A Speckled Bird

"Loyalty is still the same,Whether it win or lose the game."

For years he had been entirely hers. Now she lost him hopelessly. His contempt could spare no room for pity; her presence infuriated him.

He had lifted her to a sacred niche where love and reverence jealously guarded her, and she had hurled herself down into the mire of the market place.

"For sale! Any man could have bought you, body and soul."

The words branded her. They seemed burned in by the scorn flaming in his eyes, and she thought of the red letter on Hester Prynne's breast. The world should never know, but she would carry that scar to her grave.

Soon the clock struck three, and simultaneously the outcry of the dogs announced their master's return. Hat and gloves in hand, Eglah went down to the drawing-room, and caught a glimpse of Mr. Herriott hurrying toward the gardener's cottage. Later he went to his own rooms, and when dinner was announced apologized for unavoidable delay.

He had reined himself in with a grip so tight that the only evidence of suppressed excitement was the feverish, steady gleam in his eyes. He talked of Mrs. St. Clair, of Father Temple, of Trix Stapleton, whom he should see for a moment in New York.

During a brief lull in the conversation, Eglah said:

"I found your mother's portrait, which you asked me to look at. In an extraordinary degree you resemble her."

"Thank you. That is a compliment I value. It is indeed a pity she could not have endowed me with the patience and amiability that so endeared her to all who knew her."

Very soon the moment came for parting words, and she went down to the carriage step, leaving him with the servants clustered in the hall, but Amos Lea was not visible. Mr. Herriott handed Eglah to the back seat, and for a moment stooped to speak to and pat the head of each dog. As he entered the carriage and seated himself opposite his companion, slamming the door as signal to the coachman, the housemaid threw up her hands and ran down the steps.

"Please, sir, Mr. Herriott, may I speak to you?"

He put out his head.

"What is the matter?"

"The silk jacket, sir. You told me to carry it to Mr. Lea, but, sir, I can't find it. You must have put it in your trunk."

"No, I wore it this morning after the trunks were locked and strapped."

"Indeed, sir, I have searched your rooms most faithful, and that jacket is not there."

"You will find it somewhere in the den. Good-bye, Della. Drive on, Rivers."

The house fronted the lake, and the carriage road at the rear wound through thick shrubbery, groups of deodars, and a lane of lilacs in full bloom. The iron gates were open, and against one marble pillar Amos Lea leaned. As the horses dashed through, he motioned to the driver. At sight of him Mr. Herriott's face changed, softened; he sprang out and walked back a few yards.

Through a glass in the curtain Eglah saw the old man's brawny hands laid on Mr. Herriott's shoulders, and the harsh voice shook.

"Oh, lad! May the Lord bless you and keep you in the hollow of His hand, and bring your body safely back, and save your dear soul from the snares of the ungodly that go down to the icy sea in ships. Wherever you wander Susan's eyes will follow you until you reach that rest where there is no more night."

"It hurts me sorely to say good-bye to you, Amos. For my sake take extra care of yourself. Let up on moles and slugs and shotbugs in damp weather. Look after my dogs for me, and be good to Aunt Trina when she comes for her visit. One thing more, be sure the tower lamp is lighted every night. When I am groping and stumbling in Arctic darkness, it will cheer me to know that light is shining over a black, stormy lake. Now I must go. I hope God will keep you strong and well. Good-bye."

Then the voice sank so low a few additional words were inaudible to those beyond the gate. He took the gardener's hands, shook them warmly, and re-entered the carriage. As he did so Eglah pointed to the seat beside her, which he accepted, and she saw his eyes were misty.

For some moments neither spoke.

"Aunt Trina is fond of the old place, and I have asked her to spend July here, with any friends she may wish to bring. She and Amos spar like prize fighters over immersion and close communion, and he brands her extreme ritualism 'idolatry rank as the groves of Baal.'"

He looked at his watch, and called to the coachman:

"Rivers, we have very little time to spare."

His closed right hand rested on his knee, and Eglah laid hers upon it.

"Since I was a little girl you have been my faithful, sympathizing, patient friend, and now I can not bear that you should leave me without uttering one kind word of forgiveness for the great wrong I realize at last that I have done you."

"Eglah, for God's sake don't open that door, which shuts out – what I can not discuss again with you, because I must not wound you."

