He stood still. All the joy of life slipped out of his face and she saw
it grow gray before her eyes. He straightened himself with a shuddering
start as if a shot had struck him, for his faith in her, one of the
vital realities of his life, had received a terrible shock. She had led
him on into fond and foolish talk; she had led him on to bare his heart
to her!
"I've made a jolly fool of myself!" he said bitterly.
"John!" she cried, in involuntary anguish.
But not even his large heart was proof against the gall and wormwood
of betrayal. "You must forgive a fellow for butting in. I didn't
know--of course you understand that?"
"I never for a moment dreamed that you knew," she said finely.
He looked up then and saw the white agony of her face and his head
swam. Had the fever come back on him?
"Will you tell me--his name?" he asked hoarsely.
She tried twice to speak before she could answer him. "Belhaven," she
said at last.
John turned his face away; she could not see his expression, but she
saw the strong hand at his side clench nervously and she felt and
shared the still agony. They were walking on; before them the green
meadowland sloped beautifully to the edge of the brook; beyond it, rose
the low growth of laurel and young dogwood, and through the shadowy
grove she caught glimpses of Belhaven's house, her home!
"Have you been married long?" John asked at last, though he could not
look at her.
"Nearly three months."
"I don't know why I didn't hear," he said, after a long moment. "You'll
have to forgive me, I--" he stopped abruptly.
Rachel looked up and met his eyes. The despair in them cut her to the
soul; she could have borne anything but this, to see his pain! She
broke down suddenly, hiding her face in her hands, and her grief was
anguish. He looked at her in pained surprise; hitherto he had thought
only of his own trouble, now he became aware of hers, for she was
weeping dreadfully.
"Rachel!"
She did not reply; she had stopped and was leaning against the slender
stem of the silver birch, which they had reached again together. He
could see only the curve of cheek and brow and the long, slender
fingers clasped convulsively over her eyes; she was still weeping
silently.
"I can't bear to see you like this, Rachel; is it because you're sorry
for me?"
She tried to answer him but she could not.
"You're--you're not in trouble yourself?"
She shook her head; it was best to lie to him, but what a poor liar she
was!
Her grief appealed to him, moving him to generosity and even to
gentleness. "Don't think of me; it's just my portion. I've always loved
you, Rachel; I wouldn't grieve you for the world."
"I grieved you!"
"Well, you couldn't help it. I was a fool not to know, I--I--" Then he
broke out in spite of himself: "Rachel, did you love him when I went
away?"
She writhed, hiding her face.
John watched her, a perception of something wrong creeping into his
reluctant mind. Then he was conscience-stricken; what right had he to
thrust himself into her confidence? Yet passion, denied and betrayed,
tore his heart.
"Forgive me, I had no right to ask you, but somehow I couldn't help it;
I felt as if I must know! There are little moments in those old days
that are dear to me. Rachel, you understand? I wanted to feel that they
were mine still; I didn't want to be robbed of them, I--"
"They're all yours," she said, controlling herself, "all yours, John."
"Rachel, did--did you love me a little then? I wasn't altogether a
fool--you did?"
"Oh, God!" she moaned softly, wringing her hands.
"I can't understand!" he broke out fiercely; "this is fearful!"
"Don't try to understand--" She was walking on again blindly, trying to
recover herself, her face bloodless, the muscles drawn about the eyes
and mouth.
"I'm a brute," said John bitterly. "I'm hurting you!"
"It kills me to hurt you!" she cried.
"Rachel--" his voice was hoarse with pain--"do you love him?"
She walked ahead of him, her head bent; once she stumbled and almost
fell, then she recovered herself and stood still. They were at the
edge of the wood; Belhaven's house stood before them and there were
flowers abloom on the low terrace. John came up to her, his white face
set and stern, passion in his eyes.
"I meant it," he said hoarsely. "I'm a brute--but I meant it, Rachel."
"I've married him."
They looked at each other. They were two souls in torment and she would
have given hers to save him this anguish. At that moment she felt that
she could have died for him. They were silent a long time and then he
thrust his clenched hands into his pockets.
"I'll take you home; forgive me again--if you can!"
"There's nothing to forgive," her white lips stiffened. "Don't go on
with me now--come some other time, to-morrow. Now I can't bear it!" The
tears ran down her cheeks.
Something in his throat choked him and he turned away. "You're
right--of course, but I wish you'd tell me all; it--it would be easier
to bear."