CHAPTER XVIII
MRS. YOCOMB'S LETTERS
I will not weary the reader with my experiences after arriving at NewYork. I could not have felt worse had I been driven into the DismalSwamp. My apartments were dusty and stifling, and as cheerless as myfeelings.
My editorial chief welcomed me cordially, and talked business. "Afteryou had gone," he was kind enough to say, "we learned your value. Nightwork is too wearing for you, so please take that office next to mine. Ifeel a little like breaking down myself, and don't intend to wait untilI do, as you did. I shall be off a great deal the rest of the summer,and you'll have to manage things."
"Pile on work," I said; "I'm greedy for it."
"Yes," he replied, laughing, "I appreciate that rare trait of yours;but I shall regard you as insubordinate if you don't take proper rest.Give us your brains, Morton, and leave hack work to others. That'swhere you blundered before."
Within an hour I was caught in the whirl of the great complicatedworld, and, as I said to Mr. Yocomb, I had indeed no time to mope.Thank God for work! It's the best antidote this world has for trouble.
But when night came my brain was weary and my heart heavy as lead. Itseemed as if the farmhouse was in another world, so diverse waseverything there from my present life.
I had given my uptown address to Mrs. Yocomb and went home--if I mayapply that term to my dismal boarding-place--Tuesday night, feelingassured that there must be a letter. Good Mrs. Yocomb had not failedme, for on my table lay a bulky envelope, addressed in a quaint butclear hand. I was glad no one saw how my hand trembled as I opened hermissive and read:
"My Dear Richard--I know how anxious thee is for tidings from us all,and especially from one toward whom thy heart is very tender. I willtake up the sad story where thee left it. Having all the facts, theecan draw thy own conclusions.
"I found Emily in an almost fainting condition, and I just took her inmy arms and let her cry like a child until tears brought relief. It wasno time for words. Then I brought her into the house and gave hersomething that made her sleep in spite of herself. She awoke about anhour before Gilbert Hearn's arrival, and her nervous trepidation at thethought of meeting him was so great that I resolved she should not seehim--at least not that night--and I told her so. This gave her greatrelief, though she said it was cowardly in her to feel so. But in truthshe was too ill to see him. Her struggle had been too long and severe,and her nervous system was utterly prostrated. I had Doctor Bates herewhen Gilbert Hearn came, and the doctor is very discreet. I told himthat he must manage so that Emily need not see the one she so feared tomeet again, and hinted plainly why, though making no reference to thee,of course. The doctor acted as I wished, not because I wished it, buton professional grounds. 'Miss Warren's future health depends onabsolute rest and quiet,' he said to her affianced. 'I not only advisethat you do not see her, but I forbid it,' for he was terriblyexcited--so was his sister, Charlotte Bradford--and it was as much aswe could do to keep them from going to her room. If they had, I believethe excitement would have destroyed either her life or reason. GilbertHearn plainly intimated that something was wrong. 'Very well, then,' Isaid, 'bring thy own family physician, and let him consult with DoctorBates,' and this he angrily said he would do on the morrow. The veryfact they were in the house made the poor girl almost wild; but Istayed with her all night, and she just lay in my arms like afrightened child, and my heart yearned over her as if she were my owndaughter. She did not speak of thee, but I heard her murmur once, 'Iwas cruel--I was unjust to him.'
"In the morning she was more composed, and I made her take strongnourishment, I can tell thee. Thee remembers how I used to dose thee inspite of thyself.
"Well, in the morning Emily seemed to be thinking deeply; and by and byshe said: 'Mrs. Yocomb, I want this affair settled at once. I want youto sit by me while I write to him, and advise me.' I felt she wasright. Her words were about as follows: (I asked her if I could tellthee what she wrote. She hesitated a little, and a faint color cameinto her pale face. 'Yes,' she said at last, 'let him know the wholetruth. Since so much has occurred between us, I want him to knoweverything. He then may judge me as he thinks best. I have a horror ofany more misunderstanding.')
