The Woman Who Vowed Part 17

When we separated for the night I was in a fever. It was useless to go to bed, and I went out into the bright cold air. I saw the light in her room and stood in front of it, cursing myself for a love-sick fool. But the cold drove me in--and to bed. For hours I tossed about, and sleep overtook me at last, but only to torture me; it played with me, threw me on my back, as it were, at one moment, only to jump me on my feet the next; and throughout it all I saw Lydia at odd intervals in every conceivable mood; now smiling and beckoning, now turning from me as though offended, and, again, treating me with indifference. But at last I seemed to have pa.s.sed through a period of deep unconsciousness, for I woke suddenly to find Lydia before me more lovely than I had ever seen her. I was not surprised--although I know I ought to have been--to find her in a dress that showed her bosom, her hair hung like a curtain of gold about her; her long eyes were wet with tears, and yet there shone out of them a light so mystic and divine that I threw myself at her feet. She held out a hand to me and lifted me up. I did not know the meaning of her tears or of her graciousness, but as I rose nearer to her she smiled. In an ecstasy I touched her lips with mine; she did not withdraw them; nay, she kissed me on the brow and cheek, fond and despairing kisses, for her tears fell upon my face and they were warm.

How long did it last? Was it for a moment or for all time? A blaze of light pouring through my window roused me. I jumped out of bed and looked stupidly out on the old sugar house that Anna had converted into a studio. It was nothing but a dream.

"Nothing but a dream!" thought I exultingly. "But no one can ever deprive me of it. I have felt her kisses on my lips and her tears. All my life long that memory will belong to me--and suffice."

I sat down, weak and tired, closing my eyes to recall the vanished dream; and it came back to me, every detail of it, so vividly that I jumped up from my chair with the thought that it was not all mere fancy; something had happened, something had actually happened, of this I felt sure, and was it possible--I hardly dared entertain the thought--was it possible she had dreamed also of me?

I dressed automatically, breakfasted automatically, strolled automatically about the grounds. I must see Lydia. I returned to the house, asked the Mater where Lydia was, and was told that she could be found in the room where she had been the previous morning. I almost ran there, and, on opening the door, saw her seated in a high-backed oak chair, very erect, with her hair about her and something resembling tears in her eyes as I had seen her in my dream. She had tapestry in her hands, but they rested idly in her lap. She did not move when I entered.

She seemed to be expecting me.

I advanced toward her slowly with something like awe in my heart.

"Did you have a dream in the night?" I at last summoned courage to ask.

She did not answer, and the look in her eyes baffled me.

"Did you dream of _me_?" I asked huskily--almost aghast.

Still she said nothing but kept fixed upon me her inscrutable eyes.

I hardly dared to go on, but in my folly I continued.

"Did you"--stammered I--but I could not put my question in words.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she sat there just as I had seen her in my dream, save that she wore the usual chiton.

I was in an anguish of suspense, but it came to an end, for she shook her head sadly.

"Don't!" she said. "Don't!"

I fell at her feet and buried my head in her lap. She did not shrink from me. On the contrary, I felt her hand stroke my head, and I knew it was not love but compa.s.sion.

I knelt there a full minute, but even to the luxury of grief I had not the right to surrender. So I rose abruptly. I took her hand, kissed it, held it for a moment in mine, and said:

"I shall not intrude on you again, Lydia; I love you consumedly, but I shall not intrude on you again."

And laying her hand gently upon her lap I turned abruptly and left the room.

Next day I left Tyringham.

Almost the entire population of the farm--save only Lydia, her mother, and the few farm hands necessary to care for the stock--and these last had their holiday later--repaired to New York. Most of them went to the building in which lived Anna's family. Ariston and I returned to our old quarters.

CHAPTER XIX

THE LEGISLATURE MEETS

At the first meeting of the a.s.sembly--for the Legislature now sat no longer at Albany but at New York--Masters arose as soon as the opening formalities were over and read a bill of amnesty for all concerned in the so-called riot of the preceding month. He stated that an identical bill was being at that moment offered in the Senate, and moved a joint session of both houses to consider it.

Peleas, the leader of the government, consented to the joint session, but asked that the matter be referred to a committee. He pointed out that the facts were not clearly before the house, and that it was essential that a committee should investigate the facts and present them in a report to the joint session.

Masters opposed reference to an investigating committee. He contended that the very object of the bill was to prevent the issues, that had caused their streets to be stained by blood, from remaining confounded by personal animosities. A great inst.i.tution had been attacked; that inst.i.tution was, in the opinion of many, of the highest social value. It was possible that in some respects it had a lesson to learn; it was important that the lesson be learned free from the heat of such bitter hatred as must result from an attempt to punish those who had been driven by misguided zeal to acts of violence. Already the investigation had shown how far the desperate effort of those implicated to s.h.i.+eld themselves might distort facts; it had even been alleged--and his strong, honest countenance glowed for a moment with indignation as he spoke--it had even been alleged that the whole responsibility for the attack rested not upon Balbus and his followers but upon a woman! He would not waste the time of the house now by pointing out the diverse reasons why an investigation was to be avoided. Obviously, what the country needed, and he thought he could say asked for, was oblivion.

Why, then, an investigating committee?

