CHAPTER XXXVII
IF HE KNEW!
For a little time after Dennis's angry tread died away, Christine satalmost paralyzed by surprise and deeper emotion. Her mind, thoughusually clear and rapid in its action, was too confused to realize thetruth. Suddenly she sprang up, gathered together her sketchingmaterials, and drawing a thick veil over her face sped through thestore, through the streets, to the refuge of her own room. She mustbe alone.
Hastily throwing aside her wrappings, she began to walk up and downin her excitement. Her listlessness was gone now in very truth, andher eye and cheek glowed as never before. As if it had become the greatvivifying principle of her own life, she kept repeating continuallyin a low, ecstatic tone, "He lives! he lives! he is not dead; his bloodis not upon my conscience!"
At last she sat down in her luxurious chair before the window to thinkit all over--to commune with herself--often the habit of the reservedand solitary. From the disjointed sentences she let fall, from thereflection of her excited face in yonder glass, we gather quitecorrectly the workings of her mind. Her first words were, "Thank heaven!thank something or other, I have not blotted out that true, stronggenius."
Again--"What untold wretchedness I might have saved myself if I hadonly asked the question, in a casual way, 'How is Mr. Fleet?' ChristineLudolph, with all your pride and imagined superiority, you can be veryfoolish.
"How he hates and despises me now! little wonder!"
"But if he knew!"
"Knew what? Why could you not ask after him, as after any other sickman? You have had a score or so of offers, and did not trouble yourselfas to the fate of the lovelorn swains. Seems to me your conscience hasbeen very tender in this case. And the fact that he misjudges you,thinks you callous, heartless, and is angry, troubles you beyondmeasure."
"When before were you so sensitive to the opinion of clerks andtrades-people, or even the proudest suitors for your hand? But in thiscase you must cry out, in a tone of sentimental agony, 'Oh, if he onlyknew it!"
"Knew what?"
Her face in yonder mirror has a strange, introverted expression, asif she were scanning her own soul. Her brow contracts with thought andperplexity.
Gradually a warm, beautiful light steals into her face, transformingit as from the scowl of a winter morning into a dawn of June; her eyesbecome gentle and tender. A rich color comes out upon her cheeks,spreads up her temples, mantles her brow, and pours a crimson torrentdown her snowy neck. Suddenly she drops her burning face into herhands, and hides a vision one would gladly look longer upon. But see,even her little ears have become as red as coral.
The bleakest landscape in the world brightens into something likebeauty when the sun shines upon it. So love, the richer, sweeter lightof the soul, make the plainest face almost beautiful; but when itchanged Christine Ludolph's faultless, yet too cold and classical,features into those of a loving woman's, it suggested a beauty scarcelyhuman.
A moment later there came a faint whisper: "I fear--I almost fear Ilove him." Then she lifted a startled, frightened face and lookedtimidly around as if, in truth, walls had ears.
Reassured by the consciousness of solitude, her head dropped on herwrist and her revery went forward. Her eyes became dreamy, and ahalf-smile played upon her lips as she recalled proof after proof ofhis affection, for she knew the cruel words of the last interview werethe result of misunderstanding.
But suddenly she darted from her seat and began pacing the room in thestrongest perturbation.
"Mocked again!" she cried; "the same cruel fate! my old miserableexperience in a new aspect! With everything within my reach, save theone thing I want, I possess the means of all kinds of happiness exceptthat which makes me happy. In every possible way I am pledged to acareer and future in which he can take no part. Though my heart isfull of the strangest, sweetest chaos, and I do not truly understandmyself, yet I am satisfied that this is not a school-girl's fancy. Butmy father would regard it as the old farce repeated. Already he suspectsand frowns upon the matter. I should have to break with him utterlyand forever. I should have to give up all my ambitious plans andtowering hopes of life abroad. A plain Mrs. in this city of shops isa poor substitute for a countess's coronet and a villa on the Rhine."
Her cheek flushed, and her lip curled.
