CHAPTER XII.
The next day Jacqueline was better, and about noon General and Mrs.Temple arrived. Mrs. Temple showed no surprise when she heard thatJacqueline had come the day before; and when Judith said, falteringly,that Jacqueline had probably misunderstood their plans, Mrs. Templeaccepted it quite naturally. About the same time Dr. Wortley, who hadbeen sent for, came, and pronounced Jacqueline's attack to be nothingbut cold and fever, and raised the prohibition against her talking. Thefirst time Mrs. Temple was out of the room, Jacqueline called Judith toher.
"Judith, I have been thinking about this, and I have made up my mind."
This was so unlike Jacqueline that Judith stared.
"If I thought Freke was really a single man, I would give upeverybody--even you--for him. But nobody on earth knows what I sufferedfrom my conscience while I was with him! And I believe Freke told thetruth when he said we weren't married, after all, in spite of thatminister and the fifty dollars. And now, dear Judith, it seems so easyto keep papa and mamma from knowing it."
"Easy, Jacqueline?--"
"Yes, easy, if you will only write to Aunt Steptoe; and it would kill meto have to face them!"
"But, Jacqueline, suppose--suppose Freke should claim you, or you might,in years to come, want to marry some one else?"
"I will promise you I will not--I will swear it--if I can't marry Freke,you may depend upon it I sha'n't marry anybody else! But, Judith, willyou promise me to say nothing to papa and mamma until you have seenFreke, for he knows what ought to be done? I know--and I am sure--hewill come back in a day or two. He knows well enough where I have runaway to."
Judith was loath to making any promise at all, but Jacqueline became soviolently agitated and distressed that at last, almost beside herself,Judith promised that for a few days, at least, she would say nothingabout it.
Mrs. Temple was so full of Beverley, and the proceedings at Richmond,that she troubled Jacqueline but little with questions; and Judith wasamazed at hearing Jacqueline describe to her mother a visit to her aunt,as if it had really been paid. The idea of concealment had takencomplete possession of Jacqueline's mind, and she stopped at nothing.
Of course, the wedding had to be postponed; and Jacqueline surprised hermother, after two letters had passed between Throckmorton and herself,by telling her quite calmly one day that the wedding was off, and thatThrockmorton would shortly leave the county. General and Mrs. Templewere stunned; and Mrs. Temple, who had secretly thought the marriagepreposterous from the start, now suddenly changed front, and wasbitterly disappointed at this strange and unaccountable breaking off.Jacqueline would only say, "I found I didn't love him, and couldn'tmarry him"; and she repeated this with a sort of childish obstinacy--soit seemed to Mrs. Temple. Throckmorton accepted his supposed bad newswith the firmness and dignity that always characterized him. He toldMrs. Temple, when she and the general, sitting in solemn conclave in thedrawing-room, had sent for him to give him this unalterabledetermination of Jacqueline's:
"Her happiness should be first always. The difference in our years Ialways felt; but, when she began to feel it, she was right in breakingwith me. It is better that it should come now than later on."
Mrs. Temple was thoroughly puzzled by Throckmorton. She could not makeout his quiet acquiescence in Jacqueline's decision--it was so unlikehis usual vigorous way of overcoming obstacles. But, before he left,Freke had reappeared, and the dreadful truth had come to him and toThrockmorton and to Judith that, after all, according to the statutes ofVirginia, he was not at liberty to marry again. Dreadful it was toFreke, who, light-minded and evil as he was, had really believed himselffree, and whose implied doubt to Jacqueline was merely for the purposeof frightening her into submission. Freke went up to Richmond one dayand returned the next. Half an hour's interview each with half a dozenlawyers had settled a hypothetical case that covered Freke's exactly:not all the clerks and licenses and ceremonies in Virginia could makehis marriage to anybody good as it stood. It was true that there was anexcellent chance that in the course of time various defects in thesomewhat informal divorce proceedings that Freke had really thoughtsufficient might be remedied, and he would be a free man; but, for thepresent, he certainly was not.
Freke, who had thought his courage impeccable, found it failed him whenhe met Judith, for the first and last time, to settle upon the bestcourse to pursue. Judith had Throckmorton's advice and assistance toback her up. Freke positively cowered under her gaze. It was settledthat he was to go to the Northwest immediately, and devote all hisenergies to straightening out the strange tangle in which he had lefthis matrimonial affairs there; and, when it was settled, he was toreturn to Virginia, and then let Jacqueline decide what was to be done.He swore--and swore so that Judith believed him--that he thought himselfa free man, and only despised the narrowness of people who believedthere was no such thing as divorce. Why he should have fallen in lovewith Jacqueline did not puzzle Judith: had she not, with thoseirresistible glances of hers, ensnared a much stronger man? But onething was decided as much by Jacqueline's agony of fear as anythingelse: nothing was to be said about the terrible complication to Generaland Mrs. Temple. Mrs. Steptoe's answer to Judith's letter gave a promisethat nothing should be said about Jacqueline's non-appearance; and thatremoved any immediate danger of discovery. And, in a little while, bothFreke and Throckmorton were gone--Freke, to move heaven and earth to gethis divorce in proper shape; and Throckmorton, merely to be out of theway, and as far out of the way as possible.
