"I knocked at Mr. Fordham's door, ma'am, as you bid, and he said
that he wasn't well enough to leave his room, and would you be
pleased to eat breakfast without him. And he said, ma'am, that you
needn't be uneasy the leastest bit in the world, for it's only a
cold and sore throat he's got, and, indeed, if I may make so bold as
to say it, he's that hoarse I could scarcely hear him at all."
Phoebe eyed her mistress slyly and keenly when she had delivered
her message. Although not particularly given to prying and gossip,
her curiosity was excited by certain peculiarities in the home life
of Mr. and Mrs. Fordham, for which the supposition that the master
of the house had "picked up German ways," while abroad, did not
fully account. They had distinctly separate apartments, carrying the
rule of division so far that Mr. Fordham never entered his wife's
sitting-room without knocking at the door, and if she invaded the
library when he was in, she not only asked admittance in the same
way, but apologized for interrupting his studies.
"They are too polite by half!" Phoebe estimated, judging them by
her not very extensive observation and experience. "There's Mrs.
Baxter will make more fuss over her dried-up atomy of a man in one
day, than Mrs. Fordham does about her fine figure of a husband in a
year."
She had never seen Mr. Fordham kiss or otherwise caress his bride,
or indulge in any of the romping fondling which the lately wedded
are prone to forget may be less interesting to spectators than to
themselves. Yet, she was ready to affirm stoutly that, in her
parlance, "they thought the world and all of one another;" that Mr.
Fordham studied his wife's inclinations, anticipated her wishes, and
ministered to her comfort more than any other gentleman she knew;
while "Mr. Fordham likes this," or, "he is not fond of that," were
decisive phrases in Jessie's mouth in the conduct of her domestic
affairs, and her many devices to make his home-coming at noon and
evening, an ever-new pleasure, called forth the continual admiration
of the handmaiden.
It was a puzzle past her finding out. But here was a test that could
hardly fail. The wife should, according to Phoebe's creed, fly on
the wings of love and anxiety to the bedside of her sick lord;
become his nurse and servitor until he recovered.
To the girl's grieved disappointment,--for she was sincerely
attached to the whilom "Miss Jessie," and wanted to think well of
her in all things--Mrs. Fordham said, composedly, if not
coolly--"Very well, Phoebe! Bring in breakfast!" and turned again
to the window at which she was standing, when the news was brought
to her of her husband's sad case.
"I'm right down sorry--that I am!" grumbled the servant over the
kitchen range. "I did hope she'd show some feeling for him when he's
maybe took for dipthery or quincy or something else awful. And he
such a good provider and well-spoken gentleman, and never so much as
raising his voice in a temper with her, but treating her like a
queen! I've a mind to slip up myself, and ask what he'll have to
eat. These are the beautifullest muffins ever I see! She is a master
hand at the like. And I know she made these, as she does all sorts
of nice things, because he likes 'em. Queer she never lets on but
what I get up the dishes he praises. Mistresses mostly is glad
enough to pocket the compliments as belongs to their girls. She's a
genuwine lady, and no mistake, but it cuts me to see her so
cold-hearted to _him_. I suppose they're what folks call a
'fashionable couple.'"
While this soliloquy was going on, the subject of it stood still at
the window, gazing into the street. It was a bleak December day.
There had been rain in the night; then the thermometer sank
abruptly, and by morning the sidewalks were glazed with ice. The
earth was black and grim, the clouds, grayly sullen, seemed to rest
upon the chimney-tops, and while Jessie looked, it began to snow,
gently for a while, then so fast that a wavering sheet soon shut out
her view of distant objects. The cottage was on a corner, and this
being a side-window, gave upon the college-grounds on one hand,
Judge Provost's house, garden, and lawn on the other. By changing
her position never so slightly, the lady could have beheld the
balconied front and imposing cupola of the Wyllys' residence, of
which the happy pair had taken formal possession ten days before,
postponing their bridal tour until Spring. "For," as the bride
eagerly explained to everybody--"both of us have been everywhere on
this side of the water, and winter-travelling is an awful bore. To
be sure, we've been abroad, too, and seen everything that is worth
seeing. So we are beating our brains to devise something
_recherche_" (pronounced _rechurchy_) "in the way of a wedding-trip.
