VII
A PHYSIOLOGIST'S WIFE
Professor Ainslie Grey had not come down to breakfast at the usual hour.The presentation chiming-clock which stood between the terra-cotta bustsof Claude Bernard and of John Hunter upon the dining-room mantelpiecehad rung out the half-hour and the three-quarters. Now its golden handwas verging upon the nine, and yet there were no signs of the master ofthe house.
It was an unprecedented occurrence. During the twelve years that she hadkept house for him, his younger sister had never known him a secondbehind his time. She sat now in front of the high silver coffee-pot,uncertain whether to order the gong to be resounded or to wait on insilence. Either course might be a mistake. Her brother was not a man whopermitted mistakes.
Miss Ainslie Grey was rather above the middle height, thin, withpeering, puckered eyes, and the rounded shoulders which mark the bookishwoman. Her face was long and spare, flecked with colour above thecheek-bones, with a reasonable, thoughtful forehead, and a dash ofabsolute obstinacy in her thin lips and prominent chin. Snow-white cuffsand collar, with a plain dark dress, cut with almost Quaker-likesimplicity, bespoke the primness of her taste. An ebony cross hung overher flattened chest. She sat very upright in her chair, listening withraised eyebrows, and swinging her eye-glasses backwards and forwardswith a nervous gesture which was peculiar to her.
Suddenly she gave a sharp, satisfied jerk of the head, and began to pourout the coffee. From outside there came the dull thudding sound of heavyfeet Upon thick carpet. The door swung open, and the Professor enteredwith a quick, nervous step. He nodded to his sister, and seating himselfat the other side of the table, began to open the small pile of letterswhich lay beside his plate.
Professor Ainslie Grey was at that time forty-three years of age--nearlytwelve years older than his sister. His career had been a brilliant one.At Edinburgh, at Cambridge, and at Vienna he had laid the foundations ofhis great reputation, both in physiology and in zoology.
His pamphlet, "On the Mesoblastic Origin of Excitomotor Nerve Roots,"had won him his fellowship of the Royal Society; and his researches,"Upon the Nature of Bathybius, with some Remarks upon Lithococci," hadbeen translated into at least three European languages. He had beenreferred to by one of the greatest living authorities as being the verytype and embodiment of all that was best in modern science. No wonder,then, that when the commercial city of Birchespool decided to create amedical school, they were only too glad to confer the chair ofphysiology upon Mr. Ainslie Grey. They valued him the more from theconviction that their class was only one step in his upward journey, andthat the first vacancy would remove him to some more illustrious seat oflearning.
In person he was not unlike his sister. The same eyes, the same contour,the same intellectual forehead. His lips, however, were firmer, and hislong, thin lower jaw was sharper and more decided. He ran his finger andthumb down it from time to time, as he glanced over his letters.
"Those maids are very noisy," he remarked, as a clack of tongues soundedin the distance.
"It is Sarah," said his sister; "I shall speak about it."
She had handed over his coffee-cup, and was sipping at her own, glancingfurtively through her narrowed lids at the austere face of her brother.
"The first great advance of the human race," said the Professor, "waswhen, by the development of their left frontal convolutions, theyattained the power of speech. Their second advance was when they learnedto control that power. Woman has not yet attained the second stage."
He half closed his eyes as he spoke, and thrust his chin forward, but ashe ceased he had a trick of suddenly opening both eyes very wide andstaring sternly at his interlocutor.
"I am not garrulous, John," said his sister.
"No, Ada; in many respects you approach the superior or male type."
The Professor bowed over his egg with the manner of one who utters acourtly compliment; but the lady pouted, and gave an impatient littleshrug of her shoulders.
"You were late this morning, John," she remarked, after a pause.
"Yes, Ada; I slept badly. Some little cerebral congestion, no doubt dueto over-stimulation of the centres of thought. I have been a littledisturbed in my mind."
His sister stared across at him in astonishment. The Professor's mentalprocesses had hitherto been as regular as his habits. Twelve years'continual intercourse had taught her that he lived in a serene andrarefied atmosphere of scientific calm, high above the petty emotionswhich affect humbler minds.
"You are surprised, Ada," he remarked. "Well, I cannot wonder at it. Ishould have been surprised myself if I had been told that I was sosensitive to vascular influences. For, after all, all disturbances arevascular if you probe them deep enough. I am thinking of gettingmarried."
