The Gnomes of the Saline Mountains: A Fantastic Narrative

by Anna Goldmark Gross

  IV.

  One day when the picture was almost completed he received the followinglines from her:

  "I am going with my mother to Palm Beach, where we expect to spend a month or two. If my portrait is done before I come back, kindly send it to No. -- Fifth Avenue. Remember me to your dear ones.

  LUCY."

  A check was enclosed for the balance of the stipulated price.

  Eugene felt an icy breath sweep over the glowing love which filled hisheart, like the freezing north wind which brings death and destructionin its train, blowing over land and sea and carrying all before it. Hisartistic powers to strive for the heights of ideals seemed broken; hehad no energy left. All was dark and gloomy within him.

  "She is rich and I--oh, so poor!" was the thought incessantly in hismind.

  In his present position as sole support of his family he could not longgive himself up to such unfruitful emotions; he must work in order toprovide bread for his mother and the children. And so he tried by hard,incessant labor, by constant occupation, to forget the sweet dream ofhis brief, imaginary happiness. A bitter feeling of depression rosein him at the thought that the richly-dressed lady must consider hima fool, puffed up with artistic pride; that she thought of him, if atall, with a pitying smile at his presumption.

  Thanks to the skillful medical care which Martin shared at thehospital, he was soon on the road to recovery.

  "You will have to get used to the idea of having a lame husband therest of your life," he would say smilingly to his wife, who visited himdaily.

  "If only your love isn't lame, we shall be all right again," sheanswered him with simple affection. He wiped away an unobserved tear,and pressed her hand with emotion.

  Eugene grew pale and nervous. Seeking forgetfulness in his work helabored day and night with unwearying diligence, allowing himself notime for rest. In the brief pauses he was obliged to make it obvious,however, that he had not entirely succeeded. Something of pain, ofuntold suffering, would then steal over his weary face. The nervousstrain, continued for weeks, together with the hardly repressed mentalconflict, began, little by little, to undermine his constitution, neverof the strongest.

  It was just a week after his father had left the hospital (with one legshorter than the other but otherwise in good health) that Eugene fellfainting at his work. In a day or two a severe nervous fever developed.His parents, horribly frightened, did all in their power to aid hisrecovery.

  Martin, though still weak, made haste to hobble to the factory, which,on the termination of the strike had opened as usual, to try for hisformer position.

  "Is Mr. Denison here?" he asked of the book-keeper, who was a strangerto him.

  "Mr. Denison has gone to Florida--the date of his return is uncertain,"answered the book-keeper, returning to his interrupted occupationwithout paying any more attention to the white-faced cripple who stoodleaning against the desk.

  "My name is Martin, and I used to be in charge of the dyeing departmenthere," persisted the anxious applicant, resolved not to be dismissed soeasily.

  "Every place is filled now, and well filled," said the book-keeper witha trace of irritation, not looking up from his big ledger; "and anyhow,you may be quite sure there will be no change in the staff as long asthe boss is away."

  Crushed and despairing, Martin tottered out of the office. But fullof confidence in his ability as a dyer, he decided to go to anotherfactory and offer his services.

  His sad, depressed appearance, however, was no good introductionin a place where only strong hands were looked for, so nothing butdisappointment awaited him at the other places.

  "The strike has ruined business," said one of the manufacturers, whileanother laid the blame on over-production. "Come in some other day,"said a third.

  During all these unsuccessful attempts to provide the means ofsubsistence one week after another slipped away. Now the lack of thebarest necessities stared them in the face--bitter need, upon whosehideous features they had not before been forced to look.

  And Eugene, in the delirium of his fever, was always talking of theinaccessible maiden from another sphere. His clear-sighted mother beganto grasp the meaning of all this with anxious foreboding.

  "What's to be done? What's to be done?" the poor cripple asked himself,wringing his hands, when he was notified that unless he paid his backrent within twenty-four hours, he and his family would be put into thestreet.

  With despair in his heart he hastened out, and sold everything of anyvalue that was yet left to him in order to avoid this disgrace.

