CHAPTER III
THE PARTING
At last Madge was alone. Her sister had suggested everything she couldthink of, meanwhile bewailing the young girl's extreme imprudence.Madge entreated for quiet and rest, and at last was left alone. Hourafter hour she lay with wide, fixed gaze. Her mind and imaginationdid not partake of her physical weakness, and now they were abnormallyactive. As the bewilderment from the shock of her abrupt awakeningpassed, the truth hourly grew clearer. From the time she had firstcome under her sister's roof Graydon Muir had begun to make himselfessential to her. His uniform kindness had created trust, freedom, anda content akin to happiness. Now all was swept away. She understoodthat his love was an affection resulting from pity and the strong,genial forces of his nature. The girl who could kindle his spirit andinspire the best and most enthusiastic efforts of his manhood must belike Miss Wildmere--strong, beautiful, capable of keeping step withhim under society's critical eyes, and not a mere shadow of a womanlike herself. Her morbidly acute fancy recalled the ballroom. She sawhim again after his return, encircling the fair girl with his arm, andlooking down into her eyes with a meaning unmistakable. Oh, why hadshe gone to that fatal party! The past, in contrast to the present andthe promise of the future, seemed happiness itself.
What could she do? What should she do? The more she thought of itthe more unendurable her position appeared. In her vividself-consciousness the old relations could not continue. Heretoforehis caresses had been a matter of course, of habit. They could be sono longer. She shrank from them with inexpressible fear, knowing theywould bring what little blood she possessed to her face and very browin tell-tale floods. The one event from which her sensitive womanhooddrew back in deepest dread was his knowledge of her love. To preventthis she would rather die, and she felt so weak and despairing thatshe thought and almost hoped she would die. If she could only go away,where she would not see him, and hide her wound! But how could she,chained near his daily presence by weakness and helplessness?
Thus through the long night her despairing thoughts went to and fro,and found no rest. Miss Wildmere's cold glance met her everywhere withthe assurance that such a creature as she could never be anything tohim, and, alas! his own words confirmed the verdict. Love that givesall demands all, and such pitiful affection as he now gave was only amockery. The morning found her too weak to leave her room, and forthe few following days she made illness her excuse for remaining inseclusion. As Graydon looked ruefully at her vacant chair the fourthevening after the company, Mrs. Muir remarked, reproachfully, "I hopeyou now realize how delicate Madge is. You never should have coaxedher to go to that party."
He was filled with compunction, and brought her flowers, boxes ofcandy, books, and everything which he imagined would amuse her. At thesame time he was growing a little impatient and provoked. He knewthat he had taken her from the kindest motives. Now that she gave uputterly to her invalidism, he was inclined to question its necessity.He found that he missed her more than he would have imagined, and hisbrief hours at home were dreary by reason of her seclusion.
"Why don't you call in a first-class physician and put Madge undera thorough course of treatment?" he asked, irritably. "She has nodisease now that I know anything about, and I don't believe it'snecessary that she should remain so weak and lackadaisical."
"We did have our doctor call often, and he said she would outgrow hertroubles if she would take plenty of fresh of fresh air and exercise.And now she positively refuses to see a physician."
"I wouldn't humor a sick girl's fancies. She needs tonics and ageneral building up. With your permission I'll stop on my way downtownto-morrow and tell Dr. Anderson to call."
Mrs. Muir repeated the conversation to her sister, with theliteralness of which only unimaginative women are capable. Madgeturned her face to the wall, and said, coldly and decisively, "Irefuse to see a physician. I am no longer a child, and my wishes mustbe respected." After a moment she added, apologetically: "A doctorcould do me no good. I shall soon be stronger. You understand mebetter than Dr. Anderson can. You are the best and kindest nurse thatever breathed, and I've had enough of doctors. I'll take anything yougive me."
These politic words appealed to Mrs. Muir's weak point. Nothingpleased her better than to believe that she could act the part ofphysician in the family, and prescribing for Madge was a source ofunflagging interest. When she informed Graydon of their decision inthe morning, he muttered something not very complimentary to either ofthe ladies; but his good-nature prevailed, and instead of the doctorhe ordered a superb bouquet of Jacqueminot roses.
Meanwhile events were taking place of which Madge had no knowledge,but which would favor the plan slowly maturing in her mind. Mr. Muir'sbusiness affairs had been taking a turn which made it probable thathe would soon have to send his brother abroad. As long as there wasuncertainty the reticent man said nothing, but at last he receivedadvices which brought him to a prompt decision, and Graydon was toldthat he must go at once. The young fellow submitted with fairlygood grace. A brief foreign residence had its attractions, but itinterfered with his incipient suit to Miss Wildmere. He felt that hehad not gone far enough for a definite proposal, but he showed, duringthe brief call that his time permitted, an interest which the younglady well understood. Since he was to be absent for an indefiniteperiod, and would have no chance to observe her other little affairs,she permitted herself to be gracious and regretful up to the point ofinspiring much hope for the future. With a nicety of tact--the resultof experience--she confirmed his view that they had made favorableimpressions on each other, and that for the present they must becontent with this.
He had but a day in which to make his preparations in order to catcha fast steamer that sailed at daylight the following morning. Madge'sfirst sensation when she learned of his near departure was one ofimmense relief. The possibility which she had so dreaded could notnow be realized, and her plan could be carried out with far lessembarrassment. But as time passed, and she knew that their separationwas so near, her heart relented toward him with inexpressibletenderness. The roses that perfumed the room were a type of hisunstinted kindness and consideration. She was just enough toacknowledge that these were even more than she could naturally expectfrom him--that the majority of young men would have treated her witha half contemptuous pity which she was now beginning to admit wouldbe partially deserved. On the occasions when she had gone out with himshe had learned how unattractive in society her pale face and shy wayswere. Such attentions as she had received had been to her sensitivespirit like charity. Graydon had been animated by unaffected good-willand an affection that was, after its kind, genuine. While shefelt that it would be no longer possible to receive these mildmanifestations of regard while giving something so different, shestill knew, with a half despairing sinking of heart, how blank anddesolate her life would be without them. She must meet him once more,and word was sent that she would receive his good-by after dinner.Having safely passed this one interview, she hoped that she might beable to control the future, and either cease to be, or bring aboutchanges upon which she had resolved.
