The Mayor of Warwick Part 16

"Then you are still at the bishop's?"

"Yes--and with very little to do. I get rather lonely sometimes."

"And Miss Wycliffe didn't take you with her as her maid? I should have thought she would."

He longed to ask her about the scene attending the discovery of the ring, and to find out just what his wife had said. Of course she had not told the truth, but a new suspicion of Lena's astuteness made him cautious. He was impressed by the fact that Felicity had left Lena behind. Had she loved him wholly, would she not have made every effort to keep her rival from his path? Was this her way of showing that she refused to regard a servant in such a light? Or was it thus that she put him upon his honour? At the thought he winced with a consciousness of guilt. A third explanation occurred to his mind. Perhaps she left Lena behind, like a bait in a trap, with the old housekeeper as spy.

This was a mean thought, he knew, suggested by his own duplicity, but he resolved to act upon the supposition and to avoid all danger.

"She spoke of taking me," Lena said, "but changed her mind, and left me to help take care of the house."

She too had questions to ask, but instinctively she shrunk from disturbing the deep content of the present moment. The road they travelled was not the one Leigh had taken that October afternoon when he made his bicycle trip to Hillside, but a parallel way about half a mile to the south. As they neared the other side of the valley, Emmet took a cross-cut back to the northern road and pa.s.sed her house, without knowing that the place at which she glanced in pa.s.sing was her home. She had no desire to tell him, for it seemed mean and homely in her eyes. She saw her father's silhouette on the curtain, his corncob pipe in his mouth, and while she would have liked to exhibit her lover to her family, she was ashamed of their rustic ways and feared the impression they might make upon the mayor of Warwick.

The village of Hillside was typical of the country. In summer time a stream dropping down from the hills turned the wheels of a large paper mill. There was a general store, a post-office, a white, wooden Congregational church with four Corinthian pillars, and an inn dating from Colonial days, as its swinging sign-board, adorned with the blurred image of a Revolutionary soldier, bore witness. This inn, "The Old Continental," had recovered from its moribund condition with the advent of the automobile, and was often the scene of gay supper parties from Warwick. It had received a new coat of yellow paint and a new roof, but the Society for the Preservation of Colonial Landmarks had decreed that the figure of the soldier on the sign-board should remain untouched by the brush. Thus the uniform that had once shone so spick and span in streaks of buff and blue would better recall the ragged regimentals of the well-known poem.

The distance from Warwick was ten miles, but it still lacked something of six o'clock when Emmet drove into the stable, blanketed his mare, and lifted his companion from the sleigh. He led her through a side door and into a small room that had formerly been the kitchen. Here, in a huge brick fireplace, blazing logs threw out a dancing light that glinted on the polished mahogany table and quaint chairs, and disclosed the dark red walls and brown beams, as well as several highly coloured English coaching scenes.

Lena seated herself close to the blaze, and glanced up at the sooty arch above her head with small appreciation of the historic memories of the place, of the archaeological interest inherent in the swinging crane and twisted andirons. It did not occur to her, as it would have occurred to many visitors, to open the doors of the baking-ovens at the side and to peer within. If she thought at all of these things, it was merely to realise their inconvenience, and to be reminded of the similar room in her own home.

And yet, though she did not know it, she was eligible to members.h.i.+p in the Daughters of the American Revolution. Her ancestors had taken their muskets from just such chimney places to go forth and fight the British. Only, they had never kept their family records, their descendants had never climbed high in the world; and now one of them was sitting in her own appropriate environment, suggesting in her sweet face, her curling hair and slender figure, in the very cape thrown over the back of the chair, the familiar picture of Priscilla.

It was Emmet, an American of only one generation, who reminded her of the legend that Was.h.i.+ngton had stopped there overnight on his way to take command of the army in Cambridge; but she was too deeply absorbed in thinking how handsome he was and how much he seemed the mayor to listen with attention to his remarks. She took his intellectual interests for granted, and accepted as a matter of course his larger knowledge of a history that was his merely by adoption. Love was her mental theme and the sum of all her interests, not academic speculations concerning the effect upon America of the great Irish immigration of the last century, of which indeed she had never even heard.

She had not observed his quick, keen glance at the stalls of the stable, nor noted his relief when he found them empty. They two had the house entirely to themselves, but the larger dining-room, seen through the open door, suggested guests, for the tables were set and the lights turned low.

