Margarita's Soul Part 11

After that I remember well enough. Caliban was to row the telegrapher back, as he had brought him over, and as the haggard little fellow advanced to say his good-byes, Margarita and Roger appeared from somewhere to receive them. He shook her hand cordially and tried honestly not to stare too admiringly at her.

"This has been a great pleasure, Mrs. Bradley, a real pleasure to me,"

he said, "aside from the romance and--and so forth, you understand. It isn't often I can get off like this in the daytime, and I shouldn't wonder if the air and the water and all made me sleep a little to-night! I little thought when Mr. Bradley asked for an hour of my time to-day that I should be going to the wedding of the Miss Prynne I had heard so much about."

Tip and I glanced irrepressibly at each other, wondering if this suggestion would commend itself to Roger. But he, I think, had paid no attention to the words, and his smile was merely kindly and polite. So the sleepless one rowed away, the richer by a box of good cigars, and Tip and I were left to plan our own departure.

For mine, at any rate, Roger seemed in no hurry. When Tip a.s.sured him that he must, without fail, catch the next possible train, he got a schedule and arranged for a short drive across country to a tiny station that profited by the summer residence of a railroad magnate, and could connect him with an otherwise impossible express; but me he urged to stop on in terms so unmistakably sincere that I saw he really wanted a few more hours of my company, at least; and as I found that a milk-train stopped at the village at ten that night, and had learned from experience that much might be accomplished with a banknote and a cigar and an obliging brakeman, I was glad enough to stay on, and with a curious feeling of return to the actual world I pushed out across the beach with Roger and Margarita, who dropped on the sand with the great dog at their feet. I joined them quietly and we sat, hardly speaking, for at least three long, golden hours. They drew me, a naturally rather talkative person, into one of their deep peaceful silences, and just because there was so much to say, we wisely left it unsaid, and rested like the animals (or the angels, maybe?) in a rich content.

It was then that I understood the vital principle of the Friends'

Meeting House, and realised how much of the heat and vulgarity of life the best Quaker tradition buries under the cool, deep waves of its invaluable Silence. To such artists in life the lack of speech is not repression--far from it. Myself, I have never lived more generously than in that wonderful afternoon, and the few hours that came afterward were mere by-play.

Later Caliban brought us a picnic supper on the beach and then Roger wrote some letters, gave me many instructions for his partner, listed the matters to be put off for a week and those to be sent to him for personal attention (precious few, these!) and agreed to my suggestion that when he returned to town my mother should meet them and take Margarita in charge for the purchases that must be made before the year of travel he intended to take with his wife--lucky fellow, whose lap Fate had filled with all her gifts!

He was to let me know when he would come and I was to forward his mother's answer to the letter he had written her; most of their intercourse of late had been of this sort, for his uncle's recent death had opened again the vexed question of Boston residence and his inability to comply with her unreasonable demands had strained anew relations never very close, humanly considered. The unfortunate early years of family restraint, the lack of all those weak and tender intimacies, not uncommon in New England families, had borne their legitimate fruit, and my mother's gentle pa.s.sionate heart froze at the mere thought of Madam Bradley's icy reserve, while to me, I own, she was never more than an unpleasant abstraction.

And then the time came and Caliban pulled the boat across and I pressed Margarita's hand and stood up to go. Roger took both my hands and wrung them.

"I couldn't speak about the ring, Jerry," he said, quickly and very low, "it's no use trying. But you understand?"

"That's all right, Roger," I muttered hastily, "it's the best use I'm likely to make of it. Good-bye, old fellow. G.o.d bless you, Roger," and I stumbled into the boat.

Caliban pulled hard at the oars and we slid away. I looked at them once. For a full minute--dear fellow--he stared wistfully after me (oh, Roger, you'll never forget, never, I know! Twenty-five years are over and gone to-night, and the close, unrivalled companionship of them, and I am alone from now on--but you'll not forget!) and then they turned to each other and I was no more than a speck on the evening water. "Put your back into it, man; get along, can't you?" I growled to Caliban. We shot ahead and left them to each other, alone under the heavy, yellow moon and the close, secret stars.

PART FOUR

IN WHICH THE STREAM WINDS THROUGH A SULLEN MARSH AND BECOMES A BROOK

Alas for this unlucky womb!

Alas the b.r.e.a.s.t.s that suckled thee!

