The Forged Note Part 82

He sighed. She looked at him again, and then became silent.

Across the way, a large, munic.i.p.al building rose far above St.

Louis--Royal Hotel--Slave Market. Through the window from where they sat, busy clerks worked away over books. When their eyes glanced to the street, it was broken with automobiles, and busy people hurrying to and fro.

"I have a visitor," he heard the woman say. "She is a sweet, kind, but sad sort of girl. She has been to see me several times of late, and I have been talking religion with her. In all my days, no human being has interested me as she has. I love her. And while I can't object, I regret to feel in some way that she is going to enter the convent, and become a sister."

"Are you a Catholic?"

"All French are Catholic," she answered.

"Then you perforce sanction this intention of your girl friend?"

"Yes, I do; but, oh, how much I shall miss her!"

"Will she enter soon?"

"Very soon!"

"Have you known her long?"

"A few months; but it seems I have known her all my life."

"Is she--what is she, colored or white?" he asked.

"Colored."

"Indeed. Her name?"

"I have it; but I forget. I call her always Little Sister. I have her picture and will let you see it. She had it taken a few days ago, out there on that gra.s.s plot," and she pointed to the yard of the munic.i.p.al building. She was a few minutes finding the picture, and then Wyeth was overcome by a strange feeling, with regard to what he had heard. A girl ... sad ... going to enter a convent.... Who was this girl? Who, who, who?

"Here is her picture," said the woman.

He took it, and saw Mildred smiling up at him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"_Rest.i.tution_"

"I had to," cried Mildred bewilderingly, as she hurried, hatless, breathless, along the walk, when she left her lover so abruptly. She was distracted; she was not fully aware of what she said. All she knew was, that at the most supreme moment of her existence, she had broken away from the one she loved, and for whom she would have been willing to die; but to marry him at last, she felt she could not conscientiously do.

"Oh, but it was manly, kindly--sublime, his offer, and how I love him for it!" she whispered. "I know he will forgive me; he will remember me kindly; he will never forget me, and my love for him--but to go to him and make him suffer with the thought of the past--never!"

She slowed down, as she neared the wide street, that crossed just ahead of her. She crossed the walk to the center of the street, where a car was coming, and caught it. Once inside and seated, she lay back, and became, for a time, dully listless. Presently, she saw the river just ahead, and when the car slowed down, she left it, crossed to the ferry, and went aboard. A half hour later, she was in her room.

Her sister greeted her pleasantly from the garden, which aroused her emotion to such a degree, that she choked slightly, in order to hold back words she had long wished to say.

When alone at last in her room, she lay across the bed, and gave up to the feeling of inertia, that had taken possession of her.

All that day she remained so. She could scarcely collect her wits. Again and again, the events connected with his return, flew through her dull, sluggish mind, and, at last, to relieve it, she dressed in a cool, thin dress, and went for a walk down by the river front.

She pa.s.sed many docks, where not so many steamers lay at anchor as she had once noticed. She wondered why, since she had observed the falling off of traffic. Then she thought about the bloodshed that was going on each day across the water. She soon came abreast of a wharf where more than a score of great ocean goers were anch.o.r.ed. No smoke came from their funnels; no men worked away on their decks; in fact, they were as silent as the grave, their dark hulls casting a dull shadow above the water. She wandered down the board platform, and studied them idly. Then she read, painted on their sterns, names with Bremen and Hamburg as their port.... Her thoughts again reverted to the carnage across the waters.

She found the street again, and wandered aimlessly along the sidewalk.

Suddenly she halted and strained her ears, as a sound came to her from some distance. She listened, and then looked up and across the river, where the creole city stretched, apparently endless, before her. She observed in doing so, for the first time, that the river curved in such a manner as to form a perfect crescent at this point, and, although her thoughts were confused, she did not fail to appreciate the beauty of it.

