The week of recuperation Doctor Hapgood recommended was one of prolonged
torture to Priscilla Glenn. Thinking of it afterward, she realized that
it was the Gethsemane of her life--the hour when, forsaken by all, she
fought her bitter fight.
The drift of the ages confronted her. Her own insignificance, her
humbleness, accentuated and betrayed her. Who would listen? How dared she
speak! Who would heed her?
One, and one only. Margaret Moffatt!
From her Priscilla shrank and hid until she could gain courage to go
and--by saving her, kill her! Yes, it meant that. The killing of the
beautiful All Woman, as Travers had called her. After the telling there
would be only the shadow of the splendid creature that God had meant to
be so happy, if only the wrong of the world had not come between!
There were moments when, worn by struggle and wakeful nights, Priscilla
felt incapable of sane thought.
Why should she interfere, she asked herself. Professional silence was her
only course. And--there was the chance--the chance! Against it stood,
pleading, Margaret's radiant love and Huntter's strength and devotion.
Who could blame her if she--forgot? But oh! how they would curse her if
she spoke! They might not believe; they might ruin her!
Then faith laid its commanding touch upon her spirit. It had been given
her to know a woman who, for high principles and all the sacred future,
was prepared to sacrifice her love if needs must be!
They two, Margaret of the high-soul, and she, Priscilla Glenn of the
understanding devotion, seemed to stand apart and alone, each, in her
way, called upon to testify and act.
"It must be done!" moaned Priscilla; "she must know and--decide! But how?
how?"
John Boswell and Master Farwell were gone to the In-Place. The sanctuary
overlooking the river was closed. There was no one, no place, to which
Priscilla could go for comfort and advice, and her secret and her duty
left her no peace or rest.
She had taken a tiny suite in a family hotel. The rooms had the comfort
needed for her physical wants, but she tossed on the bed nights and slept
brokenly. She ate poorly and grew very thin, very pale. She walked, days,
until her body cried out for mercy. She cancelled her engagement, for she
was unfitted for service, and intuitively she knew that, for her, a great
change was near.
When she was weak from weariness and lonely to the verge of exhaustion,
she thought of Kenmore--not Travers--with positive yearning. The woman
of her, madly defending, or about to defend, woman, excluded even her own
love and her own man. It was sex against sex; the world's injustice
against all that woman held sacred! If Margaret were to be sacrificed, so
was she, for she blindly felt that Travers would not uphold her! How
could he when tradition held him captive? How could he when his oath
bound him like a slave? Doctor Hapgood had done his part, had spoken his
word--to man! But that was not enough. Man had flaunted it, was willing
to take--the chance without giving the woman intelligent choice. Oh! it
was cruel, it was unjust, and it must be defied. She and Margaret must
stand side by side, or life never again would taste sweet and pure!
Priscilla had not heard from Travers in ten days, and this added to her
sense of desolation. Then, one evening, coming in from a long tramp in
the park, snow covered and bedraggled, she faced him in her own little
parlour!
"My blessed child!" cried he, rushing toward her. "What have you been
doing to yourself?"
She was in his arms; his hands were taking off her snow-wet coat and hat.
He was whispering to her his love and gladness while he placed her in a
chair and lighted the tiny gas log in the grate.
"It's a wicked shame!" he said laughingly; "but it will have to do. Now
then, confess!"
"Oh! I have longed so for you! I have been--mad!"
Priscilla tried to smile, but collapsed miserably.
"I don't believe you have eaten a morsel since----" Travers glared at her
ferociously.
"Since I--I was in Switzerland." The sob aroused Travers to the girl's
condition.
"You poor little tyke!" he said. "Now lean back and do as you're told.
I'm going to ring for food. Just plain, homely food. I'm as hungry as a
bear myself. I came to you from the vessel. I sent mother home in a cab.
I had to see you. We'll eat--play; and then, my precious one, we'll talk
business."
"How I have wanted you! needed you!" Again the pitiful wail.
"Now behave, child! When the waiter comes we must be as staid as Darby
and Joan. You poor little girl! Heavens! how big your eyes are, and how
frightened! Come in! Yes. This is the order; serve it here."
The waiter took the order wrapped in a good-sized bill, and departed on
willing feet.