"Not Mrs. O'James?" cried Ada Grey, laying down her egg-spoon.
"My dear, you have the feminine quality of receptivity very remarkablydeveloped. Mrs. O'James is the lady in question."
"But you know so little of her. The Esdailes themselves know so little.She is really only an acquaintance, although she is staying at TheLindens. Would it not be wise to speak to Mrs. Esdaile first, John?"
"I do not think, Ada, that Mrs. Esdaile is at all likely to say anythingwhich would materially affect my course of action. I have given thematter due consideration. The scientific mind is slow at arriving atconclusions, but having once formed them, it is not prone to change.Matrimony is the natural condition of the human race. I have, as youknow, been so engaged in academical and other work, that I have had notime to devote to merely personal questions. It is different now, and Isee no valid reason why I should forego this opportunity of seeking asuitable helpmate."
"And you are engaged?"
"Hardly that, Ada. I ventured yesterday to indicate to the lady that Iwas prepared to submit to the common lot of humanity. I shall wait uponher after my morning lecture, and learn how far my proposals meet withher acquiescence. But you frown, Ada!"
His sister started, and made an effort to conceal her expression ofannoyance. She even stammered out some few words of congratulation, buta vacant look had come into her brother's eyes, and he was evidently notlistening to her.
"I am sure, John," she said, "that I wish you the happiness which youdeserve. If I hesitated at all, it is because I know how much is atstake, and because the thing is so sudden, so unexpected." Her thinwhite hand stole up to the black cross upon her bosom. "These aremoments when we need guidance, John. If I could persuade you to turn tospiritual----"
The Professor waved the suggestion away with a deprecating hand.
"It is useless to reopen that question," he said. "We cannot argue uponit. You assume more than I can grant. I am forced to dispute yourpremises. We have no common basis."
His sister sighed.
"You have no faith," she said.
"I have faith in those great evolutionary forces which are leading thehuman race to some unknown but elevated goal."
"You believe in nothing."
"On the contrary, my dear Ada, I believe in the differentiation ofprotoplasm."
She shook her head sadly. It was the one subject upon which she venturedto dispute her brother's infallibility.
"This is rather beside the question," remarked the Professor, folding uphis napkin. "If I am not mistaken, there is some possibility of anothermatrimonial event occurring in the family. Eh, Ada? What!"
His small eyes glittered with sly facetiousness as he shot a twinkle athis sister. She sat very stiff, and traced patterns upon the cloth withthe sugar-tongs.
"Dr. James M'Murdo O'Brien----" said the Professor sonorously.
"Don't, John, don't!" cried Miss Ainslie Grey.
"Dr. James M'Murdo O'Brien," continued her brother inexorably, "is a manwho has already made his mark upon the science of the day. He is myfirst and my most distinguished pupil. I assure you, Ada, that his'Remarks upon the Bile-Pigments, with special reference to Urobilin,' islikely to live as a classic. It is not too much to say that he ha
srevolutionised our views about Urobilin."
He paused, but his sister sat silent, with bent head and flushed cheeks.The little ebony cross rose and fell with her hurried breathings.
"Dr. James M'Murdo O'Brien has, as you know, the offer of thephysiological chair at Melbourne. He has been in Australia five years,and has a brilliant future before him. To-day he leaves us forEdinburgh, and in two months' time he goes out to take over his newduties. You know his feeling towards you. It rests with you as towhether he goes out alone. Speaking for myself, I cannot imagine anyhigher mission for a woman of culture than to go through life in thecompany of a man who is capable of such a research as that which Dr.James M'Murdo O'Brien has brought to a successful conclusion."
"He has not spoken to me," murmured the lady.
"Ah, there are signs which are more subtle than speech," said herbrother, wagging his head. "You are pale. Your vasomotor system isexcited. Your arterioles have contracted. Let me entreat you to composeyourself. I think I hear the carriage. I fancy that you may have avisitor this morning, Ada. You will excuse me now."
With a quick glance at the clock he strode off into the hall, and withina few minutes he was rattling in his quiet, well-appointed broughamthrough the brick-lined streets of Birchespool.
