"I mean what I say--that you will not be taken back to the island."
"But where will I be taken?"
"You will be taken to the mainland."
I stared at the others. No one gave a sign. At last I whispered, "You would _dare?_"
"You leave us no other alternative," replied the master.
"You--you will practically kidnap me!" My voice must have been rather wild at that moment.
"You left my home of your own free will. I think I need hardly point out to you that I am not compelled to invite you back to it."
"And what will Sylvia----" I stopped; appalled at the vista the words opened up.
"My wife," said van Tuiver, "will ultimately choose between her husband and her most remarkable acquaintance."
"And you gentlemen?" I turned to the others. "You would give your sanction to this outrageous action?"
"As the older of the physicians in charge of this case----" began Dr.
Gibson.
I turned to van Tuiver again. "When your wife finds out what you have done to me--what will you answer?"
"We will deal with that situation when we come to it."
"Of course," I said, "you understand that sooner or later I shall get word to her!"
He answered, "We shall a.s.sume from now on that you are a mad woman, and shall take our precautions accordingly."
Again there was a silence.
"The launch will return to the mainland," said van Tuiver at last. "It will remain there until Mrs. Abbott sees fit to go ash.o.r.e. May I ask if she has sufficient money in her purse to take her to New York?"
I could not help laughing. The thing was so wild--and yet I could see that from their point of view it was the only thing to do. "Mrs. Abbott is not certain that she is going back to New York," I replied. "If she does go, it will not be with Mr. van Tuiver"s money."
"One thing more," said Dr. Perrin. It was the first time he had spoken since van Tuiver"s incredible announcement. "I trust, Mrs. Abbott, that this unfortunate situation may at all costs be concealed from servants, and from the world in general."
From which I realized how badly I had them frightened. They actually saw me making physical resistance!
"Dr. Perrin," I replied, "I am acting in this matter for my friend.
I will add this: that I believe that you are letting yourself be overborne, and that you will regret it some day."
He made no answer. Douglas van Tuiver put an end to the discussion by rising and signalling the other launch. When it had come alongside, he said to the captain, "Mrs. Abbott is going back to the railroad. You will take her at once."
Then he waited; I was malicious enough to give him an anxious moment before I rose. Dr. Perrin offered me his hand; and Dr. Gibson said, with a smile, "Good-bye, Mrs. Abbott. I"m sorry you can"t stay with us any longer."
I think it was something to my credit that I was able to play out the game before the boatmen. "I am sorry, too," I countered. "I am hoping I shall be able to return."
And then came the real ordeal. "Good-bye, Mrs. Abbott," said Douglas van Tuiver, with his stateliest bow; and I managed to answer him!
As I took my seat, he beckoned his secretary. There was a whispered consultation for a minute or two, and then the master returned to the smaller launch with the doctors. He gave the word, and the two vessels set out--one to the key, and the other to the railroad. The secretary went in the one with me!
29. And here ends a certain stage of my story. I have described Sylvia as I met her and judged her; and if there be any reader who has been irked by this method, who thinks of me as a crude and pushing person, disposed to meddle in the affairs of others, here is where that reader will have his satisfaction and revenge. For if ever a troublesome puppet was jerked suddenly off the stage--if ever a long-winded orator was effectively snuffed out--I was that puppet and that orator. I stop and think--shall I describe how I paced up and down the pier, respectfully but emphatically watched by the secretary? And all the melodramatic plots I conceived, the m.u.f.fled oars and the midnight visits to my Sylvia? My sense of humour forbids it. For a while now I shall take the hint and stay in the background of this story. I shall tell the experiences of Sylvia as Sylvia herself told them to me long afterwards; saying no more about my own fate--save that I swallowed my humiliation and took the next train to New York, a far sadder and wiser social-reformer!
BOOK III. SYLVIA AS REBEL
1. Long afterwards Sylvia told me about what happened between her husband and herself; how desperately she tried to avoid discussing the issue with him--out of her very sense of fairness to him. But he came to her room, in spite of her protest, and by his implacable persistence he made her hear what he had to say. When he had made up his mind to a certain course of action, he was no more to be resisted than a glacier.
"Sylvia," he said, "I know that you are upset by what has happened. I make every allowance for your condition; but there are some statements that I must be permitted to make, and there are simply no two ways about it--you must get yourself together and hear me."
"Let me see Mary Abbott!" she insisted, again and again. "It may not be what you want--but I demand to see her."
So at last he said, "You cannot see Mrs. Abbott. She has gone back to New York." And then, at her look of consternation: "That is one of the things I have to talk to you about."
"Why has she gone back?" cried Sylvia.
"Because I was unwilling to have her here."
"You mean you sent her away?"
"I mean that she understood she was no longer welcome."
Sylvia drew a quick breath and turned away to the window.
He took advantage of the opportunity to come near, and draw up a chair for her. "Will you not pleased to be seated," he said. And at last she turned, rigidly, and seated herself.
"The time has come," he declared, "when we have to settle this question of Mrs. Abbott, and her influence upon your life. I have argued with you about such matters, but now what has happened makes further discussion impossible. You were brought up among people of refinement, and it has been incredible to me that you should be willing to admit to your home such a woman as this--not merely of the commonest birth, but without a trace of the refinement to which you have been accustomed. And now you see the consequences of your having brought such a person into our life!"
He paused. She made no sound, and her gaze was riveted upon the window-curtain.
"She happens to be here," he went on, "at a time when a dreadful calamity befalls us--when we are in need of the utmost sympathy and consideration. Here is an obscure and terrible affliction, which has baffled the best physicians in the country; but this ignorant farmer"s wife considers that she knows all about it. She proceeds to discuss it with every one--sending your poor aunt almost into hysterics, setting the nurses to gossiping--G.o.d knows what else she has done, or what she will do, before she gets through. I don"t pretend to know her ultimate purpose--blackmail, possibly----"
"Oh, how can you!" she broke out, involuntarily. "How can you say such a thing about a friend of mine?"
"I might answer with another question--how can you have such a friend?
A woman who has cast off every restraint, every consideration of decency--and yet is able to persuade a daughter of the Castlemans to make her an intimate! Possibly she is an honest fanatic. Dr. Perrin tells me she was the wife of a brutal farmer, who mistreated her. No doubt that has embittered her against men, and accounts for her mania.
You see that her mind leaped at once to the most obscene and hideous explanation of this misfortune of ours--an explanation which pleased her because it blackened the honour of a man."
He stopped again. Sylvia"s eyes had moved back to the window-curtain.
"I am not going to insult your ears," he said, "with discussions of her ideas. The proper person to settle such matters is a physician, and if you wish Dr. Perrin to do so, he will tell you what he knows about the case. But I wish you to realize somehow what this thing has meant to me. I have managed to control myself----" He saw her shut her lips more tightly. "The doctors tell me that I must not excite you. But picture the situation. I come to my home, bowed down with grief for you and for my child. And this mad woman thrusts herself forward, shoves aside your aunt and your physicians, and comes in the launch to meet me at the station. And then she accuses me of being criminally guilty of the blindness of my child--of having wilfully deceived my wife! Think of it--that is my welcome to my home!"