_"And what are words? How little these the silence of the soul oppress!
Mere froth,--the foam and flower of seas whose hungering waters heave
and press Against the planets and the sides of night,--mute, yearning,
mystic tides!"_
Bulwer.
"I am coming home next month," wrote Roy, "with my wife--the very
dearest, sweetest, most lovable and beautiful girl in the whole world.
We have decided not to wait, but to be married at once--as soon as she
can get ready, and I a bit stronger--and go home for our bridal trip.
The winter at home with you will finish up my recovery (and if anything
on earth could facilitate it, Emma's nursing and care and love will,)
and then if the war is not over, of course I'll go back if I am
needed--enlist again. My time is out now; but I hope and believe that
the war will be over, or, at least, on its last legs by that time,
and then I can begin business at once. My own idea is to take the
stock-farm, if father is willing, instead of leaving it to those Martins
who don't know the first thing about stock-breeding, and go in for
fine horses and a few fine cows, too. I got hold of some books on those
subjects here. Emma's father used to have a fancy that way, and I've
read up and talked a lot with him on the subject in these four months.
Don't you think we could fix the house out there on the place so it
would do very well, indeed, for a couple of young folks who won't care
so very much about anything at all but each other?"
Griffith stopped reading the letter to laugh. "Tut, tut, tut! Here's
more love in a cottage business for you. Well, well, I _am_ surprised,
Katherine! I am----"
"I am not. I've been expecting it all along--only--I did hope--I didn't
think it would be quite so _soon_. Roy is only twen----"
"Well, well,'pon my soul, it looks as if you didn't get out of one kind
of a frying-pan in this world until you got into another. I was just
building all sorts of castles about the future and--and to tell the
mortal truth, Katherine, I never once thought of making a place for a
daughter-in-law! Never once! Why----"
There was a long pause. Griffith finished the letter in silence and
handed it to his wife. As she read--she began back at the beginning--he
gazed straight before him with unseeing eyes and a low hum ran along
with unsteady and broken measure. "'How tedious--mmmm--mm--the hours,
Mmmmm--no longer mmm mm; Sweet pros--mmm, swee--et mmm mm mm, mmmm,
Ha--ave all mm mm mm mm to me.' But we'll have to expand the castle,
Katherine--build on an addition for a daughter-in-law," he said as if
there had been no break in the conversation, albeit almost half an
hour had passed during which each had been wrapped in thought, and the
singing--if Griffith's natural state of vocalization may be called by
that name--was wholly unnoticed by both.
"Yes," said Katherine in a tired voice; "yes, but I had hoped for a
reunion of--of just ourselves first; but--but--we will try to feel that
she _is_ one of ourselves--and surely we ought to be very grateful
for the way they have nursed Roy and--His letter--" Katherine fell to
discussing his letter and the new plans and needs, and how short a time
it would be until they would come.
Little Margaret hailed with delight the idea of a new sister. They
all remembered the pretty face of the school-girl Emma. Letters of
congratulation and welcome were written and posted, and it seemed to
Katherine that nothing in the whole world could ever either surprise or
startle her any more. She felt sure that whatever should come to her in
the future would find her ready. She would take the outstretched hand of
any new experience and say, "I was expecting you." Her powers seemed
to her to have taken up their position upon a level surface and to have
lost all ability to rise or fall. The fires had burned too close to
have left material to ever flare up again. There was nothing left, she
thought, to kindle a sudden or brilliant blaze. She had accepted the
thought of a new daughter with a placidity which shocked herself, when
she thought of it, until she analyzed her sensations or her lack of
them.
The month passed. When the happy young creatures came, the very beauty
of their faces and forms about the house gave warmth and color. Roy was
still limping a little and his lung needed care, but he was as handsome
as a young fellow could be, and as proud and bright in his new
happiness as if the earth were his. "Is she not beautiful?" he would
ask twenty-times a day, holding the laughing young wife at arm's length.
"_Isn't_ she beautiful, father?" and Griffith would pretend to turn
critical eyes upon her and tease the son with an assumption that it
was necessary to look for a beauty which was both rare and graciously,
brilliantly endowed.
