"She's troo her barf," answered Dilsey's voice at the crack. "Now she's
dess a-lounjun."
"Tell her who it is;--that it's important."
In another moment Dilsey opened the door, and ushered him into the outer
room. It was a square apartment, bare and rough, lighted only from
above; its sole article of furniture was a divan in the centre; an inner
door led to the bath-room beyond. Upon the divan Cicely was lying, her
head propped by cushions, the soft waves of her hair loose on her
shoulders. Delicate white draperies, profusely trimmed with lace,
enveloped her, exhaling an odor of violets.
"Cicely, where is Eve?" demanded Paul.
"Wait outside, Dilsey," said Cicely. Then, when the girl had
disappeared, "She has gone to Charleston," she answered.
"And from there?"
"I don't know."
"When did she start!"
"Two hours ago."
--"Immediately after leaving me," Paul reflected, audibly.
"Yes."
"But there's no steamer at this hour."
"One of the field hands rowed her up to Mayport; there she was to take a
wagon, and drive inland to a railway station."
"She could only hit the Western Road."
"Yes; but she can make a connection, farther on, which will enable her
to reach Charleston by to-morrow night."
"I shall be twelve hours behind her, then; the first steamer leaves this
evening. You are a traitor, Cicely! Why didn't you let me know?"
"She did not wish it."
"I know what she wishes."
"Yes, she loves you--if you mean that. But--I agree with her."
"Agree with her how?"
"That the barrier is too great. You would end by hating her," said
Cicely.
"I'm the judge of that! If any one hates her, it is you; you constantly
torture her, you are merciless."
"She shot my husband."
"She shot your murderer! Another moment and Ferdie might have killed
you."
"And if I preferred it? At any rate, _she_ had no right to interfere,"
cried Cicely, springing up.
"Why were you running away from him, then, if you preferred it? You fled
to her room, and asked for help; you begged her to come out with you."
"It was on account of baby," answered Cicely, her voice like that of a
little girl, her breast beginning to heave.
"And she saved your child's life a second time--on Lake Superior."
"I know it--I know it. But you cannot expect--"
"I expect nothing; you are absolutely unreasonable, and profoundly
selfish."
"I'm not selfish. I only want to make her suffer!" cried Cicely, with
sparkling eyes.
Paul looked at her sternly. "In that dress you appear like a courtesan;
and now you talk like one. It is a good thing my brother was taken off,
after all--with such a wife!"
Cicely sank down at his feet. "Oh, don't say that, Paul; it is not true.
All this--these are the things that are underneath, they are the things
that touch me; you never see them when I am dressed. It is only that I
always liked to be nice for _him_; that is the reason I had all this
lace; and I keep it up, because I want him to think of me always as just
the same; yes, even when I am old. For I know he does think of me, and
he sees me too; he is often here. Listen,--I can't help hating Eve,
Paul. But it only comes in little whiffs, now and then. Supposing _I_
had shot _her_, could you like _me_, after that?" She rose, holding up
her hands to him pleadingly. "In one way I love Eve."
"Yet you let her go! Heaven knows where she is now."
He turned his head away sharply. But she saw his tears. "No, Paul," she
cried, terrified, "she isn't dead--if you mean that; she told me once,
'As long as he is in the world, I want to live!'"
"Well--I shall go after her," said Paul, controlling himself. He turned
towards the door.
Cicely followed him. "Say good-by to me." She put up her face.
He touched her forehead with his lips. Then he held her off for a
moment, and looked at her. "Poor child!" he said.
He returned to the house for his travelling-bag; he remembered that he
had left it in the parlor upon his arrival, five hours before.
The pleasant, shabby room, as he opened the door, held a characteristic
group: Miss Sabrina, gliding about with plum-cake; the judge, pouring
cherry-bounce; Mistress Nannie Singleton, serenely seated, undergoing
the process of being brushed by Clementine and Powlyne, who made hissing
sounds like hostlers, and, standing on one foot in a bent attitude, held
out behind a long leg. Rupert Singleton, seated in the largest
arm-chair, was evidently paying compliments to Miss Leontine, who,
gratified and embarrassed, and much entangled with her wineglass, her
gloves, and her plate of cake, hardly knew, to use a familiar
expression, whether she was on her head or her heels. Not that Miss
Sabrina would have mentioned her heels; to her, heels, shins, and ribs
did not exist, in a public way; they were almost medical terms,
belonging to the vocabulary of the surgeon.
"I beg your pardon; I think I left my bag here," said Paul.
"I had it taken to your room," answered Miss Sabrina, coming forward.
"Powlyne, go with Mr. Tennant."
"Let her bring it down, please; I am leaving immediately," said Paul,
shaking hands with his hostess in farewell.
The judge followed him out. "Leaving, did you say? But you've only just
come."
"I am going to Charleston.--I must follow Miss Bruce without a moment's
delay."
"Has _she_ gone!" There was a gleam of triumph in the old Georgian's
eyes as he said this. "You will find Charleston a very pleasant place,"
he added, politely.