Summer — Chapter 18

XVIII

They began to jog down the winding road to the valley at old Dan's languid pace.

Charity felt herself sinking into deeper depths of weariness, and as they descended through the bare woods there were moments when she lost the exact sense of things, and seemed to be sitting beside her lover with the leafy arch of summer bending over them.

But this illusion was faint and transitory.

For the most part she had only a confused sensation of slipping down a smooth irresistible current; and she abandoned herself to the feeling as a refuge from the torment of thought.

Mr. Royall seldom spoke, but his silent presence gave her, for the first time, a sense of peace and security.

She knew that where he was there would be warmth, rest, silence; and for the moment they were all she wanted.

She shut her eyes, and even these things grew dim to her....

In the train, during the short run from Creston to Nettleton, the warmth aroused her, and the consciousness of being under strange eyes gave her a momentary energy.

She sat upright, facing Mr. Royall, and stared out of the window at the denuded country.

Forty-eight hours earlier, when she had last traversed it, many of the trees still held their leaves;

but the high wind of the last two nights had stripped them, and the lines of the landscape' were as finely pencilled as in December.

A

few days of autumn cold had wiped out all trace of the rich fields and languid groves through which she had passed on the Fourth of July; and with the fading of the landscape those fervid hours had faded, too.

She could no longer believe that she was the being who had lived them; she was someone to whom something irreparable and overwhelming had happened, but the traces of the steps leading up to it had almost vanished.

When the train reached Nettleton and she walked out into the square at Mr. Royall's side the sense of unreality grew more overpowering.

The physical strain of the night and day had left no room in her mind for new sensations and she followed Mr. Royall as passively as a tired child.

As in a confused dream she presently found herself sitting with him in a pleasant room, at a table with a red and white table-cloth on which hot food and tea were placed.

He filled her cup and plate and whenever she lifted her eyes from them she found his resting on her with the same steady tranquil gaze that had reassured and strengthened her when they had faced each other in old Mrs. Hobart's kitchen.

As everything else in her consciousness grew more and more confused and immaterial, became more and more like the universal shimmer that dissolves the world to failing eyes, Mr. Royall's presence began to detach itself with rocky firmness from this elusive background.

She had always thought of him--when she thought of him at all--as of someone hateful and obstructive, but whom she could outwit and dominate when she chose to make the effort.

Only once, on the day of the Old Home Week celebration, while the stray fragments of his address drifted across her troubled mind, had she caught a glimpse of another being, a being so different from the dull-witted enemy with whom she had supposed herself to be living that even through the burning mist of her own dreams he had stood out with startling distinctness.

For a moment, then, what he said--and something in his way of saying it--had made her see why he had always struck her as such a lonely man.

But the mist of her dreams had hidden him again, and she had forgotten that fugitive impression.

It came back to her now, as they sat at the table, and gave her, through her own immeasurable desolation, a sudden sense of their nearness to each other.

But all these feelings were only brief streaks of light in the grey blur of her physical weakness.

Through it she was aware that Mr. Royall presently left her sitting by the table in the warm room, and came back after an interval with a carriage from the station--a closed “hack” with sun-burnt blue silk blinds--in which they drove together to a house covered with creepers and standing next to a church with a carpet of turf before it.

They got out at this house, and the carriage waited while they walked up the path and entered a wainscoted hall and then a room full of books.

In this room a clergyman whom Charity had never seen received them pleasantly, and asked them to be seated for a few minutes while witnesses were being summoned.

Charity sat down obediently, and Mr. Royall, his hands behind his back, paced slowly up and down the room.

As he turned and faced Charity, she noticed that his lips were twitching a little; but the look in his eyes was grave and calm.

Once he paused before her and said timidly: “Your hair's got kinder loose with the wind,” and she lifted her hands and tried to smooth back the locks that had escaped from her braid.

There was a looking-glass in a carved frame on the wall, but she was ashamed to look at herself in it, and she sat with her hands folded on her knee till the clergyman returned.

Then they went out again, along a sort of arcaded passage, and into a low vaulted room with a cross on an altar, and rows of benches.

The clergyman, who had left them at the door, presently reappeared before the altar in a surplice, and a lady who was probably his wife, and a man in a blue shirt who had been raking dead leaves on the lawn, came in and sat on one of the benches.

