Before the sentence was completed, Tristrem was at the gate. Hatless, with one hand ungloved and the other clutching a broken whip, the habit rent from hem to girdle, dust-covered and dishevelled, the eyes closed, and in the face the pallor and contraction of mortal pain, Viola Raritan lay, waist-supported, in her mother"s arms.
"Help me with her to the house," the mother moaned. Then noticing Tristrem at her side, "She"s been thrown," she added; "I knew she would be--I knew it----"
And as Tristrem reached to aid her with the burden, the girl"s eyes opened, "It"s nothing." She raised her ungloved hand, "I--" and swooned again.
They bore her into a little sitting-room, and laid her down. Mrs.
Raritan followed, distraught with fright. In her helplessness, words came from her unsequenced and obscure. But soon she seemed to feel the need of action. One servant she despatched for a physician, from another a restorative was obtained. And Tristrem, meanwhile, knelt at the girl"s side, beating her hand with his. It had been scratched, he noticed, as by a briar, and under the nails were stains such as might come from plucking berries that are red.
As he tried to take from her the whip, that he might rub the hand that held it too, the girl recovered consciousness again. The swoon had lasted but a moment or so, yet to him who watched it had been unmeasured time. She drew away the hand he held, and raising herself she looked at him; to her lips there came a tremulousness and her eyes filled.
"My darling," Mrs. Raritan sobbed, "are you hurt? Tell me. How did it happen? Did the horse run away with you. Oh, Viola, I knew there would be an accident. Where are you hurt? Did the horse drag you?"
The girl turned to her mother almost wonderingly. It seemed to Tristrem that she was not yet wholly herself.
"Yes," she answered; "no, I mean--no, he didn"t, it was an accident, he shied. _Do_ get me upstairs." And with that her head fell again on the cushion.
Tristrem sought to raise her, but she motioned him back and caught her mother"s hand, and rising with its a.s.sistance she let the arm circle her waist, and thus supported she suffered herself to be led away.
Tristrem followed them to the hall. On the porch a man loitered, hat in hand; as Tristrem approached he rubbed the brim reflectively.
"I saw the horse as good as an hour ago," he said, "I was going to Caswell"s." And with this information he crooked his arm and made a backward gesture. "It"s down yonder on the way to the Point," he explained. "As I pa.s.sed Hazard"s I looked in the cross-road--I call it a road, but after you get on a bit it"s nothing more than a cow-path, all bushes and suchlike. But just up the road I see"d the horse. He was nibbling gra.s.s as quiet as you please. I didn"t pay no attention, I thought he was tied. Well, when I was coming back I looked again; he wasn"t there, but just as I got to the turn I heard somebody holloaing, and I stopped. A man ran up and says to me, "There"s a lady hurt herself, can"t you give her a lift?" "Where?" says I. "Down there," he says, "back of Hazard"s; she"s been thrown." So I turned round, and sure enough there she was, by the fence, sort of dazed like. I says, "Are you hurt, miss?" and she says, "No," but could I bring her here, and then I see"d that her dress was torn. She got in, and I asked her where her hat was, and she said it was back there, but it didn"t make no difference, she wanted to get home. And when we were driving on here I told her as how I see"d the horse, and I asked if it wasn"t one of White"s, and she said, "Yes, it was," and I was a-going to ask where she was thrown, but she seemed sort of faint, and, sure enough, just as we got here away she went. I always says women-folk ought not to be let on horse-back, she might have broke her neck; like as not----"
"You have been very kind," Tristrem answered, "very kind, indeed."
During the entire scene he had not said a word. The spectacle of Viola fainting on the roadside, the fear that she might be maimed, the trouble at her pallor--these things had tied his tongue; and even now, as he spoke, his voice was not a.s.sured, and a hand with which he fumbled in his waistcoat trembled so that the roll of bills which he drew out fell on the porch at his feet. He stooped and picked it up.
"If Mrs. Raritan were here, she would thank you as I do," he continued.
"I wish--" and he was about to make some present, but the man drew back.
"That"s all right, I don"t want no pay for that."
"I beg your pardon," Tristrem answered, "I know you do not. Tell me, are you married?"
The man laughed.
"Yes, I am, and I got the biggest boy you ever see. He"s going on four years and he weighs a ton."
"I wish you would do me a favor. Let me make him a little present."
But even to this the man would not listen. He was reluctant to accept so much as thanks. Having done what good he could, he was anxious to go his way--the sort of man that one has to visit the seash.o.r.e to find, and who, when found, is as refreshing as the breeze.
As he left the porch, he looked back. "Here"s the doctor," he said, and pa.s.sed on into the night.
While the physician visited the patient, Tristrem paced the sitting-room counting the minutes till he could have speech with him, himself. And when at last he heard the stairs creak, he was out in the hall, prepared to question and intercept. The physician was most rea.s.suring. There was nothing at all the matter. By morning Miss Raritan would be up and about. She had had a shock, no doubt. She was upset, and a trifle nervous, but all she needed was a good night"s rest, with a chop and a gla.s.s of claret to help her to it. If sleep were elusive, then a bromide. But that was all. If she had been seventy a tumble like that might have done for her, but at nineteen! And the doctor left the house, reflecting that were not educated people the most timorous of all, the emoluments of his profession would be slight.
