A Day of Fate

  CHAPTER I

  THE DAY AFTER

  The epochs of one's life are not divided according to the calendar, norare they measured by the lapse of time. Within a few brief hours I hadreached a conclusion that left no shadow of doubt on my mind. As I satthere in the beautiful June dawn I turned a page in my history. Therecord of future joys and ills would have to be kept in double entry,for I felt with absolute conviction that I could entertain no projectand decide no question without instinctively and naturally consultingthe maiden who had quietly and as if by divine right obtained themastery of my soul. But a day since I would have said that my presentattitude was impossible, but now it seemed both right and inevitable.The doubt, the sense of strangeness and remoteness that we justlyassociate with a comparative stranger, had utterly passed away, and intheir place was a feeling of absolute trust and rest. I could place inher hands the best treasures of my life, without a shadow of hesitancy,so strongly had I been impressed with her truth.

  And yet it all was a beautiful mystery, over which I could have dreamedfor hours.

  I had not shunned society in the past, and had greatly admired otherladies. Their voices had been sweet and low, as a woman's tones shouldbe, and their glances gentle and kind, but not one of them hadpossessed the power to quicken my pulse or to disturb the quiet slumberof my heart; but this woman spoke to me as with authority from heaven."My whole being," I murmured, "bows down to her by a constraint that Icould scarcely resist, and no queen in the despotic past ever had amore loyal subject than I have become. To serve her, even to suffer forher and to stand between her and all evils the world could inflict, areprivileges that I covet supremely. My regard is not a sudden passion,for passion is selfish and inconsiderate. My love is already unitedwith honor and reverence, and my strongest impulse is to promote herhappiness before my own. The thought of her is an inspiration toward apurer, better manhood than I have yet known. Her truth and innatenobility produce an intense desire to become like her, so that she maylook into my eyes and trust also."

  I scarcely know how long my bright-hued dream would have lasted, but atlength the door of Mrs. Yocomb's room opened, and steps were on thestairs. A moment later the physician came out, and Miss Warren stood inthe doorway.

  "They are all sleeping quietly," he said, in answer to my inquiry."Yes; all danger in Zillah's case is now passed, I think; but she's hada serious time of it, poor little thing!"

  "There's no need of your walking home to-night," protested Miss Warren."We can make you comfortable here, and Reuben will gladly drive youover in the morning."

  "It's morning now," he said, smiling, "and I'll enjoy the walk in thefresh air. I'll call again before very long. Good-day!" and he walkedlightly down the path, as if all were very satisfactory to him.

  "What are you doing here, Mr. Morton?" Miss Warren asked, assuming anexpression of strong surprise.

  "Helping to watch."

  "What a waste! You haven't done Zillah a bit of good."

  "Didn't you know I was here?"

  "Yes; but I hope you don't think that I need watching?"

  "I was within call." "So you would have been if sleeping. I could haveblown the great tin horn if it had been necessary to waken you, and youhad remained undisturbed by other means."

  "Oh, well, then, if it made no difference to you, I'll merely say I'm anight editor, and kept awake from habit."

  "I didn't say it made no difference to me," she answered. "You ought tohave known better than to have made that speech."

  "Miss Warren," I urged anxiously, "you look white as a ghost in thismingling of moonlight and morning. When _will_ you rest?"

  "When the mind and heart are at rest a tired body counts for little. Soyou're not afraid of ghosts?"

  I looked at her intently as I replied: "No, I would like to be hauntedall my life."

  It was not wholly the reflection of the dawn that tinged the pallor ofher face as I spoke these words.

  After a moment's hesitation she apparently dismissed a thought, andmaintained her old frank manner.

  "Oh, how beautiful, how welcome the morning is!" she exclaimed, comingout on the piazza. "To think that this is the same world that we sawlast night--it's almost impossible."

  "Mr. Yocomb's words will yet prove true," I said, "and clearer skiesand better grain will be the result of the storm."

  "Oh, I'm so glad, I'm so very glad," she murmured. "This morning islike a benediction;" and its brightness and beauty glowed in her face.

