A SHADOW
"Mrs. Atwood," said Mildred the next morning, "I want to thank
you for your kindness in giving us our supper alone with papa the
first evening of his arrival; but you need not put yourself to any
extra trouble to-day."
"Roger is the one to thank," replied Mrs. Atwood. "He's grown so
different, so considerate like, that I scarcely know him any more
than I do the old place he's so fixed up. He says he's going to
paint the house after the summer work slacks off. I don't see what's
come over him, but I like the change very much."
Mildred flushed slightly, but said, with some constraint, "Please
thank him then from papa and mamma, but do not let us make you
further trouble. We shall all return to the city soon, and then
you will have easier times every way."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Miss Jocelyn, for we shall miss you all
very much. You've done us good in more ways than one."
Roger did not appear at breakfast. "A young horse strayed from the
pasture, and Roger is out looking for him," his mother explained
when Mrs. Jocelyn asked after him.
Although not a member of any church, Mr. Jocelyn had great respect
for his wife and daughter's faith, and accompanied them to service
that morning very readily. Roger appeared in time to take Belle,
as usual, but she found him so taciturn and preoccupied that she
whispered to Mildred, "You've spoiled him for me. He sits staring
like an owl in the sunlight, and seeing just about as much. You
ought to be ashamed of yourself to make him so glum. I intend to
have a dozen beaux, and to keep them all jolly."
Mildred was obliged to admit to herself that the young fellow was
very undemonstrative at dinner, and that he did not exhibit the
rusticity that she half hoped to see. She gained the impression
that he was observing her father very closely, and that no remark of
his escaped him. "He has the eyes of a lynx," she thought, with a
frown. Still, apart from a certain annoyance at his deep interest in
her and all relating to her, she was rather pleased at the impression
which such a man as her father must make on one so unsophisticated.
Mr. Jocelyn was a finished man of the world, and his large experience
left its impress on all that he said and did. Although a little
courtly in manner, he was so kindly and frank in nature that
his superiority was not at all oppressive, and with true Southern
bonhomie he made the farmer's family quite at ease, leading them
to speak freely of their rural affairs. Susan soon lost all sense
of restraint and began to banter her brother.
"You must have had a very affecting time in making up with Amelia
Stone to have stayed out so late," she remarked sotto voce.
"I've not seen Amelia Stone since the evening she was here," he
answered dryly.
"Indeed! what other charmer then tied you to her apron-strings so
tightly? You are very fickle."
"Now you've hit it," he answered, with a slight flush. "I was so
undecided that I drove by every door, and was not tied at all."
Belle "made eyes" at Mildred, as much as to say, "It's you who are
distracting him."
"Next time," Sue continued, "I think it would be well to make up
your mind before Sunday morning."
"My mind is made up," replied Roger--Belle looked at Mildred with
an expression of horror, to her intense annoyance--"I shall trouble
no one," he added, quietly.
Belle now gave such a great sigh of relief that he turned upon her
too swift a glance to leave time for disguise. He smiled a little
bitterly, and then began talking in an off-hand way to Mr. Jocelyn
about the hotel a few miles distant, saying that it had filled
up very rapidly of late. As they rose from the table he remarked,
hesitatingly, "My horse and wagon are at your service this afternoon
or evening if you would like to take a drive."
Mr. Jocelyn was about to accept, but Mildred trod significantly on
his foot. Therefore he thanked Roger cordially, and said he would
spend a quiet day with his family.
"I don't wish to be under the slightest obligations to him,"
explained Mildred when they were alone; "and Belle," she warned,
"you must stop your nonsense at once. I won't endure another trace
of it."
"Oh, indeed! I didn't know you were so touchy about him," cried
the girl. "Is it for his sake or your own that you are so careful?
You're stupid not to let him amuse you, since you've spoiled him
for me."
Her sister made no reply, but gave the giddy child a glance that
quieted her at once. When Mildred was aroused her power over others
was difficult to explain, for, gentle as she was, her will at times
seemed irresistible.
Roger did not need to be told in so many words that his overtures
of "friendship" had been practically declined. Her tones, her
polite but distant manner revealed the truth clearly. He was sorely
wounded, but, so far from being disheartened, his purpose to win
her recognition was only intensified.
"I can at least compel her respect and prove myself her equal," he
thought, and instead of lounging or sleeping away the afternoon, as
had been his custom, he took a book and read steadily for several
hours. At last he left his room to aid his father in the evening
labors of the farm-yard, and in doing so would have to pass near
Mr. Jocelyn, who, with his family, was seated under a wide-spreading
tree. The gentleman evidently was in a very genial mood; he was
caressing his children, flattering his wife and Mildred, and rallying
Belle after her own frolicsome humor. Roger thought, as he looked
at them a few moments through the kitchen window, that he had
never seen a happier family, and with a sigh wished that it was his
privilege to join them without being thought an intruder. Mildred's
reserve, however, formed an impassable barrier, and he was hastening
by with downcast eyes, when, to his surprise and the young girl's
evident astonishment, Mr. Jocelyn arose and said, "Ah, Mr. Atwood,
we're glad to see you. Won't you join our little party? I want
to thank you again for offering me your horse and carriage, but
I assure you that a quiet hour like this with one's family after
long separation is happiness enough. Still, as a Southern man, I
appreciate courtesy, and am always ready to respond to it in like
spirit. Moreover, it gives me peculiar pleasure to see a Northern
man developing traits which, if they were general, would make the
two great sections of our land one in truth as well as in name."