And it is _so_ sweet and romantic to come to our own home, right
away! Indeed, as I told Orrin, it isn't safe to leave such carpets
and furniture as ours unprotected."
Jessie had heard all this fanfaronade, and much more from Mrs.
Baxter, but she was not thinking of it now. Nor did she move so as
to bring the "new and superb mansion of our popular fellow-citizen,
Orrin Wyllys, Esq.," within the range of her vision; only seemed to
watch the falling snow, and the few passers-by who dotted the
whitening streets at this early hour. In reality, she was
speculating upon the meaning of the stillness in the chamber
overhead. Was Roy, then, too ill to get up? Was his room
comfortable? What attention from nurse or physician did he need? How
was she to learn and supply his wants? It would be barbarous
unkindness, if he were very sick, to stand aloof and leave the
charge of him to hirelings. Yet her personal attendance would be
awkward for both. She was not sure that he would approve of it, so
fastidious had been his care to excuse her from such offices. He had
spoken, in an off-hand way, overnight, of feeling chilly, and
apologized for not offering to read the new number of a magazine to
her by saying that his throat was sore. Without consulting him, she
had brewed a pitcher of hot lemonade, and insisted upon his drinking
it after he went to his room. He had thanked her with the invariable
courtesy that met her every effort to serve him, and "was sure it
was all he needed. A most agreeable prescription too!" he added, as
he bore off the pitcher. It was a shock, after this pleasant
parting, to hear that he was sick in bed. What if he were to be
seriously ill? Her heart gave a great bound, then ceased moving for
a moment. He was so robust, so full of life and energy, that this
could not be.
What if he were to _die_! She too thought of diphtheria. There had
been several fatal cases of it in Hamilton recently. She was pale
and faint; her limbs giving way under her as she admitted the
frightful supposition. What would she be--what would she do if the
strong staff of his protection, the solace of his companionship,
were reft from her?
For she knew that, little cause as she had given him in the
circumstances attending their marriage, to cherish her as all men
should--as some men do the women who love them fervently and
constantly, there was hardly a wife in the land who was surrounded
by the atmosphere of chivalrous devotion which encompassed her in
the secluded life she led as the nominal mistress of Roy Fordham's
home. Her deep mourning was a sufficient excuse for declining to
enter the gay circle in which Mrs. Wyllys fluttered and her diamonds
and husband shone. But Roy saw to it that she was not lonely. The
Baxters, Provosts, and others of his friends were often with them
during the day, and he spent his evenings, as a rule, at home.
"Will you favor me with your company in the library, or shall I come
to your sitting-room?" he would ask, when supper was over.
They wrote and studied together as two friends of the same sex
might; talked freely upon all subjects suggested by either--each
watchful that no chance touch should wound the other; make him or
her swerve quickly aside lest the next step should be upon the fresh
grave that lay ever between them. In all their intercourse, Roy's
apparent ease far surpassed his wife's. Cheerful, cordial, always
kind and more than kind in manner and language, he yet comported
himself as if there were nothing abnormal in this sort of
association; as if passion and regret were alike things of the Past,
to which he had said they need never again recur. No warmer
love-name than "Jessie, dear," ever passed his lips, and after the
night of the home bringing, he had never offered to kiss or embrace
her. A hand-clasp, night and morning; a smiling bow and lively
phrase, when he came in to dinner and tea, were the most
affectionate courtesies exchanged. But no distraught lover, at the
height of his lunacy, ever studied his mistress's fantasies, sought
to penetrate and fulfil her will, as did this quiet and courtly
husband that of the woman who had confessed that her heart was none
of his when he married her. Flowers, fruits, birds, and books were
lavished upon her; passed into her hands through other than his, but
were always procured by him in response to some expressed liking on
her part, or in accordance with what he imagined were her wishes or
needs. Nor was his unobtrusive attention to her health less
constant. In the same friendly style, he regulated exercise, diet,
and work; saw that her habits were not too sedentary, and that she
did not expose herself imprudently to cold, damp, or fatigue.
