CHAPTER IV
EFFORT
The deep experience, the touchstone of character, of latent power,if such existed, had come to Madge Alden. For days she had driftedhelplessly on the rising tide of an apparently hopeless love. Withevery hour she comprehended more fully what Graydon Muir had becometo her and all that he might have been. It seemed that she had beencarried forward by a strong, quiet current, only to be wrecked atlast. A sense of utter helplessness overwhelmed her. She could notignore her love; it had become interwoven with every interest andfibre of her life. At first she contemplated it in wonder, in deeplytroubled and alarmed perplexity. It was a momentous truth, that hadsuddenly been made known as some irretrievable misfortune mighthave been revealed. She had read of love as children hear of mentalanxieties and conflicts of which they have no comprehension. As shegrew older it had been like poetry, music, romance--something thatkindled her imagination into vague, pleasant dreams. It had been asremote from the present and her own experience as lives of adventurein strange and foreign lands. She had awakened at last to find thatit was like her vital breath. By some law of her nature she had given,not merely her thoughts and affection, but her very self to another.To her dismay it made no difference that he had not sought the giftand was not even aware of it. Circumstances over which she had nocontrol had brought her into close companionship with Graydon Muir.She had seen him almost daily for years; she knew him with theintimacy of a sister, yet without the safeguard of a natural tie; andfrom his genial kindness she had drawn almost all the life she hadever possessed. With an unconsciousness akin to that of a plant whichtakes root and thrives upon finding a soil adapted to it, her love hadbeen developed by his strong, sunny nature. She soon recognized thatit was a love such as she had never known, unlike that for her motheror sister or any one else, and it seemed to her that it could passaway only with herself. It was not a vague sentiment, an indefinitelonging; it was the concentrated and imperious demand of her wholebeing, which, denied, left little indeed, even were the whole worldhers. Yet such were the cruel conditions of her lot that she couldnot speak of it even to one whose head had been pillowed on the samemother's breast, and the thought that it might be discovered byits object made her turn cold with dread. It was a holy thing--thespontaneous product of an unperverted heart--and yet she must hide itas if it were a crime.
Above all the trouble and turmoil of her thoughts, clear and definiteamid the chaos brought into her old quiet, languid life, wasthe impulse--the necessity--to conceal that which had become themainspring of her existence. She had not the experience of one versedin the ways of the world. How could others--how could he--be kept inignorance of that of which she was so painfully and vividly conscious?Therefore, overwhelmed with dread and a sense of helplessness, sheyielded to her first impulse to hide, in order that what seemedinseparable from herself might be concealed.
But she knew that this seclusion could not last--that she must meetthis first and great emergency of her life in some other way. From thestrong wish to obtain safety in separation, a plan to bring it aboutgradually took form in her mind. She must escape, either to live orto die, before her secret became known; and in casting about for themeans, she at last thought of a family who had been the kindest ofneighbors in the village where her mother had died. Mr. Wayland andhis wife had been the truest and most sympathetic of friends to thewidow and her orphan children, and Madge felt that she could be athome with them. Mrs. Wayland's prolonged ill-health had induced herhusband to try, in her behalf, the remedy of an entire change of airand climate. Therefore they had removed, some years before, to SantaBarbara, on the Pacific coast. The signal success of the experimentnow kindled a glimmer of hope in poor Madge. That remote citycertainly secured the first requisites--separation and distance--andthe fact that her friend found health and vigor in the semi-tropicalresort promised a little for her frail young life. She had few fearsthat her old friends would not welcome her, and she was in a positionto entail no burdens, even though she should remain an invalid.
The practical question was, How should she get there? But the moreshe thought upon the plan the more attractive it grew. The situationseemed so desperate that she was ready for a desperate remedy. Toremain weak, helpless, and in perpetual dread was impossible.
