LEANDER AS A MEANS.
You don't marry a woman because she is religious or is inclined to
tell the truth, or has this or that trait of mind. You are much more
likely to fall deeply in love and to ask her to be your wife because
of a certain droop of a lock of hair over her forehead; or perhaps
a particular trick of smiling lips caught your fancy and set it
on fire. Why, I know a man who begged a woman to be his wife just
because he was convinced that she had the most delightful little lisp
in the world. Fortunately, or unfortunately, she refused him, and he
has since united himself to a woman whose speech is remarkable for
clearness of tone. I often wonder whether he wishes that she lisped,
or if he has decided that he can be happy without a lisping wife.
And how remarkable it is that, when once you have won your love,
the little thing which attracted you, for some mysterious reason,
ceases to be attractive, and you wish her mind was something more
in sympathy with yours, or that her temperament was better fitted to
yours. Ah, that matter of temperament! One can put up with a good
deal that is wrong if only the temperaments be rightly adjusted.
I am not going to claim these as particularly my thoughts. They were
the thoughts that were going rather indefinitely through Lawrence's
mind one afternoon as he lounged in a little sailboat opposite the
hamlet where he was spending the summer. His wife had gone on an
all-day's cycling trip with Lord Maxwell. The two had left the hotel
at about ten in the morning. As Prudence had put on her gloves before
leaving her room, she had remarked to her husband that she hoped he
would amuse himself in some manner while she was gone. There was Caro
only three miles away; he might call on her if he were not so odd.
As she spoke thus, Prudence had looked steadily for a moment at the
man standing in the window with his back to the light. She could not
forgive him for refusing to visit at the Ffolliotts'. His refusal
seemed so absurd to her; but he persisted in it. It was now two
weeks since the time when she had ventured there, and had come away
thinking that Carolyn was engaged to Lord Maxwell. Since then she
herself had seen a good deal of that nobleman, but she had not quite
been able to make up her mind as to the existence of an engagement
between him and her cousin.
Lawrence did not think it worth while to reply to this suggestion
that he call on Carolyn. He was engaged at this moment in intently
watching Prudence as she pulled on her gloves. Having drawn them on,
she came to his side and extended a hand for him to fasten the glove.
As he performed this little office with his customary deftness, she
regarded him with more care than was of late usual with her.
Since one particular interview, she had hardly been able to look at
him without remembering that he had told her that he had never loved
her. As she had not a particle of what she called love left for him,
it was rather surprising that this remembrance should so rankle in
her mind. And he did not betray--worse than that, she was sure he did
not feel--the slightest irritation that she was so much with Lord
Maxwell of late. How very disagreeable he was! And she had loved him;
yes, she had certainly loved him even before the spice of the attempt
to get him away from his betrothed was added to that feeling.
She lingered a moment after her gloves were fastened, still gazing at
her companion.
"What do you think of a separation?" she asked.
He looked at her quickly. "I had not thought," he answered.
"Please think, then. You let me have the crow, and a generous
allowance, and I'll go my way. There seems no reason why life should
be so extremely disagreeable as it has been of late. Good-by. Don't
get too tired, and don't forget your medicine."
She opened the door and left the room. She returned immediately to
say that she had promised Devil he might go with her to-day. She
chirruped, and the bird hopped out of the door, which was closed
again.
Lawrence stood in the window and saw the two ride away on their
wheels, the crow flying along leisurely after them, alighting
occasionally to investigate something on the ground. He saw his wife
turn and call Devil just before she wheeled out of sight.
It seemed to Lawrence that he was always standing in the window
watching his wife go somewhere; and always she was gay and spirited,
and people liked to be with her.
There was that long, light-colored Englishman,--was there any truth
in the talk about him and Miss Ffolliott? It would be rather a
curious thing if Prudence should take two lovers from Carolyn.
Here Lawrence shut his hand tightly, and, being alone, indulged
himself in flinging his fist out into the air. But he immediately
felt that this was an extremely childish action.
He supposed she was not really sincere in her remarks about a
separation, but if she were--He did not finish this thought.
Recalling this day later in his life, Lawrence's mind was always
somewhat confused concerning it. He knew that after lunch he had
gone out in his boat, and that, instead of sailing, he had dropped
anchor not far off shore. It had been a gray, cloudy day, with very
little wind. Lying with his hat over his face, Lawrence had fallen
into a deep sleep; and he remembered that he had dreamed horribly.
