CHAPTER IV
The weeks went on, and James led the same life with practically novariation. The sense of a mystery or mysteries about the house neverleft him, and it irritated him. He was not curious; he did not in theleast care to know in what the mystery consisted, but the fact ofconcealment itself was obnoxious to him. As for himself, he neverconcealed anything, and when it came to mystery, he had a vague idea ofsomething shameful, if not criminal. Doctor Gordon's incomprehensiblechanges of mood, of almost more than mood, of character even, disturbedhim. Why a man should be one hour a country buffoon, the next anabsorbed gentleman, he could not understand. And he could not understandalso why Clemency had never left the house since he had met her on theday of his arrival. She evidently was herself angry and sulky at beinghoused, but she did not attempt to resist, and whenever Mrs. Ewingexpressed anxiety about her health, she laughed it off, and made someexcuse, such as the badness of the roads, or some Christmas work whichshe was anxious to finish. However, at last Mrs. Ewing's concern grew soevident that Doctor Gordon at dinner one day gave what seemed aplausible reason for Clemency remaining indoors. "If you will have it,Clara," he said, "Clemency has a slight pain in her side, and pleurisyand pneumonia are all about, and I told her that she had better take nochances, and the weather has been raw."
Mrs. Ewing turned quite white. "Oh, Tom," she murmured, "why didn't youtell me?"
"I did not tell you, Clara dear, because you would immediately have hadthe child in a galloping consumption, and it is really nothing at all. Ionly want to be on the safe side."
"It is a very little pain, mother dear," said Clemency. When Clemencyspoke to Mrs. Ewing, her voice had a singing quality. At such times,although the young man's very soul was possessed of the mother, he couldnot help viewing the daughter with favor. But he was puzzled about thepleurisy. The girl seemed to him entirely well, although she was losinga little of her warm color from staying indoors. Still, after all, apain is as invisible as a spirit. Her friend, Annie Lipton, spent a fewdays with her, and then James saw very little of Clemency. The two girlssat together in Clemency's room, and only the Lord of innocence andignorance knew what they talked about. They talked a great deal. James,whenever he was in the house, was conscious of the distant murmur oftheir sweet young voices, although he could not distinguish a word.Annie Lipton was a prettier girl than Clemency, though without herpersonal charm. Her beauty seemed to abash her, and make her indignant.She was a girl who should have been a nun, and viewed love and loversfrom behind iron bars. She treated James with exceeding coolness.
"Annie Lipton is an anomaly," Doctor Gordon remarked once over hisafter-dinner pipe, when they sat in the study listening to the femininemurmur on the other side of the wall. It sounded like the gentle rippleof a summer sea.
"Why?" returned James.
"She defies her sex," replied Doctor Gordon, "and still there is nothingmannish about her. She is a woman angry and ashamed at her womanhood.If she ever marries, it will be at the cost of a terrible mentalstruggle. There are women-haters among men, and there are a very few--sofew as to rank with albinos and white blackbirds in scarcity--man-hatersamong women. Annie is a man-hater."
"She is very pretty, too," said James.
"If you attempt the conquest, I'll warn you there will be scalingladders and all the ancient paraphernalia of siege needed," said DoctorGordon laughingly. James colored.
"It may be that I am a woman-hater," he replied, and looked very young.Doctor Gordon again laughed.
A little later they went to Georgie K.'s. They went nearly every eveningwhile Annie Lipton was with Clemency. After she had left they did not goso often. "It is pretty dull for Clemency," Doctor Gordon would say, andthey would remain at home and play whist with the two ladies. Jamesbegan to be quite sure that Doctor Gordon's visits to Georgie K.'s weremostly made when Mrs. Ewing looked worse than usual and did not eat herdinner. James became convinced in his own mind that Mrs. Ewing was notwell, although he never dared broach the subject again to the doctor,and although it made no difference whatever in his own attitude towardher. As well might he have turned his back upon the Venus, because ofsome slight abrasion which her beautiful body had received from theages.
