelight from a reading lamp streamed upon his sunny hair, which alwayslooked as if some playful breeze had just lifted it. His whole frame hadthe sinewy appearance of energy and power. His mother's heart swelledwith love and pride as she looked at his smiling, thoughtful face, anddown upon his lean, strong body that in its lassitude expressed thevigor of a splendid animal at rest.
Still more would she have given thanks for the restoration of thisbeloved son could she have been able to contrast his present state withhis condition when, ill and discouraged, he had gone to the lonely logcabin in a wilderness, struggling to build up both body and spirit, farfrom the sympathy and fellowship of his own.
Now she thrilled with the thought of what he might achieve if only hewould, but her heart misgave her that he still held some strange notionsof life. She thought the surest way to control his quixotic impulses wasto provide him with a good, practical wife,--one who would see the worldas it is and accept conditions that are stable, not trying to movemountains, yet with sufficient ambition for both her husband andherself. With a wife and children a man could not afford to be erratic.
"What were you saying, mother?"
"What were you thinking, David, that you did not hear me? I am tellingyou we have just had a very delightful visit from Lady Clara Temple, andLady Temple and her son have called."
David made no reply. He seemed to think the remark called for none."Well, David?"
"Well, mother?" and then: "I think I will go to bed. I am rarely tired,and bed is the place for me." He kissed his mother, then took hold ofher chin and lifted her face to look in his eyes. "What is it, littlemother, what is it?" he asked gayly and obtusely.
"Aren't you a bit stupid, David, not to see? I wish--I do wish you couldcare for Lady Clara. She really is charming."
"I do care for her--as Lady Clara Temple. She is charming, and, as yousay of me, a bit stupid. What has Laura been doing these two months?"
"Preparing for her coming out after her own fashion. We've been a gooddeal in town, but she has a reckless way of doing anything she pleases,quite regardless."
"She is a big-hearted fine lass, mother. Don't let her ways troubleyou."
"She needs the right influence, and Lady Clara seems to exert it overher--at least I think she will in time."
"Ah, very good, let her. I won't interfere. Good night, little mother;sleep well. If I am late in the morning, don't be annoyed. I've hadthree wakeful nights. The sea was very rough."
"David!" Lady Thryng placed her hands on his shoulders and held him,looking in his eyes. "Marry Lady Clara. You are worthy of a princess, myson. You can afford to be ambitious. The day may come when you canentertain the king."
"Now really, mother; I'll entertain the king with pleasure. He's a fineold chap. A little gay, you know, but quite the right sort. But LadyClara is a step too high. She'd rub it into me some day that I'd marriedabove my station, you know. Good night. Dream of the king, mother, butnot of Lady Clara."
He sought his bed, and was soon soundly sleeping, content with thethought that next week he would sail for America and have Laura's comingout postponed. The family festivity was following too closely on theyear of mourning, at any rate. The announcement that he already had apenniless American wife would naturally be a blow to them, all the moreso if his mother was seriously cherishing such hopes as she hadexpressed; but he couldn't be a cad. His conscience smote him that hisconduct already bordered closely on the caddish, but to be an out andout cad,--no, no.
When he awoke,--late, as he had said, but refreshed and jubilant,--therevelation he must make seemed to him less formidable, and he was mindedto make it with no more delay as he tossed over his mail, whilebreakfasting in his room.
"Ah, what is this?" A letter in his wife's hand, bearing the Liverpoolpostmark! Was she on her way to him, then? "Good God!" He tore off thecover hastily, but sat a moment with bowed head, his hand over his eyes,before reading it.
"MY DEAR DAVID,--My husband, forgive me. I have done wrong, but I meantto do right. They said words of you,--on our mountain, David,--words Ihated; and I lied to them and came to you. I told them you had sent forme. I did it to prove to them that what they were saying was not true. Itook the money you gave me and came to England, and now God haspunished me, and I am going back. I know you will be surprised when Itell you how wrong I have been. I would not write you I had borne you alittle son, because I did not want you to come back to America for hissake, but for mine. My heart was that proud. Oh! David, forgive me."David's face grew pale, and the paper trembled in his hand, but he readeagerly on.
"My heart cries to you all the time. He is yours, David; forgive me. Heis very beautiful. He is like you. Your sister held him in her arms, andI kissed her for love of you, but she did not know why. She did notguess the beautiful baby was yours--your very own. Your mother saw him,but she did not guess he was hers--her little grandson. I took him awayquickly. They might have kept him if they knew. You will let me have hima little longer, won't you, David? When he is older, you will have totake him home and educate him, but now--now--he is all I have of you.Soon the terrible ocean will be between us again.
"It will be just the same in your home now as if I had never come. I didnot say I was your wife--for you had not--and I would not tell them. Iwant you to know this, so nothing will be changed by me. In London,before I knew, when I thought you were there, when I did not understand,I wrote my name in the hotel book, but in Queensderry something in myheart stopped me and I only wrote my old name, Cassandra Merlin. I musthave been beginning to understand."
David paused and dashed the tears from his eyes. "Poor little heart!Poor little heart!" he cried. He paced the room, then tried to readagain. The letters, blurred by his tears, seemed to dance about and runtogether.
