HARBOR
"My faith, but I'm glad you're entirely well again, Sophy!" wrote
The Author, in his small, fine, hypercritical script. "You make the
world a pleasanter place by being alive in it. People like you
should inculcate in themselves the fixed and unalterable habit of
being alive. They should firmly refuse to be anything else. I call
this to your attention, in the hope that you will see your bounden
duty and do it.
"When I thought you were going to quit, I ran away. That was a
calamity I could not stand by and witness, without disaster.
However, Jelnik stayed!
"Your nurse (I do not like Miss Ransome, though I respect, admire,
and fear her. Her emotions are carbolized, her heart is sterilized,
her personality has the mathematical perfection of something turned
out by a super-machine: like, say, the last word in machine-guns.
None of the divine imperfection of your hand-wrought, artist-stuff
there! I forgive her for existing, because she is intelligent and
useful, two things that, without lying like a Christian and a
gentleman, one may not say of many women, and seldom of one woman at
the same time), your nurse gave me a highly interesting, impersonal,
scientific account of what happened after my flight. Her testimony
was all the more valuable in that she was, as she said, only
'psychologically interested.' She reminded me that Empedocles is
said to have recalled a young woman from death by the same means,
i.e., the insistent repetition of her name; which proved to Miss
Ransome that the poor old ancients had 'anticipated, though of
course unscientifically, some of the principles of modern
psychology.' _Eheu!_
"It proved something else to me, Sophy--that I had too willingly
underestimated Mr. Nicholas Jelnik. There is very much more to that
young man than I like to admit.
"He would have made such a perfect villain: I could have made a work
of art of him, as a villain! And now I can't, because he isn't. This
chagrins me. It upsets my notions of the fitness of things. More
yet: he loves you, Sophy, more than I do, or ever could.
"Does this astound you? Come and let us reason together: the spirit
moves me to speak out in meeting.
"You are the only woman I have ever been willing to marry. That I
should wish to marry you astonished me far, far more than it did
you. At the same time it delighted me by its very unexpectedness. It
gave me a brand-new emotion, and brand-new emotions aren't every-day
affairs, let me tell you! You brought something naïve, unusual,
fresh, perplexing, into a bored existence. And then you refused to
spoil it! That added to the quality of the unusualness. The ninety
and nine would have subjected me to the acid test of matrimony, with
the later and inevitable alimony. The saving hundredth sees to it
that I shall keep my illusions! O rare dear wise Sophy! How shall I
repay you?
"For I shall be able to indulge in day-dreams now. I shall not grow
old cynically. There _are_ unselfish, true-hearted, valiant women.
There _are_ women who will not marry men for position, name, fame,
power, money; no, nor for anything but love. How do I know? Because
you don't love me, my dear. But you do love Nicholas Jelnik. You had
not come back from the gates of death else, Sophy.
"Marry him. You will bring him the quiet strength and sureness he
needs. A temperamental man, a finely organized, highly gifted,
sensitive, and intellectual man needs just such affection as yours,
as unshakable as the sun, as faithful as the fixed stars. That you
should love him almost makes me believe in the direct intervention
of divine Providence in his behalf. My own innate and troublesome
decency forces me to add that he is worth it. He has altogether
_too_ much, confound him!
"Do you know that while you lay ill, he came and told me about the
finding of Jessamine Hynds, showed me her statement, told me, in
short, the whole story? I was consumed with envy, malice, and all
uncharitableness; to think that such a thing should or could happen
right under my nose, and I all unwitting! And you, too, Sophy, went
through such an experience! I'd give a year of my life to have been
with you.
"When Jelnik had finished, and I'd caught my breath, I apologized
for having been a dam' nuisance. He explained, delicately,
soothingly, with exquisite politeness, that literary folks of
consequence _have_ to be dam' nuisances at times. It's the price
they pay.
"And now let me speak to you, my little Sophy, as your loving and
loyal friend: _Hold fast to Jelnik._ I knew his father. The position
he occupied wasn't exactly royal, but the elect addressed him as
'thou.' And you have learned somewhat of the Hyndses. In consequence,
your Jelnik is a mixture of South-Carolina-Viennese-Hynds-Jelnik
pride, beside which Satan's is as mild, meek, and innocuous as a
properly raised Anglican curate. Don't meet his pride with pride.
