A NOBLE LOVE.
A crowd gathered in a moment to the scene of the disaster. Poor
Celia's bruised and bleeding body was lifted from the ground and borne
into a neighboring drug store. Here she was placed upon a sofa, and
everything was done to resuscitate her that skill could suggest. Doctor
Darrow chanced to be passing--or was it chance? In the days that came
afterward, Douglas Darrow was wont to look back upon that moment, and
humbly thank God for having directed his footsteps to the place where
Celia Ray had been carried. For that occurrence was the beginning of a
new chapter in the strange romance, a turning-point which was destined
to bring about the end as unexpected as strange.
Mrs. Ray was a stranger to the young physician, and all inquiry failed
to elicit any information as to her identity. In all the great city she
could not have fallen into better hands than those of Doctor Darrow,
for he was the kindest-hearted and most philanthropic of men. At last,
despairing of ever reaching the truth in regard to the woman, Doctor
Darrow sent her to the Home for treatment. He might have sent her to
the Charity Hospital, but there was something in the forlorn aspect
of the woman--something pathetic, it seemed to him--and there was a
familiar look about her face which perplexed the doctor, for he was
certain that he had never met the woman before. Yet the intangible
resemblance to some one whom he had met before lingered in his mind,
and he could not shut it out. So, with a vague feeling that it was
his duty to do so, he ordered the unfortunate woman to be taken to
the Home, where her injuries were promptly attended to. She was in a
very precarious condition; Doctor Darrow saw that, and he entertained
grave fears for her recovery. And, even in the event of her recovery,
there were serious fears entertained from the effects of the blow upon
her head from the horse's feet, which might result in insanity. It
transpired that when Beatrix was not with Keith, she found plenty of
occupation in the ward where Celia Ray was confined to her bed. As soon
as Beatrix saw her she recognized the likeness to Mrs. Lynne, save that
this woman's face was more refined, and bore the traces of sorrow and
suffering.
"I wonder who she is?" the girl asked herself, as she stood gazing down
upon the white face of the sufferer. "Surely I have seen her somewhere
before. She looks just like Mrs. Lynne, only there is a difference."
Even as the words passed her lips, the woman turned uneasily upon the
pillow, murmuring as she did so:
"Bernard! Bernard! You will not be so cruel--so cruel!"
Beatrix started at the sound of that familiar name. But the sufferer
had wandered away again into wild and incoherent delirium, and Beatrix
could gain no information from the words which passed her lips. But
still some strange influence drew her as often as possible to the ward
where Celia Ray lay, growing gradually worse and weaker, until it
became evident that she had not long to live. But there was something
upon her mind. She tossed and turned in the fever and delirium, moaning
and muttering broken fragments of a strange story, over and over, but
so brokenly and fragmentary that Beatrix and Doctor Darrow could make
nothing of her raving.
In the meantime, Keith was recovering slowly but surely. And now the
hour had come when Beatrix knew that she must have a talk with him, and
go through the anguish of parting once more. Doctor Darrow had listened
to Beatrix's announcement that the injured man was her husband, and his
noble heart, though crushed with its sorrow and loneliness, did not
shrink from the task before him. He had devoted himself to Keith Kenyon
as much as he possibly could, and to the earnest labors of the young
physician, as well as Beatrix's tender care, Keith Kenyon owed his
return to health. The time came when Beatrix, standing at his bedside,
listened to Keith's pleading words--words which broke her heart afresh.
"You shall not leave me, my darling!" the young man cried,
passionately. "My wife, my wife, I need you! You must not separate us
in this dreadful way, this death in life. It is worse than though death
itself had intervened to tear us apart. Beatrix, look up, my beautiful
darling, and say that you will give up this mad separation. It has not
been proven that you are really--that you--that the disease is even in
your system. Such things have been heard of before. For two or three
generations a curse like that may lie dormant and then suddenly appear,
just when it had come to be believed that it had been eradicated. It
may never show itself in your life-time, my darling, and in any case
you are my wife, and I claim you. Come, Beatrix!"
"I can not, I must not! Keith, Keith, don't you know that you are
holding open the very gates of Heaven to me, and yet I can not, dare
not, enter? Don't you know that I would rather lay down my life today
than be the cause of possible danger to you? Oh, my husband, so dear to
me, don't tempt me, don't tempt me, or you will break my heart anew.
For I can not, dare not, consent."
He bowed his head upon his hands and a storm of sobs shook his frame,
sobs which choked his voice and made speech impossible. Beatrix laid
her hand upon his head. It was to her the very bitterest of anguish to
stand at his side and not dare to let her lips meet his in a sweet,
clinging kiss of love; and she had not ventured to kiss his lips since
that awful shock had come crashing down upon her like an avalanche--the
discovery of the awful shadow upon her life, her dark inheritance.
She turned away pale and trembling. After a time she crept back to him
and laid her hand upon his arm.
"Keith, my own, my precious husband!" she whispered, "this is more
bitter to us than death--this parting--but it must be. And so, since we
know that there is no hope for us--that we must be parted anyway--would
it not be better for you, for your future--I have none, you know--to
place the matter in the hands of the law, to appeal to the courts for
your freedom? I am certain the fact of my being what I am, will be
sufficient to free you. Oh, Keith, Keith! I can not be a blight upon
you forever! You must be free from me, and hold up your head once more
among your fellowmen. And once free, you will some time in the future,
dearest, meet some one else--"
"Stop! For God's sake, stop! How can you speak such words to me?"
he groaned, desperately. "Beatrix, you are my wife; whether we live
as husband and wife, or are forever separated here upon earth, does
not matter. You are mine and I am yours; no one can alter that. And
whether we live apart or anear, I shall always be your husband--yours
alone--until death shall part us. You remember the solemn marriage
service, Beatrix, and the vows we took before God's holy altar? Never
mention the divorce court to me again, my beautiful love--it is
sacrilege--that can never be. Now, Beatrix, try to cheer up and hope
for the best. Your case may not be hopeless, you know, and anyway--no
matter what happens--even though the very worst, remember that I love
you and you alone, and I shall love you till I die. Ah, there comes
Doctor Darrow! I believe that I will tell him all our sad story, my
Beatrix, and ask his advice and opinion. He has been so very kind
to me; and to his skill, as much as your splendid nursing, I owe my
restoration to health. For I shall soon be well now; I am sure of it. I
am getting stronger and better every day. Ah, Doctor--"
Keith paused as the young physician drew near, his face quite pale and
grave, in his eyes a look of something like suppressed excitement.
"Mrs. Kenyon," he said, turning to Beatrix with a look in his sad, gray
eyes which touched her heart in spite of herself, "will you go to Mrs.
Ray? She is asking for you, and I think that there is something upon
her mind which will not be relieved until she has seen you."