To Judith it seemed as if the world were coming to an end. How a thingso dreadful, so unlike anything she had ever known before, could happenin their quiet lives, seemed more and more extraordinary. Here wasJacqueline--last year a child in heart, and now the first person in atragedy. Never had she anything to conceal before; and now, with themost perfect art and premeditation, she was concealing, every day andhour, something that would be even more overwhelming to her father andmother than Beverley's death, and would convulse the little world inwhich they lived. As for the innumerable chances that it might be foundout any day, Judith was abnormally alive to them. Every morning, whenshe went down-stairs, she half expected that the disclosure would come;every night she thanked Heaven it had been postponed a day.
Meanwhile Jacqueline, lying in her great four-poster, progressed slowlybut gradually toward recovery. One night she called Judith to thebedside. She was fast getting well then.
"Judith," she said, "you know what queer notions I take? Well, I havebeen lying here thinking, thinking, perhaps you won't be able to keepthe whole county from knowing about--"
The haunting fear of this never left Judith, but she could not but tryand comfort Jacqueline.
"We will try--O Jacqueline, we will try!"
"And do you know it has troubled me even more than losing Freke; for Ifeel he is lost to me, even if he were to come to-morrow morning and sayhe was a free man; the fear that when I get well I shall be avoided; thepeople will leave me alone at church, and the county people will stopvisiting us. That would indeed kill me."
"Dear child, we will hope and pray. I believe it would kill me too."
Jacqueline at this worked herself up into such a violent fit of weepingthat Judith was frightened into giving her a great many more assurancesof safety than her own anxious heart believed, but Jacqueline at lastwas quieted. In both of them, so widely unlike, was that profoundrespect for their neighbors, characteristic of simple and provincialsouls. They knew no other world but that little neighborhood aroundSevern church, and its opinion was life or death.
But it troubled Judith that by degrees visitors began to fall off andinquiries ceased for Jacqueline. The temper and habit of the people weresuch that Judith knew Jacqueline could never hope for any forgiveness ifthat week's journey should be known. Jacqueline too, although she wasentirely silent afterward upon the subject, was thinking and dreadingand fearing. It was the custom for many kindly and neighborly visits tobe paid the sick, many flowers and delicacies to be sent
them; but aftera while Jacqueline ceased to have either flowers or visitors. She wasnearly well, though, or at least she protested that she was. But,although Jacqueline declared to Judith that, if Freke were legally freeto-morrow, she would not marry him as long as that other woman lived, itwas plain that he had completely captivated her imagination. She lovedhim in her own wild, unreasoning way. Judith was hourly amazed at thesudden self-control, finesse, the power to deceive, that Jacquelinedeveloped regarding him. Usually her composure was perfect, but once inher own room, Jacqueline threw herself on the rug before the fire andwept and sobbed so that Judith was seriously alarmed. But, still tryingto keep the burden from the unconscious father and mother, she remainedwith Jacqueline until a calm had come after the storm.
"I love him! I love him!" was all Jacqueline would say, and Judithbelieved her.
"You told me how I ought to love Throckmorton," she said that night,with a melancholy smile; "it is exactly how I love Freke. Don't look atme in that indignant way, Judith. It is not my fault."
Jack Throckmorton had remained at Millenbeck when his father left.Throckmorton had briefly announced to him that the wedding was off. Jackcame at last to see them, looking very sheepish. Judith suspected thathe came in obedience to Throckmorton's wishes. But Jacqueline at onceslipped back into her old friendly way, if a little less gay andthoughtless than before. Jack sent her flowers, and would have broughthis dog-cart over every day to take her to drive, so much touched was heby Jacqueline's illness, but Judith would not let him. Nevertheless, hewas in and out of the house very much as he had been ever since thatfirst night he was there. Judith, who had come to love him for hissweet, bright, boyish nature, he felt was his friend, as indeedeverybody at Barn Elms was. The whole affair was intensely puzzling toJack. He dared not show Throckmorton the awkward sympathy that he wasstruggling first to express and then to repress; but Jacqueline wasyoung and ill, and had few pleasures, and he had once been a little goneon her, so it seemed the most natural thing in the world that he shouldbe kind to her.
There were mysterious hints, though, flying about the county regardingJacqueline's affairs. Mrs. Sherrard was dying with curiosity, and mademany visits to Barn Elms for the purpose of gratifying it. But she soonfound out that, beyond knowing that Jacqueline had tired of herengagement and had thrown Throckmorton over, neither General nor Mrs.Temple knew anything to communicate. About this time, too, theparty-giving fever, which was never long in abeyance with Mrs. Sherrard,seized her. A party she must give. General Temple brought a note to thateffect, coupled with a request for Mrs. Temple's salad-bowls and ladles,one day from the post-office. Jacqueline, who had been out-of-doorsseveral times and had quite given up her invalidism, showed the keenestand the most unexpected delight when she heard of the party. She jumpedup and down, clapped her hands, and began to dance.
