THE END OF IT ALL.
Celeste started. Justine's innocent query rudely tore down the curtain
that had hung between her understanding and Jud's strange behavior, and
it seemed to her, in that one brief, horrible moment, that she saw all
that was black and ugly in life.
She could take her eyes from the mother's gentle face only to let them
rest upon the features of the baby. Justine's question--"Does he not
look like his father?"--could have but one answer. Dudley Sherrod's
likeness was stamped on the face of the boy, unmistakable, accusing.
In her terror, the face of the little one seemed to age suddenly until
there loomed up before her the features of Jud, the man.
Powerless to answer, she turned abruptly and staggered to a window,
leaning heavily against the casing, her heart like lead, her face as
white as death. She knew now the cause of everything that had
mystified and troubled her in Jud's conduct. Now she knew why the
picture of Justine was before him, now she knew why the mention of her
name threw him into confusion. The whole wretched truth was plain.
"Oh, Jud! Oh, Jud!" she cried to herself. "Oh, this poor ruined girl!
How could he have done such a--oh, God, no, no! I must be wrong. The
resemblance is not real--it is my fancy. But--but, why does she ask me
if he looks like his father? What other father can there be--what
other man is known to both of us? But how young the boy is; Jud has
not seen her in years. He cannot be the father. Why am I afraid? Why
have I doubted him?" The voice of the other woman came to her from the
fireplace, indistinct, jumbled and as if through the swirl of a storm.
"Pardon me, but I do not know what your name is now," was the
apologetic remark from the other side of the room, and Celeste turned
to her.
"My name is--is Sherrod, Miss Van," she said, slowly. Justine looked
up in surprise and bewilderment. A shadow of unbelief crossed her face.
"Sherrod?" she asked, curiously. "Why, how strange that we should have
the same name."
"The same name, Miss Van?"
"My name has not been Van for a long, long time. We were married
before you met us in Proctor's Falls, I'm--why, what is the matter?"
"It is not true--it is not true," half shrieked Celeste. Justine
shrank back as if confronted by a mad woman, instinctively shielding
her boy. "Do you mean to tell me you were married to Jud Sherrod?" she
continued, scornfully.
[Illustration: "IT IS NOT TRUE, HALF SHRIEKED CELESTE.]
"Of course I was--don't look at me like that! What in the name of
heaven is the matter, Mrs.--Mrs.----" A sickening thought struggled
into Justine's mind. "Your name is--is Sherrod, too," she said, dully.
"Has--has Jud anything to do with it?"
"He is not your husband," cried Celeste, pityingly.
"What do you mean?" gasped Justine, limp and white. "Jud and I married
three years ago----"
"Oh!" moaned Celeste. Justine's extended arm caught her as she dropped
forward. The wild blue eyes looked piteously into the frightened brown
ones, and the gray lips repeated hoarsely: "Are you sure? Are you
sure?"
"What shall I do?" moaned Justine. "I am his wife, I know I am.
Nobody can deny it. Why, why, I have the certificate----" she went on
eagerly. Celeste struggled to her feet.
"Then what in the name of heaven has he made of me?" she cried,
hoarsely.
"I don't understand," murmured Justine dully. "Do you--do you love
him?"
"Love him? Love him? Why, woman, he is my husband!"
The world went black before Justine's eyes. She fell back in the deep
chair; her big eyes closed, her hands relaxed their clasp on the boy
and he slid to the protecting arm of the chair; her breath clogged her
throat. As consciousness fled, she saw Celeste sink to the floor at
her feet.
A man drew aside the curtains a few minutes afterwards and planted a
heavy foot inside the room. His sombre eyes were on the floor and it
was not until he was well inside the room that his gaze fell upon the
still group at the fireplace. He paused, his tired eyes for the moment
resting wearily on the scene. Slowly his mind, which had been far
away, caught up the picture before him. His dull sensibilities became
active.
Celeste was lying on the floor. She had fainted. He stretched forth
his arms to lift her and his eyes fell upon the upturned face of the
woman in the chair. Petrified, he stood for an age, it seemed.
Comprehension slowly forced its way into his brain.
"Justine!" A shriek of terror burst in his throat; the sound did not
reach his lips. The end had come! It was all over! They knew--they
_knew_! They knew him for what he was. He had not the strength to
flee; he only knew that he was face to face with the end. He must
stand his ground, as well now as any time. He waited. There would be
cries, sobs, wails and bitterness.
But no sounds came from the lips of the two women. The baby alone
stared in wonder at this strange man. The faces of the unconscious
girls were deathlike, Justine's drawn with pain, Celeste's white and
weak. Unconsciously his hand touched Justine's face, then her breast.
She did not move, but her heart was beating. With the same mechanical
calmness he dropped to one knee and half raised Celeste's head,
expecting her eyes to open. The lids lay still and dark and her neck
was limp. As he rose to his feet stiffly, his eyes fell upon the face
of the boy and it was as if he were a child again and looking at
himself in the old mirror up at the house "on the pike."
He could not meet the smile of that innocent spectator. In a fever of
haste lest either woman should revive before he could be hidden from
their wretched eyes, he pressed cold lips to their lips, covered the
baby's face with kisses and a flood of tears that suddenly burst forth,
and then dashed blindly from the room and up the broad staircase,
terrified by the sound of his own footfalls, in dread of a piteous call
from below, eager to escape the eyes, the condemning eyes that once had
loved him. Celeste was the first to open her eyes. For many minutes
she lay where she had fallen, striving to remember how she came to be
there. Memory gradually pushed aside the kindly numbness--and she saw
clearly. Dragging herself to the mantel post, she tried to regain her
feet. The effort was vain; her strength had not returned. Leaning
against the mosaic background, she turned her eyes upon the motionless
figure in the chair. She never knew what her thoughts were as she sat
there and gazed upon the face of the other woman, Justine Van--Justine
Van, the girl of Proctor's Falls.
At last a long sigh came from Justine's lips, there was a deep shudder
and then the fluttering lips parted, two wide, dazed eyes of brown
staring into space. Minutes passed before the gaze of the two women
met. There were no words, nothing but the fixed stare of horror.
Moved by a desperate impulse, Celeste struggled to her feet, her glazed
eyes bent upon the face of the baby. Steadying herself for an instant
against the mantel, she lurched forward, hatred in her heart, her hands
outstretched. The fingers locked themselves in the folds of the
child's dress and he was raised above the head of the frenzied woman.
Justine's weak hand went up appealingly; she had not strength to rise
and snatch the child from the other's clutches.
"Then kill me, too," she whispered, closing her eyes.
A crowing laugh came from the child. The laugh of an infant who is
tossed on high and revels in the fun. A moment later he was lying in
his mother's lap and his enemy was sobbing as she laid her hand in the
dark hair of the other woman.
A distant scream came from somewhere in the house, but the two women
did not hear it. A maid came scurrying downstairs, white and excited.
She dashed unceremoniously into the room, panting out the single
exclamation:
"Hurry!"
Celeste slowly turned toward her.
"What is it, Mary?" she asked, mechanically, almost unconsciously.
"Mr. Sherrod, ma'am--you must come quick. In the studio," gasped the
maid.
"Is Jud here?" asked Justine, raising herself in the chair. A new
light struggled into her eyes. Celeste, cold with the certainty of
some terrible news, straightened to receive the blow.
"Is it--bad, Mary?" she asked.
"Oh, ma'am, I--I can't tell you," almost whispered the girl. "It's
awful! I'll see him to my dying day."
"He--he is dead?" The question came from frozen lips.
The maid burst into tears.