OF REMORSE
For three miserable days Spike had remained indoors, eating little,
sleeping less, venturing abroad only at dusk to hurry back with the
latest paper and, locked within his bedroom, to scan every scare head
and column with eyes dilating in dreadful expectation of beholding the
awful word--MURDER.
For three interminable days Hermione, going about her many duties slow
of foot and listless, had scarcely heeded him, conscious only of her own
pain, the agony of longing, the yearning ache that filled her, throbbing
in every heart-beat--an ache that would not be satisfied. Thus, lost in
her own new sorrow, she spoke seldom, sighed often, and sang not at all;
often sitting at her sewing machine with hands strangely idle and gaze
abstracted. Spike, watching furtively, had seen her eyes brim over with
great, slow-falling tears; more than once he had heard her bitter
weeping in the dawn. At such times he had yearned to comfort her, but
between them was memory, dividing them like a wall--the memory of a
still form with arms wide-tossed and face hidden among dead leaves. And
at such times Spike writhed in the grip of horror and groaned under the
gnawing fangs of remorse; sometimes he prayed wild, passionate prayers,
and sometimes he wetted his pillow with unavailing tears, while in his
ears, like a small voice, soft and insistent, repeated over and over
again, was the dread word MURDER. By day it haunted him also; it stared
up at him from the white cloth of the breakfast table, forbidding him
to eat; he read it on floor and walls and ceiling; he saw it in bloody
characters that straggled across the very sky; wherever he turned his
haggard gaze there he needs must read it.
And then--there were the footsteps. All day long they tramped up and
down the stairs outside--everyday sounds that he had never heeded
before, but now they were warnings to hearken to and shudder at, and he
would sit pretending to read but with ears straining for the sound of
feet upon the landing or on the stair. Now they were feet that
crept--the stealthy steps of one that lurked to catch him unaware; or
again, they were the loud tramp of those who came with authority to drag
him to doom, and he would watch the door, staring wide-eyed, waiting for
the thundering knock he expected yet which never came. All day long they
haunted him, and at night, locked within his bedroom, he must needs lift
heavy head from the pillow to hearken with ears straining even yet,
until, haggard and worn, he had shivered and groaned and wept himself to
sleep, only to awake and start up in sweating terror, thinking he heard
a fierce hand knocking, knocking upon the outer door.
Thus, for three long days Spike had lived in torment, and to-night, as
he leaned throbbing head between clutching hands, his haggard eyes
sought vainly for that fell word which he could read everywhere except
in the newspaper before him; his sufferings had grown almost beyond his
strength, for to his old torments was added harrowing suspense.
"Why?" "Why?" "Why" was the word that stared at him from ceiling and
walls and blue expanse of heaven; why was it there and not in the
papers? Could it be that it was lying there yet, that awful, still
thing, lying as he remembered it, as he could see it now, its ghastly
features hidden among the leaves that rotted, its long arms outflung and
strong hands griped among the grass with clutching fingers--could it
be?--
"Arthur--boy--what's the matter?"
Spike started and looked up to find Hermione beside him, and
instinctively he shrank away.
"Arthur--oh, what is it? Are you sick?"
"N-no, why?"
"You were moaning."
"Oh, well, I--I'm all right, I guess. Got a headache, that's all."
"Why have you avoided me lately, Arthur? I'm not angry any more, I'm
only--disappointed."
"Y' mean because I lost me job? They don't want my kind; I--oh, I'm too
mean--too rotten, I guess."
"I heard you cry out in the night, Arthur. What was it?"
"Nothin'--I didn't cry out las' night, I tell ye."
"I heard you!"
"Oh, well, I--I was only dreamin', I guess."
"Why have you acted so strangely lately? You don't eat, you don't go
out; you sit around staring and seem to be listening--almost as if you
were afraid--"
"I ain't--I ain't afraid. Who says I'm afraid? An' I don't want you to
go worryin' y'self sick over me--I ain't a kid no more."
"No, I'm afraid you're not." And sighing, she turned away. But as she
crossed the room, her step slow and listless, he spoke, his head
down-bent and face hidden between clenched hands, voicing, almost
despite himself, the questions that had tortured him so long.
"Say, Hermy, where's--Geoff? How is he--I mean you--you ain't--heard
anything--have you?"
