CHAPTER XXII.
Spread no wings For sunward flight, thou soul with unplumed vans! Sweet is the lower air and safe, and known The homely levels. Dear is the love, I know, of wife and child; Pleasant the friends and pastimes of your years. Live--ye who must--such lives as live on these; Make golden stairways of your weakness; rise By daily sojourn with those fantasies To lovelier verities.
(_Buddha's Sermon--The Light of Asia._)--ARNOLD.
Jack made another mistake in coming on to Toronto after finding out thedisastrous failure of his supposed marriage. If he had gone to Lockportand found Nina at her friend's house, perhaps some arrangement couldhave been made for their marriage in Buffalo on the following day. Mr.Toxham, the clergyman on whom Jack called at the parsonage, had tried toget his ear for advice on this subject. But, as mentioned before, whenJack read the address of Matthew Simpson he immediately bolted out,without waiting to listen to the suggestions which the clergyman triedto make. If this idea occurred to Jack, there were reasons why he didnot act upon it. He was due at the bank the next morning, and regularityat the bank was a cast-iron creed with him--the result of continuallysubordinating his own wishes to that which the institution expected ofhim. The clerk who was doing his work there would be leaving for his ownholidays on the following day, and Jack felt the pressure his dutybrought upon him. Again, how would it be possible, after finding whereNina was staying in Lockport, to call at the house and take her awayfrom her friends almost before she had fairly arrived? Geoffrey wouldhave got over this difficulty. But he had the inventive mind which goeson inventing in the presence of shock and surprise. Jack was not likehim on land. He had this ability only on a yacht during a sudden callfor alert intelligence. His nerve had not been educated to steadiness byescapades on land, nor had he had experience in any trouble thatrequired much insight into consequences. The discovery that the womanfor whom he existed was not his wife seemed to prostrate and confusethought. He felt the need of counsel, and was afraid to trust his owndecision. If he could only get home and tell Geoffrey the wholedifficulty, he felt that matters could be mended.
He arrived in Toronto about ten o'clock at night feeling ill and faint,having eaten nothing since a light breakfast thirteen hours before. Hedropped in at the club and took a sandwich and some spirits to make himsleep. Then he went to his lodgings (Geoffrey was out somewhere), rolledinto bed, and slept the clock round till eight the next morning.
As he gradually awoke, thoroughly refreshed, there was a time duringwhich, although he seemed to himself to be awake, he had forgotten abouthis supposed marriage. He was single John Cresswell again, with nothingon his mind except to be at the bank "on time." So his troublespresented themselves gently; first as only a sort of dream that he hadonce been married to the love of his life--to Nina. When he fully awokehe began to realize everything; but not as he realized it the nightbefore. Then, the case seemed almost hopeless. Now, his invigorated selfpromised success in some way. He was glad he had not met Geoffrey thenight before. The morning confidence in himself made Geoffrey seemunnecessary. Rubbing his sleepy eyes, he walked through the museum of asitting-room and into Hampstead's bedroom, where he fell upon thatsleeping gentleman and rudely shook him into consciousness.
"Hello, Jack! Got back?" growled Geoffrey as he awoke.
"Yes. You had better get up if you want to attend the bank to-day."
"All right," said Geoffrey, sitting up. "What sort of a time did youhave? Old people well?"
Jack was supposed to have been in Halifax, where his parents lived withthe other old English families there.
"Yes, I had a pretty good time," said Jack. "The old people are fine!"he added, freshly. "How are things in the bank?"
Geoffrey then retired to his bath-room, and an intermittent conversationabout the bank and other matters went on for a few minutes during thepauses created by cold water and splashing.
It was a relief to Jack that neither at breakfast nor afterward didGeoffrey ask any more questions about his fortnight's holiday. Hampsteadknew better.