Her mind also was clear and strong enough for self-arraignment, andin bitterness she partially condemned herself that she had lost herchance for happiness. Her conscience had often troubled her that shehad given up so weakly to the habit of invalidism, but she had neverhad sufficient motive for the vigorous and sustained effort essentialto overcome it. Indeed, her frailty had seemed a claim upon Graydon,and made it more natural for him to pet her. Now that she was thinkingdeeply, she was compelled to admit that her ill health was to someextent her fault as well as her misfortune. Circumstances, naturalindolence, and her sister's extreme indulgence had brought about acondition of life that propagated itself. One languid day was theparent of another, it was so much easier to dawdle than to act. Thusshe had lost her opportunity. If he had won health, even Graydonsaid it would have brought her beauty. She might have secured hisadmiration, respect, and even love, instead of his pity. What could bemore absurd than to imagine that he could give aught else to one likeherself? "Oh, what a blind fool I have been!" she moaned--"blindto the wants of my own heart, blind to the truth that a man needs astrong, genial companion, and not a dependent shadow."
Graydon's sudden departure took from her project many obstacles andembarrassments. She was not afraid of her sister or her remonstrances,and felt that she could convince Mr. Muir that the change gave thebest promise for the future. Graydon's objections would have been hardto meet. He might have been led to guess her motive or insist onbeing her escort. Now it was merely a question of gaining sufficientstrength for the journey and of being resolute.
Mrs. Muir's opposition was not so great as Madge had feared, and Mr.Muir even approved of the plan. The shrewd merchant's judgment wasusually correct on all practical matters, and he believed that Madge'sbest chance was in a radical change. He saw that his wife's indulgencetended to confirm her sister's lack of energy, and that it would bebest for Madge to spend the next few years with one who had regainedher health by wise endeavor. Mrs. Muir soon saw everything as herhusband viewed it, and the young girl prepared for a new world and anew life.
It was indeed a wise decision. There could be no more aimless driftingand brooding. A telegram to Mr. Wayland brought immediate acquiescencein the project, which was arranged more in detail by letters. Madgestrove in every possible way to fit herself for the journey, and wassurprised at her success. Better than all tonics was the diversion ofher thoughts, the prospect of change, the necessity for action. In herthoughtful prudence she even satisfied Mrs. Muir's solicitude, for theyoung girl realized more fully every day how much depended upon herplan. It seemed to her that there could be no greater misfortune thanto become so ill again that in helplessness she must await Graydon'sreturn. Therefore, every faculty of mind, every power of body, wasexerted to accomplish her purpose; and, while her farewell toher sister and Mr. Muir was tender and full of gratitude, theconsciousness of escape was uppermost in her mind. An elderly friendof Mr. Muir would be her escort to San Francisco, and in that city Mr.Wayland was to meet her.
She arrived safely at her far-distant home, greatly worn and exhaustedindeed, but calm in mind from a sense of security. Mrs. Waylandgreeted her with her old-time cordiality, and gave herself heartily tothe task of rallying the frail girl into health.
During the days of absolute rest which followed the journey, Madge'sthoughts were busy. The width of the continent would separate herfrom the past and those associated with it. Both the breadth of thecontinent and the ocean were between her and him from whom she hadfled; yet he was ever present to her imagination. In this respect theintervening miles counted for nothing. She had not hoped that theywould. She could conceive of no plan of life that left him out, yetshe felt that she must have some object to look forward to,
somemotive for action. The spirit she had recently shown in taking sodecisive a step proved her to possess a latent force of character ofwhich she herself had not been conscious. She would not sit down todream and brood away the future. She could never hope for GraydonMuir's love. He would soon return to New York, and the idea thatMiss Wildmere or any other girl would remain cold to his suit waspreposterous. Yet if she lived she must meet Graydon again, and shenow felt that she would live. The decision she had manifested at thecrisis of her life was kindling her nature. She was conscious of agrowing inclination to prove to Graydon that she was neither "weaknor lackadaisical." The reproach of these, his words, haunted her andrankled in her memory. If she could only make him respect her--if shecould only win such a look of admiration as she had seen upon his facewhen he first recognized Miss Wildmere at the party, it would be atriumph indeed.