"That indeed would be the very extravagance of romance, and how couldI, least of all, who so long have scoffed at such things, explain myaction? These mushroom shopkeepers, who were all nobodies the otherday, elevate their eyebrows when a merchant's daughter marries herfather's clerk. But when would the wonder cease if a German lady ofrank followed suit?
"Then again my word, my honor, every sacred pledge I could give, forbidssuch folly.
"Would to heaven I had never seen him, for this unfortunate fancy ofmine must be crushed in its inception; strangled before it comes tomaster me as it has mastered him."
After a long and weary sigh she continued: "Well, everything isfavorable for a complete and final break between us. He believes meheartless and wicked to the last degree. I cannot undeceive him withoutshowing more than he should know. I have only to avoid him, to saynothing, and we drift apart.
"If we could only have been friends he might have helped me so much!but that now is clearly impossible--yes, for both of us.
"Truly one of these American poets was right:
"'For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these--Itmight have been.'
"But thanks to the immortal gods, as the pious heathen used to say,his blood is not on my hands, and this has taken a mountain off myheart. Thus relieved I can perhaps forget all the miserable business.Fate forbids that I, as it has forbidden that many another high-bornwoman, should marry where she might have loved."
If Christine's heart was wronged, her pride was highly gratified bythis conclusion. Here was a new and strong resemblance between herselfand the great. In mind she recalled the titled unfortunates who had"loved where they could not marry," and with the air and feeling ofa martyr to ancestral grandeur she pensively added her name to thelist.
With her conscience freed from its burden of remorse, with theknowledge, so sweet to every woman, that she might accept this happinessif she would, in spite of her airs of martyrdom, the world had changedgreatly for the better, and with the natural buoyancy of youth shereacted into quite a cheerful and hopeful state.
Her father noticed this on his return to dinner in the evening, andsought to learn its cause. He asked, "How did you make out with yoursketch?"
"I made a beginning," she answered, with some little color rising toher cheek.
"Perhaps you were interrupted?"
"Why did you not tell me that Mr. Fleet had recovered?" she asked,abruptly.
"Why, did you think he was dead?"
"Yes."
Mr. Ludolph indulged in a hearty laugh (he knew the power of ridicule).
"Well, that is excellent!" he said. "You thought the callow youth haddied on account of your hardness of heart; and this explains yourrather peculiar moods and tenses of late. Let me assure you that aYankee never dies from such a cause."
Mr. Ludolph determined if possible to break down her reserve and letin the garish light, which he knew to be most fatal to all romanticfancies, that ever thrive best in the twilight of secrecy. But she wason the alert now, and in relief of mind had regained her poise and thepower to mask her feeling. So she said in a tone tinged with coldindifference, "You may be right, but I had good reason to believe tothe contrary, and, as I am not altogether without a conscience, youmight have saved much pain by merely mentioning the fact of hisrecovery."
"But you had adjured me with frightful solemnity never to mention hisname again," said her father, still laughing.
Christine colored and bit her lip. She had forgotten for the momentthis awkward fact.
"I was nervous, sick, and not myself that day, and every one I metcould speak of nothing but Mr. Fleet."
"Well, really," he said, "in the long list of the victims th
at youhave wounded if not slain, I never supposed my clerk and quondamman-of-all-work would prove so serious a case."
"A truce to your bantering, father! Mr. Fleet is humble only in station,not in character, not in ability. You know I have never been verytender with the 'victims,' as you designate them, of the Mellen stamp;but Mr. Fleet is a man, in the best sense of the word, and one thatI have wronged. Now that the folly is past I may as well explain toyou some things that have appeared strange. I think I can truly saythat I have given those gentlemen who have honored, or rather annoyedme, by their unwished-for regard, very little encouragement. Therefore,I was not responsible for any follies they might commit. But forartistic reasons I did encourage Mr. Fleet's infatuation. You rememberhow I failed in making a copy of that picture. In my determination tosucceed, I hit upon the rather novel expedient of inspiring and copyingthe genuine thing. You know my imitative power is better than myimagination, and I thought that by often witnessing the expression offeeling and passion, I might learn to portray it without thedisagreeable necessity of passing through any such experiences myself.But the experiment, as you know, did not work well. These livingsubjects are hard to manage, and, as I have said, I am troubled by aconscience."