Roger gave Mildred a quick, questioning glance, and saw that she
was regarding her father with much perplexity.
"Mr. Jocelyn," he said quietly, "the little courtesy of which you
speak has cost me nothing, and if it had it would not be worth the
words you bestow upon it."
"I do not think of the act itself so much as the spirit, the
disposition it indicates," resumed Mr. Jocelyn in a manner that was
courtly and pronounced, but otherwise natural and quiet enough. "I
do not judge superficially, but look past apparent trifles to the
character they suggest. Moreover, my wife informs me that you have
been very polite to her, and very kind to Belle and the children,
whom you have often taken out to drive without any compensation
whatever. Since you will not make a business matter of such
things, I wish to repay you in the coin which gentleman can always
receive--that of friendly acknowledgments."
"Then please consider me amply repaid," and with a smile and a bow
he was about to retire.
"Do not hasten away, sir," Mr. Jocelyn began again. "On this, day of
rest your duties cannot be pressing. I want to assure you further
of the pleasure I have in finding a young man who, so far from being
rendered callous and material by hard and rather homely work, is
alive to all refining influences. The changes in this place for
the better since I was here, and those pretty flowers yonder, all
prove that you have an eye for the beautiful as well as the practical.
My daughter Mildred also informs me that you are cherishing hopes
and ambitions that will eventually enlarge your sphere of life and
take you out into the great world."
Hitherto Roger's eyes had been fixed keenly and unwaveringly on
Mr. Jocelyn's urbane countenance, as if he would detect the cause
of such unlooked-for words, but at the mention of Mildred's name
his brow and even neck was suffused. "She must have spoken of me
kindly," he thought, "or her father would not be so friendly." But
when a swift glance around revealed that Mrs. Jocelyn was looking
at her husband in perplexity, that Mildred was not even trying to
conceal her vexation and amazement, and that Belle had stuffed her
handkerchief into her mouth to prevent laughter, a spark of anger
glittered in his eyes. His first thought was that Mr. Jocelyn was
indulging in unexpected irony at his expense, and the ready youth
whose social habits had inured him to much chaffing was able to
reply, although a little stiffly and awkwardly, "I suppose most
young men have ambitious hopes of doing something in the world, and
yet that does not prevent mine from seeming absurd. At any rate,
it's clear that I had better reveal them hereafter by deeds rather
than words," and with a very slight bow he strode away, but not so
quickly that he failed to hear Mildred's voice in the exclamation,
"Oh, papa! how could you?" and then followed a paroxysm of laughter
from Belle.
Roger was deeply incensed, for he believed that Mr. Jocelyn and
Belle were deliberately ridiculing him. That Mildred had repeated
his conversation was evident, but her manner showed that she did
not expect his words to be used against him so openly, and that she
had no part in the cruel sport. The worst he could charge against
her was exclusive pride; and he did Mrs. Jocelyn the justice to
see that she was pained by the whole affair. His face grew rigid
as he finished his work and he muttered, "They shall see that my
pride is equal to theirs: I won't go out of my way a hair-breadth
for them," and he walked in to supper as if he were at home and had
an absolute right to be there. He had been at the table but a few
moments, however, before the aspect of the Jocelyn family began to
puzzle him exceedingly. Belle appeared as if she had been crying;
Mrs. Jocelyn looked perplexed and worried, and in Mildred's eyes
there were anxiety and trouble. Mr. Jocelyn had not lost his serenity
in the least, but his aspect now was grave, and his manner more
courtly than ever. He did not seem inclined to say very much,
however, and had an abstracted, dreamy look as if his thoughts
were far away. When he did speak, Roger thought that Mildred looked
apprehensive, as if fearing that he might again say something
embarrassing, but his words were quiet and measured, betraying no
excitement. The expression of his face, however, seemed unnatural
to Roger's close yet furtive scrutiny. An hour before his eyes had
been bright and dilated, and his countenance full of animation; now
all the light and cheerfulness were fading, and the man seemed to
grow older and graver by moments. Was the dusky pallor stealing
across his features caused by the shadows of evening? Roger thought
not, but a resentful glance from Mildred warned him to curb his
curiosity.
He was curious, but not in a vulgar or prying way, and his anger was
all gone. He was sure that something was amiss with Mr. Jocelyn,
and that his family also was disturbed and anxious. There had been
none of the incoherency and excitement of a man who had drank too
much, but only a slight exaggeration of the genial traits manifested
at the dinner-table followed by a quietude and abstraction that were
not natural. Mental aberrations, even though slight and temporary,
are instinctively felt by those who are sound and normal in mind.