Thus a new plan, a new hope, was developed, and became the inspirationof effort. She listened unweariedly as Mrs. Wayland related how shehad turned the tide of her ebbing vitality. Thus Madge gained thebenefit of another's experience. Little by little she sought toincrease her slender resources of strength. The superb climate enabledher to live almost in the open air, and each day she exulted over anincrease of vigor. Almost everything favored her in her new home.When she was well enough to go out much the strangers had gone, andeverything in the town was restful, yet not enervating. The Waylands,while on the best terms with other permanent residents, were notsociety people. Mrs. Wayland had become satisfied with that phase oflife in her youth. Her husband was a reader, a student, and somethingof a naturalist. The domestic habits which had been formed while Mrs.Wayland was an invalid still clung to them. While never ceasing to bekind neighbors, they were more than content with books, nature, andeach other. Madge therefore had access to a very fine library, and thecompanionship of intellectual people who had known from contact thepresent world, and in whose cultivated minds dwelt the experiences ofthe past. Her friends were in the habit of discussing what theyread, and the basis of much of their enjoyment--as of all truecompanionship--was harmonious disagreement. Thus the young girl wasinsensibly taught to think for herself and to form her own opinions.They also proved admirable guides in directing her reading. She feltthat she had read enough for mere amusement, and now determined tobecome familiar with the great master-minds, so far as she was capableof following them, and to inform herself on those subjects which Mr.Wayland declared essential to an education.
If circumstances within doors were conducive to mental growth, thosewithout were even more favorable to physical development. The salt airand softly tempered sunshine were perpetual tonics. The place was fullof exquisite flowers. She felt that she had never seen roses until shecame to Santa Barbara. To a wounded, sensitive spirit there is evena healing influence in the brightness and perfume of flowers. Theysmiled so sweetly at her that she could not help smiling back. Thesunny days passed, one so like another that they begot serenity. Theeven climate, with its sunny skies, tended to inspirit as well as toinvigorate. Almost every day she spent hours in driving and sailing,and as the season advanced she began to take ocean baths, which onthat genial coast are suitable almost all the year round. Going thusto nature for healing, she did not appeal in vain. Strength andgrace were bestowed imperceptibly, yet surely, as spring clothes theleafless tree.
A love such as had grown unbidden and unconsciously in Madge's heartcould not be content with the meagre reward of a little admiration.Such an affection was softening and ennobling in its character, andthe mere desire to compel Graydon to glance at her as she had seen himlook at Miss Wildmere grew into the higher ambition to become such awoman as would approach in some degree his ideal. She knew his tastes,and as she thought over the past she believed she could gauge hischaracter as could no other. She soon recognized that he was not anexceptional man, that she was not worshipping a hero. He himselfwould be the last one to claim pre-eminence among his fellows. But hisgenial, open nature, his physical strength, and his generous, kindlyimpulses made him an eminently lovable man, and--well, she loved him,and believed she ever should. Frail and defective in almost everyrespect herself, she would have thought it absurd to cherish somelofty and impossible ideal. He was hearty, wholesome, honest, andshe soon began to see that it would be a better and a nobler thing--anearer approach to happiness--to become a woman whom he could trustand respect than merely to win a little admiration as a tribute toephemeral beauty.
She would attain beauty if she could, but it should be the appendage,the ornament of mind and character. She, who had seemed to himweakness itself, would aim to suggest eventually that noblest phase ofstrength--woman's patience and fortitude.
It must not be supposed that Madge reached these conclusions in days,weeks, or even months. Her final purposes were the result of slow,half-conscious growth. Right, brave action produced right feeling, andthere are few better moral tonics than developing health. With richer,better blood came truer, higher, and more unselfish thoughts. Shefound that she could not only live, but that vigorous, well-directedlife is in itself enjoyment. It was a pleasure to breathe the pure,balmy air, even when reclining in a carriage or a sail-boat, and asshe gained strength sufficient for exercise, she soon became aware ofthe rich physical rewards that wait upon it. Slowly at first, but withan increasing impetus, she advanced toward health, the conditionof all genuine life. She at last exchanged her carriage for asaddle-horse.
