CHAPTER XXII
At one o'clock that afternoon a young man earnestly consulting a mapmight have been seen pursuing his solitary way through Central Park.Fresh green foliage arched above him, flecking the path with frettedshadow and sunlight; the sweet odor of flowering shrubs saturated theair; the waters of the lake sparkled where swans swept to and fro, snowywings spread like sails to the fitful June wind.
"This," he murmured, pausing at a shaded bend in the path, "must beBench Number One. I am not to sit on that. This must be Bench NumberTwo. I _am_ to sit on that. So here I am," he added nervously, seatinghimself and looking about him with the caution of a cat in a strangeback yard.
There was nobody in sight. Reassured, he ventured to drop one knee overthe other and lean upon his walking stick. For a few minutes he remainedin this noncommittal attitude, alert at every sound, anxious,uncomfortable, dreading he knew not what. A big, fat, gray squirrelracing noisily across the fallen leaves gave him a shock. A number ofbirds came to look at him--or so it appeared to him, for in theinquisitive scrutiny of a robin he fancied he divined sardonic meaning,and in the blank yellow stare of a purple grackle, a sinistersignificance out of all proportion to the size of the bird.
"What an absurd position to be in!" he thought. And suddenly he wasseized with a desire to flee.
He didn't because he had promised not to, but the desire persisted tothe point of mania. Oh, how he could run if he only hadn't promised notto! His entire being tingled with the latent possibilities of a burst ofterrific speed. He wanted to scuttle away like a scared rabbit. The paceof the kangaroo would be slow in comparison. What a record he could makeif he hadn't promised not to.
He crossed his knees the other way and brooded. The gray squirrelclimbed the bench and nosed his pockets for possible peanuts, thenhopped off hopefully toward a distant nursemaid and two children.
Growing more alarmed every time he consulted his watch Carden attemptedto stem his rising panic with logic and philosophy, repeating: "Steady!my son! Don't act like this! You're not obliged to marry her if youdon't fall in love with her; and if you do, you won't mind marrying her.That is philosophy. That is logic. Oh, I wonder what will have happenedto me by this time to-morrow! I wish it _were_ this time to-morrow! Iwish it were this time next month! Then it would be all over. Then itwould be--"
His muttering speech froze on his lips. Rooted to his bench he satstaring at a distant figure approaching--the figure of a young girl in asummer gown.
Nearer, nearer she came, walking with a free-limbed, graceful step, headhigh, one arm clasping a book.
That was the way the girls he drew would have walked had they everlived. Even in the midst of his fright his artist's eyes noted that:noted the perfect figure, too, and the witchery of its grace andcontour, and the fascinating poise of her head, and the splendid colorof her hair; noted mechanically the flowing lines of her gown, and thedainty modeling of arm and wrist and throat and ear.
Then, as she reached her bench and seated herself, she raised her eyesand looked at him. And for the first time in his life he realized thatideal beauty was but the pale phantom of the real and founded onsomething more than imagination and thought; on something of vasterimport than fancy and taste and technical skill; that it was founded onLife itself--on breathing, living, palpitating, tremulous Life!--fromwhich all true inspiration must come.
Over and over to himself he was repeating: "Of course, it is perfectlyimpossible that I can be in love already. Love doesn't happen betweentwo ticks of a watch. I am merely amazed at that girl's beauty; that isall. I am merely astounded in the presence of perfection; that is all.There is nothing more serious the matter with me. It isn't necessary forme to continue to look at her; it isn't vital to my happiness if I neversaw her again. . . . That is--of course, I should like to see her,because I never did see living beauty such as hers in any woman. Noteven in my pictures. What superb eyes! What a fascinately delicate nose!_What_ a nose! By Heaven, that nose _is_ a nose! I'll draw noses _that_way in future. My pictures are all out of drawing; I must fit arms intotheir sockets the way hers fit! I must remember the modeling of hereyelids, too--and that chin! and those enchanting hands--"
She looked up leisurely from her book, surveyed him calmly, absent-eyed,then bent her head again to the reading.
"There _is_ something the matter with me," he thought with a suppressedgulp. "I--if she looks at me again--with those iris-hued eyes of ayoung goddess--I--I think I'm done for. I believe I'm done for anyway.It seems rather mad to think it. But there _is_ something the matter--"
She deliberately looked at him again.
