The good God gave hands, left and right,
To deal with divers foes in fight;
And eyes He gave all sights to hold;
And limbs for pacings manifold;
Gave tongue to taste both sour and sweet,
Gave gust for salad, fish and meat;
But, Christian Sir, whoe'er thou art,
Trust not thy many-chambered heart!
Give not one bow'r to Blonde, and yet
Retain a room for the Brunette:
Whoever gave each other part,
The devil planned and built the heart!
--_In a Double Locket_.
Clara, Amidon and Blatherwick were on their way to Bellevale. The
professor was in the smoking-car, his daughter and Florian in the
parlor-car. Amidon, his nerves strained to the point of agony, sat
dreading the end of the journey, as one falling from an air-ship might
shrink from the termination of his. Madame le Claire brooded over him
maternally.
"Of course," said Amidon, "this Brassfield must have adopted some
course of behavior toward Miss Waldron, when----"
"You must call her Elizabeth," said Madame le Claire, "and----"
"And what?" he inquired, as she failed to break the pause. "Have you
found out--much--about it--from him?"
"Not so very much," she replied, "only she'll expect such things as
'dearest' and 'darling' at times. And occasionally 'pet' and
'sweetheart'--and 'dearie.' I can't give them all; you must
extemporize a little, can't you?"
"Merciful heaven!" groaned Amidon; "I can't do it!"
"You have," said Madame le Claire; "and more--a good deal more."
"It was that scoundrel Brassfield," said he, in perfect seriousness.
"More? What do you mean by 'more'?"
"Well, sometimes you----"
"He, not I!"
"You, I think we had better say--sometimes, when you were alone, your
arm went about her waist; her head was drawn down upon your bosom; and
with your hand, you turned her face to yours, and----"
"Clara, stop!" Amidon's bashful being was wrung to the sweating-point
as he uttered the cry. "I never could have done it! And do you mean
to say I must now act up to a record of that kind--and with a strange
woman? She--she won't permit it---- Oh, you must be mistaken! How do
you know this?"
Madame le Claire blushed, and seemed to want words for a reply. Amidon
repeated the question.
"I want to know if you are sure," said he. "To make a mistake in that
direction would be worse than the other, you know."
"Ah, would it?" said Clara; "I didn't know that!"
"Oh! I think we may take that for granted."
"You really don't get a grain of good from your Brassfield experience,"
said she, "or you'd know better." Here ensued a long silence, during
which Amidon appeared to be pondering on her extraordinary remark.
"But, as to the fact," urged he at last, "how can you guess out any
such state of things as you describe?"
"Can't _you_ guess a little bit more once in a while? I know about it,
from Mr. Brassfield's treatment--of--of me--when I made him think--that
I--was Elizabeth! Oh, don't you see that I had to do it, so as to
know, and tell you? Oh, I wish I had never, never begun this! I do, I
do!"
A parlor-car has no conveniences whatever for heroics, hysterics or
weeping, so miserably are our American railways managed; and Clara
winked back into her eyes the tears which filled them, and Amidon
looked at her tenderly.
"Did I, really," said he confusedly--"to you?"
"M'h'm," said Madame le Claire, nodding affirmatively; "I couldn't stop
you!"
"It must have been dreadful--for you," said Amidon.
"Awful," said she; "but the work had to be done, you know."
"Oh, if it were you, now," said he, laying his hand on hers, "I could
do it, if you didn't mind. I--I should like to, you know."
"Now see here," said Clara; "if you're just practising this, as a sort
of rehearsal, you must go further and faster than a public place like
this allows, or you'll seem cold by comparison with what has passed.
If you mean what you say, let me remind you that you're engaged!"
Mr. Amidon swore softly, but sincerely. Somehow, the pitiful case of
the girl who had written that letter with which he had fallen in love,
had less and less of appeal to him as the days drifted by. And now,
while the duty of which he had assured himself still impelled him to
her side, he confessed that this other girl with the variegated hair
and eyes, and the power to annihilate and restore him, the occultist
with the thrilling gaze and the strong, supple figure, was calling more
and more to the aboriginal man within him. So, while he took
Elizabeth's letters from his pocket and read them, to get, if possible,
some new light on her character, it was Clara's face that his eyes
sought, as he glanced over the top of the sheet. Ah, Florian, with one
girl's love-letter in your hands, and the face of another held in that
avid gaze, can you be the bashful banker-bachelor who could not discuss
the new style of ladies' figures with Mrs. Hunter! And as we thus
moralize, the train sweeps on and on, and into Bellevale, where Judge
Blodgett waits upon the platform for our arrival.
The judge stood by the steps to seize upon Amidon as he alighted. That
gentleman and Madame le Claire, however, perversely got off at the
other end of the car. As they walked down the platform, Florian met
his first test, in the salutation of a young woman in a tailor-made
gown, who nodded and smiled to him from a smart trap at a short
distance from the station, where she seemed to be waiting for some one.
"Any baggage, Mr. Brassfield?" said a drayman.
"Yes," said Amidon; "take the checks."
"Do these go to the hotel, or----" The man waited for directions.
"I don't--that is," said the poor fellow, "I really---- Just wait a
minute! Judge," this in a whisper to his friend, who had reached his
side, "this is terrible! Where do I want to go?--and for the love of
Heaven, where does this hound take my luggage?"
