It was a cruel coincidence that the dreadful thing that befell me next
day should have followed at a time when my young mind was thus dreamily
engrossed.
The day had been a hard one, and I know not why, but I could not
concentrate my mind upon the proceedings. I felt inexpressibly stupid,
and the voices of the legislators droned meaninglessly in my ears. As I
could not follow the debates intelligently, I decided that I would stay
a while after the council had adjourned, borrow one of the reporters'
notes, and patch up my own from them.
So, with a glass of kola at my elbow, and Verley Marchmont's notes
before me, I sat at work in the empty chamber after every one, I
supposed, had gone, though I heard the attendants and janitors of the
place at work in the gallery above. Young Marchmont waited for me
outside.
A quiet had settled down over the place, and for a time I scribbled
away upon my pad. I do not know how long I had worked--not more than
ten or fifteen minutes--when I felt some one come up behind me, and a
voice that I recognized from having heard it often in the House during
the session said:
"May I speak to you a moment, Miss Ascough?"
I looked up, surprised, but not alarmed. Mr. Burbank was standing by
my chair. There was something in his expression that made me move my
chair back a little, and I began gathering up my papers rapidly. I said
politely, however:
"Certainly, Mr. Burbank. What can _The Lantern_ do for you?"
I sat facing the table, but I had moved around so that my shoulder
was turned toward him. In the little silence that followed I felt his
breath against my ear as he leaned on the table and propped his chin
upon his hand, so that his face came fairly close to mine. Before he
spoke I had shrunk farther back in my chair.
He said, with a laugh that was an odd mixture of embarrassment and
assurance:
"I want nothing of _The Lantern_, but I do want something of you. I
want to ask you to--er--marry me. God! how I love you!"
If some one had struck me hard and suddenly upon the head, I could not
have experienced a greater shock than the words of that negro gave me.
All through the dreaming days of my young girlhood one lovely moment
had stood out like a golden beam in my imagination--my first proposal.
Perhaps all girls do not think of this; but _I_ did, I who lived
upon my fancies. How many gods and heroes had I not created who had
whispered to me that magical question? And now out of that shining,
beautiful throng of imaginary suitors, what was this that had come? A
great black man, the "bogy man" of my childhood days!
Had I been older, perhaps I might have managed that situation in
some way. I might even have spoken gently to him; he believed he was
honoring me. But youth revolts like some whipped thing before stings
like this, and I--I was so hurt, so terribly wounded, that I remember
I gasped out a single sob of rage. Covering my face with my hands, I
stood up. Then something happened that for a moment robbed me of all my
physical and mental powers.
Suddenly I felt myself seized in a pair of powerful arms. A face came
against my own, and lips were pressed hard upon mine.
I screamed like one gone mad. I fought for my freedom from his arms
like a possessed person. Then blindly, with blood and fire before my
eyes and burning in my heart, I fled from that terrible chamber. I
think I banged both my head and hands against the door, for later I
found that my forehead and hands were swollen and bruised. Out into the
street I rushed.
I heard Verley Marchmont call to me. I saw him like a blur rise up in
my path, but behind him I fancied was that other--that great _animal_
who had kissed me.
On and on I ran, my first impulse being to escape from something
dreadful that was pursuing me. I remember I had both my hands over my
mouth. I felt that it was unclean, and that rivers and rivers could
not wash away that stain that was on me.
I think it was Marchmont's jerking hold upon my arm that brought me to
a sense of partial awakening.
"Miss Ascough, what is the matter? What is the matter?" he was saying.
I looked up at him, and I started to speak, to tell him what had
happened to me, and then suddenly I knew it was something I could tell
no one. It loomed up in my child's imagination as something filthy.
"I can't tell you," I said.
"Did something frighten you? What is it, dear?"
I remember, in all my pain and excitement, that he called me "dear,"
that fair-haired young Englishman; and like a child unexpectedly
comforted, it brought the sobs stranglingly to my throat.
"Come and get into the carriage, then," he said. "You are ill. Your
hands and face are burning. I'm afraid you have fever. You'd better get
home as quickly as possible."
The driver of our carriage, who had followed, drew up beside us; but
even as I turned to step into the carriage, suddenly I remembered what
Miss Foster had said that first day:
"This carriage is owned by Mr. Burbank. He supplies all the carriages
for the press."
"I can't ride in _that_!" I cried.
"You've got to," said Marchmont. "It's the last one left except Mr.
Burbank's own."
"I'm going to walk home," I said.
I was slowly recovering a certain degree of self-possession.
Nevertheless, my temples were throbbing; my head ached splittingly.
I was not crying, but gasping sobs kept seizing me, such as attack
children after a tempestuous storm of tears.
"You can't possibly walk home," declared Marchmont. "It is at least
four and a half miles, if not more."
"I am going to walk just the same," I said. "I would rather die than
ride in that carriage."