Meet it with _you_, Sophy. Most of us have been loved in our time,
but how few of us have been permitted really to love! That you have
in full measure this heavenliest of all powers, is your hope and his.
"There are times I'm almost sorry you didn't love _me_, Sophy. I
should then have passed my days in a state of pleasant bewilderment,
trying to figure out how the deuce it happened. Or should I, though?
H'm! I might have gotten used to being married to you, and that
would have spelled boredom. The thought makes me shudder.
"Johnson and I are coming down for Leetchy's wedding, of course.
That pink-and-white piece of Irishry will rule Geddes to perfection.
There's the steel under the velvet, the cat's claws under that satin
paw of hers--more power to it! I have two prints and a piece of
Cloisonné for her that I am sorely tempted to keep for myself. I
have more than once bought things to give to friends, and then found
myself unable to do so. I shouldn't be able to give these to anybody
but one of the ladies of Hynds House.
"Johnson mopes. The youngest Meade girl, she with the dimples, the
pink cheeks, the fluffy hair, and the fluffier brains, is the cause.
He sighs for everything and everybody. For Mary Magdalen's batter
cakes. For the Black family. For the Kissing Cow, and for Beautiful
Dog. Hynds House is a fatal place!
"So we are coming back to it, as soon as we may. I kiss your hand,
Madame, and beg you to understand that so long as we two live you
are never going to be able, for any considerable length of time, to
get rid of,
Your affectionate friend,
THE AUTHOR."
I was able to read between the lines, and my heart warmed to The
Author. At the same time the letter saddened me, in so far as it
referred to Mr. Jelnik.
Refuse to let him go? But I couldn't keep him. I knew now that he
had to go, that it was the best thing, the only thing. Doctor Geddes
helped me to see that. The doctor tried, at first, to keep his
cousin in Hyndsville. Why shouldn't Nicholas go into partnership
with him? Why shouldn't Nicholas share everything the open-hearted,
open-handed doctor had?
Mr. Jelnik smiled, thanked him, and put the offer by. And I knew he
was right.
* * * * *
It had been a rainy day and was now one of those afternoons that
have the rawness of autumn, though summer is still present. It was
so chilly that a fire burned in the library fireplace, before which
I was sitting. The wind was from the northeast, and the trees and
bushes slanted before it. Potty Black and I had the library all to
our alone-selves, for Alicia was spending the day with Mary Meade,
one of her bridesmaids.
The wedding was less than six weeks off, and preparations were under
way. It was to be a home wedding, the first to take place in Hynds
House since Richard's day, and somehow that lent the occasion the
rose color of romance. It was thus a part of Hynds House history,
something Hyndsville couldn't take lightly. Alicia's wedding was a
town affair, in which everybody was delightfully interested.
Besides, the bridegroom himself was a Hynds on his mother's side, as
Hyndsville ladies remembered, when they sat on our front porch
working on wonderful bits of embroidered things for the bride. It
was then I learned in fullest detail the whole history of
Hyndsville, of the Hyndses, and of Great-Aunt Sophronisba in
particular. I fancy that the Witch of Endor's neighbors must have
had just such an opinion of her as these Hyndsville folk had of
Great-Aunt Sophronisba.
South Carolina people always talk in terms of three generations.
When they say something about you, they remember something about
your mother or your grandfather at the same time, and they tell
that, too. There is a fearsome frankness about the conversation of
the born South Carolinian that The Author says is only to be matched
in an English country house when the county families are gathered
together. Like this, for instance:
"No, my dear, I can't say I'm surprised at Sally's running away and
getting married. Let's see: her grandfather was a Dampier, wasn't
he? Didn't one of the Dampiers murder somebody, or something like
that? It seems to me I have heard dear Mama relate some such
circumstance."
