A Speckled Bird Part 51

"Madam, she pities me, she deplores my disappointment; perhaps she censures herself unduly, but love! She knows no more of love than a baby in its cradle. She never will. She is absolutely incapable of loving any man. Too many have tried zealously to touch her heart, and failed as signally as I certainly did."

Mrs. Mitch.e.l.l's black eyes sparkled through her tears.

"Mr. Herriott, since she was three hours old she has been my child. I know her as well as I know myself. I am a woman; I loved my husband better than my life, and when I see genuine, loyal, tender love in a wife I know it as surely as you know where the sun rises. My baby did not love you when she took her marriage vows, but you were deep in her heart when she came home; and her love has grown until it is now so strong it is a slow torture, from which she would gladly escape if she could. Do you suppose a woman proud, reserved, cold as Eglah is would treasure and caress, and sleep with her cheek on a man's faded old smoking-jacket if she did not tenderly love the wearer whose touch had made it sacred? Oh, Mr. Herriott, if you could have seen her all these years--her patient, hopeless face! If you could realize the life she leads in the overseer's house and contrast it with that brilliant past when you saw her admired and sought in New York--even in London--you might perhaps understand how changed she is. I longed for you to know that your wife's heart is wholly yours, because I have believed you would always love her. If she ever suspects I have told you her secret she will never forgive--she will disown me. You must not cause me to lose my child. Just now she is sorely mortified and resentful, but----"

Eliza paused and looked at the man beside her, but she could not see his eyes.

"Please do me the kindness to finish your sentence."

"But if you could meet her and----"

Again she hesitated, discouraged by the expression settling around his mouth.

"In consequence of a voluntary pledge on my part, I could not now intrude upon her."

"If you called and asked to see her, I am sure she would decline to receive you; but if you really desire to see her before she sails, it could be arranged without her knowledge or co-operation. We go from Maurice to-morrow night at eight o'clock and pa.s.s through Y---- without stopping. Eglah comes from Y---- at eight to-night. To-morrow she will be at my house all day until four o'clock, when she goes over to the Willow Bend plantation to say good-bye to the Boyntons and negro tenants, and also the tenants and field hands from Canebrake plantation, whom Mr. Boynton will have present. Eglah usually takes a book and spends the morning under the trees in my front yard, or in the old mill, where she often sits for hours. If you merely want to see your wife again before she pa.s.ses forever out of your life you can easily do so from the shelter of my b.u.t.ter-bean arbor, which is near the trees, and she will never know it. If you care to speak to her, you may be sure of no interruption. Mr. Herriott, G.o.d took my husband, but I could not have borne my loss if my Robert had voluntarily taken himself from me. My heart aches for Eglah. She is indeed my all in this world, and I have risked a great deal to put you in possession of the truth. She loves you as earnestly and tenderly as you could wish, but it remains for you to make her admit it--to compel her to confession. Her pride has been so sorely wounded she would die sooner than move one inch toward reconciliation."

She looked at her watch and rose.

"My train will soon be due."

As they walked toward the small station-house, Mr. Herriott held out his hand.

"Whatever the future may hold, I shall always thank you inexpressibly for the confidence, the sacred trust you have reposed in me, and I will never betray it. I doubt the wisdom of seeing Eglah. I know only too well the difference between true love and that regretful compa.s.sion her kind heart indulges. There are reasons that make me unwilling to violate my own pledge to her, but if I should decide to go to your house, will you direct me how to find it?"

"You can drive to Maurice, ten miles south, or take the night train, which will not stop here unless it is flagged. Once at Maurice, any one will show you Willow Bend road. When you pa.s.s the plantation, which is quite a settlement, cross the bridge, turn to the right, and you will soon see an old red mill in front of my gate. Here comes my train."

"No, madam; not your train. That is only a freight-engine and gravel cars."

