It often happens that two souls who love are, like the parts of
a Mexican gemel-ring, the more difficult to intertwine the better
they fit each other.
You may be assured that, after reading M. Godin’s confession, we looked
forward to seeing Maitland with a good deal of interest. We knew this
new turn of affairs would cause him to call at once, so we all strove to
possess our souls in patience while we awaited his coming. In less than
half an hour he was with us. “The news of your success has preceded
you,” said Gwen as soon as he was seated. “I wish to be the first to
offer you my congratulations. You have done for me what none other
could have done and I owe you a debt of gratitude I can never repay. The
thought that I was unable to carry out my father’s wishes,--that I could
do nothing to free his name from the reproaches which had been cast upon
it, was crushing my heart like a leaden weight. You have removed this
burden, and, believe me, words fail to express the gratitude I feel. I
shall beg of you to permit me to pay you the sum my father mentioned and
to--to--” She hesitated and Maitland did not permit her to finish her
sentence.
“You must pardon me, Miss Darrow,” he replied, “but I can accept no
further payment for the little I have done. It has been a pleasure to
do it and the knowledge that you are now released from the disagreeable
possibilities of your father’s will is more than sufficient
remuneration. If you still feel that you owe me anything, perhaps you
will be willing to grant me a favour.”
“There is nothing,” she said earnestly, “within my power to grant for
which you shall ask in vain.”
“Let me beg of you then,” he replied, “never again to seek to repay me
for any services you may fancy I have rendered. There is nothing you
could bestow upon me which I would accept.” She gave him a quick,
searching glance and I noticed a look of pain upon her face, but
Maitland gave it no heed, for, indeed, he seemed to have much ado either
to know what he wanted to say, or knowing it, to say it.
“And now,” he continued, “I must no longer presume to order your
actions. You have considered my wishes so conscientiously, have kept
your covenant so absolutely, that what promised to be a disagreeable
responsibility has become a pleasure which I find myself loth to
discontinue. All power leads to tyranny. Man cannot be trusted with it.
Its exercise becomes a consuming passion, and he abuses it. The story
is the same, whether nations or individuals be considered. I myself, you
see, am a case in point. I thank you for the patience you have shown and
the pains you have taken to make everything easy and pleasant for me;
and now I must be going, as I have yet much to do in this matter. It
may be a long time,” he said, extending his hand to her, “before we meet
again. We have travelled the same path--” but he paused as if unable to
proceed, and a deadly pallor overspread his face as he let fall both her
hand and his own. He made a heroic effort to proceed.
“I--I shall miss--very--very much miss--pray pardon me--I--I believe I’m
ill--a little faint I’d--I’d better get out into the air--I shall--shall
miss--pardon--I--I’m not quite myself--goodbye, good-bye!” and he
staggered unsteadily, half blindly to the door and out into the street
without another word. He certainly did look ill.
Gwen’s face was a study. In it surprise, fear, pain, and dismay, each
struggled for predominance. She tried to retain her self-control while
I was present, but it was all in vain. A moment later she threw herself
upon the sofa, and, burying her face in the cushions, wept long and
bitterly. I stole quietly away and sent Alice to her, and after a time
she regained her self-control, if not her usual interest in affairs.
As day after day passed, however, and Maitland neglected to call,
transacting such business as he had through me, the shadow on Gwen’s
face deepened, and the elasticity of manner, whereof she had given such
promise at Maitland’s last visit, totally deserted her, giving place to
a dreamy, far-away stolidity of disposition which I knew full well
boded no good. I stood this sort of thing as long as I could, and then I
determined to call on Maitland and give him a “piece of my mind.”
I did call, but when I saw him all my belligerent resolutions vanished.
He was sitting at his table trying to work out some complicated problem,
and he was utterly unfitted for a single minute’s consecutive thought.
I had not seen him for more than two weeks, and during that time he had
grown to look ten years older. His face was drawn, haggard, and deathly
pale.
“For Heaven’s sake, George,” I exclaimed, “what is the matter with you?”
“I’ve an idea I’m spleeny,” he replied with a ghastly attempt at a
smile. This was too much for me. He should have the lecture after all.
The man who thinks he is dying may be spleeny, but the man who says he
is spleeny is, of the two, the one more likely to be dying.
“See here, old man,” I began, “don’t you get to thinking that when
you hide your own head in the sand no one can see the colour of your
feathers. You might as well try to cover up Bunker Hill Monument with
a wisp of straw. Don’t you suppose I know you love Gwen Darrow? That’s
what’s the matter with you.”
“Well,” he replied, “and if it is, what then?”
“What then?” I ejaculated. “What then? Why go to her like a man; tell
her you love her and ask her to be your wife. That’s what I’d do if I
loved--” But he interrupted me before I had finished the lie, and I was
not sorry, for, if I had thought before I became involved in that last
sentence, how I feared to speak to Jeannette--well, I should have left
it unsaid. I have made my living giving advice till it has become a
fixed habit.
“See here, Doc,” he broke in upon me, “I do love Gwen Darrow as few men
ever love a woman, and the knowledge that she can never be my wife is
killing me. Don’t interrupt me! I know what I am saying. She can never
be my wife! Do you think I would sue for her hand? Do you think I would
be guilty of making traffic of her gratitude? Has she not her father’s
command to wed me if I but ask her, even as she would have wed that
scoundrel, Godin, had things gone as he planned them? Did she not tell
us both that she should keep her covenant with her father though it
meant for her a fate worse than death? And you would have me profit by
her sacrifice? For shame! Love may wither my heart till it rustles in
my breast like a dried leaf, but I will never, never let her know how
I love her. And see here, Doc, promise me that you will not tell her I
love her--nay, I insist on it.”
Thus importuned I said, though it went much against the grain, for that
was the very thing I had intended, “She shall not learn it first through
me.” This seemed to satisfy him, for he said no more upon the subject.
When I went back to Gwen I was in no better frame of mind than when I
left her. Here were two people so determined to be miserable in spite
of everything and everybody that I sought Jeannette by way of
counter-irritant for my wounded sympathy.
Ah, Jeannette! Jeannette! to this day the sound of your sweet name is
like a flash of colour to the eye. You were a bachelor’s first and last
love, and he will never forget you.