THE FEVER AND ITS RESULTS.
On every business paper Wilford wrote or signed, and in every object he
met in his journey, one face had been prominent, and that the face of
Katy as it looked in the gray dawn when it lifted itself up to kiss him,
while the white lips tried to speak his pardon. Sometimes Wilford was
very sorry and full of remorse, knowing how Katy was suffering for his
sin; and then, when he remembered her long refusal to pardon him,
notwithstanding that he sued for it so earnestly, his self-importance
was touched, and he felt she had no right to be so obstinate. He did not
deserve it. He was a very kind, indulgent husband, who had raised her
from the humblest position to the very highest, and she ought not to
feel so indignant because he had kept from her an act which, after all,
did not affect her materially. If Genevra was living, and on this side
of the water, he could understand how it might be unpleasant for Katy
and for him, too, knowing, as they both did, that she was innocent of
the charges alleged against her.
"I should not myself like to run the risk of meeting a divorced wife at
any time," he thought; "but Genevra is dead, and Katy ought to be more
reasonable. I did not suppose there was so much spirit in her."
But reason as he might, Wilford could not forget Katy's face, so full of
reproach. It followed him continually, and was the magnet which turned
his steps homeward before his business was quite done, and before the
telegram found him. Thus it was with no knowledge of existing
circumstances that he reached New York just at the close of the day
after Katy's return, and ordering a carriage, was driven rapidly toward
home. All the shutters in the front part of the house were closed and
not a ray of light was to be seen in the parlors as he entered the hall,
where the gas was burning dimly.
"Katy is at home," he said, as he went into the library, where a shawl
was thrown across a chair, as if some one had lately been there.
It was his mother's shawl, and Wilford was wondering if she was there,
when down the stairs came a man's rapid step, and the next moment Dr.
Grant stepped into the room, starting when he saw Wilford, who felt
intuitively that something was wrong.
"Is Katy sick?" was his first question, which Morris answered in the
affirmative, holding him back as he was starting for her room, and
saying to him: "Let me send your mother to you first." What passed
between Wilford and his mother was never known exactly, but at the close
of the interview Mrs. Cameron was very pale, while Wilford's face looked
dark and anxious, as he said: "You think he understands it, then?"
"Yes, in part. Of course he cannot make a very connected story out of
her ravings; but that he believes you had a wife before Katy, I am sure,
just as I am that the world will be none the wiser for his knowledge. I
knew Dr. Grant before you did, and there are few men living whom I
respect as much, and no one whom I would trust as soon."
Mrs. Cameron had paid a high compliment to Morris Grant, and Wilford
bowed in assent, asking next how she managed Dr. Craig.
"That was easy, inasmuch as he believed it an insane freak of Katy's to
have no other physician than her cousin. It was quite natural, he said,
adding that she was as safe with Dr. Grant as any one. So that is
settled, and I was glad, for I could not have a stranger know of that
affair. If I thought it would save her life to retain him, I should feel
differently, of course."
"Yes, certainly," Wilford rejoined, while at his heart there was the
germ of a feeling which, if in the slightest degree encouraged, would
almost have given Katy's life to save his darling self-love and honor in
the eyes of the world.
Few men are as thoroughly selfish as Wilford Cameron, and though he was
very much concerned for Katy, he thought more of preserving a secret
which, if known at this late day, would subject him to much censure and
reproach, than he did of her. So when his mother told him next that
Helen had been sent for, his morbid fears took alarm.
"Why was it necessary to bring another here?" he asked, so indignantly
that tears sprang to his mother's eyes as she pleaded her own weariness
and inability to remain always in the sickroom, and charged him with
ingratitude for all she had done in his behalf.
Wilford could not afford to quarrel with his mother, and he quieted her
as soon as possible, admitting that if she must have an assistant he
would rather it were Helen than Bell or Juno, or even Esther, who, in
spite of the alarm about malignant fever, would willingly have
administered to her young mistress, had she been allowed to do so.
