A PRAYER AND A PROMISE
Next day, in spite of the faint her sister had frightened her into,
Dorothy's cheeks and lips wore their usual clear, bright color, and it
was Sybil's face that seemed drained of blood down to the edges of her
scarlet lips, while faint violet shadows lay beneath her brooding dark
eyes. True to the resolve formed the evening before, she prepared
herself, early in the day, for a walk over to Riverdale Avenue. She did
not ask Dorothy to go with her, but when the latter noted the
preparations being made, she cast down the paper she was dawdling over
and herself made ready to go out, and Sybil put her arm about her
sister's neck for a moment, in sign of gratitude for her companionship,
and together they started forth to make the fateful call.
As they scrambled through the stony lane that made a short cut for them
Dorothy said: "Did you pray to God to help you, Sybbie? I did."
"Oh!" recklessly replied Sybil. "I notice God generally helps those who
help themselves!"
"You mean," corrected Dorothy, "who try to help themselves. All one can
do by one's own self, Syb, is just to try. But God always keeps His
promises, and will surely give help if you ask for it, _believing_ in
Him. And you do believe--you do, don't you dear?"
Sybil shot a quick sidelong glance at her sister, hesitated a moment,
then stopped, bent her head, and whispered, rapidly: "Lord! dear Lord!
who seems always so far off, hear me, I pray! Soften this woman's heart
toward me, incline her to help me, not because of any merit, but because
of my great need. In your blessed Son's name I ask it. Amen!"
And then she hurried on ahead, while Dorothy, radiant with faith,
scrabbled and slipped and laughed quite happily as they came out upon
the wide, shady avenue, short of breath but sound of limb and skirt and
shoe. As they passed the big gate and walked slowly up the driveway of
The Beeches they saw a large red sunshade go bobbing around the corner
of the house and halted.
"Shall we go on and ring the bell," asked Dorothy, "or shall we venture
to follow her?"
"No! no!" answered Sybil. "The last refuge of the genteel beggar who
comes to ask a favor is an absolute propriety of behavior--strict
conformity to the demands of etiquette. To follow and join our hostess
in her garden would be delightfully informal, but it would be too
suggestive of familiarity. No! no! We must ring the bell and pass in a
few ounces of pasteboard to the housemaid or the boy or----"
But just then there came a sound like a splash of something into water,
a scream that trailed off into a gurgle of laughter, and finally clear
and distinct the words: "You abominable little beast--poor angel! Hold
still! You're wetting me all over, far worse than the lawn sprinkler!"
And around the corner of the house came their hostess, her skirts wound
well about her, while from her two outstretched hands dangled and kicked
a muddy, dripping, coughing, spitting morsel of a skye-terrier. The
three women gazed at one another a moment and then burst into laughter.
"If you will rest a little on the veranda--there are seats there--I will
join you the moment I am divorced from this small martyr to scientific
research. No levity, please, Miss Dorothy." Then suddenly lifting her
voice Miss Morrell cried: "Frida! Mary! M--a--r--y! Somebody come here,
please!" and swiftly resumed her reproachfully explanatory tone, saying:
"This animated bit of mud is, when washed and dried, a very earnest
student of biology, or, to be more exact, of zoology, since she is most
deeply interested in the structure and daily habits of the fugacious
frog, which, up to this time, she has considered a terrestrial beast,
inhabiting shady garden beds; but now she knows him to be amphibious;
has proved it, indeed, by plunging after him into the muddy depths of
the lily tub, just to see for herself, you know. There's devotion to
study! Oh, Frida, here you are, at last! Take Mona and put her kindly
but very firmly into her tub, no soap, you know, just a thorough
rinsing--and then dry her as you would be dried, that is, tenderly. Miss
Dorothy, I'm afraid you are what the old comedies call 'a frivol.'" And
so with light banter they entered the house.
