REX AND IRENE
Rex was in a bad way mentally and physically. The hot weather was
telling upon a constitution never very strong, and every day he felt a
recurrence of the pain in his head which he likened to a hornet’s nest,
and the trouble was intensified by thoughts of the will and what he
ought to do.
“I’ll speak to her about it to-day,” he said to himself, when returning
from the station after bidding Tom good-by. “I ought to have done so at
once and found out her opinion of it, and should, if it had not been for
my wretched shyness and—and—Rena.”
He said the name hesitatingly, with a feeling that always between him
and Irene there had been a thought of Rena. Now, however, when he knew
absolutely that the latter was engaged his thoughts turned to Irene, and
he could remember the expression of the white frightened face in the
water, and the voice which called to him, “Rex, save me!” as the blonde
head was going down. The look and voice had appealed to him strangely,
awakening a throb of something he had never felt before for her. She had
claimed his protection and in so doing had in a way claimed him, and he
would be a dastard to pay no attention to her.
“Yes, I’ll call and see her and speak of the will. I guess I have made
up my mind to accept it if she can,” he said, as Mrs. Parks’ house came
in view. “Perhaps with no Rena in the foreground and no Tom to depend
upon I shall get on better.”
He did get on a great deal better, and only felt his heart giving a few
thumps as he sat waiting for Irene on the piazza, where he had seated
himself. He had not asked for Rena. It was Miss Burdick he wished to
see, and she came at once, looking a little languid but more attractive
than he had ever seen her before. Her tea-gown was very becoming and the
soft shawl around her shoulders was worn with a grace peculiar to
herself. Her hair was a story or two lower and made her seem less
formidable as he stood up to greet her. She gave him her hands, and a
smile a little less than angelic was on her face as she said: “Oh, Mr.
Travers, I am so glad to see you and thank you again for saving me from
drowning. I didn’t know I was so shaken at the time, and even now I
dream about it every night, and wake myself calling to you, as I did
call, didn’t I?”
He still had her hands, and not knowing exactly what to do with them he
continued to hold them, while he replied, “You called me, yes; or I
might not have seen you until it was too late. I am glad I was there.
Sit down. You do not seem very strong.”
He had backed towards the chair from which he had risen, and into which
Irene sank as if exhausted. In this way he was rid of her hands, and
felt better as he took another chair near her and began to examine her
more critically than he had ever done before. She was perfect in form
and feature, with a complexion smooth and fair as marble. Her voice was
very sweet, and in her eyes there was a look which seemed asking him to
break the silence and put an end to the strained relations between them.
“I believe I’ll take the plunge, but how shall I begin? What must I say
first? Speak of the will, or ask her to marry me without any reference
to it? I wish I knew,” he thought, and had drawn a long breath
preparatory to the effort when Rena appeared in the doorway. “Thank
God,” he said under his breath as he rose with a good deal of alacrity
to meet her.
She did not know that he was there, and as something in Irene’s face
warned her that she was _de trop_, she stopped only a moment and then
walked away. But the spell was broken. Rex could not recall what he was
going to say, and did not feel inclined to say it if he could. “Another
time will do,” he thought, and then remembered the cool shade in the
grove and the seat under the pines. That was the place where there was
no danger of interruption, and he asked Irene if she had been there
lately.
“No,” she replied; and, as if reading his thoughts, continued:
“to-morrow, if it is fine, I am going to sit under the pines. I think it
will do me good; it is so cool there and hot here.”
Providence certainly was leading him, and Rex hastened to say, “I will
come round and go with you, if you like.”
“Oh, thank you, I shall be most happy, if it will not trouble you too
much,” and Irene’s face was beaming with a smile which would have
stirred any man, it was so glad and winsome and frank. “Come about
eleven,” she said, “that is the best part of the day.”
“All right,” Rex answered, rising to go, while Irene did not try to
detain him. Her hopes were high and her spirits, too, and there was no
sign of languor or weakness about her as she moved around the house
singing snatches of old love songs, rallying Rena for feeling lonesome
with Tom gone, and saying amiable things to all of us.
