THE DARK SHADOW OF COMING EVENTS
During the sermon it must be admitted that Belle's thoughts wandered
from the text and its able development by Mr. Wentworth. In fact,
she was developing a little scheme of her own, and, as the result,
whispered at the close of service, "Mamma, Roger and I are going
to take a walk in the Park. Can't I ask him home to supper? This
is his first Sunday in town, and it will be so dismal--"
"Yes, child, go and have a good time."
Within the next five minutes radiant Belle was an unconscious
embodiment of foreordination to Roger. He had had no idea of going
to the Park, but Belle had decreed he should go, and as he smilingly
accompanied her he certainly remained a very contented free agent.
It was a clear, bracing afternoon and evening, wherein were blended
the characteristics of both autumn and winter, and the young people
returned with glowing cheeks and quickened pulses.
"Oh, Millie!" cried Belle, "such a walk as I have had would make
you over new. I felt as if I were a hundred this morning, but now
I feel just about sixteen--that was my last birthday, wasn't it,
mamma?"
Both mother and sister smiled to see her sparkling eyes and bubbling
happiness; and the latter thought, "For her sake I must certainly
either master or conceal my dislike for that young fellow."
Indeed, she herself appeared sadly in need of a little vigorous
exercise in the frosty air. The events of the day had been exceedingly
depressing; despondency had taken the place of the irritation and
the hopes and fears that had alternated in the morning hours; but
she unselfishly tried to disguise it, and to aid her mother in
preparing an inviting supper for Belle and her guest.
Mildred was obliged to admit to herself that Roger had very little
of the appearance and manner of an uncouth countryman. There was a
subtle, half-conscious homage for her mother in his every look and
word, and for herself a politeness almost as distant and unobtrusive
as her own. Once, when a sigh escaped her as she was busy about
the room, she looked apprehensively at him, and, as she feared,
encountered a glance from which nothing could escape. She now felt
that her assumed cheerfulness deceived him so little that, were
it not for Belle, she would wholly forego the effort, and end the
long, miserable day in her own room.
Suddenly the thought occurred to her: "I will learn from his
microscopic eyes how papa appears to others not blinded by love
as we are; for, in spite of all my efforts to look on the bright
side, I am exceedingly ill at ease about him. I fear he is failing
faster than we think--we who see him daily. Mr. Atwood has not seen
him for months, and the least change would be apparent to him."
Immunity from business induced Mr. Jocelyn to gratify his cravings
more unstintedly on Sunday; and as he was often exceedingly irritable
if disturbed when sleeping off the effects of an extra indulgence,
they usually left him to wake of his own accord. Unfortunately the
walls of his apartment were but curtains, and his loud breathings
made it necessary to rouse him. This Mrs. Jocelyn accomplished
with some difficulty, but did not mention the presence of Roger,
fearing that in his half-wakened condition he might make some remark
which would hurt the young man's feelings. She merely assisted him
to arrange his disordered hair and dress, and then led the way to
the supper-table he in the meantime protesting petulantly that he
wished no supper, but would rather have slept.
As he emerged from the curtained doorway, Mildred's eyes were fastened
on Roger's face, determined that nothing in its expression should
escape her. He at the moment was in the midst of a laughing reply
to one of Belle's funny speeches, but he stopped instantly and
turned pale as his eyes rested on the visage of her father. Had
that face then changed so greatly? Had disease made such havoc
that this comparative stranger was aghast and could not conceal
the truth that he was shocked?
It was with sharp anguish that these queries flashed through Mildred's
mind, and, with her own perceptions sharpened and quickened, she
saw that her father had indeed changed very greatly; he had grown
much thinner; his complexion had an unnatural, livid aspect; his
old serene, frank look was absent, and a noticeable contraction in
the pupils of his eyes gave an odd, sinister aspect to his expression.
There were other changes that were even more painful to witness. In
former days he had been the embodiment of genial Southern hospitality;
but now, although he made a visible effort for self-control, his
whole body seemed one diseased irritable nerve.
Roger almost instantly overcame his pained surprise, yet not so
quickly but that it was observed by all, and even by him who had been
the cause. "I am very sorry to learn you are not in good health,"
he was indiscreet enough to say as he offered his hand in greeting.