Her review of all this was rapid and circumstantial.
"He deserves all that I can do for him. False delicacy nor pride
shall keep me back from ministering to the wants of one who is to me
father, brother, friend. I may, at least, wait upon him as a hostess
might tend an honored guest--a housekeeper the master of the house!"
she had decided by the time Phoebe set coffee, muffins, and steak
upon the table.
Then to the serving-girl's increased chagrin, she sat down, with
Roy's vacant chair opposite her, and break-fasted alone.
"Not much of a breakfast, to be sure!" said Phoebe, returning at
the end of ten minutes, to find the room deserted. "Half a muffin,
and a cup of coffee, and she clean forgot to carve the steak! Looks
like she was in love--but that can't be!"
"Come in!" said the changed voice that had wrought upon Phoebe's
womanly compassion, as Jessie awaited the warrant to enter the
sick-room--a faint-hearted lingerer upon the threshold. She buoyed
up her courage by remembering that she was the housekeeper who had
come for the orders for the day; the diffidence she railed at
inwardly, as ridiculous and uncalled for, had no visible effect,
except to heighten her color, and make her carry her head a trifle
less loftily.
Already Mrs. Wyllys had been heard to say that, "if Mrs. Fordham
were worth a million in her own right, she could not look more
haughty and indifferent to people who were richer and better bred.
When, as everybody knew, she was a poor preacher's daughter with
just money enough to buy her wedding-clothes. Though, pity knows,
they couldn't have cost much! Was there ever such awful taste, as
not to lighten her mourning to suit the circumstances? Who ever
heard of a bride's wearing crepe?"
There were red spots upon Roy's cheeks, when he saw who his visitor
was--probably hectic, for his demeanor was natural. With instant
thought of her probable embarrassment, he put out his hand,
smilingly.
"Ah! Jessie, dear! Good-morning! You are very good to visit a poor
fellow in his affliction. For such a throat and head as I have
to-day _are_ an affliction. I seldom strike my colors to a common
cold."
"This seems to me to be an uncommon one!" Jessie said, feeling
his pulse with the practised touch she had learned in her
parish-visiting. "You have fever. You ought to have medical advice.
Who is your physician?"
"I have never had occasion to call in one since I came to Hamilton.
Suppose we 'bide a bit,' as our worthy President says, and if I am
not better in the course of an hour or two, we can send for Dr.
Bradley. I had a trying day yesterday. Professor Fairchild is sick,
and I had some of his classes in addition to my own. It is well this
is Saturday. I can lie still, and rest my throat with a clear
conscience. Provided"--smiling in her grave face--"provided you do
not let me trouble you!"
"Trouble me! you should know better than that! But"--hesitating--"if
you will let me say it"--
"Go on! there is nothing you may not say to me," he said
encouragingly.
"I do think it would be better to see Dr. Bradley, at once--if only
as a precautionary measure."
He started--looked at her intently.
"You are thinking of diphtheria! You ought not to have come in until
that point was settled. There may be danger to you. If, through my
carelessness--"
He turned his face away, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence.
"I never thought of _that_!" said Jessie, simply. "If I had, I
should have come all the same. Whatever may be the doctor's opinion,
I shall stay here, and take care of you. It is my place."
She rang the bell for Phoebe, and in Roy's hearing, ordered her to
go for the doctor. She would not have her charge suspect that she
was unduly alarmed, or believe there was occasion for a hasty
summons. Then, she brought a sunshiny face to the bedside, and put a
fresh pillow under the hot, heavy head.
"You don't know what a famous nurse I am," she said, blithely. "My
father"--her voice sinking with the sacred word--"used to say that
nursing was a talent, and that I was born with it."
She set to work, forthwith, without waiting for permission. Roy,
regarding her silently from his bed, heartily endorsed Mr. Kirke's
verdict. Not Eunice herself could have moved more soundlessly,
wrought more efficiently to alleviate, so far as she could, the pain
and discomfort of his situation. The doctor was at home, and obeyed
the call promptly. Roy glanced inquiringly at Jessie when he was
announced.
