DARKNESS
The next morning Christine did not appear at the late breakfast at
which her father with contracted brow and capricious appetite sat
alone. Among the other unexpected results of the preceding day she had
taken a very severe cold, and this, with the reaction from fatigue and
excitement, caused her to feel so seriously ill that she found it
impossible to rise. Her father looked at her, and was alarmed; for her
cheeks were flushed with fever, her head was aching sadly, and she
appeared as if threatened with one of those dangerous diseases whose
earlier symptoms are so obscure and yet so much alike. She tried to
smile, but her lip quivered, and she turned her face to the wall.
The philosophy of Mr. Ludolph and his daughter was evidently adapted
to fair weather and smooth sailing. Sickness, disease, and the possible
results, were things that both dreaded more than they ever confessed
to each other. It was most natural that they should, for only in health
or life could they enjoy or hope for anything. By their own belief
their horizon was narrowed down to time and earth, and they could look
for nothing beyond. In Mr. Ludolph's imperious, resolute nature,
sickness always awakened anger as well as anxiety. It seemed like an
enemy threatening his dearest hopes and most cherished ambition,
therefore the heavy frown upon his brow as he pushed away the scarcely
tasted breakfast.
To Christine the thought of death was simply horrible, and with the
whole strength of her will she ever sought to banish it. To her it
meant corruption, dust, nothingness. With a few drawbacks she had
enjoyed life abundantly, and she clung to it with the tenacity of one
who believed it was all. With the exception of some slight passing
indisposition, both she and her father had been seldom ill; and for
a number of years now they had voyaged on over smooth, sunny seas of
prosperity.
Christine's sudden prostration on the morning following the
entertainment was a painful surprise to both.
"I will have Dr. Arten call at once," he said, at parting, "and will
come up from the store early in the day to see you;" and Christine was
left alone with her French maid.
Her mind was too clouded and disturbed by fever to think coherently,
and yet a vague sense of danger--trouble--oppressed her, and while she
lay in a half-unconscious state between sleeping and waking, a thousand
fantastic visions presented themselves. But in them all the fiery Cross
and Dennis Fleet took some part. At times the Cross seemed to blaze
and threaten to burn her to a cinder, while he stood by with stern,
accusing face. The light from the Cross made him luminous also, and
the glare was so terrible that she would start up with a cry of fear.
Again, they would both recede till in the far distance they shone like
a faint star, and then the black darkness that gathered round her was
more dreadful than the light, and with her eyes closed she would reach
out her hot hands for the light to return. Once or twice it shone upon
her with soft, mellow light, and Dennis stood pointing to it, pleading
so earnestly and tenderly that tears gathered in her eyes. Then all
was again blurred and distorted.
Within an hour after her father left, she found Dr. Arten feeling her
pulse and examining her symptoms. With a great effort she roused
herself, and, looking at the doctor with an eager inquiring face, said;
"Doctor, tell me the truth. What is the matter?"
He tried to smile and evade her question, but she would not let him.
"Well, really, Miss Ludolph," he said, "we can hardly tell yet what
is the matter. You have evidently caught a very severe cold, and I
hope that is all. When I come this evening I may be able to speak more
definitely. In the meantime I will give you something to soothe and
reduce your fever!"
The French maid followed the doctor out, leaving the door ajar in her
haste, and in an audible whisper said: "I say, docteur, is it not ze
smallpox? Zere is so much around. Tell me true, for I must leave zis
very minute."
"Hush, you fool!" said the doctor, and they passed out of hearing.
A sickening dread made Christine's heart almost stand still. When the
woman returned her mistress watched her most narrowly and asked, "What
did the doctor say to you?"
The maid replied in French that he had said she must be still and not
talk.
"But you asked him if I had the smallpox. What did he say?"
"Ah, mademoiselle, you make one grand meestake. I ask for a small box
to keep your medicine in, zat it make no smell."
From the woman's lie, and from the fact that she was redolent with
camphor, and that she kept as far away as possible, near the windows,
Christine gathered a most painful confirmation of her fears. For a
time she lay almost paralyzed by dread.
Then as the medicine relieved her of fever and unclouded her mind,
thought and conscience awoke with terrible and resistless power. As
never before she realized what cold, dark depths were just beneath her
gay, pleasure-loving life, and how suddenly skies radiant with the
richer promise of the future could become black and threatening.
Never had earthly life seemed so attractive, never had her own prospects
seemed so brilliant, and her hopes of fame, wealth, and happiness in
her future German villa more dazzling, than now when they stood out
against the dark background of her fears.
