Sally Dows

by Bret Harte

in her voice and a look of painin her eyes which was not unlike what Mrs. Bunker had seen and pitied inMarion. But they were the eyes of a woman who had humbled her, and Mrs.Bunker would have been unworthy her sex if she had not felt a cruelenjoyment in it. Yet the dominance of the stranger was still so strongthat she did not dare to refuse the proffered hand. She, however,slipped the ring from her finger and laid it in Mrs. Fairfax's palm.

  "You can take that with you," she said, with a desperate attempt toimitate the other's previous indifference. "I shouldn't like to depriveyou and YOUR FRIEND of the opportunity of making use of it again. As forMY husband, I shall say nothing of you to him as long as you say nothingto him of me--which I suppose is what you mean."

  The insolent look came back to Mrs. Fairfax's face. "I reckon yo' 'reright," she said quietly, putting the ring in her pocket as she fixedher dark eyes on Mrs. Bunker, "and the ring may be of use again.Good-by, Mrs. Bunker."

  She waved her hand carelessly, and turning away passed out of the house.A moment later the boat and its two occupants pushed from the shore, anddisappeared round the Point.

  Then Mrs. Bunker looked round the room, and down upon her empty finger,and knew that it was the end of her dream. It was all over now--indeed,with the picture of that proud, insolent woman before her she wonderedif it had ever begun. This was the woman she had allowed herself tothink SHE might be. This was the woman HE was thinking of when he satthere; this was the Mrs. Fairfax the officers had spoken of, and whohad made her--Mrs. Bunker--the go-between for their love-making! Allthe work that she had done for him, the deceit she had practiced on herhusband, was to bring him and this woman together! And they both knewit, and had no doubt laughed at her and her pretensions!

  It was with a burning cheek that she thought how she had intended to goto Marion, and imagined herself arriving perhaps to find that shamelesswoman already there. In her vague unformulated longings she had neverbefore realized the degradation into which her foolish romance mightlead her. She saw it now; that humiliating moral lesson we are all aptto experience in the accidental display of our own particular vices inthe person we hate, she had just felt in Mrs. Fairfax's presence. Withit came the paralyzing fear of her husband's discovery of her secret.Secure as she had been in her dull belief that he had in some waywronged her by marrying her, she for the first time began to doubt ifthis condoned the deceit she had practiced on him. The tribute Mrs.Fairfax had paid him--this appreciation of his integrity and honestyby an enemy and a woman like herself--troubled her, frightened her, andfilled her with her first jealousy! What if this woman should tell himall; what if she should make use of him as Marion had of her! Zephas wasa strong Northern partisan, but was he proof against the guilefulcharms of such a devil? She had never thought before of questioning hisfidelity to her; she suddenly remembered now some rough pleasantries ofCaptain Simmons in regard to the inconstancy of his calling. No! therewas but one thing for her to do: she would make a clean breast to him;she would tell him everything she had done except the fatal fancy thatcompelled her to it! She began to look for his coming now with alternatehope and fear--with unabated impatience! The night that he should havearrived passed slowly; morning came, but not Zephas. When the mist hadlifted she ran impatiently to the rocks and gazed anxiously towards thelower bay. There were a few gray sails scarce distinguishable abovethe grayer water--but they were not his. She glanced half mechanicallyseaward, and her eyes became suddenly fixed. There was no mistake! Sheknew the rig!--she could see the familiar white lap-streak as the vesselcareened on the starboard tack--it was her husband's schooner slowlycreeping out of the Golden Gate!

  PART III.