He said something to the driver. The latter started up his horses, and
drove slowly down the road. Then Marchmont took my arm, and we started.
That interminable walk in the fearful Jamaica heat and sun recurs
sometimes to me still, like a hectic breath of hateful remembrance.
The penetrating sun beat its hot breath down upon our backs. The sand
beneath our feet seemed like living coals, and even when we got into
the cooler paths of the wooded country, the closeness and oppressive
heaviness of the atmosphere stifled and crushed me.
At intervals the driver of that Burbank carriage would draw up beside
us on the road, and Marchmont would entreat me to get in; but always I
refused, and a strength came to me with each refusal.
Once he said:
"If you would let me, I could carry you."
I looked up at his anxious young face. His clothes were thicker than
mine, and he had a number of books under his arm. He must have been
suffering from the heat even as I was, but he was ready to sacrifice
himself for what he must have thought was a sick whim on my part. He
was nothing but a boy, very little older than I; but he was of that
plugging English type which sticks at a task until it is accomplished.
The thought of his carrying me made me laugh hysterically, and he,
thinking I was feeling better, again urged me to get into the carriage,
but in vain.
We met many country people on the road, and he bought from one a huge
native umbrella. This he hoisted over my head; I think it did relieve
us somewhat. But the whole of me, even to my fingers, now seemed to be
tingling and aching. There was a buzzing and ringing in my head. I was
thirsty. We stopped at a wayside spring, and an old woman lent me her
tin cup for a drink. Marchmont gave her a coin, and she said in a high,
whining voice:
"Give me another tuppence, Marster, and I'll tell missee a secret."
He gave her the coin, and then she said:
"Missee got the fever. She better stand off'n dat ground."
"For God's sake!" he said to me, "let me put you in the carriage!"
"You would not want to, if you knew," I said, and my voice sounded in
my own ears as if it came from some distance.
On and on we tramped. Never were there five such miles as those.
Many a time since I have walked far greater distances. I have covered
five and six miles of links, carrying my own golf-clubs. I've climbed
up and down hills and valleys, five, ten, and more miles, and arrived
at my destination merely healthily tired and hungry.
But five miles under a West Indian sun, in a land where even the worms
and insects seemed to wither and dry in the sand!
It was about four-forty when we left Government House; it was seven
when we reached the hotel. I was staggering as we at last passed under
the great arcade of the Myrtle Bank. Though my eyes were endowed with
sight, I saw nothing but a blurred confusion of shadows and shapes.
Mr. Marchmont and another man--I think the manager of the hotel--took
me to my room, and some one--I suppose the maid--put me to bed. I
dropped into a heavy sleep, or, rather, stupor, almost immediately.
The following day a maid told me that every one in the hotel was
talking about me and the sick condition in which I had returned to the
hotel, walking! Every one believed I was down with some bad fever and
had lost my mind, and there was talk of quarantining me somewhere until
my case was properly diagnosed. I sent a boy for Mr. Campbell.
He came over at once. Grumbling and muttering something under his
breath, he stumped into my room, and when he saw I was not sick in bed,
as report had made me, he seemed to become angry rather than pleased.
He cleared his throat, ran his hand through his hair till it stood up
straight on his head, and glared at me savagely.
"What's the matter with you?" he demanded. "Why did you not report at
the office last evening? Are you sick or is this some prank? What's
this I've been hearing about you and that young cub of _The Call_?"
"I don't know what you've been hearing," I said, "but I want to tell
you that I'm not going to stay here any longer. I'm going home."
"What do you mean by that?" he shouted at me.
"You asked me what happened to me?" I said excitedly. "I'll tell you."
And I did. When I was through, and sat sobbingly picking and twisting
my handkerchief in my hands, he said explosively:
"Why in the name of common sense did you remain behind in that place?"
"I told you I wanted to go over my notes. I had not been able to report
intelligently the proceedings, as I felt ill."
"Don't you know better than to stay alone in _any_ building where there
are likely to be black men?"
No, I did not know better than that.
And now began a heated quarrel and duel between us. I wanted to leave
Jamaica at once, and this old Scotchman desired to keep me there. I had
become a valuable asset to _The Lantern_. But I was determined to go.
After Mr. Campbell left I sought out Dr. Manning. He had offered to
help me if I went to America. To America, then, I would go.
Dr. Manning watched my face narrowly as I talked to him. I told him of
the experience I had had, and he said:
"Now, you see, I warned you that this was no place for a girl like you."
"I know it isn't," I said eagerly, "and so I'm going to leave. I want
to take the first boat that sails from Jamaica. One leaves for Boston
next Friday, and I can get passage on that. I want to know whether you
meant what you said the other night about giving me a position after I
get there."
"I certainly did," he replied. "I live in Richmond, and when you get to
Boston, telegraph me, and I will arrange for you to come right on. I
myself am leaving to-night. Have you enough money?"