Late one afternoon a handsome trap, drawn by two spirited bays, drove up
to Carteret's gate. Three places were taken by Mrs. Carteret, Clara, and
the major, leaving the fourth seat vacant.
"I've asked Ellis to drive out with us," said the major, as he took the
lines from the colored man who had the trap in charge. "We'll go by the
office and pick him up."
Clara frowned, but perceiving Mrs. Carteret's eye fixed upon her,
restrained any further expression of annoyance.
The major's liking for Ellis had increased within the year. The young
man was not only a good journalist, but possessed sufficient cleverness
and tact to make him excellent company. The major was fond of argument,
but extremely tenacious of his own opinions. Ellis handled the foils of
discussion with just the requisite skill to draw out the major,
permitting himself to be vanquished, not too easily, but, as it were,
inevitably, by the major's incontrovertible arguments.
Olivia had long suspected Ellis of feeling a more than friendly interest
in Clara. Herself partial to Tom, she had more than once thought it
hardly fair to Delamere, or even to Clara, who was young and
impressionable, to have another young man constantly about the house.
True, there had seemed to be no great danger, for Ellis had neither the
family nor the means to make him a suitable match for the major's
sister; nor had Clara made any secret of her dislike for Ellis, or of
her resentment for his supposed depreciation of Delamere. Mrs. Carteret
was inclined to a more just and reasonable view of Ellis's conduct in
this matter, but nevertheless did not deem it wise to undeceive Clara.
Dislike was a stout barrier, which remorse might have broken down. The
major, absorbed in schemes of empire and dreams of his child's future,
had not become cognizant of the affair. His wife, out of friendship for
Tom, had refrained from mentioning it; while the major, with a delicate
regard for Clara's feelings, had said nothing at home in regard to his
interview with her lover.
At the Chronicle office Ellis took the front seat beside the major.
After leaving the city pavements, they bowled along merrily over an
excellent toll-road, built of oyster shells from the neighboring sound,
stopping at intervals to pay toll to the gate-keepers, most of whom were
white women with tallow complexions and snuff-stained lips,--the
traditional "poor-white." For part of the way the road was bordered with
a growth of scrub oak and pine, interspersed with stretches of cleared
land, white with the opening cotton or yellow with ripening corn. To the
right, along the distant river-bank, were visible here and there groups
of turpentine pines, though most of this growth had for some years been
exhausted. Twenty years before, Wellington had been the world's greatest
shipping port for naval stores. But as the turpentine industry had moved
southward, leaving a trail of devastated forests in its rear, the city
had fallen to a poor fifth or sixth place in this trade, relying now
almost entirely upon cotton for its export business.
Occasionally our party passed a person, or a group of persons,--mostly
negroes approximating the pure type, for those of lighter color grew
noticeably scarcer as the town was left behind. Now and then one of
these would salute the party respectfully, while others glanced at them
indifferently or turned away. There would have seemed, to a stranger, a
lack, of spontaneous friendliness between the people of these two races,
as though each felt that it had no part or lot in the other's life. At
one point the carriage drew near a party of colored folks who were
laughing and jesting among themselves with great glee. Paying no
attention to the white people, they continued to laugh and shout
boisterously as the carriage swept by.
Major Carteret's countenance wore an angry look.
"The negroes around this town are becoming absolutely insufferable," he
averred. "They are sadly in need of a lesson in manners."
Half an hour later they neared another group, who were also making
merry. As the carriage approached, they became mute and silent as the
grave until the major's party had passed.
"The negroes are a sullen race," remarked the major thoughtfully. "They
will learn their lesson in a rude school, and perhaps much sooner than
they dream. By the way," he added, turning to the ladies, "what was the
arrangement with Tom? Was he to come out this evening?"
"He came out early in the afternoon," replied Clara, "to go a-fishing.
He is to join us at the hotel."
After an hour's drive they reached the hotel, in front of which
stretched the beach, white and inviting, along the shallow sound. Mrs.
Carteret and Clara found seats on the veranda. Having turned the trap
over to a hostler, the major joined a group of gentlemen, among whom was
General Belmont, and was soon deep in the discussion of the standing
problem of how best to keep the negroes down.
Ellis remained by the ladies. Clara seemed restless and ill at ease.
Half an hour elapsed and Delamere had not appeared.
"I wonder where Tom is," said Mrs. Carteret.
"I guess he hasn't come in yet from fishing," said Clara. "I wish he
would come. It's lonesome here. Mr. Ellis, would you mind looking about
the hotel and seeing if there's any one here that we know?"