His lecture over, Professor Ainslie Grey paid a visit to his laboratory,where he adjusted several scientific instruments, made a note as to theprogress of three separate infusions of bacteria, cut half a dozensections with a microtome, and finally resolved the difficulties ofseven different gentlemen, who were pursuing researches in as manyseparate lines of inquiry. Having thus conscientiously and methodicallycompleted the routine of his duties, he returned to his carriage andordered the coachman to drive him to The Lindens. His face as he drovewas cold and impassive, but he drew his fingers from time to time downhis prominent chin with a jerky, twitchy movement.
The Lindens was an old-fashioned, ivy-clad house which had once been inthe country, but was now caught in the long, red-brick feelers of thegrowing city. It still stood back from the road in the privacy of itsown grounds. A winding path, lined with laurel bushes, led to the archedand porticoed entrance. To the right was a lawn, and at the far side,under the shadow of a hawthorn, a lady sat in a garden-chair with a bookin her hands. At the click of the gate she started, and the Professor,catching sight of her, turned away from the door, and strode in herdirection.
"What! won't you go in and see Mrs. Esdaile?" she asked, sweeping outfrom under the shadow of the hawthorn.
She was a small woman, strongly feminine, from the rich coils of herlight-coloured hair to the dainty garden slipper which peeped from underher cream-tinted dress. One tiny well-gloved hand was outstretched ingreeting, while the other pressed a thick, green-covered volume againsther side. Her decision and quick, tactful manner bespoke the maturewoman of the world; but her upraised face had preserved a girlish andeven infantile expression of innocence in its large, fearless grey eyes,and sensitive, humorous mouth. Mrs. O'James was a widow, and she wastwo-and-thirty years of age; but neither fact could have been deducedfrom her appearance.
"You will surely go in and see Mrs. Esdaile," she repeated, glancing upat him with eyes which had in them something between a challenge and acaress.
"I did not come to see Mrs. Esdaile," he answered, with no relaxation ofhis cold and grave manner; "I came to see you."
"I am sure I should be highly honoured," she said, with just theslightest little touch of brogue in her accent. "What are the studentsto do without their Professor?"
"I have already completed my academic duties. Take my arm, and we shallwalk in the sunshine. Surely we cannot wonder that Eastern people shouldhave made a deity of the sun. It is the great beneficent force ofNature--man's ally against cold, sterility, and all that is abhorrent tohim. What were you reading?"
"Hale's _Matter and Life_."
The Professor raised his thick eyebrows.
"Hale!" he said, and then again in a kind of whisper, "Hale!"
"You differ from him?" she asked.
"It is not I who differ from him. I am only a monad--a thing of nomoment. The whole tendency of the highest plane of modern thoughtdiffers from him. He defends the indefensible. He is an excellentobserver, but a feeble reasoner. I should not recommend you to foundyour conclusions upon 'Hale.'"
"I must read _Nature's Chronicle_ to counteract his perniciousinfluence," said Mrs. O'James, with a soft, cooing laugh.
_Nature's Chronicle_ was one of the many books in which ProfessorAinslie Grey had enforced the negative doctrines of scientificagnosticism.
"It is a faulty work," said he; "I cannot recommend it. I would ratherrefer you to the standard writings of some of my older and more eloquentcolleagues."
There was a pause in their talk as they paced up and down on the green,velvet-like lawn in the genial sunshine.
"Have you thought at all," he asked at last, "of the matter upon which Ispoke to you last night?"
She said nothing, but walked by his side with her eyes averted and herface aslant.
"I would not hurry you unduly," he continued. "I know that it is amatter which can scarcely be decided off-hand. In my own case, it costme some thought before I ventured to make the suggestion. I am not anemotional man, but I am conscious in your presence of the greatevolutionary instinct which makes either sex the complement of theother."
"You believe in love, then?" she asked, with a twinkling, upward glance.
"I am forced to."
"And yet you can deny the soul?"
"How far these questions are psychic and how far material is still _subjudice_," said the Professor, with an air of toleration. "Protoplasm mayprove to be the physical basis of love as well as of life."
"How inflexible you are!" she exclaimed; "you would draw love down tothe level of physics."
"Or draw physics up to the level of love."
"Come, that is much better," she cried, with her sympathetic laugh."That is really very pretty, and puts science in quite a delightfullight."
