The marriage was fixed for the thirtieth of the month, immediately
after which Tryon and his bride were to set out for North Carolina.
Warwick would have liked it much if Tryon had lived in South Carolina;
but the location of his North Carolina home was at some distance from
Patesville, with which it had no connection by steam or rail, and
indeed lay altogether out of the line of travel to Patesville. Rena
had no acquaintance with people of social standing in North Carolina;
and with the added maturity and charm due to her improved
opportunities, it was unlikely that any former resident of Patesville
who might casually meet her would see in the elegant young matron from
South Carolina more than a passing resemblance to a poor girl who had
once lived in an obscure part of the old town. It would of course be
necessary for Rena to keep away from Patesville; save for her mother's
sake, she would hardly be tempted to go back.
On the twentieth of the month, Warwick set out with Tryon for the
county seat of the adjoining county, to try one of the lawsuits which
had required Tryon's presence in South Carolina for so long a time.
Their destination was a day's drive from Clarence, behind a good horse,
and the trial was expected to last a week.
"This week will seem like a year," said Tryon ruefully, the evening
before their departure, "but I'll write every day, and shall expect a
letter as often."
"The mail goes only twice a week, George," replied Rena.
"Then I shall have three letters in each mail."
Warwick and Tryon were to set out in the cool of the morning, after an
early breakfast. Rena was up at daybreak that she might preside at the
breakfast-table and bid the travelers good-by.
"John," said Rena to her brother in the morning, "I dreamed last night
that mother was ill."
"Dreams, you know, Rena," answered Warwick lightly, "go by contraries.
Yours undoubtedly signifies that our mother, God bless her simple soul!
is at the present moment enjoying her usual perfect health. She was
never sick in her life."
For a few months after leaving Patesville with her brother, Rena had
suffered tortures of homesickness; those who have felt it know the
pang. The severance of old ties had been abrupt and complete. At the
school where her brother had taken her, there had been nothing to
relieve the strangeness of her surroundings--no schoolmate from her own
town, no relative or friend of the family near by. Even the
compensation of human sympathy was in a measure denied her, for Rena
was too fresh from her prison-house to doubt that sympathy would fail
before the revelation of the secret the consciousness of which
oppressed her at that time like a nightmare. It was not strange that
Rena, thus isolated, should have been prostrated by homesickness for
several weeks after leaving Patesville. When the paroxysm had passed,
there followed a dull pain, which gradually subsided into a resignation
as profound, in its way, as had been her longing for home. She loved,
she suffered, with a quiet intensity of which her outward demeanor gave
no adequate expression. From some ancestral source she had derived a
strain of the passive fatalism by which alone one can submit
uncomplainingly to the inevitable. By the same token, when once a thing
had been decided, it became with her a finality, which only some
extraordinary stress of emotion could disturb. She had acquiesced in
her brother's plan; for her there was no withdrawing; her homesickness
was an incidental thing which must be endured, as patiently as might
be, until time should have brought a measure of relief.
Warwick had made provision for an occasional letter from Patesville, by
leaving with his mother a number of envelopes directed to his address.
She could have her letters written, inclose them in these envelopes,
and deposit them in the post-office with her own hand. Thus the place
of Warwick's residence would remain within her own knowledge, and his
secret would not be placed at the mercy of any wandering Patesvillian
who might perchance go to that part of South Carolina. By this simple
means Rena had kept as closely in touch with her mother as Warwick had
considered prudent; any closer intercourse was not consistent with
their present station in life.
The night after Warwick and Tryon had ridden away, Rena dreamed again
that her mother was ill. Better taught people than she, in regions
more enlightened than the South Carolina of that epoch, are disturbed
at times by dreams. Mis' Molly had a profound faith in them. If God,
in ancient times, had spoken to men in visions of the night, what
easier way could there be for Him to convey his meaning to people of
all ages? Science, which has shattered many an idol and destroyed many
a delusion, has made but slight inroads upon the shadowy realm of
dreams. For Mis' Molly, to whom science would have meant nothing and
psychology would have been a meaningless term, the land of dreams was
carefully mapped and bounded. Each dream had some special
significance, or was at least susceptible of classification under some
significant head. Dreams, as a general rule, went by contraries; but a
dream three times repeated was a certain portent of the thing defined.