"Your hair is about all that's familiar; longing for me couldn't take the
shine from that!" Travers kissed it.
"I see my next case," he laughed. "To get you in shape will be quite an
achievement. We both need--play. We thrive on that."
"Yes, my dear, my dear; but I have forgotten how!"
"Nonsense! Here's the food. Put the table near the grate"--this to the
man--"things smoking hot; that's good. The wine, please. Thanks! Miss
Glynn, to your health!"
How Travers managed it no one could tell, but his own unfettered joy
drove doubt and care from the little room. Priscilla, warmed and
comforted, laughed and responded, and the meal was a merry one. But it
was over at last, and the grim spectre stalked once more. Travers noticed
the haunted look in the eyes following his every movement, and took
warning. Something was seriously wrong, that was evident; but he had
boundless faith in his love and power to drive the cloud away. After the
room was cleared of dishes and the grateful waiter, Travers attacked the
shadow at once.
He drew a stool to Priscilla's chair and flung his long body beside her.
"Now," he said, with wonderful tenderness, "let me begin my life work at
once, my darling. You are troubled; I am here to bear it all--for you!"
"Oh! Will you bear--half, dear heart?"
"Yes, and that is better. We need not waste words, my tired little girl.
Out with the worst and then--you and I are going to--my mother!"
"Your--mother?"
"My mother! God bless her! You know she came near slipping away. She will
need and love you more than ever."
"Oh! how good it sounds! Mother! Oh, my love, my love! I've had so little
and I've wanted so much! Your mother!"
"She'll be yours, too, Priscilla. But hurry, child! Just the bare
structure; my love will fill in the rest."
"Do not look up at me, dear man! So, let me rest my face on your head.
Can you hear me--if I whisper?"
"Yes."
"It's about Margaret--Margaret Moffatt."
"The All Woman, the happiest creature, next to what you're going to be,
in all God's world?"
"No!"
"No? Priscilla, what do you mean?"
"Do not move. Please do not look up. She is--engaged to--to Clyde
Huntter!"
"Well?"
"I did not know; she never mentioned his name. While we played, names did
not matter--his, mine, no one's." An hysterical gasp caused Travers to
start.
"No, please keep your face turned. I must tell you in my way. I have just
taken care of--Mr. Huntter. He is not--fit to marry any woman--he cannot
marry--Margaret! Doctor Hapgood told him, but--he--means to marry! She
came to see him; she did not see me; she does not know; but she _must_
know!" fiercely; "she must know! That is the one thing above all else
that would matter to her; she told me so! She does not live for the--the
now; she was made for--for bigger things!"
"My God!" Travers was on his feet, and he dragged Priscilla with him. He
held her close by her wrists and searched her white, agonized face. Truth
and stern purpose were blazoned on it. She had never looked so beautiful,
so noble, or so--menacing.
"You heard Doctor Hapgood say that?"
"I did."
"In your presence?"
"No." Then she described the little scene graphically.
"But Ledyard----" Then he paused. Ledyard's confidence must be sacred to
him.
"And Huntter--Huntter knows that you know; does he know that you are
Margaret's friend?"
"Yes."
"And--he trusts you?"
"He thinks I do not count, but I do--with Margaret."
"Priscilla, this is no work for you, poor child!"
"It is--hers--and mine, and God's!" determinedly.
"Darling, you are overwrought. You must trust me. You know what I think
of such things; you can safely leave this to me. Ledyard is Huntter's
physician. Why he called Hapgood in, I do not know. I will go to Ledyard.
Can you not see--that they would not believe--you?"
"Margaret will!"
"But her father! You do not understand, my precious. You dear, little,
unworldly soul! Margaret Moffatt's marriage means a ninth wonder. Any
meddling with that would have to be sifted to the dregs. And when they
reached you, my own girl, they would grind you to atoms!"
"Not--Margaret!"
Priscilla drew herself away from the straining hands. She was quite calm
now and terribly earnest.
"When all's told, it is Margaret and I--and God!"
"No. There are others, and other things. All the world's forces are
against you."
"No, they are not! They are turning with me. I feel them; I feel them.
I am not afraid." Then she took command, while Travers stood amazed. She
put her hands on his shoulders and held him so before the bar of her
crude, woman-judgment.
"Answer me, my beloved! You believe--what I have told you?"
