Hilda Lightener represented a new experience to Ruth. Never before had
she come into such close contact with a woman of a class she had been
taught to despise as useless and worse than useless. Even more than
they hated the rich man Ruth's class hated the rich man's wife and
daughter. Society women stood to them for definite transgressions of
the demands of human equality and fairness and integrity of life. They
were parasites, wasters, avoiding the responsibilities of womanhood and
motherhood. They flaunted their ease and their luxuries. They were
arrogant. When their lives touched the lives of the poor it was with
maddening condescension. In short, they were not only no good, but were
flagrantly bad.
The zealots among whom Ruth's youth had lain knew no exceptions to this
judgment. All so-called society women were included. Now Ruth was
forced to make a revision.... All employers of labor had been
malevolent. Experience had proven to her that Bonbright Foote was not
malevolent, and that a more conspicuous, vastly more powerful figure in
the industrial world, Malcolm Lightener, was human, considerate,
respectful of right, full of unexpected disturbing virtues.... Ruth was
forced to the conclusion that there were good men and good women where
she had been taught to believe they did not exist.... It was a
pin-prick threatening the bubble of her fanaticism.
She had not been able to withhold her liking from Hilda Lightener.
Hilda was strongly attracted by Ruth. King Copetua may occasionally wed
the beggar maid, but it is rare for his daughter or his sister to
desire a beggar maid's friendship.
Hilda did not press Ruth for confidences, nor did Ruth bestow them. But
Hilda succeeded in making Ruth feel that she was trustworthy, that she
offered her friendship sincerely.... That she was an individual to
depend on if need came for dependence. They talked. At first Hilda
carried on a monologue. Gradually Ruth became more like her sincere,
calm self, and she met Hilda's advances without reservation.... When
Hilda left her at her home both girls carried away a sense of
possessing something new of value.
"Don't you come back to the office to-day," Hilda told her. "I'll
settle dad."
"Thank you," said Ruth. "I do need--rest. I've got to be alone
to--think." That was the closest she came to opening her heart.
She did have to think, though she had thought and reasoned and suffered
the torture of mental conflict through a nearly sleepless night. She
had told Bonbright to come on this day for her answer.... She must have
her answer ready. Also she must talk the thing over with Dulac. That
would be hard--doubly hard in the situation that existed.
Last night she had not spoken of it to him; had scarcely spoken to him
at all, as he had been morosely silent to her. She had been shocked,
frightened by his violence, yet she knew that his violence had been
honest violence, perpetrated because he believed her welfare demanded
it. She did not feel toward him the aversion that the average girl
might have felt for one who precipitated her into such a scene.... She
was accustomed to violence and to the atmosphere of violence.
When she and Dulac arrived at the Frazer cottage, he had helped her to
alight. Then he uttered a rude apology, but a sincere one--according to
his lights.
"I'm sorry I had to do it with you watching," he said. Then, curtly,
"Go to bed now."
Clearly he suspected her of no wrongdoing, of no intention toward
future wrongdoing. She was a VICTIM. She was a pigeon fascinated by a
serpent.
Now she went to her room, and remained there until the supper hour.
When she and her mother and Dulac were seated at the table her mother
began a characteristic Jeremiad. "I hope you ain't coming down with a
spell of sickness. Seems like sickness in the family's about the only
thing I've been spared, though other things worse has been aplenty.
Here we are just in a sort of a breathing spell, and you begin to look
all peeked and home from work, with maybe losing your place, for
employers is hard without any consideration, and food so high and all.
I wasn't born to no ease, nor any chance of looking forward like some
women, though doing my duty at all times to the best of my ability. And
now you on the verge of a run of the fever, with nobody can say how
long in bed, and doctors and medicines and worry...."
"I'm not going to be ill, mother," Ruth said. "Please don't worry about
me."
"If a mother can't worry about her own daughter, then I'd like to know
what she can do," said Mrs. Frazer, with the air of one suffering
meekly a studied affront.
Ruth turned to Dulac. "Before you go downtown," she said, "I want to
talk to you."
Dulac had not hoped to escape a reckoning with Ruth, and now he
supposed she was demanding it. Well, as well now as later, if the thing
had to be. He was a trifle sulky about it; perhaps, now that his blind
rage had subsided, not wholly satisfied with himself and his conduct.
"All right," he said, and went silently on with his meal. After a time
he pushed back his chair. "I've got a meeting downtown," he said to
Ruth, paving the way for a quick escape.
"Maybe what I have to say," she said, gravely, "will be as important as
your meeting," and she preceded him into the little parlor.
His attitude was defensive; he expected to be called on for
explanations, to be required to soothe resentment; his mental condition
was more or less that of a schoolboy expecting a ragging.
Ruth did not begin at once, but walked over to the window, and, leaning
her elbow against the frame, pressed her forehead against the cool
glass. She wanted to clear and make direct and coherent her thoughts.
