Carlin came back late that night, weary but triumphant, having seen
his man safely lodged in the county jail. He was full of scorn for the
futile malice of his fellow-citizens, and declared to Mary and the
Judge, as he ate his supper, that he would get Barclay off, just to
spite them. He was excited, his blue eyes gleamed with the elation of
combat and success. He had identified himself completely now with the
cause of his client. The odds against him roused all his energies, his
fighting instinct as well as his instinct for protection. Carlin needed
at the same time to hate and to love.
But he liked things in clear black and white, he wanted always a
definite adversary whom he could hate with reason. He was profoundly
impatient of certain feelings in himself which he could not explain nor
justify. Some incidents of the day had irritated him deeply, stirring
these feelings. Presently he broke out, addressing the Judge.
"I suppose you know that the preacher mixed himself up in it."
"Yes, yes, he certainly did. I will say for that fellow that he's
always on hand when there's a scrap," replied the Judge easily.
"Spoiled a good fighting man, I guess, when he took to preaching."
"Well, he ought to _stick_ to preaching, and not come poking his nose
into what doesn't concern him!"
"Oh, I don't know, Laurence, I guess he did a good turn today. The way
he lit into that crowd--he gave them hell. And he has influence round
here, people respect him, they know he's no milk-sop. Of course maybe
the talk didn't do so much, I don't know--but his coming along with
you--"
Carlin cut the Judge short impatiently.
"_We_ didn't want him to go! But there he stuck--he would be in it....
And then he'd got in too and talked to Barclay. Got the poor fellow all
mushed up, talking about his sin--as if he didn't feel enough like a
sinner already!"
"Well, well, that's his business, you know," argued the Judge. "You
can't blame him for that. And he showed he was willing to stand by
Barclay. I guess he did about as much to protect him as the deputies
did--"
"Oh, bosh!"
"Well, I think so. That crowd knew they'd have to hurt him to get at
Barclay, and they didn't want to."
"I saw they cut his head open with a stone," observed Mary calmly. She
was sitting beside the table, sewing.
"You saw?"
"I was down there in the square."
The two men stared at her incredulously. She went on, taking tiny neat
stitches carefully in the baby's garment:
"I went down after you left. I was worried."
"Down there--in that crowd? Good Lord!"
The Judge looked horrified and guilty.
"Yes. My dress got torn and I lost my shawl. But some men helped me up
into a doorway. I saw you go by."
She looked up reflectively at Carlin.
"You were crazy to do that!" he cried. "Why on earth--"
"Well, I was worried. I knew you wouldn't be taking that pistol for
nothing."
Carlin gazed at her with softened eyes, with compunction, disturbed and
pleased too.
"Why, you poor girl! I didn't think you'd worry. You always take
everything so quietly. Why, Mary! You in that mob--!"
"I'm glad I went. The crowd was dreadful, but--I'm glad I saw you."
Her eyes lit up suddenly, glowed.
"You looked splendid!"
"Splendid?"
He laughed, stretched out his hand to hers, deeply pleased.
"I can't express it, but with all that howling crowd, and the stones,
yes, you were splendid! Both of you."
Carlin withdrew his hand abruptly, and Mary serenely went on with her
sewing.
* * * * *
She was well aware that Carlin disliked Hilary Robertson, but as she
considered that his dislike was without reason, she ignored it as much
as possible. Carlin's flings at "the preacher," she was accustomed to
receive in silence. She considered that Hilary needed no defence, his
life spoke for him, he was blameless. She put Carlin's sneers down to
his unregenerate nature, his habit of scoffing at religion, which
now seemed ingrained. Never would she have admitted the possibility
that Carlin might be jealous. That would have been too degrading, it
would have reflected upon her, and she was serenely conscious that her
conduct and feelings were blameless also. She had tried to explain
to him the nature of her admiration for Hilary, but he couldn't or
wouldn't understand it. He had a wrong attitude toward it, and toward
her church activities and charitable work. Most men, she thought,
liked to have their wives religious, but Laurence would have preferred
frivolity on her part. He was very fond of pleasure; he insisted on
keeping wine in the house, and on taking her to Chicago for the evening
on the rare occasions when she could get away. Mary felt that she
yielded a good deal, perhaps more than she ought, to Laurence's light
tendencies; but then, also, it was a wife's duty to yield, whenever
she could consistently with higher duties. So she had a submissive
attitude--except when some question of "right" came up.
In reality she ruled the house, and the Judge and Carlin, and the
babies and the Swedish servant, with an iron hand. An exact order
prevailed in the household, a definite routine for each day. Mary had
her ideas about how a family should be managed, and she worked hard
to carry them out, and made other people work too. She had a manner
now of quiet authority. She did not scold, nor raise her voice when
displeased; but visited the transgressor with an awful silence and with
icy glances. Outside the house she seldom interfered with the doings of
her husband or Judge Baxter. "Business" was the man's province, and she
did not enquire, as a rule, into its details. And in her own province
she did not expect to be interfered with.
The Judge and Carlin submitted meekly to her rules--refrained from
smoking in certain rooms, were prompt at meals, careful about the sort
of men they brought to the house, did not indulge in unseemly levity
of conversation. The Judge had almost conquered a lifelong habit of
profanity. He had a complete fealty to Mary, was touchingly pleased
to be ruled by her. He was afraid of her, and often felt like a small
boy in her presence. He despised her intellect, as he did that of all
women. This contempt existed side by side in his mind with admiration
and involuntary awe, and the conjunction never troubled him. He would
have said that he admired women but didn't respect them. More difficult
to overcome than swearing was his habit of cynical speech about the
sex. It broke out now and then in Mary's presence, revealing his deep
conviction that women (though angelic no doubt) were hardly human, but
of a distinctly inferior species. Mary never troubled to defend her
sex. She would merely look at the Judge with a calm, slightly ironical
gaze, under which he sometimes blushed.
* * * * *
The next afternoon she went to visit Hilary, who was ill, Mrs. Lowell
reported. There was no hesitation now about her entrance. She walked
into the house, majestic in her sweeping grey dress, and the widow
received her gladly. Confidential relations had long since been
established between them on the subject of the minister.
"He's up and dressed, though the doctor ordered him to stay in bed,"
the widow complained in a subdued voice. "And he won't take his
chicken broth, that I made specially--"
"Well, bring it in and I'll see that he takes it," said Mary.