Mr. Ludolph's eyes sparkled, and a look of genuine admiration lightedup his features.
"Brava!" he cried; "your plan was worthy of you and of your ancestry.It was a real stroke of genius. You were too tender-hearted, otherwiseit would have been perfect. What are the lives of a dozen such youngfellows compared with the development and perfection of such a womanas you bid fair to be?"
Christine had displayed in this transaction just the qualities thather father most admired. But even she was shocked at his callousness,and lifted a somewhat startled face to his.
"Your estimate of human life is rather low," she said.
"Not at all. Is not one perfect plant better than a dozen imperfectones? The gardener often pulls up the crowding and inferior ones tothrow them about the roots of the strongest, that in their death anddecay they may nourish it to the highest development. The applicationof this principle is evident. They secure most in this world who havethe skill and power to grasp most."
"But how about the rights of others? Conscious men and women are notplants."
"Let them be on their guard then. Every one is for himself in thisworld. That can be plainly seen through the thin disguises that sometry to assume. After all, half the people we meet are little betterthan summer weeds."
Christine almost shuddered to think that the one bound to her by closestties cherished such sentiments toward the world, and probably, to acertain extent, toward herself, but she only said, quietly: "I canhardly subscribe to your philosophy as yet, though I fear I act uponit too often. Still it does not apply to Mr. Fleet. He is gifted inno ordinary degree, and doubtless will stand high here in his own landin time. And now, as explanation has been made, with your permissionwe will drop this subject out of our conversation as before."
"Well," said Mr. Ludolph to himself, between sips of his favorite Rhinewine, "I have gained much light on the subject to-night, and I mustconfess that, even with my rather wide experience, the whole thing isa decided novelty. If Christine were only less troubled with conscience,over-fastidiousness, or whatever it is--if she were more moderate inher ambition as an artist, and could be satisfied with power andadmiration, as other women are--what a star she might become in thefashionable world of Europe! But, for some reason, I never feel sureof her. Her spirit is so wilful and obstinate, and she seems so fullof vague longing after an ideal, impossible world, that I live inconstant dread that she may be led into some folly fatal to my ambition.This Fleet is a most dangerous fellow. I wish I were well rid of him;still, matters are not so bad as I feared--that is, if she told me thewhole truth, which I am inclined to doubt. But I had better keep himin my employ during the few months we still remain in this land, asI can watch over him, and guard against his influence better than ifhe were beyond my control. But no more promotion or encouragement doeshe get from me."
Janette, Christine's French maid, passed the open door. The thoughtstruck Mr. Ludolph that he might secure an ally in her.
The unscrupulous creature was summoned, and agreed for no very largesum to become a spy upon Christine, and report anything looking towardfriendly relations with Dennis Fleet.
"The game is still in my hands," said the wary man. "I will yet steermy richly-freighted argosy up the Rhine. Here's to Christine, the belleof the German court!" and he filled a slender Venetian glass to thebrim, drained it, and then retired.
Christine, on reaching her room, muttered to herself: "He now knowsall that I mean he ever shall. We are one in our ambition, if nothingelse, and therefore our relations must be to a certain degreeconfidential and amicable. And now forget you have a conscience, forgetyou have a heart, and, above all things, forget that you have everseen or known Dennis Fleet."
Thus the influence of a false education, a proud, selfish, ambitiouslife, decided her choice. She plunged as resolutely into the whirl offashionable gayety about her as she had in the dissipations of NewYork, determined to forget the past, and kill the time that mustintervene before she could sail away to her brilliant future in Germany.
But she gradually learned that, if conscience had robbed her of peacebefore, something else disturbed her now, and rendered her effortsfutile. She found that there was a principle at work in her heartstronger even than her resolute will. In spite of her purpose to thecontrary, she caught herself continually thinking of Dennis, andindulging in strange, delicious reveries in regard to him.
At last she ceased to shun the store as she had done at first, but withincreasing frequency found some necessity for going there.