"Your lodgings at the Bellevale House!" returned the judge.
"To my lodgings at the Bellevale House," announced Amidon.
"And say," said the judge, "don't look that way; but the young woman in
the one-horse trap across the way is your intended."
"No!" said Amidon. "I lifted my hat to her--she nodded to me, you
know!"
"The devil!" said the judge; "I'll bet you didn't put any more warmth
than a clam into your manner. Well, you'll have to go over, and she'll
take you up-town, I suppose. Don't stay with her long, if you can help
it, and come to me at the hotel as soon as you can. She's been driving
over to see who got off every New York train ever since I came. Go to
her, and may the Lord be merciful to you! Here are these notes, if you
think they'll help you any--I've added some to 'em since I got down
here."
Amidon waved a contemptuous rejection of the notes, and, casting a
despairing glance at Madame le Claire, walked over toward his fate. He
could have envied the lot of the bull-fighter advancing into the
fearful radius of action of a pair of gory horns. He would gladly have
changed places with the gladiator who hears the gnashing of bared teeth
behind the slowly-opening cage doors. To walk up to the mouths of a
battery of hostile Gatlings would have seemed easy, as compared with
this present act of his, which was nothing more than stepping to the
side of a carriage in which sat a girl, for a place near whom any
unattached young man in Bellevale would willingly have placed his
eternal welfare in jeopardy.
Point by point, the girl's outward seeming met Amidon's eyes as he
neared her. From the platform, it was an impressionistic view of a
well-kept trap and horse, and a young woman wearing a picture-hat with
a sweeping plume, habited in a gown of modish tailoring, and holding
the reins in well-gauntleted hands. As he reached the middle of the
street-crossing, the face, surmounted by dark hair, began to show its
salient features--great dark eyes, strongly-marked brows, and a strong,
sweet mouth with vivid lips. Then came the impression of a form held
erect, with the strong shoulders and arms which come from athletics,
and the roundnesses which denote that superb animal, the well-developed
woman. But it was only as he stood by the side of the carriage that he
saw and felt the mingled dignity and frankness, the sureness and
lightness of touch, with which she acted or refrained from acting; the
lack of haste, the temperateness of gesture and intonation, which
bespoke in a moment that type of woman which is society's finished
product.
Her lips were parted in a half-smile; the great dark eyes sought his in
the calling glance which seeks its companion; and in the face and voice
there was something tremulous, vibrant and pleadingly anxious. Yet she
did and said only commonplaces. She gave him her hand, and threw over
the lap-robe as an invitation for him to take the seat beside her.
"I am glad to see you back, dear," said she, "and a little surprised."
"I hardly expected to come on this train," he answered, "until the very
hour of starting. I can--hardly say--how glad I am--to be here."
She was silent, as she drove among the drays and omnibuses, out into
the open street. He looked searchingly, though furtively, at her, and
blushed as if he had been detected in staring at a girl in the street
as she suddenly looked him straight in the face.
"Have you been ill, Eugene?" said she. "You look so worn and tired."
"I have had a very hard time of it since I left," said he; "and have
been far from well."
She patted him lightly with her glove.
"You must be careful of yourself," said she, and paused as if to let
him supply her reasons for so saying. "I hope your trouble is over,
dear."
"Thank you," said he. "I am sure that after a few hours in my rooms, I
shall be quite refreshed. Will you please put me down at the Bellevale
House? I shall beg the privilege of calling soon."
"Why!" She looked swiftly at him, looked at the horse, and again at
him. "Soon?" she went on, as if astonished. "I shall be alone this
evening--if you care about it!"
"Oh, yes!" said he confusedly, "this evening, yes! I meant sooner--in
a few minutes, you know!"
"No," said she, in that tone which surely denotes the raising of the
drawbridge of pique; "you must rest until this evening. Who is the old
gentleman who has been waiting two or three days to see you?"
"Judge Blodgett, an old friend," said he, relieved to find some matter
with reference to which he could tell the truth.
"And the queer-looking lady--do you know her?"
"Oh, yes!" said Amidon; "she is a good friend, too."
"Ah!" the girl answered, in a tone which said almost anything, but was
not by any means without significance. "And who is she?"
"Her professional name is Madame le Claire; in private life, she is
Miss Blatherwick."
"I didn't see the rest of the troupe," said Miss Waldron icily; "or
perhaps she's an elocutionist."
"No," said Amidon, "she's an occultist--a sort of--well, a hypnotist."
There was a long pause here, during which they drew near to the big
brick building on the side of which Amidon saw the sign of the
Bellevale House.
"Also an old friend?" inquired Miss Waldron.
"Oh, no!" said Florian; "I met her only a week or two ago."
"She must be very charming," said Elizabeth, "to have inspired so much
friendship in so short a time. Here we are at the hotel. Do you
really think you'll call this evening? _Au revoir_, then."
Even the unsophisticated Amidon could perceive, now, that the
drawbridge was up, the portcullis down, and all the bars and shutters
of the castle in place. Moreover, in the outer darkness in which he
moved, he imagined there roamed lions and wolves and ravening
beasts--and he with no guide but Judge Blodgett, who stands there in
the lobby, so wildly beckoning to him.
X