"You will go up now," Mrs. Cameron said to her son, when peace was fully
restored, and a moment after Wilford stood in the dimly-lighted room,
where Katy was talking of going to the hospitals, and of Marian
Hazelton, and was only kept upon her pillow by the strong arm of Morris,
who stood over her when Wilford entered, telling her to "wait until
to-morrow--it would be better then, and she had not seen her husband
yet."
"I have no husband," she replied, her lip curling with scorn, and her
eyes just then falling upon Wilford, who stood appalled at the fearful
change which had passed over her since he left her three days before.
She knew him, and writhing herself away from Morris' arms, she raised up
in bed and said to him:
"I've been at the bottom of things, and Genevra is not in that grave at
St. Mary's. Nobody is there; consequently, she is living, and you are
not my husband. So if you please you can leave the house at once. Morris
will do very well. He will settle the estate, and no bill shall be sent
in for your board and lodging."
In some moods Wilford would have smiled at being thus summarily
dismissed from his own house and assured that no bill should be sent
after him for board and lodging; but he was too sore now, too sensitive
to smile, and his voice was rather severe as he laid his hand on Katy's,
and said:
"Don't be foolish, Katy. Don't you know me? I am Wilford, your husband."
"That was, you mean," Katy rejoined, drawing her hand quickly away. "Go
find your first love, where bullets fall like hail, and where there is
pain, and blood, and carnage. Genevra is there."
She would not let Wilford come near her, and grew so excited by his
presence that he was forced either to leave the room or sit where she
could not see him. He chose the latter, and from his seat by the door
watched with a half-jealous, half-angry heart, Morris Grant doing for
his wife what he should have done.
With Morris Katy was gentle as a little child, talking still of
Genevra, but talking quietly, and in a way which did not wear her out
as fast as her excitement did.
"What God hath joined together let not man put asunder," was the text
from which she preached several short sermons as the night wore on, but
just as the morning dawned she fell into the first quiet sleep she had
had during the last twenty-four hours. And while she slept Wilford
ventured near enough to see the sunken cheeks and hollow eyes which
wrung a groan from him as he turned to Morris, asking what he supposed
was the immediate cause of her sudden illness?
"A terrible shock, the nature of which I understand, but you have
nothing to fear from me," Morris replied. "I accuse you to no man, but
leave you to settle it with your conscience whether you did right to
deceive her so long."
Morris spoke as one having authority, and Wilford simply bowed his head,
feeling then no resentment toward one who had ventured to reprove him.
Afterward he might remember it differently, but now he was too anxious
to keep Morris there to quarrel with him, and so he made no reply, but
sat watching Katy as she slept, wondering if she would die, and feeling
how terrible life would be without her. Suddenly Genevra's warning words
rang in his ear:
"God will not forgive you for the wrong you have done me."
Was Genevra right? Had God remembered all this time, and overtaken him
at last? It might be, and with a groan Wilford hid his face in his
hands, believing that he repented of his sin, and not knowing that his
fancied repentance arose merely from the fact that he had been detected.
Could the last few days be blotted out, and Katy stand just where she
did, with no suspicion of him, he would have cast his remorse to the
winds, and as it is not such repentance God accepts, Wilford had only
begun to sip the cup of retribution presented to his lips.
Worn out with watching and waiting, Mrs. Cameron, who would suffer
neither Juno nor Bell to come near the house, waited uneasily for the
arrival of the New Haven train, which she hoped would bring Helen to her
aid. Under ordinary circumstances she would rather not have met her,
for her presence would keep the letter so constantly in her mind, but
now anybody who could be trusted was welcome, and when at last there
came a cautious ring she went herself to the hall, starting back with
undisguised vexation when she saw the timid-looking woman following
close behind Helen, and whom the latter presented as "My mother, Mrs.
Lennox."