"Oh, _no_, Mary! It wasn't _murder_! He shot one of the Abercrombies
in a duel, that's all. He was really a very fine man! They had a
dispute about a horse, and Mr. Abercrombie struck Mr. Dampier's
little negro groom over the head with his crop. After that, of
course, there was nothing to do but challenge him. You must be
thinking of Barton Bailey, Eliza DuFour's grandfather on her
mother's side. _He_ was a complete scoundrel. His poor wife (she was
a Garrett; very dull, poor thing, like all the Garretts, but at
least the Garretts were honest, which is more than even charity can
say for the Baileys) his wife led a martyr's life with him. Or
maybe you're thinking of Tiger Bill Pendarvis. A most _awful_
person!--almost an out-law!"
Mrs. Scarboro looked up, bit off a thread, and said placidly:
"Oh, awful! He was a cousin of mine on dear Papa's side of the
family. Papa and Mama used to say that they never could understand
why Cousin Sophronisba Hynds didn't pick out Tiger Bill instead of
pouncing upon a perfectly innocent little Englishman."
I sat and listened. One thing was joyously clear and plain to me.
They liked and trusted me enough now to talk about their own people
before me, which is the high sign of fellowship in South Carolina.
But learn, O outsider, that silence is golden, so far as _you_ are
concerned. Wisely did I hold my peace, and devoutly thank the Lord
that times had changed for the better.
For a great deal of that change I had to thank my dear girl, so much
more clever and tactful than I. And so I would not cloud her last
days with me by letting her see that I was unhappy. Only, I was glad
this afternoon to be by myself for a breathing-space. It rests one's
face occasionally to take off one's smile. I took off mine, then,
and let down the corners of my mouth.
The door leading to the hall was half open. The house was full of
blue-gray shadows, and had a drowsy hush upon it, a pleasanter hush
than it used to know. One heard the rushing wind outside, and above
it Mary Magdalen singing one of her interminable "speretuals."
A slinking shadow stole through the hall, a wary yellow head
appeared in the door, and Beautiful Dog sneaked into the room.
Beautiful Dog had not known a happy day since the departure of Mr.
Johnson. Not all the coddlings of the cook, nor the blandishments of
sympathetic housemaids consoled him for the absence of his god. He
grew thinner, if that could be possible. His tail hung at half-mast,
his ears were a signal of mourning. Queenasheeba said he looked like
"sumpin' 'at happened to a dawg."
One hope sustained Beautiful Dog's drooping spirit--the hope that he
might suddenly turn a corner, or enter a room, and find the adored
Johnson smiling kindly at him. Wherefore he dared the to-be-shunned
presence of other white people. He nerved himself to enter tabooed
domains. Love sustained him. He knew he had no business there, just
as our cats knew it and, whenever they caught him at it, visited
swift and dire punishment upon him. Beautiful Dog dared even the
cats, those black nightmares of his existence.
He met my glance, paused, and cringed. But as I made no hostile
movement, and seemed disposed to be friendly, Beautiful Dog grinned
half-heartedly, wagged his rope of a tail dejectedly, and advanced
farther. Then he paused again, head on one side, ears forlornly
flopping, and made an awkward motion with his fore paws, expressive
of doubtful trust and painful inquiry. His god had been wont to
choose this particular room by preference. Did I know where he was?
When he was coming back?
Beautiful Dog glanced wistfully at the empty chair over by the
window. Once or twice his god had allowed him to lie beside that
chair while he read, and if Beautiful Dog happened to raise his
head, a kind hand happened to fall upon it. He hadn't forgotten. His
desire now was to sneak over to the chair and sniff at it. Perhaps
by some exquisite miracle his man might suddenly appear in his old
place. Can't miracles happen for Beautiful Dogs as well as for other
folks, when times and seasons are propitious?
Beautiful Dog took another step toward the chair. And then there
paced into the library, and caught him in the rear, his arch
enemy--Sir Thomas More Black. The great cat took one look at the
nigger dog trespassing upon forbidden ground. You could see Sir
Thomas More swell with rage and astonishment, and then lengthen out
like an accordion. Without a sound he launched himself upon the
intruder. And at the same instant and actuated by the same motive,
Potty Black, who had been sweetly and peacefully dozing on my lap,
rose up with slitted eyes, bottle-brushed her tail, and hurled
herself into the fray.