Whether or not Miss Raritan found the chop and claret sufficient, or whether she partook of a bromide as well, is not a part of history. In a little while after the physician"s departure a servant brought word to Tristrem that for the moment Mrs. Raritan was unable to leave her daughter, but if he would have his dinner then, Mrs. Raritan would see him later. Such was the revulsion of feeling that Tristrem, to whom, ten minutes before, the mere mention of food would have been distasteful, sat down, and ate like a wolf. The meal finished, he went out on the porch. There was no moon as yet, but the sky was brilliant with the lights of other worlds. Before him was the infinite, in the air was the scent of sea-weed, and beyond, the waves leaped up and fawned upon the bluffs. And as he stood and watched it all, the servant came to him with Mrs. Raritan"s apologies. She thought it better, the maid explained, not to leave Miss Raritan just yet, and would Mr. Varick be good enough to excuse her for that evening?
"Wait a second," he answered, and went to his room. He found the jewels, and brought them down-stairs. "Take these to Miss Raritan," he said, and on a card he wrote some word of love, which he gave with the trinkets to the maid. "_La parlate d"amor_," he murmured, as the servant left to do his bidding, and then he went again to his room, and sat down at the window companioned only by the stars. From beyond, the boom and retreating wash of waves was still audible, and below in the garden he caught, now and then, the spark and glitter of a firefly gyrating in loops of gold, but the tower which he had noticed on arriving was lost in the night.
It was in that direction, he told himself, that the accident must have occurred. And what was it, after all? As yet he had not fully understood. Had the horse stumbled, or had he bolted and thrown her? If he had only been there! And as his fancy evoked the possibilities of that ride, he saw a terrified brute tearing along a deserted road, carrying the exquisite girl straight to some sudden death, and, just when the end was imminent, his own muscles hardened into steel, he had him by the bit and, though dragged by the impetus, at last he held him, and she was safe. She was in his arms, her own about his neck, and were he a knight-errant and she some gracious princess, what sweeter guerdon could he claim?
But one thing preoccupied him. In the vertiginous flight she had lost something--her whip, no, her hat--and it was inc.u.mbent on him to restore it to her. Very softly, then, that he might not disturb her, he opened the door. The house was hushed, and in a moment he was on the road. He could see the tower now; it was illuminated, and it seemed to him odd that he had not noticed the illumination before. It was that way, he knew, back of Hazard"s, and he hurried along in the direction which the man had indicated. The insects had stilled their murmur, and the sky was more obscure, but the road was clear.
He hurried on, and as he hurried he heard steps behind him, hurrying too. He turned his head; behind him was a woman running, and who, as she ran, cast a shadow that was monstrous. In the glimpse that he caught of her he saw that she was bare of foot and that her breast was uncovered.
Her skirt was tattered and her hair was loose. He turned again, the face was hideous. The eyes squinted, l.u.s.treless and opaque, the nose was squat, the chin retreated, the forehead was seamed with scars, and the mouth, that stretched to the ears, was extended with laughter. As she ran she took her teeth out one by one, replacing them with either hand.
And still she laughed, a silent laughter, her thin lips distorted as though she mocked the world.
Tristrem, overcome by the horror of that laughter, felt as agonized as a child pursued. There was a fence at hand, a vacant lot, and across it a light glimmered. Away he sped. In the field his foot caught in a bramble; he fell, and could not rise, but he heard her coming and, with a great effort just as she was on him, he was up again, distancing her with ever-increasing s.p.a.ce. The light was just beyond. He saw now it came from the tower; there was another fence, he was over it; the door was barred; no, it opened; he was safe!
In the middle of the room, circular as befits a tower, was a cradle, and in the cradle was a little boy. As Tristrem looked at him he smiled; it was, he knew, the child of the man to whom he had spoken that evening.
One hand was under the pillow, but the other, that lay on the coverlid, held Viola"s hat. He bent over to examine it; the fingers that held it were grimy and large, and, as he looked closer, he saw that it was not a child, but the man himself. Before he had an opportunity to account for the delusion he heard the gallop of feet and a thunder at the door. It was she! He wheeled like a rat surprised. There was a lateral exit, through which he fled, and presently he found himself in a corridor that seemed endless in extension. The man evidently had left the cradle and preceded him, for Tristrem saw him putting on a great-coat some distance ahead. In his feverish fright he thought, could he but disguise himself with that, he might pa.s.s out un.o.bserved, and he ran on to supplicate for an exchange of costume; but when he reached the place where the man had stood he had gone, vanished through a dead wall, and down the corridor he heard her come. He could hear her bare feet patter on the stones. Oh, G.o.d, what did she wish of him? And no escape, not one. He was in her power, immured with her forevermore. He called for help, and beat at the walls, and ever nearer she came, swifter than disease, and more appalling than death. His nails sank in his flesh, he raised a hand to stay the beating of his heart, and then at once she was upon him, felling him to the ground as a ruffian fells his mistress, her knees were on his arms, he was powerless, dumb with dread, and in his face was the fetor of her breath. Her eyes were no longer l.u.s.treless, they glittered like twin stars, and still she laughed, her naked breast heaving with the convulsions of her mirth. "I am Truth," she bawled, and laughed again. And with that Tristrem awoke, suffocating, quivering, and outwearied as though he had run a race and lost it.