  "I can tell you something that will please you greatly," I continued."I have visited the little home in the garden that was open to lastnight's sky. The father and mother robins are well, and I'm sure allthe little ones are too, for the mother robin had her head under herwing--a thing impossible, I suppose, if anything was amiss with thechildren."

  "Oh, I'm so glad!" she again repeated, and there was a joyous,exquisite thrill in her tones.

  At that moment there came a burst of song from the top of the pear-treein the garden, and we saw the head of the little household greeting theday.

  Almost as sweetly and musically my companion's laugh trilled out:

  "So it wasn't the day of fate after all."

  Impelled by an impulse that for the moment seemed irresistible, I tookher hand as I said earnestly:

  "Yes, Miss Warren, for me it was, whether for a lifetime of happinessor of disappointment."

  At first she appeared startled, and gave me a swift, searching glance;then a strong expression of pain passed over her face. She understoodme well, for my look and manner would have been unmistakable to anywoman.

  She withdrew her hand as she said gently:

  "You are overwrought from watching--from all that's happened; let usboth forget that such rash words were spoken."

  "Do not think it," I replied, slowly and deliberately. "I have learnedto know you better since we have met than I could in months or yearsamid the conventionalities of society. In you I recognize my fate asvividly and distinctly as I saw you in the lightning's gleam lastnight. Please hear and understand me," I urged, as she tried to checkmy words by a strong gesture of dissent. "If you had parents orguardians, I would ask them for the privilege of seeking your hand.Since you have not, I ask you. At least, give me a chance. I can neverprove worthy of you, but by years of devotion I can prove that Iappreciate you."

  "Oh, I'm so sorry, so very sorry you feel so," she said, and there wasdeep distress in her tones; "I was in hopes we should be life-longfriends."

  "We shall be," I replied quietly. She looked at me hesitatingly amoment, then said impulsively:

  "Mr. Morton, you are too honorable a man to seek that which belongs toanother. There," she added, flushing deeply, "I've told you what I'veacknowledged to no one--scarcely to myself."

  I know that the light of hope faded out of my face utterly, for I feltill and faint. If in truth she belonged to another, her absolute truthwould make her so loyal to him that further hope would be not only vainbut an insult, which she would be the first to resent.

  "I understand you too well," I began despondently, "to say anotherword. Miss Warren. I--I wish--it seems rather odd I should have felt sotoward you when it was no use. It was as inevitable as our meeting. Theworld and all that's in it is an awful muddle to me. But God bless you,and if there's any good God, you will be blessed." I shivered as Ispoke, and was about to leave the piazza hastily, when her eager andentreating tones detained me.

  "Mr. Morton, you said that in spite of all we should be friends; let meclaim my privilege at once. I'm sure I'm right in believing that you'reoverwrought and morbid, from the strange experiences you have justpassed through. Do not add to your exhaustion by starting off onanother aimless walk to-day; though you may think it might lead you toa better fate, it cannot bring you to those who care so deeply for you.We'll be merry, true-hearted friends after we've had time to rest andthink it all over."

  "True-hearted, anyway," I said emphatically. "What's more, I'll be sanewhen we meet again--ent
irely matter-of-fact, indeed, since I alreadyforesee that I shall be troubled by no more days of fate. Good-by now;go and sleep the sleep of the just; I'll rest quietly here;" and I heldout my hand.

  She took it in both of hers, and said gently: "Mr. Morton, I believeyou saved my--our lives last night."

  "I had some hand in it--yes, that should be happiness enough. I'll makeit answer; but never speak of it again."

  "When I cease to think of it I shall cease to think at all," she said,in strong emphasis; and with a lingering wistful glance she passedslowly in and up the winding stairway.

  I watched her as I would a ship that had left me on a desolate rock.

  "She is one that could not change if she would," I thought. "It's allover. No matter; possibly I saved her life."

