XXXVII
THE SISTERS
Miller's doorbell rang loudly, insistently, as though demanding aresponse. Absorbed in his own grief, into which he had relapsed uponCarteret's departure, the sound was an unwelcome intrusion. Surely theman could not be coming back! If it were some one else--What else mighthappen to the doomed town concerned him not. His child was dead,--hisdistracted wife could not be left alone.
The doorbell rang--clamorously--appealingly. Through the long hall andthe closed door of the room where he sat, he could hear some oneknocking, and a faint voice calling.
"Open, for God's sake, open!"
It was a woman's voice,--the voice of a woman in distress. Slowly Millerrose and went to the door, which he opened mechanically.
A lady stood there, so near the image of his own wife, whom he had justleft, that for a moment he was well-nigh startled. A little older,perhaps, a little fairer of complexion, but with the same form, the samefeatures, marked by the same wild grief. She wore a loose wrapper, whichclothed her like the drapery of a statue. Her long dark hair, thecounterpart of his wife's, had fallen down, and hung disheveled abouther shoulders. There was blood upon her knuckles, where she had beatenwith them upon the door. "Dr. Miller," she panted, breathless from herflight and laying her hand upon his arm appealingly,--when he shrankfrom the contact she still held it there,--"Dr. Miller, you will comeand save my child? You know what it is to lose a child! I am so sorryabout your little boy! You will come to mine!"
"Your sorrow comes too late, madam," he said harshly. "My child is dead.I charged your husband with his murder, and he could not deny it. Whyshould I save your husband's child?"
"Ah, Dr. Miller!" she cried, with his wife's voice,--she never knew howmuch, in that dark hour, she owed to that resemblance--"it is _my_child, and I have never injured you. It is my child, Dr. Miller, my onlychild. I brought it into the world at the risk of my own life! I havenursed it, I have watched over it, I have prayed for it,--and it nowlies dying! Oh, Dr. Miller, dear Dr. Miller, if you have a heart, comeand save my child!"
"Madam," he answered more gently, moved in spite of himself, "my heartis broken. My people lie dead upon the streets, at the hands of yours.The work of my life is in ashes,--and, yonder, stretched out in death,lies my own child! God! woman, you ask too much of human nature! Love,duty, sorrow, _justice_, call me here. I cannot go!"
She rose to her full height. "Then you are a murderer," she criedwildly. "His blood be on your head, and a mother's curse beside!"
The next moment, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, she had thrownherself at his feet,--at the feet of a negro, this proud whitewoman,--and was clasping his knees wildly.
"O God!" she prayed, in tones which quivered with anguish, "pardon myhusband's sins, and my own, and move this man's hard heart, by the bloodof thy Son, who died to save us all!"
It was the last appeal of poor humanity. When the pride of intellect andcaste is broken; when we grovel in the dust of humiliation; whensickness and sorrow come, and the shadow of death falls upon us, andthere is no hope elsewhere,--we turn to God, who sometimes swallows theinsult, and answers the appeal.
Miller raised the lady to her feet. He had been deeply moved,--but hehad been more deeply injured. This was his wife's sister,--ah, yes! buta sister who had scorned and slighted and ignored the existence of hiswife for all her life. Only Miller, of all the world, could have guessedwhat this had meant to Janet, and he had merely divined it through theclairvoyant sympathy of love. This woman could have no claim upon himbecause of this unacknowledged relationship. Yet, after all, she was hiswife's sister, his child's kinswoman. She was a fellow creature, too,and in distress.
"Rise, madam," he said, with a sudden inspiration, lifting her gently."I will listen to you on one condition. My child lies dead in theadjoining room, his mother by his side. Go in there, and make yourrequest of her. I will abide by her decision."
The two women stood confronting each other across the body of the deadchild, mute witness of this first meeting between two children of thesame father. Standing thus face to face, each under the stress of thedeepest emotions, the resemblance between them was even more strikingthan it had seemed to Miller when he had admitted Mrs. Carteret to thehouse. But Death, the great leveler, striking upon the one hand andthreatening upon the other, had wrought a marvelous transformation inthe bearing of the two women. The sad-eyed Janet towered erect, withmenacing aspect, like an avenging goddess. The other, whose pride hadbeen her life, stood in the attitude of a trembling suppliant.
"_You_ have come here," cried Janet, pointing with a tragic gesture tothe dead child,--"_you_, to gloat over your husband's work. All my lifeyou have hated and scorned and despised me. Your presence here insultsme and my dead. What are you doing here?"