When he fully awoke it was sunset, and the first thing he saw was
the crescent of a very new moon set in the flush of the west, with
its attendant star near it. The clouds had all dispersed; it was a
superb sunset. There was not a breath of wind now, so he rowed in
towards the shore; he was obliged to row very slowly, for he was
not strong; it often seemed to him of late as if an unconquerable
weakness had fastened upon him, and he had a morbid conviction that
his wife would soon have her coveted freedom. It was unnecessary to
make arrangements for a separation.
Lawrence went up to the hotel and tried to eat his dinner. Then he
sat on the piazza and made an attempt to smoke. Some people who had
been cycling came home, a buzz of talk and laughter heralding their
approach.
In the white glare of the electric lights Lawrence looked to see
Prudence and her escort wheeling up the broad driveway.
"Saw Mrs. Lawrence and Lord Maxwell on the Jerusalem Road," said one
young man, as he sat down near Lawrence and lighted a cigarette. "I
vow I don't know which is the better rider, your wife or Maxwell.
They were talking of going over to Hull. They challenged me to come
along, but I thought of the fifteen miles back here."
Presently the young man went in to dinner. Lawrence still kept his
seat, though the wind had come up east with the turn of the tide
towards the flood. He began to shiver, and at length rose to go and
get an outside coat. He returned immediately with the coat buttoned
closely about him.
It was not until near ten o'clock that he really began to wonder why
Prudence did not return; and even then he was aware that this hour
was not late, and particularly it was not late in these long summer
days, when it seemed to be still day until far into the evening.
There was a dance in the parlors, and Lawrence tried to watch the
dancers from his place on the veranda. When another hour, and yet
another, had gone, and the clocks had struck twelve, the man's heart
began to burn within him. It seemed to him also that one spot, on the
top of his head, was on fire. But he was no longer conscious of being
weak and ill. He believed he had never felt stronger in his life.
He ran up the stairs to his room; but when he had arrived there he
forgot what it was he had come for. He thought he said, "That cursed
woman!" below his breath.
He wished he could see Carolyn Ffolliott,--not see her to speak with
her, of course, but just look in her face. Just to look in her face
would strengthen and comfort him, he was sure.
With this thought in his mind he left the hotel and walked away in
the direction of Savin Hill. It was three miles there.
He did not expect to see Carolyn at this time of night, but the walk
would take up his mind, and he was stronger than he had been since
his illness. By the time he returned to the hotel perhaps Prudence
and Lord Maxwell would be back.
He had got over the ground rapidly. In a short time he had entered
the side gate which opened into the vegetable garden.
The brilliant starlight made it possible for him to see his way with
sufficient clearness; every yard of ground was familiar and dear to
him. He passed on slowly along the dew-wet path until he came to a
small space which was Carolyn's flower-garden; he knew she worked
in this spot with her own hands, digging and weeding, and that she
allowed here only her own especial favorites.
He stood a moment here. He could not distinguish the different
plants, but the warm night air brought out heavily the perfume of
heliotrope and mignonette. Carolyn used to be in the habit of wearing
every day a little bunch of these flowers. But then that time was a
thousand years ago.
Lawrence stepped carefully into the garden and peered about until he
found and gathered a sprig of each of these flowers. Holding them in
his hand, he went towards the house.
As he saw a light in the room that he knew was "Aunt Tishy's," he
began to fear that some one might be out in the grounds this lovely
evening, and come upon him. That would be a very awkward meeting for
him. But if he could happen to see Carolyn--
He walked on slowly. The turreted house towered up blackly. He
heard Mrs. Ffolliott's little terrier barking somewhere within
the building. He leaned against a tree that stood on the edge of
the lawn. He felt like an outcast. Where were all his dreams of
usefulness and happiness? He had an idea that he had been considered
what is called "a promising young man." And he had really meant to
do something. He smiled forlornly and tried to rouse himself. He
thought that his musing was like the musing of an old man. What an
inconceivable act of folly he had committed!
He shook his shoulders impatiently. He turned, thinking to retrace
his steps to his hotel. Perhaps Prudence had returned by this time.
Was it possible that Carolyn was going to marry Lord Maxwell? And
was that one reason why Prudence was so excessively kind to the
Englishman now? His mind went galloping from one subject to another.
Something moved in the tree above him. He raised his head and looked
up into the darkness of the leaves.
"There are some birds there," he said, idly.
The sound was made again, and now Lawrence started quickly as
something fluttered down to the ground near him. He could only dimly
see a dark object which hopped close to his feet, making a little
rasping noise as it did so.
Lawrence stooped quickly and lifted Devil in his hand. The crow's
feet clung about his fingers, and the bird made his chuckling,
strange sound and pecked blindly at the hand that held him.
Lawrence knew that he was unreasonably startled at the presence of
Devil. He walked forward quickly along the gravel path, not noticing
that he was on the way that led from the house.