  "And then we'll get out of this unlucky street!" cried the mother,sobbing and wiping the hot tears from her eyes.

  After a short family council it was decided to move over to New York.

  "No one knows me there; I can get any kind of employment in NewYork--and work is easier to find there than it is here," said Martin tocomfort his sobbing wife.

  A week later found the sorely-tried family in one of the greatbarracks of tenements in the lower part of the city. As a whole, theneighborhood could not be surpassed for lack of comfort, and littlemore appeared in the three bare rooms tenanted by the Martin family.

  Eugene's condition had improved, although he was still confined to hisbed; but the poor father's mind was even more tormented by the fearfulspectre of poverty, and yet--in busy, populous New York, surely, therewas work to be found!

  He was going upstairs one day when he was stopped by a woman who was astranger to him. She opened an adjoining door, and asked him to stepinto the room. Her husband was lying there sick in bed and groaningwith pain.

  "Excuse me," began the woman, "my husband is a street-cleaner--hesweeps Fifth Avenue," she added, with a proud intonation. "Fortwenty-five years--mind that--he had done his duty; and now thecommissioners send for him today and here he is, sick in bed and can'tsweep his Fifth Avenue!" She went on with great loquacity, withoutpaying any heed to the embarrassed face of her new neighbor.

  "If you will take his place I will give you his whole day's wages!" sheshouted, handing him the money together with the broom.

  Martin was unable to resist the fascination of coins so badly needed.The other street-cleaners were waiting down stairs. After the robustwoman had communicated the whole affair to them through the window theytook Martin into their ranks without any waste of words and marched onbefore he had time to realize where he was going. Pressing his hat overhis eyes he hobbled along with them as well as he could, while actualtears rolled down into his grey beard.

  But the thought of coming home at night with the money he had earnedsoothed him to some extent. His family need never know, and he was notacquainted with another soul in the great city.

  How sorely he was hurt by the knowledge that his former employer's wifehad seen him at this undignified occupation is already known to thereader.

  V.

  On the evening in question Lucy was unusually quiet and absorbed. Shehad scarcely seemed to understand the loving words whispered in herear by her lover who sat beside her; she was obliged to force herself,even, to return monosyllabic answers to his questions. Her thoughtswere elsewhere. She had only been back from Palm Beach a littlewhile, and had heard nothing from the family in which she was so muchinterested. But her busy imagination depicted the well-known room whichcontained the portfolio which had played such a part in her life; andEugene's fair, curly head, and glowing, longing glances. Then oncemore, she saw his father with the broom--the almsgiving scene. Herthoughts were incessantly occupied with the son of a street-cleaner!

  A burning flush of shame overspread her pale face, which George Elmoreaccepted as the answer to his tenderly whispered entreaties that sheshould become his wife at once, and kissed her hand repeatedly.

  The son of a street-cleaner to thrust himself between her and George!Being what she was--a proud woman and an heiress, she was startled.

  "How could I so far forget myself!" she reflected. "Heavens! if Georgewere to suspect!"

  Sh
e tried her best to drive away the embarrassing--nay, the dishonoringthought. The idea struck her as ludicrous--horribly ludicrous, and thatdisturbed her even more.

  Obviously there was but one way out of this labyrinth of tormentingthoughts--to marry as soon as possible. She had a mind to say thedecisive word this very evening and appoint, finally the day for thewedding. As George's wife she would find rest and healing for herstubborn heart in the fulfilment of her duty, and be able to realizehow foolish it was to allow it unlimited play outside the bounds ofreason. In the meantime the poor family must be helped. In spite of thefoundations of reason which she had just laid, she felt an interest inthem.

  "Nonsense! It is nothing but sympathy for those unfortunates," shetried to persuade herself. Tomorrow she would have a talk with herfather with a view to having Martin restored to his old place in thefactory. She would pretend to have gained her knowledge of theircircumstances from a friend who had employed their son for a short time.

