It was not long before the community was talking of the change in
Hilda, the abrupt change to a gentle, serious, silent woman, the
sparkle gone from her eyes, pathos there in its stead. But not even
her own family knew her secret.
"When is Mr. Feuerstein coming again?" asked her father when a week had
passed.
"I don't know just when. Soon," answered Hilda, in a tone which made
it impossible for such a man as he to inquire further.
Sophie brought all her cunning to bear in her effort to get at the
facts. But Hilda evaded her hints and avoided her traps. After much
thinking she decided that Mr. Feuerstein had probably gone for good,
that Hilda was hoping when there was nothing to hope for, and that her
own affairs were suffering from the cessation of action. She was in
the mood to entertain the basest suggestions her craft could put
forward for making marriage between Hilda and Otto impossible. But she
had not yet reached the stage at which overt acts are deliberately
planned upon the surface of the mind.
One of her girl friends ran in to gossip with her late in the afternoon
of the eighth day after Mr. Feuerstein's "parting scene" in Tompkins
Square. The talk soon drifted to Hilda, whom the other girl did not
like.
"I wonder what's become of that lover of hers--that tall fellow from up
town?" asked Miss Hunneker.
"I don't know," replied Sophie in a strained, nervous manner. "I always
hated to see Hilda go with him. No good ever comes of that sort of
thing."
"I supposed she was going to marry him."
Sophie became very uneasy indeed. "It don't often turn out that way,"
she said in a voice that was evidently concealing something--apparently
an ugly rent in the character of her friend.
Walpurga Hunneker opened her eyes wide. "You don't mean--" she
exclaimed. And, as Sophie looked still more confused,
"Well, I THOUGHT so! Gracious! Her pride must have had a fall. No
wonder she looks so disturbed."
"Poor Hilda!" said Sophie mournfully. Then she looked at Walpurga in a
frightened way as if she had been betrayed into saying too much.
Walpurga spent a busy evening among her confidantes, with the result
that the next day the neighborhood was agitated by
gossip--insinuations that grew bolder and bolder, that had sprung from
nowhere, but pointed to Hilda's sad face as proof of their truth. And
on the third day they had reached Otto's mother. Not a detail was
lacking--even the scene between Hilda and her father was one of the
several startling climaxes of the tale. Mrs. Heilig had been bitterly
resentful of Hilda's treatment of her son, and she accepted the
story--it was in such perfect harmony with her expectations from the
moment she heard of Mr. Feuerstein. In the evening, when he came home
from the shop, she told him.
"There isn't a word of truth in it, mother," he said. "I don't care
who told you, it's a lie."
"Your love makes you blind," answered the mother. "But I can see that
her vanity has led her just where vanity always leads--to destruction."
"Who told you?" he demanded.
Mrs. Heilig gave him the names of several women. "It is known to all,"
she said.
His impulse was to rush out and trace down the lie to its author. But
he soon realized the folly of such an attempt. He would only aggravate
the gossip and the scandal, give the scandal-mongers a new chapter for
their story. Yet he could not rest without doing something.
He went to Hilda--she had been most friendly toward him since the day
he helped her with her lover. He asked her to walk with him in the
Square. When they were alone, he began: "Hilda, you believe I'm your
friend, don't you?"
She looked as if she feared he were about to reopen the old subject.
"No--I'm not going to worry you," he said in answer to the look. "I
mean just friend."
"I know you are, Otto," she replied with tears in her eyes. "You are
indeed my friend. I've counted on you ever since you--ever since that
Sunday."
"Then you won't think wrong of me if I ask you a question? You'll know
I wouldn't, if I didn't have a good reason, even though I can't
explain?"
"Yes--what is it?"
"Hilda, is--is Mr. Feuerstein coming back?"
Hilda flushed. "Yes, Otto," she said. "I haven't spoken to any one
about it, but I can trust you. He's had trouble and it has called him
away. But he told me he'd come back." She looked at him appealingly.
"You know that I love him, Otto. Some day you will like him, will see
what a noble man he is."
"When is he coming back?"
"I didn't ask him. I knew he'd come as soon as he could. I wouldn't
pry into his affairs."
"Then you don't know why he went or when he's coming?"
"I trust him, just as you'll want a girl to trust you some day when you
love her."
As soon as he could leave her, he went up town, straight to the German
Theater. In the box-office sat a young man with hair precisely parted
in the middle and sleeked down in two whirls brought low on his
forehead.
"I'd like to get Mr. Feuerstein's address," said Otto.
"That dead-beat?" the young man replied contemptuously. "I suppose he
got into you like he did into every one else. Yes, you can have his
address. And give him one for me when you catch him. He did me out of
ten dollars."
Otto went on to the boarding-house in East Sixteenth Street. No, Mr.
Feuerstein was not in and it was not known when he would return--he was
very uncertain. Otto went to Stuyvesant Square and seated himself
where he could see the stoop of the boarding-house. An hour, two
hours, two hours and a half passed, and then his patient attitude
changed abruptly to action. He saw the soft light hat and the yellow
bush coming toward him. Mr. Feuerstein paled slightly as he recognized
Otto.