"Show him up!" was all she said, and when he followed Phoebe into
the chamber, she met him with high-bred ease as the lady of the
house; as the patient's wife discussed his symptoms; heard, with
marked gratification, that her fears of diphtheria were unfounded,
and received his directions gratefully and attentively.
"A fine woman, and a most devoted wife!" pronounced Dr. Bradley, at
his luncheon-table, that day. "Let me hear no more gossip about her,
girls. Remember!"
"But, Papa, they do say they live queerly!" ventured the
irrepressible Selina. "Mrs. Wyllys--"
"Is a fool! see that you don't become another in listening to her
twaddle!" was the peremptory reply.
Orrin Wyllys, hearing accidentally of his cousin's indisposition,
called at noon, and was conducted by Phoebe, by warrant of the
relationship, into Roy's presence. The chamber was heated usually by
the furnace register, but Roy lay in bed gazing at the glowing pile
of coals in the grate. There was a happy ray in his eyes,
spontaneity in the gayety with which he welcomed his guest, that did
not accord with the latter's preconceived ideas of the dolor of a
sick-room.
"You look like an invalid--don't you?" was Wyllys' second remark.
"This is the cheeriest place I have been in to-day. It is what the
English call beastly weather, out-of-doors. I don't blame anybody
for keeping his bed. I thought you showed me the room across the
hall as yours when you took me through the house, that night, 'the
last of your _quasi_ widowerhood.'"
"We changed the arrangement afterward," rejoined Roy, carelessly.
"But it is a luxury--is'n't it? to lie still on a stormy day, and
stare a fire like that out of countenance; especially on a holiday,
when there are no phantoms of unsaid lectures to torment one's
reveries. I am enjoying it amazingly. I hadn't the remotest
conception that being sick was so delightful."
"By Jove! I should think you would luxuriate in it, unless you have
less brains than I give you credit for! With an _houri_ for
head-nurse, too! I say! get out of that! I can play the sentimental
sufferer as well as you, and I have a native bias for lazy luxury,
which you haven't. I dare say, you cunning dog! if all were told,
there is some dainty mess preparing for you below stairs,--a triumph
of conjugal affection and culinary skill, that should be tasted by
none but an educated appetite. A Teuton like yourself would be as
well suited with bretzels and sauerkraut, washed down by a gallon of
lager. I am a devout predestinarian, and here lies the case. I have
a canine hunger upon me. I am on my way home to luncheon. Without,
'the day is dark and cold and dreary.' I am _led_ to this corner of
cosiness and comfort and fairy fare to dispossess you. Impostor! how
dare you lie there, and grin at my emptiness and agony! Confess!
what did you have for breakfast? What do you mean to devour for
lunch? What do you hope to consume for dinner?"
Roy could never resist the infection of this merry banter, seldom
indulged in by Orrin except when with him. It brought back their
early days--"when you thrashed the big boys for bullying me"--he
liked to remind the other when they slept, played, and studied
together. Orrin had his foibles, and a graver fault or so, but he
was his _friend_, as he had told Dr. Baxter, and the boyish love for
his gallant senior was still strong upon him. His laugh now was
hearty and mischievous.
"Such a breakfast!" he said. "Gotten up in strict conformity with
the injunction--'Feed a cold'"--
"And you will have a fever to starve!" interjected Wyllys. "_That_
would be poetical justice! But go on!"
"Imprimis;" resumed Fordham,--"a cup of Turkish coffee,--fragrant
and clear. Item, cream toast. Knowest thou the taste thereof? Of
real cream toast? light, rich, smooth, that sootheth the inflamed
membrane of the throat, and maketh the diaphragm to rejoice
exceedingly? Item, broiled chicken--a marvel of juicy tenderness; an
omelette _aux fines herbes_ which was an inspiration"--
"For Heaven's sake!" Orrin feigned to tear his hair. "If you don't
want to be murdered in your bed, hold your tongue!"