"Well, let me see! L-e-t--me s-e-e! Turn around, daughter--No, not
so far--M-mm. Well--it--seems--to--me--she is r-a-t-h-e-r fair!" and
Griffith's eyes would twinkle with pleasure when Emma tweaked his ears
or drowned his pretense in a dash of music. The old piano gave place to
a new one, and the home was once more filled with laughter and music
and a happiness that not even the shadow cast by the thought of the two
absent ones could make dark enough to veil the spirits of the two who
had come. With the others it had also its infection. So true is it that
after long and terrible strains we hail partial relief with such peans
of joy that the shadows that remain seem only to temper the light that
has burst upon our long darkened vision and to render us only the better
able to bear the relief. Griffith sang the old hymns daily now, and even
essayed to add his uncertain voice to the gay music that Emma and Roy
flung forth.
"And the nights shall be filled with music,
And the thoughts that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away."
Emma's voice rang out clear and sweet, and it seemed to Katherine that,
after all, it was very delightful to have a new daughter like this one,
and if Roy _must_ marry, why----
Good news continued to come from the front. Howard and Beverly were well
and unhurt. In their different ways they wrote cheerful and cheering
letters. Emma grew more radiant every day as she watched the returning
color come to Roy's cheeks, and one day Griffith took her by both arms
as she was flashing past him. He held her at arm's length and laughed.
"Trying to see if I'm pretty, father?" she said saucily, lifting her
mouth for a kiss.
"Pretty! pretty! Why, daughter of Babylon, the lilies of the field are
not half so lovely--and Solomon, in all his glory--" He stepped back and
folded his arms. Emma flung both little hands up to his cheeks in glee.
"Kiss me! oh, you dear old father! Solomon in all his glory never knew
you--didn't have you for a father--and so that is where I have got the
best of Solomon! Poor old Solomon, I wouldn't trade with him!" She ran
laughing down the hall, and Katherine smiled up at her husband.
"What a dear girl she is! I am so glad for Roy--for all of us;"
she said. "It is easy and a pleasure to build on an addition to our
air-castles for her."
Griffith bent over to kiss her. "Yes, God has been very good to us all
the days of our lives, Katherine. The struggles have all been outside
of the most sacred--of----" He hesitated as he recalled some of the
struggles, and touched his lips to her hair where the gray was growing
distinct. "But all those seem to be about over, now, and for us the dawn
is here and the brilliant day is only just ahead. Ah, little wife, the
sun will rise for us to-morrow on a day which shall have no conflict of
soul before us. How happy we shall be when the other boys get home! It
makes me feel young again only to think of it I I am going over to the
College now. A business meeting of the trustees." He smiled back at her
and went humming down the lawn: "Joy to the world, the Lord is come!"
Two hours later in the twilight, there was a confused scuffle of feet
and babble of muffled voices on the front porch. Katherine, ever on the
alert for news from her absent sons, opened the door. A dark, repellent
face--the face of an ascetic, cast in the mold of sorrow and soured by
the action of time, was before her. She recognized the pastor of the
church near by. "Sister Davenport," he said, "you had better step back.
We have sad news. We------ He is dead."
"Which one? Which one?" cried Katherine, "Howard or Beverly?" She was
struggling to push by them out on to the porch. Roy rushed from the
hallway and past the group.
"Great God! It is father! It is father!" he cried, and turned to shield
his mother from the sight. "Come back! Come back!" he said grasping her
by the waist and trying to force her into a chair. He had, as we all
have at such times, a vague idea of somehow saving her by gaining time.
The little group was staggering into the room and its load was laid upon
the couch. Griffith Davenport was dead. The smile on the face was there
still, but the poor brave heart would beat no more forever.
"Heart failure," some one said, "in the trustees' room."
"In the midst of life we are in death--" began the stem-faced ascetic
as he took his place near Katherine. Roy had pushed her into a chair
and stood holding her about the shoulders. Emma knelt before her with
streaming eyes, looking into the set face. Little Margaret was weeping
with fear. She had never before seen the face of death. She did not
understand. She only knew that some terrible blow had fallen, and she
clung to aunt Judy and wept.
"In the midst of life we are in death. The Lord giveth, and----"
"Oh, go away, go away!" moaned Katherine, as the monotonous voice and
the tall form of the clergyman forced itself into her consciousness
again. "Go away and leave me with my dead!" She was dry-eyed and
staring. She sat like one in a dream. She had not reckoned upon
_this_ when she had felt that she was ready for anything that should
come--anything that could come to her in the future. She was too dazed
to grasp or adjust anything now. She only knew that she must be alone.