Attacked front and rear, Beautiful Dog was at hideous disadvantage.
He launched himself sidewise; he didn't even have time to howl. He
fell over his own splay feet as he ran, butted into chairs and
tables, twisted, turned, whirled, dodged, but always presented just
the right spot to be clawed. He couldn't dash to the door and
escape: the cats were too swift for him. They kept their bewildered
victim circling around the middle of the room.
I was sorry for Beautiful Dog, for my sleek, petted, purring pussies
had turned into raging black tornadoes edged with a lightning of
claws. If the aristocratic Black Family had been raised in
Hooligan's Alley itself, on the soft side of the ash-bins, they
couldn't have behaved more villainously. Alas! they were _cats_,
just as people are people.
I snatched up the brass-headed poker, the readiest thing to my hand.
I merely wished to shoo off the Blacks with it. But as I rose from
my chair with a _scat_! upon my lips, Beautiful Dog, seeing out of
the tail of his eye a chance to escape, dashed headlong into me. He
came with such force that I fell backward, and the poker flew out of
my hand and came _crack_! upon the sacred tiles of Hynds House
library. There was an ominous clatter, for no less than the Father
of his Country himself had fallen out of his place. At the same
instant Beautiful Dog gained the door, with both cats upon his hind
quarters; with one prolonged yell of terror he made for safety and
Mary Magdalen.
I picked myself and the tile up. Thank Heaven, it wasn't broken. The
blow had loosened the cement that held it in place, and where it had
been was a small square hole.
I looked at that hole doubtfully. There oughtn't to be any hole
there at all. That was a curious way to fix tiles, such precious
tiles as ours. I slipped my hand in and tentatively tested the black
wall, and discovered that the other tiles, as might be expected, had
been properly put in; that is, against a solid background.
I put my hand farther into the aperture. It was larger than might be
expected, and most cunningly contrived--a hollow space some ten
inches in width, and possibly a foot deep. There was something in
it.
Now I am mortally afraid of rats and mice, and what I had touched
had the sleazy feel of frayed silk. It might be a rat's nest! I took
a sliver of lightwood from the fire, and with this examined the
black interior, before I ventured my fingers again. It wasn't a
rat's nest in the corner. It was a package. A package, or rather a
sizable buckskin bag carefully tied together with thongs of the same
material, and this wrapped in a piece of silk that tore and went to
pieces even as I fingered it.
Even then I didn't guess! I thought it was, perhaps, a Revolutionary
hoard, maybe such another collection of old coins as we had found in
the room without windows.
The silk dropped away like rotting leaves, but the buckskin bag was
stout and in perfect condition. So many and so hard were the knots
in the thongs that I had to use my penknife to cut them. And having
done so, I poured the contents of the bag on the library table.
It was, as I have said, a gray day. But the fires of a century's
sunsets flamed and flashed in that library! Ruby, sapphire, diamond,
emerald, pearl--how they glowed and glimmered! How they shone and
sparkled! For the moment there fell upon me that madness that jewels
bring upon women, a sort of wild delight in their hard, bright
beauty, an ecstasy, an intoxication. I poured them from one hand to
the other, I held the greatest to my cheek. The loveliness of them
went to my head. "I did chap them atween my hands, as children chap
chaff. They did glow like the Devill his rainbow," Jessamine had
said. And remembering her, the delight vanished.
With stunning force the meaning of this discovery came home to me. I
had found the unfindable! This, this was where Shooba had hidden
them between a night and a morning, Shooba the "skilfullest workman
on Hynds place." One fancied him here, in the dead of night, while
all Hynds House slept a drugged sleep. It would suit his sardonic
humor, his impish malice, to hide them where the Hyndses must pass
them daily; and, himself a slave, to hide them behind the pictured
semblance of Washington. The grim irony of the thing! And not the
cunning of man, but the antics of a cur, a yellow nigger dog, had
outwitted the cunning of the old witch doctor! Beautiful Dog had
brought to light that which Jessamine had died alone in the dark
rather than reveal.
There was one thing more in the buckskin bag, wrapped separately.