Her eyes sparkled, and she tossed her chin with a pretty, wilful air ofa woman who is mistress of the situation.
"I have reason to believe," said the Professor, "that my position herewill prove to be only a stepping-stone to some wider scene of scientificactivity. Yet, even here, my chair brings me in some fifteen hundredpounds a year, which is supplemented by a few hundreds from my books. Ishould therefore be in a position to provide you with those comforts towhich you are accustomed. So much for my pecuniary position. As to myconstitution, it has always been sound. I have never suffered from anyillness in my life, save fleeting attacks of cephalalgia, the result oftoo prolonged a stimulation of the centres of cerebration. My father andmother had no sign of any morbid diathesis, but I will not conceal fromyou that my grandfather was afflicted with podagra."
Mrs. O'James looked startled.
"Is that very serious?" she asked.
"It is gout," said the Professor.
"Oh, is that all? It sounded much worse than that."
"It is a grave taint, but I trust that I shall not be a victim toatavism. I have laid these facts before you because they are factorswhich cannot be overlooked in forming your decision. May I ask nowwhether you see your way to accepting my proposal?"
He paused in his walk, and looked earnestly and expectantly down at her.
A struggle was evidently going on in her mind. Her eyes were cast down,her little slipper tapped the lawn, and her fingers played nervouslywith her chatelain. Suddenly, with a sharp, quick gesture which had init something of _abandon_ and recklessness, she held out her hand to hercompanion.
"I accept," she said.
They were standing under the shadow of the hawthorn. He stooped gravelydown, and kissed her glove-covered fingers.
"I trust that _you_ may never have cause to regret your decision," hesaid.
"I trust that _you_ never may," she cried, with a heaving breast.
There were tears in her eyes,
and her lips twitched with some strongemotion.
"Come into the sunshine again," said he. "It is the great restorative.Your nerves are shaken. Some little congestion of the medulla and pons.It is always instructive to reduce psychic or emotional conditions totheir physical equivalents. You feel that your anchor is still firm in abottom of ascertained fact."
"But it is so dreadfully unromantic," said Mrs. O'James, with her oldtwinkle.
"Romance is the offspring of imagination and of ignorance. Where sciencethrows her calm, clear light there is happily no room for romance."
"But is not love romance?" she asked.
"Not at all. Love has been taken away from the poets, and has beenbrought within the domain of true science. It may prove to be one of thegreat cosmic elementary forces. When the atom of hydrogen draws the atomof chlorine towards it to form the perfected molecule of hydrochloricacid, the force which it exerts may be intrinsically similar to thatwhich draws me to you. Attraction and repulsion appear to be the primaryforces. This is attraction."
"And here is repulsion," said Mrs. O'James, as a stout, florid lady camesweeping across the lawn in their direction. "So glad you have come out,Mrs. Esdaile! Here is Professor Grey."
"How do you do, Professor?" said the lady, with some little pomposity ofmanner. "You were very wise to stay out here on so lovely a day. Is itnot heavenly?"
"It is certainly very fine weather," the Professor answered.
"Listen to the wind sighing in the trees!" cried Mrs. Esdaile, holdingup one finger. "It is Nature's lullaby. Could you not imagine it,Professor Grey, to be the whisperings of angels?"
"The idea had not occurred to me, madam."
"Ah, Professor, I have always the same complaint against you. A want of_rapport_ with the deeper meanings of Nature. Shall I say a want ofimagination? You do not feel an emotional thrill at the singing of thatthrush?"
"I confess that I am not conscious of one, Mrs. Esdaile."
"Or at the delicate tint of that background of leaves? See the richgreens!"
"Chlorophyll," murmured the Professor.
"Science is so hopelessly prosaic. It dissects and labels, and losessight of the great things in its attention to the little ones. You havea poor opinion of woman's intellect, Professor Grey. I think that I haveheard you say so."
"It is a question of avoirdupois," said the Professor, closing his eyesand shrugging his shoulders. "The female cerebrum averages two ouncesless in weight than the male. No doubt there are exceptions. Nature isalways elastic."
"But the heaviest thing is not always the strongest," said Mrs. O'James,laughing. "Isn't there a law of compensation in science? May we not hopeto make up in quality what we lack in quantity?"