  She could not, however, entirely suppress the pricks of consciencewhich told her that her silence to her father had delayed thisrestoration, and had thus been responsible for the complete destitutionof these worthy people.

  Three days later Martin received orders through a workman in thefactory who knew his address to report there with a view to resuminghis former position. Accordingly great joy prevailed in the Martinfamily. Eugene was the only one now, weak and ill as he still was, toremain gloomy and self-absorbed.

  A gleam of happier feeling overspread his pale face when he brought outLucy's picture, now almost completed, and heightened the attractivenessof the cheeks, or made the thoughtful eyes yet more speaking. Andthen he thought how, when it was all done, he would seek her out andhimself deliver it to her, and once more he resolved to allow the fullfascination of her dear presence to work its will upon him.

  "And after that, I must avoid her--flee from her! We must be as twostars which cannot tear themselves from their own destined spheres,but are forced to wander each in its own appointed orbit," he murmuredto himself with bitter pain, gazing at the picture with unspeakabledejection.

  VI.

  The delicious month of May had now come round once more. Nature,awakening to life, put on its wondrous robe of many colors, and thesun in proud consciousness of its power to tempt with the alluringwarmth, the flowers concealed in the mystic bosom of Mother Earth,shone with ever increasing fervency. In Central Park Nature's featheredchoir poured forth its gay song into the lovely spring air, while theperfumed lilacs lavished their scent upon all who came, caring notwhether the dweller in tenements breathed it in greedily, or whetherthe superior residents of Fifth Avenue ignored it contemptuously.

  In the house of the rich manufacturer the perfume of the lilacs wasnot missed; the most _recherche_ hot-house plants supplanting themin fragrance were artistically grouped on both sides of the greatstaircase down to the front door, filling all the room with a perfumethat bewildered the senses. Servants in livery hastened busily, butnoiselessly, about, putting the last touches to the decorations ofthe parlor for the wedding ceremony to be performed on this day. Inthe adjoining room a beautiful altar was visible, decked with superbflowers from which festoons of myrtle ran up to a hanging bell of redand white roses.

  Carriage after carriage rolled to the door, from which descended fairguests, arrayed in splendid Worth and Felix gowns, while faultlesslydressed gentlemen helped them to alight.

  In her room upstairs stood Lucy, in a white dress and gold-embroideredveil, with orange blossoms upon her bosom. Although apparently calm,she was deathly pale, and her heart, whose feelings had been suppressedwith so much difficulty, betrayed itself by violent beating. A namelessuneasiness was upon her, almost suffocating her at times. Eugene's fairhead and disquieting eyes were before her mind vividly--now--when in anhour's time she would be the bride of another. More than once she wasobliged to have recourse to the smelling-bottle which stood upon thedressing-table, in order not to give way--to be strong enough to bearthe torture of the ceremony with dignified calmness.

  "The shock to my parents--the society in which I move--no, no, there isno retreat for me!" she murmured with decision in answer to her heart'sloud insistence. She was marrying George in fulfillment of her parents'wishes and also to escape from her tormenting self. That in making thisdecision she had buried the ideals of her youth--her life's happiness,no one should ever guess. It was time now to steer boldly forth intothe deep sea of matrimony, deprived forever of her life's compass.

  Mrs. Denison, in a costly dress, had repeatedly opened the window andgazed with anxious impatience at all the carriages that came from thelower part of the city, but she saw no sign of their own carriage soimpatiently awaited. Mr. Denison had gone down town in the morning,promising to be back before noon, and now it was four o'clock.

  Disquieting rumors had already begun to circulate to the effect thatthe great banking house with which their whole fortune was depositedwas on an unstable footing, owing to a rapid fall in the stock market.

  Mr. Denison had said nothing of this to his wife, although a horribleagitation had taken possession of him, when, upon leaving the house hehad told the coachman to drive at full speed to the banking house.