She wanted to express well, leaving no ground for misunderstanding of
herself or her motives, what she had to say. Then she turned, and began
abruptly; began in a way that left Dulac helplessly surprised, for it
was not the attack he expected.
"Mr. Foote asked me to marry him, last night," she said, and stopped.
"That is why he took me out to the lake.... I hadn't any idea of it
before. I didn't know... He was honest and sincere. At first I was
astonished. I tried to stop him. I was going to tell him I loved you
and that we were going to be married." She stopped again, and went on
with an effort. "Then something came to me--and it frightened me. All
the time he was talking to me I kept on thinking about it... and I
didn't want to think about it because of--you.... You know I want to do
something for the Cause--something big, something great! It's hard for
a woman to do such a thing--but I saw a chance. It was a hard chance, a
bitter chance, but it was there.... I'm not a doll. I think I could be
strong. He's just a boy, and I am strong enough to influence him....
And I thought how his wife could help. Don't you see? He will own
thousands of laboring men--thousands and thousands. If I married him I
could do--what couldn't I do?--for them. I would make him see through
my eyes. I would make him UNDERSTAND. My work would be to make him
better conditions, to give those thousands of men what they are
entitled to, to give them all men like you and like my father have
taught me they ought to have.... I could do it. I know. Think of
it--thousands of men, and then--wives and children, made happier, made
contented, given their fair share--and by me!... That's what I thought
about--and so--so I didn't refuse him. I didn't tell him about you....
I told him I'd give him my answer--later...."
His face had changed from sullenness to relief, from relief to
astonishment, then to black anger.
"Your answer," he said, passionately. "What answer could you give but
one? You're mine. You've promised me. That's the answer you'll give
him.... You THOUGHT. I know what you thought. You thought about his
money--about his millions. You thought what his wife would have, how
she would live. You thought about luxuries, about automobiles, about
jewels.... Laboring men!... Hell! He showed you the kingdoms of the
earth--and you wanted them. He offered to buy you--and you looked at
the price and it was enough to tempt you.... You'll give him no answer.
I'll give it to him, and it'll be the same kind of answer I gave him
last night.... But this time he won't get up so quick. This time..."
"Stop!... That's not true. You know it's not true.... I've promised to
marry you--and I've loved you. Yes, I've loved you.... I'm glad of
that. It makes the sacrifice real. It makes all the more I have to
give.... Father gave his life. You're giving your life and your
strength and your abilities.... I want to give, too, and so I'm glad,
glad that I love you, and that I can give that.... If I didn't love
you, if I did care for Mr. Foote, it would be different. I would be
afraid I was marrying him because of what he is and what he has. ...
But I am giving up more than he can ever return to me with all his
money.... Money can't buy love. It can't give back to me that happiness
I would have known with you, working for you, suffering with you,
helping you. It's my chance.... You must see. You must believe the
truth. I couldn't bear it if you didn't--if you didn't see that I am
throwing away my happiness and giving myself--just for the Cause. That
I am giving all of myself--not to a quick, merciful death. That
wouldn't be hard.... But to years of misery, to a lifetime of
suffering. Knowing I love you, I will have to go to him, and be his
wife, and pretend--pretend--day after day, year after year, that I love
him.... I'll have to deceive him. I'll have to hold his love and make
it stronger, and I'll--I'll come to loathe him. Does that sound easy?
Could money buy that? Look into your heart and see...."
He strode to her, and his hands fell heavily on her shoulders, his
black, blazing eyes burned into hers.
"You love me--you haven't lied to me?" he demanded, hoarsely.
"I love you."
"Then, by God! you're mine, and I'll have you. He sha'n't buy you away
if I have to kill him. You're mine, do you hear?--MINE!"
"Who do you belong to?" she asked. "If I demanded that you give up your
work, abandon the Cause, would you do it for me?"
"No."
"You belong to the Cause--not to me.... I belong to the Cause, too. ...
Body and soul I belong to it. What am I to you but a girl, an incident?
Your duty lies toward all those men. Your work is to help them.... Then
you should give me willingly; if I hesitate you should try to force me
to do this thing-for it will help. What other thing could do what it
will do? Think! THINK!... THINK!"
"You're mine.... He has everything else. His kind take everything else
from us. Now they want our wives. They sha'n't have them.... He sha'n't
have them.... He sha'n't have you."
"It is for me to say," she replied, gently. "I'm so sorry--so sorry--if
it hurts you. I'm sorry any part of the suffering and sorrow must fall
on you. If I could only bear it alone! If I can help, it's my right to
help, and to give.... Don't make it harder. Oh, don't make it harder!"
He flung her from him roughly. "You're like all of them.... Wealth
dazzles you. You fear poverty.... Softness, luxuries--you all--you
women--are willing to sell your souls for them."