"Oh, how glad I am! It has been so stupid lately. I do want to danceagain dreadfully. How I wish I could go to a ball every night in theweek!"
Judith was surprised at Jacqueline's eagerness about the party. Mrs.Temple had first said decidedly that Jacqueline should not go, at whichJacqueline threw her hands up to her face and burst into such a passionof stormy weeping that Mrs. Temple was completely puzzled, and so wasJudith.
"But, my child, you are not strong enough!"
"I am!--I am!" cried Jacqueline. "I will ask Dr. Wortley if I can't goto the party. I am sure I will cry myself ill if I don't go; and I am sowell and strong."
Mrs. Temple, who had got a little indulgent to Jacqueline since herillness, agreed to leave it to Dr. Wortley. The next time he came overto pay a friendly visit, Jacqueline took him off to herself, and cameback triumphant. Dr. Wortley had agreed. The old doctor had a queer lookin his face.
"I consented, madam," he said to Mrs. Temple, "because this young ladypromised me that she would make herself ill if she did not go; and Ihave known young women to keep that promise. She has given me her wordshe will be very prudent--will not overexert herself; and Mrs. Beverleyis to watch her."
"And I'll come home the instant Judith proposes it!" cried Jacqueline.
Mrs. Temple finally agreed, upon condition that the weather was fit.For some days before the party it threatened to be very unfit. Darkclouds overhung the sky, and a biting March wind swept over the barefields and through the somber aspens and Lombardy poplars, as yetleafless and wintry, around the house. Jacqueline seemed to have but oneidea in her head, and that was the party. She haunted the windows wherethe cutting wind came in through the open chinks and crannies, untilJudith warned her that she would soon begin to cough again, and worse,if she did not take care of herself. She pestered Simon Peter withasking for weather signs. When the morning broke, cloudy and overcast,Jacqueline was almost in despair; she could eat no breakfast, but sat atthe table watching the clouds. Presently the sun came out upon thedreary landscape, and the sun in Jacqueline's eyes came out too. Fromthe deepest gloom she passed to the wildest gayety. Her eyes shone; andtaking little Beverley into the great, empty drawing-room, she waltzedaround with him, singing and capering about until the boy, like herself,was in a gale of good humor. Judith had never ceased being puzzled byit. Still another obstacle, though, seemed to arise in Jacqueline'spath. General Temple had a suspicion of gout, and declared that theparty was out of the question for him. At this, Jacqueline looked sopale and disappointed that even Mrs. Temple's heart melted toward her.
"But I can take care of Jacqueline, mother," said Judith; "we are safe,you know, with Simon Peter on the box, and we will come home beforetwelve o'clock."
Mrs. Temple consented, and for the second time that day Jacqueline'sspirits rose. Toward twilight, when the fires had been lighted in theirrooms for the two girls to dress, for early hours prevail in thecountry, Judith went into Jacqueline's room. Jacqueline was twisting upher beautiful blonde hair into a knot on top of her head, takinginfinite pains; her eyes were shining, her whole air one of quickexpectancy.
"Why are you so anxious about this party, Jacqueline?" asked Judith, towhose lips the question had often risen during the last week.
"Wait a moment and I will tell you," replied Jacqueline, still intent onher hair.
Judith waited until the last tress was in place, and Jacqueline cameover to the fireplace.
"Because--because, Judith, I have a feeling--I don't know where it comesfrom--that everybody knows about--" She stopped and cast down her eyesin a troubled way, but without blushing. "And I thought if I went tothis party I would be convinced that it was all a mistake. I know it isvery silly, but it has kept me awake at night ever since I was firstill, thinking how the people would eye me at church. You know how sickpeople take up those fancies. Well, I am determined to prove to myselfit isn't so. Jack Throckmorton won't be at the party, but I shall nodoubt have a plenty of partners, and this horrible feeling--that I amdisgraced in some way--will leave me; I am sure it will. You knowmamma's way of treating these notions. 'Just give your secret fears anairing, and see how they will disappear,' that's what I mean to do. Likeghosts, they vanish when you speak to them and try to handle them, andthen you are rid of them for good."
Judith said not a word. The same horrible fear had been with her. Frekeand Throckmorton were safe--General and Mrs. Temple suspectednothing--it made her sick at heart as she thought about the newstraveling over the county.
When Jacqueline was dressed in the same white frock she had worn theevening she had captivated Throckmorton, she preened like a youngpeacock before the admiring eyes of Delilah and Simon Peter. She whirledround on her toes like a ballet-dancer. She courtesied to the ground,showing them how she would do at the party. She walked away from thelittle glass on her dressing-table, arching her neck and fluttering herfan.
"I allus did say Marse George Throckmorton wuz too ole fur little MissJacky," Simon Peter remarked to Delilah, after the performance. Delilah,who was bound to differ with Simon Peter, promptly took issue.
"Marse George, he ain' ole, he jes' in he prime. Dat's de way wid youwuffl
ess niggers--call a man ole in he prime."