"I'm not going to hurt you," said Otto in a tone which Mr. Feuerstein
wished he had the physical strength to punish. "Sit down here--I've
got something to say to you."
"I'm in a great hurry. Really, you'll have to come again."
But Otto's look won. Mr. Feuerstein hesitated, seated himself.
"I want to tell you," said Otto quietly, "that as the result of your
going away so suddenly and not coming back a wicked lying story is
going round about Hilda. She does not know it yet, but it won't be
long before something will be said--maybe publicly. And it will break
her heart."
"I can't discuss her with you," said Mr. Feuerstein. "Doubtless you
mean well. I'm obliged to you for coming. I'll see." He rose.
"Is that all?" said Otto.
"What more can I say?"
"But what are you going to DO?"
"I don't see how I can prevent a lot of ignorant people from gossiping."
"Then you're not going straight down there? You're not going to do
what a man'd do if he had the decency of a dog?"
"You are insulting! But because I believe you mean well, I shall tell
you that it is impossible for me to go for several days at least. As
soon as I honorably can, I shall come and the scandal will vanish like
smoke."
Otto let him go. "I mustn't thrash him, and I can't compel him to be
a man." He returned to the German Theater; he must learn all he could
about this Feuerstein.
"Did you see him?" asked the ticket-seller.
"Yes, but I didn't get anything."
Otto looked so down that the ticket-seller was moved to pity, to
generosity.
"Well, I'll give you a tip. Keep after him; keep your eye on him.
He's got a rich father-in-law."
Otto leaned heavily on the sill of the little window. "Father-in-law?"
A sickening suspicion peered into his mind.
"He was full the other night and he told one of our people he was
married to a rich man's daughter."
"Was the name Brauner?" asked Otto.
"He didn't name any names. But--let me think--they say it's a daughter
of a brewer, away up town. Yes, Ganser--I think that was the name."
"Oh!" Otto's face brightened. "Where is Ganser's place?" he asked.
"I don't know--look in the directory. But the tip is to wait a few
days. He hasn't got hold of any of the old man's money yet--there's
some hitch. There'll be plenty for all when it comes, so you needn't
fret."
Otto went to the brewery, but Peter had gone home. Otto went on to the
house and Peter came down to the brilliant parlor, where the battle of
hostile shades and colors was raging with undiminished fury. In answer
to Peter's look of inquiry, he said: "I came about your son-in-law,
Mr. Feuerstein."
"Who are you? Who told you?" asked Peter, wilting into a chair.
"They told me at the theater."
Peter gave a sort of groan. "It's out!" he cried, throwing up his
thick, short arms. "Everybody knows!"
Shrewd Otto saw the opening. "I don't think so," he replied, "at least
not yet. He has a bad reputation--I see you know that already. But
it's nothing to what he will have when it comes out that he's been
trying to marry a young lady down town since he married your daughter."
"But it mustn't come out!" exclaimed Ganser. "I won't have it. This
scandal has disgraced me enough."
"That's what I came to see you about," said Otto. "The young lady and
her friends don't know about his marriage. It isn't necessary that any
of them should know, except her. But she must be put on her guard. He
might induce her to run away with him."
"Rindsvieh!" muttered Ganser, his hair and whiskers bristling. "Dreck!"
"I want to ask you, as a man and a father, to see that this young lady
is warned. She'll be anxious enough to keep quiet. If you do, there
won't be any scandal--at least not from there."
"I'll go down and warn her. Where is she? I'll speak to her father."
"And have him make a row? No, there's only one way. Send your
daughter to her."
"But you don't know my daughter. She's a born--" Just in time Ganser
remembered that he was talking to a stranger and talking about his
daughter. "She wouldn't do it right," he finished.
"She can go in and see the young lady alone and come out without
speaking to anybody else. I'll promise you there'll be no risk."
Ganser thought it over and decided to take Otto's advice. They
discussed Mr. Feuerstein for several minutes, and when Otto left,
Ganser followed him part of the way down the stoop, shaking hands with
him. It was a profound pleasure to the brewer to be able to speak his
mind on the subject of his son-in-law to an intelligent, appreciative
person. He talked nothing else to his wife and Lena, but he had the
feeling that he might as well talk aloud to himself.
After supper--the Gansers still had supper in the evening, their
fashionable progress in that direction having reached only the stage at
which dinner is called luncheon--he put Lena into the carriage and they
drove to Avenue A. On the way he told her exactly what to say and do.
He stayed in the carriage. "Be quick," he said, "and no foolishness!"
Lena, swelling and rustling with finery and homelier than before her
troubles, little though they disturbed her, marched into the shop and
up to the end counter, where Hilda was standing.
"You are Miss Hilda Brauner?" she said. "I want to see you alone."