When I got this separate package open, I found three frayed, black
feathers bound together with a strand of black hair, a piece of
yellow wax with two slivers of what I think was bone thrust through
it crosswise, and a small semblance of a snake, rudely carved out of
wood. There was, too, some dust, or powder, that must once have
been leaves, or perhaps roots. These unchancy things and the bag
that held them I dropped into the fire, breathing a sigh of relief
to see its red tooth seize upon them. The wax made a hissing noise,
and the dust of leaves, or whatever it was, burned with a bright,
fierce flame.
Then with feverish haste I got the Hynds jewels back into the
buckskin bag. I hadn't the faintest notion as to their actual value,
though I knew it must be considerable--enough to make up to Nicholas
Jelnik the losses he had sustained; enough to decide his fate--and
mine. Even now he was packing to go; even now there were "For Sale"
signs on the gray cottage.
I ran into our living-room, snatched my sewing-bag from the
sewing-stand, and dropped the heavy bag into it. That looked more
commonplace.
The clamor from the kitchen, incident upon Beautiful Dog's having
taken refuge under Mary Magdalen's skirts, had died down. I knew
that Beautiful Dog was licking his wounds after defeat, and the
Black cats, sedate and mild-mannered, were licking their paws after
victory. I determined that from that afternoon Beautiful Dog should
become an honored and important institution in Hynds House. If I had
to choose a new family escutcheon, I think I should insist upon
having Beautiful Dog rampant upon it!
When I went outside, the garden was a gray-green gloom of flying
leaves and twisting tree-branches bending before the stiff northeast
gale. It was wild weather--weather that sent the blood tingling
through the veins and whipped red into one's cheeks.
I got into Mr. Jelnik's grounds through the hedge behind the
spring-house, and ran like a hare through his garden. I had to
hammer upon his door before I could make Achmet hear me, so loud and
surf-like was the noise of the wind in the trees.
The Jinnee stepped back and salaamed, his hands upon his breast.
Then he laid a finger upon his lips, for from up-stairs came the
wailing outcry of a violin.
The Jinnee looked thin and old. His garments hung loose upon his
shrunken frame. There was trouble in that house, he told me. The
master had wished to send Daoud away. Daoud had refused to go. To
leave one's lord when calamity came upon him was to shame one's
beard. It was the act of the infidel, not the behavior of the
faithful, and Daoud had threatened to shave his beard, put on the
dress of a pilgrim, and beg his way from Hyndsville to Mecca. He was
even now kneeling upon a prayer-mat reciting a four-bow prayer. As
for the master, for two days he had not eaten; he merely swallowed
a cup of coffee in the morning because Achmet wept. This afternoon
he had fled to his violin for relief. Verily, God was afflicting
them! "The bad fortune of the good turns his face to heaven, even as
the good fortune of the bad bends his head to the earth. It is the
will of God: _Islam_!" said The Jinnee, simply.
"I must see Mr. Jelnik, now, this minute! I have news for him," I
said hastily.
The Jinnee looked doubtful. Plainly, he didn't want his master
disturbed, even by me. "I have never seen him like this before," he
told me. "Listen!"
Came the cries of the violin, heart-rending cries of regret and
despair, followed by furious protests; then a nobler grief, and
love, and longing.
"After a while it will pray for him. Then Satan the stoned, whom may
God confound, will depart from him," said Achmet.
"But in the meantime I must see him, immediately."
"He goes to-morrow. That is why he is afflicted to-day," said The
Jinnee. "I think, _hanoum_, he would go without seeing you again. It
is a grievous thing to say to one's beloved, 'I leave you.' I have
said it. I was young then. I am old now, but I have not forgotten."
I unfastened the chain from my neck. A half-coin swung from it as a
pendant.
"Place this in his hand. It is a sign. It has power to lay the evil
spirit which troubles this house," I told him gravely.
He seized upon it with an eager hand. "In the name of God!" said The
Jinnee, and fairly flew out of the room.
A minute later, his violin grasped in one hand, my chain in the
other, Nicholas Jelnik appeared. His appearance shocked me. The mask
was off; here was stark and naked misery.
"Nicholas!" I said, "Nicholas!"