Rena's few years of schooling at Patesville and her months at
Charleston had scarcely disturbed these hoary superstitions which lurk
in the dim corners of the brain. No lady in Clarence, perhaps, would
have remained undisturbed by a vivid dream, three times repeated, of
some event bearing materially upon her own life.
The first repetition of a dream was decisive of nothing, for two dreams
meant no more than one. The power of the second lay in the suspense,
the uncertainty, to which it gave rise. Two doubled the chance of a
third. The day following this second dream was an anxious one for
Rena. She could not for an instant dismiss her mother from her
thoughts, which were filled too with a certain self-reproach. She had
left her mother alone; if her mother were really ill, there was no one
at home to tend her with loving care. This feeling grew in force,
until by nightfall Rena had become very unhappy, and went to bed with
the most dismal forebodings. In this state of mind, it is not
surprising that she now dreamed that her mother was lying at the point
of death, and that she cried out with heart-rending pathos:--
"Rena, my darlin', why did you forsake yo'r pore old mother? Come back
to me, honey; I'll die ef I don't see you soon."
The stress of subconscious emotion engendered by the dream was powerful
enough to wake Rena, and her mother's utterance seemed to come to her
with the force of a fateful warning and a great reproach. Her mother
was sick and needed her, and would die if she did not come. She felt
that she must see her mother,--it would be almost like murder to remain
away from her under such circumstances.
After breakfast she went into the business part of the town and
inquired at what time a train would leave that would take her toward
Patesville. Since she had come away from the town, a railroad had been
opened by which the long river voyage might be avoided, and, making
allowance for slow trains and irregular connections, the town of
Patesville could be reached by an all-rail route in about twelve hours.
Calling at the post-office for the family mail, she found there a
letter from her mother, which she tore open in great excitement. It was
written in an unpracticed hand and badly spelled, and was in effect as
follows:--
MY DEAR DAUGHTER,--I take my pen in hand to let you know that I am not
very well. I have had a kind of misery in my side for two weeks, with
palpitations of the heart, and I have been in bed for three days. I'm
feeling mighty poorly, but Dr. Green says that I'll get over it in a
few days. Old Aunt Zilphy is staying with me, and looking after things
tolerably well. I hope this will find you and John enjoying good
health. Give my love to John, and I hope the Lord will bless him and
you too. Cousin Billy Oxendine has had a rising on his neck, and has
had to have it lanced. Mary B. has another young one, a boy this time.
Old man Tom Johnson was killed last week while trying to whip black Jim
Brown, who lived down on the Wilmington Road. Jim has run away. There
has been a big freshet in the river, and it looked at one time as if
the new bridge would be washed away.
Frank comes over every day or two and asks about you. He says to tell
you that he don't believe you are coming back any more, but you are to
remember him, and that foolishness he said about bringing you back from
the end of the world with his mule and cart. He's very good to me, and
brings over shavings and kindling-wood, and made me a new well-bucket
for nothing. It's a comfort to talk to him about you, though I haven't
told him where you are living.
I hope this will find you and John both well, and doing well. I should
like to see you, but if it's the Lord's will that I shouldn't, I shall
be thankful anyway that you have done what was the best for yourselves
and your children, and that I have given you up for your own good.
Your affectionate mother,
MARY WALDEN.
Rena shed tears over this simple letter, which, to her excited
imagination, merely confirmed the warning of her dream. At the date of
its writing her mother had been sick in bed, with the symptoms of a
serious illness. She had no nurse but a purblind old woman. Three
days of progressive illness had evidently been quite sufficient to
reduce her parent to the condition indicated by the third dream. The
thought that her mother might die without the presence of any one who
loved her pierced Rena's heart like a knife and lent wings to her feet.
She wished for the enchanted horse of which her brother had read to her
so many years before on the front piazza of the house behind the
cedars, that she might fly through the air to her dying mother's side.
She determined to go at once to Patesville.
Returning home, she wrote a letter to Warwick inclosing their mother's
letter, and stating that she had dreamed an alarming dream for three
nights in succession; that she had left the house in charge of the
servants and gone to Patesville; and that she would return as soon as
her mother was out of danger.
To her lover she wrote that she had been called away to visit a
sick-bed, and would return very soon, perhaps by the time he got back
to Clarence. These letters Rena posted on her way to the train, which
she took at five o'clock in the afternoon. This would bring her to
Patesville early in the morning of the following day.