The clergyman opened a book and signed to Charity and Mr. Royall to approach.

Mr. Royall advanced a few steps, and Charity followed him as she had followed him to the buggy when they went out of Mrs. Hobart's kitchen; she had the feeling that if she ceased to keep close to him, and do what he told her to do, the world would slip away from beneath her feet.

The clergyman began to read, and on her dazed mind there rose the memory of Mr. Miles, standing the night before in the desolate house of the Mountain, and reading out of the same book words that had the same dread sound of finality: “I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment whereby ye may not be lawfully joined together...

” Charity raised her eyes and met Mr. Royall's. They were still looking at her kindly and steadily.

“I will!

” she heard him say a moment later, after another interval of words that she had failed to catch.

She was so busy trying to understand the gestures that the clergyman was signalling to her to make that she no longer heard what was being said.

After another interval the lady on the bench stood up, and taking her hand put it in Mr. Royall's. It lay enclosed in his strong palm and she felt a ring that was too big for her being slipped on her thin finger.

She understood then that she was married....

Late that afternoon Charity sat alone in a bedroom of the fashionable hotel where she and Harney had vainly sought a table on the Fourth of July.

She had never before been in so handsomely furnished a room.

The mirror above the dressing-table reflected the high head-board and fluted pillow-slips of the double bed, and a bedspread so spotlessly white that she had hesitated to lay her hat and jacket on it.

The humming radiator diffused an atmosphere of drowsy warmth, and through a half-open door she saw the glitter of the nickel taps above twin marble basins.

For a while the long turmoil of the night and day had slipped away from her and she sat with closed eyes, surrendering herself to the spell of warmth and silence.

But presently this merciful apathy was succeeded by the sudden acuteness of vision with which sick people sometimes wake out of a heavy sleep.

As she opened her eyes they rested on the picture that hung above the bed.

It was a large engraving with a dazzling white margin enclosed in a wide frame of bird's-eye maple with an inner scroll of gold.

The engraving represented a young man in a boat on a lake over-hung with trees.

He was leaning over to gather water-lilies for the girl in a light dress who lay among the cushions in the stern.

The scene was full of a drowsy midsummer radiance, and Charity averted her eyes from it and, rising from her chair, began to wander restlessly about the room.

It was on the fifth floor, and its broad window of plate glass looked over the roofs of the town.

Beyond them stretched a wooded landscape in which the last fires of sunset were picking out a steely gleam.

Charity gazed at the gleam with startled eyes.

Even through the gathering twilight she recognized the contour of the soft hills encircling it, and the way the meadows sloped to its edge.

It was Nettleton Lake that she was looking at.

She stood a long time in the window staring out at the fading water.

The sight of it had roused her for the first time to a realization of what she had done.

Even the feeling of the ring on her hand had not brought her this sharp sense of the irretrievable.

For an instant the old impulse of flight swept through her; but it was only the lift of a broken wing.

She heard the door open behind her, and Mr. Royall came in.

He had gone to the barber's to be shaved, and his shaggy grey hair had been trimmed and smoothed.

He moved strongly and quickly, squaring his shoulders and carrying his head high, as if he did not want to pass unnoticed.

“What are you doing in the dark?

” he called out in a cheerful voice.

Charity made no answer.

He went up to the window to draw the blind, and putting his finger on the wall flooded the room with a blaze of light from the central chandelier.

In this unfamiliar illumination husband and wife faced each other awkwardly for a moment; then Mr. Royall said: “We'll step down and have some supper, if you say so.

” The thought of food filled her with repugnance; but not daring to confess it she smoothed her hair and followed him to the lift.

An hour later, coming out of the glare of the dining-room, she waited in the marble-panelled hall while Mr. Royall, before the brass lattice of one of the corner counters, selected a cigar and bought an evening paper.

Men were lounging in rocking chairs under the blazing chandeliers, travellers coming and going, bells ringing, porters shuffling by with luggage.

Over Mr. Royall's shoulder, as he leaned against the counter, a girl with her hair puffed high smirked and nodded at a dapper drummer who was getting his key at the desk across the hall.

Charity stood among these cross-currents of life as motionless and inert as if she had been one of the tables screwed to the marble floor.

All her soul was gathered up into one sick sense of coming doom, and she watched Mr. Royall in fascinated terror while he pinched the cigars in successive boxes and unfolded his evening paper with a steady hand.