"'You can never know, Mr. Hearn,' she wrote, 'the pain and sorrow withwhich I address to you these words. Still less can you know my shameand remorse; but you are an honorable man, and have a right to thetruth. My best hope is that when you know how unworthy I am of yourregard your regret will be slight. I recall all your kindness to me,and my heart is tortured as I now think of the requital I am making.Still, justice to myself requires that I tell you that I mistook mygratitude and esteem, my respect and genuine regard, for a deeperemotion. You will remember, however, that I long hesitated, feelinginstinctively that I could not give you what you had a right to expect.Last spring you pressed me for a definite answer. I said I would cometo this quiet place and think it all over, and if I did not write youto the contrary within a few days you might believe that I had yieldedto your wishes. I found myself more worn and weary from my toilsomelife than I imagined. I was lonely; I dreaded my single-handed strugglewith the world, and my heart overflowed with gratitude toward you--itdoes still--for your kindness, and for all that you promised to do forme. I had not the will nor the disposition to say no, or to put you offany longer. Still I had misgiving; I feared that I did not feel as Iought. When I received your kind letter accepting my silence asconsent, I felt bound by it--I was bound by it. I have no defence tomake. I can only state the miserable truth. I cannot love you as a wifeought, and I know now that I never can. I've tried--God knows I'vetried. I'm worn out with the struggle. I fear I am very ill. I wish Iwere dead and at rest. I cannot ask you to think mercifully of me. Icannot think mercifully of myself. To meet again would be only uselesssuffering. I am not equal to it. My one effort now is to gainsufficient strength to go to some distant relatives in the West. Pleaseforget me. "'In sorrow and bitter regret, "'Emily Warren.'"
I started up and paced the room distractedly. "The generous girl!" Iexclaimed, "she lays not a particle of blame on me. But, by Jove! I'dlike to take all the blame, and have it out with him here and now.Blame! What blame is there? The poor child! Why can't she see that sheis white as snow?"
Again I eagerly turned to Mrs. Yocomb's words:
"Emily seemed almost overwhelmed at the thought of his reading thisletter. She is so generous, so sensitive, that she saw only his side ofthe case, and made scarcely any allowance for herself. I was a littledecided and plain-spoken with her, and it did her good. At last I saidto her, 'I am not weak-minded, if I am simple and plain. Because I livein the country is no reason why I do not know what is right and just.Thee has no cause to blame thyself so bitterly.' 'Does Mr. Yocomb feeland think as you do?' she asked. 'Of course he does,' I replied. Sheput her hands to her head and said pitifully, 'Perhaps I am toodistracted to see things clearly. I sometimes fear I may lose myreason.' 'Well, Emily,' I said, 'thee has done right. Thee cannot helpfeeling as thee does, and to go on now would be as great a wrong toGilbert Hearn as to thyself. Thee has done just as I would advise myown daughter to do. Leave all with me. Thee need not see him again. Iam going to stand by thee;' and I left her quite heartened up."
"Oh, but you are a gem of a woman!" I cried. "A few more like you wouldbring the millennium."
"Gilbert Hearn was dreadfully taken aback by the letter; but I must dohim the justice to say that he was much touched by it too, for hecalled me again into the parlor, and I saw that he was much moved. Hehad given his sister the letter to read, and she muttered, 'Poorthing!' as she finished it. He fixed his eyes sternly on me and said,'Mr. Morton is at the bottom of this thing.' I returned his gaze veryquietly, and asked, 'What am I to infer by this expression of thyopinion to me?' His sister was as quick as a flash, and she saidplainly, 'Gilbert, these people were not two little children in Mrs.Yocomb's care.' 'Thee is right,' I said; 'I have not controlled theiractions any more than I have those of thy brother. Rich
ard Morton isabsent, however, and were we not under peculiar obligations to him Iwould still be bound to speak for him, since he is not here to speakfor himself. I have never seen Richard Morton do anything unbecoming agentleman. Has thee, Gilbert Hearn? If so, I think thee had better seehim, for he is not one to deny thee any explanation to which thee has aright.' 'Why did he go to the city so suddenly?' he asked angrily. 'Iwill give thee his address,' I said coldly. 'Gilbert,' expostulated hissister,--we have no right to cross--question Mrs. Yocomb.' 'Since theeis so considerate,' I said to her, 'I will add that Richard Mortonintended to return on Second Day at the latest, and he chose to goto-day. His action enables me to give thee a room to thyself.''Gilbert,' said the lady, 'I do not see that we have any reason toregret his absence. As Mrs. Yocomb says, you can see him in New York;but unless you have well founded and specific charges to make, I thinkit would compromise your dignity to see him. Editors are ugly customersto stir up unless there is good cause.'"
"I know one," I growled, "that would be a particularly ugly customerjust now."
"'In Emily Warren's case,' I said, 'it is different,'" Mrs. Yocombcontinued. "'She is a motherless girl and has appealed to me for adviceand sympathy. In her honest struggle to be loyal to thee she has wornherself almost to a shadow, and I have grave fears for her reason andher life, so great is her prostration. She has for thee, Gilbert Hearn,the sincerest respect and esteem, and the feeling that she has wrongedthee, even though she cannot help it, seems almost to crush her.''Gilbert,' said his sister warmly, 'you cannot blame her, and youcertainly ought to respect her. If she were not an honest-hearted girlshe would never have renounced you with your great wealth.' He sankinto a chair and looked very white. 'It's a terrible blow,' he said;'it's the first severe reverse I've ever had.' 'Well,' she replied, 'Iknow from your character that you will meet it like a man and agentleman.' 'Certainly,' he said, with a deep breath, 'I cannot dootherwise.' I then rose and bowed, saying: 'You will both excuse me ifI am with my charge much of the time. Adah will attend to your wants,and I hope you will feel at home so long as it shall please you tostay.'"