"I do."
"You know Doctor Hapgood will do no more?"
"He--cannot."
"If you go to Doctor Ledyard--and he knows and believes--what will he
do?"
"He has been Huntter's physician for years. If he has been mistaken, he
will go to Huntter."
"Go to--Huntter! And what then? Suppose Mr. Huntter--still takes the
chance?"
"Ledyard will--he will forbid it!"
"And what good will that do?" A pitiful bitterness crept into Priscilla's
voice; her lips quivered.
"It is all Huntter! Huntter! All men! men! and there stands my
dear--alone! No one goes to her to let--_her_ choose; no one but me!
Don't you see what I mean? Oh! my love, my love! My good, good man, can
you leave her there in ignorance, all of you? Through the ages she has
not had her say--about the chance, and that is why----"
Priscilla paused, choked by rising passion.
"Little girl, listen! What do you mean?" Travers was genuinely alarmed
and anxious.
"I mean"--the white, set face looked like an avenger's, not a
passionately loving woman's--"I mean--that because women have never had
an opportunity to know and to choose, you and I, and all people like us,
stand helpless with our own great heaven-sent love at peril!"
"At peril! Oh, my dear girl!"
"Yes, at peril. We do not know what to do, where to turn. You see the
great injustice clearly as I do; but you--all men have tried to right it
by themselves, in their way, while all women, through all the ages, have
stood aside and tried to think they were doing God's will when they
accepted--your best; your _half_ best! Now, oh! now something--I think it
is God calling loud to them--is waking them up. They know--you cannot do
this thing alone; it is their duty, too--they must help you, for,
oh!"--Priscilla leaned toward him with tear-blinded eyes and pleading
hands--"For the sake of the--the little children of the world. Oh! men
are fathers, good fathers, but they have forgotten the part mothers must
take! We women cannot leave it all to you. It is wicked, wicked for women
to try! There is something mightier than our love--we are learning that!"
Travers took her in his arms. She was weeping miserably. His heart
yearned over her, for he feared she was feeling, as women sometimes did,
the awful weight of injustice men had unconsciously, often in deepest
love, laid upon them.
"Priscilla, you trust me; trust my love?"
"Yes."
"You believe me when I say that I see this--as you do--but that we only
differ as to methods?"
"I--I hope I see that and believe it."
"Then"--and here Travers did his poor, blind part to lay another straw
upon the drift of burden--"leave this--to me. I know better than you do
the end of any such mad course as you, in your affection and sense of
wrong, might take. Little girl, let me try to show you. Suppose you went
to Margaret Moffatt. You know her proud, sensitive nature; her loyalty
and absolute frankness. After the shock and torture she would go to her
father with the truth--for she would believe you--and announce her
unwillingness--I am sure, even though her heart broke, she would do
this--to marry Huntter. Then the matter would lie among men; men with the
traditional viewpoint; men with much, much at stake. If Huntter has, as
you say, taken the chance, in his love for Margaret--and he does love
her, poor devil!--he will defend himself and his position."
"How?" Priscilla was regaining her calm; she raised her head and faced
Travers from the circle of his arms.
"He will--send Moffatt to--to--Hapgood."
"And he--what will he do?"
"What does the priest do when the secrets of the confessional are
attacked?"
"Yes, yes--but then?"
"Then--oh! my precious girl! Can you not see? You will come into focus.
You, my love, my wife, but, nevertheless, a woman! a trained nurse!
Hapgood would flay you alive, not because he has anything against you,
but professional honour and discipline would be at stake. Between such a
man as Hapgood and--Priscilla Glynn--oh! can you not see my dear, dear
girl?"
"Yes, I begin to see. And--I see I dare not trust even you!" The hard
note in Priscilla's voice hurt Travers cruelly. "And--you, you and Doctor
Ledyard--how would you stand?" she asked faintly.
Travers held her at arm's length, and his face turned ashen gray.
"Besides being men, we, too, are physicians!" he said. "Brutal as this
sounds, it is truth!"
The light burned dangerously in Priscilla's eyes.
"When you are physicians--you are _not_ men!" she panted, and suddenly,
by a sharp stab of memory, Ledyard's words, back in the boyhood days at
Kenmore, stung Travers. They were like an echo in his brain.