"It's all wrong for them to let loose a girl like that on people," hethought to himself, "all wrong. Everybody is bound to go mad over her.I'm going now. I'm mad already. I know I am, which proves I'm nolunatic. It isn't her beauty; it's the way she wears it--every motion,every breath of her. I know exactly what her voice is like. Anybody wholooks into her eyes can see what her soul is like. She isn't out ofdrawing anywhere--physically or spiritually. And when a man sees a girllike that, why--why there's only one thing that can happen to him as faras I can see. And it doesn't take a year either. Heavens! How awfullyremote from me she seems to be."
She looked up again, calmly, but not at him. A kindly, gray-whiskeredold gentleman came tottering and rocking into view, his rosy, wrinkledface beaming benediction on the world as he passed through it--on thesunshine dappling the undergrowth, on the furry squirrels sitting up ontheir hind legs to watch him pass, on the stray dickybird that hoppedfearlessly in his path, at the young man sitting very rigid there onhis bench, at the fair, sweet-faced girl who met his aged eyes with thegentlest of involuntary smiles. And Carden did not recognize him!
Who could help smiling confidently into that benign face, with its grayhair and gray whiskers? Goodness radiated from every wrinkle.
"Dr. Atwood!" exclaimed the girl softly as she rose to meet thismarvelous imitation of Dr. Austin Atwood, the great specialist onchildren's diseases.
The old man beamed weakly at her, halted, still beaming, fumbled for hiseyeglasses, adjusted them, and peered closely into her face.
"Bless my soul," he smiled, "our pretty Dr. Hollis!"
"I--I did not suppose you would remember me," she said, rosy withpleasure.
"Remember you? Surely, surely." He made her a quaint, old-fashioned bow,turned, and peeped across the walk at Carden. And Carden, lookingstraight into his face, did not know the old man, who turned to Dr.Hollis again with many mysterious nods of his doddering head.
"You're watching him, too, are you?" he chuckled, leaning toward her.
"Watching whom, Dr. Atwood?" she asked surprised.
"Hush, child! I thought you had noticed that unfortunate and afflictedyoung man opposite."
Dr. Hollis looked curiously at Carden, then at the old gentleman withgray whiskers.
"Please sit down, Dr. Atwood, and tell me," she murmured. "I havenoticed nothing in particular about the young man on the bench there."And she moved to give him room; and the young man opposite stared atthem both as though bereft of reason.
"A heavy book for small hands, my child," said the old gentleman in hisquaintly garrulous fashion, peering with dimmed eyes at the volume inher lap.
She smiled, looking around at him.
"My, my!" he said, tremblingly raising his eyeglasses to scan the titleon the page; "Dr. Lamour's famous works! Are _you_ studying Lamour,child?"
"Yes," she said with that charming inflection youth reserves for age.
"Astonishing!" he murmured. "The coincidence is more than remarkable. Aphysician! And studying Lamour's Disease! Incredible!"
"Is there anything strange in that, Dr. Atwood?" she smiled.
"Strange!" He lowered his voice, peering across at Carden. "Strange,did you say? Look across the path at that poor young man sitting there!"
"Yes," she said, perplexed, "I see him."
"_What_ do you see?" whispered the old gentleman in a shakily p
ortentousvoice. "Here you sit reading about what others have seen; now what do_you_ see?"
"Why, only a man--rather young--"
"No _symptoms_?"
"Symptoms? Of what?"
The old gentleman folded his withered hands over his cane. "My child,"he said, "for a year I have had that unfortunate young man under secretobservation. He was not aware of it; it never entered his mind that Icould be observing _him_ with minutest attention. He may have supposedthere was nothing the matter with him. He was in error. I have studiedhim carefully. Look closer! _Are_ there dark circles under his eyes--orare there not?" he ended in senile triumph.
"There are," she began, puzzled, "but I--but of what interest to me--"
"Compare his symptoms with the symptoms in that book you are studying,"said the old gentleman hoarsely.
"Do you mean--do you suppose--" she stammered, turning her eyes onCarden, who promptly blushed to his ears and began to fidget.
"_Every symptom_," muttered the old gentleman. "Poor, poor young man!"