"Mrs. Miller," returned Mrs. Carteret tremulously, dazed for a moment bythis outburst, and clasping her hands with an imploring gesture, "mychild, my only child, is dying, and your husband alone can save hislife. Ah, let me have my child," she moaned, heart-rendingly. "It is myonly one--my sweet child--my ewe lamb!"
"This was _my_ only child!" replied the other mother; "and yours is nobetter to die than mine!"
"You are young," said Mrs. Carteret, "and may yet have manychildren,--this is my only hope! If you have a human heart, tell yourhusband to come with me. He leaves it to you; he will do as youcommand."
"Ah," cried Janet, "I have a human heart, and therefore I will not lethim go. _My_ child is dead--O God, my child, my child!"
She threw herself down by the bedside, sobbing hysterically. The otherwoman knelt beside her, and put her arm about her neck. For a momentJanet, absorbed in her grief, did not repulse her. "Listen," pleadedMrs. Carteret. "You will not let my baby die? You are my sister;--thechild is your own near kin!"
"My child was nearer," returned Janet, rising again to her feet andshaking off the other woman's arm. "He was my son, and I have seen himdie. I have been your sister for twenty-five years, and you have onlynow, for the first time, called me so!"
"Listen--sister," returned Mrs. Carteret. Was there no way to move thiswoman? Her child lay dying, if he were not dead already. She would telleverything, and leave the rest to God. If it would save her child, shewould shrink at no sacrifice. Whether the truth would still furtherincense Janet, or move her to mercy, she could not tell; she would leavethe issue to God.
"Listen, sister!" she said. "I have a confession to make. You are mylawful sister. My father was married to your mother. You are entitled tohis name, and to half his estate."
Janet's eyes flashed with bitter scorn.
"And you have robbed me all these years, and now tell me that as areason why I should forgive the murder of my child?"
"No, no!" cried the other wildly, fearing the worst. "I have known of itonly a few weeks,--since my Aunt Polly's death. I had not meant to robyou,--I had meant to make restitution. Sister! for our father's sake,who did you no wrong, give me my child's life!"
Janet's eyes slowly filled with tears--bitter tears--burning tears. Fora moment even her grief at her child's loss dropped to second place inher thoughts. This, then, was the recognition for which, all her life,she had longed in secret. It had come, after many days, and in largermeasure than she had dreamed; but it had come, not with frank kindlinessand sisterly love, but in a storm of blood and tears; not freely given,from an open heart, but extorted from a reluctant conscience by theagony of a mother's fears. Janet had obtained her heart's desire, andnow that it was at her lips, found it but apples of Sodom, filled withdust and ashes!
"Listen!" she cried, dashing her tears aside. "I have but one word foryou,--one last word,--and then I hope never to see your face again! Mymother died of want, and I was brought up by the hand of charity. Now,when I have married a man who can supply my needs, you offer me back themoney which you and your friends have robbed me of! You imagined thatthe shame of being a negro swallowed up every other ignominy,--and inyour eyes I am a negro, though I am your sister, and
you are white, andpeople have taken me for you on the streets,--and you, therefore, leftme nameless all my life! Now, when an honest man has given me a name ofwhich I can be proud, you offer me the one of which you robbed me, andof which I can make no use. For twenty-five years I, poor, despicablefool, would have kissed your feet for a word, a nod, a smile. Now, whenthis tardy recognition comes, for which I have waited so long, it istainted with fraud and crime and blood, and I must pay for it with mychild's life!"
"And I must forfeit that of mine, it seems, for withholding it so long,"sobbed the other, as, tottering, she turned to go. "It is but just."
"Stay--do not go yet!" commanded Janet imperiously, her pride stillkeeping back her tears. "I have not done. I throw you back yourfather's name, your father's wealth, your sisterly recognition. I wantnone of them,--they are bought too dear! ah, God, they are bought toodear! But that you may know that a woman may be foully wronged, and yetmay have a heart to feel, even for one who has injured her, you may haveyour child's life, if my husband can save it! Will," she said, throwingopen the door into the next room, "go with her!"
"God will bless you for a noble woman!" exclaimed Mrs. Carteret. "You donot mean all the cruel things you have said,--ah, no! I will see youagain, and make you take them back; I cannot thank you now! Oh, doctor,let us go! I pray God we may not be too late!"
Together they went out into the night. Mrs. Carteret tottered under thestress of her emotions, and would have fallen, had not Miller caught andsustained her with his arm until they reached the house, where he turnedover her fainting form to Carteret at the door.
"Is the child still alive?" asked Miller.
"Yes, thank God," answered the father, "but nearly gone."
"Come on up, Dr. Miller," called Evans from the head of the stairs."There's time enough, but none to spare."
The Marrow of Tradition Page 37