"I think not," remarked the Professor gravely. "But there is yourluncheon-gong. No, thank you, Mrs. Esdaile, I cannot stay. My carriageis waiting. Good-bye. Good-bye, Mrs. O'James."
He raised his hat and stalked slowly away among the laurel bushes.
"He has no taste," said Mrs. Esdaile--"no eye for beauty."
"On, the contrary," Mrs. O'James answered, with a saucy little jerk ofthe chin. "He has just asked me to be his wife."
* * * * *
As Professor Ainslie Grey ascended the steps of his house, the hall-dooropened and a dapper gentleman stepped briskly out. He was somewhatsallow in the face, with dark, beady eyes, and a short, black beard withan aggressive bristle. Thought and work had left their traces upon hisface, but he moved with the brisk activity of a man who had not yet badegood-bye to his youth.
"I'm in luck's way," he cried. "I wanted to see you."
"Then come back into the library," said the Professor; "you must stayand have lunch with us."
The two men entered the hall, and the Professor led the way into hisprivate sanctum. He motioned his companion into an arm-chair.
"I trust that you have been successful, O'Brien," said he. "I should beloath to exercise any undue pressure upon my sister Ada; but I havegiven her to understand that there is no one whom I should prefer for abrother-in-law to my most brilliant scholar, the author of 'Some Remarksupon the Bile-Pigments, with special reference to Urobilin.'"
"You are very kind, Professor Grey--you have always been very kind,"said the other. "I approached Miss Grey upon the subject; she did notsay No."
"She said Yes, then?"
"No; she proposed to leave the matter open until my return fromEdinburgh. I go to-day, as you know, and I hope to commence my researchto-morrow."
"On the comparative anatomy of the vermiform appendix, by James M'MurdoO'Brien," said the Professor sonorously. "It is a glorious subject--asubject which lies at the very root of evolutionary philosophy."
"Ah, she is the dearest girl," cried O'Brien, with a sudden little spurtof Celtic enthusiasm--"she is the soul of truth and of honour."
"The vermiform appendix----" began the Professor.
"She is an angel from heaven," interrupted the other. "I fear that it ismy advocacy of scientific freedom in religious thought which stands inmy way with her."
"You must not truckle upon that point. You must be true to yourconvictions; let there be no compromise there."
"My reason is true to agnosticism, and yet I am conscious of a void--avacuum. I had feelings at the old church at home between the scent ofthe incense and the roll of the organ, such as I have never experiencedin the laboratory or the lecture-room."
"Sensuous--purely sensuous," said the Professor, rubbing his chin."Vague hereditary tendencies stirred into life by the stimulation of thenasal and auditory nerves."
"Maybe so, maybe so," the younger man answered thoughtfully. "But thiswas not what I wished to speak to you about. Before I enter your family,your sister and you have a claim to know all that I can tell you aboutmy career. Of my worldly prospects I have already spoken to you. Thereis only one point which I have omitted to mention. I am a widower."
The Professor raised his eyebrows.
"This is news indeed," said he.
"I married shortly after my arrival in Australia. Miss Thurston was hername. I met her in society. It was a most unhappy match."
Some painful emotion possessed him. His quick, expressive featuresquivered, and his white hands tightened upon the arms of the chair. TheProfessor turned away towards the window.
"You are the best judge," he remarked; "but I should not think that itwas necessary to go into details."
"You have a right to know everything--you and Miss Grey. It is not amatter on which I can well speak to her direct. Poor Jinny was the bestof women, but she was open to flattery, and liable to be misled bydesigning persons. She was untrue to me, Grey. It is a hard thing to sayof the dead, but she was untrue to me. She fled to Auckland with a manwhom she had known before her marriage. The brig which carried themfoundered, and not a soul was saved."
"This is very painful, O'Brien," said the Professor, with a deprecatorymotion of his hand. "I cannot see, however, how it affects your relationto my sister."
"I have eased my conscience," said O'Brien, rising from his chair; "Ihave told you all that there is to tell. I should not like the story toreach you through any lips but my own."
"You are right, O'Brien. Your action has been most honourable andconsiderate. But you are not to blame in the matter, save that perhapsyou showed a little precipitancy in choosing a life-partner without duecare and inquiry."
O'Brien drew his hand across his eyes.
"Poor girl!" he cried. "God help me, I love her still. But I must go."
"You will lunch with us?"