"But whar' _he_ gwi' be, when she in her prime? You heah me, 'oman?"
Delilah, for once, had no answer to make. The reflection had occurred toher.
As Judith and Jacqueline were jolted along the road, in the darkness,toward Turkey Thicket, both of them were reminded of that other partythere, when Throckmorton had been present. Neither of them saidanything, though. Judith, as she watched the shadowy trees slip past,began to think how strangely things had gone with her since then. Almostfrom that time she had felt a steady and ceaseless pain associated withThrockmorton. She then suffered, she thought, with him, and for him,although not one word had come from him since he had left the county, amonth ago. Where was he? What was he doing at that very moment? Then shetried to fancy how it would have been with her had she seen daily beforeher Throckmorton and Jacqueline's married happiness. The sight of itwould have been intolerable to her. "And nobody in the world suspects meof being the most impressionable, emotional, jealous, and miserablewoman on earth," she thought to herself.
Jacqueline sat back in the carriage, occasionally speculating on whowould be at the party, and how often she might dance without breakingDr. Wortley's orders.
When they drove up to the door and got out, Jacqueline ran lightly upthe steps, like her old self. Judith followed her. In Mrs. Sherrard'sown comfortable old-fashioned room, where the ladies' wraps wereremoved, a number of girls about Jacqueline's age were laughing,chattering, getting their wraps off and their slippers on. Jacquelineran up to them, and was about to join their circle; but by a slight,indescribable motion, they all drew back. It was a mere gesture, but itfroze Jacqueline as she stood. She turned a frightened, piteous glanceon Judith, who, with a flushed face, walked straight up to the littlegroup.
"How do you do?" she said, calling each one by name, and holding out herhand. If there were any cloud upon the Temple family, she would forcethem to come out boldly and define it. Her fine nostrils dilated withanger--for not only was it her duty to stand by Jacqueline, but was notshe, Judith, a Temple, too? And Judith had one of those proud andself-respecting souls to whom everything and everybody closely connectedwith her was due a certain deference. Something in her eye and mannercommanded civility--then her greetings were answered even more cordiallythan she had given them.
But there was still an ominous change toward Jacqueline. The color hadall dropped out of her face, and she had not recovered the plumpness shehad lost during her illness. She looked nearer ugly than at any time inher whole life.
Judith was soon ready to go down-stairs. She no longer wore blackdresses, but white ones. They were as severely simple as the black ones,though. She turned with Jacqueline following her, and went slowly outthe door, and down the broad, old-fashioned stairs. In the large,uncarpeted hall, dancing was going on. As Judith, tall and stately inher white dress, holding gracefully a large white fan in her hands,passed through the hall, she was greeted with the hearty kindness shehad always met with; but Jacqueline at her side, who was wont to run thegantlet of laughter and jokes and merry salutations, was met with astrange and distant politeness that blanched her face, and brought aglitter to Judith's usually soft eyes. She could have borne it betterfor herself; but for this unthinking child--this young creatureThrockmorton loved--it was too much.
Mrs. Sherrard, with her diamond comb shining in her gray hair, andlooking as she always did superbly dressed, without anything splendidabout her, received them. In her there was no change. She met Jacquelinejust as she always did.
"Why, little Jacky," she cried, "how glad I am to see you out again!You must let me see your little feet tripping about as if you had neverbeen ill."
Jacqueline responded with a faint smile. Suppose she should not be askedto dance?
Judith, taking in at once this universal shyness shown towardJacqueline, did not move from her side. People came up and spoke to themcivilly enough, but chiefly the older people. Out in the hall beyond,the black fiddlers were scraping, and Jacqueline could see a largequadrille forming. But no partner appeared for her. Until the very lastshe hoped desperately. Never before had Jacqueline, in the few partiesshe had been to in her short life, failed to be asked to dance--shewas so pretty, so undeniably captivating. She turned two despairingdark eyes and two pale cheeks on Judith. It was indeed cruel andheart-breaking. Jacqueline's evident anguish almost took away Judith'sself-possession.
"Perhaps you will have better luck next time, dear," she whispered.
"No," replied Jacqueline, trembling, "I feel it. I know what it means.They all know it. Heavens! what do they think I am?"
The quadrille was soon over, but the time seemed interminable to Judithand Jacqueline. Some of the dancers, flushed and excited, were walkingaround the hall, while others, more indefatigable, whirled around in awaltz. It was all quite plain to Jacqueline, watching them with strangeand miserable eyes. Was she then barred out forever from those people,and all for Freke, while even the happiness of being with him was deniedher? Mrs. Sherrard, seeing Jacqueline sitting so still and quiet byJudith, came over to them.
"My dear, I see you are not dancing; shall I get you a partner?"
Mrs. Sherrard's sharp eyes saw something was amiss.
"No, please, Mrs. Sherrard," cried Jacqueline, in an eager voice. "Ipromised Dr. Wortley not to dance much; perhaps I will dance a littleafter a while."