The next morning at the hour named Rex appeared, looking bright and
almost hilarious for him. He had made up his mind that when alone in the
shadow of the pines near Nannie’s well it would be easy to lead up to
the will by speaking of Nannie and Sandy McPherson, and he would do it.
There was no use in playing the coward any longer. He would be a man.
Anybody would be proud of a wife like Irene. He was very loverlike in
his attentions, offering her his arm on the way to the grove, and
fanning her with his hat after they reached it.
“What a quiet, restful place this is,” Irene said, leaning against a
tree which grew behind the bench on which she was seated. “Pity so much
superstition should linger around the spot on account of poor Nannie,
who must have been a little unsettled in her mind.”
She was taking the initiative and Rex kept silent and let her go on till
she said, “I am not at all superstitious and have no faith in the well;
and yet do you know I have heard so much about it that I really want to
look in it myself. Do you think me very foolish? Rena tried it with Tom.
Did you know it?”
She turned her eyes upon Rex, who answered in some surprise, “Tom and
Rena tried it! No, I did not know it; and did that lead to their
engagement?”
“Oh, no,” Irene replied. “That was bound to come without the help of the
well. They did it for a joke, just as we shall, for you will try first,
won’t you? The day is very propitious, and it is near the time when the
spectre appears.”
“I!” Rex gasped, “I look in the well? What for?”
“Oh, to please me,” Irene said, and Rex continued, “But I have no faith
in it.”
“Neither have I,” Irene replied. “It is all foolishness, but I feel like
being foolish to-day and having a lark, just as I did when I ate the
salt at school. Rena told you about it. Let’s try it. Tom looked in the
well to please Rena. You will do as much for me. Won’t you?”
She knew she was lying with regard to Tom, but Rex did not, and her eyes
were very bright and her smile very sweet as she talked to him.
“I’ll get the mirror,” she continued, going to the tree and taking it
from the box. Wiping it carefully with her handkerchief she handed it to
him saying, “It is perfectly clean, with all the faces which have ever
looked in it rubbed off. If you don’t see anyone you may rest assured
you are to live single all your life, and never give matrimony another
thought.”
She spoke playfully, but Rex caught eagerly at her words and said, “Do
you think so? Are you sure?”
“Yes, sure. Don’t be afraid; you will see nothing,” Irene answered.
“All right; but don’t tell Tom or anyone. I feel half ashamed,” Rex
said, with a feeling that he did not quite know what he was saying or
doing as he took the mirror and started for the well. One idea, however,
was very distinct in his mind. He should see nothing, and if he did not
Irene had said he need never trouble himself about matrimony. He would
try it, and just as the village clock began to strike twelve he stepped
rather airily upon the projecting stone, with a feeling that he was
about to shake off that incubus of the will which had haunted him so
long.
“Take your time. It will make no difference if I do not look till after
twelve, so I’ll sit here and shut my eyes so as not to watch you,” Irene
said to him, and her voice had a sound as if she were far away.
Every thing began to seem far away and strange and his real self the
strangest and farthest away of all. He had scoffed mentally at the well
and thought every one weak who looked in it. And now here he was holding
the mirror which, for aught he knew, might have been wrong side out. And
yet his eyes were intently fixed upon it and he half closed them as a
ray of strong sunlight fell upon it and dazzled him, bringing back the
pain he had complained of to Tom and with it the buzzing of the hornets
so loud now that he could not have heard a much more distinct footstep
than the one which approached him cautiously across the soft bed of
pines and moss. The figure standing close behind him scarcely breathed
as it bent forward close to him. If he caught her she had only to call
it a joke, such as Tom had played on Rena. But he would not catch her.
He was too much absorbed and she stood looking over his shoulder until
the half of a face was reflected in the mirror beside his own, and Rex
saw it with a sensation he could not define except that the solid
foundations seemed to be moving from under him and he was in danger of
falling as he stood paralyzed and fascinated with wonder and something
akin to fear. He had expected nothing and yet there surely was a face
beside his which he knew so well, although only half of it was visible.
He could not be mistaken in the blonde hair a la Pompadour, the rounded
cheek and more than all the one blue eye confronting him so steadily
with something like a laugh in it.
