At Fault Part 20

"It's all well and good to talk about flowers and things, Mrs.

Laferm--sit down please--but when a person's got the job that I've got on my hands, she's something else to think about. And David here smoking one cigar after another. He knows all I've got to do, and goes and sends those darkies home right after dinner."

Therese was so shocked that for a while she could say nothing; till for Hosmer's sake she made a quick effort to appear at ease.

"What have you to do, Mrs. Hosmer? Let me help you, I can give you the whole afternoon," she said with an appearance of being ready for any thing that was at hand to be done.

f.a.n.n.y turned the coat over in her lap, and looked down helplessly at a stain on the collar, that she had been endeavoring to remove; at the same time pushing aside with patient repet.i.tion the wisp of hair that kept falling over her cheek.

"Belle Worthington'll be here before we know it; her and her husband and that Lucilla of hers. David knows how Belle Worthington is, just as well as I do; there's no use saying he don't. If she was to see a speck of dirt in this house or on David's clothes, or anything, why we'd never hear the last of it. I got a letter from her," she continued, letting the coat fall to the floor, whilst she endeavored to find her pocket.

"Is she coming to visit you?" asked Therese who had taken up a feather brush, and was dusting and replacing the various ornaments that were scattered through the room.

"She's going down to Muddy Graw (Mardi-Gras) her and her husband and Lucilla and she's going to stop here a while. I had that letter--I guess I must of left it in the other room."

"Never mind," Therese hastened to say, seeing that her whole energies were centered on finding the letter.

"Let me look," said Hosmer, making a movement towards the bedroom door, but f.a.n.n.y had arisen and holding out a hand to detain him she went into the room herself, saying she knew where she'd left it.

"Is this the reason you've kept yourself shut up here in the house so often?" Therese asked of Hosmer, drawing near him. "Never telling me a word of it," she went on, "it wasn't right; it wasn't kind."

"Why should I have put any extra burden on you?" he answered, looking down at her, and feeling a joy in her presence there, that seemed like a guilty indulgence in face of his domestic shame.

"Don't stay," Therese said. "Leave me here. Go to your office or over to the house--leave me alone with her."

f.a.n.n.y returned, having found the letter, and spoke with increased vehemence of the necessity of having the house in perfect trim against the arrival of Belle Worthington, from whom they would never hear the last, and so forth.

"Well, your husband is going out, and that will give us a chance to get things righted," said Therese encouragingly. "You know men are always in the way at such times."

"It's what he ought to done before; and left Suze and Minervy here,"

she replied with grudging acquiescence.

After repeated visits to the bedroom, under various pretexts, f.a.n.n.y grew utterly incapable to do more than sit and gaze stupidly at Therese, who busied herself in bringing the confusion of the sitting-room into some order.

She continued to talk disjointedly of Belle Worthington and her well known tyrannical characteristics in regard to cleanliness; finishing by weeping mildly at the prospect of her own inability to ever reach the high standard required by her exacting friend.

It was far in the afternoon--verging upon night, when Therese succeeded in persuading her that she was ill and should go to bed. She gladly seized upon the suggestion of illness; a.s.suring Therese that she alone had guessed her affliction: that whatever was thought singular in her behavior must be explained by that sickness which was past being guessed at--then she went to bed.

It was late when Hosmer left his office; a rough temporary shanty, put together near the ruined mill.

He started out slowly on his long cold ride. His physical malaise of the morning had augmented as the day went on, and he was beginning to admit to himself that he was "in for it."

But the cheerless ride was lightened by a picture that had been with him through the afternoon, and that moved him in his whole being, as the moment approached when it might be changed to reality. He knew f.a.n.n.y's habits; knew that she would be sleeping now. Therese would not leave her there alone in the house--of that he was sure. And he pictured Therese at this moment seated at his fire-side. He would find her there when he entered. His heart beat tumultuously at the thought.

