Family Pride Or Purified by Suffering Part 38

"Yes, in part. Of course he cannot make a very connected story out of her ravings; but that he believes you had a wife before Katy, I am sure, just as I am that the world will be none the wiser for his knowledge. I knew Dr. Grant before you did, and there are few men living whom I respect as much, and no one whom I would trust as soon."

Mrs. Cameron had paid a high compliment to Morris Grant, and Wilford bowed in a.s.sent, asking next how she managed Dr. Craig.

"That was easy, inasmuch as he believed it an insane freak of Katy's to have no other physician than her cousin. It was quite natural, he said, adding that she was as safe with Dr. Grant as any one. So that is settled, and I was glad, for I could not have a stranger know of that affair. If I thought it would save her life to retain him, I should feel differently, of course."

"Yes, certainly," Wilford rejoined, while at his heart there was the germ of a feeling which, if in the slightest degree encouraged, would almost have given Katy's life to save his darling self-love and honor in the eyes of the world.

Few men are as thoroughly selfish as Wilford Cameron, and though he was very much concerned for Katy, he thought more of preserving a secret which, if known at this late day, would subject him to much censure and reproach, than he did of her. So when his mother told him next that Helen had been sent for, his morbid fears took alarm.

"Why was it necessary to bring another here?" he asked, so indignantly that tears sprang to his mother's eyes as she pleaded her own weariness and inability to remain always in the sickroom, and charged him with ingrat.i.tude for all she had done in his behalf.

Wilford could not afford to quarrel with his mother, and he quieted her as soon as possible, admitting that if she must have an a.s.sistant he would rather it were Helen than Bell or Juno, or even Esther, who, in spite of the alarm about malignant fever, would willingly have administered to her young mistress, had she been allowed to do so.

"You will go up now," Mrs. Cameron said to her son, when peace was fully restored, and a moment after Wilford stood in the dimly-lighted room, where Katy was talking of going to the hospitals, and of Marian Hazelton, and was only kept upon her pillow by the strong arm of Morris, who stood over her when Wilford entered, telling her to "wait until to-morrow--it would be better then, and she had not seen her husband yet."

"I have no husband," she replied, her lip curling with scorn, and her eyes just then falling upon Wilford, who stood appalled at the fearful change which had pa.s.sed over her since he left her three days before.

She knew him, and writhing herself away from Morris' arms, she raised up in bed and said to him:

"I've been at the bottom of things, and Genevra is not in that grave at St. Mary's. n.o.body is there; consequently, she is living, and you are not my husband. So if you please you can leave the house at once. Morris will do very well. He will settle the estate, and no bill shall be sent in for your board and lodging."

In some moods Wilford would have smiled at being thus summarily dismissed from his own house and a.s.sured that no bill should be sent after him for board and lodging; but he was too sore now, too sensitive to smile, and his voice was rather severe as he laid his hand on Katy's, and said:

"Don't be foolish, Katy. Don't you know me? I am Wilford, your husband."

"That was, you mean," Katy rejoined, drawing her hand quickly away. "Go find your first love, where bullets fall like hail, and where there is pain, and blood, and carnage. Genevra is there."

She would not let Wilford come near her, and grew so excited by his presence that he was forced either to leave the room or sit where she could not see him. He chose the latter, and from his seat by the door watched with a half-jealous, half-angry heart, Morris Grant doing for his wife what he should have done.

With Morris Katy was gentle as a little child, talking still of Genevra, but talking quietly, and in a way which did not wear her out as fast as her excitement did.

"What G.o.d hath joined together let not man put asunder," was the text from which she preached several short sermons as the night wore on, but just as the morning dawned she fell into the first quiet sleep she had had during the last twenty-four hours. And while she slept Wilford ventured near enough to see the sunken cheeks and hollow eyes which wrung a groan from him as he turned to Morris, asking what he supposed was the immediate cause of her sudden illness?

"A terrible shock, the nature of which I understand, but you have nothing to fear from me," Morris replied. "I accuse you to no man, but leave you to settle it with your conscience whether you did right to deceive her so long."

Morris spoke as one having authority, and Wilford simply bowed his head, feeling then no resentment toward one who had ventured to reprove him.

Afterward he might remember it differently, but now he was too anxious to keep Morris there to quarrel with him, and so he made no reply, but sat watching Katy as she slept, wondering if she would die, and feeling how terrible life would be without her. Suddenly Genevra's warning words rang in his ear:

"G.o.d will not forgive you for the wrong you have done me."

Was Genevra right? Had G.o.d remembered all this time, and overtaken him at last? It might be, and with a groan Wilford hid his face in his hands, believing that he repented of his sin, and not knowing that his fancied repentance arose merely from the fact that he had been detected.

Could the last few days be blotted out, and Katy stand just where she did, with no suspicion of him, he would have cast his remorse to the winds, and as it is not such repentance G.o.d accepts, Wilford had only begun to sip the cup of retribution presented to his lips.

