SUNDAY morning fell on the first day of September, and it was very
hot--so hot that Mr. Carter refused to go to church. He was sitting in
the shade of his library, in his shirt-sleeves and his stocking feet,
when his wife and Emily returned from service. Emily went up to her
room at once, but Mrs. Carter came into the library, took off her hat,
and sat down to get cool. She was a little flushed and thoughtful.
“The Denbighs were not in church,” she remarked after a moment. “I
don’t know that I ever knew Colonel Denbigh to miss a Sunday, except
when his son died. Do you remember, Johnson?”
Mr. Carter nodded. He had stopped reading the Sunday paper and was
slowly fanning himself with it.
“Sensible man to stay at home,” he grunted.
“People stare so at us!” Mrs. Carter complained. “Emily and I felt like
a circus. I’m so glad we’ve got Leigh off to college at last!”
Mr. Carter made no reply to this, but after an interval he muttered
something about a young donkey. Mrs. Carter sighed.
“Where’s William?” she asked in a whisper.
Mr. Carter, who had become nervous under continued misfortune, started
violently.
“I don’t know. Do you happen to think he’s drowned himself?”
“Johnson!”
“I’m expecting anything,” said Mr. Carter desperately. “There’s only
one sensible person in this family, and that’s Dan.”
“Dan’s out at the Denbighs’--I don’t know what for. He’s been out there
twice since Friday, and he’s worried. I can see it.”
“Of course! He’s in love with that girl now, I reckon, and she won’t
have a cripple.”
“He isn’t a cripple!” cried his mother warmly. “He’s only lame; but
it’s not that; papa--I think it’s something about--” She looked around
a little flushed and added, in a whisper, “about Fanchon.”
Mr. Carter said something short and cryptic and relapsed into silence.
“I don’t feel that it’s right,” his wife continued bravely. “It’s
worrying me, Johnson. William hasn’t--well, he hasn’t shown any feeling
at all.”
“He’s going to get a divorce.”
William’s mother sighed.
“I hate divorces,” she said at last. “We never had one in the family.”
“That’s because you’re from South Carolina,” retorted her husband
unfeelingly. “Can’t get one there, anyway.”
Mrs. Carter disregarded this.
“I don’t feel right about it. She--she saved Leigh.”
Mr. Carter pursed his lips, moving his feet comfortably about on the
rug. He and his wife had been over this ground before, and it irked
him. He watched his toes moving inside of his coarse white stockings.
There was a silence.
The door-bell rang sharply. Mrs. Carter jumped.
“Oh, Johnson, put on your coat and your shoes,” she cried. “Miranda’s
let some one in.”
Mr. Carter began to jam his hot feet into his shoes, which seemed
incredibly too small to receive them.
“Drat it!” he said.
He had not got to the coat when Miranda’s amiable chocolate face
appeared at the door.
“Col’nel Denbigh, Mist’ Carter,” she said, and withdrew.
The colonel, carrying his wide hat in his hand, came in. He looked
very tall, very thin, and very grave.
“Oh, colonel, is there anything the matter?” Mrs. Carter cried
impulsively, seeing his face.
The colonel stood still, his white head erect and his fine old face
flushing a little.
“I came to see William,” he said. “Is he here?”
Mrs. Carter ran to the door.
“Miranda,” she called after the girl, “go up and tell Mr. William to
come down.”
Meanwhile, Mr. Carter had offered a chair. He was a little startled and
perplexed, but he looked keenly at the colonel.
“Do you want us to go, colonel?” he asked bluntly.
Colonel Denbigh lifted a protesting hand.
“No! I want you all to hear what I have to say, especially William. It
concerns William.”
Mrs. Carter, who had returned to her seat, looked frightened. There was
an awkward pause, the colonel sitting quietly in the high-backed chair,
looking into the crown of his hat.
“It’s--it’s very hot,” ventured Mrs. Carter faintly.
The colonel glanced kindly from one to the other.
“It’s the heat that has made it so bad for--her,” he observed
enigmatically.
Mr. Carter’s mouth tightened and he glanced angrily toward the door.
He heard his son coming down-stairs. William entered, looking pale and
haggard, and Colonel Denbigh rose. The old man was so tall that he
seemed to tower.
“William,” he said grimly, “I came to see you. Virginia sent me. We
wanted Dan to tell you, but Dan doesn’t wish to interfere. Your wife is
at my house--very ill.”