"I came on it, and I go back the same way. For many reasons I prefer to keep this trip as secret as possible, at least until after to-morrow, when we leave home; so I avoided the pa.s.senger train that brought up some Maurice Masons. The smaller the place, the wider the eyes, the keener the ears, and the more nimble the tongues that dwell there. Rufus Boling, the conductor yonder, expects to marry my favorite Sunday-school pupil, Minna Gaines, to-morrow night, and I have done all I could for the child's wedding. Consequently, though the railroad officials grumble and forbid, he consented to let me ride in the caboose, provided I would not sit at the window, and promised not to sue for damages if I lost a limb or an eye on the trip. Are you ready, Rufus? Good-bye, Mr.

Herriott. I have done my best for my child and for you. G.o.d help you both!"

He took her hand and pressed it cordially.

"In any event, you may rest a.s.sured I never shall cease to thank you for your effort; and life will always be sweeter because of some facts you have given me."

He a.s.sisted her into the close, smoky caboose, lifted his hat and, as the engine pulled slowly out, he took off his gla.s.ses and walked back to the red-oak grove.

CHAPTER XXVII

It was a cloudless, warm day when Mr. Herriott crossed the bridge, and walked up the road bordering a creek hidden by its vivid fringe of willows. At the ruined mill he paused; here the sandy road ended. Beyond on an upland towered a pine forest, its organ pipes whispering as the south wind touched the tremolo; in front nestled the small, white house, partly veiled by rose and yellow jasmine vines, and all the little hollow was brimmed with cool, green shadows cast by trees across cl.u.s.tering flower beds. A blended perfume distilled by dew from Herse's crystal fingers hovered over the Dingle, the cold, unctuous odor of tuberoses, the warm spice of carnations, and that clinging breath of wan lilies that evokes white faces and folded fingers of the dead, but stronger than all, the fragrance of wild grapes in creamy bloom. More than cloistral quiet reigned; only the rippling monody of water feeling its way over the crumbling dam to the far-off sea, and the tinkle of the spring runnel sounding low, clear, elfish, as if some Malis or "April-eyed Nycheia" smote her tambourine and set silver bells ringing.

Once from the green silken tent of willows a shy lark, hermit of dells, thrilled the silence with his resonant, sylvan roulade, and a locust under beech boughs answered, clashing his brazen sistrum.

The blinds and windows at the front of the cottage were open, and white muslin curtains stirred now and then, as the breeze swayed them. Pots of flowering geranium and heliotrope were grouped on the piazza, and among them slept Delilah. As Mr. Herriott looked at the humble nest of a home, and thought of stately Nutwood, of gilded ballrooms where Eglah had reigned an acknowledged beauty, he began to realize the monotony, the dreary loneliness of life here in the heart of almost primeval forests.

She had elected to shut herself far away from the brilliant circle of former days, but he could not believe it was for his sake; grief for her father had made her a recluse.

The dazzling possibility with which Mrs. Mitch.e.l.l enticed him, he had put aside as a delusion he could not indulge a second time, for behind it was the biting mockery with which he had once grappled. His nominal wife had led the life of a nun during his absence, but loyalty was far removed from love, and the steps of an altar suited her nature better than a husband's arms. For many hours he had fought the hope that would smile out of the folds of his old jacket, but the intense longing to see her again conquered reason, prudence, consistent adherence to the line of action he had voluntarily prescribed for both. He would secrete himself, and merely look once more at the face he had striven ineffectually to forget, and she should never suspect his presence.

At a little distance was the gate of the low wire fence, but he stepped across the wire, and pa.s.sed through the open door of the dairy to a tall tulip tree, around the body of which coiled the brown serpent of the muscadine. Very near this tree, now all aglow with its orange-spotted cups, stood--on the edge of a verbena bed--an ancient mimosa in full bloom. Years before, an August gale had pollarded it, and lateral branches drooped almost to the ground, except on one side, where they were cut away to frame an arch, and this entrance showed a wooden bench set against the trunk of the tree. To-day it resembled a huge j.a.panese umbrella of olive-green lace thickly studded with pink silk aigrettes that shook out waves of sweetness, mellow, fruity, languorous. Looking around for the best coign of vantage, Mr. Herriott noticed the narrow arbor covered by a thick growth of b.u.t.ter-bean vines, where he stood secure from observation. On the ground, only five yards distant, lay a woman's broad black straw hat tied basket-fashion with its ribbon strings, and filled with spikes of tuberoses. By cautious pressure of the bean vines he could see very distinctly the front of the house and the mimosa seat.