She noticed the suppressed pant in his voice, and as he did not respond to the touch of her hand, her slender fingers crept between and twined around his.

"Mr. Herriott, when you come home – "

"I shall try not to come home."

"If I promise you shall never see me there, perhaps that assurance may tempt you back. You are casting me out of your life, and I have no right to complain, but I wish to say that I hope you will have no fear for the name you gave irrevocably into my keeping."

"You bear my name, my father's name, but I am very sure your little white hands will hold it clean, pure, and sacred. Should you invoke legal aid to free you from merely nominal matrimonial bonds, I prefer you should then resume your father's name. If you choose to make no change, and I do not return, the name will die with you, and I believe you will guard it as you would the Grail."

Unconsciously his hand tightened on hers, until the edge of the ring cut into her finger.

"Mr. Herriott, you will write to me?"

He shook his head.

Looking intently at her, he noticed the deep blue shadows under her eyes, and the first tears he had ever seen her shed rolled slowly over her worn face.

"Unless my letters were hollow shams, they would only distress you, and all future annoyance I wish to avoid. Silence is the only possible peace."

At this moment the carriage stopped, and he looked out.

"Why do you lag, Rivers?"

"A train, sir. Switch engine and gravel cars."

"Drive around it."

"I can't, sir. Red signal just ahead of the horse's nose."

Mr. Herriott stepped out, and walked for some minutes up and down the embankment. Then the train pulled out, and when he re-entered his carriage he took the front seat.

"I sent a telegram to your father, which ought to reach him in Washington, telling him the number of your train, and your hotel in Philadelphia; and I hope your return journey will prove more agreeable than your trip with me. If any necessity should arise that would require you to communicate with me, you will find this card in the outside pocket of your satchel, but the address means only that letters will be forwarded to Upernavik. When we leave there no mail will reach us."

The carriage drew up to the platform, and Mr. Herriott assisted Eglah into the train. With her wraps and satchel he preceded her to the drawing-room.

"This is more comfortable than the one you occupied two days ago, and I trust you can rest well. Here are your tickets and check. This train is almost ready to start, and mine moves in ten minutes. In parting I make only one request. I ask you now to put me out of your life. I want you to forget me, and be happy with your father. Good-bye."

His face was white, and the expression of his eyes she never forgot.

He had extended his hand, but the horrible possibilities of the future swept all proud scruples aside, and she put her arms around his neck, clinging desperately to him.

"Mr. Noel, you shall never, never, be out of my life! I will always belong to my – own – Mr. Noel."

The check rein snapped.

He clasped – strained her against his breast, and she felt the furious beating of his heart. It was barely a moment. Gently he unwound her arms, put her quickly aside, and left her.

CHAPTER XXIII

The resumption of cordially affectionate relations between Judge Kent and his daughter was marked on her part by increased tenderness and deference, on his by demonstrative caresses particularly conspicuous after years of alienation. His exactions upon her time became despotic; he was dissatisfied when she was out of his sight, and if within reach his hand usually rested on her arm or shoulder. The paramount aim of her life was attained. She was assured that she reigned supreme in her coveted kingdom – his heart. Freed from dread of public exposure, his spirits rebounded, and his jovial, self-indulgent nature enjoyed basking once more before the fire of financial prosperity, exulted in the consciousness that at last the long desired Maurice fortune was at his command. Eglah wondered that from the hour he met her in Philadelphia he asked no questions concerning her bridal journey – no explanation of her unexpectedly hurried return.

He sedulously avoided all mention of Mr. Herriott, except to rail at the imbecility of Arctic explorers, and suspecting that he smarted from the humiliating knowledge that his son-in-law had possessed proofs of his guilt, she welcomed silence as balm for her sore heart. From the day of her return to Nutwood she severed every social tie linking her with Y – . Of visiting she made an end, all invitations were declined, and she was seen only at church, beside her father. They rode, drove, walked together. On his fishing jaunts she read while he wandered from pool to pool, and made tea for him when, tired and thirsty, he came back to a shaded spot where she waited. Now and then a few of his friends spent an evening in the billiard room, or played cards in the library, and discussed Republican policies. At night Eliza Mitchell usually brought her sewing to the table, Judge Kent smoked in his easy chair, and Eglah arranged the chessboard at his elbow, or read aloud from some volume he had selected. It rarely happened that she received his good-night kiss until she had played a nocturne or an étude for which he asked. He had an ardent, sensuous love of beauty in color, form, sound; impassioned poetry, deep, rich melody, and subtle harmonies entranced him, dimmed his fine, eloquent eyes. His musical taste had been cultivated in accordance with classical standards, and while his daughter's proficiency was not extraordinary, she played skilfully and with a tenderly magnetic touch that justified his compliment: "My daughter has tears in her pretty fingers."

