THE PARTING
Tom had grown impatient, waiting in their sheltered seat on the lawn for
Helen to return. She had gone on a mysterious mission to see Minerva,
laughingly refused to tell him its purpose, but promised to return in a few
minutes. When half an hour had passed without a sign he reconnoitered to
find Minerva, and to his surprise she, too, had disappeared.
He returned to his trysting place and listened while the serenaders sang
their first song. Unable to endure the delay longer he started to the house
just as his father hastily left by the front door, and quickly passing the
men at the gate, hurried down town.
The coast was clear and he moved cautiously to fathom, if possible, the
mystery of Helen's disappearance. Finding no trace of her in Minerva's
room, he entered the house and, seeing nothing of her in the halls, thrust
his head in the library and found it empty. He walked in, peeping around
with a boyish smile expecting her to leap out and surprise him. He opened
the French window and looked for her on the porch. He hurried back into the
room with a look of surprised disappointment and started to the door
opening on the hall of the stairway. He heard distinctly the rustle of a
dress and the echo on the stairs of the footstep he knew so well.
He gave a boyish laugh, tiptoed quickly to the old-fashioned settee,
dropped behind its high back and waited her coming.
Helen had hastily packed a travelling bag and thrown a coat over her arm.
She slowly entered the library to replace the portrait she had taken,
kissed it and started with feet of lead and set, staring eyes to slip
through the lawn and avoid Tom as she had promised.
As she approached the corner of the settee the boy leaped up with a laugh:
"Where have you been?"
With a quick movement of surprise she threw the bag and coat behind her
back. Luckily he had leaped so close he could not see.
"Where've you been?" he repeated.
"Why, I've just come from my room," she replied with an attempt at
composure.
"What have you got your hat for?"
She flushed the slightest bit:
"Why, I was going for a walk."
"With a veil--at night--what have you got that veil for?"
The boyish banter in his tones began to yield to a touch of wonder.
Helen hesitated:
"Why, the crowds of singing and shouting men on the streets. I didn't wish
to be recognized, and I wanted to hear what the speakers said."
"You were going to leave me and go alone to the speaker's stand?"
"Yes. Your father is going to see you and I was nervous and frightened and
wanted to pass the time until you were free again"--she paused, looked at
him intently and spoke in a queer monotone--"the negroes who can't read and
write have been disfranchised, haven't they?"
"Yes," he answered mechanically, "the ballot should never have been given
them."
"Yet there's something pitiful about it after all, isn't there, Tom?" She
asked the question with a strained wistfulness that startled the boy.
He answered automatically, but his keen, young eyes were studying with
growing anxiety every movement of her face and form and every tone of her
voice:
"I don't see it," he said carelessly.
She laid her left hand on his arm, the right hand still holding her bag and
coat out of sight.
"Suppose," she whispered, "that you should wake up to-morrow morning and
suddenly discover that a strain of negro blood poisoned your veins--what
would you do?"
Tom frowned and watched her with a puzzled look:
"Never thought of such a thing!"
She pressed his arm eagerly:
"Think--what would you do?"
"What would I do?" he repeated in blank amazement.
"Yes."
His eyes were holding hers now with a steady stare of alarm. The questions
she asked didn't interest him. Her glittering eyes and trembling hand did.
Studying her intently he said lightly:
"To be perfectly honest, I'd blow my brains out."
With a cry she staggered back and threw her hand instinctively up as if to
ward a blow:
"Yes--yes, you would--wouldn't you?"
He was staring at her now with blanched face and she was vainly trying to
hide her bag and coat.
He seized her arms:
"Why are you so excited? Why do you tremble so?"--he drew the arm around
that she was holding back--"What is it? What's the matter?"
His eye rested on the bag, he turned deadly pale and she dropped it with a
sigh.
"What--what--does this mean?" he gasped. "You are trying to leave me
without a word?"
She staggered and fell limp into a seat:
"Oh, Tom, the end has come, and I must go!"
"Go!" he cried indignantly, "then I go, too!"
"But you can't, dear!"
"And why not?"
"Your father has just told me the whole hideous secret of my birth--and
it's hopeless!"
"What sort of man do you think I am? What sort of love do you think I've
given you? Separate us after the solemn vows we've given to each other!
Neither man nor the devil can come between us now!"
She looked at him wistfully:
"It's sweet to hear such words--though I know you can't make them good."
