Bessie had passed a miserable night. Having been awake until after
five in the morning she was asleep at nine when somebody knocked at
her bedroom door. It was old Miss Ethel with a telegram. Bessie
opened it with trembling fingers.
"_Nonsense dear am coming up as arranged Alick._"
With fingers that trembled still more noticeably Bessie returned the
telegram to its envelope and slid it under her pillow, saying (with a
twitching of the mouth which always came when she was telling an
untruth),
"It's from Mr. Gell. He wants me to meet him in Douglas. I am to go
up immediately."
"That's nice," said Miss Ethel. "The change will do you a world of
good, dear. I'll run down and hurry your breakfast, so that you can
catch the ten-thirty."
Bessie dressed hastily, put a few things into a little handbag, and
then sat down to write her promised letter. It was a terrible
ordeal. What could she say that would not betray her secret? At
length she wrote:
"DEAR ALICK,--Do forgive me. I must go away for a little while.
It is all my health. I have been ill all winter and suffered
more than anybody can know. But God is good, and I will get my
health and strength back soon, and then I will return and we can
be married and everything will be alright. Do not think I do not
love you because I am leaving you like this. I have never loved
you so dear as now. But I am depressed, and I cannot get away
from my thoughts. And please, Alick dear, don't try to find me.
I shall be quite alright, and I shall think of you every night
before I go to sleep, and every morning when I awake. So now I
must close with all my love and kisses.
--BESSIE, xxxxx"
Having written her letter, and blotted it with many tears, she pinned
it to the top of her pillow, without remembering that the telegram
lay underneath. Then she hurried downstairs, swallowed a mouthful of
breakfast standing, said good-bye to her old housemates with an
effort at gaiety, and set off as for the railway station.
She had no intention of going there. The morning haze was thick on
the edge of the sea, and as soon as she was out of sight of the house
she slipped across the fields to a winding lane which led to the open
country.
During the night, crying a good deal and stifling her sobs under the
bed-clothes, she had thought out all her plans. It was still two
months before her time, and to be separated from Alick as long as
that was too painful to think about. It was also too dangerous.
Long before the end of that time he would search for her and find
her, and then her secret would become known, and that would be the
end of everything.
She had been to blame, but what had she done to be so unhappy? Why
should Nature be so cruel to a girl? Was there no way of escape from
it?
At length a light had dawned on her. Remembering what she had heard
of women doing (wives as well as unmarried girls) to get rid of
children who were not wanted, she determined that her own child
should be still-born. Why not? It threatened to separate her from
Alick--to turn his love for her into hatred. Why should it come into
the world to ruin her life, and his also?
Yes, she would tire herself out, expose herself to some great strain,
some fearful exhaustion, and thereby bring on a sudden and serious
illness. Instead of taking the train she would walk all the way home
to her mother's house--twenty odd miles, fifteen of them over a steep
and rugged mountain road. It would be dangerous to a girl in her
condition, but not half so dangerous as marrying Alick now, and
running the risk of an end like that of the poor young wife of the
Peel fisherman.
And then it would be so much fairer. If her fault, her misfortune,
could be wiped out before she married Alick, nobody could say she had
deceived her husband.
Such was the wild gamble with life and death which Bessie had decided
upon at the prompting of love and shame and fear. The consequences
were not long in coming.
The winding lane had to cross the railway line near to a village
station before it reached the open country, and coming sharply upon
the level-crossing at a quick turning she found the gates closed and
a train drawing up at the platform.
She knew at once that this must be the train from Douglas which Alick
Gell was to travel by, and in a moment she saw him. He was sitting
alone in a first-class carriage, looking pale and troubled. In the
next compartment were four or five young advocates from the south
side of the island, who had been up to see Stowell off by the
steamer. They were smoking and laughing, and one of them, who
appeared to have been drinking also, seeing Bessie coming up to the
gate, dropped his window and swung off his hat to her.
Bessie dropped back to the partial cover of the fence. Only her fear
of attracting attention restrained her from flying off altogether.
Alick had not yet seen her. It tore her terribly to see how ill he
looked. He was only three or four yards away from her. His head was
down. At one moment he took off his cap and ran his fingers through
his fair hair as if his head were aching. She could scarcely resist
an impulse to pass through the turnstile and hurry up to him. One
look, one smile, one word, and she would have thrown everything to
the winds even yet.
But no, the guard waved his flag, the engine whistled, the train
jerked backward, then forward, and at the next instant it had slid
out of the station. Alick had not seen her. He was gone. It had
been like a stab at her heart to see him go.