"No," she answered softly, without turning, "what should I hear? I only
know he's--gone. How should I hope to hear anything any more?"
"I--I thought he was--goin' t' marry you."
"So he was, but I--couldn't let him--marry--a thief's sister," she said
in the same low, even voice.
"Ah!" cried Spike, writhing, "why did he go an' tell ye about me after
he told me he never would--why did he tell ye?"
"He didn't tell me!" cried Hermione, with curling lip.
"Didn't he--oh--didn't he?" said Spike, his voice high and quivering,
"didn't Geoff tell ye? Then--say, Hermy, who--who did?"
"It was Bud M'Ginnis, and for once it seems he told the truth!"
"Bud!" cried Spike, stumbling to his feet. "Oh, my God!" At sound of
his voice she turned, and seeing his face, cried out in sudden fear:
"Arthur--oh, Arthur, what is it?"
"Bud told ye?" he gasped. "Wasn't it Geoff--oh, wasn't it Geoff?"
"No!"
Spike was down on his knees. "Oh, God! Oh, Geoff--dear old Geoff,
forgive me!" He was huddled upon the floor, his face pressed to the
worn rug, his clenched fingers buried in his curls, while from his
lips issued gasping sobs harshly dry and awful to hear.
"Forgive me, Geoff, forgive me! I thought you told her! I thought you
meant t' steal her from me! Oh, forgive me, Geoff--I wish I was dead
like you."
"Arthur!"
She was down beside him on her knees, shaking him with desperate hands.
"Arthur! Arthur! What--are you saying?"
"Nothin'--nothin'!" he stammered, staring up into her face, suddenly
afraid of her. "Nothin', I--I was only--thinkin'--I--"
"What did you mean?" she cried, her grasp tightening. "Tell me what you
meant--tell me, tell me!"
"Nothin'," he mumbled, trying to break her hold. "Lemme go, I--I didn't
mean anything--"
"Tell me what you meant--tell me, tell me!"
"No--I can't--I--"
His voice failed suddenly, his whole frame grew tense and rigid, and
lifting a stiff arm he pointed a trembling finger toward the open
doorway.
"Hush--hush!" he panted, "oh, for God's sake, hush! There--don't you
hear--there's some one outside on th' landing--footsteps--hark! They're
coming to our door! They're stoppin' outside--oh, my God, it's come
at--"
The word ended in a scream, drowned all at once in a thunderous knocking
on the outer door, and Spike, crouching upon his knees, clutched at her
as she rose.
"Don't,--don't open--the door!" he gasped, while Hermione gazed at him,
terrified by his terror, as again the thunderous summons was heard.
Then, despite the boy's passionate prayers and desperate, clutching
hands, she broke from him, and hastening into the little passage, opened
the door.
Upon the threshold stood a little old man, very smartly dressed, who
saluted her with a gallant flourish of his dapper straw hat and bowed
with his two small and glittering patent leather shoes posed at position
number one in waltzing.
"Ma'am," said he, "miss, respectful greetin's. Your name's Hermione,
ain't it?"
"Yes," she answered, wondering.
"Knowed it was. And a partic'ler fine gal too! Though not 'oldin' wi'
marridge, I don't blame the Guv--'e always 'ad a quick eye for
beauty--like me."
"But who are you? What do you want--"
"Miss, I want you--leastways--'e does. Been callin' for you the last
three days 'e has, ever since 'e ketched one as fair doubled 'im up--"
"I--I don't understand. Who are you?"
"A admirer of the Guv, ma'am. A trusted friend of 'is, miss--come t'
take ye to 'is poor, yearnin' arms, lady--"
"But who--oh, what do you mean?"
"Mr. Ravenslee, ma'am."
"Mr. Ravenslee!" she echoed, her colour changing.
"Yes. Y' see--he's dyin', miss!"