"Now I see it all clearly, David, and, after a little, God will help meto live on the happiness you brought me in our sweet year together.There was happiness for a lifetime in that year. Comfort your heart withthat thought when you think of me, and do not be too sad.
"Oh, David! I did not know that to save me from marrying Frale andliving a life worse than death you sacrificed yourself. But you did notneed to do it. After knowing you and after doing what he did to you, Inever could have married him. I only knew you came to me and saved mefrom the terrible life I might have led, and I took you as from God. Ihave seen the beautiful lady you should have married, and I don't knowwhat to do, nor how to give you back to yourself. I suppose there may bea way, but we have made our vows to each other before God, and we mustdo no sin. My heart is heavy. I would give you all, all, but I can'ttake back the love I gave you. I could die to set you free again, for inthat way I could keep the blessed love which is part of my soul, inheaven with me, only
for our little son. My life is his now, too, and Ihave no right to die, not yet, even to set you free.
"Oh, David, David! This must be the shadow I saw clouding our long pathof light. In some terrible way it has been laid on me to do you a wrongin the eyes of your family and all your world. Your mother told me youhad work to do for your country, great and glorious work. I believe it,and you must do it and not let an ignorant mountain girl stand in yourway.
"Oh! I can't think it out to-night. When I try to see a way, I can't.The visions are lost to my eyes, and they may never come again. Thewindows of my soul are clouded, and the clear seeing is gone, because,David, I know it is myself that comes between. I can only cry to you nowto forgive me. Don't let me mar your great, good life. Don't try to comeback to me. Stay on and live your life and do your work, and I will keepyour little son safe for you, and teach him to love you and call youfather, and he shall be called David. He has no name yet; I was waitingfor you. It will only be a little while before he will need you, thenyou may take him. Your mother and sister will love him. He will be agreat boy full of laughter and light, like you, David, and then yourmountain girl wife will be gone and your sacrifice at an end, and yourreward will come at last.
"I will go back and stay quietly where I belong. Don't send me any moremoney. I have enough to take me home, and I can earn all we need afterthat. Earning will help me by giving me something to do for our baby andso for you. Sometimes I will send you word that all is well with him,but do not write to me any more. It will be easier for you so, anddon't let your heart be too much troubled for me, David. It willinterfere with your power and usefulness in your own world. Grieving islike fire set to a great tree. It burns the heart out of it first, andleaves the rest. A man must not be like that. With a woman it isdifferent. Be glad that you did save me and brought me all these monthsof sweet, sweet happiness. I will live on the remembrance.
"People have to bear the separation of death, and we will call the oceanthat divides us Death, for our two worlds are divided by it. I sailto-morrow. You took me into your heart to save me, and now, David mylove, I go out of your heart to save you, and give you back to your ownlife. Some day the cords that bind us to each other, the cords our vowshave made, will part and set you free. Good-by, good-by, David my heart,David my love, David, David, good-by. "CASSANDRA MERLIN."
For a long instant David sat with the letter crushed in his hand, thensuddenly awoke to energetic action.
"To-day? When does the boat leave? Good God! there may be time." He rangfor a servant and began tossing his clothing together. "Curses on me fora cad--a boor--a lout--. Why did I leave my mail until this morning andthen oversleep! Clark," he said, as the man appeared, "tell Hicks tobring the machine around immediately, then come for my bag."
"Beg pardon, but the machine's out of order, my lord, and her ladyship'sjust going out in the carriage."
"Why is it out of order? Hicks is a fool. Ask Lady Thryng to wait. No,pack my bag and send my boxes on after me as they are. I'll speak to hermyself."
He threw off his jacket, thrust his cap in his pocket, and dashed away,pulling on his coat as he went, holding the crushed pages of the letterin his hand. He overtook his mother as she was walking down the terrace.
"Mother, wait," he cried, "I'm going with you. Where's Laura?"
"She was coming. I can't think what is delaying her."
David hurried on to the carriage. "Get in, mother, I'll take her place.Get in, get in. We must be off."
"David, are you out of your head?"
"Yes, mother. Drive on, drive on. I must catch the first train forLiverpool--I may catch it. Put the horses through, John. Make themsweat," he said, leaning out of the carriage window.
"Explain yourself, David. Are you in trouble?"
"Yes, mother. Wait a little."
She looked at her son and saw his mouth set, his eyes stern andanguished, and she placed her hand gently on his as they were beingwhirled away. "Your bags are not in, David, if you are going a journey."
"Clark will follow with them, and I can wait in Liverpool, if I can onlycatch this boat."
"David, explain. If you can't, then let me read this," she pleaded,touching the letter in his hand; but he clutched it the tighter.
"No one may read this, not even you." He pressed the crumpled sheets tohis lips, then folded them carefully away. "It's just that I've been acad--a fiendish cad and an idiot in one. I thought myself a man of highideals-- My God, I am a cad!"
"David, you sacrificed yourself to ideals, but you are still a boy andhave much to learn. When men try to set new laws for themselves and getout of the ordinary, they are more than apt to make fools of themselves,and may do positive harm. What is it now?"
"Can't you get over the ground any faster, John?" he cried, thrustinghis head again out of the window. "These horses are overfed and lazy,like all the English people. Why was the machine out of order? Hicks isa fool--I say!" He put his hand inside his collar and pulled and workedit loose. "We are all hidebound here. Even our clothes choke us."