I would ha' laid thee in thy tomb Or e'er that witch had wived with thee!

Alas my son that grew so strong!

Alas those hands I stretched to th' bow!

Or e'er thou heardst that wanton's song, I'd shot thee long ago and long, Through the black heart that's shamed me so!

_Sir Hugh and the Mermaiden._

CHAPTER XIII

STRAWS THAT SHOWED THE WIND

[TO ROGER FROM HIS COUSIN SARAH]

BOSTON, Sept. 7th, 188--

MY DEAR ROGER:

Your mother, I am sorry to say, is not physically able to answer your surprising and most disturbing letter, and has laid upon me the unpleasant task of doing so. It is, as you somewhat brusquely say, unnecessary to discuss at any length what you have done, since it is irrevocable. We can but feel, however, that a thing so hastily entered upon can be productive of no good (if, indeed, the matter has been as sudden as you lead us to suppose).

To a woman of your mother's deep family pride this alliance with a nameless girl from the streets, practically, if I am to read your letter aright, can be nothing short of humiliating. She instructs me to tell you that she can take no cognisance of any such connection with any justice to the family interests, and that although you will always be welcome here, she cannot undertake to extend the welcome further with any sincerity of heart.

I sent, following your suggestions, for Winfred Jerrolds, but I cannot say that his evidently unwilling admissions made the affair any the more palatable--how could they? Some of the inferences I was forced to draw I cannot bring myself to discuss, even with your mother. Winfred's French bringing up and the influence of a weakly affectionate mother have singularly warped his moral perception. It is impossible for us not to feel that had you followed Aunt Miriam's advice and established yourself in Boston, these dreadful results would have been avoided. I try to believe that with the altered standards of the city you have chosen your very fibre has so weakened that you cannot grasp the extent of the mistake you have made.

Winfred Jerrolds may, as you say, have been your best friend, in one sense, but I fear that sense is a very narrow one. He has certainly succeeded beyond anything he could have hoped in his connection with our family. I always thought his attentions to Uncle Winthrop unnatural in so young a boy, but he was always politic. I am informed by Uncle Searsy's partner that nothing can be done about it; you will be pleased, probably.

You will realise, I hope, that living as I do with Aunt Miriam, I cannot with propriety take any course counter to hers in the matter of your marriage. It may be that she will be more reconciled with time--I hope so, for it must be a terrible thought for you that she might die with such feelings as she now has for her only son!

Your affectionate cousin,

SARAH THAYER BRADLEY.

[FROM MY MOTHER]

STRATFORD, CONN.,

Sept. 7th, 188--

MY DARLING BOY:

This is a hasty note to tell you that I am afraid I cannot come to you and help dear Roger's bride (how interesting and beautiful she must be!) for I must stay and nurse poor old Jeanne, who has had a bad fall putting up the new curtains and nearly fractured her hip. She is in a great deal of pain and cannot bear anyone but me about her. I should enjoy helping Roger's wife with her trousseau--how did he happen to go to the island she lives on? Is she one of the Devonshire Prynnes? Your father knew a Colonel Prynne--cavalry, I think. How you will miss Roger--for it will be different, now, Winfred--it must be, you know. Oh, my dear boy, if only I could help _your_ wife! If only I could see you with children of your own! Don't wait too long. Your father and I had but four years together, but I would live my whole life over again with no change, for those four. I must go to Jeanne, now.

Your loving MOTHER.

[FROM ROGER'S SISTER]

NEWTON, Ma.s.s.,

Sept. 10th, 188--

DEAR JERRY:

I hope you and Roger will not think me unkind, but Walter will not hear of my looking up Roger's wife, as you ask me.

You see Mother has just begun to to be nice to him, and we can't afford to lose her good-will, Winfred--we simply can't. I think Roger has a perfect right to marry whom he chooses and I don't believe a word of the horrid things Sarah says. They are not true, are they? But of course they're not. But why did Roger do it so suddenly? Why not let us meet her first? What will people think? She will hate me, I suppose, but Roger knows what we have suffered from Mother and I hope he will understand. Walter's eyes have been very bad, lately, and Mother is going to get Cousin Wolcott Sears to send him on some confidential business to Germany, the voyage will do him so much good! Do explain to Roger--he will understand. And ask him to write to me, if he will.

Yours always,

ALICE BRADLEY-CARTER.