Barriers Burned Away

  CHAPTER XXVI

  MISS LUDOLPH COMMITS A THEFT

  Mr. Ludolph on his return found Christine suffering from a nervoushorror of the smallpox. From the indiscreet and callous maid, intenton her own safety, and preparing to palliate the cowardice of herflight should her fears prove true, Christine learned that the citywas full of this loathsome disease, and her feelings were harrowed byexaggerated instances of its virulent and contagious character.

  "But you will surely stay with me," pleaded Christine.

  "Mademoiselle could not expect zat."

  "Heartless!" muttered Christine. Then she said: "Won't you go for SusieWinthrop? Oh, how I would like to see her now!"

  "She vould not come; no von vould come who knew."

  Christine wrung her hands and cried, "Oh, I shall die alone and desertedof all!"

  "No, you shall not," said her father, entering at that moment; "so donot give way, my dear.--Leave the room, stupid!" (to the maid, whoagain gladly escaped, resolving not to re-enter till the case wasdecided). "I have secured the best of physicians, and the best ofnurses, and by to-night or to-morrow morning we shall know about whatto expect. I cannot help hoping still that it is only a severe cold."And he told her of Dennis's offer of his mother's services.

  "I am sure I should like her, for somehow I picture to myself a kind,motherly person. What useful creatures those Fleets are! They are onhand in emergencies when one so needs help. It seemed very nice tohave young Fleet my humble servant; but really, father, hedeserves promotion."

  "He shall have it, and I doubt not will be just as ready to do yourbidding as ever. It is only commonplace people whose heads are turnedby a little prosperity. Fleet knew he was a gentleman before he cameto the store."

  "Father, if I should have the smallpox and live, would my beaut--wouldI become a fright?"

  "Not necessarily. Let us hope for the best. Make the most of the world,and never endure evils till they come, are my maxims. Half of sufferingis anticipation of possible or probable evil."

  "Father," said Christine, abruptly, "I believe you are right, you_must_ be right, and have given me the best comfort and hope thattruthfully can be given. But this is a strange, cruel world. We seemthe sport of circumstances, the victims of hard, remorseless laws. Onebad person can frightfully injure another person" (a spasm distortedher father's face). "What accidents may occur! Worst of all are thosehorrible, subtle, contagious diseases which, none can see orguard against! Then to suffer, die, corrupt--faugh! To what a disgustingend, to what a lame and impotent conclusion, does the noble creature,man, come! My whole nature revolts at it. For instance, here am I ayoung girl, capable of the highest enjoyment, with everything to livefor, and lured forward by the highest hopes and expectations; and yet,in spite of all the safeguards you can place around me, my path is inthe midst of dangers, and now perhaps I am to be rendered hideous, ifnot killed outright, by a disease the very thought of which fills mewith loathing. What I fear _has_ happened, and may happen again. Andwhat compensation is there for it all?--what can enable one to bear itall? Oh, that I could believe in a God and a future happier life!"

  "And what kind of a God would He be who, having the power to prevent,permits, or orders, as the Bible teaches, all these evils? I am a manof the world, and pretend to nothing saint-like or chivalric, but doyou think I am capable of going to Mr. Winthrop and striking down hisdaughter Susie with a loathsome disease? And yet if a minister orpriest should come here he would begin to talk about the mysteriousprovidence, and submission to God's will. If I am to have a God, Iwant one at least better than myself."

  "You _must_ be right," said Christine, with a weary moan. "There is noGod, and if there were, in view of what you say, I could only hate andfear Him. How chaotic the world is! But it is hard." After a moment sheadded, shudderingly: "_It is horrible_. I did not think of these thingswhen well."

  "Get well and forget them again, my dear. It is the best you can do."

  "If I get well," said Christine, almost fiercely, "I shall get themost I can out of life, cost what it may;" and she turned her face tothe wall.

  A logical result of his teaching, but for some reason it awakened inMr. Ludolph a vague foreboding.

  The hours dragged on, and late in the afternoon the hard-drivenphysician appeared, examined his patient, and seemed relieved.

  "If there is no change for the worse," he said, cheerily, "if no newsymptoms develop by to-morrow, I can pronounce this merely a severecold, caused by the state of the system and too sudden check ofperspiration;" and the doctor gave and opiate and bowed himself out.

  Long and heavily Christine slept. The night that Dennis filled withagonizing prayer and thought was to her a blank. While he in his strongChristian love brought heaven nearer to her, while he resolved on thatwhich would give her a chance for life, happy life, here and hereafter,she was utterly unconscious. No vision or presentiment of good, likea struggling ray of light, found access to her darkened spirit. Soheavy was the stupor induced by the opiate, that her sleep seemed likethe blank she so feared, when her brilliant, ambitious life should endin nothingness.

