Family Pride Or Purified by Suffering Part 36

Has anything happened? Tell me! your looks frighten me!"

"I am so wretched--so full of pain. I have heard of something dreadful,"

she replied--"something which took my life away. I could not stay there after that, and so I come to you. I am not Wilford's wife, for he had another, before me--a wife in Italy--who is not dead! And I--oh! Morris, what am I? Untie my bonnet, do! It is choking me to death! I am--yes--I am--going--to faint!"

It was the first time Katy had put the great horror in words addressed to another, and the act of doing so made it more appalling, while the excitement and fatigue she had endured, together with the action of the heat upon her chilled system, took her strength away, and into the chair where Morris had so often seen her in fancy, she sank a crumpled heap of cloaks and furs and bonnet, which Morris tried to remove so as to reach the limp, fainting creature which had said: "I am not Wilford's wife, for he had another before me--a wife in Italy--who is not dead."

Dr. Morris was thoroughly a man, and though much of his sinful nature had been subdued, there was enough left to make his heart rise and fall with great throbs of joy as he thought of Katy free, even though that freedom were bought at the expense of dire disgrace to others and of misery to her. But only for a moment did he feel thus, only till the bonnet was removed and the gaslight fell upon the pallid face with the dark rings beneath the eyes, and the faint, quivering motion around the lips, which told that she was not wholly unconscious.

"My poor little wounded bird," he said, as pityingly as if he had been her father, while, much as a father might kiss his suffering child, he kissed the forehead and the eyelids where the tears began to gather.

Katy was not insensible, and the name by which he called her, with the kisses that he gave, thawed the ice around her heart and brought a flood of tears which Morris wiped away, removing her heavy fur and lifting her gently up, while he took away the cloak and left her unenc.u.mbered. With a sigh she sank back into the chair, and, leaning her head upon its cushioned arm, moaned like a weary child.

"It is so pleasant to be here, and it rests me so. I wish I might never go away. May I stay here, Morris, as your housekeeper, instead of Mrs.

Hull?--that is, if I am not his wife. The world might despise me, but you would know I was not to blame. I should go nowhere but to the farmhouse, to church, and baby's grave. Poor baby! I am glad G.o.d gave her to me, even if I am not Wilford's wife; and I am glad now that she died."

She was talking to herself rather than to Morris, who, smoothing back her hair and chafing her cold hands, said:

"My poor child, you have pa.s.sed through some agitating scene. Are you able now to tell me all about it, and what you mean by another wife?"

He saw she was greatly exhausted, and he brought her a gla.s.s of wine, hoping she would rally. She had no supper, she said, except a cracker bought in Springfield, but the moment he turned to the bellrope she begged him not to ring. She was not hungry--she could not eat. She should never eat again.

Wishing himself to know something definite ere going to Mrs. Hull, Morris yielded to her entreaties, and sitting down in front of her, said again: "Now tell me what brought you here without your husband's knowledge."

There was a shiver, and the white lips grew still whiter as Katy began her story, going back to St. Mary's churchyard, and then coming to her first night in New York, when Juno had told her of a picture and asked her whose it was. Then she told of Wilford's admission of an earlier love, who, he said, was dead; of the trouble about the baby's name, and his aversion to Genevra; of his frequent abstracted moods, which she remembered now, never suspecting at the time their cause, and not knowing now for certain that Genevra was the subject of his thoughts.

But it was safe to believe almost anything of one who had deceived her so cruelly, and Katy's blue eyes flashed resentfully as she uttered the first bitter words she had ever breathed against her husband. But when she approached the dinner at the elder Cameron's, her lip quivered in a grieved kind of way as she remembered what Wilford had said of her to his mother, but she would not tell this to Morris, it was not necessary to her story, and so she said: "They were talking of what I ought never to have heard, and it seemed as if the walls were closing me in so that I could not move to let them know I was there. I said to myself, 'I shall go mad after this,' and I thought of you all coming to see me in the madhouse, your kind face, Morris, coming up distinctly before me, just as it would look at me if I were really crazed. But all this was swept away like a hurricane when I heard the rest, the part about Genevra, Wilford's other wife."

Katy was panting for breath and Morris brought the wine again, after which she went on with the story, which made Morris clinch his hands as he comprehended the deceit which had been practiced so long. Of course he did not look at it as Katy did, for he knew that according to all civil law she was as really Wilford's wife as if no other had existed, and he told her so, but Katy shook her head: "He can't have two wives living, and I tell you I knew the picture--Genevra is not dead. I have seen her; I have talked with her--Genevra is not dead."