Convinced that Morris' sudden journey to New York had something to do
with Katy's illness, and almost distracted with fears for her daughter's
life, Mrs. Lennox could not remain at home and wait for the tardy mail
or careless telegraph. She must go to her child, and casting off her
dread of Wilford's displeasure, she had come with Helen, and was bowing
meekly to Mrs. Cameron, who neither offered her hand nor gave any token
of greeting except a distant bow and a simple "Good-morning, madam."
But Mrs. Lennox was too timid, too bewildered, and too anxious to notice
the lady's haughty manner as she led them to the library and then went
for her son. Wilford was not glad to see his mother-in-law, but he tried
to be polite, answering her questions civilly, and when she asked if it
was true that he had sent for Morris, assuring her that it was not--"Dr.
Grant happened here very providentially, and I hope to keep him until
the crisis is past, although he has just told me he must go back
to-morrow," Wilford said, mentally hoping Mrs. Lennox might think it
best to go with him, or if she did not, wondering how long she did
intend to stay. It hurt his pride that she, whom he considered greatly
his inferior, should learn his secret; but it could not now be helped,
and within an hour after her arrival she was looking curiously at him
for an explanation of the strange things she heard from Katy's lips.
"Was you a widower when you married my daughter?" she said to him, when
at last Helen left the room, and she was alone with him.
"Yes, madam," he replied, "some would call me so, though I was divorced
from my wife. As this was a matter which did not in any way concern your
daughter, I deemed it best not to tell her. Latterly she has found it
out, and it is having a very extraordinary effect upon her."
Mrs. Lennox was too much afraid of the man addressing her so haughtily
to make him any reply, and so she only wept softly as she bent to kiss
her child, still talking of Genevra and the empty grave at St. Mary's,
where she once sat down.
And this was all Mrs. Lennox knew until alone with Helen, who had heard
from Morris all he knew of the sad story except the part relating to
Marian Hazelton. His sudden journey to New York was thus accounted for,
and Helen explained it to her mother as well as she could, advising her
to say nothing of it either to Wilford or Mrs. Cameron, as it was quite
as well for them not to know it yet. Many messages Helen brought to her
cousin from his patients, and Morris felt it was his duty to go to them
for a day or so at least.
"You have other physicians here," he said to Wilford, who objected to
his leaving. "Dr. Craig will do as well as I."
Wilford admitted that he might; but it was with a sinking heart that he
saw Morris depart, and then went to Katy, who began to grow very
restless and uneasy, bidding him go away and send Dr. Morris back. It
was in vain that they administered the medicine just as Morris had
directed. Katy grew constantly worse, until Mrs. Lennox asked that
another doctor be called. But to this Wilford did not listen. Fear of
exposure and censure were stronger than his fear for Katy's life, which
seemed balancing upon a thread as that long night and the next day went
by. Three times Wilford telegraphed for Morris, and it was with
unfeigned joy that he welcomed him back at last, and heard that he had
so arranged his business now as to stay with Katy while the danger
lasted.
With a monotonous sameness the days now came and went, people still
shunning the house as if the plague was there. Once Bell Cameron came
around to call on Helen, holding her breath as she passed through the
hall, and never asking to go near Katy's room. Two or three times, too,
Mrs. Banker's carriage stood at the door, and Mrs. Banker herself came
in, seeming surprised when she met Helen and appearing so cool and
distant that the latter could scarcely keep back her tears as she
guessed the cause. Mark never came, but from the window Helen saw him
riding by with Juno, who kept her face turned toward him, as if in close
and confidential chat.
"They were engaged," Esther said, adding that "he was about joining the
army as first lieutenant in a company composed of the finest young men
in the city."