Worn out with watching and waiting, Mrs. Cameron, who would suffer neither Juno nor Bell to come near the house, waited uneasily for the arrival of the New Haven train, which she hoped would bring Helen to her aid. Under ordinary circ.u.mstances she would rather not have met her, for her presence would keep the letter so constantly in her mind, but now anybody who could be trusted was welcome, and when at last there came a cautious ring she went herself to the hall, starting back with undisguised vexation when she saw the timid-looking woman following close behind Helen, and whom the latter presented as "My mother, Mrs.

Lennox."

Convinced that Morris' sudden journey to New York had something to do with Katy's illness, and almost distracted with fears for her daughter's life, Mrs. Lennox could not remain at home and wait for the tardy mail or careless telegraph. She must go to her child, and casting off her dread of Wilford's displeasure, she had come with Helen, and was bowing meekly to Mrs. Cameron, who neither offered her hand nor gave any token of greeting except a distant bow and a simple "Good-morning, madam."

But Mrs. Lennox was too timid, too bewildered, and too anxious to notice the lady's haughty manner as she led them to the library and then went for her son. Wilford was not glad to see his mother-in-law, but he tried to be polite, answering her questions civilly, and when she asked if it was true that he had sent for Morris, a.s.suring her that it was not--"Dr.

Grant happened here very providentially, and I hope to keep him until the crisis is past, although he has just told me he must go back to-morrow," Wilford said, mentally hoping Mrs. Lennox might think it best to go with him, or if she did not, wondering how long she did intend to stay. It hurt his pride that she, whom he considered greatly his inferior, should learn his secret; but it could not now be helped, and within an hour after her arrival she was looking curiously at him for an explanation of the strange things she heard from Katy's lips.

"Was you a widower when you married my daughter?" she said to him, when at last Helen left the room, and she was alone with him.

"Yes, madam," he replied, "some would call me so, though I was divorced from my wife. As this was a matter which did not in any way concern your daughter, I deemed it best not to tell her. Latterly she has found it out, and it is having a very extraordinary effect upon her."

Mrs. Lennox was too much afraid of the man addressing her so haughtily to make him any reply, and so she only wept softly as she bent to kiss her child, still talking of Genevra and the empty grave at St. Mary's, where she once sat down.

And this was all Mrs. Lennox knew until alone with Helen, who had heard from Morris all he knew of the sad story except the part relating to Marian Hazelton. His sudden journey to New York was thus accounted for, and Helen explained it to her mother as well as she could, advising her to say nothing of it either to Wilford or Mrs. Cameron, as it was quite as well for them not to know it yet. Many messages Helen brought to her cousin from his patients, and Morris felt it was his duty to go to them for a day or so at least.

"You have other physicians here," he said to Wilford, who objected to his leaving. "Dr. Craig will do as well as I."

Wilford admitted that he might; but it was with a sinking heart that he saw Morris depart, and then went to Katy, who began to grow very restless and uneasy, bidding him go away and send Dr. Morris back. It was in vain that they administered the medicine just as Morris had directed. Katy grew constantly worse, until Mrs. Lennox asked that another doctor be called. But to this Wilford did not listen. Fear of exposure and censure were stronger than his fear for Katy's life, which seemed balancing upon a thread as that long night and the next day went by. Three times Wilford telegraphed for Morris, and it was with unfeigned joy that he welcomed him back at last, and heard that he had so arranged his business now as to stay with Katy while the danger lasted.

With a monotonous sameness the days now came and went, people still shunning the house as if the plague was there. Once Bell Cameron came around to call on Helen, holding her breath as she pa.s.sed through the hall, and never asking to go near Katy's room. Two or three times, too, Mrs. Banker's carriage stood at the door, and Mrs. Banker herself came in, seeming surprised when she met Helen and appearing so cool and distant that the latter could scarcely keep back her tears as she guessed the cause. Mark never came, but from the window Helen saw him riding by with Juno, who kept her face turned toward him, as if in close and confidential chat.

"They were engaged," Esther said, adding that "he was about joining the army as first lieutenant in a company composed of the finest young men in the city."

Helen doubted if this were true, until one day, when driving with her mother, she met him arrayed in his new uniform, looking so handsome and proud. He, too, was driving with a brother officer, and as he pa.s.sed he lifted his cap in token of recognition; but the olden look which Helen remembered so well, and which had been wont to make her pulses thrill with a most exquisite delight, was gone, and Helen felt more than ever the wide gulf some hand had built between them. The next she heard was from Mrs. Banker, whose face looked pale and worn as she incidentally remarked: "I shall be very lonely now that Mark is gone. He left me to-day for Was.h.i.+ngton."

There were tears on the mother's face, and her lip quivered as she tried to keep them back, looking from the window into the street instead of at her companion, who, overcome with the rush of feeling which swept over her, laid her face on the sofa arm and sobbed aloud.

"Why, Helen! Miss Lennox, I am surprised! I had supposed--I was not aware--I did not think you would care," Mrs. Banker exclaimed, coming closer to Helen, who stammered out: "I beg you will excuse me, I cannot help it. I care for all our soldiers. It seems so terrible."