But one day, having come in unexpectedly alone, he found her on thedivan in the living-room, evidently weeping, and his heart went out toher. He flung himself down on his knees beside her.
"Oh, what is it? What is the matter?" he whispered.
Her whole body was writhing. She uncovered her eyes and looked at himpitifully, and yet with a certain dignity. Those beautiful eyes,brimming with tears, were not reddened, and their gaze was steady. "If Itell you, will you keep my secret?" she whispered back, "or, rather, itis not a secret since Doctor Gordon knows it. I wish he did not, butwill you keep your knowledge from him?"
"I promise you I will," said James fervently.
"I am terribly ill," said Mrs. Ewing simply. "I suffer at timestortures. Don't ask me what the matter is. It is too dreadful, andalthough I have no reason to feel so, it seems to me ignominious. I amashamed of being so ill. I feel disgraced by it, wicked." She coveredher face again and sobbed.
"Don't, don't," said James, out of his senses completely. "Don't, Ican't bear it. I love you so. Don't! I will cure you."
"You cannot. Doctor Gordon does not admit that my case is hopeless, buthe gives no hope, and you must have noticed how he suffers when he seesme suffer. He runs away from me because he can do nothing to help me.That is the worst of it all. I could bear the pain for myself, but forthe others, too! Oh, I wish there was some little back door of life outof which one could slip, and no blame to anybody, in a case like this.But there is nothing but the horrible front door, which means such agonyto everybody who is left, as well as the one that goes." Mrs. Ewing hadcompletely lost control of herself. She sobbed again and moaned.
James covered one of her cold hands with kisses. "Don't, don't," hebegged. "Don't, I love you."
Suddenly Mrs. Ewing came to the comprehension of what he said. Shelooked at his bent head--James had a curly head like a boy's--and astrange look came into her eyes, as if she were regarding him across animmeasurable gulf. Nobody had ever seemed quite so far away in the worldas this boy with his cry of love to the woman old enough to be hismother. It was not the fact of her superior age alone, it was herdisease, it was her sense of being done forever with anything like thisthat gave her, as it were, a view of earth from outside, and yet she hada sense of comfort. James was even weeping. She felt his tears on herhand. It did her good that anybody could love her so little as to beable to stay by and see her suffer, and weep for her, and not rush forthin a rage of misery like Thomas Gordon. In a second, however, she hadcommand of herself. She drew her hand away. "Doctor Elliot," she said,"you forget yourself."
"No, no, I don't," protested James. "It is not as if I--I were thinkingof you in that way. I am not. I know you could not possibly think of meas a girl might. It is only because I love you. I have never seenanybody like you."
"You must put me out of your head," said Mrs. Ewing. "I am old enough tobe your mother; I am ill unto death. You must not love me in any way."
"I cannot help it"
Mrs. Ewing hesitated. "I have a mind to tell you something," she said ina low voice. "Can I rely upon you?"
"I would die before I told, if you said I was not to," cried James.
"It might almost come to that," said the woman gravely. "A very seriousmatter is involved, otherwise there would not be this secrecy. I cannottell you what the matter is, but I can tell you something which willcure you of loving me."
"I don't want to be cured," protested James, "and I have told you it isa love like worship, it is not--"
Mrs. Ewing interrupted him. "The worship of a young man is not to betrusted," she said. "I cannot have you made to suffer. I will tell you,but, remember, if you betray me you will do awful harm. Neither thedoctor nor Clemency even must know that I tell you. The doctor knows, ofcourse, the secret; Clemenc
y does not know, and must never know. Itwould be the undoing of all of us, the terrible undoing, if this were toget out, but I will tell you. You are a good boy, and you shall bespared needless pain. Listen." She leaned forward and whispered close tohis ear. James started back, and stared at her as white as death. Mrs.Ewing smiled. "It hurts a little, I know," she said, "but better thisnow than worse later. You are foolish to feel so about me; you were at adisadvantage in coming here. It is only right that you should know. Nownever speak to me again about this. Think of me as your friend, and yourfriend who is in very great suffering and pain, and have sympathy forme, if you can, but not so much sympathy that you too will suffer. Iwant sympathy, but not agony like poor Tom's. That makes it harder forme."