"David, tell me the truth."
"I am telling you the truth. I am a cad, I say. And you--you, too, are apart of the system that makes cads of us all."
"I am your mother, David," said Lady Thryng, reprovingly.
"You have reason to be proud of your son! Oh! curse me! I won't be moreof a cad than I am now by laying the blame on you. I could have helpedit, but you couldn't. We are born and bred that way, over here. Thepetty lines of distinction our ancestors drew for us,--we bow down andworship them, and say God drew them. Over here a man hides the sun withhis own hand and then cries out, 'Where is it?'"
"I would comfort you if I could, but this sounds very much like ranting.I thought you had outlived that sort of thing, my son."
"Thank God, no. I've been very hard pressed of late, but I've notoutlived it."
"You will tell me this trouble--now--before you leave me? You must, dearboy." He took the hand she put out to him, and held it in silence; then,incoherently, in a voice humbled and low,--almost lost in the rumblingof the carriage,--he told her. It was a revelation of the soul, and asthe mother listened she too suffered and wept, but did not relent.
Cassandra's cry, "I am a strangah!" sounded in her ears, but her sorrowwas for her son. Yes, she was a stranger, and had wisely taken herselfback to her own place; what else could she do? Was it not in the natureof a Providence that David had been delayed until after her departure?The duty now devolved upon herself to comfort him without furtherreproof, but nevertheless to make him see and do his duty in theposition he had been called to fill.
"Of course she has charm, David, and evidently good sense as well."
"How do you mean?"
"To perceive the inevitable and return without fuss or complaint to herown station in life."
For an instant he sat stunned, and ere he could give utterance to hisrage, she resumed, "Naturally, marriage now, in your own class can't be;you'll simply have to live as a bachelor." David groaned. "Why, my son,many do, of their own choice, and you have managed to be happy duringthis year."
He glanced at his watch. "Eleven o'clock,--can't--"
"There's no use urging the horses so; we can't make it."
"We may, mother, we may." He half rose as if he would leap from thevehicle. "I could go faster on foot. There's a quarter of an hour yetbefore the Liverpool express. John, can't we get on faster than this?"
"No, my lord. One of the 'orses has picked up a stone. If you'll 'old'em I'll dig it out in 'alf a minute, my lord."
David sprang out and took the reins. "Where's the footman?" he askedtestily.
"You left 'im behind, my lord. He was 'elping Lady Laura cut roses."
"David, this is useless. The last train from London went through an hourago and we haven't ten minutes for the next. Order him to return andwe'll consider calmly."
David laughed bitterly, and only sprang into the coach and shut the doorwith a crash. "Driv
e on, John," he shouted through the window, and againthey were off at a mad gallop.
His mother turned and looked at him astounded. "Let me read what she haswritten you, my son," she implored, half frightened at his frenzy.
"It's of no use for you to read it. We can't talk now, not rationally."
"Then tell him not to drive so furiously, so we can hear each other."
"I would avoid useless discussion, mother, but you force it." An instanthe paused, and his teeth ground together and his jaw set rigidly, thenhe continued with a savage force that appalled her, throwing out shortsentences like daggers. "Lord H---- brings home an American wife. Hisfamily are well pleased. She is every where received. Her father is arich brewer. Her brother has turned out his millions from the businessof pork packing. The stench from his establishment pollutes miles ofcountry, but does not reach England--why? Because of the disinfectantprocess of transmuting their greasy American dollars into golden Englishsovereigns. There's justice."
"Be reasonable, David. Their estates were involved to the last degreeand those sovereigns saved the family. Without them they would havepassed out of their possession utterly, and been divided among our richtradespeople, and the family would have descended rapidly to theundergrades. It goes to show the value of birth, what is more, and howthose Americans, who made a pretence long ago of scorning birth andtitle and casting it all off, are glad enough now to buy their way backagain, if not for themselves, for their children. But, David, for a manto voluntarily degrade his family by marrying beneath him, with no suchneed as that of Lord H----, of ultimately by that very means lifting itup is--is--inexpressible--why--! In the case of Lord H---- there was acertain nobility in marrying beneath him."
"Beneath him! For me, I married above me, over all of us, when I took mysweet, clean mountain girl. The nobility of Lord H---- is unique. LadyH---- made a poor bargain when she left the mingled stenches of brewingand butchering to step into the moral stench which depleted theStonebreck estates."
"You are not like my son, David. You are violent."
"Your son has been a cad. Now he is a man, and must either be violent orweep." He looked away from her out at the flying hedgerows, then took upthe fruitless discussion again, striving with more patience to arouse inhis mother a sense of the utter worldliness of her stand. She met him atevery point with the obtuse and age-long arguments of her class. When atlast he cried out, "But what of my son, mother, my little son, and theheir to all this grandeur which means so much to you?" Her eyelidsquivered and she looked down, merely saying, "His mother has offered youa solution to that difficulty which seems to me the only wise one. Yousay she proposes to keep him a year or two and then send him to us."
"Ah, you are like steel, mother." David spoke pleadingly, "You thoughthim a beautiful child?"