“Oh!” he said as the face vanished and only his own was left staring up
at him, while everything around him began to grow dark and he leaned
forward as if about to fall.
There was the sound of broken glass as the mirror dropped from his hands
and went crashing against the stones to the bottom of the well.
“What is it? Are you dizzy? Are you faint?” Irene cried seizing him by
the arm and turning him around till his white face looked into hers
scarcely less white than his own. “You certainly saw nothing! There was
nothing to see; there could be nothing,” she said, and he replied, “No,
nothing to see; nothing. It was all imagination. My head has not been
right for some days. I grew dizzy, there was a ringing in my ears, and I
think I let the mirror fall. Where is it?”
“At the bottom of the well, and a good place for it,” Irene said, still
holding his arm as they went back to the bench on which she had
presumably sat quietly while he tried the charm.
“How did you happen to come to me?” he asked, suddenly, without,
however, a suspicion of the truth.
Irene’s voice was very steady as she answered, “I was sitting here with
my eyes shut, as I told you I would, waiting for some sign that you were
through and it was my turn to consult the oracle. You were so long that
I looked at last and saw you sway a little as if about to fall. Then I
ran forward just as you dropped the glass. Didn’t you hear me coming?”
She asked the last question with her heart in her throat as she waited
for his answer.
“I heard nothing but the humming of the hornets. There’s a whole swarm
of them buzzing in my ears now,” he said.
“Is he crazy?” Irene thought, wondering what her next move should be.
She had made her great stroke and succeeded, but felt that to keep alive
any superstitious feeling in him would be uphill business. He had seen
her face, she was sure, for she had met his eyes fully and seen in them
an expression of intense surprise and half terror, as if the sight were
not a pleasant one. She must now await developments. He was very white
and the perspiration was standing upon his forehead where Irene laid her
hand as she said, “I am sorry I insisted upon that foolishness. I might
have known it would make one dizzy to look steadily into the reflection
of the sun this hot day.
“I am glad the mirror is broken. I would not look in it if it were not.”
“Never allow yourself to do such a thing. I am sorry I did,” Rex
exclaimed.
“And it was all my doings,” Irene said. “I hope you will forgive me.
Does your head ache very hard?”
She still kept her hand upon his forehead and he did not try to shake it
off. It was very cold and his head was burning and throbbing with pain.
He was in no mood for love making had he been inclined, and Irene knew
it and that she must wait.
“I think it is time we were going home,” she said at last, as he did not
speak, but sat staring in front of him as if still seeing the half face
in the glass.
He was seeing it and felt bewildered and wanted to be alone to think it
out.
“Yes, it is better to go home,” he said, rising to his feet and
steadying himself with a great effort. “I am ashamed of my weakness,” he
continued, “but you see my head is at fault and it is so hot.”
He would not admit that the episode of the well had anything to do with
his collapse. It was a headache and the heat, and he talked of the
sultry weather as they walked slowly to the gate where, unless he
accompanied her home, he would leave her.
“You must not go with me,” she said, as she saw he made no sign of
turning in the direction of the McPherson place. “I am quite equal to
going alone. I believe upon my soul that this moment I feel stronger
than you do, and ought to go with you. Shall I?”
“No, oh no,” he answered quickly. “I am not quite so bad as that.”
“Good-by, then,” she said, and gave him her hand and a smile which
stirred him out of his apathy, it was so sympathetic.
For an instant he bent over her hand, while there passed through his
mind the thought that if she was to be his wife he might as well kiss
it, and he would perhaps have done so but for Mrs. Parks, who, as she
had called Rena the day before when she stood with Tom among the pines,
now sent her voice like a fog-horn down the lane to the gate where Irene
and Rex were standing.
“Miss Burdick, Miss Burdick, where be you? It’s going on one o’clock and
the steak is cold as a stone.”
Irene laughed and said, as Rex dropped her hand, “That’s a call I do not
dare disobey, so good-by again.”
“Good-by. There is something I was going to say, but it has gone from
me. I’ll see you to-morrow and be more like myself,” Rex said; and with
another smile Irene walked rapidly up the lane while Rex took his way
more slowly toward the McPherson Place.