"No, Professor; I have my packing still to do. I have already bade MissGrey adieu. In two months I shall see you again."
"You will probably find me a married man."
"Married!"
"Yes, I have been thinking of it."
"My dear Professor, let me congratulate you with all my heart. I had noidea. Who is the lady?"
"Mrs. O'James is her name--a widow of the same nationality as y
ourself.But to return to matters of importance, I should be very happy to seethe proofs of your paper upon the vermiform appendix. I may be able tofurnish you with material for a footnote or two."
"Your assistance will be invaluable to me," said O'Brien, withenthusiasm, and the two men parted in the hall. The Professor walkedback into the dining-room, where his sister was already seated at theluncheon-table.
"I shall be married at the registrar's," he remarked; "I should stronglyrecommend you to do the same."
Professor Ainslie Grey was as good as his word. A fortnight's cessationof his classes gave him an opportunity which was too good to let pass.Mrs. O'James was an orphan, without relations and almost without friendsin the country. There was no obstacle in the way of a speedy wedding.They were married, accordingly, in the quietest manner possible, andwent off to Cambridge together, where the Professor and his charmingwife were present at several academic observances, and varied theroutine of their honeymoon by incursions into biological laboratoriesand medical libraries. Scientific friends were loud in theircongratulations, not only upon Mrs. Grey's beauty, but upon the unusualquickness and intelligence she displayed in discussing physiologicalquestions. The Professor was himself astonished at the accuracy of herinformation. "You have a remarkable range of knowledge for a woman,Jeannette," he remarked upon more than one occasion. He was evenprepared to admit that her cerebrum might be of the normal weight.
One foggy, drizzling morning they returned to Birchespool, for the nextday would reopen the session, and Professor Ainslie Grey prided himselfupon having never once in his life failed to appear in his lecture-roomat the very stroke of the hour. Miss Ada Grey welcomed them with aconstrained cordiality, handed over the keys of office to the newmistress. Mrs. Grey pressed her warmly to remain, but she explained thatshe had already accepted an invitation which would engage her for somemonths. The same evening she departed for the south of England.
A couple of days later the maid carried a card just after breakfast intothe library where the Professor sat revising his morning lecture. Itannounced the rearrival of Dr. James M'Murdo O'Brien. Their meeting waseffusively genial on the part of the younger man, and coldly precise onthat of his former teacher.
"You see there have been changes," said the Professor.
"So I heard. Miss Grey told me in her letters, and I read the notice inthe _British Medical Journal_. So it's really married you are. Howquickly and quietly you have managed it all!"
"I am constitutionally averse to anything in the nature of show orceremony. My wife is a sensible woman--I may even go the length ofsaying that, for a woman, she is abnormally sensible. She quite agreedwith me in the course which I have adopted."
"And your research on Vallisneria?"
"This matrimonial incident has interrupted it, but I have resumed myclasses, and we shall soon be quite in harness again."
"I must see Miss Grey before I leave England. We have corresponded, andI think that all will be well. She must come out with me. I don't thinkI could go without her."
The Professor shook his head.
"Your nature is not so weak as you pretend," he said. "Questions of thissort are, after all, quite subordinate to the great duties of life."
O'Brien smiled.
"You would have me take out my Celtic soul and put in a Saxon one," hesaid. "Either my brain is too small or my heart is too big. But when mayI call and pay my respects to Mrs. Grey? Will she be at home thisafternoon?"
"She is at home now. Come into the morning-room. She will be glad tomake your acquaintance."
They walked across the linoleum-paved hall. The Professor opened thedoor of the room, and walked in, followed by his friend. Mrs. Grey wassitting in a basket-chair by the window, light and fairy-like in aloose-flowing, pink morning gown. Seeing a visitor, she rose and swepttowards them. The Professor heard a dull thud behind him. O'Brien hadfallen back into a chair, with his hand pressed tight to his side.
"Jinny!" he gasped--"Jinny!"
Mrs. Grey stopped dead in her advance, and stared at him with a facefrom which every expression had been struck out, save one ofastonishment and horror. Then with a sharp intaking of the breath shereeled, and would have fallen had the Professor not thrown his long,nervous arm round her.
"Try this sofa," said he.
She sank back among the cushions with the same white, cold, dead lookupon her face. The Professor stood with his back to the empty fireplaceand glanced from the one to the other.