"I did, and a wholesome one, which goes to show that you may safelytrust him with her for a time. Moreover, his mother has a right to himand the comfort she may find in him for a few years. You see I would bequite just to her. I do not accuse her of being designing in marryingyou. No doubt it was quite your own fault. It is a position you twoyoung people rushed into romantically and most foolishly, and you mustboth suffer the consequences. It is sad, but it must be regarded in thelight of hard common sense, and my ungrateful task seems to be to placeit in that light for both your sakes."
Still David watched the hedgerows with averted face.
"You are listening, David?"
"Yes, mother, yes. Common sense you said."
"Can't you see, that to bring her here, where she does not belong--whereshe never will be received as belonging, even though she is yourwife--will only cause suffering to you both? Eventuallymisunderstandings will arise, then will come alienation and unhappiness.Then again, yours must be in a measure a public life, unless you mean toshirk responsibility. Has your country no claim on you?"
"I have no thought of shirking my duty, and am prepared to think and actalso--"
"You wish it to be effective? Has it never occurred to you how youravenues will be cut off if you marry a wife beneath your class?"
"What in God's name will my wife have to do with England's Africanpolicy? Damme--"
"David!"
"Mother--I beg your pardon--"
"She may have everything to do with it. No man can stand alone and foisthis ideas upon such a body of men, without backing. Instead of hamperingyourself with an ignorant mountain girl from America, you should haveallied yourself to a strong family of position here, if you would be apower in England. What sort of a Lady Thryng will your present wifemake? What kind of a leader socially in your own class? You might bettertry to place a girl from the bogs of Ireland at the head of your table."
Again David's rage surged through him in a hot wave, but he controlledhimself. "You admitted Cassandra has both beauty and charm?"
"Would my son have been attracted to her else? Nevertheless, what I saystands. As a help to you--"
"You have done your duty, mother. I will say this for you--that forsophistry undiluted, a woman of the present day who stands where you do,can out-Greek the ancients. How is it we see so differently? Is it thatI am like my father? How did he see things?"
"Your father was as much a nobleman as your uncle. Only by the accidentof birth was he differently placed. Did I never tell you that but forhis death he would have been created bishop of his diocese? So yousee--"
"I see. By dying he just escaped a bishopric. Did it make a differencein his reception up above--do you think?"
"Oh, David, David!"
"I'm sorry mother--never mind. We're nearly there and I have something Imust say to you before I leave you to end this discussion forever. Thereare two kinds of men in this world,--one sort is made by hiscircumstances, and the other makes his circumstances. You would respectyour son more if he belonged to the first variety, but I tell you no. Iwill make my own conditions. Before all else, I am a man. My lordshipwas thrust upon me. Don't interrupt, I beg. I know all you would say,but you do not know all I would say-- My birth gave it to me certainly,but a cruel and bloody war was the means by which it came to me. Verywell. I will take it and the responsibility which it entails; but thecruelty that brought me my title is ended and in no form shall it becontinued, social or otherwise. I hold to the rights of my manhood. Iwill bring to England whom I please as my wife, and my world shallrecognize her, and you will receive her because I bring her, and becauseshe will stand head and soul above any one you have here to propose forme. Here we are, mother dear. One kiss? Thank you, thank you. PostponeLaura's coming out until--I return--which will be--when--you know."
He leaped from the carriage before it had time to halt, and ran, butalas! baffled and enraged at his ill success, he stood on the platformand watched the train pull out. It was only a slow local puffing awaythere.
"Liverpool express left five minutes ago, my lord," said the guard.
His mother leaned out, watching him with sad, yet eager eyes, satisfiedthat it should be so. He might return now, and there was by no means anend to her opposition.
CHAPTER XXXII
IN WHICH CASSANDRA BRINGS THE HEIR OF DANESHEAD CASTLE BACK TO HERHILLTOP, AND THE SHADOW LIFTS
"Cassandry Merlin, whar did you drap from?" cried the Widow Farwell, asshe looked up from the supper she was preparing at the great fireplace,and saw her daughter in the doorway with her baby. Her old face radiatedlight and warmth and love as she took them both in her arms. "Whar'sDavid?"
Cassandra smiled wearily, returning her mother's kiss and yielding herthe baby. "You'll have to be satisfied with me and little son, mother.David was still in Africa, so I came home again." She spoke as if a tripto England were a casual little matter, and this was all the explanationshe gave that night. "I got the hotel carriage to bring me up from thestation."
The mother, with quaint simplicity, accepted it, asking no troublesomequestions. If David was not there, why should not her daughter return.After their supper together, in the warm, starlit evening,
each memberof the family carrying something for the traveller's comfort, they allclimbed up to Cassandra's cabin, and the old life began as if it hadsuffered no interruption. Cassandra so filled the pauses with questionsof all that had happened during her absence that it was only after hermother was in bed and dropping off to sleep she remembered questions ofher own that had been unasked, or left unanswered.
The next day Cassandra pleaded weariness and stayed in her cabin,sending Martha down for her necessary supplies, and quietly occupyingherself with setting her simple home in its accustomed order. The dayafter, she spent overlooking the little farm with Cotton, and hearingfrom him all about the animals. The cows, two little calves, Frale'scolt, and her own filly, and how "some ol' houn' dog" had got into thesheep-pen and killed the mother sheep, and "Marthy" had brought the twinlambs up by hand. And while Cassandra busied herself thus, the widowkept charge of the little grandson, warming her heart with his babyways, petting him and solacing herself for his long absence.