  So I suppose God's love meditates good, and resolves on life and joyfor us, while our hearts are sleeping, dead to Him, benumbed andparalyzed so that only His love can awaken them. Like a vague yethope-inspiring dream, this truth often enters the minds of those whoare wrapped in the spiritual lethargy that may end in death. God wakes,watches, loves, and purposes good for them. When we are mostunconscious, perhaps another effect for our salvation has been resolvedupon in the councils of heaven.

  But ambition more than love, earthly hopes rather than heavenly, keptMr. Ludolph an anxious watcher at Christine's side that night. A smileof satisfaction illumined his somewhat haggard face as he saw the feverpass away and the dew of natural moisture come out on Christine's brow,but there was no thankful glance upward. Immunity from loathsome diseasewas due only to chance and the physician's skill, by his creed.

  The sun was shining brightly when Christine awoke and by a faint callstartled her father from a doze in the great armchair.

  "How do you feel, my dear?" he asked.

  She languidly rubbed her heavy eyes, and said she thought she wasbetter--she felt no pain. The opiate had not yet lost its effect. Butsoon she greatly revived, and when the doctor came he found herdecidedly better, and concluded that she was merely suffering from asevere cold, and would soon regain her usual health.

  Father and daughter were greatly relieved, and their spirits rose.

  "I really feel as if I ought to thank somebody," said Christine. "Iam not going to thank the doctor, for I know what a bill is coming,so I will thank you. It was very kind of you to sit up the long nightwith me."

  Even Mr. Ludolph had to remember that he had in his anxiety thoughtas much of himself as of her.

  "Another lease of life," said Christine, dreamily looking into thefuture; "and, as I said last night, I mean to make the most of it."

  "I can best guide you in doing that," said her father, looking intohis daughter's face with keen scrutiny.

  "I believe you, and intend to give you the chance. When can we leavethis detested land, this city of shops and speculators? To think thatI, Christine Ludolph, am sick, idle, and perhaps have endangered allby reason of foolish exposure in a brewer's tawdry, money-splashedhouse! Come, father when is the next scene in the brief drama to open?I am impatient to go _home_ to our beloved Germany and enter on reallife."

  "Well, my dear, if all goes well, we can enter on our true career ayear from next fall--a short year and a half. Do not blame the delay,for it will enable us to live in Germany in almost royal style. I neverwas making money so rapidly as now. I have invested in that whichcannot depreciate, and thus far has advanced beyond belief--buildingsin the business part of the city. Rents are paying me from twenty toa hundred per cent. At the same time I could sell out in a month. Soyou see you have only to co-operate with me--to preserve health andstrength--to enjoy all that money can insure; a
nd money can buy almosteverything."

  Christine's eyes sparkled as the future opened before her, and shesaid, with emphasis, "If _I_ could preserve health and strength, I wouldlive a thousand years."

  "You can do much toward it. Every chance is in favor of prudence andwise action;" and, much relieved, her father went to the store.

  Business had accumulated, and in complete absorption he gave himselfto it. With an anxiety beyond expression, Dennis, flushed and trembling,ventured to approach. Merely glancing to see who it was, Mr. Ludolph,with his head bent over his writing, said, "Miss Ludolph is better--nofear of smallpox, I think--you need not write to your mother--greatlyobliged."

  It was well for Dennis that his employer did not look up. The openface of Mr. Ludolph's clerk expressed more than friendly interest inhis daughter's health. The young man went to his tasks with a mountainof fear lifted from his heart.

  But the thought of the beloved one lying alone and sick at the hotelseemed very pathetic to him. Love filled his heart with more sympathyfor Christine upon her luxurious couch, in rapid convalescence, thanfor all the hopeless suffering of Chicago. What could he do for her?She seemed so far off, so high and distant, that he could not reachher. If he ventured to send anything, prudence whispered that she wouldregard it as an impertinence. But love can climb every steep place,and prudence is not its grand-vizier.

  Going by a fruit-store in the afternoon he saw some fine strawberries,the first in from the South. He bought a basket, decorated it withGerman ivy obtained at a flower-stand, and spirited it upstairs to hisroom as if it were the most dangerous of contraband. In a disguisedhand he wrote on a card, "For Miss Ludolph." Calling Ernst, who hadlittle to do at that hour of the day, he said: "Ernst, my boy, takethis parcel to Le Grand Hotel, and say it is for Miss Christine Ludolph.Tell them to send it right up, but on no account--remember, on noaccount--tell any one who sent it. Carry it carefully in just thismanner."

  Ernst was soon at his destination, eager to do anything for his friend.