"So, O'Brien," he said at last, "you have already made the acquaintanceof my wife!"
"Your wife," cried his friend hoarsely. "She is no wife of yours. Godhelp me, she is _my_ wife."
The Professor stood rigidly upon the hearth-rug. His long, thin fingerswere intertwined, and his head had sunk a little forward. His twocompanions had eyes only for each other.
"Jinny!" said he.
"James!"
"How could you leave me so, Jinny? How could you have the heart to doit? I thought you were dead. I mourned for your death--ay, and you havemade me mourn for you living. You have withered my life."
She made no answer, but lay back among the cushions with her eyes stillfixed upon him.
"Why do you not speak?"
"Because you are right, James. I have treated you cruelly--shamefully.But it is not as bad as you think."
"You fled with De Horta."
"No, I did not. At the last moment my better nature prevailed. He wentalone. But I was ashamed to come back after what I had written to you. Icould not face you. I took passage alone to England under a new name,and here I have lived ever since. It seemed to me that I was beginninglife again. I knew that you thought I was drowned. Who could havedreamed that Fate would throw us together again! When the Professorasked me----"
She stopped and gave a gasp for breath.
"You are faint," said the Professor--"keep the head low; it aids thecerebral circulation." He flattened down the cushion. "I am sorry toleave you, O'Brien; but I have my class duties to look to. Possibly Imay find you here when I return."
With a grim and rigid face he strode out of the room. Not one of thethree hundred students who listened to his lecture saw any change in hismanner and appearance, or could have guessed that the austere gentlemanin front of them had found out at last how hard it is to rise aboveone's humanity. The lecture over, he performed his routine duties in thelaboratory, and then drove back to his own house. He did not enter bythe front door, but passed through the garden to the folding glasscasement which led out of the morning-room. As he approached he heardhis wife's voice and O'Brien's in loud and animated talk. He pausedamong the rose-bushes, uncertain whether to interrupt them or no.Nothing was further from his nature than to play the eavesdropper; butas he stood, still hesitating, words fell upon his ear which struck himrigid and motionless.
"You are still my wife, Jinny," said O'Brien; "I forgive you from thebottom of my heart. I love you, and I have never ceased to love you,though you had forgotten me."
"No, James, my heart was always in Melbourne. I have always been yours.I thought that it was better for you that I should seem to be dead."
"You must choose between us now, Jinny. If you determine to remain here,I shall not open my lips. There shall be no scandal. If, on the otherhand, you come with me, it's little I care about the world's opinion.Perhaps I am as much to blame as you are. I thought too much of my workand too little of my wife."
The Professor heard the cooing, caressing laugh which he knew so well.
"I shall go with you, James," she said.
"And the Professor----?"
"The poor Professor! But he will not mind much, James; he has no heart."
"We must tell him our resolution."
"There is no need," said Professor Ainslie Grey, stepping in through theopen casement. "I have overheard the latter part of your conversation. Ihesitated to interrupt you before you came to a conclusion."
O'Brien stretched out his hand and took that of the woman. They
stoodtogether with the sunshine on their faces. The Professor paused at thecasement with his hands behind his back and his long black shadow fellbetween them.
"You have come to a wise decision," said he. "Go back to Australiatogether, and let what has passed be blotted out of your lives."
"But you--you----" stammered O'Brien.
The Professor waved his hand.
"Never trouble about me," he said.
The woman gave a gasping cry.
"What can I do or say?" she wailed. "How could I have foreseen this? Ithought my old life was dead. But it has come back again, with all itshopes and its desires. What can I say to you, Ainslie? I have broughtshame and disgrace upon a worthy man. I have blasted your life. How youmust hate and loathe me! I wish to God that I had never been born!"
"I neither hate nor loathe you, Jeannette," said the Professor quietly."You are wrong in regretting your birth, for you have a worthy missionbefore you in aiding the life-work of a man who has shown himselfcapable of the highest order of scientific research. I cannot withjustice blame you personally for what has occurred. How far theindividual monad is to be held responsible for hereditary and engrainedtendencies, is a question upon which science has not yet said her lastword."