"I'll make them good," he broke in, "with every drop of blood in my
veins--and no coward has ever borne my father's name--it's good blood!"
"That's just it--and blood will tell. It's the law of life and I've given
up."
"Well, I haven't given up," he protested, "remember that! Try me with your
secret--I laugh before I hear it!"
With a gleam of hope in her deep blue eyes she rose trembling:
"You really mean that? If I go an outcast you would go with me?"
"Yes--yes."
"And if a curse is branded on my forehead you'll take its shame as yours?"
"Yes."
She laid her hand on his arm, looked long and yearningly into his eyes, and
said:
"Your father has just told me that I am a negress--my mother is an
octoroon!"
The boy flinched involuntarily, stared in silence an instant, and his form
suddenly stiffened:
"I don't believe a word of it! My father has been deceived. It's
preposterous!"
Helen drew closer as if for shelter and clung to his hand wistfully:
"It does seem a horrible joke, doesn't it? I can't realize it. But it's
true. The major gave me his solemn word in tears of sympathy. He knew both
my father and mother. I am a negress!"
The boy's arm unconsciously shrank the slightest bit from her touch while
he stared at her with wildly dilated eyes and spoke in a hoarse whisper:
"It's impossible! It's impossible--I tell you!"
He attempted to lift his hand to place it on his throbbing forehead. Helen
clung to him in frantic grief and terror:
"Please, please--don't shrink from me! Have pity on me! If you feel that
way, for God's sake don't let me see it--don't let me know it--I--I--can't
endure it! I can't----"
The tense figure collapsed in his arms and the brown head sank on his
breast with a sob of despair. The boy pressed her to his heart and held her
close. He felt her body shiver as he pushed the tangled ringlets back from
her high, fair forehead and felt the cold beads of perspiration. The
serenaders at the gate were singing again--a negro folk-song. The absurd
childish words which he knew so well rang through the house, a chanting
mockery.
"There, there," he whispered tenderly, "I didn't shrink from you, dear. I
couldn't shrink from you--you only imagined it. I was just stunned for a
moment. The blow blinded me. But it's all right now, I see things clearly.
I love you--that's all--and love is from God, or it's not love, it's a
sham----"
A low sob and she clung to him with desperate tenderness.
He bent his head close until the blonde hair mingled with the rich brown:
"Hush, my own! If a single nerve of my body shrank from your little hand,
find it and I'll tear it out!"
She withdrew herself slowly from his embrace, and brushed the tears from
her eyes with a little movement of quiet resignation:
"It's all right. I'm calm again and it's all over. I won't mind now if you
shrink a little. I'm really glad that you did. It needed just that to
convince me that your father was right. Our love would end in the ruin of
your life. I see it clearly now. It would become to you at last a conscious
degradation. _That_ I couldn't endure."
"I have your solemn vow," he interrupted impatiently, "you're mine! I'll
not give you up!"
She looked at him sadly:
"But I'm going, dear, in a few minutes. You can't hold me--now that I know
it's for the best."
"You can't mean this?"
She clung to his hand and pressed it with cruel force:
"Don't think it isn't hard. All my life I've been a wistful beggar, eager
and hungry for love. In your arms I had forgotten the long days of misery.
I've been happy--perfectly, divinely happy! It will be hard, the darkness
and the loneliness again. But I can't drag you down, my sweetheart, my
hero! Your life must be big and brilliant. I've dreamed it thus. You shall
be a man among men, the world's great men--and so I am going out of your
life!"
"You shall not!" the boy cried fiercely. "I tell you I don't believe this
hideous thing--it's a lie, I tell you--it's a lie, and I don't care who
says it! Nothing shall separate us now. I'll go with you to the ends of the
earth and if you sink into hell, I'll follow you there, lift you in my arms
and fight my way back through its flames!"
She smiled at him tenderly:
"It's beautiful to hear you say that, dearest, but our dream has ended!"
She stooped, took up the bag and coat, paused and looked into his face with
the hunger and longing of a life burning in her eyes:
"But I shall keep the memory of every sweet and foolish word you have
spoken, every tone of your voice, every line of your face, every smile and
trick of your lips and eyes! I know them all. The old darkness will not be
the same. I have loved and I have lived. A divine fire has been kindled in
my soul. I can go into no world so far I shall not feel the warmth of your
love, your kisses on my lips, your strong arms pressing me to your
heart--the one true, manly heart that has loved me. I shall see your face
forever though I see it through a mist of tears--good-by!"