Presently he turned and joined her.

“You go right along up to bed--I'm going to sit down here and have my smoke,” he said.

He spoke as easily and naturally as if they had been an old couple, long used to each other's ways, and her contracted heart gave a flutter of relief.

She followed him to the lift, and he put her in and enjoined the buttoned and braided boy to show her to her room.

She groped her way in through the darkness, forgetting where the electric button was, and not knowing how to manipulate it.

But a white autumn moon had risen, and the illuminated sky put a pale light in the room.

By it she undressed, and after folding up the ruffled pillow-slips crept timidly under the spotless counterpane.

She had never felt such smooth sheets or such light warm blankets; but the softness of the bed did not soothe her.

She lay there trembling with a fear that ran through her veins like ice.

“What have I done?

Oh, what have I done?

” she whispered, shuddering to her pillow; and pressing her face against it to shut out the pale landscape beyond the window she lay in the darkness straining her ears, and shaking at every footstep that approached....

Suddenly she sat up and pressed her hands against her frightened heart.

A faint sound had told her that someone was in the room; but she must have slept in the interval, for she had heard no one enter.

The moon was setting beyond the opposite roofs, and in the darkness outlined against the grey square of the window, she saw a figure seated in the rocking-chair.

The figure did not move: it was sunk deep in the chair, with bowed head and folded arms, and she saw that it was Mr. Royall who sat there.

He had not undressed, but had taken the blanket from the foot of the bed and laid it across his knees.

Trembling and holding her breath she watched him, fearing that he had been roused by her movement;

but he did not stir, and she concluded that he wished her to think he was asleep.

As she continued to watch him ineffable relief stole slowly over her, relaxing her strained nerves and exhausted body.

He knew, then...

he knew...

it was because he knew that he had married her, and that he sat there in the darkness to show her she was safe with him.

A stir of something deeper than she had ever felt in thinking of him flitted through her tired brain, and cautiously, noiselessly, she let her head sink on the pillow....

When she woke the room was full of morning light, and her first glance showed her that she was alone in it.

She got up and dressed, and as she was fastening her dress the door opened, and Mr. Royall came in.

He looked old and tired in the bright daylight, but his face wore the same expression of grave friendliness that had reassured her on the Mountain.

It was as if all the dark spirits had gone out of him.

They went downstairs to the dining-room for breakfast, and after breakfast he told her he had some insurance business to attend to.

“I guess while I'm doing it you'd better step out and buy yourself whatever you need.

” He smiled, and added with an embarrassed laugh: “You know I always wanted you to beat all the other girls.

” He drew something from his pocket, and pushed it across the table to her; and she saw that he had given her two twenty-dollar bills.

“If it ain't enough there's more where that come from--I want you to beat 'em all hollow,” he repeated.

She flushed and tried to stammer out her thanks, but he had pushed back his chair and was leading the way out of the dining-room.

In the hall he paused a minute to say that if it suited her they would take the three o'clock train back to North Dormer; then he took his hat and coat from the rack and went out.

A few minutes later Charity went out, too.

She had watched to see in what direction he was going, and she took the opposite way and walked quickly down the main street to the brick building on the corner of Lake Avenue.

There she paused to look cautiously up and down the thoroughfare, and then climbed the brass-bound stairs to Dr. Merkle's door.

The same bushy-headed mulatto girl admitted her, and after the same interval of waiting in the red plush parlor she was once more summoned to Dr. Merkle's office.

The doctor received her without surprise, and led her into the inner plush sanctuary.

“I thought you'd be back, but you've come a mite too soon: I told you to be patient and not fret,” she observed, after a pause of penetrating scrutiny.

Charity drew the money from her breast.

“I've come to get my blue brooch,” she said, flushing.

“Your brooch?

” Dr. Merkle appeared not to remember.

“My, yes--I get so many things of that kind.

Well, my dear, you'll have to wait while I get it out of the safe.

I don't leave valuables like that laying round like the noospaper.

” She disappeared for a moment, and returned with a bit of twisted-up tissue paper from which she unwrapped the brooch.

Charity, as she looked at it, felt a stir of warmth at her heart.

She held out an eager hand.

“Have you got the change?

” she asked a little breathlessly, laying one of the twenty-dollar bills on the table.

“Change?