William turned from white to red. For a moment he seemed nonplused,
then he rallied.
“I have no wife, Colonel Denbigh,” he said slowly. “Fanchon left me
weeks ago. I expect to sue her for divorce.”
Colonel Denbigh held up his hand.
“Sit down, please,” he said, “and listen.” He sat down himself,
glancing from one to the other, and finally fixing his eyes on
William’s downcast face. “I hate to butt into other people’s affairs,”
he said simply. “Mr. Carter, I think you know I’m not a meddler?”
Mr. Carter nodded grimly. He, too, was looking at William.
“We all respect and love you, colonel,” cried Mrs. Carter tremulously;
“but--you know William’s had a terrible time.”
“I know it, madam. Far be it from me to belittle it. But the other day
Virginia found Fanchon out at Quantah’s. Do you know the place?” He
glanced again at Mr. Carter. “It’s wretched. William’s wife was there,
ill and penniless. My granddaughter went in to see her, and while she
was there Fanchon went out of her head and fainted in Jinny’s arms. I
think you all know Jinny. She paid the poor girl’s bills--”
“I offered her money, I’ve tried to send her money,” William broke in
hoarsely. “I didn’t know where she was.”
The colonel nodded.
“I understand that. She told Jinny she wouldn’t take your money. She
told her story--in a way--to Jinny. She admitted that she loved you
still, that she had always loved you. You were the only good man who
had ever loved her, she said. Then she fainted. Jinny sent for Dr.
Barbour. It happened that your brother Dan was over there. He came
back with Lucas. I was out, and he and Jinny brought Fanchon to our
house. He had been looking for Fanchon. He had guessed that she hadn’t
any money, and he wanted to pay Jinny back for the expenses. He’s
shared our watch over Fanchon, but”--the colonel smiled--“he wouldn’t
interfere. That’s what he said. So Jinny sent me. Fanchon has been out
of her head, and all night, sometimes all day, she’s calling you,
William. Her pride, her poor little hurt pride, took her away, but now
she calls and calls.”
The colonel rose quietly and took up his hat. “I think that’s all. I
came to tell you. She’s suffered, and she saved Leigh; but if you feel
you can’t forgive her--”
Mrs. Carter was crying.
“Oh, Johnson, I think we ought to go,” she said.
Mr. Carter said nothing, but glanced silently at William. So did
Colonel Denbigh.
“William,” said the latter gravely, “Jinny said, ‘Tell William that
Fanchon loves him as few women love, and she’s calling him!’ She lies
there, quite out of her head still, William, calling and calling to her
husband.”
Mrs. Carter got up and put on her hat.
“I’m coming with you, colonel,” she sobbed. “I’ve felt it was all
wrong. We were hard on her, poor girl!”
“No, mother, I’ll go,” said William. “It’s my business. I’m going with
you, colonel.”
The colonel straightened himself.
“Thank God!” he said simply.
He was aware that Mr. Carter, red and out of breath, was being urged
into his coat and hat by his wife. He was to take them all, then. It
was lucky he had brought the wagonette instead of the old rockaway.
The wagonette was waiting outside under the shadow of a tree, the
horses carefully netted, and Lucas wearing a brown linen coat and a big
straw hat. Colonel Denbigh helped Mrs. Carter up the high steps and
they started, the colonel and Mr. Carter on one side and Mrs. Carter
and William on the other.
Facing each other thus, an awkward silence fell, broken only by the
heavy tread of the horses’ hoofs. They were almost half-way out there
before the colonel thought of anything to say.
“The oats came on well this year, Carter,” he remarked at last, with
forced cheerfulness. “Fine crop!”
Mr. Carter, whose feet still felt several sizes too large for his
shoes, let his misery loose.
“I wouldn’t give a cent for the oat-crop,” he said bluntly. “I’m not a
horse.”
The colonel, startled for a moment, exploded into laughter, but Mrs.
Carter was shocked.
“Oh, Johnson!” she gasped, and then, anxious to propitiate the colonel,
she plunged in desperately. “It’s been such a beautiful year,” she said
anxiously. “I don’t think I ever remember a season when things held so
well. Nothing looks rusty yet.”
The colonel rubbed his chin.
“Except old men, madam,” he remarked with a twinkle.
She laughed tremulously, winking back her tears.
“I feel like an old woman, colonel.”