With his head on his hand and a throbbing of his heart that defied control, he waited, his eyes on the hat, he never knew how long, until a sudden thrill shook him.

From an invisible corner of the garden, Eglah came slowly toward the arbor. Her mourning gown of l.u.s.treless, thin black silk fitted perfectly the curves of her finely moulded figure, and at her throat she had fastened a spray of white star jasmine. High on her head the glossy, gold-flecked chestnut hair was piled in soft loose coils and puffs that caught the sunshine as she walked, holding in the clasp of one arm a sheaf of long-stemmed lilies. Advancing until she reached the hat, she leaned down, swung the knotted ribbons over her right wrist, and stood a moment listening to the peaceful woodland message of the lark. Three years had wrought a marvellous change. The rich promise of her youth had expanded into an almost flawless loveliness. A certain girlish slimness had given place to the fuller, rounded lines of graceful, perfect womanhood, and over the pathetic, pale face had settled a pa.s.sionless repose that comes only when hope is dead, and silent pride sits on its tombstone. As she held the lilies with her left arm, the hand gleamed white against the folds of her black dress, and the wedding ring flashed. Her cold, exquisite purity matched that of a Roman vestal on her way to shrines, but her large brown eyes, looking far away, were so darkened by shadows of mournful memory, of helpless yet uncomplaining renunciation, that Mr. Herriott could not endure the sight. He threw his hand across his face, and strangled the impulse to spring to her side, to catch her in his arms. When he looked again, she had walked away toward the house.

With a book in her hand, Mrs. Mitch.e.l.l ran down the steps.

"I am waiting for the flowers, before I close the box for the little bride. These lilies are just what she needs for the altar. Give them to me."

Then a low, sweet, sad voice swept the heartstrings of the man who watched and listened.

"Do not forget to send my present. I put my card inside the case. Dear little Minna, I hope she may be happy. If her husband really loves her, she enters her heaven; but if not, the poor little thing will soon wish the burial instead of marriage service had been read over her to-night.

I trust the child may never find out that a tolling bell is sweeter than a wedding peal. You found my Baedeker?"

"Yes, in the mill where you left it a week ago."

"I must look out one or two points in it, and the air is so deliciously sweet I think I shall stay a while in the garden on this last Dingle day, unless you need me to help you."

"There is nothing for you to do inside; everything is ready."

"Ma-Lila, you have been crying! What makes you so nervous? You are trembling."

"Oh, I feel upset! Leaving Robert's lonely grave, and all."

The girl stooped, and kissed her cheek.

"It seems very selfish to ask you to leave a place so dear to you; but I hope G.o.d will begin to pity me at last, and call me soon where I shall trouble no one any more. Then----"

Mrs. Mitch.e.l.l laid the lilies on her lips to close them.

"Hush, my baby--hush! I am screwed up now like a frazzled fiddle-string, and if you give another twist I shall just go to pieces."

Taking the flower-laden hat, she placed it with the lilies on the step, and turned toward the dairy.

Baedeker in hand, Eglah moved away, but as she neared the arbor she looked back over her shoulder and called:

"Little mother, when Dorcas brings the clothes she kept to flute, please call me. I ought to finish packing my trunk by one o'clock. Mr. Boynton says the baggage should be at the station not later than five o'clock, and you know we have to shake hands with all the plantation folks at four. Where are you going?"

"Only to the spring house for the cream I promised Minna for charlotte-russe. I set the jug there to cool."

"Let me bring it. You will wear yourself out."

"As if you knew morning's cream from that two days old! Go read your book."

She sped toward the dairy like a running bird and though she did not turn her head, the black eyes were busy. In the shelter of the spring house she fell on her knees beside pans and bowls and with streaming eyes prayed that after the battle perpetual peace might come.