"If, instead of going forward to all this delight, I become an object
of terror and loathing even before I die, and something that must be
hidden out of sight as soon as possible after, what conceivable fate
could be worse? That such a thing is possible proves this to be a
dreadful and defective world, with all its sources of pleasure. Surely
if there were a God he would banish such horrible evils.
"There is no God--there can't be any--at least none such as the Bible
reveals. How often I have said this to myself! how often my father has
said it to me! and yet the thought of Him torments me often even when
well.
"Why does this thought come so persistently now? I settled it long
ago, under father's proof, that I did not believe in Him or the
superstitions connected with His name. Why doesn't the question stay
settled? Other superstitions do not trouble me. Why should that Cross
continually haunt me? Why should the _man_ who died thereon have the
power to be continually speaking to me through His words that I have
read? I believe in Socrates as much as I do in Him, and yet I recall the
Greek sage's words with an effort, and cannot escape from the
Nazarene's. All is mystery and chaos and danger. We human creatures
are like frothy bubbles that glisten and dance for a moment on a swift
black tide that seems flowing forever, and yet nowhere."
Then her thoughts recurred to Dennis.
"That young Fleet seemed to believe implicitly in what he said
yesterday, and he lives up to what he believes. I would give the world
for his delusion, were it only for its comforting and sustaining power
for this life. If he were very ill, he would be imagining himself on
the threshold of some sort of heaven or paradise, and would be calm
and perhaps even happy, while I am so supremely wretched I find that
I have nothing--absolutely nothing to sustain me--not even the memory
of good deeds. I have not even lived the unselfish life that Socrates
recommends, much less the holy life of the Bible. I have pleased myself.
Well, believing as I have been taught, that seemed the most sensible
course. Why doesn't it seem so now?"
Thus tossed on a sea of uncertainty and fear, Christine, in darkness
and weakness, grappled with those mighty questions which only He can
put to rest who said, "Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in
God, believe also in Me."
Dennis walked resolutely home. He felt himself adamant in his stern
resolution. He at least had the deathlike peace that follows decision.
The agony of conflict was over for a time, and, as he thought, forever.
From mere exhaustion he slept heavily, and on the following day with
white face and compressed lips entered on his work. And work it now
became indeed; for the old glamour was all gone, and life looked as
practical and hard as the stones of the street. Even the pictures on
the walls seemed to him but things for sale, representing money values;
and money appeared the beginning, middle, and ending of the world's
creed. Like the unsubstantial mirage had vanished the beautiful, happy
life of the past few weeks. Around him were the rocks and sands of the
desert, through which he must toil with weary, bleeding feet till he
reached the land watered by the river of life. Reason and duty, as he
believed, forbade the existence of this foolish passion, and he must
and would destroy it; but in his anguish he felt as if he had resolved
to torture himself to death.
"And she will never know what I suffer--never know the wealth of heart
I have lavished upon her. I am glad she will not, for the knowledge
of my love would make no more impression on her cold, proud nature
than a drop of warm summer rain falling on the brow of yonder marble
statue of Diana. She would only be amazed at my presumption. She feels
that she shines down on me like the sun, and that I am a poor little
satellite that she could blot out altogether by causing her father to
turn me into the street again, which undoubtedly would be done should
I reveal my feelings."
And he was right.
"Come!" said he to himself, breaking from his painful revery, "no
weakness! You have your way to make in the world, and your work to do.
God will help you, and no creature shall hinder you;" and he plunged
resolutely into his duties.
Mr. Ludolph was late in reaching the store that morning, and Dennis
found himself secretly hoping, in spite of himself, that Christine
would accompany him. His will and heart were now in distinct opposition,
and the latter would not obey orders.
When Mr. Ludolph appeared, it was with a frowning, clouded brow. Without
a word he passed into his private office, but seemed so restless and
troubled in his manner that Dennis felt something was wrong. Why should
he take such an interest in this man? Why should he care? The other
clerks did not: not one save himself had noticed anything different.
Poor Dennis was to learn that he had a disease of many and varied
symptoms.
After something over an hour had passed, Mr. Ludolph started from his
desk, took his hat and cane as with the purpose of going out--a very
unusual thing at that time. But, as he was passing down the store, he
met Dr. Arten opposite Dennis's counter.
"Well?" said Mr. Ludolph, impatiently.
"I will call again this evening," said the doctor, prudently
non-committal. "Your daughter has caught a very severe cold. I hope
it is nothing more than a cold, but so many troublesome diseases
commence with these obscure symptoms that we have to wait till further
developments reveal the true nature of the case."