During the next six weeks Geoffrey was decidedly unsettled. "Federal"went up as a matter of course, and he sold out with advantage. Hecleared five thousand dollars on this transaction, and had now a capitalof fifteen thousand dollars. He was rather lucky in his venture into thestock market. His experience on Wall Street had given him a keen insightinto such matters, and he studied probabilities until his chances offailure were reduced, keeping up a correspondence by telegraph andletter with his old Wall Street employers who, in a friendly way, sharedwith him some of their best knowledge.
Immediately after he had sold out "Federal" an American railway magnatedied. This man almost owned an American railway which was operating andleasing a Canadian railway. No sooner was the death known than the stockof the Canadian Railway took a tumble. For a moment public confidence init seemed to be lost. Now Geoffrey had studied chances as to this line.He knew that it was one of the few Canadian railways that under fairmanagement was able to pay a periodical dividend--a small one at times,perhaps, but always something. It did not go on for years without payinga cent like some of the others. He had waited for this millionaire todie in order to buy the largely depreciated stock. When the opportunityarrived he bought on margin a very large quantity of it at a low figure.But the trouble was that the public did not agree with him and the fewcool heads who tried to keep quiet, hold on, and wait till thingsreinstated themselves. An ordinary man's chances in the stock market donot depend upon his own sagacity more than does guessing at next week'sweather. Fortunes are lost, like lives, not from the threatened dangerbut from panic. Bad rumors about the railway were afloat and the stockcontinued to go down. Geoffrey hastily sold out his other stocks forwhat he could get, and stuffed everything available into the wideninggap through which forces seemed to be entering to overwhelm him.
In the meantime while Nina was at Lockport, Jack had gone on quietlywith his work in the Victoria Bank. He had not given notice of hisintentions to leave that institution, because, after his return, he hadthought he would like to take more money than he had already saved toCalifornia with him. His brother had written previously to say that heought to bring with him at least three thousand dollars, to put into thebusiness of grape-farming, and Jack thought if he could only hold on atthe bank, where he was fairly well paid, he might in a few monthscomplete the sum required. Already he had put away over twenty-fivehundred dollars, and it would not take long to save the balance.
Nina came back from Lockport blaming herself for her former unreasoninginfatuation for Geoffrey. Hers was a nature that had of necessity tolavish its affection on something or somebody. If she could have giventhis affection, or part of it, to her own mother it would have been avaluable outlet in these later years. The confidences that ought to haveexisted between them would then have been the first links to be sunderedwhen she sought Hampstead's society.
Unluckily Mrs. Lindon was not in every way perfect. While she hadcontinued to be "not weary in well doing," as she called it, herdaughter had been gradually commencing to consider how her duties andsocial law might be evaded. While Mrs. Lindon visited the Haven andlistened to the stories of the women there which were always sointeresting to her, and while she expended her time in ways that hergossip-loving nature sought, her daughter had been left the mostdefenseless person imaginable.
The fact to be remarked was, that the same impulses which had led Ninainto wrong-doing previously were now becoming her greatest power forgood. For those who claim to distinguish the promptings that come fromSatan from those that come from Heaven, there is in nature a good dealof irony. Nature is wonderfully kind to the pagan, considering hisdisadvantages. When self has been abandoned for an inspiring objectthere is no reason to think that the self-surrendered devoted Buddhist,or the self-offered victim to Moloch, experiences, any less than theSalvation Army captain, that deep, heart-felt, soul-set, almost ecstaticgladness--that sen
sation of consecration and confidence--that internalsong which the New Testament so beautifully puts words to. It is a greatthing for a woman to be allowed to lavish her affection in a waypermitted by society, for few have enough strength of character to holdup their heads when society frowns.
Nina was just such a woman as many whom her mother liked to conversewith at the Haven. They were poor and she was rich and well educated,but she was neither better nor worse than the majority of them.Nevertheless, from a social point of view, she was on the right tracknow, apparently. From a social point of view, Mrs. John Cresswell withsociety at her feet would not be at all the same person as Nina Lindondisgraced. True, it would require subtlety and deception before shecould feel that she had re-established herself safely, but, as Hampsteadquoted, "some sorts of dirt serve to clarify," and to her it seemed theonly way feasible. She did not like painstaking subtlety any more thanother people. It gave her intense unrest. She looked gladly forward tothe time when she would leave Toronto with Jack for California, said shelonged with her whole heart for the necessity of deception to be overand done with. She did not know--Jack had not told her--that theirsupposed marriage was void, and she was following out the train ofthought that leads toward ultimate good. She was saddened and subdued,wept bitter tears of contrition for her faults, and prayed with anagonized mind for forgiveness and strength to carry her through what laybefore her.