But she did not. Nobody came near her to ask her; and even to Judith itwas plain that people avoided them both. Most of the county people theyknew came up and talked a little, but there was a changed atmospherearound them. Judith looked wonderingly at these people. In all the yearsthey had lived in that county there had been nothing but neighborlykindness, good-will, and friendliness; and now, not one among them,seemed to feel the slightest spark of pity or charity for Jacqueline.They had all condemned her unheard. What version of the story had gotabroad, she could not tell; but it was enough to blast the friendshipof generations.
It was getting on, hour after hour.
"Shall we go home, Jacqueline?" whispered Judith.
"Not yet--not yet!" Jacqueline would answer, with trembling lips. Shekept on hoping against hope. By that time everybody in the rooms hadseen it all, except Mrs. Sherrard. She supposed she had done her best,coming up and talking to them incessantly; but, Jacqueline havingrefused a partner when offered one, Mrs. Sherrard naturally supposed shedid not dance from preference, and accepted the idea that Dr. Wortleywas responsible. It was past midnight before Jacqueline would agree togo. Judith, as stately, if paler and haughtier than ever in her life,went up to Mrs. Sherrard, made her farewells, and walked the wholelength of the rooms, holding Jacqueline's hand. The poor child tried tohold her head up, inspired by Judith's courage, but it drooped, and shecould not raise her eyes from the floor. A slight thrill of remorseseemed to come over those who saw her, at the piteous sight; but it wasnow too late. Jacqueline only longed to escape.
The instant they were in the carriage and alone, Jacqueline threw herarms around Judith and began to weep and sob desperately. Judith couldonly hold her to her heart and say: "Never mind, Jacqueline; if all theworld should be against you, I would not be--nor Throckmorton."
But Jacqueline did not cease to sob and weep with a sort of despairthat struck a chill to Judith's heart. She had never seen anybody weepso. When they reached home, Judith got her up-stairs to her room andundressed her, taking off the little chain around her neck that held thepearl pendant Jacqueline only wore on great occasions, uncurling thebright hair she had dressed so carefully, and laying away the simplewhite dress--Jacqueline's only ball-dress--that she had admired herselfin so much. Jacqueline submitted, still sobbing a continual sob, thatshowed no signs of abatement. Judith put her in bed, turned out thelamp, and kissing her affectionately went out, thinking Jacqueline wouldsoon cry herself to sleep.
An hour afterward Judith, who had keen hearing, fancied she heard asound from Jacqueline's room. She went in softly. In the ghastly lightthat came th
rough the closed shutters she saw Jacqueline sitting up inthe great, white bed, still weeping.
"My darling," said Judith, taking the girl in her arms, "you will beill!"
"Ill!" cried Jacqueline; "I am ill now--so ill, I never shall be wellagain! Judith, I can't live under this. I am going to die; and I am gladof it."
"Hush, hush! what nonsense are you talking?"
"Nonsense or not, those wicked people will see that they have killedme!"
Judith did not leave her any more, nor did Jacqueline sleep one moment,or cease her weeping. She held Judith tightly about the neck, and herwarm tears dropped incessantly. Toward daylight Judith began to bealarmed. But nothing was to be done. It would simply break the hearts ofthe unconscious father and mother if they knew what had happened, and ifshe roused them they must know. Judith went to her own room and broughtback some brandy, which she forced Jacqueline to take. In a little whileit began to show its effect. Jacqueline stopped sobbing, and lay in thegreat dawn, with her face white and drawn and tear-stained. Judith,again hoping she might sleep, left her.
All that day Jacqueline lay in her bed dumb and motionless. Judith saidthe child was tired after the ball; perhaps she would get up later on.Mrs. Temple, supposing she was resting after her dissipation, did not goup to see her in the morning. In the afternoon, as Jacqueline showed nosigns of getting up, Mrs. Temple went up to her. One look at her pallidface, and Mrs. Temple, calm and self-possessed as she usually was,almost shrieked, Jacqueline was so changed.
"Tell your master to come here at once!" she cried to Delilah.
General Temple came up-stairs, hurried and flurried, and felt forJacqueline's pulse, but could detect no beating. And then Delilahowned up:
"Dat ar chile ain' tech a mou'ful dis day. I bring her up nice hotbreakfus', an' she jes' tu'n her face ter de wall an' say, 'Go 'long,mammy, I c'yarn eat.' Now, huccome she c'yarn eat?"
"My daughter, what is the matter with you?" asked Mrs. Temple,anxiously.
Of late this half-forgotten child had been steadily forcing herself uponMrs. Temple's notice.
"Nothing," answered Jacqueline, quietly.
But Jacqueline would not eat anything to speak of. In vain Mrs. Templecommanded, General Temple prayed her; Judith also pleaded with her, andDelilah--even little Beverley, climbing on the bed, said:
"Jacky, won't you eat a piece o' mammy's ash-cake if she bake it foryou?"
Jacqueline smiled a faint smile that made Judith almost weep.
"I can't, dear," she said.
It was impossible to force her to eat, and the next morning Dr. Wortleywas sent for. He came up in his cheery way; he had heard something ofthe Turkey Thicket party, but he would say no word to the anxious fatherand mother. He talked cheerfully to Jacqueline, without assuming todoctor her, and called her attention to the beautiful spring weather. Itwas March, but the air was as mild as April.