When a proud, reticent, beautiful woman suddenly takes an unusual and totally unexpected step, abrogating fashionable conventions – when, keeping her own counsel, she disdains explanation and shuts herself away from curious questioners – the hounds of gossip are unleashed, and beagles and fox-terriers follow in full cry. Outraged Y – hummed like a swarming hive.

"Married without a sign of a trousseau, on a few hours' notice, with barely time to get a license, a ring and a minister, and to pack her trunk! Disgraceful!"

Rumors of Mr. Herriott's wealth swelled to fabulous proportions. A sister of Dr. Burbridge, whose young cousin was employed in the office of the telegraph company, plied him with questions, until indiscreetly and reluctantly he confided to her that two telegrams sent by the groom showed that he had not come to Y – intending marriage; whereupon she set afloat information which merely increased the complexity of the problem. Judge Kent had been so long the community scapegoat that in the final public solution and adjustment of disreputable responsibility, an additional load of selfish, wily iniquity was laid on his sin-stained shoulders. By cunning chicanery he had forced his daughter's sudden marriage, hoping that Arctic dangers, often fatal, would soon make her a widow dowered with millions.

Even the few who witnessed the ceremony, and recalled Eglah's inscrutable white face, understood as little as the resentful uninvited, yet when questioned they loyally maintained reserve.

Bishop Vivian, Mr. Whitfield, and the Egglestons warmly defended the girl, whom secretly they pitied, but society pilloried her.

"She was shamelessly mercenary, absolutely devoid of womanly delicacy, and a shocking disgrace to her poor mother's family."

Henceforth the anti-Kent social element in Y – resolved itself into a vigilance committee to watch her behavior as a married woman.

Into the whirlpool of tittle-tattle Mrs. Mitchell wisely abstained from plunging. Her own information was too meagre, her uneasiness concerning Eglah's stubborn silence and inexplicable manner too profound to admit of discussion, even in defence. She staid at home, bided her time, and held her peace. Moreover, she was wrestling with conscientious scruples regarding her duty in withholding from Eglah some disquieting facts known only to herself.

The second night after his daughter's departure, Judge Kent had indulged in stimulants to an unprecedented and alarming extent. With a decanter of brandy at his elbow, he dozed in his arm-chair until roused by Aaron, who delivered a telegram. Eliza was going upstairs to her own room, when the boy rang the bell and handed in the message.

"Lock up the house, Aaron. I think the judge is sleepy and will soon go to bed."

An hour later she sat reading her Bible, and heard a sound as of some heavy object falling. Snatching her lamp, she went swiftly to the library. The overturned decanter was slowly emptying itself on the table, and Judge Kent lay on the floor, his head resting against the cushioned seat of his chair. Evidently he had risen, slipped on the polished floor, dropped the decanter, and lost consciousness.

His face was purple, his breathing stertorous. Holding his head, she pushed the chair back and laid him flat on the floor.

Was it apoplectic seizure or intoxication? Her inexperience justified no independent action, yet if drunkenness explained existing conditions, she shrank from publishing the disgrace that would mortally wound Eglah.

Bathing his head and face, she administered such restoratives as she possessed, and loosened his vest and collar. Finally it seemed necessary to summon Aaron and send Oliver for the doctor, but as she rose to ring the bell Judge Kent opened his eyes. A dark, turbid red still stained his face, but his respiration was less labored.

"Don't move. After a little I can get Oliver to help you into bed."

"I had a fall?"

His utterance was thick, his articulation indistinct, and he hiccoughed.

"Yes, sir. You are better, I think, and if you will only lie still a while you can soon be made comfortable in your own room."

