A DREAM ENDED.
Joyce could only hope nothing had been heard in the corridor, but her
first surreptitious glance was not consolatory. Camille, with an
expression oddly commingled of mirth and petulance, was intensely busy
with her glove-fastening, while the broad back of George Dalton, who was
apparently as busy gazing from a barred window against a stone wall, had
a most uncanny look of intelligence about it. As for the sheriff--he did
not try to conceal the grin with which he looked at that back, and then
at Joyce, who would have given a large slice of her fortune for a
sheltering veil to cover her face, just then. As the party marched out
into the open air there was an appearance of constraint about them.
Camille kept persistently at her brother's side, and Joyce was forced to
follow with George. He tried so hard to look non-committal that he only
succeeded in looking thoroughly cross, and Leon was shut within himself,
evidently dazed, but trying to think the thing out.
The tension did not loosen as they made their way to the great depot,
just in time to board the earlier of the "dinner trains," at 5.13. But,
as they passed in, Joyce circumvented any further such pairing off by
calmly seating herself by Camille, and leaving the young men to adjust
themselves as they would.
Few realize the many disagreeable trifles that accompany the movements
of any notable personage. Joyce was often pointed out as the great
heiress, who had eschewed city society to manage her business affairs in
person, and Leon's air, even in civilian dress, was observable. Many
eyes were turned upon the little party, who were presently seated near
together in the train, and Joyce broke the spell of rigidity by leaning
over to Leon and remarking, _sotto voce_,
"If you had only worn your uniform everybody would have stared. Now I
think there are as many as three who have not noticed us. Is there no
way of stirring up those three?"
His ready laughter answered her sally, and the strain was relieved.
But when they reached the home station Dalton proved that he was not
lacking in tact, at least. Carelessly assuming that Joyce was thoroughly
well escorted, he bade the trio a cheerful good-night on the platform,
and struck off for his own home, without even a backward glance.
Leon nodded approvingly, all to himself.
"The fellow has self-control, anyhow," he thought, as he offered an arm
to Joyce and laughingly bade Camille follow in their wake, like a good
child--for the walks were narrow.
Arrived at the knoll, Joyce would not accept their invitation in to
dinner, declaring she dare not so disappoint her own cook, who would be
awaiting her. Neither would the brother and sister accept of her
counter-invitation, saying that they had more than a cook to disappoint;
namely, their mother, So they went their separate ways, but lights
streamed across from window to window, like cables of trust and
friendship.
It had not been an easy thing for Leon to see his mother alone in a
household which made her its center and circumference, but that evening,
when she retired to her room, he followed close upon her steps.
"Mayn't I come in, mother?" he asked, after tapping lightly. "I want an
old-fashioned good-night talk."
She welcomed him eagerly.
"Find the best chair, dear, and draw it up by me, here. I do so enjoy
this little grate on cool nights! I can feel the warmth, and imagine the
light, while it all fills me with comfort and peace."
"In a minute, mother. Let me tramp about a little, first. I like to try
my sea-legs on a stretch of thick carpet, occasionally. Besides, I want
to look around. How snug and handsome you are here! That toilet-table is
really sumptuous, and these fine etchings show off well against that
soft flesh tint on the walls. Mother, you have found a good son in
Larry!"
"A dear, good son, Leon. But his means are not so large as his heart.
This room is mostly Joyce's gift, you know. When she gave the house she
insisted on personally superintending the fittings of this room. I told
her it was useless to waste beauty on me, but she said no surroundings
could quite suit me, except a certain kind, and she claimed to
understand that style better than any one else. She is doing for us all
the time."
"She could not be other than generous--but how she has changed, mother!"
"Changed! Do you think so?"
"How could I help thinking so? I left her a shrinking, clinging child. I
find her a self-poised, queenly woman. Do you remember how I used to
plan to protect and defend her? I was to earn money for her and you, and
to ward off all trouble from you both. It was my youthful inspiration. I
return to find she needs neither money, position, protection, nor
devotion. She has all, and more, than she desires. A defender would be
an absurdity! All she can require now is a--manager."