Her gaze had found the place from whence came the sound that had halted her. It was the bell of a church vibrating through the still evening air. The steeple in which it was mounted, raised far into the air above the buildings about it, and she watched it with growing reverence. As she continued to stare at it, it seemed to outline a mighty sepulchre, and she fell to speculating about it. She was familiar with it, in a measure, and recalled, as she found herself wandering vaguely along a few moments later, that she used to pa.s.s it each day. It was when _he_ lay ill at the hospital, that it was near. It was called St. Catherine.

She had happily observed that may little colored children went to it each day, and Sunday. Their training, she had observed, was very different from the denominations with which she was acquainted. She had stopped before its steeple the first time, one day toward the close of Sidney's recovery. The next day she had entered it, and wandered down its carpeted aisles. She had gone up to the front, before she realized that any one was in the church. And then a sister came from an alcove, or from some place, but she could not imagine where.

She had halted embarra.s.sed, but the other smiled upon her so pleasantly, that her confidence was won in a moment.

Mildred recalled it--the meeting--strangely today. She wondered what the life of a sister was like. She had guessed what it meant.... She had almost forgotten the sister, until she went her way this day, when the lot of those patient souls came to her mind again.

She reached a street presently, where two wide walkways intersected, and when she reached the center of the intersection, something gripped her and she stopped quickly, catching her breath. She continued to stand thus, but with eyes widening, nerves tense, and then she uttered beneath her breath: "Why not? Yes, why not? Why, why, why?" Then, completely absorbed in the idea, which had suddenly come to her, offering, as she felt it now, a solution of her life, she turned on her heel, and retraced her steps homeward.

And all the way she kept saying to herself: "Why not, why, why?"

She hesitated at the gate, and again there came to her ears from across the river the chime of the bell on St. Catherine. It echoed softly, and vibrating, it touched her soul to its depths. She stood at last transformed. As it continued to float across to her, she seemed to translate: "Come unto me, all ye that are heavy laden, and I will give thee rest."

When she entered the house, her head hung, with eyes cast down. She had decided to become a sister.

There came a day, bright, clear, and slightly breezy; but withal, invigorating, and she went to visit the old woman who lived alone in the deserted St. Louis--Royal Hotel. She had no tremors, because it had been the place where once her people were sold by thousands. She had met the old woman on one of her frequent pilgrimages alone in the creole city, and had become strangely fond of her. Mildred had, on more than one occasion, felt constrained to tell her the story.... So today, she came quietly upon the old soul sitting by the window, with the light streaming in upon her faded hair and features.

"You come today, Little Sister. I am always so glad to see you."

Mildred returned the greeting kindly and pleasantly, and sank into the proffered chair. She had told the other of her intentions, but offered no reason for her decision. She asked today that the other bless her, which was done. They sat afterward in mutual silence. Presently, however, the other broke it.

"A young man was here yesterday, a strange, kind, forgiving sort of fellow. He aroused me in a way; he brought back, by his presence, memories, and I don't know why; but I told him my story.... He listened so patiently, so kindly, and with such sympathy, I do declare, that I wept."

"A young man? A--"

"A young colored man from away off in the great northwest."

"Sidney, oh, Sidney," Mildred breathed, unheard.

"And do you know, dear Little Sister, I thought of you almost all the time he listened, and was near me.... I don't know why. I cannot imagine predestination in a large sense; but in some way I felt he suffered."

She paused, and Mildred swallowed. After a time she said, in a small voice:

"I guess I'll go now."

The other did not detain her, though she wished she would never leave, but followed her out of the silent old place down to the street, and watched her out of sight.

She pa.s.sed through one of the narrow streets to the banking section of the city, entered the one where Sidney's money was deposited, which he had given back to her, and she had it made into a draft. This was mailed forthwith to him. Then she recrossed the river, and when in her room, packed all her belongings securely, and then wrote a long letter to her sister. In this, she told of her life from the day she had left home on the mission ... omitting why she had done this ... up to the day. She wrote that she loved a young man, loved him, so that she could not bear to become his, and feel that she was guilty--unworthy. She closed it, asking her sister to accept all she left--which was everything, but what she wore.

She retired, for night had come, and slept so peacefully the night through, that she was surprised. She dressed before the others arose, and slipped into the street.