At the words "I care for all the soldiers," a shadow of disappointment flitted over Mrs. Banker's face. She knew her son had offered himself and been refused, as she supposed, and she believed, too, that Helen had given publicity to the affair, feeling justly indignant at this breach of confidence and lack of delicacy in one whom she had liked so much and whom she still liked in spite of the wounded pride which had prompted her to seem so cold and distant.

"Perhaps it is all a mistake," she thought, as she continued standing by Helen, whose tears did not cease, "or it may be she has relented," and for a moment she felt tempted to ask why her boy had been refused.

But Mark would not be pleased with her interference, she knew, and so the golden moment fled, and when she left the house the misunderstanding between herself and Helen was just as wide as ever. Wearily after that the days pa.s.sed with Helen until all thoughts of herself were forgotten in the terrible fear that death was really brooding over the pillow where Katy lay, insensible to all that was pa.s.sing around her. The lips were silent now, and Wilford had nothing to fear from the tongue hitherto so busy. Juno, Bell and Father Cameron all came to see her, dropping tears upon the face looking so old and worn with suffering, but yet so sweet and pure, and treading softly as they left the room and went out into the suns.h.i.+ne where Katy might never go again. In the kitchen there was mourning, too; Phillips weeping for her mistress, while Esther, with her ap.r.o.n over her head, sobbed pa.s.sionately, wis.h.i.+ng she, too, might die if Katy did. Mrs. Cameron also was very sorry, very sad, but managed to find some consolation in mentally arranging a grand funeral, which would do honor to her son, and wondering if "those Barlows in Silverton would think they must attend." And while she thus arranged, the mother who had given birth to Katy wrestled in earnest prayer that G.o.d would spare her child, or at least grant some s.p.a.ce in which she might be told of the world to which she was hastening. What Wilford suffered none could guess. His face was very white and his expression almost stern as he sat watching the young wife who had been his for little more than two brief years, and who but for his sin might not have been lying there unconscious of the love and grief around her.

Like some marble statue Morris seemed as with lip compressed and brows firmly knit together he, too, sat watching Katy, feeling for the pulse and bending his ear to catch the faintest breath which came from her parted lips, while in his heart there was an earnest prayer for the safety of the soul hovering so evenly between this world and the next.

He did not ask that she might live, for if all were well hereafter he knew it was far better for her to die in her young womanhood than to live till the heart now so sad and bleeding had grown calloused with sorrow. And yet it was terrible to think of Katy dead; to know that never again would her little feet dance on the gra.s.s, or her bird-like voice break the silence of his home; terrible to think of that face and form laid away beneath the turf of Greenwood, where those who loved her best could seldom go to weep.

And as they sat thus the night shadows stole into the room and the hours crept on till from a city tower a clock struck ten, and Morris, motioning Helen to his side, bade her go with her mother to rest. "We do not need you here," he said, "your presence can do no good. Should a change occur you shall be told at once."

Thus importuned Helen and her mother withdrew and only Morris and Wilford remained to watch that heavy slumber so nearly resembling death.

CHAPTER XL.

MORRIS' CONFESSION.

Gradually the noise in the streets died away; the tread of feet, the rumbling wheels and the tinkle of the car bells ceased, and not a sound was heard, save as the distant fire bells pealed forth their warning voices, or some watchman went hurrying by. The great city was asleep, and to Morris the silence brooding over the countless throng was deeper, more solemn than the silence of the country where nature gives out her own mysterious notes and lullabies for her sleeping children. Slowly the minutes went by, and Morris became at last aware that Wilford's eyes, instead of resting on the pallid face which seemed to grow each moment more pallid and ghastly, were fixed on him with an expression which made him drop the pale hand he held between his own, pooring it occasionally as a mother might poor and pity the hand of her dying baby.

Before his marriage a jealous thought of Morris Grant had found a lodgment in Wilford's breast; but remembering the past he had tried to drive it out, and fancied that he had succeeded, experiencing a sudden shock when he felt it lifting its green head, and poisoning his mind against the man doing for Katy only what a brother might do, or rather, against the motives which prompted this man's devotion. He forgot that it was his own entreaties which had kept Morris there, refusing to let him go even for a day to the other patients missing him so much, and complaining of his absence. Jealous men never reason clearly, and in this case Wilford did not reason at all, but jumped readily at his conclusion, calling to his aid as proof all that he had ever seen pa.s.s between Katy and her cousin. That Morris Grant loved Katy was, after a few moment's reflection, as fixed a fact in his mind as that she lay there between them, her eyelids quivering, and her lips moaning feebly as if about to speak. Years before, when Genevra was the wife, jealousy had made Wilford almost a madman, and it now held him again in its powerful grasp, whispering suggestions he would have spurned in a calm frame of mind. There was a clinching of his fist, a knitting of his brows, and a gathering blackness in his eyes as he listened while Katy, rousing partially from her lethargy, talked of the days when she was a little girl, and Morris had built the playhouse for her by the brook, where the thorn apples grew and the waters fell over the smooth, white rocks.

"Take me back there," she said, "and let me lie on the gra.s.s again. It is so long since I was there, and I've suffered so much since then.