THE KINSHIP OF SUFFERING
When Graham felt that he had reached the refuge of his aunt's cottage,
his self-control failed him, and he almost staggered into the dusky
parlor and sank into a chair. Burying his face in his hands, he
muttered: "Fool, fool, fool!" and a long, shuddering sigh swept through
his frame.
How long he remained in this attitude he did not know, so overwhelmed
was he by his sense of loss. At last he felt a hand laid upon his
shoulder; he looked up and saw that the lamp was lighted and that his
aunt was standing beside him. His face was so altered and haggard that
she uttered an exclamation of distress.
Graham hastily arose and turned down the light. "I cannot bear that you
should look upon my weakness," he said, hoarsely.
"I should not be ashamed of having loved Grace St. John," said the old
lady, quietly.
"Nor am I. As I told her, I think far better of myself for having done
so. A man who has seen her as I have would be less than a man had he
not loved her. But oh, the future, the future! How am I to support the
truth that my love is useless, hopeless?"
"Alford, I scarcely need tell you that my disappointment is bitter
also. I had set my heart on this thing."
"You know all, then?"
"Yes, I know she is engaged to your friend, Warren Hilland. She came
over in the dusk of last evening, and, sitting just where you are, told
me all. I kept up. It was not for me to reveal your secret. I let the
happy girl talk on, kissed her, and wished her all the happiness she
deserves. Grace is unlike other girls, or I should have known about it
long ago. I don't think she even told her father until she had first
written to him her full acknowledgment. Your friend, however, had
gained her father's consent to his addresses long since. She told me
that."
"Oh, my awful future!" he groaned. "Alford," Mrs. Mayburn said, gently
but firmly, "think of _her_ future. Grace is so good and kind that she
would be very unhappy if she saw and heard you now. I hope you did not
give way thus in her presence."
He sprang to his feet and paced the room rapidly at first, then more
and more slowly. Soon he turned up the light, and Mrs. Mayburn was
surprised at the change in his appearance.
"You are a strong, sensible woman," he began.
"Well, I will admit the premise for the sake of learning what is to
follow."
"Miss St. John must never know of my sense of loss--my present
despair," he said, in low, rapid speech. "Some zest in life may come
back to me in time; but, be that as it may, I shall meet my trouble
like a man. To make her suffer now--to cloud her well-merited happiness
and that of my friend--would be to add a bitterness beyond that of
death. Aunt, you first thought me cold and incapable of strong
attachments, and a few weeks since I could not have said that your
estimate was far astray, although I'm sure my friendship for Hilland
was as strong as the love of most men. Until I met you and Grace it was
the only evidence I possessed that I had a heart. Can you wonder? He
was the first one that ever showed me any real kindness. I was orphaned
in bitter truth, and from childhood my nature was chilled and benumbed
by neglect and isolation. Growth and change are not so much questions
of time as of conditions. From the first moment that I saw Grace St.
John, she interested me deeply; and, self-complacent, self-confident
fool that I was, I thought I could deal with the supreme question of
life as I had dealt with those which half the world never think about
at all. I remember your warning, aunt; and yet, as I said to myself at
the time, there was more of incentive than warning in your words, flow
self-confidently I smiled over them! How perfectly sure I was that I
could enjoy this rare girl's society as I would look at a painting or
listen to a symphony! Almost before I was aware, I found a craving in
my heart which I now know all the world cannot satisfy. That June day
which you arranged so kindly in my behalf made all as clear as the
cloudless sun that shone upon us. That day I was revealed fully unto
myself, but my hope was strong, for I felt that by the very law and
correspondence of nature I could not have such an immeasurable need
without having that need supplied. In my impatience I left my business
unfinished and returned this evening, for I could not endure another
hour of delay. She seemed to answer my glad looks when we met; she gave
her hand in cordial welcome. I, blinded by feeling, and thinking that
its very intensity must awaken a like return, stood speechless, almost
overwhelmed by my transcendent hope. She interpreted my manner
naturally by what was uppermost in her mind, and exclaimed: 'He has
told you--he has written.' In a moment I knew the truth, and I scarcely
think that a knife piercing my heart could inflict a deeper pang. I
could not rally for a moment or two. When shall I forget the
sympathy--the tears that dimmed her dear eyes! I have a religion at
last, and I worship the divine nature of that complete woman. The
thought that I made her suffer aroused my manhood; and from that moment
I strove to make light of the affair--to give the impression that she
was taking it more seriously than I did. I even tried to pique her
pride--I could not wound her vanity, for she has none--and I partially
succeeded. My task, however, was and will be a difficult one, for her
organization is so delicate and fine that she feels what she cannot
see. But I made her laugh in spite of herself at my prudent, wary
wooing. I removed, I think, all constraint, and we can meet as if
nothing had happened. Not that we can meet often--that would tax me
beyond my strength--but often enough to banish solicitude from her mind
and from Hilland's. Now you know the facts sufficiently to become a
shrewd and efficient ally. By all your regard for me--what is far more,
by all your love for her--I entreat you let me bring no cloud across
her bright sky. We are going over to whist as usual to-night. Let all
be as usual."