"You--you of all women, cannot say that and mean it, my darling!" he
cried, and tried to draw her to him. She resisted.
"Our love, the one sacred thing of our very own," he pleaded, "is in
peril." He saw it now. "Can you not see? Even if it is woman against
woman, what right have you, Priscilla, to cloud and hurt our love?"
"It is not--woman against woman--any more." The words came sweetly,
almost joyously; something like renunciation tinged them. "It is woman
_for_ woman until men will take us by the hands, trustingly, faithfully,
and work with us for what belongs equally to us both!"
The radiance of the uplifted eyes frightened Travers. So might she look,
he thought, had she passed through death and come out victorious.
"Now, just for a time," the tense, thrilling voice went on, "she and
I--women--must stand alone, and do our best as we see it. It is no good
leaving it to--to any man. I see that! And our love, yours and mine! Oh!
dear man of my heart, that can never die or be hurt. It is yours, mine!
God gave it. God will not take it away. God will not take Margaret's
either. She will understand, and, even alone, far, far from _her_ love,
she will be true, as I will be. That is what it means to us!" Then she
paused and smiled at Travers as across a widening chasm.
"I--am going now!"
"Going? My beloved--going--where?"
"To Margaret."
"You--dare not! You shall not! You are--mad!"
"No. I am--going, because, as things are, I cannot--trust you, even you!
That is our penalty for the world's wrong. Long, long ago some one--oh!
it was back in the days when I did not know what life meant--some one
told me--never to let any one kill my ideal! No one ever has! It goes on
before, leading and beckoning. I must follow. I do not know where he is,
he who told me, but I know, as sure as I know that I shall always love
you, that he is following _his_ ideal, and living true and sure. Good
night."
Unable to think or act, Travers saw Priscilla take up her still damp coat
and hat. Like a man in a nightmare he saw her turn a deadly white face
upon him, and then the door closed and he was alone in her little room!
He looked about, dazed and emotionless. He felt _her_ in every touch
of the lonely place; her books, her little pictures, herself! Some women
are like that: they leave themselves in the presence of them they
love--forever!
"Kill her ideal!" The words rang in the empty corners of his heart and
mind. "Somewhere he is following his ideal, and living true and sure!"
Unconsciously, as men do in an hour of stress, Travers turned to action.
Presently he found himself setting the tiny room in order as one does
after a dear one has departed, or a spirit taken its flight. And while he
moved about his reason was slowly readjusting itself, and he felt
poignantly his impotency, his inability to use even his love for
dominance. Being a just and honest man, he could not deny what Priscilla
had said; truth rang in every sentence, chimed in with the minor notes of
his life. No thought of following or staying her entered his mind; she
had set about her business, woman's business, and, to the man's excited
fancy, he seemed to see her pressing forward to the doing of that to
which her soul called her. Then it was her beautiful shining hair he
remembered, and his passion cried out for its own.
"This comes," he fiercely cried, setting his teeth hard, "of our leaving
them behind--our women! Through the ages their place has been beside us
as we fought every foe of the race. We set them aside in our folly, and
now"--he bowed his head upon his folded arms--"and now they are waking up
and demanding only what is theirs!"
A specimen of the new man was Travers, but inheritance, and Ledyard's
teaching, had left their seal upon him. Bowed in Priscilla's little room
he tried to see his way, but for a time he reasoned with Ledyard's words
ringing in his ears. Had he not gone over this with his friend and
partner many a time?
"Yes, I know the cursed evil, know its power and danger! Yes, it
threatens--the race, but it has its roots in the ages; it must be
tackled cautiously. If we take the stand you suggest"--for Travers had
put forth his violent, new opposition--"what will happen? The quacks and
money-making sharks will get the upper hand. Do you think men would come
to us if exposure faced them? It's the devil, my boy; but of the two
evils this, God knows, is the least. We must do what we can; work for
a scientific and moral redemption, but never play the game like
fools."--"But the women," Travers had put in feverishly, "the
women!"--"Spare me, boy! The women have clutched the heart of me--always.
The women and the--the babies. I've used them to flay many men into
remorse and better living. I am thinking of them, as God hears me, when I
take the course I do!"
And so Travers suffered and groaned in the small, deserted room.