"All my hyacinths and jonquils are out," he said. "There is a bed in mygarden that is protected on the north by a hedge and an arbor, andeverything in that bed is a week ahead of the rest of the neighborhood.I will bring you everything that is blooming there to-morrow. By theway, what would you fancy to eat, Jacky?"
"I can't eat anything," replied Jacqueline, with quiet obstinacy.
Next day Dr. Wortley came again, with a great bunch of hyacinths andjonquils, and laid them on Jacqueline's bed. Her large and lusterlesseyes gazed at them with indifference. Usually they danced with delightat the sight of flowers. Delilah put a spray of pink hyacinths in herhand.
"Doan' you 'member, honey, how you useter like dese heah hy'cints, an'plague yo' mammy when you wuz little ter plant 'em fur you?"
"Yes, I remember," said Jacqueline, calmly.
Judith and Mrs. Temple were present. Dr. Wortley said nothing aboutJacqueline's refusing to eat, but talked away, telling all theneighborhood gossip. Then, in a careless way, he felt for Jacqueline'spulse and listened to the beating of her heart. Both were so faint thatDr. Wortley's eyes became grave. After he left the room, he beckoned toMrs. Temple to follow him. Delilah came, too.
"Marse Doctor, she ain' tech nuttin' but a leetle bit o' toast an' teasince yistiddy, an' it wan' 'nough to keep a bird 'live, let 'lone ahuman."
Dr. Wortley wheeled round on his old enemy and snapped out:
"If you'll just use some of your persuasive eloquence and stuff her upwith jellies and custards as you do your master when he ought to beliving on tea and toast, she'll be all right."
Delilah flounced back into Jacqueline's room, her head-handkerchiefbobbing about angrily. Mrs. Temple being present, she could notretaliate on Dr. Wortley.
"But, doctor," said Mrs. Temple, trembling strangely, "this is so unlikeJacqueline. I don't know what has been the matter with her lately. Sheisn't grieving for Throckmorton, but something is on her mind, thatis--that is--"
The doctor waited, thinking Mrs. Temple would finish what she wassaying. But she did not. This was, indeed, unlike Jacqueline--unlike anyinstance Dr. Wortley, in his simple experience, had ever known.
"Let her alone for a few days," he said. "We will see."
At the end of a few days Jacqueline had indeed consented to take enoughfood to keep life in her, but she had lost ground frightfully. Herround, girlish face was sharp and pinched.
Judith tried persuasion, to which Jacqueline responded, "How can I eatanything, when all night long I cry and cry, thinking of thehard-hearted people who--"
Then she stopped suddenly.
"Mise Judy," said Delilah, after a while, "I lay on de pallet by debaid, an' all night long I heah her cryin', jes' cryin' quiet--she doan'make no noise. I say: 'What de matter, honey? Tell yo' ole mammy datnuss you?' an' she make 'tense den she 'sleep. But I know she ain''sleep--she jest distrusted at de way dem folks treat her at thatungordly party at Tuckey Thicket."
General and Mrs. Temple were anxious about Jacqueline, but by no meansdespairing. Neither of them thought that anybody could die withouthaving anything ostensibly the matter. Judith, on the contrary, thoughtthis the most alarming thing about Jacqueline. There she lay, steadilylosing her hold on life, without any reason in the world that she shouldnot be up and about--except, indeed, that sickness of the soul whichsaps the very foundations of life. This fear that Jacqueline wasslipping away from them impelled her to write Throckmorton a fewlines--guarded, but without disguising anything.
Meanwhile, the day that was to have been the wedding-day had come andgone. Jacqueline had not noticed it--she seemed to notice nothing inthose days--but toward noon she said to Judith:
"I want to see my wedding-dress--to see if it is quite ruined."
Judith, without protesting, went and got it. She spread it out on thebed. It was rich and white and soft, and was beautiful with Judith'shandiwork; but it was bloodstained in many places.
"That blood, I think, came from my heart," said Jacqueline; her eyeswere soft and luminous. "I've been thinking about Throckmorton in thelast two or three days--for the first time. I have been so busy with myown sorrow and Freke's that I haven't had time to think about anythingelse. Now, though, I want to see him--if he can get here in time."
"He will soon be here," answered Judith, folding up the dress. "I wrotehim four days ago."
"That is so like you! None of the others know what I want, or will letme have my own way, but you."
And that very day Freke appeared.
The hatred that Judith had always felt for him was now intensified intoa horror of him--he was the murderer of the poor child lying on herdeath-bed up-stairs--and she had thought her heart so hard toward himthat nothing could soften it; but, strange as it might seem, she didsoften toward him when she saw how acute was his misery.
Remorse was new to him. He had rather gloried in going against theantique notions and prejudices of the people in that shut-in, provincialplace; but that anything tragic could come of it never really dawnedupon him until he saw the terrible consequences before his eyes. He was,indeed, a free man, legally, when
he came back; but the moral law, thesocial prejudice, stood like an everlasting wall between him andJacqueline. Moreover, there could be no talk of marriage with Jacquelinethen--she was the bride of death!