The change in her was due to improved conditions under which her naturebecame able to advance by woman's ordinary channels toward woman'spossible perfection. A great after-life might be opening before her.Some time, probably, her father's wealth would be hers. After long yearsof chastening remembrances of trouble, after years of the outflow towardgood of a heart that refused to be checked in its love, and would beable from personal experience to understand, and thus lift up lovingly,wounded souls, and with many of the perfections of a ripened womanhood,we can imagine Nina as admirable among women, a power for good,controlling through the heart rather than the intellect, as generous asthe sun.
But where will these beautiful possibilities be if her sin is found out?
Since her return Jack had not told Nina the terrible news which awaitedher. The secret on his mind made him uneasy in her presence. When he hadcalled once or twice in the afternoon he was very silent and evendepressed, but she considered that he had a good deal to think about,and it was also a relief to her not to be expected to appear brilliantlyhappy. What he thought was that after he had earned the rest of themoney he required they could get married at the first American town theycame to on their way to California. He could not bring himself to tellher the truth, which would make her wretched in the mean time, and hedid not see why the real marriage should not be deferred until it wasmore convenient for him to leave Canada. When Nina had spoken aboutgoing away, he had evaded the topic, and she did not wish to press thepoint. He explained his long periods of absence during this time byseveral excuses. His secret weighed so heavily upon him that he dreadedlest in a weak moment he might tell her. It was significant of thechange in Nina toward him that, during the time he was there, nothingwould induce her to sacrifice the restful moments to anybody. She wouldsit beside him, talking quietly and restfully, holding his hand in hers,or with her head upon his shoulder. Once, when he was leaving, all thehope she now felt welled up within her as she said good-by. All that wasgood and kind seemed to her to be personified in Jack, and it smote himwhen she put her arms round his neck and, with a quiet yearning towardgood in her face, said:
"Good-by, Jack, dear husband!"
Jack's great heart was rent with pity and affection as he saw throughthe gathering mists that calm, wondrous yearning look in her face thatafterward haunted him. He did not understand fully from what depths ofblack anguish that look came, straining toward the light. But he knewthat he was not her husband, and he could see that when she called himby this name she was uttering a word which to her was hallowed.
Another week now slipped by, and Geoffrey could not understand why Jackhad not gone to California. He called on Nina to ascertain how mattersstood. She received him standing in the middle of the room. To-dayGeoffrey closed the door behind him. It was the last time he everintended to be in this house, and so he did not care much what theinquisitive door-opener might think.
There was no mark of special recognition on either side. He walkedquickly toward her, seeing, at one quick glance, that he was notregarded as a friend.
"Why have you and Jack not gone yet to California?" he said, withoutprelude.
"I don't know," she answered coldly, still standing and eyeing him withaversion, as he also stood before her. "Has not Jack given any notice ofhis intention to leave the bank?"
"I have not heard of any. You ought to know that better than I," saidGeoffrey. "By the way," he added, "you might as well sit down, Nina.There is no use that I see in playing the tragedy queen." His voicehardened her aversion to him.
"No," she said, her voice deep and full with resentment. "If I am alwaysallowed to choose, I will never sit down in your presence again. Youhave come here to look after your own interests, and I have got tolisten to you, to learn from your lips your devil's cunning. You areforced to tell me the proper plans, and I am forced to listen and actupon them. Now go on and say what you have to say."
Hampstead nodded, and said simply: "Perhaps you are right. I don't knowthat it is worth your while to take so much trouble, but I respect thefeeling which prompts it."
Nina looked angry.