Hermione gasped and leaned against the wall as if suddenly faint and
sick, perceiving which, the Old Un promptly set his arm about her waist
and led her unresisting into the parlour. There, having aided her
tenderly into a chair and nodded to pale-faced Spike, he sighed, shook
his ancient head, and continued:
"Ho, Lor lumme, lady, it fair wrung my old 'eart to 'ave to tell ye,
but, 'aving to tell ye (Joe couldn't) I told ye almighty quick to get it
over--sharp an' quick's my motter. Fate's crool 'ard when Fate takes the
gloves off, miss, an' I know as Fate's been an' took ye one in the wind
wot's fair doubled you up--but take time, miss, take time--throw back
your pretty 'ead, breathe deep an' reg'lar, an' you'll soon be strong
enough to go another round. If I'd got a towel handy I'd fan ye a
bit--not 'avin' none, no matter. Fate's 'ard on you, so fair an' young,
miss, but Fate's been 'arder on the Guv--ketched the pore young Guv a
fair spiflicator--"
"Oh, please--please," cried Hermione, reaching out appealing hands, "oh,
tell me, is he hurt--sick--dying? Oh, quick, quick--tell me!"
"Lady, ma'am--my pretty dear," said the Old Un, taking those pleading
hands to pat them tenderly, "that's what I'm tryin' to do. The Guv
ain't dead yet--no, not--yet--"
"You mean he's dying?"
"My dear," said the old man, blinking at her through sudden tears,
"that's what the doctors say." Here he loosed one hand to rub at each
bright eye with a bony knuckle. "An' 'im so young--so game an'
strong--three days ago."
"How--did it--happen?" she questioned, her voice low and steady.
"It was Fate!" said the old man, taking her hand again. "Three days ago
Fate (the perisher) sends him a telegram--two on 'em--tellin' 'im to
meet you in a wood an' signed with--with your name, both on 'em--"
At this she cried out and would have risen, but his kindly clasp checked
her.
"I--sent no telegram!" she whispered.
"Me an' Joe an' the Spider know that now, miss. But anyway, to this 'ere
wood the Guv do 'aste away, an' in this wood Fate's a-layin' for 'im
wir a gun, an' down goes the pore Guv wi' a perishin' bullet in 'is
gizzard. An' there Joe finds 'im, an' 'ome Joe brings 'im in the car,
an' Joe an' me an' the Spider 'ushes things up. An' now in bed lays the
Guv with nurses an' doctors 'anging over 'im--a-callin' for you--I mean
the Guv, d' ye see? So now for you I've come. I've brought Joe an' the
car for you--Joe's across wi' Mrs. Trapes, an' the car's below--both
waitin'. So you'll come t' th' pore young Guv, miss, won't ye, lady?"
"Have you--any idea--who--did it?" she questioned, speaking as with an
effort.
"We got our suspicions, ho, yus!" the Old Un nodded. "Joe's got a
wonnerful gift o' suspicion--oh, a rare 'ead 'as my lad Joe. Joe an'
the Spider's on the track, an' they're goin' to track Fate to doom,
ma'am--to perishin' doom! Y' see," here the old man leaned suddenly
nearer, "y' see, Joe's found a cloo!"
"A clew! Yes--yes!" she whispered breathlessly, moistening lips suddenly
dry, and conscious that Spike's lax form had stiffened to painful
alertness.
"Well, ma'am, Joe an' the Spider's been a-seekin' an' a-searchin' of
that there wood, an' they found," here the Old Un leaned nearer yet and
whispered harshly, "they found--a coat button! Lorgorramighty!" he
exclaimed suddenly, pointing a trembling bony finger, "what's took th'
lad--look!"
Spike had risen and now stood, breathing loudly, one hand clenched upon
his breast, and turning swiftly, took a stumbling pace toward the open
window, tripped, and fell prone upon his face.
"Oh, poor lad, poor lad!" cried the Old Un, rising hastily. "Fate's
been an' ketched him one too--a fair knock-out! Leave him to me, miss,
I'll bring 'im round--bitin' 'is years is good, or vinegar on a
sponge--leave 'im to a old fightin' man--"
"No!" cried Hermione passionately, "no, I say. Leave him to me!" Quelled
by something in her tone and manner, the old man sank back in his chair,
while she, kneeling beside Spike, lifted him in her strong young arms so
that he was hidden from the Old Un's bright, piercing eyes. Holding him
thus, she loosed Spike's rigid fingers and drew away that clutching
hand; then, seeing what that hand had striven to hide, she shrank
suddenly away, letting the boy's inanimate form slip from her clasp;
and, as she knelt there above him, her shapely body was seized with
fierce tremors.
So she knelt for a long moment until Spike sighed, shivered, and sat up,
but beholding the look in her wide eyes, uttered a hoarse sound that was
like a cry of fear and, starting from her nearness, crouched down,
huddled upon his knees.