  I sat down again in a rustic chair on the piazza, too miserable anddisheartened to do more than endure the pain of my disappointment.Indeed there was nothing else to do, for seemingly I had set my hearton the impossible. Her words and manner had made but oneimpression--that she had given her love and faith to an earlier andmore fortunate suitor.

  "It would be strange if it were otherwise," I muttered. "I was the'idiot,' in thinking that her gentlemen friends were blind; but Iprotest against a world in which men are left to blunder so fatally.The other day I felt broken down physically; I now know that I'm brokenand disabled in all respects. The zest and color have wholly gone outof life. If I ever go back to my work I shall find my counterpart inthe most jaded and dispirited stage-horse in the city. Miss Warren willhave no more occasion to criticise light, smart paragraphs. Indeed, Iimagine that I shall soon be restricted to the obituary notices, and Inow feel like writing my own. Confound these birds! What makes themsing so? Nature's a heartless jade anyway. Last night she would haveburned us up with lightning, and this morning there would have been nota whit less of song and sunshine. Oh, well, it's far better that myhopes are in ashes than that this house should be. I, and all there isof me, is a small price to pay for this home and its inmates; and if Isaved her little finger from being scorched, I should be well content.But why the devil did I feel so toward her when it was of no use! Thatfact irritates me. Is my whole nature a lie, and are its deepestintuitions and most sacred impulses false guides that lead one out intothe desert to perish? In the crisis of my life, when I had been made tosee that past tendencies were wrong, and I was ready for any change forthe better, my random, aimless steps led to this woman, and, as I saidto her, the result was inevitable. All nature seemed in league to giveemphasis to the verdict of my own heart, but the moment I reached theconviction that she was created for me and I for her, I am informedthat she was created for another. I must therefore be one of the oddones, for whom there is no mate. Curse it all! I rather feel as ifanother man were going to marry my wife, and I must admit that I have aconsuming curiosity to see him.

  "But this can't be. Her heart must have recognized the true kinship inthis other man--blast him! no, bless him, if she marries him--for she'sthe last one in the world to enter into merely legal relations,unsanctioned by the best and purest instincts of her womanly nature.

  "It's all the devil's own muddle."

  And no better conclusion did I reach that dismal morning--the mostdismal I can remember, although the hour abounded in beauty and theglad, exuberant life that follows a summer rain. I once heard apreacher say that hell could be in heaven and heaven in hell. I thoughthim a trifle irreverent at the time, but now half believed him right.

  My waking train of thought ended in a stupor in which I do not think Ilost for a moment the dull consciousness of pain. I was aroused by astep upon the gravel-path, and, starting up, saw the woman who servedMrs. Yocomb in the domestic labors of the farmhouse. She stopped andstared at me a moment, and then was about to continue around the houseto the kitchen entrance.

  "Wait a moment, my good woman," I said; "and you'll now have a chanceto prove yourself a good woman, and a very helpful and considerate one,too. The house was struck by lightning last night."

  "Lord a massy!" she ejaculated, and she struck an attitude with herhands on her hips, and stared at me again, with her small eyes andcapacious mouth opened to their utmost extent.

  "Yes," I continued, "and all were hurt except Reuben. The doctor hasbeen here, and all are now better and sleeping, so please keep thehouse quiet, and let us sleep till the doctor comes again. Then have agood fire, so that you can get ready at once whatever he orders for thepatients."

  "Lord a massy!" she again remarked very emphatically, and scuttled offto her kitchen domains in great excitement.

  I now felt that my watch had ended, and that I could give the oldfarmhouse into the hands of one accustomed to its care. Therefore Iwearily climbed the stairs to my room, and threw myself, dressed, onthe lounge.

  After a moment or two Miss Warren's door opened, and her light steppassed down to the kitchen. She, too, had been on the watch for thecoming of the domestic, and, if aware that I had seen the woman, didnot regard me as competent to enlighten her as to her duties for theday. The kitchen divinity began at once:

  "Lord a massy, Miss Em'ly, what a time yer's all had! The strange mantold me. There hain't no danger now, is there?"