She went into the adjoining apartment, saw that the bed had been prepared, and a lamp lighted. When she returned he had struggled into a sitting posture, his arms clasped around his knees. She sat down and waited. On the table lay the brandy-stained telegram sent by Mr. Herriott after he had burned the papers at Carville. She picked it up, read it twice, and laid it down.

"Mrs. Mitchell, if you will help me I can get into a chair."

She took his extended hands, and he rose slowly, staggered against her, and sank into his chair. Five minutes later he slept, but gradually his face resumed its usual color. Eliza brought a basin of water from the bedroom, washed away the brandy streaks from the floor and table, and with a silk handkerchief dried and polished the fine old mahogany, already whitening from its alcoholic bath. She went to an open window and waited. The night was balmy, and loitering, thievish puffs of air came laden with rifled sweetness from multitudinous lips of forest and garden bloom. Far away the muffled monody of the river falls rose towards the stars, whose light wove a golden braid across the water's quivering crystal plunge over granite crags. In the dense shadow of the walnut grove a squirrel barked, and from their red cedar covert the game cocks shrilled midnight.

After two hours Judge Kent awoke and groaned. Mrs. Mitchell handed him a goblet of iced water, which he drained.

"Shall I go and rouse Oliver, or would you prefer Aaron to assist you?"

"I don't want either. If you will help me over this infernally slippery floor to my bedroom sofa, I can manage."

"You do not wish the doctor sent for?"

"No."

She took his arm, guided his unsteady steps to the sofa, arranged a pillow, and unlaced his shoes. Very soon his deep, regular breathing assured her the worst had passed. Was it the brandy, or the telegram or both? What were the "Ely Twiggs" papers, of which Eglah must know nothing, and why was she coming home immediately, instead of going to Sydney, or at least as far as Boston? Could Mr. Herriott have been a party to some scheme whereby she was entrapped into that sudden marriage?

At three o'clock she looked from the library door at the sleeping form on the sofa, and with anxiety allayed, went upstairs to her room. Awaiting a cue, she made no inquiries when he appeared at late breakfast, and with characteristic aplomb his only reference to the previous evening was an apology for troubling her to give him a third cup of tea.

"My head is a trifle shaky from the jar of that fall. Men of my age and weight can not afford to sit down so heavily on bare boards, and I shall insist on matting when the carpets are taken up."

The receipt of the telegram requesting him to meet his daughter in Philadelphia was followed by hurried preparations for departure, and Mrs. Mitchell ventured to expostulate.

"Judge Kent, if you realized how serious was your attack in the library, you would not risk the imprudence of a railway journey. You ought to see your doctor. Let me go and meet Eglah in Philadelphia."

His bloodshot eyes twinkled as they met hers.

"Doctor? Absurd! Attack? You mean that unlucky slip? It amounts to nothing except a stubborn stiffness on the side where I struck those diabolical sand-scoured boards. I particularly desire the matter should not be mentioned to my daughter, who would reproach herself severely for that 'dry-rubbed' floor she knows I detest as a cat does swimming."

During his absence a cabinet maker was summoned and removed the ugly grey stains on Eglah's favorite piece of old claw-footed mahogany. For a time the incident seemed forgotten by all save the quiet, silent woman keeping watch for the consequences.

A few days after Eglah's return she sat at a window in her bedroom, noting the deepening glory of the west, where the sun was just sinking behind purple hills. It was the date on which the "Ahvungah" would leave Sydney and begin her voyage to the world of eternal ice.

The day had seemed one of doom, as if set for a funeral, and the going down of the sun brought other shadows – darker than the mists that would soon swim under the stars. If Mr. Herriott had forgiven her she might have gone to Cape Breton, could have been with him till the last moment. Now he was upon the ocean, and only God knew the future that looked so black, so spectral, so full of desolation.

Mrs. Mitchell opened the door and handed her a package.

"Dearie, the express messenger brought this, and I signed for you."

She went back to her own room and resumed her darning.

The parcel was addressed in Mr. Herriott's handwriting: "Mrs. Noel Herriott. Care Hon. Allison Kent." A wave of color flowed over Eglah's pale face as she looked at her new name, and felt assured his eyes had gleamed with scorn as he penned it. A pass-book and check-book of a New York bank, with note from the cashier, were the first objects that met her eye, and were instantly thrown aside; then a square box, elaborately sealed. When she removed the wrapping paper a red morocco case appeared, and around it was tied a note without a personal address.