  Her first wild impulse was to run to the cove, for the little dingeyalways moored there, and to desperately attempt to overtake him. Butthe swift consciousness of its impossibility was followed by a dull,bewildering torpor, that kept her motionless, helplessly following thevessel with straining eyes, as if they could evoke some response fromits decks. She was so lost in this occupation that she did not see thata pilot-boat nearly abreast of the cove had put out a two-oared gig,which was pulling quickly for the rocks. When she saw it, she trembledwith the instinct that it brought her intelligence. She was right;it was a brief note from her husband, informing her that he had beenhurriedly dispatched on a short sea cruise; that in order to catch thetide he had not time to go ashore at the bluff, but he would explaineverything on his return. Her relief was only partial; she was alreadyexperienced enough in his vocation to know that the excuse was a feebleone. He could easily have "fetched" the bluff in tacking out of the Gateand have signaled to her to board him in her own boat. The next day shelocked up her house, rowed round the Point to the Embarcadero, wherethe Bay steamboats occasionally touched and took up passengers to SanFrancisco. Captain Simmons had not seen her husband this last trip;indeed, did not know that he had gone out of the Bay. Mrs. Bunker wasseized with a desperate idea. She called upon the Secretary of theFishing Trust. That gentle man was business-like, but neither expansivenor communicative. Her husband had NOT been ordered out to sea by them;she ought to know that Captain Bunker was now his own master, choosinghis own fishing grounds, and his own times and seasons. He was notaware of any secret service for the Company in which Captain Bunker wasengaged. He hoped Mrs. Bunker would distinctly remember that the littlematter of the duel to which she referred was an old bygone affair,and never anything but a personal matter, in which the Fishery had noconcern whatever, and in which HE certainly should not again engage. Hewould advise Mrs. Bunker, if she valued her own good, and especially herhusband's, to speedily forget all about it. These were ugly times, asit was. If Mrs. Bunker's services had not been properly rewarded orconsidered it was certainly a great shame, but really HE could not beexpected to make it good. Certain parties had cost him trouble enoughalready. Besides, really, she must see that his position between herhusband, whom he respected, and a certain other party was a delicateone. But Mrs. Bunker heard no more. She turned and ran down thestaircase, carrying with her a burning cheek and blazing eye thatsomewhat startled the complacent official.

  She did not remember how she got home again. She had a vaguerecollection of passing through the crowded streets, wondering if thepeople knew that she was an outcast, deserted by her husband, deceivedby her ideal hero, repudiated by her friends! Men had gathered inknots before the newspaper offices, excited and gesticulating over thebulletin boards that had such strange legends as "The Crisis," "Detailsof an Alleged Conspiracy to Overthrow the Government," "The Assassin ofHenderson to the Fore Again," "Rumored Arrests on the Mexican Frontier."Sometimes she thought she understood the drift of them; even fanciedthey were the outcome of her visit--as if her very presence carriedtreachery and suspicion with it--but generally they only struck herbenumbed sense as a dull, meaningless echo of something that hadhappened long ago. When she reached her house, late that night, thefamiliar solitude of shore and sea gave her a momentary relief, but withit came the terrible conviction that she had forfeited her right to it,that when her husband came back it would be hers no longer, and thatwith their meeting she would know it no more. For through all herchildish vacillation and imaginings she managed to cling to onesteadfast resolution. She would tell him EVERYTHING, and know the worst.Perhaps he would never come; perhaps she should not be alive to meethim.

  And so the days and nights slowly passed. The solitude which herprevious empty deceit had enabled her to fill with such charming visionsnow in her awakened remorse seemed only to protract her misery. Had shebeen a more experienced, though even a more guilty, woman she would havesuffered less. Without sympathy or counsel, without even the faintestknowledge of the world or its standards of morality to guide her, sheaccepted her isolation and friendlessness as a necessary part of herwrongdoing. Her only criterion was her enemy--Mrs. Fairfax--and SHEcould seek her relief by joining her lover; but Mrs. Bunker knew nowthat she herself had never had one--and was alone! Mrs. Fairfax hadbroken openly with her husband; but SHE had DECEIVED hers, and the
experience and reckoning were still to come. In her miserable confessionit was not strange that this half child, half woman, sometimes lookedtowards that gray sea, eternally waiting for her,--that sea which hadtaken everything from her and given her nothing in return,--for anobliterating and perhaps exonerating death!

  The third day of her waiting isolation was broken upon by anotherintrusion. The morning had been threatening, with an opaque, motionless,livid arch above, which had taken the place of the usual flying scud andshaded cloud masses of the rainy season. The whole outlying ocean, too,beyond the bar, appeared nearer, and even seemed to be lifted higherthan the Bay itself, and was lit every now and then with wonderfulclearness by long flashes of breaking foam like summer lightning. Sheknew that this meant a southwester, and began, with a certain mechanicaldeliberation, to set