Judith herself told him this. Whether Jacqueline had ever had any deephold upon him or not, there was no doubt of the sincerity of his griefand his remorse. He said but little, but one look at his changed andagitated face was enough. He asked to see her--a request Judith couldnot refuse. But the sight of him threw Jacqueline into such a paroxysmof agitation, that Judith almost forced him from the room. There wassomething a little mysterious about the whole thing, to General andMrs. Temple, but mercifully they suspected nothing of the real state ofaffairs. After one more attempt to see Jacqueline, and the extremeagitation into which it threw her, it became plain that it could not berepeated. Jacqueline herself begged that she might not see him.
"Not that I don't love him--don't think that for a moment, Judith!" shecried; "but the sight of him nearly kills me. Then I am sorry that I amgoing to die--I am so sorry for myself that I feel as if I should crymyself into convulsions."
Judith tried gently to check this sort of talk, but Jacqueline, with ashadowy smile, laughed at her.
"Don't be silly, Judith--_you_ know how it is. All that I hope is, thatthose hard-hearted people will be sorry when they have killed me withtheir cruelty."
Freke, still coming every day, walked about the lower floor dismally.Jacqueline, whose senses became preternaturally sharp, soon recognizedhis footsteps. Even that unnerved her. Judith told him so kindly, andafterward he would sit motionless before the dining-room fire, alwaysturning his head away from Jacqueline's little chair. Like Judith, hewas clear-sighted about her. Of them all, General and Mrs. Temple werethe only ones who would not or could not see that Jacqueline would soonbe gone. Mrs. Temple had never seen anybody die without being ill, andcould not believe that Jacqueline, who suffered no pain, should go. Shehad been in truth much frightened at the time of Jacqueline's illness;but, now, there was nothing to prevent her getting well except--except--
"That she is determined to die," Dr. Wortley inwardly remarked when Mrs.Temple talked to him in this way.
Jacqueline began to show a strange eagerness for Throckmorton's arrival.He was somewhere in the Northwest; but Jack, acting on his ownresponsibility, telegraphed his father, and put him on the track ofJudith's letter.
The news of Jacqueline's illness had got abroad in the county, andsomething like remorse was felt by many who had seen her at the TurkeyThicket party. By degrees the impression that she was indeed in a badway became general.
If Judith and Jacqueline had never loved Jack Throckmorton before, theywould have loved him then. The sweetness, tenderness, and gentleness ofthe boy came out every day. There had always been an affinity betweenJacqueline and him, and, as other ties weakened, this seemed to growstronger. He never tired or bored or agitated her. Regularly he cametwice a day, with flowers, or game, or with a new book. Dr. Wortleyencouraged Jacqueline to see him, as it was plainly through her mindthat her body must be cured. So every day Mrs. Temple or Judith wouldtake Jack up to Jacqueline's room, and he would sit down by the bed andtell her his droll stories. Sometimes the ghost of a laugh would comefrom Jacqueline, and when, at parting, Jack would stand over her,holding her hand and saying, "Miss Jacky, I swear this is not to bestood for another day!--I'm coming over to-morrow to take you to drive!"Jacqueline would almost laugh aloud. Jack never mentioned Throckmortonto her, though; but one day, when he had brought her a great bunch ofviolets and narcissus, which had actually brought a little color toJacqueline's cheeks, and had induced her to eat a piece of bread aboutas big as a silver dollar, he turned to Judith as he got out of theroom: "The major is coming," he said, with an altogether different lookin his handsome, boyish face. "I got a dispatch from him to-day. If hemakes connections, he can be here by day after to-morrow."
"How glad I am--and how glad Jacqueline will be!" answered Judith.
For the first time, that day Judith had begun to hope that Jacquelinewould get well. She had certainly brightened, and this strange interestin Throckmorton's arrival was encouraging. Perhaps, after all, she caredfor him more than she thought--and if he came--
Till that day Jacqueline seemed to be brighter and better. The next daythe weather turned suddenly cold and blustering, with violent gusts ofsnow and sleet. Jacqueline, who could see out of the window from herbed, seemed singularly depressed by the weather, although the pleasant,old-fashioned room was a nest of warmth and comfort.
Delilah sat in the great rush-bottomed chair by the sparkling fire,knitting, while Judith, with some work in her lap, sat close by the bed,and occasionally talked hopefully to Jacqueline.
"How sad it is!" presently said Jacqueline; "the peach-trees are all inbloom, and the buds will be killed by this snow--and the littlehyacinths that are just coming up--all the young growing things will dieto-day."
"Not the plants, dear--only the blossoms," replied Judith, cheerfully."In a week they will have forgotten all about this snow."
"It is very sad," sighed Jacqueline.