Thus the first days were lived through, and no further explanation made,for something held Cassandra silent in a strange waiting suspense. Itwas not hope, for she felt that she had taken a stand which wasconclusive, and there was nothing more for which to hope. What elsecould she do, and what could David do? The conditions were made forthem; each must bide in his own world, and she had named the ocean whichdivided them, "Death."
At night she did not weep, for weeping made her ill, and she mustconserve her strength for her little son, so she lay staring out at thestars. Sometimes she found herself holding her breath andlistening,--half lifting her head from her pillow,--but listening forwhat? Then she would lean over her baby's cradle, and hear his softbreathing, trying to make herself think she was listening for that andnot for David's step. Then she would lie back and try again to sleep,and her heart would cry to God to give her peace, and let her rest. Sothe long nights passed, tearlessly and sleeplessly.
On the boat she had slept, lulled by its rocking and swaying, but herein her home--in her accustomed routine--sleep had fled, and old thoughtsand dreams came like the dead to haunt her. The paleness which had comeupon her in London, and which the sea breeze had supplanted withfleeting roses, returned, and she moved about looking as if only herwraith had come back to its old haunts.
On the third day after Cassandra's return, David found himself climbingthe laurel path a far different man from the one who, two years before,had slowly and wearily toiled up to the little house of logs which wasto be his shelter. With strong, free step and heart uplifted and glad,he now climbed that winding path. He had conquered the ills of his body,and his spirit had lived and loved, and he had learned to know happinessfrom its counterfeit. He had gone out and seen men chasing phantoms andshadows thinking therein to find joy--joy--the need of the world--one ina coronet, one in a crown, and the beggar in a golden sovereign--whilehe--he had found it in his own heart and in Cassandra's eyes.
David had passed the Fall Place, seeing no one; for the widow had riddenover to spend the day with Sally Carew, her niece was in thespring-house skimming cream, while Cotton was dawdling in the corn patchwhistling and pulling the ripened ears from the stalks. A cool breezehad dispelled the heat of the September afternoon, and the hills werealready beginning to don their gorgeous apparel after the summer'sdrouth; their wonderful beauty struck him anew and steeped his senseswith their charm.
If only all was well with his wife--his wife and his little son! Hisheart beat so madly as he neared the thicket of laurel where once he hadstood to watch her moving about his cabin, that he was forced to pause;and again he saw her, standing in her homespun dress, strongly relievedagainst the whiteness of the canvas room beyond--but this time notalone-- Ah, not alone! Holding his little son in her arms, her bodyswaying with rhythmic motion, lulling him to drowsiness and sleep, shestooped to lay him in the rude little cradle box.
David trembled as he watched, and dashed the tears from his eyes, butcould not move to break too soon this breathless, poignant spell ofgladness. Suddenly he could wait no longer, but his feet clung to theearth when he would move, and his mouth went dry. Ah, could he neverreach her? He stood holding out his arms, when, oh, wonder of wonders!she raised herself and stood as if listening, then, moving swiftly,walked from the cabin and came to him as if she had heard him call,although he had made no sound--her arms outstretched to him as were histo her.
She did not cry out, but with parted lips and radiant, glowing face,fled to him and was clasped to his heart. She could feel its beatingagainst her breast, and his silence spoke to her through his eyes, whichsaw not her face but her soul; his lips brought the roses to her cheeksas the sea breezes had done--roses that came and fled and cameagain--until at last it was Cassandra who spoke first.
"I want you to see him, David."
"Yes, yes, my wife," was all he said, his eyes on hers, but he did notmove.
"I want you to see our little son, David." A strange pang shot throughhis heart. Still he stood, holding her and marvelling at himself. What!Was it that this young usurper had stolen into his place?
"Love is selfish, dear. Let me recover from one joy before you overwhelmme with another. First, I must have my own, and know that it is allmine."
"I don't understand, David. I can't wait. Oh! David--David!"
"You turn my name to music with your tones lingering over it. I hadforgotten how sweet it was."
"But I don't understand, David. Come and see him." And as she drew himforward, they moved as one being, not two.
"No, you don't understand, thank God. But I will teach you something younever knew. Love is not only blind, dearest; he is a greedy, selfishlittle god."
Then she laughed happily, holding him at arm's-length and looking in hiseyes. "I know it. I know it. I found it out all by myself. Didn't I tellyou in my letter? Oh, David, so was I!" She drew him to her again andnestled her face in his bosom. "I was jealous of our little son. Iwanted you, David-- Oh! I wanted you." At last came the tears, theblessed human tears which she had held back so long. But now they did noharm except to drench her husband's gray tie, and they brought a lovelyflush to her face. "I can't stop, David; I can't stop. I haven't criedfor so long, and now I can't stop."
"Sweetheart, don't try to stop. Cry it all out. Wash the stains from meof the cruel old world where I have been; cleanse me so that I may seeas clearly as you see; but you would have to cry forever to do that,wouldn't you, sweet? And soon you must laugh again."
He clasped and comforted her as she was used to comfort her baby,soothing her and drying her eyes with his own handkerchief. "Yours isn'tlarge enough for such a flood, is it, sweet?"