Only a soft, dim light shone in her room when he came to say farewell.
"Why, Madge," he exclaimed, "you are better! You actually have color.Perhaps it is fever, though," he added, dubiously. "At any rate, it'svery becoming."
"I think it must be the reflection from your roses there, youextravagant fellow," she replied, laughing.
"That's famous, Madge. If you will laugh again like that I'll sendyou a present from Paris. Dear Madge, do get well. Don't let us haveanything dismal in our parting. It's only for a little while, youknow. When I come back it will be summer, and I'll take you to theseashore or mountains or somewhere, and help you get well."
"You are very kind, Graydon. You have been a true brother to me fromthe time you tried to cheer and encourage the pale, frightened littlegirl that sat opposite you at the dinner-table. Don't you remember?"
"Of course I do. It seemed so droll to me that you we
re afraid whenthere was nothing to be afraid of."
"My fear was natural. Little as I know of the world, I know that--atleast for one like me. It may seem weak and silly to you, but, broughtup as I had been, I was morbidly sensitive. You might have meant tobe kind and sympathetic and all that, and yet have hurt me cruelly.I have been out with you enough to know how I am regarded. I don'tcomplain. I suppose it is the way of the world, but it has not beenyour way. You have brought sunshine from the first, not from a senseof duty, not out of sheer humiliating pity, but because it was theimpulse of your strength to help and cheer one who was so weak, andif--if--anything--Well, I want you to know before you go away that Iappreciate it all and shall never forget it."
"Oh, come, Madge, don't talk so dismally. What do you mean by'if--if--anything'? You are going to get strong and well, and we willopen the campaign together next fall."
She shook her head, but asked, lightly, "How will Miss Wildmere endureyour absence?"
"Easier than you, I imagine. She knows how to console herself. Still,as my little sister, I will tell you in confidence that she was verykind in our parting interview. How much her kindness meant only sheherself knows, and I've been in society long enough to know that itmay mean very little."
"Are you so wholly bent upon winning her, Graydon?"
"Oh, you little Mother Eve! You are surely going to get well. There isno sign of longevity in a woman so certain as curiosity. I've not yetreached the point of breaking my heart about her, whatever she does.Wouldn't you like so beautiful a creature for your sister?"
"The contrast would be too great. I should indeed seem a ghostbeside her. Still, if she would make you happy--" But she could go nofurther.
"Well, well, that's a very uncertain problem of the future. Don't sayanything about it at home. My brother don't like her father. They donot get on well in business. Let us talk about yourself. What are yougoing to do while I am gone?"
"What can such a shadow as I do? Tell me rather what you are goingto do, and where you'll be. You are real, and what you do amounts tosomething."
"There's one thing I'm going to do, and that is, write you some jollyletters that will make you laugh in spite of yourself. They will bepart of the tonic treatment that I want you to promise me to begin atonce."
"I have already entered upon it, Graydon," she said, quietly, "and Idon't think any one will value your letters more than I, only I maynot get strong enough to write very much in reply. I've never hadoccasion to write many letters, you know. Tell me where you will beand what you are going to do," and she leaned back upon her lounge andclosed her eyes.
While he complied, he thought, "She has grown pale and thin even toghastliness, yet I was sure she had color when I first came in. Poorlittle thing! perhaps her fears are well founded, and I may neversee her again;" and the good-hearted fellow was full of tender andremorseful regret. He was quite as fond of her as if she had been hisown sister, perhaps even more so, for his affection was not merely theresult of a natural tie, but of something congenial to his nature inthe girl herself, and it cut him to the heart to see her so white andfrail. He stopped a moment, and she opened her eyes and looked at himinquiringly.
"Oh, Madge," he broke out, "I'm so sorry I took you to that confoundedparty. You seemed getting on hopefully until that blasted evening.You must get well enough to haunt me after your old fashion. You don'tknow what a dear little sister you have become, and I didn't know itmyself until you were secluded by illness, and all through my fault.You have barricaded yourself long enough with that stand and its vaseof roses. I'm not going to say good-by at this distance." He removedthe stand, and seating himself by her side, he drew her head downupon his shoulder and kissed her again and again. "There now," hecontinued, "you look perfectly lovely. Kisses are a part of the tonictreatment you need, and I wish I were going to be here to give them.Why, you queer little woman! I did not know you had so much blood inyour body."
"It's--it's because I'm not strong," she said, struggling for release.Suddenly she became still, her face took on almost the hue of death,and he saw that she was unconscious.
In terrible alarm he laid her hastily on the lounge, and rushed forMrs. Muir.
"She has merely fainted," said that experienced woman, after amoment's examination. "You never will learn, Graydon, that Madge isnot as strong as yourself. Call one of the maids, and leave her tome."
That was the last time he saw Madge Alden for more than two years. Shesoon rallied, but agreed with her sister that it would be best notto see him again. She sent him one of his own roses, with the simplemessage, "Good-by."
Late at night he went down to the steamer, depressed and anxious,carrying with him the vivid memory of Madge lying white and death-likewhere he had laid her apparently lifeless form.
"I shall never see her again," he muttered. "Such weakness must bemortal."