  In response to some remark from Miss Warren she continued, in shrillvolubility:

  "Yes, he told me yer's all struck but Reub'n. I found him a-sittin' onthe stoop, and a-lookin' all struck of a heap himself. Is that the waylightning 'fects folks? He looked white as a ghost, and as if he didn'tkeer ef he was one afore night. 'Twas amazin'--" and here Miss Warrenevidently silenced her.

  I heard the murmur of her voice as she gave a few brief directions, andthen her steps returned swiftly to her room.

  "She can be depended upon," I sighed, "to do all she thinks right. Shemust have been wearied beyond mortal endurance, and worried by my rashand unlooked-for words, and yet she keeps up till all need is past.Every little act shows that I might as well try to win an angel ofheaven as sue against her conscience, she is so absolutely true. You'reright, old woman; I _was_ 'struck,' and I wish it had been by lightningonly."

  Just when I exchanged waking thoughts for hateful dreams I do notremember. At last I started to my feet, exclaiming:

  "It's all wrong; he shall not marry my wife!" and then I sat down onthe lounge and tried to extricate myself from the shadows of sleep, andthus become able to recognize the facts of the real world that I mustnow face. Slowly the events of the previous day and night came back,and with them a sense of immeasurable loss. The sun was low in thewest, thus proving that my unrefreshing stupor had lasted many hours.The clatter of knives, and forks indicated preparations for supper inthe dining-room below. I dreaded meeting the family and all words ofthanks, as one would the touching of a diseased nerve. More than all, Idreaded meeting Miss Warren again, feeling that we both would be undera wretched constraint. My evil mood undoubtedly had physical causes,for my mouth was parched, my head throbbed and ached, and I felt so illin body and mind, so morbid and depressed, that I was ready to escapeto New York without seeing a soul, were the thing possible.

  The door opened softly, and I saw Reuben's ruddy, happy face.

  "Oh, I'm so glad thee's awake," he said. "They're all doing well.Adah's got well so fast that she actually looks better than EmilyWarren. Even Zillah's quite bright this evening, only she's so weak shecan't sit up much, but the doctor says it'll wear away. Thee doesn'tlook very extra, and no wonder, thee did so much. Father, mother, andEmily Warren have been talking about thee for the last two hours, andAdah can't ask questions enough about thee, and how thee found her. Shesays the last thing she saw was thee on the lawn, and thee was thefirst thing she saw when she came to, and now she says she can't helpseeing thee all the time. Emily Warren said we must let thee sleep aslong as thee would, for that, she said, was what thee needed most ofall."

  "She's mistaken," I muttered, starting up. "Reuben," I continued aloud,"you're a good, brave fellow. I'll come down to supper as soon, as Ican fairly wake up. I fee
l as stupid as an owl at midday, but I'mexceedingly glad that all are doing well."

  When he left me I thought, "Well, I will keep up for two or threehours, and then can excuse myself. To-morrow I can return to New York,since clearly this will be no place for me. Miss Warren thinks that alittle sleep will cure me, and that I will be sane and sensible nowthat I am awake. She will find me matter-of-fact indeed, for I feellike a bottle of champagne that has stood uncorked for a month; but maythe devil fly away with me if I play the forlorn, lackadaisical lover,and show my wounds."

  I bathed my face again and again, and made as careful a toilet ascircumstances permitted.

  In their kind-hearted simplicity they had evidently planned a sort offamily ovation, for as I came out on the piazza, they were all thereexcept Miss Warren, who sat at her piano playing softly; but as Mr.Yocomb rose to greet me she turned toward us, and through the openwindow could see us and hear all that passed. The old gentleman stillbore marks of his shock and the illness that followed, but there wasnothing weak or limp in his manner as he grasped my hand and beganwarmly:

  "Richard Morton, last night I said thee was welcome; I now say thishome is as truly thine as mine. Thee saved mother and the childrenfrom--" and here his voice was choked by emotion.

  Mrs. Yocomb seized my other hand, and I saw that she was "moved" now ifever, for her face was eloquent with kindly, grateful feeling.