"You doctors make no headway in banishing disease from the world,"
snarled Mr. Ludolph. "There is smallpox around, is there not?"
"Yes, I am sorry to say there is a great deal of it, but if you remember
the history of that one disease, I think you will admit your remark
to be unfair."
"I beg your pardon, doctor, but I am anxious, and all out of sorts,
as I ever am in sickness" (when affecting himself--he might justly
have added). "It seems such a senseless, useless evil in the world.
The idea of you Christians believing a benevolent Being rules the
world, and that He permits smallpox. Can it be possible that my daughter
has contracted this loathsome horror?" "Well, it is possible, but I
hope not at all probable. We doctors are compelled to look at the
practical rather than the theological side of the question. It is
possible for any one to have this disease. Has your daughter been
vaccinated?"
"No!" growled Mr. Ludolph. "I don't believe in vaccination. It is as
apt to vitiate the system as to protect it."
"I am sorry for that," said the doctor, looking grave.
Keen Mr. Ludolph saw and read his physician's expression accurately.
Seizing his hand he said, eagerly: "Pardon me, doctor; you can
understand a father's feelings. Watch this case night and day. Spare
no pains, and be assured I will regret no expense"; and he hastened
away to his daughter's bedside.
No prisoner at the bar ever listened with more interest than Dennis.
If it had been his own case they were discussing it would not have
touched him half so nearly.
But a moment before, Christine in her pride, wealth, and beauty seemed
destined to go through life as in a triumphant march. Now he saw her
to be a weak human creature, threatened as sorely as the poorest and
humblest. Her glorious beauty, even her life, might pass away in Le
Grand Hotel as surely as in a tenement house. The very thought thrilled
him with fear. Then a great pity rushed into his soul like a tide,
sweeping everything before it. His stern resolution to stifle and
trample upon his love melted like a snow-wreath, and every interest
of life centred in the darkened room where Christine tossed and moaned
in the deeper darkness of uncertainty and doubt. The longing to go to
her with comfort and help was so intense that it required the utmost
effort of reason and will to prevent such rash action. He trembled at
himself--at the strength of his feelings--and saw that though he might
control outward action his heart had gone from him beyond remedy, and
that his love, so long unrecognized, was now like the principal source
of the Jordan, that springs from the earth a full-grown river, and
that he could not help it.
Mr. Ludolph found little comfort at his daughter's bedside. Sending
her maid away, who was glad to go, Christine told what she had
overheard. Smallpox seemed in the mind of every one, but this was not
strange since it was so prevalent in the city.
"Oh, father, what shall I do--what shall I do, if this should be the
case? Janette will leave me, and there will be no one to take care of
me. I know I shall die, and I might as well as to be made hideous by
this horrible disease. No, I would rather live, on any terms; for to
die is to be nothing. Oh, father, are you sure the Bible is all false?
There is so much in it to comfort the sick. If I could only believe
in such a life hereafter as Susie Winthrop does, I would as soon die
as not."
"No," said Mr. Ludolph, firmly, "your only chance is to get well. There
is no use in deceiving ourselves. I have secured the services of the
most skilful of physicians, and will see that you have every attention.
So try to be as calm as possible, and co-operate with every effort to
baffle and banish disease. After all it may be nothing more than a
severe cold."
So then in very truth this world was all. In bitterness and dread she
realized how slight was her hold upon it. To her healthful body pain
was a rare experience, but now her head and every bone ached, and the
slightest movement caused increased suffering. But her mental trouble
was by far the greatest. Often she murmured to herself, "Oh, that I
had been trained to the grossest superstitions, so that I might not
look down into this black bottomless gulf that unbelief opens at my
feet!" and she tossed and moaned most piteously.
Mr. Ludolph returned to the store in an exceedingly worried and anxious
state. As he entered he caught Dennis's eager, questioning gaze, and
a thought struck him: "Perhaps this young fellow, through his mission
school, may know of some good, trustworthy woman who would act as
nurse"; and coming to Dennis he explained the situation, and then asked
if he knew of any one, or could find a suitable person.
Dennis listened eagerly, thought a moment, and then said, with a flushed
face and in a low tone: "I think my mother would be willing to come.
She has had the smallpox and would not be afraid."
"But would she be willing?"
"I think I could persuade her," said Dennis.
Mr. Ludolph thought a moment, then said: "I think she would be the one
of all others, for she must be very much of a lady, and I would not
like to put my daughter in charge of a common, coarse woman. You may
rest assured that I would reward her liberally."