"No, a--a--and I--I can-can't find mine," she sobbed "I--I--left ittucked under baby's chin--and now I've spoiled your pretty gray tie."
"Bless you! They are my tears, and it is my tie--"
"David! He is crying--hark!"
"Helping his mother, is he? Come then, his father will comfort him."
"Hear him. Isn't it a sweet little cry, David?" She smiled at him fromunder tear-wet lashes.
"Why, bless you again! Yours was a sweet little cry." They went in, andhe bent over the odd little cradle and lifted the child tenderly fromits soft nest. The wailing ceased, and the fatherhood awoke in him andlaughed with joy as he held the warm little body to his heart, whereinnow, he knew, lay the key of life--the complete and rounded love, God'sgift to man, to be cherished when found, and fought for and held in theholy of holies of his own soul.
"He isn't afraid, you see, David. How he stares at you! Does he feel itin his own little heart that you are his father? I have whispered it tohim a thousand, thousand times. Sit here with him, David, and I'll makeyou some tea." She busied herself with the tea things--the old lifebeginning anew--with a new interest.
"I always make it just as you taught me that first day when I came uphere so choked with trouble I couldn't speak. You always brought megood, David."
He saw as he watched her that some new and subtile ch
arm had been addedto her personality. Was it motherhood that had given it to her, or thelong year of patient waiting and trusting; or had she passed throughdepths of which he as yet knew nothing, to cause this evanescent breathof pathos? He felt and knew it was all of these. What must she haveendured as she wrote that letter!
David fell easily and happily into his life on the mountain again--notthe English lord, but the vital, human being, the man in splendidpossession of himself and his impulses, holding sacred his rights as aman, not to be coerced by custom or bound by any chains save those hehimself had forged to bind his heart before God.
For a time he would not allow himself to think of the future,preferring to live thus with the world completely shut away. Buoyantly,jubilantly, he tramped the hills and visited the homes where he had beenwont to bring help and often comforts, and found himself therein laudedand idolized as few of his station ever are.
Again he was "Doctah Thryng," and the love that accompanied the title,in the hearts of those mountain people, was regal. He enjoyed his littlefarm, and the gathering of his first "crap," counting his bundles offodder and his bushels of corn. Sometimes he rode with Cassandra,visiting the old haunts; at such times David insisted that the boy beleft with the grandmother or that Martha should come up to mind him,that he might have his wife free and quite to himself as in their firstdays.
But all this time, although silent about it, Cassandra kept in her heartthe thought of David's real state. She felt he was playing a part tobring her joy, and was grateful, but she knew he must return to his ownworld and live his own life. Therefore she existed in a state ofbreathless suspense, to enjoy these moments to the fullest,--not to missor mar an instant of the blessed time while it lasted.
The days were flying--flying--so rapidly she dared not think, and herewas splendid October trailing her wonderful draperies over the hillslike a lavish princess. When would David speak? But perhaps he waswaiting for her to speak first? If so, how long ought she to remainsilent? Often he caught the wistful look in her eyes, and half divinedthe meaning.
One day when they had wandered up her father's path, and the wind camein warm, soft gusts, sweeping over the miles of splendor from the sea,David drew her to him, determined to win from her a full expression.
"What is it, Cassandra? Open your heart. Don't shut anything away fromme. What have you been dreaming lately?"
"You have never said a word of fault with me yet, David--for what I did,going away off there and not waiting quietly until you could come back,as you wrote me to do."
"That was the bravest, finest thing you ever did--but one." He wasthinking of her renunciation.
"You are so good to forgive me, David. In one way it was better that Iwent, because it made me understand as I never could have doneotherwise. You would never have told me, but now I know."
"Unfold a little of this wisdom, so I may judge of its value."
"Can you, David? I'm afraid not. You have a way of bewildering me, so Ican't see the rights and wrongs of things myself. But there! It is justpart of the difference. Why, even the nursemaids over there, and HettyGiles, the landlady's daughter, are wiser than I. I came to see it everyinstant, the difference between you and me--between our two worlds.David, how did you ever dare marry me?"
He only laughed happily and kissed her. "Tell it all," he said tenderly.
"I felt it first when I went to the town house. It was hard to find theaddress. I only had Mr. Stretton's." David set his teeth grimly in angerat himself at giving her only his lawyer's address, in stupid fear lesther letters betray him to his mother and sister.
"Now, do not hide one thing from me--not one," he said sternly, and shecontinued, with a conscientious fear of disobedience, to open her heart.
"I saw by the look in the old man's eyes that I had not done the rightthing, coming in that way with a baby in my arms, like a beggar. I sawhe was very curious, and I was that proud I didn't know what to tell himI had come for, when I found you were not there, so when he said artistsoften came to see the gallery, I said I had come to see the gallery; andDavid, I didn't even know what a gallery was. I thought it was a highpiazza around a house, and I found it was a great room full of pictures.I was that ignorant.
"I felt like I was some wild creature that had got lost in that splendidpalace and didn't know where to run to get away; and they all fixedtheir eyes on me as if they were saying: 'How does she dare come here?She isn't one of us!' and one was a boy who looked like you. The old mankept saying how like it was to the new Lord Thryng, and it made me coldto hear it,--so cold that after I had escaped from there and was out inthe sun, my teeth chattered."