Then Hermione rose and, turning to the old man, smiled with pallid lips.
"You see--he's all right--now!" she said. "If you'll please go and tell
Mrs. Trapes I'm leaving, I'll get ready." Obediently the Old Un rose.
"Mrs. Trapes is a-gettin' into her bonnet to come along wi' us!" said
he, and putting on his hat with a flourish, took his departure. When he
was gone, Hermione turned and looked down at Spike, who, meeting her
eyes, flinched as from a blow and made no effort to rise from his knees.
So she packed her grip and dressed for the journey, while he watched her
with eyes of mute appeal. Twice he would have spoken, but her look smote
him to silence. At last, as she took up her suit case and turned to go,
he implored her in a hoarse whisper, reaching out his arms to her:
"Hermy!"
But she shrank from his contact and, hastening from the room and along
the little passage, closed the door and left him to his hopeless misery.
As one in a dream she followed the old man down the stairs, was aware of
his ushering her through the crowd of women and children who thronged
about the big car. As one in a dream she found herself seated beside
Mrs. Trapes, whose motherly solicitude she heeded no more than the
bustle and traffic of the streets through which the swift car whirled
her on and on until, turning, it swung in between massive gates and
pulled up before a great, gloomy house.
As one in a dream she ascended the broad steps, crossed a stately hall,
was ushered up a noble stairway and along thick-carpeted corridors until
at last she found herself in a darkened chamber where, his dark head
conspicuous upon the white pillow, he lay. A nurse rose from beside the
bed as Hermione entered and softly withdrew. Left alone, she stood for
a long moment utterly still, her hands tightly clasped, her breath in
check, gazing at that dark head upon the pillow, at that outstretched
form lying so silent and so very still.
"Hermione!"
A feeble whisper, a sigh faintly breathed, but at the sound she had
crossed the wide chamber on feet swift and noiseless, had sunk upon her
knees beside the low bed to lean above him all murmurous love and
sighing tenderness, while she stole a timid hand to touch the hair that
curled upon his pallid brow; then, for all his helplessness, she flushed
beneath his look.
"How beautiful--you are!" he said faintly, "and I--weak as--confounded
rat! Hermione--love, they tell me I--must die. But first I want you
for--my very own if only for--a little while!"
"Oh, my dear," she whispered, soft mouth against his pale cheek, "I
always was yours--yours from the very first; I always shall be."
"Then you'll--marry me?"
"Yes, dear."
"Now?"
"Yes, dear."
"I--hoped you would, so--I arranged--minister's waiting now. Will
you--ring?" And he motioned feebly toward an electric bell-push that
stood upon a small table beside the bed.
And now once again as one in a dream she obeyed, and was presently aware
of soft-treading figures about her in the dim chamber--among them the
Old Un whose shoes for once creaked not at all. As one in a dream she
made the responses, felt the feeble clasp of that hand whose strength
and masterful power had thrilled her, heard the faint echo of that loved
voice that had wooed her so passionately once, yet wooed in vain, while
now--
She was alone again, alone with him who lay so very still and pale with
eyes closed wearily; from him she glanced to that which gleamed so
bright and new upon her finger and bending her head she pressed the
wedding ring to her lips.
"Wife!" he whispered; the weary eyes were open, and his look drew her.
So she knelt beside the bed again, stooping above him low and lower
until her head lay beside his upon the pillow. Slowly, slowly his feeble
hand crept up to her glowing cheek, to the soft waves of her hair, and
to the little curl that wantoned above her eyebrow.
"Hermione--wife--kiss me!"
Tenderly her arms enfolded him, and with a soft little cry that was half
a sob she kissed him, his brow, his hair, his lips, kissed him even
while she wetted him with her falling tears.
"Beloved," he murmured, "my glorious--scrubwoman--if I must--leave
you--these dear hands need never--never slave again. Never--any--more,
my Hermione."
Long after he had fallen to sleep she knelt there, cradling his weakness
in her arms, looking down on him with eyes bright with love.
After this were days and nights when the soul of him wandered in dark
places filled with chaotic dreams and wild fancies; but there was ever
one beside him whose gentle voice reached him in the darkness, and whose
tender hand hushed his delirium and soothed his woes and troubles.