Hilda looked her surprise but showed Lena into the living-room, which
happened to be vacant. Lena could not begin, so intent was she upon
examining her rival. "How plain she's dressed," she thought, "and how
thin and black she is!" But it was in vain; she could not deceive her
rising jealousy. It made her forget her father's instructions, forget
that she was supposed to hate Feuerstein and was getting rid of him.
"I am Mrs. Carl Feuerstein," she cried, her face red and her voice
shrill with anger and excitement. "And I want you to stop flirting
with my husband!"
Hilda stood petrified. Lena caught sight of a photograph on the
mantelpiece behind Hilda. She gave a scream of fury and darted for it.
"How dare you!" she shrieked. "You impudent THING!" She snatched the
frame, tore it away from the photograph and flung it upon the floor. As
she gazed at that hair like a halo of light, at those romantic features
and upturned eyes, she fell to crying and kissing them.
Hilda slowly turned and watched the spectacle--the swollen, pudgy face,
tear-stained, silly, ugly, the tears and kisses falling upon the
likeness of HER lover. She suddenly sprang at Lena, her face like a
thunder-storm, her black brows straight and her great eyes flashing.
"You lie!" she exclaimed. And she tore the photograph from Lena's
hands and clasped it to her bosom.
Lena shrank in physical fear from this aroused lioness. "He's my
husband," she whined. "You haven't got any right to his picture."
"You lie!" repeated Hilda, throwing back her head.
"It's the truth," said Lena, beginning to cry. "I swear to God it's
so. You can ask pa if it ain't. He's Mr. Ganser, the brewer."
"Who sent you here to lie about him to me?"
"Oh, you needn't put on. You knew he was married. I don't wonder
you're mad. He's MY husband, while he's only been making a fool of
YOU. You haven't got any shame." Lena's eyes were on the photograph
again and her jealousy over-balanced fear. She laughed tauntingly.
"Of course you're trying to brazen it out. Give me that picture! He's
my husband!"
Just then Ganser appeared in the doorway--he did not trust his daughter
and had followed her when he thought she was staying too long. At
sight of him she began to weep again. "She won't believe me, pa," she
said. "Look at her standing there hugging his picture."
Ganser scowled at his daughter and addressed himself to Hilda, "It's
true, Miss," he said. "The man is a scoundrel. I sent my daughter to
warn you."
Hilda looked at him haughtily. "I don't know you," she said, "and I do
know him. I don't know why you've come here to slander him. But I do
know that I'd trust him against the whole world." She glanced from
father to daughter. "You haven't done him any harm and you might as
well go."
Peter eyed her in disgust. "You're as big a fool as my Lena," he said.
"Come on, Lena."
As Lena was leaving the room, she gave Hilda a malignant glance. "He's
MY husband," she said spitefully, "and you're--well, I wouldn't want to
say what you are."
"Move!" shouted Ganser, pushing her out of the room. His parting shot
at Hilda was: "Ask him."
Hilda, still holding the photograph, stared at the doorway through
which they had disappeared. "You lie!" she repeated, as if they were
still there. Then again, a little catch in her voice: "You lie!" And
after a longer interval, a third time, with a sob in her throat: "You
lie! I know you lie!" She sat at the table and held the photograph
before her. She kissed it passionately, gazed long at it, seeing in
those bold handsome features all that her heart's love believed of him.
Suddenly she started up, went rapidly down the side hall and out into
the street. Battling with her doubts, denouncing herself as disloyal
to him, she hurried up the Avenue and across the Square and on until
she came to his lodgings. When she asked for him the maid opened the
parlor door and called through the crack: "Mr. Feuerstein, a lady wants
to see you."
As the maid disappeared down the basement stairs, Mr. Feuerstein
appeared. At sight of her he started back. "Hilda!" he exclaimed
theatrically, and frowned.
"Don't be angry with me," she said humbly. "I wouldn't have come,
only--"
"You must go at once!" His tone was abrupt, irritated.
"Yes--I will. I just wanted to warn you--" She raised her eyes
appealingly toward his face. "Two people came to see me to-night--Mr.
Ganser and his daughter--"
Feuerstein fell back a step and she saw that he was shaking and that
his face had become greenish white. "It's false!" he blustered.
"False as hell!--"
And she knew that it was true.
She continued to look at him and he did not try to meet her eyes. "What
did they tell you?" he said, after a long pause, remembering that he
had denied before a charge had been made.
She was looking away from him now. She seemed not to have heard him.
"I must go," she murmured, and began slowly to descend the stoop.
He followed her, laid his hand upon her arm. "Hilda!" he pleaded.
"Let me explain!"
"Don't touch me!" She snatched her arm away from him. She ran down
the rest of the steps and fled along the street. She kept close to the
shadow of the houses. She went through Avenue A with hanging head,
feeling that the eyes of all were upon her, condemning, scorning. She
hid herself in her little room, locking the door. Down beside the bed
she sank and buried her face in the covers. And there she lay, racked
with the pain of her gaping wounds--wounds to love, to trust, to pride,
to self-respect. "Oh, God, let me die," she moaned. "I can't ever
look anybody in the face again."