He shook his head, but his eyes were not on her. They had passed on to
her son.
William, flushed and silent, sat with his eyes down. The colonel,
sharply aware of the tension in the air, wondered. Could Jinny make
this lummox see? At the thought of Jinny the old man’s eyes lighted,
and he looked ahead toward his own gates. They stood open, and he could
see the old ginkgo-tree beside the door, already turning yellow as gold
in the sun. The horses turned placidly, the wheel grated slightly on
the stone curb, and they were going up the drive to the house.
“She’s in the west room,” said the colonel, glancing toward two windows
where the shutters were half-closed. “We got a nurse the second night.
I wasn’t willing to have Jinny wear herself out. She was up with her
for twenty-four hours on a stretch.”
Mrs. Carter made an inarticulate sound, glancing at William in a
frightened way, but no one spoke until the wagonette stopped at the
door. Daniel Carter came down the piazza steps to meet them.
“She’s better,” he said soberly. “Virginia thinks she knows her.”
His mother clung to his hand as he helped her out.
“Oh, Dan, why didn’t you tell us?” she whispered.
He glanced grimly at William.
“I thought it was no use, mother.”
She knew what he meant, and she, too, glanced at William. He was
following Colonel Denbigh up the steps, but his face was set and hard.
“What is it, Dan? How is she, really?” his mother asked anxiously. “I
felt so ashamed when the colonel told us. We’ve been very unkind to
her, Dan.”
He nodded. They were behind the others, but he saw Virginia on the
stairs.
“Fanchon has been delirious and very ill,” he answered in a low voice;
“but Dr. Barbour says she’ll get well. The Denbighs have been most
noble, most kind to her.”
“You mean Jinny,” his mother murmured.
“I mean both.” His eyes softened. “Virginia is an angel!”
Mrs. Carter, looking at him suddenly, winked back her tears. She knew
now--he loved Virginia! She patted his arm, but she was looking at the
stairs.
Virginia, in a pink morning gown, the short sleeves falling away from
her white arms, came down, bearing a tray. She saw them at the door,
and she blushed, but she put down the tray before she spoke.
“Daniel, please take your mother into the drawing-room and tell
her about Fanchon.” She took a step forward and held out her hand.
“William, I hope you’re coming with me?” she said.
He took her hand, aware that his father and Colonel Denbigh, his mother
and Daniel, were all watching. His blush was deeper than hers.
“I came because you sent for me, Virginia,” he replied in a hard, level
tone.
Virginia’s hand fell at her side. For a moment she looked at him in
silence; then she turned.
“Come,” she said in a low voice.
William followed her up the wide old stairs, moving slowly, only aware
of the humiliation he felt. After ascending the last flight Virginia
stood before an open door and beckoned. He came to her side.
“Listen!” she whispered.
“William!”
He started. He knew the voice--it was Fanchon’s.
“William!” she called again, and the light, hurrying voice went
on--sometimes in French, sometimes in English, but always repeating the
cry, “William!”
“It’s like that all day,” said Virginia. “She calls and calls you. It’s
pitiful, William, and it’s beautiful--she loves you so!”
He raised his dull eyes slowly from the floor to Fanchon’s face. What
he saw there made him draw a deep breath of pain.
He stepped into the room. The light was dim, but he saw the face on the
pillow and the soft, dark, wildly disheveled hair. Fanchon lay there,
tossing, moving her hands restlessly, her fawn-like eyes brilliant and
vacant, her small white face tear-stained, and her lips moving, whether
words came or not.
While her husband stood there, his head bowed, just inside the door,
she began to speak again in rambling and broken sentences.
“William! I’m not bad--I’ve never been bad--_non, non_! You can’t
threaten me--I won’t stand it, I’ll call my husband--William, William!”
She sat up in bed, and tears ran down her cheeks. She seemed to be
looking at Virginia, who still stood in the door.
“I didn’t do wrong--I loved him. You shan’t take him away--I love
him--William!”
William listened, and it seemed to him as if his own heart stopped
beating. The soft, appealing voice, and the white, pitiful face! He
felt a sudden sensation of suffocation.
“_Guillaume de mon cœur!_ He’ll come,” cried Fanchon softly.
William took a quick step forward, hesitated, and then went across the
room. He knelt beside the bed and caught the trembling, groping little
hands in his and held them.
Virginia turned away.
She went quietly out of the room and shut the door behind her.