Roy was in a paroxysm of laughter; Wyllys, scowling horribly, had
snatched the poker and was making adroit passes at him, like the
cunning master of fence he was, when Jessie, ignorant of the liberty
Phoebe had taken, and supposing her patient to be alone, entered.
She had a waiter in one hand containing a silver pitcher and goblet,
and a plate in the other, heaped with hothouse grapes. Transfixed
with astonishment at the spectacle within she stopped on the
threshold. Her amazement was not lessened when Orrin, replacing his
weapon on the hearth, threw himself into a chair and covered his
face with his handkerchief.
"A victim of covetousness!" exclaimed Roy, trying to check his
merriment.
"Of misplaced confidence!" uttered Orrin, gloomily, removing his
cambric, and arising with a show of melancholy composure. "I hope I
have the pleasure of seeing you quite well, Mrs. Fordham! I should
judge so from your blooming appearance, but having just had a
notable lesson in the deceitfulness of outward seeming, I am
sceptical as to the evidence of the senses and human reason."
"A dash of scepticism is like vaccine virus,--a useful thing, where
there is fear of infection," said Jessie, not comprehending what had
gone before, and not choosing to ask questions of him.
She bowed in passing him, making of her full hands a tacit excuse
for the cavalier salutation,--a pretext that was transparent to the
person she intended to slight. Depositing her burden upon a table,
she bent over it, pretending to rearrange the grapes and stir the
contents of the pitcher, that her face might cool before he had a
chance to scrutinize it. His presence in this place was odious to
her. What had she, in her self-abasement and earnest reachings after
a nobler life than he had ever thought of, or aspired to, to do with
his masquerading tricks and _persiflage_? His mummery, then and
there, was more than heartless--it was an insult to her, with the
recollection of her broken vows and blighted life, dogging every
thought of possible happiness. Her residence in Hamilton had no
severer trial than these chance encounters with him--her husband's
nearest of kin.
"Nectar and grapes of Eshcol!" he exclaimed in a tone of calm
despair, referring to the contents of waiter and plate. "You may not
believe it, Mrs. Fordham--in fact I don't expect you to, for it is
the nature of your sex to trust and trust again,--but you are
nourishing a serpent! a base trickster! yet one of whose want of
originality I am ashamed. The interesting invalid dodge is the
stalest and flimsiest known to the guild of artful dodgers. Now, if
I were in his place--"
"I am heartily glad you are not!" escaped Jessie, against her will
to treat him with civility for Roy's sake.
Her emphasis of sincerity was unmistakable and wrought with various
effect upon her two auditors.
"So am I!" laughed Roy, his eyes alight with more than mirth. "The
grapes you cannot touch, my grasping friend! They were a present to
me, not an hour since, from Miss Fanny Provost--a basketful,
wreathed with exquisite flowers. _She_ believes in the reality of my
interesting invalidism. As for the nectar--give him a sip--Jessie,
please! It is _not_ fair that one man should monopolize all the good
things of life."
Jessie poured out the draught, without jest or smile; then stood
back with a gesture that bade him help himself if he would. She
would not be a party to the sport, Orrin perceived.
"A missish, spiteful show of disdain!" he thought, contemptuously.
"She is hardly worth a scene!"
To show that he was not repelled or overawed, he advanced a step;
took up the goblet with a profound obeisance; stared her in the
eyes, and swallowed a mouthful. Roy's shout of exultation and the
uncontrollable grimace of the dupe, moved Jessie to a smile, but she
did not speak.
"Witches' broth?" queried Orrin, with the tragical gravity of one
who has made up his mind to die like a man.
"So Socrates might have glared and growled!" said Roy. "'The
hemlock, jailor?'" mimicking the other's tone. "Not this time, my
dear fellow! Only sage tea, sweetened with honey and stiffened with
alum--an incomparable gargle, according to such eminent authorities
as Miss Eunice Kirke, her sister, and, last and least, Dr. Bradley."
Orrin took up his hat, undismayed to the last.