He sat awhile, broken by the horror of the dream. The palms of his hands were not yet dry. But soon he bestirred himself, and went to the door; the lights had been extinguished; he closed it again, and, with the aid of some candles, he prepared for bed. He would have read a little, but he was fatigued, tired by the emotions of the day, and when at last he lay down it was an effort to rise again and put out the candle. How long he lay in darkness, a second, an hour, he could not afterward recall; it seemed to him that he had drowsed off at once, but suddenly he started, trembling from head to foot. He had heard Viola"s voice soaring to its uttermost tension. "Coward," she had called. And then all was still. He listened, he even went to the door, but the house was wrapped in silence.
"Bah!" he muttered, "I am entertaining a procession of nightmares." And in a few moments he was again asleep.
VIII.
At dawn he awoke refreshed. The sun rose from the ocean like an indolent girl from a bath. Before the house was astir he was out of doors exploring the land. He strolled past the row of hotels that front the sea, and pausing a moment at the Casino, fragrant then, and free of the stench of drink that is the outcome of the later season, he wondered how it was that, given money, and possibly brains, it was necessary to make a building as awkward as was that. And then he strayed to the sh.o.r.e, past the tenantless bath-houses, and on through the glories of the morning to the untrodden beach beyond.
As he walked, the village faded in the haze. The tide was low and the sand firm and hard. The waves broke leisurely in films and fringes of white, gurgling an invitation to their roomy embrace. And when the hotels were lost in the distance and the solitude was murmurous with nature alone, Tristrem, captivated by the allurements of the sea, went down into the waves and clasped them to him as lovers clasp those they love.
The sun was well on its amble to the zenith before he returned to the cottage. His hostess, he found, had not yet appeared, and as breakfast seemed to be served in that pleasant fashion which necessitates nothing, not even an appet.i.te, Tristrem drank his coffee in solitude. And as he idled over the meal he recalled the horrors of the night, and smiled.
The air of the morning, the long and quiet stroll, the plunge in the sea, and the after-bath of sunlight that he had taken stretched full length on the sand, had dissipated the enervating emotions of dream and brought him in their stead a new invigoration. He was about to begin the dithyrambs of the day before, when the servant appeared, bearing a yellow envelope, and a book in which he was to put his name. He gave the receipt and opened the message, wonderingly.
"_Please come to town_," it ran, "_your father is dying.--Robert Harris._"
"Your father is dying," he repeated. "H"m. Robert Harris. I never knew before what the butler"s first name was. But what has that to do with it? There are times when I am utterly imbecile. Your father is dying.
Yes, of course, I must go at once. But it isn"t possible. H"m. I remember. He looked ghastly when I saw him. I suppose--I ought to--good G.o.d, why should I attempt to feign a sorrow that I do not feel? It is his own fault. I would have--But there, what is the use?"
He bit his nail; he was perplexed at his absence of sensibility. "And yet," he mused, "in his way he has been kind to me. He has been kind; that is, if it be kindness in a father to let a son absolutely alone.
After all, filial affection must be like patriotism, ingrained as an obligation, a thing to blush at if not possessed. Yet then, again, if a country acts like a step-mother to its children, if a father treats a son as a guardian might treat a ward, the ties are conventional; and on what shall affection subsist? It was he who called me into being, and, having done so, he a.s.sumed duties which he should not have shirked. It was not for him to make himself a stranger to me; it was for him to teach me to honor him so much, to love him so well that at his death my head would be bowed in prostrations of grief. I used to try to school myself to think that it was only his way; that, outwardly cold and undemonstrative, his heart was warm as another"s. But--well, it may have been, it may have been. After all, if I can"t grieve, I would cross the continent to spare him a moment"s pain. It was he, I suppose, who told Harris to wire. Yes, I must hurry."
He called the servant to him. "Can you tell me, please, when the next train goes?" But the servant had no knowledge whereon to base a reply.
She suggested, however, that information might be obtained at an inn which stood a short distance up the road. He scribbled a few lines on a card, and gave it to the woman. "Take that to Miss Raritan, please, will you?" he said, and left the house.
At the inn a very large individual sat on the stoop, coatless, a straw covering of a remoter summer far back on his head, and his feet turned in. He listened to Tristrem with surly indifference, and spat profusely.
He didn"t know; he reckoned the morning train had gone.
"Hay, Alf," he called out to the negro who had taken Tristrem from the station the night before, and who was then driving by, "when"s the next train go?"
""Bout ten minutes; I just took a party from Taylor"s."
"Thank you," said Tristrem to the innkeeper, who spat again by way of acknowledgment. "Can you take me to the station?" he asked the negro; and on receiving an affirmative reply, he told him to stop at Mrs.