"Go away! go away," she said looking up at Roy. He motioned the men and
the minister out and closed and locked the door. When he returned to his
mother's side her eyes were shut and her head was thrown back against
the chair. There were no tears. He beckoned Judy to bring little
Margaret, and he took his mother's arms and put them about the child,
and his own were around both. His own eyes were streaming but hers were
dry still.
"Mother," he said softly, "mother," She did not answer. Presently she
opened her eyes and they fell upon the child in her arms.
"Poor fatherless child! Poor fatherless child!" she moaned, and the
tears gushed forth, but her arms dropped slowly from Margaret's form,
and she did not seem to want the child there. The streaming eyes
traveled toward the couch and its silent occupant whose trials and
struggles were indeed over at last. Oh, the irony of fate! No conflict
of soul was before him, the dawn he had heralded--the brilliant day
was come, was it not? Who was there to say? He was out of bondage at
last--bondage to a conscience and a condition that tortured his brave,
sensitive soul. The end of the sacrifice had come, but for what? To
Katherine, as she gazed at him lying there in the gloom, it was dead
sea-fruit indeed. She could not think. She only sat and stared, and was
conscious of the dull dead pain--the worthlessness of all things.
Roy bent down and stroked her hair and kissed her. She did not seem to
know. "Shall we go away, too? _All_ of us, mother? Would you rather be
alone--with father?"
"Yes," she said feebly. "I will be alone always, alone now, always
alone--alone!"
"No, no, mother, you will have _all_ of us--all--all--but him. We
will----"
"Go away! go away, for a while," she said, and flung herself on her
knees beside the couch. "Oh, Griffith, Griffith! What was it all for?
All our suffering and trials and hopes and life? What was it all for at
last?" she moaned with her arms about his lifeless form. "What did
it all mean? What was it all for, if _this_ is the end? Oh, Griffith,
Griffith! what was the use? What was the use--with _this_ for the end! I
felt so safe about you, darling, now that you were here! I did not even
think of you! I did not fear it was you! Oh, Griffith, Griffith! this is
the end of all things! This is the end! This is the end! I do not care
what else comes--I do not care--I do not care! What is a country? What
are sons to _me_ now? I do not care! I do not care! This is the end!"
Roy had heard her voice and her sobs. He opened the door softly and saw
her with her head on the breast of her dead and the long sobbing sighs
coming with the silences between.
He closed the door noiselessly again, and took his young wife in his
arms. His voice was choked and broken.
"Emma, my darling, perhaps if you were to go to her--perhaps she would
know that _you_ can understand--perhaps you could comfort her, if--"
"No, no, Roy, she would hate me if I were to go in there now--I who have
you! I who am so happy and so blest! I know! I know, darling. Let her
alone--for awhile. Oh, Roy. If it were you! If--if--it were I in there,
with--with _you_ dead! Oh, Roy!"
They clung to each other in silence. Both understood. At last he said,
holding his wife to his heaving breast: "And we cannot help her! Not
even God can help her now--if there be a God--not even He can help her
now! He would be too late to undo His own cruelty! Ah, love and death!
Love and death! how could a good God make both!"
The young wife shuddered and was silent. Her faith could not compass
that situation. Love was too new and too strong. Doubt entered the
door Love had swung open for these two, and took up his seat at their
fireside forever.
An hour later, as they talked in whispers, Roy said: "To think that we
all escaped in battle--and he from worse danger--and now!"
"Mos' Roy, honey, I wisht yoh'd take dis heah rabbit foot in dar t' Mis'
Kate! Lawsy, Mos' Roy, she gwine ter go outen her mine if she don'
look out. Aunt Judy don' need dis heah foot lack what Mis' Kate do now,
honey. You des go in dar an' des kinder put hit inter Mis' Kate's pocket
er somewheres. Hit ain't gwine ter do her no harhm--an' mebby hit mout
do'er some kine er good, kase I gwine ter _gib_ hit to her tor keep fer
all de time now."
Roy took the proffered gift quite gravely. "Thank you, aunt Judy, you
were always good to us--always. I will take it in there after a while;"
he said, and the heroic old soul hobbled away, happy in her supreme
sacrifice.
It was night.... To Katherine it seemed that the darkness must be
eternal. Yet the sun rose on the morrow, and Life took up its threads
and wove on another loom.
THE END.