THE voice was low and tender in which she began her story of the
afternoon on the train. She made it plain that she had been so busy
with her writing that she scarcely noticed who got on the train until
toward evening when her work was done. She had been barely conscious of
the two who took the seat in front of her, had given them but a swift
glance and decided that they were bride and groom; until her work was
done and she had leisure to look around. And then almost at once she
was fascinated by the lovely face of the girl in front of her.
Mary Dunlap was quick to note the pleased relaxing of the troubled face
as she said this, and the instant sympathy as she gave her own first
impression of the man who was sitting beside the girl.
But as the tale progressed showing how late the train was, with
inevitable missed connections, the mother's eye kindled with gratitude.
"Oh!" she interrupted, "I'm so glad you were there! What would Daisy
have done if you had not been. She is so unused to traveling alone!"
Mary Dunlap went on to tell of the apparent argument between the two
in front of her, the discomfort on the face of the girl, and her own
continued wonder that such a girl should apparently be married to a
man so much older, and of such a type. The mother gave a little gasp
of dismay as she realized that this fine Christian woman had actually
thought her daughter was married to that man! But it was only the
dismay she had felt before at the horrible thought of him, and the old
resentment at the idea of his presuming to be intimate with her girl.
Not until the story progressed to the point where Mrs. Dunlap stood
before the hotel desk writing her own name in the registry and noted
the names on the line just above her own, "R. H. Keller and wife," did
the mother grasp the full meaning of it all. Then she leaned forward
with a quick little motion and caught at both the firm capable hands of
her visitor, crying:
"Oh, Mrs. Dunlap! You don't mean it! You can't mean that he dared do a
thing like that! The wretch! The—the—beast!"
Her eyes were full of tears again. She could not seem to be able to get
words strong enough to express her horror and disgust.
"But of course my Daisy didn't know that!" she said lifting up her head
with a gleam of hope, though there was a sob in the end of her voice.
"Not until I told her, some time afterwards," said Mary Dunlap.
"You told her! She knows! And yet she could tell me to-day that she
loves him! Oh! What shall I do?"
"Wait, dear Mrs. Sheldon," said Mrs. Dunlap putting a detaining hand on
the drooping shoulder. "Love is a strange thing. It throws illusions
over the object that turn it into something entirely different. You
must remember that. Don't blame Daisy too much. She explained to me at
once after her first startled look, that of course he had done that to
protect her reputation, since they had been delayed and all their plans
upset. She said that they had expected to reach San Fergus at midnight,
and that a minister friend of Mr. Keller's was to have met the train
and performed the marriage ceremony. She said that Mr. Keller had
telegraphed ahead for the bridal suite to be reserved for them in the
San Fergus hotel."
"My Daisy told you that!"
It was years before Mrs. Dunlap forgot the tone, and the look on that
mother's face when she said those words. It was as if some one had
suddenly taken from her everything that was worth while in life, as if
she felt that all the years of tender rearing, and care of precious
love and companionship between her and her child were suddenly wiped
out in one great awful act of disloyalty and broken faith with her
mother. Oh, there would be a reaction by and by when the mother would
excuse, and forgive, and bleed over her darling; but this first blow
was like the very severing of the life bond between them, and it was
terrible to witness.
Mary Dunlap felt that it was a pity that the girl had not had to suffer
that look herself with full understanding of all that it meant to her
wonderful little mother.
"My dear! I feel like a surgeon performing an operation, but you must
know it all," said Mary Dunlap tenderly.
"Oh, yes, yes," breathed the mother sorrowfully. "If there is more, go
on. It seems as if nothing mattered if Daisy, my Daisy, would go to
such lengths. Actually running away to get married!"
"My dear friend, you must remember that she thinks she is very much in
love, and that she feels that you have been deceived about her loved
one. They were planning to send you a telegram immediately as soon
as the ceremony was performed, and were counting confidently on your
immediate change of feeling so soon as the inevitable step was taken.
You must remember also that your daughter was greatly troubled even
then, at the momentary deception.
"As the time drew near, and the delay became inevitable, she began
to see the whole thing in more nearly its true light, and it caused
her deep distress. So much so that when Mr. Keller left her for a few
moments in the hotel parlor where we both were waiting for our rooms
to be prepared, she utterly forgot my presence, and began walking up
and down the room, and actually giving a little moan of distress. It
was then that I dared to interfere and offer my sympathy and any help I
could give."
"Oh, how can I ever thank you! How can I thank God enough for having
sent you there!" moaned the stricken mother.