"By Jove! but her tact was wonderful. Not a diplomat in Europe couldhave done better. The innocent-looking Quakeress was a match for themboth."
"Then I went back to Emily," Mrs. Yocomb wrote, "and I found her in apitiable state of excitement. When I opened the door she started upapprehensively, as if she feared that the man with whom she had brokenwould burst in upon her with bitter reproaches. I told her everything;for even I cannot deceive her, she is so quick. Her mind waswonderfully lightened, and I soon made her sleep again. She awoke inthe evening much quieter, but she cried a good deal in the night, and Isurmise she was thinking of thee more than of herself or of him. I wishthee had waited until all this was over, but I think all will come outright."
"Oh, the unutterable fool that I was!" I groaned; "I'm the championblunderer of the world."
"Well, Richard, this is the longest letter I ever wrote, and I mustbring it to a close, for my patient needs me. I will write soon again,and tell thee everything. Goodnight.
"Second Day. P.S.--I left my letter open to add a postscript. GilbertHearn and his sister left this morning. The former at last seemed quitecalm and resigned, and was very polite. His sister was too. She amusedme not a little. I do not think that her heart was greatly set on thematch, and she was not so troubled but that she could take an interestin our quiet, homely ways. I think we seemed to her like what you citypeople call _bric-a-brac_, but she was too much of a lady to let hercuriosity become offensive. She took a great fancy to Adah, especiallyas she saw that Adela was very fond of her, and she persuaded herbrother to leave the child here in our care, saying that she wasimproving wonderfully. He did not seem at all averse to the plan. Adahis behaving very nicely, if I do say it, and showed a great deal ofquiet, gentle dignity. She and Charlotte Bradford had a long chat inthe evening about Adela. Adah says, 'Send Richard my love'; and if Iput in all the messages from father, Reuben, and Zillah, they wouldfill another sheet.
"I asked Emily if she had any message for thee. She buried her face inthe pillow and murmured, 'Not now, not yet'; but after a moment sheturned toward me, looking white and resolute. 'Tell him,' she said, 'toforgive me and forget.' Be patient, Richard. Wait. "Thine affectionately,
"Ruth Yocomb."
"Forget!" I shouted. "Yes, when I am annihilated," and I paced my roomfor hours. At last, exhausted, I sought such rest as I could obtain,but my last thought was, "God bless Ruth Yocomb. I could kiss theground she had trodden."
The next morning I settled down to my task of waiting and working,resolving that there must be no more nights like the last, in which Ihad wasted a vast amount of vital force. I wrote to Mrs. Yocomb, andthanked her from a full heart. I sent messages to all the family, andsaid, "Tell Adah I shall keep her love warm in my heart, and that Isend her twice as much of mine in return. Like all brothers, I shalltake liberties, and will subscribe in her behalf for the two bestmagazines in the city. Give Miss Warren this simple message: The wordsI last spoke to her shall ever be true."
I also told Mrs. Yocomb of my promotion, and that I was no longer anight-owl.
Toward the end of the week came another bulky letter, which I devoured,letting my dinner grow cold.
"Our life at the farmhouse has become very quiet," she wrote. "Emilyimproves slowly, for her nervous system has received a severe strain. Itold her that thee had sent messages to all the family, and asked ifshe did not expect one. 'I've no right to any--there's no occasion forany,' she faltered; but her eyes were very wistful and entreating.'Well,' I said, 'I must clear my conscience, and since he sent theeone, I must give it. He writes, 'Say to Miss Warren in reply that thelast words I spoke to her shall ever be true.' I suppose thee knowswhat he means,' I said, smiling; 'I don't.' She buried her face in thepillow again; but I think thy message did her good, for she soon fellasleep, and looked more peaceful than at any time yet."
