A LEGAL DOCUMENT IS RECEIVED
“He will be here to-day! Surely, Horace will be here to-day,” Nellie
Wylie repeated to herself as the hours crept slowly on and the time
arrived when, by her reckoning, her husband should have reached C——.
Mark had driven out to meet him, and the little woman scanned again and
again the broad bosom of the plain for a sight of the returning
carriage. The grass was dry and golden in the sunlight and her eyes
ached from the reflected brightness as, shading them with her hand, she
stood for the fiftieth time before the cabin door and sought to trace
the slender thread of roadway.
“Alice, I am sure there is some one coming,” she cried at last, as a
brown speck became visible against the horizon. Alice came and looked
over her shoulder.
“It is only Jackson, the mail-carrier, I am afraid,” Alice replied. “You
know, dearie, Mark would be detained for a little time, while Jackson
has hastened directly here. You must not look too much upon Horace’s
coming to-night, for the train may have been delayed or many things may
have happened to detain him.”
The letter-box was fastened at the roadside nearly opposite Mark’s
house, but seeing Alice in the doorway, Jackson threw his package of
mail to her and galloped on to the next post.
“Here is a letter for you, dear,” said Alice as she sorted out the mail
and came slowly up to the waiting sister.
“A letter? And from Horace, too! He must have written before he
started.” And her bright eyes glanced eagerly over the sheet she had
hurriedly opened. “Oh, merciful Heaven!”
The cry startled Alice, and she turned to see Elinor stagger as if
stricken by a blow and then sink in a limp and helpless heap upon the
ground.
“Why, Elinor! Nellie! What is it?” cried Alice, running to her and
lifting the poor fallen head in her arms. “My poor Nellie! Is it bad
news? Tell me!” she implored, while she rubbed the pulseless wrists and
tried to arouse her to consciousness.
“Mamma, mamma!” cried little Robbie, frantic with alarm, trying to open
her eyes with his little brown fingers. “Mamma! Is she dead?”
“No, Robbie, not dead. Oh, my child!” cried Alice; “if Mark would only
come!”
“Uncle Mark is coming,” cried Robbie, and Alice lifted her head with a
silent prayer of thanksgiving as she heard the sound of horses’
footsteps over the soft earth.
“How glad I am you’ve come!” she sobbed, as a few moments later he
reached her side. “What can have happened to poor Nellie? Some dreadful
news, I’m afraid.”
Mark lifted the letter, which still remained in her nerveless fingers.
An enclosure fell from it to the ground. He picked it up and hastily
looked it over. It was evidently a legal document, and as he read the
first line his face grew pale with surprise and anger.
“Great Scott! What is this! Oh, my poor little girl!” And the
great-hearted Mark Cramer turned away his head and groaned aloud. He
turned to see Elinor staring at him with rigid eyes, full of wonder.
“What has happened, Mark—Alice? Oh, I know, I know!” and again the blue
eyes were covered with the heavy eyelids. Then Mark lifted her in his
arms, and bearing her as lightly as though she were a child, he carried
her into the cabin and laid her upon a couch.
“Poor child, poor child!” he muttered. “It is her only chance of
forgetfulness. It would be better almost if she never wakened.”
“Mark Cramer, will you tell me what has happened?” cried Alice, who had
followed him in and now stood holding Robbie’s hand, her eyes dilated
and expectant. Mark hesitated, but finally said through closed teeth:
“That paper is a copy of a bill of divorcement from Nellie.”
“A divorce? I don’t understand!” Alice caught her breath.
“Yes, that knave of a Wylie has divorced this poor girl! God only knows
for what or why he has done so. But, by the eternal powers, I’ll know
why! That man shall answer to me for this!” Mark’s eyes blazed.
“Hush, Mark! You are excited and know not what you are saying. There
must be some mistake. It is probably only a joke. He has written Elinor
every day, kind, affectionate letters, and I think he was to have come
to-day, may be here in a few hours. He is only playing a practical joke
upon her.”
“If so, he shall pay dearly for his joke!” Mark exclaimed. “Ah, my poor
little sister! My poor Elinor!”
“Don’t, Mark! Think of Robbie hearing you! There is surely some
mistake.”
“It’s a mistake he shall rue,” he groaned.
But Mark’s anger gave way to fear as hour after hour went by and Elinor
only awoke from one swoon to go into another. Mark paced the floor,
distracted with anxiety.