After the interview in the show-room, Dennis was driven to the bitterconclusion that Christine was utterly heartless, and cared not a jotfor him. His impression was confirmed by the fact that she shunned thestore, and that he soon heard of her as a belle and leader in theultra-fashionable world. He, too, bitterly lamented that he had everseen her, and was struggling with all the power of his will to forgether. He fiercely resolved that, since she wished him dead, she shouldbecome dead to him.
Almost immediately after his return he had discovered that the twoemblematical pictures had been removed from the loft over the store.He remembered that he had spoken of them to Christine, and from Ernsthe gathered that she herself had taken them away. It was possible, hebelieved, that she had made them the subject of ridicule. At best shemust have destroyed them in order to blot out all trace of adisagreeable episode. Whatever may have been their fate, they had, ashe thought, failed in their purpose, and were worthless to him, andhe was far too proud to make inquiries.
As the weeks passed on, he apparently succeeded better than she. Therewas nothing in her character, as she then appeared, that appealed toanything gentle or generous. She seemed so proud, so strong and resolutein her choice of evil, so devoid of the true womanly nature, as he hadlearned to reverence it in his mother, that he could not pity, muchless respect her, and even his love could scarcely survive under suchcircumstances.
When she began coming to the store again, though his heart beat thickand fast at her presence, he turned his back and seemed not to seeher, or made some errand to a remote part of the building. At firstshe thought this might be accident, but she soon found it a resolutepurpose to ignore her very existence. By reason of a trait peculiarto Christine, this was only the more stimulating. She craved all themore that which was seemingly denied.
Accustomed to every gratification, to see all yield to her wishes, andespecially to find gentlemen almost powerless to resist her beauty,she came to regard this one stern, averted face as infinitely moreattractive than all the rest in the world.
"That he so steadily avoids me proves that he is anything butindifferent," she said to herself one day.
She condemned her visits to the store, and often reproached herselfwith folly in going; but a secret powerful magneti
sm drew her thitherin spite of herself.
Dennis, too, soon noticed that she came often, and the fact awakeneda faint hope within him. He learned that his love was not dead, butonly chilled and chained by circumstances and his own strong will.True, apart from the fact of her coming, she gave him no encouragement.She was as distant and seemingly oblivious of his existence as he ofhers, but love can gather hope from a marvellously little thing.
But one day Christine detected her father watching her movements withthe keenest scrutiny, and after that she came more and more rarely.The hope that for a moment had tinged the darkness surrounding Dennisdied away like the meteor's transient light.
He went into society very little after his illness, and shunned largecompanies. He preferred to spend his evenings with his mother and instudy. The Winthrops were gone, having removed to their old home inBoston, and he had not formed very intimate acquaintances elsewhere.Moreover, his limited circle, though of the best and most refined, wasnot one in which Christine often appeared.
But one evening his cheek paled and his heart fluttered as he saw herentering the parlors of a lady by whom he had been invited to meet afew friends. For some little time he studiously avoided her, but atlast his hostess, with well-meant zeal, formally presented him.
They bowed very politely and very coldly. The lady surmised thatChristine did not care about the acquaintance of her father's clerk,and so brought them no more together. But Christine was pained byDennis's icy manner, and saw that she was thoroughly misunderstood.When asked to sing, she chose a rather significant ditty:
"Ripple, sparkle, rapid stream, Let your dancing wavelets gleam Quiveringly and bright; Children think the surface glow Reaches to the depth below, Hidden from the light.
"Human faces often seem Like the sparkle of the stream, In the social glare; Some assert, in wisdom's guise, (Look they not with children's eyes?) All is surface there."
As she rose from the piano her glance met his with something likemeaning in it, he imagined. He started, flushed, and his face becamefull of eager questioning. But her father was on the watch also, and,placing his daughter's hand within his arm, he led her into the frontparlor, and soon after they pleaded another engagement and vanishedaltogether.
No chance for explanation came, and soon a new and all-absorbing anxietyfilled Dennis's heart, and the shadow of the greatest sorrow that hehad yet experienced daily drew nearer.