The last word was the merest whisper.
The boy sprang toward her:
"I won't say it--I won't--I won't!"
"But you must!"
He opened his arms and called in tones of compelling anguish:
"Helen!"
The girl's lips trembled, her eyes grew dim, her fingers were locked in a
cruel grip trying to hold the bag which slipped to the floor. And then with
a cry she threw herself madly into his arms:
"Oh, I can't give you up, dearest! I can't--I've tried--but I can't!"
He held her clasped without a word, stroking her hair, kissing it tenderly
and murmuring little inarticulate cries of love.
Norton suddenly appeared in the door, his face blanched with horror. With a
rush of his tall figure he was by their side and hurled them apart:
"My God! Do you know what you're doing?"
He turned on Tom, his face white with pain:
"I forbid you to ever see or speak to this girl again!"
Tom sprang back and confronted his father:
"Forbid!"
Helen lifted her head:
"He's right, Tom."
"Yes," the father said with bated breath, "in the name of the law--by all
that's pure and holy, by the memory of the mother who bore you and the
angels who guard the sanctity of every home, I forbid you!"
The boy squared himself and drew his figure to its full height:
"You're my father! But I want you to remember that I'm of age. I'm
twenty-two years old and I'm a man! Forbid? How dare you use such words to
me in the presence of the woman I love?"
Norton's voice dropped to pitiful tenderness:
"You--you--don't understand, my boy. Helen knows that--I'm right. We have
talked it over. She has agreed to go at once. The carriage will be at the
door in a moment. She can never see you again"--he paused and lifted his
hand solemnly above Tom's head--"and in the name of Almighty God I warn you
not to attempt to follow her----"
He turned quickly, picked up the fallen bag and coat and added:
"I'll explain all to you at last if I must."
"Well, I won't hear it!" Tom cried in rage. "I'm a free agent! I won't take
such orders from you or any other man!"
The sound of the carriage wheels were heard on the graveled drive at the
door.
Norton turned to Helen and took her arm:
"Come, Helen, the carriage is waiting."
With a sudden leap Tom was by his side, tore the bag and coat from his
hand, hurled them to the floor and turned on his father with blazing eyes:
"Now, look here, Dad, this thing's going too far! You can't bulldoze me.
There's one right no American man ever yields without the loss of his
self-respect--the right to choose the woman he loves. When Helen leaves
this house, I go with her! I'm running this thing now--your carriage
needn't wait."
With sudden decision he rushed to the porch and and called:
"Driver!"
"Yassah."
"Go back to your stable--you're not wanted."
"Yassah."
"I'll send for you if I want you--wait a minute till I tell you."
Norton's head drooped and he blindly grasped a chair.
Helen watched him with growing pity, drew near and said softly:
"I'm sorry, major, to have brought you this pain----"
"You promised to go without seeing him!" he exclaimed bitterly.
"I tried. I only gave up for a moment. I fought bravely. Remember now in
all you say to Tom that I am going--that I know I must go----"
"Yes, I understand, child," he replied brokenly, "and my heart goes out to
you. Mine is heavy to-night with a burden greater than I can bear. You're a
brave little girl. The fault isn't yours--it's mine. I've got to face it
now"--he paused and looked at her tenderly. "You say that you've been
lonely--well, remember that in all your orphan life you never saw an hour
as lonely as the one my soul is passing through now! The loneliest road
across this earth is the way of sin."
Helen watched him in amazement:
"The way of sin--why----"
Tom's brusque entrance interrupted her. With quick, firm decision he took
her arm and led her to the door opening on the hall:
"Wait for me in your room, dear," he said quietly. "I have something to say
to my father."
She looked at him timidly:
"You won't forget that he is your father, and loves you better than his own
life?"
"I'll not forget."
She started with sudden alarm and whispered:
"You haven't got the pistol that you brought home to-day from the campaign,
have you?"
"Surely, dear----"
"Give it to me!" she demanded.
"No."
"Why?" she asked pleadingly.
"I've too much self-respect."
She looked into his clear eyes:
"Forgive me, dear, but I was so frightened just now. You were so violent. I
never saw you like that before. I was afraid something might happen in a
moment of blind passion, and I could never lift my head again----"
"I'll not forget," he broke in, "if my father does. Run now, dear, I'll
join you in a few minutes."
A pressure of the hand, a look of love, and she was gone. The boy closed
the door, quickly turned and faced his father.