Above and beyond Ledyard's reasoning stood two desolate figures. They
seemed to represent all women: his Priscilla and Margaret Moffatt! One,
the crude child of nature with her gleam undimmed, leading her forth
unhampered, though love and suffering blocked her way; the other, the
daughter of ages of refinement and culture, who had heard the call of the
future in her big woman-heart and could leave all else for the sake of
the crown she might never wear, but which, with God's help, she would
never defile.
On, on, they two went before Travers's aching eyes. The way before them
was shining, or was it the light of Priscilla's hair? They were leaving
him, all men, in the dark! It was to seek the light, or----And then
Travers got up and left the room with bowed head, like one turning his
back upon the dead.
He went to Ledyard at once, and found that cheerful gentleman awaiting
him.
"At last!" he cried. "Helen telephoned at seven. She thought you were on
your way here. Did you get lost?"
"Yes."
"What's the matter, Dick? You look as if you had seen a ghost."
"I have. An army of them."
"Are you--ill?"
"No."
"Sit down, boy. Here, take a swallow of wine. You're used up. Now then!"
"Doctor Ledyard, you were wrong--about Huntter! You remember what you
told me, before Margaret Moffatt announced her engagement?"
"Yes." Ledyard poured himself a glass of wine and walked to his chair
across the room.
"You were wrong; he is not what you think."
"What do you mean? I haven't seen Huntter for--for a year or more. I took
care, sacred care, though, to--to trace him from the time he first came
to me, more than ten years ago. No straighter, more honourable man
breathes than he. He was one of the victims of ignorance and crooked
reasoning, but, thank God! he was spared the worst."
"He was--not."
"Dick, in God's name, what do you mean?"
"Hapgood was called in. Huntter has not been in Bermuda; he has been
right here in New York, under Hapgood's care."
"And Hapgood--told you?"
A purplish flush dyed Ledyard's face.
"No."
"Who, then? No sidetracking, Dick. Who?"
"The--the nurse."
"She-devil! Fell in love with her patient? I've struck that kind----"
"Stop!"
Both men were on their feet and glaring at each other.
"You are speaking of my future--wife!"
Ledyard loosened his collar and--laughed!
"You're mad!" he said faintly, "or a damned fool!"
"I'm neither. I am engaged to marry Priscilla Glynn; have been since the
summer. I meant to tell you and mother to-night. I went to her from the
vessel. Priscilla Glynn took care of Huntter without knowing of his
connection in the Moffatt affair. Above all else in the world"--Travers's
voice shook--"she adores Margaret Moffatt, knows her intimately, and
wishes, blindly, to serve her as she understands her. There are such
women, you know, and they are becoming more numerous. She has gone
to--tell Margaret Moffatt."
"Gone?" Ledyard reeled back a step. "And you permitted that?"
"I had no choice. You do not know--my--my--well, Miss Glynn."
"Not know her? The young fiend! Not know her? I remember her well. I
might have known that no good could come from her. But--we can crush her,
the young idiot! I do not envy you your fiancée, Dick."
The telephone rang sharply and Ledyard took up the receiver with
trembling hand.
"It's your mother," he said; "you had better speak for yourself."
"So you are there, Dick?"
"Yes, mother."
"There was a message just now. Such a peculiar one. I thought you had
better have it at once. It was only this: 'She knows' and a 'good-bye.'"
"Thanks, mother. I understand."
Ledyard watched the unflinching face and noted the even voice. He was so
near he had caught Helen's words.
"And that is all, mother?"
"All, dear."
"I'll be home soon. Good night."
Then he looked up at Ledyard, and the older man's face softened.
"You'll find this sort of thing is a devil of a jigsaw. It cuts in all
directions," he said, laying his hand on Travers's shoulder.
"Yes, doesn't it? But, Doctor Ledyard, I want to tell you something.
She's right--that girl of mine, and Margaret Moffatt, too--and you know
it as well as I do! If I can, I'm going to have my love and my woman; but
even if I go empty hearted to my grave I shall know--they are right!
Besides being women, and our loves, they are human beings, and they are
beginning to find it out. The way may lead through hell, but it ends
in----"
"What?" Ledyard breathed; his eyes fixed on the stern young face.
"In understanding. It leads to the responsibility all women must take.
Good night, old friend."