At last there came a letter saying, "Emily has left us and gone to acousin--a Mrs. Vining--who resides at Columbus, Ohio. She is muchbetter, but very quiet--very different from her old self. Father puther on the train, and she will have to change cars only once. 'Emily,'I said to her, 'thee can not go away without one word for Richard.' Shewas deeply moved, but her resolute will gained the mastery. 'I amtrying to act for the best,' she said. 'He has appealed to the future:the future must prove us both, for there must be no more mistakes.''Does thee doubt thyself, Emily?' 'I have reason to doubt myself, Mrs.Yocomb,' she replied. 'But what does thy heart tell thee?' A deepsolemn look came into her eyes, and after a few moments she said,'Pardon me, my dear friend, if I do not answer you fully. Indeed, Iwould scarcely know how to answer you. I have entered on an experiencethat is new and strange to me. I am troubled and frightened at myself.I want to go away among strangers, where I can think and grow calm. Iwant to be alone with my God. I should always be weak and vacillatinghere. Moreover, Mr. Morton has formed an impression of me, of which,perhaps, I cannot complain. This impression may grow stronger in hismind. It has all been too sudden. His experiences have been toointermingled with storm, delirium, and passion. He has not had time tothink any more than I have. In the larger sphere of work to which yousay he has been promoted he may find new interests that will beabsorbing. After a quiet and distant retrospect he may thank me for thecourse I am taking.' 'Emily!' I exclaimed, 'for so tender-hearted agirl thee is very strong.' 'No,' she replied, 'but because I havelearned my weakness I am going away from temptation.' I then asked, 'Isthee willing I should tell Richard what thee has said?' After thinkingfor some time she answered, 'Yes, let everything be based on the simpletruth. But tell him he must respect my action--he must leave me tomyself.' The afternoon before she left us, Adah and Reuben went over tothe village and got some beautiful rosebuds, and Adah brought them upafter tea. Emily was much touched, and kissed her again and again. Thenshe threw herself into my arms and cried for nearly an hour, but shewent away bravely. I never can thin
k of it with dry eyes. Zillah washeart-broken, and Reuben clung to her in a way that surprised me. Hehas been very remorseful that he treated her badly at one time. Adahand I were mopping our eyes, and father kept blowing his nose like atrumpet. She gave way a little at the last moment, for Reuben ran downto the barn and brought out Dapple that she might say good-by to him,and she put her arms around the pretty creature's neck and sobbed for amoment or two. I never saw a horse act so. He followed her right up tothe rockaway steps. At last she said, 'Come, let us go, quick!' I shallnever forget the scene, and I think that she repressed so much feelingthat we had to express it for her. She kissed little Adela tenderly,and the child was crying too. It seemed as if we couldn't go on andtake up our every-day life again. I wouldn't have believed that one whowas a stranger but a short time ago could have gotten such a hold uponour hearts, but as I think it all over I do not wonder. Dear littleZillah reminds me of what I owe to her. She is very womanly, but she issingularly strong. As she was driven away she looked up at thy window,so thee may guess that thee was the last one in her thoughts. Wait, andbe patient. Do just as she says."
I am glad that my editorial chief did not see me as I read this letter,for I fear I should have been deposed at once. Its influence on me,however, was very satisfactory to him, for if ever a man was put on hismettle I felt that I had been.
"Very well, Emily Warren," I said, "we have both appealed to thefuture: let it judge us." I worked and tried to live as if the girl'sclear dark eyes were always on me, and her last lingering glance at thewindow from which I had watched her go to meet the lover that, for mysake, she could not marry, was a ray of steady sunshine. She did notrealize how unconsciously she had given me hope.
A few days later I looked carefully over our subscription list. Herpaper had been stopped, and I felt this keenly; but as I was staringblankly at the obliterated name a happy thought occurred to me, and Iturned to the letter V. With a gleam of deep satisfaction in my eyes Ifound the address, Mrs. Adelaide Vining, Columbus, Ohio.
"Now through the editorial page I can write to her daily," I thought.
Late in September my chief said to me:
"Look here, Morton, you are pitching into every dragon in the country.I don't mind fighting three or four evils or abuses at a time, but thisgeneral onslaught is raising a breeze."
"With your permission, I don't care if it becomes a gale, as long as weare well ballasted with facts."
"Well, to go back to my first figure, be sure you are well armed beforeyou attack. Some of the beasts are old and tough, and have awful stingsin their tails. The people seem to like it, though, from the waysubscriptions are coming in."
But I wrote chiefly for one reader. He would have opened his eyes if Ihad told him that a young music-teacher in Columbus, Ohio, had a largeshare in conducting the journal. Over my desk in my rooms I had hadframed, in illuminated text, the words she had spoken to me on the mostmemorable day of my life:
"The editor has exceptional opportunities, and might be theknight-errant of our age. If in earnest, and on the right side, he canforge a weapon out of public opinion that few evils could resist. He isin just the position to discover these dragons and drive them fromtheir hiding-places."
The spirit that breathed in these words I tried to make mine, for Iwished to feel and think as she did. While I maintained myindividuality of thought I never touched a question but that I firstlooked at it from her standpoint. I labored for weeks over an editorialentitled "Truth versus Conscience," and sent it like an arrow into theWest.
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