"_Sage_ tea! I go home a wiser, if not a better man! I am glad to
see there is nothing the matter with you, Roy, while I lament, as
one of your blood and lineage, over your unblushing hypocrisy. Mrs.
Fordham--"
"You used to call her 'Jessie,'" interrupted Roy. "I said, 'Cousin
Hester,' yesterday, to your bride. Shall I imitate your formal
address?"
"No! But my little wife is august in nobody's eyes. Whereas, Mrs.
Fordham--Cousin Jessie--I beg your pardon! Which shall it be?"
His back was to Roy; his meaning gaze upon herself was, to her
perception, audacious insolence. Not daring to resent it in Roy's
hearing, she yet obeyed the wifely impulse to seek his protection.
"That is for your cousin to decide. My name belongs to him!" She
said it proudly, flashing her wide eyes from one to the other, and
moving involuntarily nearer to Roy.
Wyllys caught up the last words.
"His relations should be yours, if the partnership be in good faith,
and on equal terms."
"That is for him to decide!" answered she, precisely as before.
"Thank you! I do not shirk the responsibility," said Roy putting
himself in the breach as usual, when he saw her non-plussed or
disturbed. "Another sip of nectar, Orrin, before you breast the
storm?"
A wry face was the response, and the most fascinating man in
Hamilton bowed himself out. As he drew the door to after him, he
glanced across the hall. The room Roy had showed him as his was
opposite, and the door open. There was fire in that grate also; a
lady's sewing-chair in front of it, and a work-box he recognized as
Jessie's on the small table beside it. On the back of the chair hung
a linen apron, with pockets, such as he had seen her wear when
engaged in household tasks in Dundee, or gardening. He guessed
directly that she had stopped in there to lay it off when she
brought up the gargle. That this was her apartment, he was sure,
when another step revealed a bureau with a ladies' dressing-case
open upon it.
"Separate apartments!" he mused, picking his steps lightly down the
cottage stairs. "Very unsentimental! Very un-American! decidedly
independent and jolly. But, in this case, what is the meaning of
it?"
He believed he had the clue to the mystery before he inserted his
latch-key in the door of his--or his wife's--house. Jessie Fordham
could not forget that Jessie Kirke had loved him. The decent show of
conjugal felicity he had witnessed that day was a hollow crust below
which the lava still surged and seethed. Jessie was more faithful to
the one great passion of her life, and less philosophical than he
had been ready to believe. Her scrupulous avoidance of him whenever
this could be done without awakening suspicion; the half bitter
retorts that fell now and then from the lips she would train to the
utterance of conventional lies; the indignant sparkle of the eyes
that answered the searching appeal of his--what were all these but
the ill-concealed tokens of an attachment that had so inwrought
itself with the fibres of heart and being as to defy her strenuous
attempts to pluck it forth, or keep it out of sight. It was a
revelation to him, and a flattering one--one that merited serious
consideration.
The devil gat hold of him in that hour; sifted him as wheat,
bringing all that was base in his nature uppermost. Heretofore, he
had shunned everything that could secure for him the reputation of a
_cicisbeo_. When a woman was once married, she became an object of
indifference to him. He accounted the pursuit of such, a hazardous
and flavorless exhibition of Lothario-ism which the refined age
should frown down. He was not a _gourmand_ or libertine, he had
often proudly asserted to himself. Pleasures of that stamp he left
to men of grosser tastes and coarser grain. He had meant to allow
his cousin all the domestic peace which should honestly fall
to his share, and to cultivate amicable relations with his
cousin-in-law--Roy's wife, who had given conclusive evidence of
intelligent appreciation of himself.
But if Jessie were unhappy; not on terms with her respectable
husband, cleverly as both dissembled--if Jessie still loved him--
"_C'est une autre chose!_" he muttered between his teeth, and
complacently knocking the snow off his boots upon the marble steps
of his "mansion."
His most heartless propositions always sought cover in the facile
foreign tongue.
A writer in the last generation defined an egotist to be "One who
would burn down his neighbor's house to boil an egg for himself."
Orrin Wyllys was an Egotist.