It was a very weak moment with him, possibly, one in which his unnerved condition stood for some account. But he felt that when he saw her there, waiting for him, he would cast himself at her feet and kiss them. He would crush her white hands against his bosom. He would bury his face in her silken hair. She should know how strong his love was, and he would hold her in his arms till she yield back tenderness to his own. But--Therese met him on the steps. As he was mounting them, she was descending; wrapped in her long cloak, her pretty head covered by the dark hood.

"Oh, are you going?" he asked.

She heard the note of entreaty in his voice.

"Yes," she answered, "I shouldn't have left her before you came; but I knew you were here; I heard your horse's tread a moment ago. She's asleep. Good night. Take courage and have a brave heart," she said, pressing his hand a moment in both hers, and was gone.

The room was as he had pictured it; order restored and the fire blazing brightly. On the table was a pot of hot tea and a tempting little supper laid. But he pushed it all aside and buried his face down upon the table into his folded arms, groaning aloud. Physical suffering; thwarted love, and at the same time a feeling of self-condemnation, made him wish that life were ended for him.

f.a.n.n.y awoke close upon morning, not knowing what had aroused her. She was for a little while all bewildered and unable to collect herself.

She soon learned the cause of her disturbance. Hosmer was tossing about and his outstretched arm lay across her face, where it had evidently been flung with some violence. She took his hand to move it away, and it burned her like a coal of fire. As she touched him he started and began to talk incoherently. He evidently fancied himself dictating a letter to some insurance company, in no pleased terms--of which f.a.n.n.y caught but s.n.a.t.c.hes. Then:

"That's too much, Mrs. Lafirme; too much--too much--Don't let Gregoire burn--take him from the fire, some one. Thirty day's credit--shipment made on tenth," he rambled on at intervals in his troubled sleep.

f.a.n.n.y trembled with apprehension as she heard him. Surely he has brain fever she thought, and she laid her hand gently on his burning forehead. He covered it with his own, muttering "Therese, Therese--so good--let me love you."

X

Perplexing Things.

"Lucilla!"

The pale, drooping girl started guiltily at her mother's sharp exclamation, and made an effort to throw back her shoulders. Then she bit her nails nervously, but soon desisted, remembering that that also, as well as yielding to a relaxed tendency of the spinal column, was a forbidden indulgence.

"Put on your hat and go on out and get a breath of fresh air; you're as white as milk-man's cream."

Lucilla rose and obeyed her mother's order with the precision of a soldier, following the directions of his commander.

"How submissive and gentle your daughter is," remarked Therese.

"Well, she's got to be, and she knows it. Why, I haven't got to do more than look at that girl most times for her to understand what I want. You didn't notice, did you, how she straightened up when I called 'Lucilla' to her? She knows by the tone of my voice what she's got to do."

"Most mothers can't boast of having such power over their daughters."

"Well, I'm not the woman to stand any shenanigans from a child of mine. I could name you dead loads of women that are just completely walked over by their children. It's a blessing that boy of f.a.n.n.y's died, between you and I; its what I've always said. Why, Mrs. Laferm, she couldn't any more look after a youngster than she could after a baby elephant. By the by, what do you guess is the matter with her, any way?"

"How, the matter?" Therese asked; the too ready blood flushing her face and neck as she laid down her work and looked up at Mrs.

Worthington.

"Why, she's acting mighty queer, that's all I can say for her."

"I haven't been able to see her for some time," Therese returned, going back to her sewing, "but I suppose she got a little upset and nervous over her husband; he had a few days of very serious illness before you came."

"Oh, I've seen her in all sorts of states and conditions, and I've never seen her like that before. Why, she does nothing in the G.o.d's world but whine and sniffle, and wish she was dead; it's enough to give a person the horrors. She can't make out she's sick; I never saw her look better in my life. She must of gained ten pounds since she come down here."

"Yes," said Therese, "she was looking so well, and--and I thought everything was going well with her too, but--" and she hesitated to go on.

"Oh, I know what you want to say. You can't help that. No use bothering your brains about that--now you just take my advice,"

exclaimed Mrs. Worthington brusquely.

Then she laughed so loud and suddenly that Therese, being already nervous, p.r.i.c.ked her finger with her needle till the blood came; a mishap which decided her to lay aside her work.