She had seen Carden turn a vivid pink; she now saw him fidget with hiswalking stick; she discovered the blue circles under his eyes. Threesymptoms at once!
"Do you believe it _possible_?" she whispered excitedly under her breathto the old gentleman beside her. "It seems incredible! Such a raredisease! Only one single case ever described and studied! It seemsimpossible that I could be so fortunate as actually to see a case! Tellme, Dr. Atwood, do you believe that young man is really afflicted withLamour's Disease?"
"There is but one way to be absolutely certain," said the old gentlemanin a solemn voice, "and that is to study him; corroborate yoursuspicions by observing his pulse and temperature, as did Dr. Lamour."
"But--how can I?" she faltered. "I--he would probably object to becominga patient of mine--"
"Ask him, child! Ask him."
"I have not courage--"
"Courage should be the badge of your profession," said the oldgentleman gravely. "When did a good physician ever show the whitefeather in the cause of humanity?"
"I--I know, but this requires a different sort of courage."
"How," persisted the old gentleman, "can you confirm your very naturalsuspicions concerning this unfortunate young man unless you corroborateyour observations by studying him at close range? Besides, already itseems to me that certain unmistakable signs are visible; I mean thatstrange physical phase which Dr. Lamour dwells on: the symmetry offeature and limb, the curiously spiritual beauty. Do you not noticethese? Or is my sight so dim that I only imagine it?"
"He is certainly symmetrical--and--in a certain way--almost handsome inregard to features," she admitted, looking at Carden.
"Poor, poor boy!" muttered the old gentleman, wagging his gray whiskers."I am too old to help him--too old to dream of finding a remedy for theawful malady which I am now convinced has seized him. I shall study himno more. It is useless. All I can do now is to mention his case to someyoung, vigorous, ambitious physician--some specialist--"
"Don't!" she whispered almost fiercely, "don't do that, Dr. Atwood! Iwant him, please! I--you helped me to discover him, you see. And hismalady is to be my specialty. Please, do you mind if I keep him all tomyself and study him?"
"But you refused, child."
"I didn't mean to. I--I didn't exactly see how I was to study him. But Imust study him! Oh, I _must_! There will surely be some way. Please letme. You discovered him, I admit, but I will promise you faithfully todevote my entire life to studying him, as the great Lamour devoted hislife for forty years to his single patient."
"But Dr. Lamour married his patient," said the Tracer mildly.
"He--I--that need not be necessary--"
"But if it should prove necessary?"
"I--you--"
"Answer me, child."
She stared across at Carden, biting her red lips. He turned pinkpromptly and fidgeted.
"He _has_ got it!" she whispered excitedly. "Oh, _do_ you mind if I takehim for mine? I am perfectly wild to begin on him!"
"You have not yet answered my question," said the old gentleman gravely."Do you lack the courage to marry him if it becomes necessary to do soin order to devote your entire life to studying him?"
"Oh--it _cannot_ be necessary--"
"You lack the courage."
She was silent.
"Braver things have been done by those of your profession who have goneamong lepers," said the old gentleman sadly.
She flushed up instantly; her eyes sparkled; her head proudly high,delicate nostrils dilated.
"I am not afraid!" she said. "If it ever becomes necessary, I _can_ showcourage and devotion, as well as those of my profession who minister tothe lepers of Molokai! Yes; I do promise you to marry him if I cannototherwise study him. And I promise you solemnly to devote my entire lifeto observing his symptoms and searching for proper means to combat them.My one ambition in life is personally to observe and study a case ofLamour's Disease, and to give my entire life to investigating itsorigin, its course, and its cure."
The old gentleman rose, bowing with that quaintly obsolete courtesywhich was in vogue in his youth.
"I am contented to leave him exclusively to you, Dr. Hollis. And I wishyou happiness in your life's work--and success in your cure of thisunhappy young man."
Hat in hand, he bowed again as he tottered past her, muttering andsmiling to himself and shaking his trembling head as he went rocking onunsteady legs out into the sunshine, where the nursemaids and childrenflocked along the lake shore throwing peanuts to the waterfowl andsatiated goldfish.
Dr. Hollis looked after him, her small hand buried among the pages ofher open book. Carden viewed his disappearing figure with guilelessemotions. He was vaguely aware that something important was about tohappen to him. And it did before he was prepared.