"From whom have you learned this?" demanded Mr. Jocelyn, looking
angrily and suspiciously around. "I assure you that you are
mistaken. I never was in better health, and I am not pleased that
any one should gossip about me."
They sat down under a miserable constraint--Belle flushed
and indignant, Mildred no longer disguising her sadness, and poor
Mrs. Jocelyn with moist eyes making a pitiful attempt to restore
serenity so that Belle's happy day might not become clouded. Roger
tried to break the evil spell by giving his impressions of the Park
to Mrs. Jocelyn, but was interrupted by her husband, who had been
watching the young man with a perplexed, suspicious look, vainly
trying to recall the name of one whose face was familiar enough,
remarking at last very satirically, "Has it ceased to be the
style to introduce people, especially at one's own table? I might
appreciate this gentleman's conversation better if I knew his name."
They all looked at each other in sudden dismay, for they could
not know that opium impairs memory as well as health and manhood.
"Martin," cried his wife, in a tone of sharp distress, "you ARE
ill, indeed. There is no use in trying to disguise the truth any
longer. What! don't you remember Roger Atwood, the son of the kind
friends with whom we spent the summer?" and in spite of all effort
tears blinded her eyes.
The wretched man's instinct of self-preservation was aroused. He saw
from the looks of all about him that he was betraying himself--that
he was wholly off his balance. While vividly and painfully aware of
his danger, his enfeebled will and opium-clouded mind were impotent
to steady and sustain him or to direct his course. He had much
of the terror and all the sense of helplessness of a man who finds
himself in deep water and cannot swim. He trembled, the perspiration
started out on his brow, and his one impulse now was to be alone
with his terrible master, that had become the sole source of his
semblance of strength as well as of his real and fatal weakness.
"I--I fear I am ill," he faltered. "I'll go out and get a little
air," and he was about to leave the room almost precipitately.
"Oh, Martin," expostulated his wife, "don't go out--at least not
alone."
Again he lost control of himself, and said savagely, "I will. Don't
any one dare to follow me," and he almost rushed away.
For a moment Mrs. Jocelyn tried to bear up from instinctive
politeness, but her lip quivered like that of a child; then the
tide of her feeling swept her away, and she fled to the adjoining
apartment. Mildred followed her at once, and Belle, with a white,
scared face, looked into Roger's eyes. He rose and came directly
to her and said, "Belle, you know you can always count on me. Your
father is so ill that I think I had better follow him. I can do so
unobserved."
"Oh, Roger--why--is--is papa losing his mind?"
His quick eye now noted that Fred and Minnie had become so impressed
that something dreadful had happened that they were about to make
the occasion more painful by their outcries, and he turned smilingly
to them, and with a few reassuring words and promises soon quieted
their fears. "Be a brave little woman, Belle," he at last said to
her. "There is my address, and please promise to let me know if I
can do anything for you and for--for Mrs. Jocelyn."
"Don't go--please don't go yet," Belle pleaded. "Papa's looks and
words to-night fill me with a strange fear as if something awful
might happen."
"Perhaps if I follow your father I may prevent--"
"Oh, yes, go at once."
He was intercepted at the door by the entrance of Mr. Jocelyn, who
had had ample time in the few brief minutes that had elapsed to
fill his system with the subtle stimulant. He now took Roger by the
hand most cordially, and said, "Pardon me, Mr. Atwood. My health
has become somewhat impaired of late, and I fear I have just had
a rather bad turn; but the air has revived me, and the trouble now
has passed. I insist that you stay and spend the evening with us."
"Oh, papa," cried Belle, rushing into his arms, "how you frightened
us! Please go into my room, there, and comfort mamma by telling
her you are all well again."
This he did so effectively that he soon led her out smiling through
her tears, for her confidence in him was the growth and habit
of years, and anything he said to her seemed for the moment true.
And, indeed, the man was so changed that it was hard to realize he
was not well. His face, in contrast with its aspect a few moments
since, appeared to have regained its natural hue and expression;
every trace of irritability had passed away, and with his old-time,
easy courtesy and seeming frankness he talked so plausibly of it
all that Belle and his wife, and even Roger, felt that they had
attached undue importance to a mere temporary indisposition.