Helen doubted if this were true, until one day, when driving with her
mother, she met him arrayed in his new uniform, looking so handsome and
proud. He, too, was driving with a brother officer, and as he passed he
lifted his cap in token of recognition; but the olden look which Helen
remembered so well, and which had been wont to make her pulses thrill
with a most exquisite delight, was gone, and Helen felt more than ever
the wide gulf some hand had built between them. The next she heard was
from Mrs. Banker, whose face looked pale and worn as she incidentally
remarked: "I shall be very lonely now that Mark is gone. He left me
to-day for Washington."
There were tears on the mother's face, and her lip quivered as she tried
to keep them back, looking from the window into the street instead of at
her companion, who, overcome with the rush of feeling which swept over
her, laid her face on the sofa arm and sobbed aloud.
"Why, Helen! Miss Lennox, I am surprised! I had supposed--I was not
aware--I did not think you would care," Mrs. Banker exclaimed, coming
closer to Helen, who stammered out: "I beg you will excuse me, I cannot
help it. I care for all our soldiers. It seems so terrible."
At the words "I care for all the soldiers," a shadow of disappointment
flitted over Mrs. Banker's face. She knew her son had offered himself
and been refused, as she supposed, and she believed, too, that Helen had
given publicity to the affair, feeling justly indignant at this breach
of confidence and lack of delicacy in one whom she had liked so much and
whom she still liked in spite of the wounded pride which had prompted
her to seem so cold and distant.
"Perhaps it is all a mistake," she thought, as she continued standing by
Helen, whose tears did not cease, "or it may be she has relented," and
for a moment she felt tempted to ask why her boy had been refused.
But Mark would not be pleased with her interference, she knew, and so
the golden moment fled, and when she left the house the misunderstanding
between herself and Helen was just as wide as ever. Wearily after that
the days passed with Helen until all thoughts of herself were forgotten
in the terrible fear that death was really brooding over the pillow
where Katy lay, insensible to all that was passing around her. The lips
were silent now, and Wilford had nothing to fear from the tongue
hitherto so busy. Juno, Bell and Father Cameron all came to see her,
dropping tears upon the face looking so old and worn with suffering, but
yet so sweet and pure, and treading softly as they left the room and
went out into the sunshine where Katy might never go again. In the
kitchen there was mourning, too; Phillips weeping for her mistress,
while Esther, with her apron over her head, sobbed passionately, wishing
she, too, might die if Katy did. Mrs. Cameron also was very sorry, very
sad, but managed to find some consolation in mentally arranging a grand
funeral, which would do honor to her son, and wondering if "those
Barlows in Silverton would think they must attend." And while she thus
arranged, the mother who had given birth to Katy wrestled in earnest
prayer that God would spare her child, or at least grant some space in
which she might be told of the world to which she was hastening. What
Wilford suffered none could guess. His face was very white and his
expression almost stern as he sat watching the young wife who had been
his for little more than two brief years, and who but for his sin might
not have been lying there unconscious of the love and grief around her.
Like some marble statue Morris seemed as with lip compressed and brows
firmly knit together he, too, sat watching Katy, feeling for the pulse
and bending his ear to catch the faintest breath which came from her
parted lips, while in his heart there was an earnest prayer for the
safety of the soul hovering so evenly between this world and the next.
He did not ask that she might live, for if all were well hereafter he
knew it was far better for her to die in her young womanhood than to
live till the heart now so sad and bleeding had grown calloused with
sorrow. And yet it was terrible to think of Katy dead; to know that
never again would her little feet dance on the grass, or her bird-like
voice break the silence of his home; terrible to think of that face and
form laid away beneath the turf of Greenwood, where those who loved her
best could seldom go to weep.
And as they sat thus the night shadows stole into the room and the hours
crept on till from a city tower a clock struck ten, and Morris,
motioning Helen to his side, bade her go with her mother to rest. "We do
not need you here," he said, "your presence can do no good. Should a
change occur you shall be told at once."
Thus importuned Helen and her mother withdrew and only Morris and
Wilford remained to watch that heavy slumber so nearly resembling death.