"Oh, when first I wore that gown, how happy I was, and how I looked
forward to the future! Everything was bright then, but now it's so
changed that I'd hardly know it was the same--it isn't the same--I'm not
the same, either----"
Here she broke down again.
I leaned over, and laid my hand on hers. You know she wasn't really
there; the real Mrs. Purblind seldom talked over her affairs with me,
but I could feel what she was suffering, none the less.
"I want to tell you something, if I may," I said.
She assented in a dumb sort of fashion, and I leaned a little nearer.
The firelight gleamed on the walls, and in its glow the pictures looked
down kindly upon us. Soft shadows rested in the corners of the room, and
an air of peace and comfort brooded throughout, as a bird upon her nest.
"Think a little while," I said gently; "think of his side. Is he quite
the same as he was when he married?"
"Oh, no!" she exclaimed; "he was so loving and attentive then."
"Had he any hopes and plans? Enthusiasm? Did life look bright to him?"
A serious look traversed her face, as though she were entertaining a new
thought.
"Look at him as he used to be," I continued.
And as I spoke, she saw that a young man with a fresh, sunny face--a
healthy, happy, care-free face--was sitting in the ruddy firelight.
She gave a start.
"That is Joe as he used to be!" she said. "Oh, how he's changed!"
Even as she spoke, the young man faded away, and an older man--much
older, apparently, careworn, and unhappy-looking--took his place.
The coals in the glowing grate sank, and the bright light suddenly died.
A deep shadow rested upon the figure beside us; he was with us, and yet
seemed so alone.
"Who would think a man could change that way in ten years!" exclaimed
Mrs. Purblind; "would you believe it possible?"
"Not unless he had known many disappointments, and borne loads and cares
beyond his years."
"I have never thought of that," she murmured, "I believe poor Joe has
been disappointed too."
"He certainly has."
"It's too bad, and there's no help for it now," she added with a sob.
"Don't say that," I urged, laying my hand on hers again; "you close the
gate of heaven when you say 'no hope.' There is always hope as long as
there is a spark of life--any physician will tell you that. If you can be
patient--be strong to bear, and wait--if you can make home bright, and not
care, or not seem to care if he slights it and you, for weeks--months,
maybe years--it takes so much longer to undo, than to do--there is _every_
hope. He couldn't do this, but a woman--a real woman, is strong enough,
with God on her side."
The dullness left her face, and an unselfish light dawned in its place.
As she rose to go, she leaned over the other figure, and he looked up at
her, with something of the old-time love.
I replenished the fire after they had gone--they went out together--and as
I sat there thinking of it all, I heard a sudden rushing sound in the
street.
I ran to the door, just in time to see a farm wagon, drawn by two strong
horses, go pell-mell past my house, and overturn, as the frightened
animals dashed around the corner. The neighborhood was agog in a moment,
and I joined the rest in trying to help the occupants of the broken
vehicle. We brought them into the house--the man and woman and a little
child.
As soon as they were in the light, I knew them; they were some of my
people--a German family, by the name of Abraham, who lived on a little
farm just outside our suburb. They had been to me typical
representatives of a stupid class, who have all the hardships of life,
and none of its soft lights and shades. They were the kind that plant
their pig-sty on the lake side of their house--put the pig-sty betwixt
them and every other beauty, it seemed to me. What can life hold for
such people? They know nothing of love, or any other joy. Merely an
animal existence is theirs.
We fetched a doctor as speedily as possible--the parents were merely
bruised, but the little child was badly hurt. At first we feared she was
dying, and it was a relief to be told that she would probably live.
I went out of the room to get some bandages, and the doctor followed me.
Returning suddenly, I ran upon an unexpected scene; up to that time,
before us all, the parents had seemed perfectly stolid; but just as I
opened the door, the wife and mother rose from her knees by the bed, and
I have seldom seen a look more expressive of tender love than that with
which her husband took her in his arms.
We have many things to learn in the next world; one of these, I am sure,
will be, not to judge by the life upon the surface. There is a deep
fount of feeling beneath, and often it is those whom we least suspect,
who dip down into it.
I was still busy with these people, when Randolph Chance walked in upon
me. His kind heart needed no prompting to join in our little attentions,
and he was of especial use in getting a vehicle to take the family home.
After they had gone, and we found ourselves alone, a great embarrassment
seemed to seize him in a fatal grasp.
By and by I realized that I was really getting incensed, and I was
afraid I should soon be in the position of the man who went to another,
whom he had ill-treated, to apologize for his bad conduct, and, "By
Jove, sir"--to use his own phrase, "I hit him again."
I tried to keep my letter before my eyes. I didn't want to be forced by
that inexorable tyrant--conscience--to write another. And I should, if I
didn't hold on to myself, and this man didn't behave differently.
To avoid a clash, I set to work to clear away some of the confusion
consequent upon the accident, and he helped me in this.
One would suppose that might serve to cool him, and it did indeed, to
such an extent that, upon our settling down again, he began the most
commonplace conversation, giving me some incidents of his trip;
discussing the scenery; weather; population, and general aspects of
Buffalo; with much more of the dryest, most disagreeable stuff, that a
man ever had the temerity to use, as a means of wasting a woman's
evening.
To employ a childish phrase--it best fits the occasion--I grew madder and
madder, until at last matters within me rose to such a height, that when
he began to tell of his brother's house in Buffalo, and to dwell upon
the peculiarities of its furniture, I felt peculiar enough to hurl all
of mine at him.
The number of things I thought of that evening would form a library of
energetic literature. Among other resolves, I determined from that day
on, if I lived till my hair whitened--lived till I raised my third or
fourth crop of teeth, never, _never_, to give Randolph Chance another
thought. There was one comfort: he did not know, nor did any one else,
what a complete goose I had made of myself; but, though I _had_ been
most foolish, thanks to a sober, Puritanic ancestry, I still had myself
in hand; my hysterics had been occasional and secluded, and I was not
wholly gone daft. I could recover; I would! and then, if ever he came to
my feet, he would learn that some things don't rise, after once they are
cold.
I was calm enough when he at last decided to go, and instead of running
on excitedly, as I had been vaguely conscious of doing part of the
evening, I really conversed. Indeed, to speak modestly, I think I was
rather interesting. I had forgotten what he had called for. So had
he--apparently.
All I hoped was that he did not intend to bore me with frequent
repetitions of this call. I had better use for my evenings than such
waste of time as chatting with him. I cast about me for some suitable
excuse to shut off future inflictions, and at last hit upon one that I
thought might answer.
"I suppose I must sacrifice myself for a while," I said cheerfully; "I
have had a deal of business swoop down upon me, and in order to dispatch
it, must shut myself up for a time, and forego the joys of society."
Instantly his old embarrassment came back upon him, as a small boy's
enemy--supposed to be vanquished--darts around the corner, and renews the
attack.
He started to go; came back; returned to the door; again came back;
colored vividly--looked at me imploringly. And as I looked at him my
anger, my coldness--all vanished, and I exclaimed:
"Randolph Chance, why _don't_ you say it!"
"Some things are awfully hard to say. I can write---- Oh Constance! you
might have mercy on me!"
"Well," I said, laughing--I could almost see the light upon my face--"I
suppose you want me to marry you."
"You can't get away now!" he cried, a second later.