A QUESTION PUT TO RICHARD
Mary Alcestis did not dream, as she lay comfortably in her bed the next
morning breathing the cooler air and watching the shadows on the wall,
that there moved about her house a plotter against her peace far more
dangerous than an enemy from without. She thought that her husband
looked at her with unusual gravity and she was touched by his
solicitude, not suspecting that he searched her face for signs of
recovery in order that he might deal her a cruel blow.
At the end of the second day she rose and sat by her window looking out
over the pleasant greensward and recalling the hours when she had sat
there with tiny Richard beside her. She felt happier; it did not seem
rational that Mrs. Bent would speak now after having been silent for so
many years, especially if poor Basil were allowed to sink once more into
oblivion. When his manuscripts were really destroyed, she believed that
the course of life would be again smooth.
Dr. Lister, coming in, took her hand and found it cool; he looked into
her eyes and saw that they were bright and clear, and thereupon began
what he had to say.
"My dear, there is a matter which we shall have to discuss." He spoke
cheerfully, having decided that a cheerful air would help Mary Alcestis.
"Yes," said she, thinking of Richard's music. She was prepared to grant
Richard anything.
"It concerns Basil."
She gave a little cry.
"Oh, papa, can you not let Basil rest! If any one should pursue and
hound me after I was dead as people pursue and hound Basil, I should not
rest in my grave! Let us not talk about him! I was just thinking how
Richard used to lie there in his crib and how sweet he was. He was
always a lovely boy. I am sorry that I opposed him and I am willing to
give up entirely. I told you that!"
"We cannot put Basil aside," said Dr. Lister.
"I suppose that something dreadful happened while I was sick. I ought
not to have gone to bed. Perhaps she has been here or that young girl.
Perhaps that young girl has known all along. Oh, I hope Richard has made
her no promises. I hope--"
"You are working yourself into a dangerous condition of excitement. Will
you hear what I have to say quietly, or shall I go away and finish
another time?"
"You had better say it now."
"This has to do with Basil alone. When you lay on the bed in his room, I
saw your eyes turn toward the bureau. I connected your uneasiness with
something in the open drawer. When I came back from the kitchen with
your broth, the drawer was closed, the key gone; then I was sure. I do
not like mysteries, so I went upstairs and looked again."
"The drawer was locked!"
"Yes, my dear, but I found the key."
Mrs. Lister's cheeks paled, then crimsoned. She looked now at her
husband, now out the window, saying nothing. She expected to feel a
terrible indignation, but she waited in vain. Instead she felt a deep
relief. If she had only obeyed her husband long ago and had destroyed
all Basil's possessions, she would have been far happier. Now Dr. Lister
might destroy them, all his clothes, his childish toys, his youthful
writings, and she need think of them no more. At last her grief was
stale, she wished to think no more of Basil.
"I found in the bureau a great many manuscripts of Basil's."
"Tear them up," said Mary Alcestis. "You know you advised me long ago to
destroy everything. I had just begun when I fainted."
"I never advised you to tear up any writings."
"You said Basil's 'things.'"
"I meant Basil's clothing, you know that. Did you not suspect, after Mr.
Utterly was here, that these papers might be valuable?"
Mary Alcestis made no answer.
"These writings of Basil's can never be destroyed. It would be like
murder."
"But who will ever read them?" she wailed. "I cannot bear to. Basil had
such strange ideas. And Richard will not care for them, poor Richard. He
thinks Basil ruined his life. It is dreadful how things can go on and
on!"
"Other persons will care for them."
"Other persons! What other persons?"
"All persons who care for good literature," answered Dr. Lister
steadily.
Mrs. Lister turned head and shoulder so that she could look into his
eyes.
"You would not think of having them _published_!"
"Without any question I should have them published!"
"He was only a boy." She began in a trembling voice her first skirmish.
"They are surely not worth publication. We might prize them, but others
wouldn't. Do you not see that, papa?"
"He was more than a boy and he was an extraordinarily fine writer of
English. Why, mother, his very ghost would cry out upon us! Do you
suppose he spent his days and nights, writing and polishing in order
that his compositions might lie in an old bureau in an attic? We should
be traitors to him!"
"I would rather be a traitor to him in that way than be responsible for
publishing his--his sins!" cried Mrs. Lister wildly. "If his writings
are really good, people would come flocking about us like wolves. That
Mr. Utterly reminded me of a wolf. They would ferret things out, they
would--"
"From whom would they ferret anything out?"
"They might make her believe it was her duty to tell. If Mr. Utterly
talked to her he might persuade her. He would tell her it was an honor.
Oh, I could not endure it!"
"Mother, that is sheer nonsense!"
Mrs. Lister turned a still more direct gaze into her husband's eyes.
"It is not your affair. You have nothing to do with it. You had no
right to unlock Basil's bureau. You--" she bowed her head on the arm of
her chair. "Oh, Thomas, forgive me! I don't know what I'm saying. I
think of Richard. I don't care about Basil. I have cherished his memory
and I have had only misery and shame. I think about Richard and his
children and the good name of my dear father. Don't let us bring this
matter to light! I beseech of you, dear Thomas!"
Dr. Lister took the hand which sought his. He almost yielded to this
desperate pleading. Did anything in the world really matter as much as
this? Would Basil's fame survive more than a few generations? Would a
publisher even consider the bringing out of the work of a man so long
gone? Was it not better that he should remain dead than that his
sister's heart should ache?
Then Dr. Lister saw in Basil's handwriting certain clear sentences,
certain lines of verse. His face crimsoned.
"I have shown Basil's compositions in confidence to Scott," said he,
firmly.
Mary Alcestis began to cry.
"He thinks they are admirable, mother." Dr. Lister drew an unwilling
head to his shoulder. "My dear, let me take this burden from you. I have
taken other burdens, and I should have borne this long ago."
"He could see nothing derogatory to Basil in them?" sobbed Mary
Alcestis.
"Nothing. He would be outraged by such a suggestion. He would arrange
them, edit them, and write a life of Basil from the information you
gave him and in a certain sense under your direction."
"In a certain sense?" repeated Mary Alcestis, warily.
"He would do no prying. He would use the material you gave him and ask
no questions. He would consult no one but you and perhaps Thomasina
whose recollection of Basil should have value."
"I told her," sobbed Mrs. Lister. "I think I had a sort of hysteria. I
didn't know what I was saying."
"What did she say?"
"She said I was a fool."
Dr. Lister could not restrain a smile.
"That was a hard word from Thomasina. I should think it would have done
you good."
"It didn't," said Mrs. Lister.
"If Scott could do this work, he would do it admirably and I believe it
would be the greatest satisfaction of his life. I think he might even
forget Mrs. Scott for a while."
"It has come upon me too suddenly. Richard should be consulted. It is
Richard whom it most concerns."
"I shall write to Richard."
"I must see what you write!"
"Surely."
Dr. Lister helped Mary Alcestis to bed, then he stated his views to
Richard and also her views and Dr. Scott's views. In the morning he read
her the letter.
"I think you are a little hard on Basil," said she and wept.
In four days Dr. Lister had an answer. The envelope contained two
sheets.
"Dear Mother," read one, "I am willing for you and father to do as you
think best about Basil Everman's writings." On the other sheet Richard
had written, "Dear Father, I do not give a hang for Basil Everman. Do as
you please."
Dr. Lister jumped. Richard! Smiling broadly, he started upstairs to show
both letters; then he returned from the hall and dropped Richard's note
to him in fine pieces into the waste-paper basket.
"I must be losing my mind!" said he.