Mr. Wayland had one taste in which his wife did not share--a lovefor horseback exercise, which, indeed, was one of the chiefcharacteristics of the community. Madge knew that Graydon wasextremely fond of a good horse, and that he rode superbly. To becomehis equal therefore in this respect was one of the chief dreams ofher ambition. It was with almost a sense of terror that she mounted atfirst, but Mr. Wayland was considerate. Her horse was only permittedto walk, and she was taken off as soon as she was weary. Confidenceincreased rapidly, and eventually she became fearless and almosttireless. The beach was like a smooth, hard road-bed, and before thesummer was over she thought little of a gallop of ten miles, with thebreath of the Pacific fanning her cheek. When Mr. Wayland drove withhis wife up through Mission and Hot Springs canons, or eight milesaway to the exquisitely beautiful Bartlett Canon and the fine adjacentranches, she accompanied them on horseback. As she flashed along pastdate-palms, and through lemon and orange groves, she began to appearsemi-tropical herself. She also became Mr. Wayland's companion on hisbotanizing expeditions, and her steps among the rocks of the foothillsand on the slopes of the mountains grew surer, lighter, and moreunwearied. Color stole into her face, and a soft fire into her darkeyes when animated. Mrs. Wayland looked on with increasing delight,and thought, "She is growing very beautiful. I wonder if she knowsit?"
Indeed she knew it well. What young girl does not? But Madge had amotive for knowledge of which Mrs. Wayland did not dream. In the mainthe girl was her own physician, and observed her symptoms closely. Sheknew well what beauty was. Her vivid fancy would at any time recallMiss Wildmere as a living presence; therefore her standard wasexceedingly high, and she watched her approach to it as to a distantand eagerly sought goal. Other eyes gave assurance that her ownwere not deceiving her. The invalid on whom at first but brief andcommiserating glances had been bestowed was beginning to be followedby admiring observation. Society recognized her claims, and shewas gaining even more attention than she desired. As her strengthincreased she accepted invitations, and permitted the circle of heracquaintance to widen. It was part of her plan to become as muchat home in the social world as Graydon himself. Nor was she long inovercoming a diffidence that had been almost painful. In one sensethese people were to her simply a means to an end. She cared so littlefor them that she was not afraid, and had merely to acquire the easewhich results from usage. Diffidence soon passed into a shy grace thatwas indefinable and yet became a recognized trait. The least approachto loudness and aggressiveness in manner was not only impossible toher, but she also possessed the refinement and tact of whi
ch onlyextremely sensitive natures are capable. A vain, selfish woman is sopreoccupied with herself that she does not see or care what othersare, or are thinking of, unless the facts are obtruded upon her;another, with the kindest intentions, may not be able to see, and soblunders lamentably; but Madge was so finely organized that each onewho approached her made a definite impression, and without consciouseffort she responded--not with a conventional and stereotypedpoliteness, but with an appreciative courtesy which, as she gainedconfidence and readiness of expression, gave an unfailing charm to hersociety. With few preconceived and arbitrary notions of her own sheaccepted people as they were, and made the most of them. Of coursethere were some in whom even the broadest charity could find little toapprove; but it was her purpose to study and understand them and loseforever the unsophisticated ignorance at which Graydon had used tolaugh.
Santa Barbara was a winter resort, and she had the advantage ofmeeting many types. In Mrs. Wayland she had a useful mentor. Thislady in her younger days had been familiar with the best phases ofmetropolitan society, and she counteracted in Madge all tendenciestoward provincialism. Thus it gradually became recognized that the"shy, sickly little girl," as she had been characterized at first, wasgrowing into a very attractive young woman. Indeed, after an absenceof only a year her own sister would scarcely have recognized her.