"Does she know?" asked James, half-gasping.
"You mean does Clemency know I am ill?"
"Yes."
"She knows I am ill. She does not know how terrible it is. You must helpme to keep it from her. I almost never give way when she is present. Iknew she was taking a nap this afternoon, and the pain was so awful. Itis better now. I think I will go to my room and lie down for a while."Mrs. Ewing rose, and extended her hand to James. "I have forgottenalready what you told me," she said.
"I can never forget!"
"You must, or you must go away from here."
"I can never forget, but it shall be a thing of the past," said James.
"That is right," Mrs. Ewing said with a maternal air. "It will only takea little effort. You will see."
She went out of the room with a flounce of red draperies, and leftJames. He sat down beside a window and stared out blankly. The thoughtcame to him, how many avowals of love and deathless devotion such awoman must have listened to. Her manner of receiving his made him thinkthat there had been many. "It is quite proper," he thought to himself."A woman like that is born to be worshiped." Then he thought of what shehad told him, and a sort of rage filled his heart. He recognized thefact that she had been right in her estimation of the worship of a youngman. He is always trying to turn his idol into clay.
The door opened and Clemency entered, but he did not notice it. She cameand sat down in front of him, and looked angrily at him, then for thefirst time he saw her. He rose. "I beg your pardon, I did not hear youcome in," he said.
"Sit down again," said Clemency pettishly. "Don't be silly. I am usedto having young men not see anybody but my mother when she comes into aroom, and it is quite right, too. I don't think there ever was a womanso beautiful as she, do you?"
"No, I don't," replied James.
Clemency eyed him keenly. Then she blushed at the surmise which came toher, and James also blushed at the knowledge of the surmise. "You can'tbe much older than I am. I am twenty-three," said Clemency after awhile. Then the red suffused her very throat.
"I am twenty-three, too," said James. Then he added bluntly, for hebegan to be angry, "A man can think a woman the most beautiful he eversaw without--"
"Oh, I didn't think you were such a fool," said Clemency; then sheadded, in a meek and shamed voice, "I should have been awfully disgustedwith you if you had not thought my mother the most beautiful woman youever saw, and I am used to men not seeing me. I don't want them to. Ithink I feel something as Annie Lipton does about men. She says shefeels as if she wanted to kill every man who looks at her as if heloved her. I think I should, too."
"Miss Lipton has a great many admirers," remarked James by way ofchanging the subject.
"Oh, yes, every young man for miles around, ever since she was grown up.She doesn't like any of them." Clemency looked at James with suddenconcern. "I am going to tell you something," she said, "even if it israther betraying confidence. I think I ought to. Annie told me she hadtaken a great dislike to you, from the very first moment she saw you, soit would be no use--"
"I am sorry," replied James stiffly, "but as I had no particular feelingfor her, except admiration of her beauty, it makes no especialdifference."
"I thought, of course, you would fall in love with her," said Clemency.Then she added, with most inexplicable inverted jealousy, "You must havevery poor taste, or you would. You are the first one."
"Some one has to be first," James said, laughing.
"I don't know but I was horrid to tell you what I did," said Clemency,looking at him doubtfully.
"I don't thing it as horrid for a girl to assume that every man is inlove with her friend as it would be if she assumed something else," saidJames. He knew that his speech was ungallant; but it seemed to him thatthis girl fairly challenged him to rudeness. But she looked at himinnocently.