Arkles next arose--and as he was known to be the spokesman of the cult he was listened to with breathless attention. He altogether appreciated the weight of the argument against an investigating committee just made, but as had also been justly said, it was possible that the cult had a lesson to learn. In order to learn that lesson it had to know the facts, and the facts had not yet been properly determined. Moreover, something was due to law and order. It might, in the end, be considered the better course to allow the punishment which those involved in the riot had already suffered, to suffice, and to allow oblivion to obliterate, to the utmost possible, the whole matter from their annals. But the state would not do its duty if it did not thoroughly investigate the crime it was condoning; and though he regretted to oppose a man who had always been regarded as a pillar not only of the government but of the cult, he nevertheless felt it to be his duty to support the government in asking for the appointment of an investigating committee.

Masters, who in his heart, though he could not admit it to himself, feared the consequences to Neaera of an investigating committee, maintained his opposition; Chairo, also, who desired to avoid, at all hazards, the necessity of Lydia's appearing before such a committee, was opposed to the investigation. Both were also influenced by the desire to carry the bill promptly by a _coup de main_, if this were at all possible.

The motion of Peleas was carried by a large majority, and the result produced much discouragement in Chairo's ranks. Masters, however, immediately arose and moved that in view of the importance of the question and the impossibility of calmly discussing any other matter until the fate of the amnesty bill was settled, the house adjourn, and not sit again until after the elections and after the joint session of both houses had completed its mission.

Peleas and Arkles both approved of this motion, and the pa.s.sage of it, with only a few scattering votes in the negative, to a certain extent restored the confidence of the opposition. For if the government to this extent recognized the importance of the issue raised by the amnesty bill, it was possible that in the end some compromise would be agreed upon that would give substantial satisfaction.

Ariston took no part in this preliminary skirmish. As we walked home together he expressed to me his satisfaction at what had occurred.

Peleas had not displayed all the narrowness of which he was capable, and the judiciousness of both Masters and Arkles indicated a willingness on the part of both to bring the matter to a fair adjustment. I was myself, however, concerned by the probability that I should now have to appear before the investigating committee. My regard for Masters, as well as a liking for Neaera, of which, in spite of her duplicity, I could not altogether rid myself, made me unwilling to state all that had occurred when I conveyed Chairo's message to Balbus. I had hoped that the pa.s.sage of the amnesty bill would have made the hearing of testimony unnecessary; so I asked Ariston whether I would be compelled to testify.

To my great relief Ariston a.s.sured me that my peculiar position as a guest of the community, made it quite possible for me to ask and obtain a dispensation; he promised to arrange it for me.

On reaching our quarters we betook ourselves as usual to the bath, which, at this season of the year, was warmed to a suitable temperature, and after our plunge, as we lay upon our couches smoking cigarettes, I asked Ariston whether he had seen Anna of Ann since our return to New York.

"No," answered he, "it is difficult to see her; she is working all day at the factory, in order to earn a full month's holiday later; she is eager to complete the sculpture on which she is engaged; and that father of hers never invites any one to his house!"

"I have never met her father," said I. "Her mother I have seen at the Lydia's, but her father--what kind of a man is he?"

"He is a miser!"

"A miser!" exclaimed I. "In a Collectivist state! How is that possible?"

"It could not be possible in a purely Collectivist state; but as soon as individual industry took an important development it became possible."

I was not clear about this, and Ariston, seeing the confusion in my face, explained.

"Take this case of Campbell's, for example"--Campbell was the name of Anna's father--"as soon as Masters got at the head of several industrial enterprises and had obtained a valuable credit in the community, Campbell saw that there was here a credit to exploit and a real service to be rendered to the public, so he induced Masters to start a bank, and the bank of Masters & Campbell is known all over the United States. But Campbell can explain all this better than I can; and although Campbell never asks any one to his house, we can ask him to ours; or, better still, we can ask the whole family to dine at Theodore's--you must see Theodore's; his restaurant is one of our inst.i.tutions. Come," he added, "let us go at once to their building; we may catch Anna of Ann in the tea-room, and agree upon a day."

We dressed rapidly, and on the way I expressed my disgust at Anna's having to work in a factory when all her time might, under other circ.u.mstances, be given to her art.

"Are you quite sure," asked Ariston, "that the enforced rest from her artistic work is such a bad thing? How much of Michael Angelo's time was spent in the purely mechanical part of his art? Then, too, there is no reason why she should be compelled to work in the factory at all. Men are all obliged to give the required quota of work to the state, but women have always been granted dispensations, provided somebody undertook either to do their work for them or to relieve the state of their support. Now if Campbell were not a miser Anna need never do state work. And if Anna were to marry an industrious and capable man she need never do state work."

I looked at Ariston significantly, and he caught my eye.

"I saw Irene yesterday," he said, "and we spoke of it. She is a n.o.ble woman, and the eagerness and delight with which she heard me speak of Anna made my eyes fill. She is altogether devoted now to her work in the cloister; she is absorbed in her boy, who seems to combine all the vigor of Chairo with her own gentleness; she teaches not only him but a cla.s.s of boys of his age, and is doing a splendid work there. I have quite given up the idea that she will ever marry again."

It was pretty clear that, although Ariston was willing to admit he had given up the idea of marrying Irene, he was not willing to admit that he was seriously entertaining the idea of marrying any one else. So I returned to our original subject:

"But how can Campbell h.o.a.rd?" asked I. "Isn't your money valueless two years after its issue?"