"I think He did plan that I should be there," said Mary Dunlap
reverently. "I was scheduled to be far from there at that time, had
important speaking engagements to fill, and could not understand why
all my plans were frustrated, but it seems that the Father had need
of a servant right there, and perhaps this was more important than
any meeting I could have addressed. I began to feel so as soon as
your Daisy turned to me so readily, so even eagerly, like the little
flower-faced child that she is.
"I had no difficulty in getting her to tell me her trouble. She trusted
me at once, and when I offered my room as a refuge for the night she
accepted most eagerly. Even when I told her how she was booked in the
registry, she did not turn from me, as I feared she might. Instead she
seemed aghast for a moment; then her loyalty to her lover made her at
once attempt to excuse him. However, that did not prevent her from
begging me to take her to the room immediately, before he returned from
his telegraphing. She seemed to actually fear his influence upon her
and to know that her only safe course was to go while he was gone."
"Oh, my poor child!" moaned the mother.
"She made it very plain that Mr. Keller had overpersuaded her to
this marriage, and that while she could not bear to refuse him, she
yet longed to wait until your consent could be obtained. Of course I
advised her strongly that this was the only possible right course, and
she seemed to agree with me."
"Yes, Daisy is very conscientious that is she was, before this came.
But she seems to be infatuated with that man! She has at this moment
more faith in him than in anyone else, I believe."
"Well, she was glad to get to my room then, at least," said the other
woman. "She even wanted the door locked, and when I started to go down
and tell Mr. Keller that she was safe and comfortable for the night
with a woman, she begged me to lock the door and take the key with me!"
"And yet she can say she loves him, when she cannot trust him! And at
such a time! Oh, my little girl!"
"Dear friend, the human heart is a curious thing, and the devil has
many illusions wherewith to deceive, you know."
"And did you actually go down and talk to that man? What a wonderful
heaven-sent friend you proved to be!"
"I did. I'm afraid I rather enjoyed the commission. You must remember I
had been watching him in the train for several hours, and while he was
most courteous and assiduous in caring for her, and did nothing that I
could really put my finger on with which to find fault, I had acquired
the same feeling toward him that you seem to have. I just could not see
how that little flower of a girl could have married him. And of course
when I talked with your daughter, finding out they were not married
after having seen how he registered, my feelings were anything but
lenient toward him."
"I should think so! But oh, my little girl! What would her father have
said if he could have known she was to pass through a thing like this!"
"Courage, dear sister. I am sure God means something lovely to come out
of all this."
"How could that possibly be!" moaned the mother, "Oh, if she could have
been spared any contact with a creature like that! It is so terrible to
see her pass through such an experience. My little Daisy!"
"Yes, but Mrs. Sheldon, think, if she did not have you in this trying
time!"
Suddenly there occurred an interruption. The two women became aware
that the maid had answered a ring at the door, and had let in someone
who was standing in the doorway of the room where they were sitting.
Mrs. Sheldon got up quickly, with a hasty dab at her wet eyelashes and
went toward him.
Mary Dunlap looked up to see a tall young man standing in the doorway
with his hat in his hand, a grave questioning look upon his face. He
had keen gray eyes, a crop of nicely groomed reddish curls, and he
looked strong and young and dependable.
"Oh, Nelson!" exclaimed Mrs. Sheldon, a kind of dazed relief in her
voice, "You came to see Daisy about that committee meeting, didn't you?
Why—she—she wasn't feeling very well to-night, Nelson. She has retired.
She had a headache. She asked me to excuse her."
The grave eyes took on a look of anxiety.
"Daisy not well?" he said as if that were an unheard of thing.
"I should have telephoned you not to come," apologized Mrs. Sheldon,
"but this friend of hers—this friend of mine—arrived just then, from
out of town, and it slipped my mind. Let me introduce you to Mrs.
Dunlap, Nelson. Mrs. Dunlap, Mr. Whitney."
"A friend of Daisy's?" said the young man his grave eyes lighting
pleasantly, and he stepped forward and grasped Mrs. Dunlap's hand,
giving her a swift searching glance.
"I certainly am!" said Mary Dunlap with a hearty handclasp.
He lingered only a minute or two to leave a message for the daughter
about what had happened at the committee meeting, but he gave another
keen parting glance accompanied by a warming smile as he left, that
made the stranger feel that he approved of her, and that he understood
that she was in no wise the cause of the tears that he had seen on
Daisy's mother's face.
After he was gone, Mrs. Sheldon came back to her caller.
"Why couldn't it have been that young man?" asked Mary Dunlap with a
sigh!
"Oh, if it only could have been!" sighed the mother. "He is the dearest
boy! My husband trusted him so. He has been Daisy's schoolmate and
companion for years, and yet she could think she has fallen in love
with that other creature!"