For Ellis the party was already one too large. He had accepted this
invitation eagerly, hoping to make friends with Clara during the
evening. He had never been able to learn definitely the reason of her
coldness, but had dated it from his meeting with old Mrs. Ochiltree,
with which he felt it was obscurely connected. He had noticed Delamere's
scowling look, too, at their last meeting. Clara's injustice, whatever
its cause, he felt keenly. To Delamere's scowl he had paid little
attention,--he despised Tom so much that, but for his engagement to
Clara, he would have held his opinions in utter contempt.
He had even wished that Clara might make some charge against him,--he
would have preferred that to her attitude of studied indifference, the
only redeeming feature about which was that it _was_ studied, showing
that she, at least, had him in mind. The next best thing, he reasoned,
to having a woman love you, is to have her dislike you violently,--the
main point is that you should be kept in mind, and made the subject of
strong emotions. He thought of the story of Hall Caine's, where the
woman, after years of persecution at the hands of an unwelcome suitor,
is on the point of yielding, out of sheer irresistible admiration for
the man's strength and persistency, when the lover, unaware of his
victory and despairing of success, seizes her in his arms and, springing
into the sea, finds a watery grave for both. The analogy of this case
with his own was, of course, not strong. He did not anticipate any
tragedy in their relations; but he was glad to be thought of upon almost
any terms. He would not have done a mean thing to make her think of him;
but if she did so because of a misconception, which he was given no
opportunity to clear up, while at the same time his conscience absolved
him from evil and gave him the compensating glow of martyrdom, it was at
least better than nothing.
He would, of course, have preferred to be upon a different footing. It
had been a pleasure to have her speak to him during the drive,--they had
exchanged a few trivial remarks in the general conversation. It was a
greater pleasure to have her ask a favor of him,--a pleasure which, in
this instance, was partly offset when he interpreted her request to mean
that he was to look for Tom Delamere. He accepted the situation
gracefully, however, and left the ladies alone.
Knowing Delamere's habits, he first went directly to the bar-room,--the
atmosphere would be congenial, even if he were not drinking. Delamere
was not there. Stepping next into the office, he asked the clerk if
young Mr. Delamere had been at the hotel.
"Yes, sir," returned the man at the desk, "he was here at luncheon, and
then went out fishing in a boat with several other gentlemen. I think
they came back about three o'clock. I'll find out for you."
He rang the bell, to which a colored boy responded.
"Front," said the clerk, "see if young Mr. Delamere's upstairs. Look in
255 or 256, and let me know at once."
The bell-boy returned in a moment.
"Yas, suh," he reported, with a suppressed grin, "he's in 256, suh. De
do' was open, an' I seed 'im from de hall, suh."
"I wish you'd go up and tell him," said Ellis, "that--What are you
grinning about?" he asked suddenly, noticing the waiter's expression.
"Nothin', suh, nothin' at all, suh," responded the negro, lapsing into
the stolidity of a wooden Indian. "What shall I tell Mr. Delamere, suh?"
"Tell him," resumed Ellis, still watching the boy suspiciously,--"no, I'll
tell him myself."
He ascended the broad stair to the second floor. There was an upper
balcony and a parlor, with a piano for the musically inclined. To reach
these one had to pass along the hall upon which the room mentioned by
the bell-boy opened. Ellis was quite familiar with the hotel. He could
imagine circumstances under which he would not care to speak to
Delamere; he would merely pass through the hall and glance into the room
casually, as any one else might do, and see what the darky downstairs
might have meant by his impudence.
It required but a moment to reach the room. The door was not wide open,
but far enough ajar for him to see what was going on within.
Two young men, members of the fast set at the Clarendon Club, were
playing cards at a small table, near which stood another, decorated with
an array of empty bottles and glasses. Sprawling on a lounge, with
flushed face and disheveled hair, his collar unfastened, his vest
buttoned awry, lay Tom Delamere, breathing stertorously, in what seemed
a drunken sleep. Lest there should be any doubt of the cause of his
condition, the fingers of his right hand had remained clasped
mechanically around the neck of a bottle which lay across his bosom.
Ellis turned away in disgust, and went slowly back to the ladies.
"There seems to be no one here yet," he reported. "We came a little
early for the evening crowd. The clerk says Tom Delamere was here to
luncheon, but he hasn't seen him for several hours."
"He's not a very gallant cavalier," said Mrs. Carteret severely. "He
ought to have been waiting for us."
Clara was clearly disappointed, and made no effort to conceal her
displeasure, leaving Ellis in doubt as to whether or not he were its
object. Perhaps she suspected him of not having made a very thorough
search. Her next remark might have borne such a construction.
"Sister Olivia," she said pettishly, "let's go up to the parlor. I can
play the piano anyway, if there's no one to talk to."