"Don't think I say this unkindly. You, or rather your conditions, havechanged, and I merely wish to acknowledge the improvement. We will speakvery simply to each other to-day. Now, about California; it appears tome that Jack does not intend to go there for a good while if allowed todo as he likes. You must go at once. He very likely is wishing to makemore money before he leaves, but this won't do. He must go at once."
"I think," said Nina, "that there need be no further reason for yourseeing me again after this interview. You have always, lately, beenJack's confidant. Send him to me this evening, and I will tell him toconsult with you. After that, you can arrange with him everythingnecessary about our departure. He will need advice, perhaps, in manyways, and then he can (here Nina's lip curled) benefit by your wisdom."
"I would not sneer too much at the wisdom if I were you. My devil'scunning, as you are pleased to call it, has put you on the right track,whatever its faults may be. It has stood us both in good stead thistime, and, if I did force you to marry Jack, you should not blame me forthat now, and I do not think you do."
He turned to move toward the door. He did not consider that he had anyright to say good-by, or anything else beyond what was absolutelynecessary. But his reference to Jack, in a way that seemed to speak ofhis worth, aroused Nina; and this, together with the thought that shewould never again see this man who had treated her whole existence as aplaything, induced her to speak again to him.
"Stop," she said. "I do indeed owe you something. You forced me to marryJack, out of your own selfishness, of course, but still I must thank youfor it. To my last hour I will thank you for that. Yes, I will eventhank you for more--for the careful way you have shown me my way fromout of my troubles. I think I am nearly done with anguish now. A littlemore will come, no doubt, and after that, please God, whatever troublesI endure will not be shameful. And now something tells me, Geoffrey,that I shall never see you again. I can not let you go without sayingthat I forgive you all. Some time, perhaps, you will be glad I said so.You have been by turns cunning, selfish, wise, and loving to me. Youhave also seemed--I don't know that you _were_, but you have_seemed_--cruel to me; but I do not think, now that I look back uponeverything more calmly, that you have been unjust. No; a woman shouldbear her part of the consequences of her own deeds. I am glad thatMargaret's happiness is still possible and that I did not drag anybodydown with me. The more I think of everything the less I blame you. Youwill think I am getting wise to look at it in this way, but I nevercould look at it
like this until now."
Nina was speaking in a way that surprised Geoffrey. Sorrow had alteredher; dangers and changes were encompassing her. Though all love for himwas dead, the man whom she had once worshiped stood before her for thelast time. He, who had caused her more happiness and distress than anyother person ever could again, stood in silence taking his leave ofher--forever. Urged by hope, besieged by doubts and dangers, driven bynecessities, her mind had acquired an abnormal activity, and she seemedall at once to be able to realize what it was to part from him for alleternity and to become conscious while she stood there of a power torise in intelligence above everything surrounding her--above all theclogging conditions of our existence--and to judge calmly, evenpityingly, of both herself and Geoffrey and of all the agonies and joysthat now seemed to have been so small and unnecessary. As she spoke thewhole of her life seemed spread out before her. She recollected, orseemed to recollect, all the events of her life, and she remained amoment gazing before her in a way that made her look almost unreal.
"I can see," she said slowly, in a calm, distinct voice, "everythingthat has happened in my life; but all the rest is all a blank to me."
Geoffrey noticed that, with her clearness of vision into the past, sheevidently expected also to see something of the future and was startledand surprised at seeing nothing. She continued looking before her, as ifunconscious of his presence, until she turned to him shuddering.
"Good-by, Geoffrey. I feel that something is going to happen in someway, either to you or to me; I don't know how. I see things to-daystrangely, and there are other things I want to see and can not."
She looked at him with a look such as he had never seen in any one.
"You will never see me again, Geoffrey. I am certain of that. I praythat God may be as good to you as I have been."
Geoffrey grew pale. Something convinced him that she spoke the truth andthat he never would see her again. There was something in her appearanceand in her words that made him shudder. A rarefied beauty had spreadover her; she seemed to be merely an intelligence, speaking from thepurity of some other realm. It seemed as if it were no human promptingthat urged her to the utterance of forebodings, and that her last wordswere as sweet as they were terrible.