"Just before my father died he gave me two rings; one the little gold band that hangs on my watch chain – my mother's wedding ring. The other a stone he had given her on the day of their betrothal. When he laid them in my hand, he said: 'Wear one always. If you should ever marry, give the other, with my blessing, to the woman who bears our name.' Because it was his wish, I simply obey his injunction, and trust the ring sacred from my mother's touch will grace the hand it was once my fondest hope, my most ardent wish to claim. This should reach you the day we leave Sydney. The sham is ended. Your freedom is now complete. Do not hesitate to use it in any way that will restore the happiness you so unwisely, so rashly imperilled. If possible, your path in future shall be spared my shadow. Good-bye.

"Herriott."

The words stung like a scourge, and involuntarily she covered her face with her hands. Time merely increased his bitterness; there was nothing more for her to hope or expect. He intended perpetual separation.

Mechanically she lifted the ring from its velvet bed. It was a superb diamond, marked on the inside of the gold band, "Fergus to Una." The circle fitted only one finger, that wearing the wedding ring, and was too broad to share it. She replaced the jewel in its case and closed it. A little later, when Mrs. Mitchell came in, the stony, despairing face of the girl startled her. She ran forward and took her in her arms.

"What is the matter? You have shut me out long enough; now I will know. You have heard from Mr. Herriott?"

"Yes. He sent me a check-book for money on deposit and a ring that had been his mother's."

"What are you breaking your heart over? O my baby, don't keep your trouble from me! The dreadful night you went away you asked me not to question you, but I must; I can't bear the sight of your dear face. Nobody loves you as I do, and you know you can trust me."

Eglah was silent a moment, and Eliza felt her shiver.

"Yes, I am sure your love is the truest I shall ever possess, and I trust you; but some things are like red coals, and you shrink from handling them. Suppose you had wounded your Robert so deeply, so sorely he never forgave you, would you wish to drag the horror up and talk of the details? Put yourself in my place."

"I cannot understand, because Mr. Herriott loves you so devotedly he would forgive anything you might have done."

"You do not know him; neither did I before I left home. I made the mistake of presuming too far on his love. I wronged him, and he will never forgive me."

"I refuse to believe you wronged him."

"Yes, I did him a great wrong. I did not intend to wound him, and when I realized all that followed, it was too late for remedy. I don't wish to say anything more, even to you. The thought of the red coals scorches my heart. If the time should ever come when I feel I can talk freely, you will not need to question. Until then, love me and be patient, and leave me to myself. To-day Mr. Herriott is at sea – gone on his long voyage. O Ma-Lila! Ma-Lila, pray to God that he may never come home! Or that if he lives, I may die soon."

"You foolish, wicked girl! Are you crazy?"

"I have been, but my late tenants have gone into the swine. A week ago they possessed me, and wild work followed. Since their departure I find it impossible to regain my old self. I have, after frightful nightmare, awakened a very repentant, an exceedingly miserable woman, but the fault was all mine. Mr. Herriott was not to blame. He is even nobler than you know, nobler than I dreamed; but I wounded, injured him past pardon; and now I purpose to bear in silence, and as best I may, a sorrow that I alone have brought upon myself. No one can help me. I only ask to be spared all questions, all reference to my marriage. Father is calling me. Will you give him his tea? Ask him to excuse me. Good-night. I wish to be alone until breakfast."

When Eliza went downstairs next morning, Eglah was coming from the side garden with both hands full of dewy roses for the table vase, and, having listened until two o'clock to the restless footsteps in the room next to her own, the foster-mother glanced anxiously at her.

The cold, passionless repose that comes only after a fierce and vital struggle had settled upon her white, worn face, and the woman who knew her best could not determine whether it meant conquest or surrender.

As summer advanced, Eglah noticed the frequency with which her father fell asleep in the midst of conversation, and when he dozed one day with a bowl of sherbet in his hand, she became alarmed and sent for Dr. Plympton, an old friend of Judge Kent's, who had moved South and settled in Y – during the dismal days of carpet bag rule.