"I find it very comfortable here, Clara," replied her sister placidly.
"Mr. Ellis will go with you. You'll probably find some one in the
parlor, or they'll come when you begin to play."
Clara's expression was not cordial, but she rose as if to go. Ellis was
in a quandary. If she went through the hall, the chances were at least
even that she would see Delamere. He did not care a rap for
Delamere,--if he chose to make a public exhibition of himself, it was
his own affair; but to see him would surely spoil Miss Pemberton's
evening, and, in her frame of mind, might lead to the suspicion that
Ellis had prearranged the exposure. Even if she should not harbor this
unjust thought, she would not love the witness of her discomfiture. We
had rather not meet the persons who have seen, even though they never
mention, the skeletons in our closets. Delamere had disposed of himself
for the evening. Ellis would have a fairer field with Delamere out of
sight and unaccounted for, than with Delamere in evidence in his present
condition.
"Wouldn't you rather take a stroll on the beach, Miss Clara?" he asked,
in the hope of creating a diversion.
"No, I'm going to the parlor. _You_ needn't come, Mr. Ellis, if you'd
rather go down to the beach. I can quite as well go alone."
"I'd rather go with you," he said meekly.
They were moving toward the door opening into the hall, from which the
broad staircase ascended. Ellis, whose thoughts did not always respond
quickly to a sudden emergency, was puzzling his brain as to how he
should save her from any risk of seeing Delamere. Through the side door
leading from the hall into the office, he saw the bell-boy to whom he
had spoken seated on the bench provided for the servants.
"Won't you wait for me just a moment, Miss Clara, while I step into the
office? I'll be with you in an instant."
Clara hesitated.
"Oh, certainly," she replied nonchalantly.
Ellis went direct to the bell-boy. "Sit right where you are," he said,
"and don't move a hair. What is the lady in the hall doing?"
"She's got her back tu'ned this way, suh. I 'spec' she's lookin' at the
picture on the opposite wall, suh."
"All right," whispered Ellis, pressing a coin into the servant's hand.
"I'm going up to the parlor with the lady. You go up ahead of us, and
keep in front of us along the hall. Don't dare to look back. I shall
keep on talking to the lady, so that you can tell by my voice where we
are. When you get to room 256, go in and shut the door behind you:
pretend that you were called,--ask the gentlemen what they want,--tell
any kind of a lie you like,--but keep the door shut until you're sure
we've got by. Do you hear?"
"Yes, suh," replied the negro intelligently.
The plan worked without a hitch. Ellis talked steadily, about the hotel,
the furnishings, all sorts of irrelevant subjects, to which Miss
Pemberton paid little attention. She was angry with Delamere, and took
no pains to conceal her feelings. The bell-boy entered room 256 just
before they reached the door. Ellis had heard loud talking as they
approached, and as they were passing there was a crash of broken glass,
as though some object had been thrown at the door.
"What is the matter there?" exclaimed Clara, quickening her footsteps
and instinctively drawing closer to Ellis.
"Some one dropped a glass, I presume," replied Ellis calmly.
Miss Pemberton glanced at him suspiciously. She was in a decidedly
perverse mood. Seating herself at the piano, she played brilliantly for
a quarter of an hour. Quite a number of couples strolled up to the
parlor, but Delamere was not among them.
"Oh dear!" exclaimed Miss Pemberton, as she let her fingers fall upon
the keys with a discordant crash, after the last note, "I don't see why
we came out here to-night. Let's go back downstairs."
Ellis felt despondent. He had done his utmost to serve and to please
Miss Pemberton, but was not likely, he foresaw, to derive much benefit
from his opportunity. Delamere was evidently as much or more in her
thoughts by reason of his absence than if he had been present. If the
door should have been opened, and she should see him from the hall upon
their return, Ellis could not help it. He took the side next to the
door, however, meaning to hurry past the room so that she might not
recognize Delamere.
Fortunately the door was closed and all quiet within the room. On the
stairway they met the bellboy, rubbing his head with one hand and
holding a bottle of seltzer upon a tray in the other. The boy was well
enough trained to give no sign of recognition, though Ellis guessed the
destination of the bottle.
Ellis hardly knew whether to feel pleased or disappointed at the success
of his manoeuvres. He had spared Miss Pemberton some mortification, but
he had saved Tom Delamere from merited exposure. Clara ought to know the
truth, for her own sake.
On the beach, a few rods away, fires were burning, around which several
merry groups had gathered. The smoke went mostly to one side, but a
slight whiff came now and then to where Mrs. Carteret sat awaiting
them.