  The guests were all assembled. The clergyman was waiting, but stillthere was no sign of Mr. Denison. An uneasy whisper, an ever-increasingimpatience, could be noticed. Mrs. Denison's thin face took on afeverish red. Elmore's father was just about to telephone down town,when, at last the carriage rolled up to the door. The coachman, excitedwith overdriving, leaped from his seat and opened the carriage door;but he had no sooner cast a glance into the carriage than he uttered aloud cry, and with unsteady footsteps, hastened to Mrs. Denison.

  "Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Denison, please don't be alarmed--" hepanted in a trembling voice, "The big banking house down town failedthis morning--and--it seems--Mr. Denison was so fearfully upset--sofearfully--when he came out of the bank his face was all red--and Iheard him say in a low voice that he would have to fail too! Yes--andnow--please don't be frightened--he's lying dead in the carriage!"

  With a loud shriek, wringing her hands and moaning, Mrs. Denisonhastened to the carriage. The gentlemen guests carried Mr. Denison'sbody, still warm, into the house. "Heart failure," said one to another.The women gathered around Mrs. Denison, who was loudly weeping, andtried to console her. Then one by one they stole away, since it wasquite obvious that there would be no more thought of the marriage thatday.

  Lucy, worn out by weeks of mental agitation, was overcome by thesudden shock of this sad news, and fell back without a word upon thesofa, gliding gently from it to the floor. A beneficent unconsciousnessclouded her perceptions. No one had time to care for her; all theservants had been sent right and left to bring medical aid for Mr.Denison. All means of restoration were tried, but failed to bring himback to life. "Apoplexy," said the physicians, and silently left thehouse.

  Meanwhile Lucy lay on the soft carpet without a word or motion. In herdazzling white dress, with the gold-embroidered veil, with the marblepaleness on her face, she looked like a sculptured goddess who hadfallen from her pedestal.

  The last wedding guests, those who had helped to carry Mr. Denison upto his room, had just driven away, sighing and shaking their heads asthey discussed the sad event. The stillness of death settled over thehouse. Suddenly a sound was heard as of soft footsteps drawing near.Then the door of Lucy's boudoir, which had been left ajar, was gentlyopened. A curly-headed young man with a disturbed countenance appearedupon the threshold, looking right and left with admiring wonder. Thefront door was still standing open--no one had found time to close it.

  Eugene, bringing Lucy's portrait, had thus been able to penetrateunperceived, to the upper story. Hardly able to believe his eyes, hegazed at the fair form in bridal attire lying upon the floor.

  Startled and trembling in all his limbs, he was about to close the doorhe had just opened, when he caught sight of Lucy's face, pale as death,through the veil. Hastil
y putting down the portrait, he darted to herside, and trembling with intense excitement, caught her cold hands tohis heart.

  HE GAZED AT THE FAIR FACE IN BRIDAL ATTIRE LYING UPONTHE FLOOR]

  "Miss Lucy! Miss Lucy!" he cried, at first in a low voice, then louderand more anxiously--but she still lay there, cold and apparentlylifeless.

  Distracted, he looked about for help. He caught sight of the smellingbottle which Lucy had already used so often. He seized it quickly,pushed aside her veil, and held it to her nostrils.

  A slight tremor passed through the beautiful limbs. Lucy moved herhand, but let it fall again. Eugene sprang up joyfully. As if shehad been a feather he lifted the girl, now stirring a little. Inblissful intoxication, he clasped his heart's ideal for one moment inhis arms. Her breath played over his face, making him tremble withdelight--carrying him out of himself, so that he pressed his lips toher's, not knowing what he did. "How has this bright creature filledmy lonely life with sunshine!" he murmured sadly to himself, as with adeep sigh he laid Lucy on the sofa.

  And then,--he felt the soft arms suddenly thrown about his neck. Lucy,still dazed and dreaming, had forgotten all about her wedding day,and knew nothing of her father's death. Eugene's words of love hadroused her from her death-like stupor; she was conscious only of hisnearness--of the intoxication of his kiss.

  "Oh, Eugene," she whispered, "what a lovely dream!" She still lay withclosed eyes. Eugene, speechless with delight, pressed her passionatelyto his beating heart. Lucy, startled, opened her eyes.