What'd I want to have change for?

I only see two twenties there,” Dr. Merkle answered brightly.

Charity paused, disconcerted.

“I thought...

you said it was five dollars a visit....

” “For YOU, as a favour--I did.

But how about the responsibility and the insurance?

I don't s'pose you ever thought of that?

This pin's worth a hundred dollars easy.

If it had got lost or stole, where'd I been when you come to claim it?

” Charity remained silent, puzzled and half-convinced by the argument, and Dr. Merkle promptly followed up her advantage.

“I didn't ask you for your brooch, my dear.

I'd a good deal ruther folks paid me my regular charge than have 'em put me to all this trouble.

” She paused, and Charity, seized with a desperate longing to escape, rose to her feet and held out one of the bills.

“Will you take that?

” she asked.

“No, I won't take that, my dear; but I'll take it with its mate, and hand you over a signed receipt if you don't trust me.

” “Oh, but I can't--it's all I've got,” Charity exclaimed.

Dr. Merkle looked up at her pleasantly from the plush sofa.

“It seems you got married yesterday, up to the 'Piscopal church; I heard all about the wedding from the minister's chore-man.

It would be a pity, wouldn't it, to let Mr. Royall know you had an account running here?

I just put it to you as your own mother might.

” Anger flamed up in Charity, and for an instant she thought of abandoning the brooch and letting Dr. Merkle do her worst.

But how could she leave her only treasure with that evil woman?

She wanted it for her baby: she meant it, in some mysterious way, to be a link between Harney's child and its unknown father.

Trembling and hating herself while she did it, she laid Mr. Royall's money on the table, and catching up the brooch fled out of the room and the house....

In the street she stood still, dazed by this last adventure.

But the brooch lay in her bosom like a talisman, and she felt a secret lightness of heart.

It gave her strength, after a moment, to walk on slowly in the direction of the post office, and go in through the swinging doors.

At one of the windows she bought a sheet of letter-paper, an envelope and a stamp; then she sat down at a table and dipped the rusty post office pen in ink.

She had come there possessed with a fear which had haunted her ever since she had felt Mr. Royall's ring on her finger: the fear that Harney might, after all, free himself and come back to her.

It was a possibility which had never occurred to her during the dreadful hours after she had received his letter; only when the decisive step she had taken made longing turn to apprehension did such a contingency seem conceivable.

She addressed the envelope, and on the sheet of paper she wrote: I'm married to Mr. Royall.

I'll always remember you.

CHARITY.

The last words were not in the least what she had meant to write; they had flowed from her pen irresistibly.

She had not had the strength to complete her sacrifice; but, after all, what did it matter?

Now that there was no chance of ever seeing Harney again, why should she not tell him the truth?

When she had put the letter in the box she went out into the busy sunlit street and began to walk to the hotel.

Behind the plateglass windows of the department stores she noticed the tempting display of dresses and dress-materials that had fired her imagination on the day when she and Harney had looked in at them together.

They reminded her of Mr. Royall's injunction to go out and buy all she needed.

She looked down at her shabby dress, and wondered what she should say when he saw her coming back empty-handed.

As she drew near the hotel she saw him waiting on the doorstep, and her heart began to beat with apprehension.

He nodded and waved his hand at her approach, and they walked through the hall and went upstairs to collect their possessions, so that Mr. Royall might give up the key of the room when they went down again for their midday dinner.

In the bedroom, while she was thrusting back into the satchel the few things she had brought away with her, she suddenly felt that his eyes were on her and that he was going to speak.

She stood still, her half-folded night-gown in her hand, while the blood rushed up to her drawn cheeks.

“Well, did you rig yourself out handsomely?

I haven't seen any bundles round,” he said jocosely.

“Oh, I'd rather let Ally Hawes make the few things I want,” she answered.

“That so?

” He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment and his eye-brows projected in a scowl.

Then his face grew friendly again.

“Well, I wanted you to go back looking stylisher than any of them; but I guess you're right.

You're a good girl, Charity.

” Their eyes met, and something rose in his that she had never seen there: a look that made her feel ashamed and yet secure.

“I guess you're good, too,” she said, shyly and quickly.

He smiled without answering, and they went out of the room together and dropped down to the hall in the glittering lift.

Late that evening, in the cold autumn moonlight, they drove up to the door of the red house.

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