"They're roasting oysters," said Mrs. Carteret. "I wish you'd bring me
some, Mr. Ellis."
Ellis strolled down to the beach. A large iron plate, with a turned-up
rim like a great baking-pan, supported by legs which held it off the
ground, was set over a fire built upon the sand. This primitive oven was
heaped with small oysters in the shell, taken from the neighboring
sound, and hauled up to the hotel by a negro whose pony cart stood near
by. A wet coffee-sack of burlaps was spread over the oysters, which,
when steamed sufficiently, were opened by a colored man and served
gratis to all who cared for them.
Ellis secured a couple of plates of oysters, which he brought to Mrs.
Carteret and Clara; they were small, but finely flavored.
Meanwhile Delamere, who possessed a remarkable faculty of recuperation
from the effects of drink, had waked from his sleep, and remembering his
engagement, had exerted himself to overcome the ravages of the
afternoon's debauch. A dash of cold water braced him up somewhat. A
bottle of seltzer and a big cup of strong coffee still further
strengthened his nerves.
When Ellis returned to the veranda, after having taken away the plates,
Delamere had joined the ladies and was explaining the cause of his
absence.
He had been overcome by the heat, he said, while out fishing, and had
been lying down ever since. Perhaps he ought to have sent for a doctor,
but the fellows had looked after him. He hadn't sent word to his friends
because he hadn't wished to spoil their evening.
"That was very considerate of you, Tom," said Mrs. Carteret dryly, "but
you ought to have let us know. We have been worrying about you very
much. Clara has found the evening dreadfully dull."
"Indeed, no, sister Olivia," said the young lady cheerfully, "I've been
having a lovely time. Mr. Ellis and I have been up in the parlor; I
played the piano; and we've been eating oysters and having a most
delightful time. Won't you take me down there to the beach, Mr. Ellis? I
want to see the fires. Come on."
"Can't I go?" asked Tom jealously.
"No, indeed, you mustn't stir a foot! You must not overtax yourself so
soon; it might do you serious injury. Stay here with sister Olivia."
She took Ellis's arm with exaggerated cordiality. Delamere glared after
them angrily. Ellis did not stop to question her motives, but took the
goods the gods provided. With no very great apparent effort, Miss
Pemberton became quite friendly, and they strolled along the beach, in
sight of the hotel, for nearly half an hour. As they were coming up she
asked him abruptly,--
"Mr. Ellis, did you know Tom was in the hotel?"
Ellis was looking across the sound, at the lights of a distant steamer
which was making her way toward the harbor.
"I wonder," he said musingly, as though he had not heard her question,
"if that is the Ocean Belle?"
"And was he really sick?" she demanded.
"She's later than usual this trip," continued Ellis, pursuing his
thought. "She was due about five o'clock."
Miss Pemberton, under cover of the darkness, smiled a fine smile, which
foreboded ill for some one. When they joined the party on the piazza,
the major had come up and was saying that it was time to go. He had
been engaged in conversation, for most of the evening, with General
Belmont and several other gentlemen.
"Here comes the general now. Let me see. There are five of us. The
general has offered me a seat in his buggy, and Tom can go with
you-all."
The general came up and spoke to the ladies. Tom murmured his thanks; it
would enable him to make up a part of the delightful evening he had
missed.
When Mrs. Carteret had taken the rear seat, Clara promptly took the
place beside her. Ellis and Delamere sat in front. When Delamere, who
had offered to drive, took the reins, Ellis saw that his hands were
shaking.
"Give me the lines," he whispered. "Your nerves are unsteady and the
road is not well lighted."
Delamere prudently yielded the reins. He did not like Ellis's tone,
which seemed sneering rather than expressive of sympathy with one who
had been suffering. He wondered if the beggar knew anything about his
illness. Clara had been acting strangely. It would have been just like
Ellis to have slandered him. The upstart had no business with Clara
anyway. He would cheerfully have strangled Ellis, if he could have done
so with safety to himself and no chance of discovery.
The drive homeward through the night was almost a silent journey. Mrs.
Carteret was anxious about her baby. Clara did not speak, except now and
then to Ellis with reference to some object in or near the road.
Occasionally they passed a vehicle in the darkness, sometimes barely
avoiding a collision. Far to the north the sky was lit up with the glow
of a forest fire. The breeze from the Sound was deliciously cool. Soon
the last toll-gate was passed and the lights of the town appeared.
Ellis threw the lines to William, who was waiting, and hastened to help
the ladies out.
"Good-night, Mr. Ellis," said Clara sweetly, as she gave Ellis her hand.
"Thank you for a very pleasant evening. Come up and see us soon."
She ran into the house without a word to Tom.