“Poor Nellie, I dread the hour when she shall finally awaken. Heaven is
merciful to her in thus keeping her unconscious,” he repeated again and
again. “What can have made the change in Horace Wylie? I should have
supposed him too proud a man to have entered a divorce court, even if
their life had been unpleasant. And I have always believed them to be
congenial and happy. Surely my poor little sister loved him.”
“I am afraid, Mark, there is another woman in the case,” Alice said with
conviction. “Depend upon it, no man could do such a cold-blooded, cruel
act as this unless his affections were enchained by some other charmer
who has usurped his wife’s place in his heart.”
“Hush! she hears you,” Mark whispered, as a faint moan came from the
couch and he saw the blue eyes slowly unclosed to be fixed with painful
directness upon him.
“What is it, dear; can I do anything for you?” he asked, going to her
and stroking her curl-fringed forehead with his hand.
“Where is Tibby,” she murmured.
“Sure enough, where is Tibby? Alice, is it not time for Tibby to be
home? Where did she go?”
“She went over to Nathan’s this morning, and has not yet returned. Shall
I go after her?”
Elinor shook her head and looked with stony, unseeing, fixed eyes at the
farthest corner of the ceiling. How pinched and drawn the white face
looked, that had bloomed so rosily a few hours before.
A moan again escaped her white lips. Alice sighed in sympathy.
“Don’t, Nellie! Think of Robbie. Poor Robbie, he wants to speak to you.”
“Mamma, I love you,” Robbie said, softly patting her cheek with his
little brown palm. “What makes you sick, mamma?”
“Robbie, Robbie, dear, dear Robbie! O God! O God! It cannot be!”
And again her eyes closed and she was still.
“It is better, anything is better than that awful stare,” Mark said,
bowing his head. At last, as evening approached, Tibby was seen coming
slowly along over the gray plain, swinging her hat in her hand and
laughing with Donald, who accompanied her. Alice looked at the flushed
face of the happy girl, so radiant, so hopeful, so roseate, and her
heart sank at the thought of her meeting with the crushed, broken lily
who lay upon the couch behind her. And she slipped quietly out of the
door to meet Tibby and prepare her.
She put up her hand, enjoining quiet, as Tibby swung her hat in
salutation.
“Tibby, dear,” Alice said as the twain came to her side, “Mrs. Wylie has
received bad news, and is quite overcome by it. She asked for you and I
think you may be able to comfort her.”
Tibby’s face blanched a little, and the laughing lips were sobered.
“I will go in at once. Good-by, Mr. Bartram. I’ll leave you to Mrs.
Cramer’s care.” And she flitted away.
“We’re in great trouble, Donald. Mark will explain to you at another
time,” Alice said.
“You have my sympathy, whatever it may be,” the young man replied
gravely. “If I can be a help in any way, command me.”
“Thank you, Donald, we are always sure of that.”
He lifted his hat.
“You may bring Lissa over to-morrow. Perhaps the skein of mystery may be
untangled by that time and more explainable,” she said as he turned
away.
With the coming of Tibby the stony stare of Elinor’s eyes was washed
away by blessed tears, and with her head upon Tibby’s breast she wept
long and silently, while Tibby soothed her with whispered words. Then
after a time the sobs became less frequent, and to the relief of all,
Elinor slept.
“Thank God for this! and thank you, Tibby, also!” Mark ejaculated. “I
feared her mind would give away to the shock. But this sleep will
restore her. What a blessing is sleep. This world would be a mad-house
of maniacs without it.”
“Yes, Mr. Cramer; but may I not now know what this all means?”
Mark handed Tibby the document which had wrought the ruin. She read it
through with corrugated brow, and then sat thoughtfully with it in her
hand.
“Can you understand the cause for this, Tibby?”
She shook her head.
“No, unless—I do not know, but there was a woman on the boat with us
when we went to Santa Barbara, whom Mr. Wylie seemed to admire and who
appeared completely infatuated with him. So much so as to cause remark.
I did not tell Mrs. Wylie, but I overheard people talking of her. She
was in some way one of his kind, that is, she believed in spiritism and
he seemed to enjoy her society.
“Mrs. Wylie did not like her because she had been at the hotel in the
mountains when we were there, and the ladies had been somewhat
scandalized by her behavior. But of course it seems incredible that she
should have been able to cause trouble. I should not think of her, only
at the time I felt such an instinctive dislike for her, and fear, as if
she was dangerous.” Tibby spoke with evident reluctance. “I am afraid I
tried to punish her sometimes.”