But Miss Morrell, being an observant person, saw from the first the
preoccupation of Sybil, and to her the girl's pale face, cloudy hair,
insistent dark eyes, and sullen red mouth, suggested a touch of tragedy,
and again she asked herself: "What does she want? What is she demanding
of me?"
Dorothy, in answer to Sybil's look, was trying to find some excuse for
leaving the two together, and had just expressed a desire to cross the
lawn to look at a very fine hawthorn when they saw a young woman coming
up the steps and heard a ring of the doorbell. Claire Morrell's eyes
happened to be upon Sybil's at the moment, and the look of despair that
settled whitely down upon her face made her think, with a quickening
pulse, "That's just the expression of face many a woman must have seen
reflected from the clear water a moment before the fatal plunge." And
going swiftly forward to greet the new-comer, who was her neighbor, she
decided to give Miss Lawton a chance to speak with her alone if she so
desired. Therefore, directly introductions had been made, she asked Miss
Helen Gray if she would not show Miss Dorothy about a bit, and,
laughingly joining their hands, she shoo'd them before her, crying: "Go
forth, lovers of flowers, and seek diligently for the oriole that hideth
the nest in mine orchard! A prize awaits the fair, the chaste, the
inexpressive she who first locates that nest!"
And as they went willingly forth Miss Morrell returned to the parlor,
pushing to the door nearest the stairs, and remarked, casually: "We've
got the whole floor to ourselves, now, so we may expand!"
Then, with a jerk and apropos of nothing, Sybil asked: "Miss Morrell,
is it very difficult to get upon the stage?"
A flash came from the blue eyes of the actress, and her lip curled
contemptuously as she answered: "Oh, no! If a woman has been party to a
particularly offensive scandal, or to a shooting, or has come straight
from the divorce court, then she turns quite naturally to the
stage-door, which seems to open readily to her touch--such is the
baneful power of notoriety. But your respectable, clean-minded girl, who
wishes to enter a theatre of high standing, will find it easier to break
through the wall, removing brick by brick, than to open unaided the door
closed against her."
"Oh, don't!" cried Sybil, in a pained voice, "don't jest! I am in
earnest! I--I--I want to go on the stage, Miss Morrell. Can you, will
you, help me?"
"Certainly not!" came the swift answer. "Help to the stage a young girl
who has a father and a mother and a good home? Be grateful for them,
and----"
But her words were crossed by a shrill laugh and the bitter cry: "'A
good home!' Dear God, hear her! 'A good home!'" And Sybil clasped her
throat with both hands to choke back the strangling sobs that were
following that laugh.
Claire Morrell rose, and, swiftly crossing to her guest, remarked: "You
are not well." Then, quite ignoring the gasped: "Oh, yes, I am! I am
well enough," she drew out the long pins securing it, lifted the heavy
hat from Sybil's head, and, running her long fingers through the dark
waves, said, gently: "What is it, child?"
And Sybil threw her arms about the actress's waist, crying: "May I tell
you? Will you listen?" A moment's pause; then, with a swiftly clouding
face, she continued: "But, what's the use, you will not understand my
trouble! If death had robbed me--if a lover had deserted me--any great
disaster would touch your heart! But you, who are rich, successful,
secure, cannot be expected to understand the shame, the humiliation, the
suffering caused by mere poverty! And yet, it is genteel poverty that is
crushing out the lives of all those who are dear to me! That is my
trouble, but," she let her arms drop heavily away from the waist they
had clasped, "you cannot understand!"
Claire Morrell stood tall in her soft amber gown, looking down into the
troubled eyes lifted to her face. A half quizzical, half tender smile
was on her lips. "You must not jump so hastily to your conclusions, Miss
Lawton," she said. "I am very comfortable now, it is true. I have
sufficient to eat, to wear, but I have known the time when I had
neither." As Sybil's eyes widened, she went on: "You think you know
poverty? Well, have you ever wandered about the city streets, clinging
to the fingers of a mother who staggered with weakness, while she
searched for work--for shelter? Have you felt the pinch of cold, the
gnawing, the actual pangs of hunger? Once Death and I were kept apart by
a single slice of bread. I think you may go on, my dear, for I have
matriculated, and can well understand. Thank you, dear!" For Sybil had
caught the speaker's hand, and, with quick sympathy, had pressed it to
her lips.