"Granted that she is not," Morris answered, "the divorce remains the same."

"I do not believe in divorces. 'Whom G.o.d hath joined together let no man put asunder,'" Katy said with an air which implied that from this argument there could be no appeal.

"That is the Scripture I know," Morris replied, "but you must remember that for one sin our Savior permitted a man to put away his wife, thus making it perfectly right."

"But in Genevra's case the sin did not exist. She was as innocent as I am, and that must make a difference."

She was very earnest in her attempts to prove that Genevra was still a lawful wife, so earnest that a dark suspicion entered Morris's mind, finding vent in the question, "Katy, don't you love your husband, that you try so hard to prove he is not yours?"

There were red spots all over Katy's face and neck as she saw the meaning put upon her actions, and covering her face with her hands she sobbed violently as she replied: "I do, oh, yes, I do. I never loved any one else. I would have died for him once. Maybe I would die for him now; but, Morris, I fear he is disappointed in me. Our tastes are not alike, and we made a great mistake, or Wilford did when he took me for his wife. I was better suited to most anybody else, and I have been so wicked since, forgetting all the good I ever knew, forgetting prayer save as I went through the form from old habit's sake, forgetting G.o.d, who has overtaken me at last and punished me so sorely that every nerve smarts with the stinging blows."

Oh, how lovingly, how earnestly Morris talked to Katy then, telling her of Him who smites but to heal, who chastens not in anger, but who would lead the lost one back into the quiet fold where there was perfect peace.

And Katy, listening eagerly, with her great blue eyes fixed upon his face, felt that to be like him, to experience that of which he talked, was worth more than all the world beside. Gradually; too, there stole over her the rest she always felt with him--the indescribable feeling which prompted her to care for nothing except to do just what he bade her do, knowing it was right. So when he said at last, "You must go back to New York; this is no place for you," she offered no remonstrance; but when he continued, "And you must go to-night; that is, you must take the early morning train, so as to reach the city before any one has had a chance to read the letter," she demurred at once. "She must see mother; she must see Helen; she must tell Helen who Genevra was. She wanted her to know it, but no one else. She must visit baby's grave; she could not go back without it."

"Not if it is right?" Morris asked, and Katy began to waver when he told her how much better it would be for her family not to know of this visit to him, as it would trouble them. She could tell Wilford, if she liked, but he must not be permitted to find the letter, as he would if he returned while she was gone. "I will go with you. It is not safe for you to go alone," he continued, feeling her rapid pulse and noticing the alternate flushing and paling of her cheek.

A fever was coming on, he feared, and it must not be there with him, for more reasons than one. She must return to New York, or, failing to do that, he must take her across the fields to the farmhouse before the coming dawn.

"Are you sick, Katy?" he asked, as she appeared to be growing stupid.

"Not sick, no; only so tired, so sleepy," and the heavy lids closed over the dull eyes, while Katy's head still lay upon the cushioned arm of the large chair.

Her position was not an easy one, and wheeling the lounge to the fire Morris brought a pillow from his sleeping room adjoining, and taking Katy in his arms laid her where she would at least be more comfortable than in the chair. Wrapping his shawl about her and turning down the gas so as to shield her eyes, he left her alone, while he went to Mrs. Hull, puzzling her brain to know who the lady was, brought there that stormy night, and talking so long and earnestly with the doctor. The driver boy was gone, and thinking it possible that their visitor might be wanting supper, the thoughtful woman had put the kettle on the stove, where it was sending forth volumes of steam just as Morris appeared. If he went to New York with Katy he must trust Mrs. Hull with his reasons for going, and as from past experience he believed she could be trusted, he frankly told her that Mrs. Wilford Cameron was in the library; that circ.u.mstances rendered it desirable for her to return to New York as soon as possible; that as she could not go alone he must of course go with her, and he expected Mrs. Hull not only to help him off, but also to keep the fact of Katy's having been there a secret from every one.

"Some trouble with that high-headed husband of hers; I always mistrusted him," was Mrs. Hull's mental conclusion, as she nodded a.s.sent to what Morris had said, asking if he proposed taking the early morning train which pa.s.sed at four o'clock, and who did he expect would drive his cutter back, as the boys would not be home before broad daylight.