His mother turned about in her chair with a distressed look.
"Leon, your tone is not bitter, but your words are."
"No, indeed! I am merely stating facts. To be bitter would be foolish.
But I see it all, mother."
"Oh, Leon, it breaks my heart!"
"I feared it would, and that is why I want to talk with you." He came
closer and drew up a chair. She caught his hand and held it in a close
clasp. "The strange thing is, it does not break my heart at all."
He brought out each word with deliberate emphasis. Madame Bonnivel felt
her blindness then as never in her life before. Oh, to be able to search
his eyes, to look down into his very soul! Would he deliberately deceive
his mother, to save her pain? Yet the touch of his hand was cool and
calm.
"I thought you loved my Joyce!" she cried sharply, her nerves at a
tension.
"I do. I always have. I always shall. And I admire her in addition, now.
She is a noble, remarkable girl. But she is a duchess, a queen, and she
is as absorbed in her little kingdom as any German countess in her petty
domain. Its ways and doings are of supreme importance to her, and other
things do not count. It is right enough she should feel so, and she will
lead a useful life. But how could it ever accord with mine? She is Lady
Bountiful, and rules through love and wisdom. I am officer on a
man-of-war, and command with sternness and inflexibility, never bending
to coaxing or cajolery. Her ambition is to serve and uplift; mine to
hold down with a steady hand, that my men may do my bidding like
intelligent machines. We both may do good in our spheres, but we would
inevitably pull apart, if we tried to unite them. Could I take the place
of prime minister to my lady, and content myself with carrying out her
orders, and expending her money? I would die first!" He sprang up and
began walking about again, his voice deepening as he progressed with his
subject. "Imagine me examining her books at the works, or pottering
about on errands of mercy among her glass-blowers! I, who can daily
tread the magnificent decks of the 'Terror,' and lead my squad on
engineering feats that stir every drop of blood in my body to pride over
our glorious achievements! Dearest mother, it wouldn't do."
"But, if she loves you, she would give this all up----"
"And go with me? She couldn't, mother. You know that. There is no place
for women on a war-ship."
"No, but you have furloughs occasionally. She might live here, just the
same----"
"With Dalton for her manager? No, thank you, mother! I am not such an
idiot as that."
"But Leon! Leon! It has been my dream for years."
"And, like most dreams, is but a dissolving view. Let us hope this dream
may dissolve into a scene of deeper reality, which shall far exceed the
vision. You are safely anchored here beside her, and in all love and
fealty she is, and will be, your daughter. I shall always feel safe and
happy to know she is beside you. But the currents of my life run in
broader channels. The tide floats me far out into stirring, trying
scenes. I should mope myself to death here. I should hate and despise my
inaction!"
"Leon, how your voice thrills! You love your work?"
"I never knew how much till now. I tell you, frankly, I returned
expecting to marry Joyce, if she would have me. I am glad to understand
that she most assuredly would not. I cannot tell you how suffocatingly
small seems the life of a private citizen of small means on shore. My
pay is little enough, we know, and I can never expect anything beyond a
fair living. But what is that to me? I am backed by a government that
gives me assurance, standing, power, wherever I may be. I have for
friends and associates the brave and honorable, the world over. I am as
proud of my ship as other men of beautiful estates, and as fond of my
brave men as others of their children. I do love Joyce, even as I
willingly relinquish her, but I know even she could not make up to me
for all I would give up in marrying her, and resigning my commission. I
see it as plainly as if inspired. Our ways must lie apart!"
"Leon, I see arguments are useless, and I will not plead for Joyce, even
with my own son."
"The pleading would have to be on the other side, dearest. Remember, she
does not love me."
"She did, and she would, but for this fortune and this work! Her father
always came between us in life; his accursed money must separate us
now--go, Leon! My soul is bitter within me. I shall be unjust and
wicked, if I say one word more."
He went slowly, reluctantly, looking back at her pale, drawn face in an
anguish of pity. He knew that, brave as he had been, he had not made her
wound the less. The dream of her life was ended.