And as the actress sank down beside her, on the dark red cushions, Sybil
poured forth all the story of her early luxury, her aimless education,
their ever-deepening poverty, the isolation of her sister and herself,
her mother's obstinate determination not to let them work, confessing
even to her own dark thoughts and wicked threats, should this one hope
be taken from her.
"For, you see," said she, "I can do nothing else--nothing, _nothing_!
But I am young, I have intelligence, I have good common sense. I don't
expect ever to be a crowned queen of the stage, but might not I be one
of the little people that are required in so many plays? I think I
might, for, oh, Miss Morrell, I do believe I could act!"
And noticing the swift play of expression on the vivid young face before
her, that lady answered, quietly: "Yes, and I believe so, too."
Sybil clasped her hands, fairly gasping the words: "You will help me,
then?"
"Wait? wait!" cried the other. "You are again jumping too quickly. I do
not refuse entirely to consider your wishes; but, my dear girl, before I
lift one finger, speak one word in your behalf, I must have the
assurance that you are acting with the full approval, or at least with
the consent, of your parents. No! No!" raising her hand imperatively,
"don't coax, it would be useless, it would be unpardonable,
dishonorable, to assist a daughter to enter a profession that her father
and mother disapproved of."
Sybil leaned forward, and clutching a fold of the amber gown, asked,
with dry lips: "And--and, if I win their consent? Oh, Miss Morrell,
Miss Morrell, what then?" She trembled all over with excitement.
The actress, looking back to the days of her own desperate struggle,
felt a great pity for this poor child, who was so eager to rush, all
unarmed, into the fray--a pity and a dread. "Child," she said,
earnestly, almost piteously, "promise me that in the future you will
never blame me for opening the stage-door to you. No matter what
happens, promise to hold me in kindly, even forgiving memory, if need
be!"
And Sybil said, fervently: "I shall worship you all your life and honor
and revere you my own life through, if of your mercy you make me a
bread-winner!"
"Had you come to me one week ago," continued Miss Morrell, "I could have
given you a small position in my company for next season, but a young
widow, who has never looked upon the footlights yet, came before you,
and, well, she will undertake the small parts you might have
experimented with. Don't look so hopeless! When your father and mother
have consented to the step we will go down to the city to do a little
shopping, and we will just happen in at a certain theatre where I have
often played, and I will present you to its manager, and will speak a
little word for you, and _perhaps_ he may give you the chance you long
for. Child! child! Rise this moment! Kneel only to your God! Quick! Here
are the others! Go over to that farthest mirror and put on your hat!
Well, what luck?" as the girls came in, flushed and laughing. "What, you
really found the nest?"
"Yes," said Dorothy; "but you misled us. It was not in the orchard, but
hanging from the tip of an elm-bough this side the orchard wall."
"And who won the prize?" smilingly inquired Miss Morrell.
"Miss Lawton did," said Miss Gray. "My neck soon grew tired, and I gave
up staring upward."
"Then behold the reward of the patient searcher and the strong of neck!"
And Miss Morrell handed Dorothy a silver souvenir spoon, bearing on the
bowl an etched picture of The Beeches.
"Oh, how pretty!" exclaimed the recipient. "Sybil, see! Is this not
charming?" And as her sister turned to look at the bit of silver Miss
Morrell was positively amazed at the brilliant beauty of the girl's face
when hope-illumined! As the Lawtons withdrew, Sybil, who passed out
last, looked at her Woman of Fate with luminous worshipping eyes, and
whispered: "God was very good when He created you!"