Here was a dilemma of which Morris had not thought, but Mrs. Hull's woman's wits came to his aid, suggesting that he "leave his horse at the tavern in West Silverton and she would send John after it as soon as he returned."

This arranged, Mrs. Hull next asked if Katy would not have some supper before her long ride.

"A cup of tea and a slice of toast was all she would require," Morris said, and he felt many doubts about her touching that.

She was sleeping when he returned to her, but when the tea was ready, she roused up enough to say she did not want it.

"Make her drink it if you ever expect to get her to New York," Mrs. Hull suggested, alarmed at the redness of Katy's face, and the brightness of her eyes.

"You must drink it," Morris said. "It will make you stronger for the ride. We are going very soon, you know--going to New York," and he shook her shoulder gently as he tried to make her comprehend.

When he said she must, Katy lifted up her head, doing whatever he bade her do, and seeming more natural for the exertion and the food she took.

"Let me rest now for a little while," she said, and lying back upon her pillow she slept for an hour, while Morris knelt beside her, counting her rapid pulse, marking the progress of the fever and praying earnestly that she might be able to reach New York, and that no serious consequences would result from his taking her there that night.

To others it might seem a crazy project, but Morris felt that it was right, and he nerved himself to his part of the toil, harnessing his own horse and leading him around to the door, where he left him while he went to get Katy ready. She was not sleeping now, for the powerful stimulant given just before leaving her had taken effect, and she seemed a great deal better, fastening her cloak herself and tying her own bonnet, while Morris put an extra shawl around her, and Mrs. Hull brought the hot soapstone prepared for her feet. Then, when all was ready, Morris carried her to the covered sleigh, wrapping robes and furs around her so that it seemed impossible she should take cold.

The storm had now abated, and the moon shone brightly upon the cold, frosty snow, as they sped along, Morris' bells tinkling in the clear cutting air, and occasionally waking some light sleeper, who knew those musical bells, and said: "That is the doctor," wondering who was sick, and as they nestled down again in their warm bed, feeling glad that they were not obliged to be abroad in a wintry night like this. There was no one at the West Silverton depot except the man who always stayed there, and he was too nearly asleep to notice whether it was one or twenty ladies whom Morris accompanied into the sitting-room, going next to provide for his horse at the hotel nearby.

This done he came back to Katy, staying by her until the early train came swiftly in, pausing only for a moment, and when next it moved forward, bearing him and Katy on the strange journey to New York.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.

GETTING HOME.

Springfield was left behind just as the gray daylight came stealing through the frost-bound windows, rousing the sleepy pa.s.sengers, and making Morris pull his wide collar a little closer about his face as if to avoid observation. He was not afraid of daylight except as it might disclose some old acquaintance who would perhaps wonder to see him at that hour between Springfield and Hartford, and wonder more whose was the head resting so confidentially upon his shoulder, for after the change at Springfield, Katy, who could no longer keep awake, had leaned against his arm as readily as if he had been her brother.

A secret of any kind makes its possessor suspicious, and Morris felt anxious whenever any one glanced that way, but he would not waken Katy, who slept upon his arm until New York was reached, when with a frightened, startled feeling, she sat up, and pushing her veil from her face, looked about her, nodding half unconsciously to Thomas Tubbs, whom she knew from having seen him in her husband's office, and who since leaving Hartford had been a pa.s.senger on board that train, sitting just behind Dr. Morris, and wondering when he saw who his companion was, "if Mrs. Wilford had been to Silverton." Mattie wondered, too, when he told her, as she poured his half-cold coffee, and then it pa.s.sed from his mind, until the following morning when he heard Mark Ray saying to a client who had asked when Mr. Cameron would probably return:

"If he does not come to-day, we shall telegraph for him, as his wife is very sick."

Then Tom remembered how white and haggard Katy's face had looked, and many times that day his mind recurred to Katy Cameron, whom in his boyish way he had admired as something supernaturally beautiful, and who, in her own room at home, lay burning with fever, and talking of Silverton, of Linwood, of baby, of Genevra, and of Wilford.

Morris had seen her safely to her own door, and then thinking she would do best alone for a time, he left her on the steps, after having rung the bell and seen that the ring was answered.

It was Esther who met her, expressing much concern at her appearance, and asking why she did not stay at Father Cameron's instead of coming home this cold raw day.

Hardly knowing what she did, Katy motioned Esther to her after reaching her room, and whispered: