A SURE TEST
Clancy had gone to Nature to be calmed and healed, but he had brought a
spirit at variance with her teachings. He soon recognized that he was
neither receptive nor docile. He chafed impatiently and angrily at Mara's
obduracy, which, nevertheless, only increased his love for her. The
deepest instincts of his nature made him feel that she belonged to him,
and he to her. The barrier between them was so intangible that he was in a
sort of rage that he could not brush it aside. Reflection always brought
him back to the conviction that she did love him. Her passionate words:
"If my heart break a thousand times I will never speak to you again," grew
more and more significant. Odd fancies, half-waking dreams about her,
pursued him into the solitude of the forest. She seemed like one
imprisoned; he could see, but could not reach and release her. Again she
was under a strange, malign spell, which some day might suddenly be
broken--broken all too late.
Then she would dwell in his thoughts as the victim of a species of moral
insanity which might pass away. At times her dual life became so clear to
him that he was almost impelled to hasten back to the city, in the belief
that he could speak such strong, earnest words as would enable her to cast
aside her prejudices, and break away from the influences which were
darkening and misshaping her life. Then he would despondently recall all
that he had said and done, and how futile had been his effort.
He neither fished nor hunted, but passed the time either in long tramps,
or in sitting idly tormented by perturbed thoughts. Believing that he had
reached a crisis in his life, it was his nature to come to some decision.
He was essentially a man of action, strong-willed and resolute. He
despised what he termed weakness, forgetting that the impulses of strength
often lead to error, for the reason that patience and fortitude are
lacking.
In facing the possibilities of the future, he began to yield to the
promptings of ambition, a trait which had no mean place in his character.
"If Mara denies her love, and sacrifices herself to Bodine," he reasoned,
"what is there left for me but to make the most of my life by attaining
power and influence? I can only put pleasures and excitements in the place
of happiness. I won't go through life like a winged bird."
When such thoughts were in the ascendant, Miss Ainsley presented herself
to his fancy, alluring, fascinating, beckoning. She seemed the embodiment
of that brilliant career which he regarded as the best solace he could
hope for. Often, however, he would wake in the night, and, from his forest
bivouac, look up at the stars. Then a calm, deep voice in his soul would
tell him unmistakably that, even if he attained every success that he
craved, his heart would not be in it, that he would always hide the
melancholy of a lifelong disappointment. All these misgivings and
compunctions usually ended in the thought: "Caroline Amsley and all that
she represents is the best I can hope for now. She may be playing with
me--I'm not sure, if she will marry me, I can probably give her as true a
regard as she will bestow upon me. She is not a woman to love devotedly
and unselfishly, not counting the cost. I could not marry such a woman,
for I feel it would be base to take what I could not return; but I could
marry her. I would do her no wrong, for I could give to her all the
affection to which she is entitled, all that she would actually care for.
If I am mistaken, I am totally at fault in the impression which she has
made upon me, and I do not think that I am. I am not in love with her, and
therefore am not blind. She is not in love with me. It has merely so
happened that I have proved agreeable to her, pleased, amused, and
interested her. Possibly I have led her to feel that we are so
companionable that a life journey together would be quite endurable. My
reason, all my instincts, assure me that this beautiful girl has
considered this question more than once before--that she is considering it
now, coolly and deliberately. I am being weighed in the balances of her
mind, for I do not think she has heart enough to enable that organ to have
much voice in the matter. Her views and beliefs are intellectual. No
strong, earnest feelings sway her. When have her sympathies been touched
in behalf of any one or any cause? Oh, my rare beauty! I am not blind.
Selfishness is the mainspring of your character; but it is a selfishness
so refined, so rational and amenable to the laws of good taste, that it
can be calculated upon with almost mathematical accuracy. You are no
saint, but a saint might be beguiled into faults which to you are
impossible. You are a fit bride for ambition, and would be its crown and
glory."
Such was often the tenor of his thoughts, and ambition suggested the many
doors to advancement which such an alliance would open. Mr. Ainsley was
not only a man of wealth, but also of large, liberal ideas. It certainly
would be a pleasure and a constant exhilaration to aid him in carrying out
his great enterprises.
Thus Clancy, as well as Mara, was led by disappointment in his dearest
hope of happiness to seek what next promised best in his estimation to
redeem life from a dreary monotony of negations. He also resolved to have
motives and incentives; nor was his ambition purely selfish, for he
purposed to use whatever power, wealth and influence he might obtain for
the benefit of the people among whom he dwelt. Hers, however, was the
nobler motive, and the less selfish, for it involved self-sacrifice, even
though it was mistaken, and could lead only to wrong action. It would cost
him nothing to carry out his large, beneficent purposes. Indeed, they
would add to his pleasures and enhance his reputation. She was but a
woman, and saw no other path of escape from the conditions of her lot
except the thorny one of self-abnegation.
Alternately cast down, and fired by conflicting thoughts and purposes,
Clancy soon discovered that the woods was no place for him, and he
resolved to return to the city, there to be guided by the circumstances of
the next few weeks. If it became clear that Mara had not been influenced
by his warning, but on the contrary was accepting Bodine's attentions,
then he would face the truth that she was lost to him beyond hope. Without
compunction he would turn to Miss Ainsley, and, with all the wariness and
penetration which he could exercise, seek to discover how far she would go
with him in his life campaign to achieve eminence. He was glad, however,
that he did not regard her as essential to his plans and hopes. Indeed, he
had the odd feeling that even if she rejected him as a husband, he could
shake hands with her and say: "Very well, Ainsley, we can be good comrades
just the same. We amuse and interest each other, we mutually stimulate our
mental faculties. Let it end here."
In this mood he fulfilled his promise and wrote as follows:
"My DEAR AINSLEY--Permit me to remind you of my existence--if one can be
said to exist in these wilds. An expedition of this kind is a good thing
for a fellow occasionally. It enables him to get acquainted with himself,
to indulge in egotism without being a nuisance. I have neither hunted,
fished, nor studied the natives. I have not seen a "mountain maid" whose
embrace I would prefer to that of a bear. I have merely tramped aimlessly
about, meanwhile learning that I am not adapted to communion with nature.
At this moment I should prefer smoking a cigar with you on the balcony to
looking at scenery which should inspire artist and poet. I am neither,
merely a man of affairs. Humanity interests me more than oaks, however
gigantic. You see I have no soul, no heart, no soaring imagination. I am
as matter-of-fact a fellow as you are. That's why we get on so well
together. We can chaff, spar, and run intellectual tilts as amicably as
any two men in town. This proves you to be quite exceptional--delightfully
so. I'm not surprised, however, for, as I have said to you, you are sated
with the other kind of thing. How long will this fancy last? Now that you
are so manly you should not be fickle. You have not half comprehended the
penalties of your new _role_, for you may find that it involves a
distressing frankness. I think I had better close. Letter-writing
pre-supposes literary qualities which I do not possess. Men, unless
sentimentally inclined, or given to hobbies, rarely write long letters to
each other. If unusually congenial they can talk together as long as
women. I do not know of a man in town who can equal you as good company;
and with this fact in mind, I shall atone for a brief letter by putting in
an appearance at an early date. If you have had any flirtations in my
absence I shall expect all the details. You know I do not care for such
trivial amusements. In this material age, making the world move in the way
of business affords ample scope for my limited faculties, while a chat
with you is better than a game of chess in the way of recreation, better
than moping in the woods. Your friend, CLANCY."
He had barely time to post the letter before the mail-stage left the
little hamlet in which it was written. He was soon dissatisfied with
himself and the missive, and regretted having written it. Before an hour
had passed he muttered: "I never wrote such a letter to a woman before,
and I won't again. I put myself in the worst light, in fact was unjust to
myself. How differently I would write to Mara! Is it the difference in
women which inevitably inspires different thought and action? At any rate,
there is a touch of coarseness in this masculine _persiflage_ which
grates. When I return we must become friends as man and woman. I wonder if
she will feel as I do about it?"
Miss Ainsley was not satisfied with the letter at all, one reason being
that it revealed too much penetration on Clancy's part. While she welcomed
him with her old cordiality she took him to task at once.
"This is a spurious letter," she said, holding it up. "You would never
write such an affair to a male friend. You betrayed a consciousness of my
femininity in every line. You preached to me and warned me with the same
penful of ink. You write as if you were a commonplace male cynic, and I a
woman who was trying to unsex herself by a lot of ridiculous affectations.
I wished a genial, jolly letter such as you might write to an old college
chum."
"Do you know the reason why I did not, rather could not, write such a
letter?"
"No."
"Because you are not an old college chum."
"I was not aware that you were so tremendously sincere."
"I'm not tremendously sincere--not tremendous in any grand sense of the
word, but I've learned that I can be tremendously awkward in a false
position. It is absurd of you to fancy that I can think of you in any
other light than that of a beautiful woman, gifted with more than your
share of intellect. I prefer that our friendship should rest on this
obvious fact. We are too old 'to make believe,' as children say. I came to
this conclusion within an hour after I wrote the letter."
"Oh, you dashed it off hastily, without giving it thought?"
"I've given you two thoughts to your one," he replied, laughing lightly.
"And none of them very complimentary, judging from the letter." And she
impatiently tore it up.
"That's right. Put it out of existence."
"I almost wish I had kept it as documentary evidence against you," she
remarked.
"Oh, come! Friends do not wish evidence against, but for each other. I
could remain away scarcely a week."
"From business, yes."
"Or from my most delightful recreation; yes."
"You find me very amusing then."
"I do indeed, and interesting also. I am quite certain that your society
gives me far more pleasure than mine affords you."
"Since I am relegated to woman's sphere I certainly shall not protest
against that belief. I am now under no bonds to be distressingly frank."
"You never would have been any franker than you wished to be. For the
manifestation of that trait I shall have to depend on something very
different."
"And what may that be?"
"Why, simply the quality of your friendship."
"I am satisfied that mine compares very favorably with yours."
"In both instances neither of us can escape one sure test."
"Indeed! What test?"
"That of time," he replied, smiling significantly. "Good-by. I'm quite
sure that your regard will survive till to-morrow afternoon when we are to
take a sail in the harbor, so Mrs. Willoughby has informed me."
Miss Ainsley gave a little complacent nod in his direction as he
disappeared, and thought, "Since you are so content and agreeable as a
friend merely, I'm half-inclined to keep you as such, and marry some one
else."