All day Jacqueline seemed affected by the weather. Barn Elms, never acheerful place at any time, was apt to be funereal when winter blastsswept the branches of the melancholy poplars and elms against the sidesof the house, and when the wind howled amid the loosely built chimneys.A blackbird had begun building her nest in the tree nearest Jacqueline'swindow; and often, during the long days when she had lain in her bed,she had watched the bird flying and fluttering back and forth. The wind,which raged fitfully, came on stronger toward the afternoon. It lashedthe still bare branches of the trees, beating them frantically about.The nest soon went. The poor bird, flying wildly around the place whereit had been, was suddenly caught by a swaying branch, and, numbed withthe cold, was dashed against the window. Jacqueline almost shrieked.Judith ran down-stairs, and out bareheaded in the sleet and snow, andfound the bird--but it was already dead. When she went back, Jacquelinewas crying.
"See how it is, Judith--everything that is young and weak will die inthis weather."
A book lay on the bed beside Jacqueline--Jack Throckmorton had broughtit over to her a day or two before. Jacqueline, laboriously--for she wasvery weak--turned over the pages and showed a paragraph to Judith:
"And the fire is lighted and the hall warmed, and it rains and it snowsand it storms without. Then cometh in a sparrow and flieth about thehall. It cometh in at one door and goeth out at another. While it iswithin, it is not touched with the winter storm. _But that is only for amoment, only for the least space._"
Judith thought that Jacqueline, in her simplicity, had taken itliterally; but she had not.
"Once, Throckmorton read some in this book to me. He said that meanthuman life--that little moment. Why can't people let other people becomfortable in that least space, instead of--of--killing them as--beingso unkind to them?" Jacqueline stopped. Her mind was ever working onthat deep resentment against her county people. "And Throckmorton, too,"she continued, after a pause, "you know, Judith, how noble he is--andsee how they have treated him!"
"My dearest," answered Judith, "you don't understand. These people arereally kind and tender-hearted; but they move very slowly--and theyhave queer prejudices--notions--that they will die with, and die for, Ithink; but don't think about that--think about getting well, and runningabout again with Beverley. You ought to see him, trotting arounddown-stairs, saying: 'Where is my Jacky? I want my Jacky.' He was sonaughty to-day that Delilah threatened to whip him, and even mother hadto take a stand against him. He is getting thoroughly spoiled while I amup here with you."
Jacqueline smiled slightly, but soon returned to watching the gloomy daywithout. At twilight she would not have the shutters closed, but laystriving to catch the last fading glimpses of the somber daylight.Judith began to feel an intense longing for Throckmorton to come.Jacqueline, too, who had been so strangely forgetful and neglectful ofThrockmorton until lately, had asked a dozen tim
es that day, when it waspossible for him to get there, and what if he should miss the boat, andmany other questions. About seven o'clock Judith went down to tea,leaving Delilah with Jacqueline.
Delilah, sitting up black and solemn, listened to Jacqueline's faint andsorrowful talk.
"Doan' you fret, honey, 'bout dem blackbirds, an' dem peach-blossoms,an' dem little lambs out in de cold. De Lord gwi' teck keer on 'em. Hegwi' meck de sun ter shine, an' de win' ter blow; an' He gwi' down inde rain an' de gloomerin' fur ter fin' de po' los' sheep. He ain' gwi'lef 'em out d'yar ter deyselves. He gwi' tote 'em home outen' de rainan' de darkness."
"Do you think so, mammy?"
"I knows hit, chile."
Down-stairs, General and Mrs. Temple, with little Beverley and Judith,were all that were present around the table. Not yet even had Mrs.Temple begun to be alarmed about Jacqueline, who had not had a pain oran ache.
Jacqueline's vacant chair struck Judith more painfully than usual.Scarcely had she taken her place at the table, when she saw Delilah peerin at the door, a queer, ashy tinge over her black face. Judith rose andwent out quietly, Mrs. Temple looking surprised, but saying nothing.Judith, Mrs. Temple thought, coddled Jacqueline rather too much for herown good, so Kitty Sherrard and Dr. Wortley both said.
"Miss Judy," whispered Delilah, "Miss Jacky is a-gwine--she done starton de road--"
Judith, without a word, flew up-stairs. Jacqueline lay, scarcelybreathing, her face perfectly white, her dark and beautiful eyes wideopen. Judith raised her up, Jacqueline protesting feebly.
"Judith, it is come! I feel it. I am not at all frightened. It was thosecruel people at Mrs. Sherrard's party--"
"Don't--don't say that, Jacqueline! You are only a little faint anddiscouraged. Here is Delilah coming."
"Tell Throckmorton I tried to live until he came, but my breath won'thold out any longer, and my heart has scarcely beat at all for a week,it seems to me."
Judith made a sign to Delilah to go for Mrs. Temple. Scarcely was sheout of the room, before Jacqueline's head fell back on Judith'sshoulder. Judith, brave as she was, began to tremble and to weep.
"I did so want to see Throckmorton, to tell him something. I wanted tosay to him--Judith--"
Mrs. Temple came in swiftly, followed by the general. Jacqueline hadstrength enough left to hold out a thin little hand. A smile likemoonlight passed over her face. She gasped once, and all was over.
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