  "Please don't," I said, so sharply as to indicate irritation, for Ifelt that I could not endure another syllable. Then, slapping Reubenbrusquely on the shoulder, I added, "Reuben was quite as helpful as I:thank him. Any tramp from New York would try to do as much as I did,and might have done better. Ah, here is Zillah!" And I saw that thelittle girl was propped up on pillows just within the parlor window,where she could enjoy the cool evening air without too great exposure."If she'll give me another kiss we'll call it all square and say nomore about it," and I leaned over the window-sill.

  The child put her arms around my neck and clung to me for a moment.There could have been no better antidote for my mood of irritableprotest against my fate than the child's warm and innocent embrace, andfor a moment it was balm indeed.

  "There," I cried, kissing her twice, "now I'm overpaid." Raising myeyes, I met those of Miss Warren as she sat by her piano.

  "Yes," she said, with a smile, "after that I should think you would bemore than content."

  "I certainly ought to be," I replied, looking at her steadily.

  "Zillah's very grateful," Miss Warren continued. "She knows that youwatched with her till morning."

  "So did other night-owls, Zillah, and they were quite as useful as Iwas."

  She reached up her hand and pulled me down. "Mother said," she began.

  "You needn't tell a stranger what mother said," and I put my finger onher lips.

  "Thee's no more of a stranger than Emily Warren," said the little girlreproachfully. "I can't think of thee without thinking of her."

  I raised my eyes in a quick flash toward the young lady, but she hadturned to the piano, and her right hand was evoking a few low chords.

  "Miss Warren can tell you," I said, laughing, "that when people havebeen struck by lightning they often don't think straight for a longtime to come."

  "Crooked thinking sometimes happens without so vivid a cause," MissWarren responded, without looking around.

  "Zillah's right in thinking that thee can never be a stranger in thishome," said Mrs. Yocomb warmly.

  "Mrs. Yocomb, please don't think me insensible to the feelings whichare so apparent. Should I live centuries, the belief that I had servedyou and yours after your kindness would still be my pleasantestthought. But you overrate what I have done: it was such obvious dutythat any one would have done the same, or else his ears should havebeen cropped. It gives me a miserably mean feeling to have you thank meso for it. Please don't any more."

  "We forget," said Miss Warren, advancing to the window, "that Mr.Morton is versed in tragedies, and has daily published more dreadfulaffairs."

  "Yes, and has written 'paragraphs' about them that no doubt seemedquite as lurid as the events themselves, suggesting that I gloated overdisasters as so much material."

  "Mr. Morton, isn't it nearly as bad to tell fibs about one's self asabout other people?"

  "My depravity will be a continuous revelation to you, Miss Warren," Ireplied.

  With a low laugh she answered, "I see you make no secret of it," andshe went back to her piano.

  I had bowed cordially to Adah as I joined the family group, and hadbeen conscious all the time of her rather peculiar and fixed scrutiny,which I imagined suggested a strong curiosity more than anything else.

  "Well, Richard Morton," said Mr. Yocomb, as if the words wereirrepressible, "thee knows a little of how we feel toward thee, if theewon't let us say as much as we would like. I love this old home inwhich I was born and have lived until this day. I could never buildanother home like it if every leaf on the farm were a bank-note. But Ilove the people who live here far more. Richard Morton, I know how itwould all have ended, and thee knows. The house was on fire, and allwithin it were helpless and unconscious. I've seen it all to-day, andReuben has told us. May the Lord bless thee for what them hast done forme and mine! I'm not going to burden thee with our gratitude, but truthis truth, and we must speak out once for all, to be satisfied. Theeknows, too, that when a Friend has anything on his mind it's got tocome; hasn't it, mother? Richard Morton, thee has saved us all from ahorrible death."

  "Yes, Mr. Morton," said Miss Warren, coming again to the window andlaughing at my crimson face and embarrassment, "you _must_ face thattruth--there's no escaping it. Forgive me, Mr. Yocomb, for laughingover so serious a subject, but Reuben and Mr. Morton amuse me greatly.Mr. Morton already says that any tramp from New York would have donethe same. By easy transition he will soon begin to insist that it wassome other tramp. I now understand evolution."