He stood with his finger-tips touching, and his body inclined as one whois gravely expounding a difficult and impersonal subject. O'Brien hadstepped forward to say something, but the other's attitude and mannerfroze the words upon his lips. Condolence or sympathy would be animpertinence to one who could so easily merge his private griefs inbroad questions of abstract philosophy.
"It is needless to prolong the situation," the Professor continued, inthe same measured tones. "My brougham stands at the door. I beg that youwill use it as your own. Perhaps it would be as well that you shouldleave the town without unnecessary delay. Your things, Jeannette, shallbe forwarded."
O'Brien hesitated with a hanging head.
"I hardly dare offer you my hand," he said.
"On the contrary. I think that of the three of us you come best out ofthe affair. You have nothing to be ashamed of."
"Your sister--"
"I shall see that the matter is put to her in its true light. Good-bye!Let me have a copy of your recent research. Good-bye, Jeannette!"
"Good-bye!"
Their hands met, and for one short moment their eyes also. It was only aglance, but for the first and last time the woman's intuition cast alight for itself into the dark places of a strong man's soul. She gave alittle gasp, and her other hand rested for an instant, as white and aslight as thistle-down, upon his shoulder.
"James, James!" she cried. "Don't you see that he is stricken to theheart?"
He turned her quietly away from him.
"I am not an emotional man," he said. "I have my duties--my research onVallisneria. The brougham is there. Your cloak is in the hall. Tell Johnwhere you wish to be driven. He will faring you anything you need. Nowgo."
His last two words were so sudden, so volcanic, in such contrast to hismeasured voice and mask-like face, that they swept the two away fromhim. He closed the door behind them and paced slowly up and down theroom. Then he passed into the library and looked out over the wireblind. The carriage was rolling away. He caught a last glimpse of thewoman who had been his wife. He saw the feminine droop of her head, andthe curve of her beautiful throat.
Under some foolish, aimless impulse, he took a few quick steps towardsthe door. Then he turned, and, throwing himself into his study chair, heplunged back into his work.
* * * * *
There was little scandal about this singular domestic incident. TheProfessor had few personal friends, and seldom went into society. Hismarriage had been so quiet that most of his colleagues had never ceasedto regard him as a bachelor. Mrs. Esdaile and a few others might talk,but their field for gossip was limited, for they could only guessvaguely at the cause of this sudden separation.
The Professor was as punctual as ever at his classes, and as zealous indirecting the laboratory work of those who studied under him. His ownprivate researches were pushed on with feverish energy. It was nouncommon thing for his servants, when they came down of a morning, tohear the shrill scratchings of his tireless pen, or to meet him on thestaircase as he ascended, grey and silent, to his room. In vain hisfriends assured him that such a life must undermine his health. Helengthened his hours until day and night were one long, ceaseless task.
Gradually under this discipline a change came over his appearance. Hisfeatures, always inclined to gauntness, became even sharper and morepronounced. There were deep lines about his temples and across his brow.His cheek was sunken and his complexion bloodless. His knees gave underhim when he walked; and once when passing out of his lecture-room hefell and had to be assisted to his carriage.
This was just before the end of the session; and soon after the holidayscommenced, the professors who still remained in Birchespool were shockedto hear that their brother of the chair of physiology had sunk so lowthat no hopes could be entertained of his recovery. Two eminentphysicians had consulted over his case without being able to give a nameto the affection from which he suffered. A steadily decreasing vitalityappeared to be the only symptom--a bodily weakness which left the mindunclouded. He was much interested himself in his own case, and madenotes of his subjective sensations as an aid to diagnosis. Of hisapproaching end he spoke in his usual unemotional and somewhat pedanticfashion. "It is the assertion," he said, "of the liberty of theindividual cell as opposed to the cell-commune. It is the dissolution ofa co-operative society. The process is one of great interest."
And so one grey morning his co-operative society dissolved. Very quietlyand softly he sank into his eternal sleep. His two physicians felt someslight embarrassment when called upon to fill in his certificate.
"It is difficult to give it a name," said one.
"Very," said the other.
"If he were not such an unemotional man, I should have said that he haddied from some sudden nervous shock--from, in fact, what the vulgarwould call a broken heart."
"I don't think poor Grey was that sort of a man at all."
"Let us call it cardiac, anyhow," said the other physician.
So they did so.
The Man from Archangel, and Other Tales of Adventure Page 7