Still Roger would have charged Mr. Jocelyn's words and manner to
the peculiarities of a stranger, had not his family been perplexed
and troubled also. "There's something wrong about him," he said
to himself as he rose from the table; "he lacks balance, or he's
not well. I half believe that the time will come when that young
girl will be the stay and support of the whole family. You cannot
prevent my friendliness, Miss Jocelyn, any more than you can stop
the sun from shining, and some day it will melt all your reserve
and coldness." He took his volume of history out on the sward near
the porch, resolving to see the end of the domestic drama. His
mother had told him during the day that their "boarders" would soon
depart. He had made no response whatever, but his sinking spirits
revealed to him that in some way his life had become involved with
that of the girl now so distant and repellent.
He did not turn many leaves, but he sat with the book in his lap
until long after nightfall. The domestic drama apparently had a very
prosaic ending. Mr. Jocelyn and his family returned for a time to
their seats under the trees, but all except the little children
were apparently under some constraint. The latter soon grew sleepy,
and Mrs. Jocelyn took them in to bed. Belle was not long in following
them, darting an ireful glance at Roger in passing, to which he
responded by a rather mocking smile. "We were having a lovely time
till you came, you old marplot," she muttered under her breath.
Mr. Jocelyn grew more and more quiet until his head sank on
his breast, and it was with difficulty that Mildred aroused him
sufficiently to urge his retiring. At last he took his daughter's
arm and entered the house as if in a dream. The young girl's face
was downcast and averted. As they passed between the youth and the
still glowing west they cast a faint shadow upon him. Though by
no means imaginative, he noted the shadow and thought about it. It
seemed that it still rested on him after they were gone, and that
it might never pass away. His was not a dreamy, fanciful nature,
that could create a score of improbable contingencies, but his
shrewd, strong sense was quick to recognize traces of weakness and
untrustworthiness in those he met, and the impression grew upon him
that Mr. Jocelyn was not a well-balanced man. "If he fails her, I
will not," he murmured. Then with a short laugh he continued, "How
is it that I am ready to admit such a far-reaching claim from one
who repels and dislikes me? I don't know, and I don't care. She
has waked me up; she has the power of calling into action every
faculty I have. Already, I scarcely know myself. I never lived
before, and I feel that I can become a man--perhaps a great man--if
I follow this impulse, and I shall follow it."
Soon all were sleeping, and mother and daughter were alone.
"Mamma," said Mildred, in a low, troubled tone, "it seemed to me
that papa acted very strangely this afternoon and evening. Can he
be well?"
"Oh, Millie," cried the loving, anxious wife, "I fear he is not
well at all; and no wonder, when we think of the long strain he has
been under. Haven't you noticed that his appetite is very poor?
to-night he scarcely ate a mouthful. He has just been trying to keep
up ever since he came, and this afternoon he made unusual effort;
reaction of course followed, and at last he was so weary and troubled
that he could not hide his feelings from us."
"I suppose you take the right view," said Mildred hesitatingly,
"but papa has not seemed the same this afternoon as at other times
when tired and worried. His gayety was a little extravagant, and
so it might naturally be if it were forced. But I can't understand
his speaking to young Mr. Atwood as he did. Papa never showed such
a lack of tact or delicacy before. I would not dare tell him things
if he spoke of them afterward so inopportunely. I felt as if I
could sink into the ground. And when Belle--who can't help seeing
everything in a ridiculous light--began to laugh he turned and spoke
to her as he has never spoken to any of us before, And yet he did
not seem angry, but his gravity was more oppressive than any amount
of natural anger."
"Well, Millie, your father is very kind-hearted, and, like all
Southern men, very sensitive to kindness and courtesy. I suppose he
thought that you and Belle had not treated Roger well, and that he
ought to make amends. The real explanation is that he is overstrained
and unhappy, and so cannot act like himself."
"I do hope he is not going to be ill," faltered Mildred. "Such a
strange lethargy came over him after you left us. Oh, the day is
ending horribly, and it leaves a weight of foreboding on my mind.
I wish we could get away tomorrow, for I feel that Roger Atwood
is watching us, and that nothing escapes him. I know that papa's
manner seemed strange to him as well as to us, and I almost hate
him for his obtrusive and prying interest. Why can't he see that
he's nothing to us, nor we to him, and let us alone?"
She often recalled these words in after years.
The wife went to her room and found that her husband was sleeping
quietly. Returning, she said, more cheerily, "I think papa will be
like himself after a good night's sleep, and there's every promise
now that he'll get it; so don't look on the dark side, Millie, nor
worry about that young man. He don't mean to be obtrusive, and I must
say that I think he behaves very well considering. With troubles
like ours, why think of such a transient annoyance? If I only knew
just how I could help your father I would not think about much
else."
It would have been well indeed if she could have known, for she
would have taken from his pocketbook a small syringe and a bottle
of Magendie's solution of morphia; she would have entreated him
upon her knees, she would have bound him by the strongest oaths to
die rather than to use it again. The secret of all that was peculiar
and unnatural in his conduct can be explained by the fact that
early in the afternoon he went apart for a moment, and with a little
innocent-looking instrument injected into his arm the amount of
the fatal drug which he believed he could enjoy without betraying
himself.