"Heaven bless you, Alford!" faltered his aunt, with tearful eyes.
"Heaven! what a mockery! Even the lichen, the insect, lives a complete
life, while we, with all our reason, so often blunder, fail, and miss
that which is essential to existence."
Mrs. Mayburn shook her head slowly and thoughtfully, and then said:
"This very fact should teach us that our philosophy of life is false.
We are both materialists--I from the habit of living for this world
only; you, I suppose, from mistaken reasoning; but in hours like these
the mist is swept aside, and I feel, I know, that this life cannot,
must not, be all in all."
"Oh, hush!" cried Graham, desperately. "To cease to exist and therefore
to suffer, may become the best one can hope for. Were it not cowardly,
I would soon end it all."
"You may well use the word 'cowardly,'" said his aunt in strong
emphasis; "and brave Grace St. John would revolt at and despise such
cowardice by every law of her nature."
"Do not fear. I hope never to do anything to forfeit her respect,
except it is for the sake of her own happiness, as when to-day I tried
to make her think my veins were filled with ice-water instead of blood.
Come, I have kept you far too long. Let us go through the formality of
supper; and then I will prove to you that if I have been weak here I
can be strong for her sake. I do not remember my mother; but nature is
strong, and I suppose there comes a time in every one's life when he
must speak to some one as he would to a mother. You have been very
kind, dear aunt, and I shall never forget that you have wished and
schemed for my happiness."
The old lady came and put her arm around the young man's neck and
looked into his face with a strange wistfulness as she said, slowly:
"There is no blood relationship between us, Alford, but we are nearer
akin than such ties could make us. You do not remember your mother; I
never had a child. But, as you say, nature is strong; and although I
have tried to satisfy myself with a hundred things, the mother in my
heart has never been content. I hoped, I prayed, that you and Grace
might become my children. Alford, I have been learning of late that I
am a lonely, unhappy old woman. Will you not be my boy? I would rather
share your sorrow than be alone in the world again."
Graham was deeply touched. He bowed his head upon her shoulder as if he
were her son, and a few hot tears fell from his eyes. "Yes, aunt," he
said, in a low tone, "you have won the right to ask anything that I can
give. Fate, in denying us both what our hearts most craved, has indeed
made us near akin; and there can be an unspoken sympathy between us
that may have a sustaining power that we cannot now know. You have
already taken the bitterness, the despair out of my sorrow; and should
I go to the ends of the earth I shall be the better for having you to
think of and care for."
"And you feel that you cannot remain here, Alford?"
"No, aunt, that is now impossible; that is, for the present."
"Yes, I suppose it is," she admitted, sadly.
"Come, aunty dear, I promised Miss St. John that we would go over as
usual to-night, and I would not for the world break my word."
"Then we shall go at once. We shall have a nice little supper on our
return. Neither of us is in the mood for it now."
After a hasty toilet Graham joined his aunt. She looked at him, and had
no fears.