Had Prudence returned, or had the bird decided that he would himself
come home? It was not strange that the crow had flown to Savin Hill.
Leander, who sometimes rode his bicycle to the hotel, had given the
information that Devil was frequently at his old home.
Lawrence began to hurry. He would go back to the hotel. It had been
very foolish of him to come thus far. And suddenly he was conscious
of being tired; but he did not slacken his pace.
All at once he became aware that there were steps behind him, steps
running.
He drew back quickly into the shrubbery. Were there other prowlers
besides himself in the Ffolliott grounds to-night? He hoped that he
should not be seen.
The next moment he saw that it was a woman coming, and the next he
was sure it was Carolyn.
She must be in trouble; something must have happened.
She seemed to fly by him, so fast she went. He heard her panting.
He stepped from the shrubbery after she had passed. His only thought
was to help her.
"Carolyn!" he called.
She stopped short.
He hastened up to her.
"Carolyn!" he said, again.
She drew back a step. "What! You?" she said, in a half whisper.
"Yes. What is the matter? Oh, do let me help you!"
She came nearer now, as if in time of trouble she would naturally
draw near to him. Then she started back and began to fly on again.
But she cried in answer, "Lee is dreadfully ill. I'm going to send
Jack on the black horse to the village for a doctor."
The words came distinctly to him as he hurried on after her. When he
had taken in the meaning of her reply he stopped in the walk. There
was the stable close by, and the man Jack slept in a room of the
building.
Lawrence stood a moment undecided. Ought he to go away?
No; surely it was proper for him to stay and know how it was with the
boy. And this used to be like a home to Lawrence. It was terrible for
him to feel that it was home no longer. All the old and natural sense
of protective tenderness towards this household sprang into full life
again.
He hastened to the house, pausing at the side door to which he knew
Carolyn would return; and indeed he found this door opened, and a
light burning in the room close by. He stood here listening. All the
time the crow had remained securely perched on his hand. It now flew
up on his shoulder.
Presently he heard the sound of a horse's hoofs going rapidly along
the road to the village. Then the light, quick footfall on the walk
again, and Carolyn came up to the door.
Lawrence moved aside. The girl just glanced at him, as she hurried
forward.
"Only let me wait here until you can let me know how he is," said
Lawrence, quickly.
"Come in," she said, hastily. "You must not stay outside."
Carolyn passed on into another room, and then he heard her go up the
stairs. The young man was so well acquainted with the house that he
could locate every sound.
After a few moments of waiting, Lawrence grew uncontrollably anxious.
Sometimes, when a door opened, he could hear the high, sharp tones of
Leander, tones that revealed that the boy was not in his right mind;
sometimes the tones rose to a furious shout.
At last Lawrence could bear it no longer. He pulled the crow from
his shoulder, and put it down in a chair. Then he ran up the stairs,
forgetting that he was not as strong as usual. He entered Leander's
room just as the boy was trying to leap from his bed, and his mother
and sister were struggling to keep him there.
"Oh, Rodney! help us!" cried Mrs. Ffolliott, breathlessly.
Lawrence walked forward and put the two women aside. He held out his
arms; Leander sprang into them, nearly throttling him in the violence
of his embrace.
But Lawrence could not sustain the burden for more than a moment. He
turned to find a seat, then he sank down on the bed, holding the boy
fast all the time.
Mrs. Ffolliott was wringing her hands and crying, "Oh, what shall I
do! Oh, what shall I do!"
But Carolyn was standing straight and still, her eyes on Lawrence,
watching to discover if there was any way for her to help.
Leander's eyes were wildly dilated; his limbs seemed to have a
convulsive movement.
"Let us try a hot bath," said Lawrence.
Then Carolyn flew to prepare it. Meanwhile Lawrence sat on the bed,
the boy's arms fast about his neck, the mother walking frantically
here and there in the room. Every few moments she exclaimed, "Will
the doctor never come?"
But Lawrence did not say anything. His heart was heavy within him. To
this mother the world itself seemed to circle about simply that her
son might live upon it.
Carolyn came back to say that the bath would soon be ready. She went
to her mother and put her arm about her. "Let us be as brave as we
can," she whispered; and she kissed her mother's cheek.
The time dragged in that deadly way which so many of us know.
Lawrence did not rise. He sat rigidly still, holding Leander. He
looked at Carolyn, whose face suddenly blanched still more. She
turned to her mother.
"Please see if the water is just right, mamma; you'll find Jane
there."
Mrs. Ffolliott went out of the room.
"Carolyn," said Lawrence, in a voice just above a whisper.
The girl came slowly to the bed.