"Did my mother sell her soul for luxuries? If she did, where are they?
Did your mother sell her soul for them?... Have the wives of all the
men who have worked and suffered and been trampled on for the Cause
sold their souls?... You're bitter. I--I am sorry--so sorry. If you
care for me as I do for you--I--I know how bitterly hard it will
be--to--give me up--to see me his wife...."
"I'll never see that. You can throw me over, but you'll never marry
him."
"You're big--you're big enough to see this as I see it, and big enough
to let me do it.... You will be when--the surprise and the first hurt
of it have gone. It's asking just one more thing of you--when you've
willingly given so much.... But it's I who do the harder giving. In a
few months, in a year, you will have forgotten me.... I can never
forget you. Every day and every hour I'll be reminded of you. I'll be
thinking of you.... When I greet HIM it will be YOU I'm greeting....
When I am pretending to--to care for him, it will be YOU I am loving.
The thought of that, and the knowledge of what I am doing for those
poor men--will be all the happiness I shall have... will give me
courage to live on and to GO on.... You believe me, don't you, dear?
You must, you must believe me!"
He approached her again. "Look at me!... Look at me," he demanded, and
she gave her eyes to his. They were pure eyes, the eyes of an
enthusiast, the eyes of a martyr. He could not misread them, even in
his passion he could not doubt them.... The elevation of her soul shone
through them. Constancy, steadfastness, courage, determination,
sureness, and loftiness of purpose were written there.... He turned
away, his head sinking upon his breast, and when he spoke the passion,
the rancor, the bitterness, were gone from his voice. It was lower,
quivering, almost gentle.
"You sha'n't.... It isn't necessary. It isn't required of you."
"If it is possible, then it is required of me," she said.
"No.... No...." He sank into a chair and covered his face, and she
could hear the hissing of his breath as he fought for self-control.
"If it were you," she said. "If you could bring about the things I
can--the good for so many--would you hesitate? Is there anything you
wouldn't do to give THEM what I can give?... You know there's not. You
know you could withhold no sacrifice.... Then don't make this one
harder for me. Don't stand in my way."
"I HATE him," Dulac said, in a tense whisper. "If you--married him and
I should meet him--I couldn't keep my hands off him.... The thought of
YOU--of HIM--I'd KILL him...."
"You wouldn't," she said. "You'd think of ME--and you'd remember that I
love you--and that I have given you up--and all the rest, so I could be
his wife--and rule him.... And you wouldn't make it all futile by
killing him.... Then I'd be helpless. I've got to have him to--to do
the rest."
She went to him, and stroked his black, waving hair--so gently.
"Go now, my dear," she said. "You've got to rise to this with me.
You've got to sustain me.... Go now.... My mind is made up. I see my
way...." Her voice trembled pitifully. "Oh, I see my way--and it is
hard, HARD...."
"No," he cried, struggling to his feet.
"Yes," she said, softly. "Good-by.... This is our good-by. I--oh, my
dear, don't forget--never forget--Oh, go, GO!"
In that moment it seemed to her that her heart was bursting for him,
that she loved him to the very roots of her soul. She was sure at last,
very sure. She was certain she was not blinded by glamour, not
fascinated by the man and his part in the world.... If there had been,
in a secret recess of her heart, a shadow of uncertainty, it was gone
in this moment.
"Good-by," she said.
He arose and walked toward the door. He did not look at her. His hand
was on the knob, and the door was opening, yet he did not turn or
look.... "Good-by.... Good-by," she sobbed--and he was GONE...
She was alone, and through all the rest of her years she must be alone.
She had mounted the altar, a sacrifice, a willing sacrifice, but never
till this minute had she experienced the full horror and bitterness and
woe that were required of her.... She was ALONE.
The world has seen many minor passions in the Garden. It sees and
passes on, embodying none of them in deathless epic as His passion was
embodied.... Men and women have cried out to listening Heaven that the
cup might pass from their lips, and it has not been permitted to pass,
as His was not permitted to pass. In the souls of men and of women is
something of the divine, something high and marvelous--a gift from
Heaven to hold the human race above the mire which threatens to engulf
it.... Every day it asserts itself somewhere; in sacrifice, in
devotion, in simple courage, in lofty renunciation. It is common;
wonderfully, beautifully common... yet there are men who do not see it,
or, seeing, do not comprehend, and so despair of humanity.... Ruth,
crouching on the floor of her little parlor, might have numbered
countless brothers and sisters, had she known.... She was uplifting
man, not because of the thing she might accomplish, but because she was
willing to seek its accomplishment....
Her eyes were dry. She could not weep. She could only crouch there and
peer into the blackness of the gulf that lay at her feet.... Then the
doorbell rang, and she started. Eyes wide with tragedy, she looked
toward the door, for she knew that there stood Bonbright Foote, come
for his answer....