David sat silent and humbled; at last he said: "Go on, Cassandra. Don'tcover up anything."
"When I got back to the hotel, everything seemed so splendid and stuffyand horrid--and every way I turned it seemed as if those dead ancestorsof yours were there staring at me still; and I thought what right hadthey over the living that they dared stand between you and me; and I wasangry." She stirred in his arms, and pressed closer to him."David--forgive me--I can't tell it over--it hurts me."
"Go on," he said hoarsely.
"The old man told me what was expected of you because of them--how yourmother wished you to marry a great lady--and I knew they could neverhave heard of me--and I forgot to eat my dinner and stayed in my roomand fought and fought with myself--I'm sorry I felt that way, David.Don't mind. I understand now." She put up her hand and touched hischeek, and he took it in his and kissed it. Then she laughed a sadlittle laugh.
"Remember that funny little old silver teapot. Mother brought it to mebefore I left, and I took it with me! She is so proud of our family,although she has only that poor little pot to show for it, with its noseall melted off to make silver bullets sure to kill. Did you know it wasone of those bullets Frale tried to kill you with? Oh, David, David!"
"And yet your mother is right, dear. That little wrecked bit of silverhelps to interpret you--indicates your ancestors--how you come to beyou--just as you are. How could I ever have loved you, if you had beendifferent from what you are?"
For a long moment she lay still--scarcely breathing--then she lifted herhead and looked in his eyes. One of her silences was on her, and whileher lips trembled as if to speak, she said no word. He tried to draw herto him again, but she held him off.
"Then tell me what it is," he said gently. But she only shook her headand rose to walk away from him. He did not try to call her back to him,respecting her silence, and she moved on up the path with long, swiftsteps.
When she returned, he held out his arms to her, but she stood before himlooking down into his eyes, "I couldn't tell you sitting there withyour arms around me, David, and what I have to say must be said now; Imay never be strong enough to say it another time, and it must be said."
Then she told him all that had occurred while she was in Queensderry,from the moment she came, going down into her heart and revealing thehidden thoughts never before expressed even to herself, while he gazedback into her eyes fascinated by her spiritual beauty which was herpower.
She told of the chatter of Hetty Giles, and how she had pointed out thebeautiful lady his mother wished him to marry--and how slowly everythinghad dawned upon her--the real differences. Of the guests she had seen onthe Daneshead terrace and how they wore such lovely dresses and moved soeasily and laughed and talked all at once, as if they were used to itall, and perhaps wore such charming things for every day--the wonderfulcolors and wide, beautiful hats with plumes--and how even the servantswore pretty clothes and went about as if they all knew how to do things,passing cups and plates.
Then she told of her talk with his mother and how carefully she hadguarded her tongue lest a word escape her he would rather not have hadher speak. "I had wronged you in not telling you you had a son, and Imeant to leave him with your mother so he could be raised right." Shepaused, and put her hand to her throat, then went bravely on. "Yourmother was kind--she gave me wine--she brought it to me herse
lf. I knewwhat I ought to do, but I wasn't strong enough. It seemed as ifsomething here in my breast was bleeding, and my baby would die if I didit. When I came out, he was in your sister's arms and had been crying,and it seemed as if all I had planned had happened, and I took him andcarried him away quickly. I couldn't go fast enough, and I left the innthat night. The world seemed all like _Vanity Fair_."
David rose and stood before her looking down into her eyes. He could notcontrol his voice in speaking, and she felt his hands quiver as theyrested on her shoulders. "When did you read that book, Cassandra? Wheredid you find it?" he asked, in dismay.
"Among your books in the cabin. I felt at first that it must be a kindof a disgrace to be a lord--as if every one who had a title or educationmust be mean and low, and all the rest of the world over there must befools; but because of you, David, I knew better than to believe that.Your mother is not like those women, either. She was kind and beautiful,and--I--loved her, but all the more I saw the difference. But now youhave come to me and made me strong, I can do it. Everything has grownclear to me again, and I see how you gave yourself to me--to saveme--when you did not dream of what was to be for you in the future; andout of your giving has come the--little son, and he is yours. Wait!Don't take me in your arms." She placed her hands on his breast and heldhim from her.
"So it was just now--when you spoke as if people would understand mebetter because of that little silver pot, showing I had somewhere in thepast a name and a family like theirs over there--I thought of 'VanityFair,' and I hated it. I wish you had never seen it. There is, nor hasbeen, nothing on earth to make me possible for you, now--yourinheritance has come to you. I have a pride, too, David, a differentkind of pride from theirs. You loved me first, I know, as I was--justme. It was a foolish love for you to have, David dear,--but I know it istrue; you could not have given yourself to save me else, and I like tokeep that thought of you in my heart, big and noble and true--that youdid love just me." She faltered, but still held him from her. "Do youthink I would not do all I can to keep from spoiling your life overthere?"
"Stop, stop. It is enough," he cried. In spite of herself, he took herhands in his and drew her to him in penitent tenderness. "I'm no greatlord with wide distances between me and your mountain world here,Cassandra; never think it. I'm tremendously near to the soul of things,and the man of the wilderness is strong in me. One thing you have nottouched upon. Tell me, what did Frale say or do to you to so trouble youand send you off?"
She stirred in his arms and waited, then murmured, "He pestered me."