  "Emily Warren, thee needn't laugh at Richard Morton," said Reuben alittle indignantly; "thee owes more to him than to any other manliving."

  She did not turn to the piano so quickly now but that I saw her faceflush at the unlooked-for speech.

  "That you are mistaken, Reuben, no one knows better than Miss Warrenherself," I replied irritably.

  She turned quickly and said, in a low tone, "You are right, Mr. Morton.Friends do not keep a debit and credit account with each other. I shallnot forget, however, that Reuben is right also, even though I may seemto sometimes," and she left the room.

  I was by the open window, and I do not think any one heard her wordsexcept Zillah, and she did not understand them.

  I stood looking after her, forgetful of all else, when a hand laid uponmy arm caused me to look around, and I met Adah's gaze, and it was asfixed and intent as that of a child.

  "She doesn't owe thee any more than I do," she said gravely. "I wish Icould do something for thee."

  "Why do you say 'thee' to me now?--you always said 'you' before," Iasked.

  "I don't know. It seems as if I couldn't say 'you' to thee any more,"and a delicate color stole into her face.

  "We all feel as if thee were one of us now," explained Mrs. Yocombgently, "and I trust that life will henceforth seem to Adah a moresacred thing, and worthy of more sacred uses." And she passed into thehouse to prepare for supper.

  Mr. Yocomb followed her, and Reuben went down to the barn.

  "If you live to grow like your mother, Miss Adah, you will be the mostbeautiful woman in the world," I said frankly, for I felt as if I couldspeak to her almost as I would to Zillah.

  Her eyes drooped and her color deepened as she shook her head andmurmured:

  "I'd rather be Emily Warren than any other woman in the world."

  Her words and manner so puzzled me that I thought she had not fullyrecovered from the effects of the shock, and I replied, in an off-handway:

  "After a few weeks of teaching stupid children to turn noise into musicyou would gladly be yourself again."


  She paid no heed to this remark, but, with the same intent, exploringlook, asked:

  "Thee was the first one I saw when I came to last night?"

  "Yes, and you were much afraid of me."

  "I was foolish--I fear mother's right, and I've always been foolish."

  "Your manner last night was most natural. I was a stranger, and ahard-looking customer, too, when I entered your room."

  "I hope I didn't look very--very bad."

  "You looked so like a beautiful piece of marble that I feared you weredead."

  "Thee wouldn't have cared much."

  "Indeed I would. If you knew how anxious I was about Zillah--"

  "Ugh!" she interrupted, with an expression of strong disgust, "I mighthave been a horrid, blackened thing if it hadn't been for thee."

  "Oh, hush!" I cried; "I merely threw a couple of pails of water on theroof. Please say no more about it."

  She passed her hand over her brow, and said hesitatingly:

  "I'm so puzzled--I feel so strangely. It seems an age since yesterday."

  "You've had a very severe shock, Miss Adah."

  "Yes, that may be it; but it's so strange that I was afraid of thee."

  "Why, Miss Adah, I was wet as a drowned rat, and had a black markacross my nose. I would have made an ideal burglar."

  "That oughtn't to have made any difference; thee was trying to save mylife."

  "But you didn't know it."

  "I don't believe I know anything rightly. I--I feel so strange--just asif I had waked up and hadn't got anything clear. But I know this much,in spite of what Reuben said," she added impulsively; "Emily Warrendoesn't owe thee any more than I do." And she turned like a flash andwas gone.

  "Poor child," I muttered, "she hasn't recovered so fully as the others."

  I had been holding one of Zillah's hands during the interview, and shenow pulled me down and whispered:

  "What's the matter with thee, Richard Morton?"

  "Heaven grant you may never know, little one. Good-by." I had scarcelyleft the piazza, however, before Mrs. Yocomb called:

  "Richard Morton, thee must be famished. Come to supper."