Mildred made great effort to be cheerful for her father's sake,
but the pallor did not pass from her face, nor the look of deep
anxiety from her eyes. The shadow of coming trouble had fallen too
heavily upon her, and that the marked exhibition of her father's
failing powers should have occurred at this time added to the
impression that Roger Atwood was their evil genius. She recalled
the fact that he seemingly had been the first exciting cause of
her father's unnatural behavior, and now his reappearance was the
occasion of the most convincing proof they had yet received that
the one upon whom they all depended was apparently failing in both
mind and body. Even now, while he was doing his best to reassure and
render happy his family, there was to her perception an unreality
in his words and manner. She almost imagined, too, that he feared
to meet her eye and shunned doing so. Not in the remotest degree,
however, did she suspect the cause of his suddenly varying moods
and changed appearance, but regarded all as the result of his
misfortunes; and the miserable presentiment grew strong upon her
that soon--alas! too soon--she would be the slender reed on which
they all would lean. If she could have six months, only, of careful
preparation she would not so dread the burden; but if now, or soon,
the whole responsibility of the family's support should come upon
her and Belle, what would they do? Her heart sank, and her very
soul cowered at the prospect. She could not live in the present
hour like Belle, but with too keen a foresight realized how dark
and threatening was the future.
The night was clear and beautiful, and Roger and Belle went up to
the platform built over the roof. Not long afterward there was a
knock at the door, and Mr. Ulph appeared. "Der night vas goot," he
said to Mildred, "und I vill gif you von leedle glimpse oil hefen
if you vould like him."
The poor girl felt that she certainly needed a glimpse of something
bright and reassuring, and wrapping herself warmly she followed
her quaint friend to the roof.
Roger grew taciturn as he watched the dim outline of her form and
her white, upturned face. She seemed as cold and distant to him
as the stars at which she gazed, and he thought dejectedly, "The
least of them have an interest for her greater than I shall ever
be able to inspire."
He overrated her interest in the stars on that occasion, however,
for though she did her best to follow the old astronomer's words,
her heart was too sorrowful and preoccupied, and her eyes too often
blinded by tears, which once glittered so distinctly in the rays
of a brilliant planet that her companion stopped in the midst of
a sentence and looked at her keenly.
"You vas not habby, my leedle schild," he said kindly. "Dere's
someding droubling you heart; put you gan no see vay inter der
hefens drew dears do' dey vas glear as der lens off my glass."
"I fear I shall have to see through tears very often, if I see
at all," Mildred replied, with a low, suppressed sob. "Forgive
me to-night. I DO feel grateful that you are willing to show
me--but--I--I--well, I am troubled to-night about something, and
I can't control myself. To-morrow night I'll be braver, and will
help you. Please don't feel hurt if I leave you now."
"Ah, mine leedle girl, learn vrom der schtars dot der great laws
moost be opeyed, und don't you vorry und vret ober vat you gannot
help. Shust you go along quiet und easy like Shupiter oup dere.
Lots off dings vill dry to bull dis vay and dot vay outen der right
orpt, put dond you mind 'em, und shust go right schtrait along
und not care. You veels too mooch apout oder beoples. Der schtars
deach you petter; dey goes right on der own vay und about der own
pisness, unless dey vas voolish leedle schtars, like dot von dere
dots shust gone to der duyvel vrom runin outen his vay toward der
earth."
She might have reminded him that, if she had acted upon this cold
and selfish philosophy, his little child would now be sleeping in
a distant cemetery instead of in his warm crib, but she only said,
"Good-night, Mr. Ulph; I'll do better next time," and she hurried
away. She felt that the sun and centre of their family life was
passing under a strange and lasting eclipse, and the result might
be darkness--chaos.
She wiped her eyes carefully, that no traces of grief might appear,
and then entered their room. Her mother was putting the children to
bed, and her father looking dreamily out of the window. She kissed
him, and said briefly, "I'm tired and think I will retire early so
as to be ready for my work." He made no effort to detain her. She
clasped her mother in a momentary passionate embrace, and then shut
herself up to a night of almost sleepless grief.