  After all, the day had proved a long one for Christine. Unaccustomedto the restraints of sickness, she found the enforced inaction verywearisome. Mind and body both seemed weak. The sources of chiefenjoyment when well seemed powerless to contribute much now. In silkenrobe she reclined in an arm-chair, or languidly sauntered about theroom. She took up a book only to throw it down again. Her pencil faredno better. Ennui gave to her fair young face the expression of one whohad tried the world for a century and found it wanting. She was leaningher elbow on the window-sill, gazing vacantly into the street, whenErnst appeared.

  "Janette," she said, suddenly, "do you see that boy? He is employedat the store. Go bring him up here; I want him;" and with more animationthan she had shown that day she got out materials for a sketch.

  "I must get that boy's face," she said, "before good living destroysall his artistic merit."

  Ernst was unwilling to come, but the maid almost dragged him up.

  "What have you got there?" asked Miss Ludolph, with a reassuring smile.

  "Something for Miss Ludolph," stammered the boy, looking very muchembarrassed.

  Christine carefully opened the parcel and then exclaimed with delight:"Strawberries, as I live! the very ambrosia of the gods. Papa sentthem, did he not?"

  "No," said the boy, hanging his head.

  "Who did, then?" said Christine, looking at him keenly.

  He shuffled uneasily, but made no answer.

  "Come, I insist on knowing," she cried, her wilful spirit and curiosityboth aroused.

  The boy was pale and frightened, and she was mentally taking notes ofhis face. But he said, doggedly, "I can't tell."

  "But I say you must. Don't you know that I am Miss Ludolph?"

  "I don't care what you do to me," said the little fellow, beginningto cry, "I won't tell."

  "Why won't you tell, my boy?" said Christine, cunningly, in a wheedlingtone of voice.

  Before he knew it, the frightened, bewildered boy fell into the trap,and he sobbed, "Because Mr. Fleet told me not to, and I wouldn't disobeyhim to save my life."

  A look of surprise, and then a broad smile, stole over the young girl'sface--at the gift, the messenger, and at him who sent it. It was indeeda fresh and unexpected little episode, breaking the monotony of theday--as fresh and pleasing to her as one of the luscious berries sograteful to her parched mouth.

  "You need not tell me," she said, soothingly, "if Mr. Fleet told younot to."

  The boy saw the smile, and in a moment realized that he had been trickedout of the forbidden knowledge.

  His little face glowed with honest indignation, and looking straightat Miss Ludolph, with his great eyes flashing through the tears, hesaid, "You stole that from me."

  Even she colored a little and bit her lip under the merited charge.But all this made him all the more interesting as an art study, andshe was now sketching away rapidly. She coolly replied, however, "Youdon't know the world very well yet, my little man."

  The boy said nothing, but stood regarding her with his unnaturallylarge eyes filled with anger, reproach, and wonder.

  "Oh," thought Christine, "if I could only paint that expression!"

  "You seem a great friend of Mr. Fleet," she said, studying and sketchinghim as if he had been an inanimate object.

  The boy made no answer.

  "Perhaps you do not know that I am a friend--friendly," she added,correcting herself, "to Mr. Fleet also."

  "Mr. Fleet never likes to have his friends do wrong," said the boy,doubtingly.

  Again she colored a little, for Ernst's pure and reproachful face madeher feel that she had done a mean thing, but she laughed said: "Yousee I am not in his mission class, and have never had the instructionthat you have. But, after all, why do you think Mr. Fleet better thanother people?"

  "By what he does."

  "That is a fair test; what has he done?"

  "He saved us all from starving, and worse than starving."

  Then with feminine tact she drew from him his story, and it was toldwith deep feeling and the natural pathos of childhood, and his gratitudecaused him to dwell with a simple eloquence on the part Dennis hadtaken, while his rich and loved German accent made it all the moreinteresting to Christine. She dropped her pencil, and, when he finished,her eyes, that were seldom moistened by the dew of sympathy, were wet.

  "Good-by, my child," she said, in a voice so kind and sweet that itseemed as if another person had spoken. "You shall come again, andthen I shall finish my sketch. When I get well I shall go to see yourfather's picture. Do not be afraid; neither you nor Mr. Fleet willfare the worse for the strawberries, and you may tell him that theyhave done me much good."

  When Dennis, wondering at Ernst's long absence, heard from him hisstory, his mind was in a strange tumult, and yet the result of hiseffort seemed favorable. But he learned more fully than ever thatChristine was not perfect, and that her faultless beauty and tastewere but the fair mask of a deformed spirit. But he dwelt in hope onthe feeling she had shown at Ernst's story.

  "She seemed to have two hearts," said the boy--"a good, kind one wayinside the cold, hard outside one."

  "That is about the truth," thought Dennis. "Good-night, Ernst. I don'tblame you, my boy, for you did the best you could."

  He had done better than Dennis knew.