"She would not come for money, sir."
"What then?"
Dennis flushed how more deeply than before. He had been speaking for
his mother from his own point of view, and now he hardly knew what to
say, for he was not good at evasion. But he told the truth, if not all
the truth. "We feel very grateful to you for the means of support, and
a chance in life when the world was very dark. You have since promoted
me--"
"Nonsense!" said Mr. Ludolph, somewhat touched, though; "you have
earned every dollar you have received, and your coming has been of
advantage to me also. But if your mother will meet this need, should
it occur, neither of you will have cause to regret it"; and he passed
on to his office, but soon after went away again and did not return
that day.
To Dennis the hours dragged on like years, full of suspense and mental
tumult. At times he would bow his head behind his counter, and pray
in tearful fervor for the object of his constant thought. The day was
rainy, and the store empty of customers, for which he was most thankful,
as he would have made the poorest of salesmen. At last the hour for
closing arrived, and he was left to himself. In the solitude of his
own room he once more looked the situation fairly in the face. With
his head bowed in his hands he reflected: "Last night I _thought_
to tear this love from my heart, but to-night I find that this would
be to tear out my heart itself. I cannot do it. It is my strongest
conviction that I can no more stop loving her than I can stop living.
Unconsciously this love has grown until now it is my master, and it
is folly to make any more resolves, only to be as weak as water when
I least expect it. What shall I do?"
Motionless, unconscious of the lapse of time, he remained hour after
hour absorbed in painful thought. Circumstances, reason, the Bible,
all seemed to frown upon his love; but, though it appeared to be
hopeless, his whole nature revolted against the idea of its being
wrong.
"It cannot be wrong to love, purely and unselfishly," he muttered.
"Such love as mine seems to carry its own conviction of right with
it--an inner consciousness that seems so strong and certain as to be
beyond argument--beyond everything; and yet if God's Word is against
it I must be wrong, and my heart is misleading me."
Again in unbroken silence an hour passed away. Then the thought struck
him: "It is not contrary to God's action! He so loved the
world--unbelievers and all--as to give His best and dearest! Can it
be wrong to be God-like?"
"It is not wise, it is not safe," prudence whispered, "to give a
worldly, unbelieving spirit the power to influence you that she will
have who is first in your heart. What true congeniality can there be?
What fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? or what part
hath he that believeth with an infidel? As the most intimate friend
and companion in life, you should seek one who truly can be _one_
with you in all things, and most assuredly so in this vital respect."
"Ah," thought Dennis, "that would have been very good advice to give
awhile ago. If from the first I could have understood my feelings and
danger, I might have steeled my heart against the influences that have
brought me to this. But the mischief is done. The words that now, in
spite of myself, continually run in my mind, are, 'What God hath joined
together let not man put asunder.' It seems as if some resistless power
had joined my soul to hers, and I find no strength within myself to
break the bond. I am not usually irresolute; I think I have principle;
and yet I feel that I should not dare make the most solemn vow against
this love. I should be all the more weak because conscience does not
condemn me. It seems to have a light that reason and knowledge know
not of. And yet I wish I could be more sure. I wish I could say to
myself, I may be loving hopelessly, but not sinfully. I would take the
risk. Indeed I cannot help taking it. Oh, that I could find light,
clear and unmistakable!"
He rose, turned up his light, and opened the Pauline precepts. These
words struck his eyes, "Art thou bound unto a wife? Seek not to be
loosed." Then, above, the words, "How knowest thou, O man, whether
thou shalt save thy wife, even though she be an unbeliever?"
"Am I not bound--bound by that which is God's link in the chain? It
does not seem as if the legal contract could change or strengthen my
feelings materially, and while honoring the inviolable rite of marriage,
which is God's law and society's safety, I know that nothing can more
surely bind me to her, so that the spirit, the vital part of the
passage, applies to me. Then if through this love I could save her--if
by prayer and effort I could bring her feet into the paths of life--I
should feel repaid for all that I could possibly suffer. She may slight
my human love with its human consummation, but God will not let a life
of prayer and true love be wasted, and she may learn here, or know
hereafter, that though the world laid many rich gifts at her feet I
brought the best of all."
He looked out, and saw that the early spring dawn was tingeing the
horizon.
"A good omen," he said aloud. "Perhaps the night of this trouble is
past, and the dawn is coming. I am convinced that it is not wrong; and
I am resolved to make the almost desperate attempt. A mysterious hope,
coming from I know not where or what, seems to beckon and encourage
me forward."
Dennis was young.