"You should not have come!" he said roughly. "Why have you come? I
did not want you to see me--thus. Is it not enough for me to
suffer?" And he made an impatient, imploring gesture. His lips
quivered.
"Put aside the violin, Ariel," I said. "But keep the coin."
He stiffened, as if he braced himself for further blows. But he laid
aside the violin, and with a supreme effort of will got himself in
hand. That early training in self-control worked a miracle now. Here
was no longer the wild, white-lipped musician, but a pale, proud
young man who faced me with stately politeness.
"I have another gift for you, Nicholas Jelnik." To save my life I
couldn't keep my voice from shaking, my eyes from glittering, my
cheeks from flaming. "Do not go, old Jinnee. Stay and see what gift
I bring the master."
Then it occurred to me that it would be dangerous should strange or
greedy eyes look upon what my sewing-bag hid. The thought frightened
me."
"You are sure there is none to see? Achmet, there is no stranger
around?"
"We are alone," said the black man, quietly. Both of them seemed
astonished and concerned.
Reassured, I drew forth the heavy buckskin bag and placed it in
Nicholas Jelnik's hands.
"From Hynds House--and me--and oh, Nicholas, from Beautiful Dog,
too!" I said, and laughed and cried.
For the moment he didn't understand. He thought it some loving
woman-foolishness of Sophy's, some woman-gift she had made for him.
I knew, for he gave me a glance of tenderness. And then he opened
the bag, and staggered like a drunken man, and sank into the nearest
chair, trembling like a leaf in the wind. The Hynds fortune had come
back to the last of Richard's blood.
When the mist cleared from my eyes, I saw old Achmet on the floor,
with his hands upraised and tears running down his black cheeks
like rain, unashamedly and unaffectedly pouring out praises and
thanksgivings to his Creator.
"Hold out your skirts, Sophy!" cried Nicholas Jelnik, and poured the
glittering things into my lap, boyishly. He was beautiful again,
radiant and young-eyed as the choiring cherubim. There were two
exquisite, pear-shaped ear-ring drops among the Hynds jewels, and
these he took, threaded upon my chain on either side the broken
coin, and hung around my neck. He held a ruby against my lip and
turquoises near my eyes, and laughed.
"These for Hynds House, Sophy!" he cried, and laughed again to see
my lips tremble. "What? It is not these you want? Choose for
yourself, then. I promised you the best of them, you know."
"I want none of them," I said.
"No? Take them, then, Achmet, and put them away," said Mr. Jelnik,
in a matter-of-fact voice. "You will guard them for me, for the time
being. And tell Daoud I have changed my mind about sending him away.
He can change his about shaving his beard, and save himself the
trouble of begging his way to Mecca."
I stood up in silence, and held out my skirt apron-wise, while The
Jinnee as silently removed the Hynds jewels. Then he tied the
buckskin bag, concealed it in a fold of his robe, and left the room.
"Now, Sophy," said Mr. Jelnik, facing me, "you offered Hynds House
to me once, and I refused it because I didn't have the price. I told
you at the time that if ever I had the Hynds jewels in my
possession, I might be tempted to make you an offer of exchange. I
am going to make you an offer now. I should like to live in Hynds
House, Sophy. I don't think I could be happy anywhere else. You see,
Sophy, I'm going to spend the rest of my life here in America,
become an American citizen. Now, what about Hynds House?"
"You may have it," I said.
"At my own price?" he demanded.
"At your own price. Did you think I would haggle with you?"
"No. It's I who intend to haggle with you. I'm going to make a
tremendous bargain. There's something that must go with the house.
Something that's worth more than all the Hyndses ever had in all
their lives. _You_, Sophy. My sweetheart, come!" And he stood there
shining-eyed, and held out his arms.
"Once I sent for you. Once I called you. And both times you came to
me, Sophy. You came because you are mine. _Come!_" said Nicholas
Jelnik. And the golden lights danced in and out of his eyes that
were like brown mountain water when the sun is upon it, and his hair
was like Absalom's.
_In all Israel there was none to be so much praised as
Absalom for his beauty; from the sole of his foot to the
crown of his head there was no blemish in him._
And caught by the surge and power, as it were of the very wave of
life itself, I was swept into those outstretched arms.