"Explain. Did he come often?"
"Oh, no. He--I--he came one evening up to our cabin, and--I sent him offand started next day."
"But explain, dearest. How did he act? What was it?"
She was silent, but drew her husband's head down and hid her face in hisneck. "There! Never mind, love. You needn't tell me if you don't wish."
"He kissed me and held me in his arms like they were iron bands--and Ihated it. He said you had gone away never to come back, and that thewhole mountain side knew it; and that he had a right to come and claimmy promise to him. Oh, David, David, this is the last. I have keptnothing back from you now, nothing. My heart cried out for you--like Iheard you call--and I went--to--to prove to them all that word was alie. I knew nothing they said here could touch you, but I couldn't bearthat the meanest hound living should dare think wrong of you. Seems likeI would have done it if I had had to crawl on my knees and swim theocean."
"My fingers tingle to grasp the throat of that young man. I fought himfor you once, and if it hadn't been for a rolling stone under my foot,it would have been death for one of us. As it was, I won--with you tosave me--bless you."
"But now, David--"
"Ah, but now--what? Are you happy?"
"That isn't what I mean. You have your future--"
"I have my now. It is all we ever have. The past is gone, and lives onlyin our memories, and the future exists only in anticipation; butnow--now is all we have or can have. Live in it and love in it and behappy."
"But we must be wise. We've got to face it sometime. Let--me helpyou--now while I have the strength," she pleaded earnestly.
But David only laughed out joyously, and looked at his wife until sheturned her face away from him. "Look at me," he cried. "Dear, troubledeyes. Tears? Tears in them? Love, you have kept nothing back this time,and now it is my turn, but I shall keep something back from you. I'm notgoing to reprove your idolatry by turning iconoclast and throwing yourmiserable old idol down from his pedestal all at once. I tell you whatit is, though, if I could feel that I was worthy of your smallestfinger--that I deserved only one of those bigtears--there--there--there! Listen, dearest, I'll come to the point.
"Who is it now, making so much of the estimates of the world? Somehowour viewpoints have got mixed. Sacrifice myself? Why, Cassandra, if Iwere to lose you out of my life, I should be a broken-hearted man. Whatdid I sacrifice? Phantoms, vanities, and emptiness. Oh, Cassandra,Cassandra, my priestess of all that is good! Open your eyes, love, andsee as I see--as you have taught me to see.
"Much that we strive for and reckon as gain is really worthless. Why,sweet, I would far, far rather have you at your loom for the mother ofmy son, than Lady Clara at her piano. Your heritage of the greatnature--the far-seeing--the trusting spirit--harboring no evil andconstruing all things to righteousness--going out into the world andfinding among all the dust and dross, even of centuries, only the puregold--the eye that sees into a man's soul, searching out the true andlovely qualities there and transmuting all the rest into pure metal--myown soul's alchemist--your heritage is the secret of power."
"I don't believe I understand all you are saying, David. I only see thatI have a very hard task before me, and now I know it is hard for you,too. Your mother made it clear to me that your true place is not livinghere as a doctor, even though you do so much good among us. I saw all atonce that men are born each to fill a place in the world, and I thinkeach man's measure should be the height of his own power and ability,nothing lower than that; and I see it--your power will be there, nothere, where it must be limited by our limits and ignorance. That is yourown country over there. It claims you--and I--I--there is thedifference, you know. Think of your mother, and then of mine. David, Imust not-- Oh, David! You must be unhampered--free--what can I--what canwe do?"
"We can just go down the mountain, sane beings, to our own little cabin,belonging to each other first of all." He took her hand and led heralong the path, carpeted with pine needles and fallen leaves. "And then,when you are ready and willing--not before, love--we will go home--to myhome--just like this, together."
She caught her breath. "Listen, for I am seeing visions too, now, asyou have taught me. I will lead you through those halls and show you toall those dead ancestors, and I will dress you in a silken gown, thecolor of the evening star we used to watch together from our cabin door,and around your neck I will hang the yellow pearls that have been wornby all those great ladies who stared at you from out their frames ofgold the day you came alone and unrecognized, bearing your pricelessgift in your arms. You shall wear the rich old lace of the family onyour bosom, and the jewelled coronet on your head; and no one will seethe silk and the jewels and the lace, for looking at you and at the giftyou bring.
"No, don't speak; it is my turn now to see the pictures. All will beyours, whatever you see and touch in those stately homes--for you willbe the Lady Thryng, and, being the Lady Thryng, you will be no morewonderful or beautiful than you were when you climbed to me, followingmy flute notes, or when you bent between me and the fire preparing mysupper, or when you were weaving at your loom, or when you came to mefrom our cabin door with your arms outstretched and the light of all thestars of heaven in your eyes."
Then they were silent, a long silence, until, seated together in theircabin before a bright log fire, as she held their baby to her breast,Cassandra broke the stillness.
"Now I see it better, David. As you came her
e and lived my life, andloved me just as I was--so to be truly one, I must go with you and liveyour life. I must not fail you there."
"You have been tried as by fire and have not failed--nor are you thekind of woman who ever fails."
Then she smiled up at him one of those rare and fleeting smiles thatalways touched David with poignant pleasure, and said: "I think Iunderstand now. God meant us to feel this way, when he married us toeach other."
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