“Punish her? How?”
“O, I made her upset her coffee, spill her soup, and do other awkward
things. I am glad now that I did them; that is, if she is to blame—for
this.”
“I see you feel convinced that she is,” Mark said. “And I am inclined to
trust your intuition.”
Tibby’s care of Mrs. Wylie was untiring, and when another day had come
and the grief-tortured woman could control herself sufficiently to talk
of her trouble, Mark sought from her to learn something more of the
cause of it; but any suggestion of the idea that Horace had been
beguiled by another woman met with indignant protest from Elinor.
“O, no, no; there is nothing of the kind! Horace has always been devoted
to me. I think he must be insane. I can account for this in no other
way. I am sure his belief in spiritism has in some way been the primary
cause of the trouble. It does unbalance the mind, we know,” she
faltered. “We never had any disagreement except over that.”
“Yes,” Mark said, “I am willing to believe that anything may come from
embracing that creed. But what does he write you, Elinor?”
“Here is the letter. Read it and interpret it if you can. I have read it
several times with no further enlightenment,” she replied sadly.
“‘My dear Elinor:
“‘I fear this letter may prove a surprise to you, and a shock. I hardly
know how to make you understand the reason why I have taken this step.
It seems to be a necessary one. But I have not taken it without due
reflection. I am convinced our marriage has not been the soul-marriage,
which is the only true one, and that our tastes and requirements are so
dissimilar, it is better that we should go separate ways. I am willing
to provide abundantly for all your needs and for Robbie. You will, of
course, desire to keep him with you at least until he is old enough to
be sent away to school. I have placed with my attorney a sum of money
which shall be paid to you regularly each month, sufficient, I am sure,
for all your requirements, and I shall be glad to supplement it if at
any time you desire more.
“‘Is there anything here at home which you would especially desire me to
send you? I imagine you will prefer to make Forest City your permanent
home, and I would suggest that you keep Tibby with you as long as
possible. Your harp and piano I have already had boxed awaiting your
order. And now, dear Nellie, I hope you will accept this trial in the
right spirit, believing it for the best, as I do. It has been a trial,
also, to me, I assure you, but it has seemed a duty, if not an actual
necessity.
“‘Very affectionately yours,
“‘HORACE WYLIE.’
“The man is certainly insane, or—”
“Infatuated with some other woman,” interrupted Alice as Mark hesitated.
“I will never believe that,” said Elinor pathetically. “I shall write to
him. Yes, I must write to him. This seems so unreal, I am constantly
feeling as though I should awaken and find it but a painful dream.”
“Yes, write to him by all means, and learn, if possible, the cause of
this change of heart.”
“I’ve been wondering where I should address him. You know his partner
wired me that he had started for New York. You don’t think he could have
gone through east, already?”
“I will go to town to-day and telegraph Johnson,” Mark responded.
He did so, and received this reply:
“Wylie left San Francisco for New York, the eighth instant, in company
with his wife.”
“‘Oh, my prophetic soul!’” quoted Alice, when she heard it, and Tibby
nodded assent.
“I know it is that woman of the boat. My instincts did not deceive me,”
she said.
How Elinor lived through the next fortnight she could never have told.
She remained as one stunned, and unable to talk to any one. She would
lie on the couch for hours and not move, or sit under the canopy of the
doorway, her hands lying listlessly in her lap, her sad eyes staring
pathetically into space. When spoken to she would arouse herself with a
start, and look at her friends with so pitiful an expression in her blue
eyes that they would turn away to hide their tears of sympathy. She ate
only when urged to do so, and slept only when forced to do so by Tibby.
“If we could only interest her in something,” Alice said over and over,
for she scarcely even noticed little Robbie.
At last Lissa came in one day, bringing her herbarium of Nebraska
flowers.
“This was a God-send to me,” she said, “when I was brooding over my
sorrow. Perhaps I can interest Mrs. Wylie in it.”
“O, how much you have done with it,” cried Tibby, “since the time when
you and I made our first botanical excursion together.”
“You drew my attention from the dead to the living, growing things about
me, Tibby, dear, and I can never thank you enough,” Lissa replied.
Wonderful as it may seem, Mrs. Wylie did allow herself to become
interested in the bright descriptions which Lissa gave her of the native
wild flowers of the State, and promised to go with her in the afternoon
to gather autumn specimens, and thus the first step was taken in
distracting her mind from her grief.