"Oh, no, I never should think that," said she. "Being with two women sovery beautiful as my mother and Annie so much makes me quite sure thatnobody is thinking of me. It is only sometimes that I feel a little likea piece of furniture, only chairs can't walk into rooms." She ended witha girlish laugh. Then her face suddenly sobered. "Doctor Elliot, I wantyou to tell me something," said she. "Uncle Tom wouldn't if I asked him,and I don't dare ask him anyway. Do you think mother is very well?"
James hesitated. "You ought to tell me," Clemency said imperatively.
"I have thought sometimes that she did not look quite well," said James.
"What do you think the matter is?"
"It may be indigestion."
"Do you think it is?"
"I don't know. Doctor Gordon has told me nothing, and Mrs. Ewing hastold me nothing."
"I thought doctors could tell from a person's looks."
"Not always."
"Doctors aren't much good anyhow," said Clemency. "I don't care if youare one, and Uncle Tom is one. I notice people die just the same. So youthink it is indigestion? Well, it may be. Mother doesn't have muchappetite."
"Yes, I have noticed that," said James.
"Then there is something else I want to ask you," said Clemency. "I havea right to know if you know. What does Uncle Tom make me stay in thehouse so for?"
"I don't know," replied James, looking honestly at her.
"Don't you, honest? Hasn't he told you?"
"No."
"Of course, I know the first of it came from my meeting that man the dayyou came here, but it does seem such utter nonsense that I have to stayhoused this way. I never met a man that frightened me before, and it isnot likely that I shall again. It does not stand to reason that that manis hanging around here waiting to intercept me again. It is nonsense,but Uncle Tom won't let me stir out. He has even ordered me to keep awayfrom the windows, and be sure that the curtains are drawn at night. Idon't know what the matter is. I can't say a word about it to mother,she is so nervous. I have to pretend that I like to stay in the house,and some days I really think I am going mad for fresh air. Uncle Tomwon't even let me go driving with him. So you don't know anything aboutit?"
"Nothing whatever."
"Well, I can't stand it much longer," said Clemency with an obstinatelook. "As for the pain in my side, that's an awful lie; I haven't theghost of a pain. I can't stand it much longer. Here's Uncle Tom. You arenot going to tell him I said anything about it?"
"Of course, I am not," answered James. He began to feel that he wasentangled in a web of secrecy, and his feeling of irritation increased.He would have gotten out of it and spent Christmas at his own home, butDoctor Gordon had an unusual number of patients suffering from grippe,and pneumonia was almost epidemic, and he felt that he should notleave. It was the second week of the new year when James, returning froma call at a near-by patient, whither he had walked, found Mrs. Ewing inthe greatest distress. It was ten o'clock at night, and she was pacingthe living-room. Immediately when he entered she ran to him. "Oh," shegasped, "Clemency, Clemency!"
"Why, what is it?" asked James. Clemency had not been at thedinner-table, but he had supposed her sulking, as she had been doing oflate, and that she had taken advantage of Doctor Gordon's absence at adistant patient's to remain away from the table.
"She begged so hard to go out, and said the pain was quite well," gaspedMrs. Ewing, "that I s
aid she might go and see Annie, and here it is teno'clock at night, and Tom has gone to Grover's Corner, and may not behome until morning, and Aaron is with him, and I had no one to send. Ithought I would not say anything to you. I thought every minute shewould come in, and Emma has walked half a mile looking for her, and I amhorribly worried."
"I will go directly and look for her," said James. "I will put the bayin the light buggy, and drive to Westover. Don't worry. I'll bring herback in half an hour."
"The bay is so lame she can't travel, I heard Tom say this morning,"said Mrs. Ewing.
"Then I'll take the gray."
"She balks, you know."
James laughed. "Oh, I'll risk the balking," he said.
He hurried out to the stable and put the gray in the buggy. It was avery short time before James was on the road, and the gray went as wellas could be desired, but just before she reached Westover she stoppedshort, and James might as well have tried to move a mountain as thatanimal with her legs planted at four angles of relentless obstinacy.
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