"There, there, dear friend. I tell you the human heart is a mystery.
And a girl at Daisy's age gets queer ideas sometimes. She will come out
of it and be fine and beautiful. You see!"
"Oh! I don't know!" sighed the mother. "She is so strange! Not even
willing to see Nelson. She thought it was Nelson when you came, and
rushed away telling me she would not see him nor anyone else to-night!
I could not tell him that of course. He has been so kind and so
devoted. And I can see that he is terribly worried about this Keller.
He looks as if he would like to fight every time Daisy mentions his
name. But tell me, what did the fellow do when you told him Daisy was
going to remain with you for the night?"
"Do? He was fairly insolent. He was furious. He told me to mind my
own business. He strode around that parlor like a madman, till I told
him Daisy had appealed to me for protection, and had told me she was
not yet married to him; but that I had seen how he registered in the
hotel. Then he calmed down a little and began to try to smooth things
over. He tried to explain that he had done that merely to protect the
girl, and that he intended to make everything right for her. He even
came to the point, before we were done, of saying that perhaps he had
been wrong in doing it, but he had followed an impulse when he wrote.
Oh, you know how a man like that could lie himself out of anything! He
even said that of course if Daisy preferred to be with me, it was all
right, but he really must see her before she slept and arrange about
his telegrams. Of course I saw through that. He knew his influence over
her!
"So I told him she had asked not to be disturbed, and that she did not
wish to see him again until she was at home with her mother and her
mother knew all. Then he began to rave at me of course but I let him
understand that I should not hesitate to call for assistance if he
made further trouble, and I fancy he did not care for publicity, so he
withdrew with what grace he could."
"And then?"
"Well, strange to say we had no further trouble with him. I had looked
up trains and found there was a very early one. Perhaps he was asleep,
although I was taking no chances. I decided to stay by till I placed
her safely in her mother's care."
"You have been wonderful!" said the mother. "I can never thank you.
And I'm glad too, that you came and told me all to-night. It has been
very hard to hear, but it was right that I should know. Only, my dear
new strong friend, I don't know what I am going to do. I am terrified
at what may yet develop. I am sure that man will not be easily shaken
off. He is probably only waiting till Daisy gets all strained up with
anxiety, as she is now, when he knows she will be wax in his hands. I
cannot believe he will give up so easily. He will know that you cannot
linger around to protect always, and unfortunately, he is not afraid of
me."
"My dear, wait until you have heard the rest of the story."
"Oh, is there more?" The mother's face showed a new terror.
She sat up tense and anxious clasping her frail hands in one another
till the knuckles showed white.
"No, dear Mrs. Sheldon, don't be frightened," went on Mary Dunlap. "I
will try to be as brief as possible, but I am sure you should know
everything."
"Oh, yes!" implored the white lipped mother.
Mary Dunlap's heart ached for her as she went on with the story:
"After I left Daisy with you that morning I went directly to New York
where I was to be entertained by a Mrs. Oliver whom I had met a number
of times in connection with my public work. She had often invited me to
be her guest and talk over various matters with her, but I had never
been able to arrange a definite date before. I arrived at midnight, and
was taken almost at once to my room, seeing none of the family that
night except my hostess.
"But the next morning at breakfast I was introduced to her two lovely
daughters, and a moment later to her husband who had arrived a few
moments before on an early train from the West. Perhaps you can imagine
my horror when I looked up to greet him, and found that the man to whom
Mrs. Oliver was introducing me, calling him 'her husband Mr. Oliver,'
was the Mr. Keller from whom your daughter had been rescued a few
nights before!"
Mary Dunlap had told the end of her story rapidly, conscious that her
listener was under a heavy strain, and now she looked up with relief
that all was told.
But the poor mother had borne all she could. She suddenly drooped and
would have fallen if the caller had not put strong arms about her and
laid her gently on the couch.
"My dear!" she said as she stooped over the poor sufferer and patted
her gently. "My dear! Don't feel so terribly about it. I am sure this
part of the story should be a relief, for it certainly puts that man in
a position where he dare not touch your daughter again!"
"But oh, to have my Daisy, my baby, mixed up with a man like that!"
wailed the utterly crushed little mother, "It seems as though I never
can lift my head again!"
"Oh, my dear! That is a very small part of the whole matter. The main
thing is that no harm shall come to the child. No one here knows, of
course, and he has promised!"
But a new voice broke in the room, clear and ringing and cold like a
young Nemesis. "What are you doing to my mother? Have you come here to
make more trouble for us? Who are you, anyway?"