He tried to look at her kindly, to cheer her, but he saw that, for themoment, the emotions of our ordinary life were totally apart from herand that he had become nothing to her but a combination ofrecollections.
He raised her hand to his lips, took a long look at her, and went hisway, leaving her standing in the middle of the room calmly watching hisretreat.
As Hampstead went back to the club he felt unstrung. He went in anddrank several glasses of brandy to brace himself. He had been drinking agreat deal during this excitement over his investments. At ordinarytimes he did not care enough about liquor to try to make a pastime ofdrinking. Now, there was a fever in his blood that seemed to demand astill greater fever. He did not get drunk, because his individualityseemed to assert itself over and above all he consumed. To-day, to addto the depression he felt about his prospects (for ruin was staring himin the face), the strange words of Nina--full of presentiment--heruncanny, prophetess-like eyes, and the conviction that he had seen herfor the last time--all weighed upon him. Her last words to him hauntedhim, and he drank heavily all the evening.
He told Jack he had called to see Nina in the afternoon, and that shehad expressed a wish to see him in the evening.
About eight o'clock Jack made his appearance at Mossbank. Mrs. Lindonhad dragged her unwilling husband off to a dinner somewhere, so that theyoung people were not in anticipation of interruption.
Nina had got over the strange phase into which she had passed whilesaying good-by to Geoffrey during the afternoon, and was doing her bestto appear natural and pleasant. After some conversation, she inquiredwhether he had given the bank notice of his intention to leave. When hesaid he had not, she let him know that she must leave Toronto at once,and the first thing he did was to ejaculate: "O my God, and we notmarried!"
Nina caught the words, and sprang toward him from the chair in which shehad been sitting.
They were a pitiable pair; with faces like ashes, confronting eachother.
"What did you say then, Jack? Tell me all--tell me quick, or you willkill me!"
"Yes, it's true," groaned Jack. "I found out when I went back to Buffalothat Simpson was only a blackleg criminal and no clergyman. We are nomore married than we ever were."
As Jack said this he had his head down; it was bowed with the misery hefelt. He dreaded to look at Nina. If he had looked, he would have seenher lips grow almost blue and her eyes lose their sight. The nextmoment, before he could catch her, she sank on the floor in shapeless,inert confusion.
Jack did not wish to call for help. He seized a large ornamental fan ofpeacock's feathers and fanned her vigorously.
She soon came to. But still lay for some time before she had strength torise. At last he assisted her to a sofa, where she reclined wearilyuntil able to go on with the conversation.
"Jack," she said, after a while, "if I don't get away from here in threedays I will go mad. Think, now! I can not help you much in thearrangements to get away. You must arrange everything yourself. Just letme know when to go, and I will look after myself and will meet yousomewhere--anywhere you propose. But I can not--I don't feel able toassist you more than that. Stop! an idea strikes me! You can not arrangeeverything yourself. There are always things that are apt to beforgotten. You must get somebody to help you think out things. When wego away I feel that it will be forever--at least, I felt so thisafternoon. You will have to arrange everything, so that there need be nocorrespondence with Toronto any more."
"Yes," said Jack, "I think your advice is good. I have always relied onHampstead. If you did not mind my telling him the whole story, Nina, Ithink his assistance would be invaluable."
"There is nothing that I dread his knowing," said Nina, as she buriedher face in the cushions. "He is a man of the world, and will know I aminnocent about our intended marriage. I thoroughly believe in hispower, not only to help you to arrange everything, but also to take thesecret with him to his grave."
"I am glad to hear you say so," said Jack. "I have always thought dearold Geoffrey, in spite of a good many things I would like to seechanged, to be the finest all-round man I ever knew."
"Yes. Now go, Jack! I am too ill to talk a moment more. Simply tell mewhen and how I am to go and I will go. As for arranging anything more,my mind refuses to do it. Give me your arm to the foot of the stairs!So. Good-night!"