"Yes, sir," the waiter answered in reply to his question, "there's a party due here at six-thirty from Warwick. Mr. Cobbens is bringing 'em out."

"Then hurry up," Emmet commanded. "Bring us something hot, and be quick about it."

The man did not know him; there was consolation in that. But Emmet realised the necessity of getting away before the party should arrive.

There seemed a fatality in the coincidence that he and Cobbens should cross each other's path twice in the same day, when often they did not meet for a fortnight.

As Lena Harpster drank her coffee and noted her lover's increasing uneasiness, she gave no sign of her resentment, part of which was due to the unwillingness of a sensuous nature to leave a warm corner by the fire on a winter night. Her awakened sense of power made her for the first time rebellious of being hustled out of sight and kept in the dark. The struggle between her and Emmet was on in earnest, and her heart beat fast with a resolve to delay him there until they should be seen together.

It was quarter after six when the jingle of bells was heard before the door, and Cobbens's voice calling loudly for the stable-man. Even then there was time to escape. Emmet had only to pay his bill and slip quickly out the side door as his enemy entered at the front. Lena too saw the chance and started from her chair, her eyes fixed upon his with instinctive questioning and submission, all her high resolves forgotten in the actual crisis. Their respective att.i.tudes at that moment were singularly characteristic. She was now poised for instant flight, with something of the air of a creature of the wild whose safety lies in speed of wing or foot; he, who had thought to steal away un.o.bserved, now threw the thought contemptuously aside. A dull glow of anger spread slowly over his handsome features, and his jaw grew rigid.

"Sit down, Lena," he said peremptorily. "Sit down."

She sank into her chair again, grasping the arms with her thin, white fingers.

"What's the matter with your supper?" he asked with a short laugh.

"Have you lost your appet.i.te?"

She took up her spoon once more, but her hand trembled, and she was forced to steady it against the table.

Cobbens entered the door, throwing back his great-coat and tugging at his gloves, to meet Emmet's slow turn of the head and forbidding stare.

It was the look of one who feels himself intruded upon and waits in no very amiable mood for an apology. The rest of the party followed, six in all, and Emmet recognised Mrs. Parr, Felicity's neighbour and friend, among them. The worst had come to pa.s.s. Of Cobbens's malice there could be no doubt, but in all probability he had not observed Lena in the bishop's house during her short stay there before her mistress's departure. Mrs. Parr, however, was in and out daily; and what more choice bit of gossip could she write to her friend than an account of this unexpected meeting? If there was any momentary doubt in his mind, it was dispelled by her action. One sharp look told her all she wished to know; then she turned her back upon her friend's servant and the mayor of Warwick with ostentatious indifference, holding out her hands to the blaze and chatting of the inclemency of the weather. The others followed her example, closing in about the fire, as if utterly unconscious of the two of whose presence they were in reality so acutely aware. Cobbens alone chose a different course.

"Ah, Emmet," he said, with easy familiarity, and in a tone that displayed a distinct relish for the situation, "I did n't mean to interrupt your _tete-a-tete_, but the fact is, I had engaged the place for dinner--wired out this afternoon, just before you beat me so handsomely on the avenue. That's a fine pacer of yours. If you want to part with her at any time, I hope you 'll give me a chance to make you an offer."

"I believe the waiter told me you were coming at six-thirty," Emmet answered coolly, glancing at his watch. "Miss Harpster and I were counting on another ten minutes to finish our supper."

If the speaker's first stare had failed of its effect, his words now interpreted it and gave it significance. The lawyer's jauntiness dropped off, as if a modic.u.m of respect for this man had found its way into his calculating soul. Here was no poor devil of a conductor, but the mayor of Warwick, a very different person; and though he was surprised in an adventure of gallantry, he intended to carry it off with a high hand, as n.o.body's business but his own. Cobbens reflected that the mayor's companion might well be a respectable girl, perhaps his _fiancee_. Now he was quick to see his trespa.s.s and to mend his manner.

"Why, of course," he a.s.sented graciously. "Don't let us hurry you.

The fact is, we all came in here before we noticed the room was occupied, to leave our wraps. Quaint old place, isn't it? I fancy Was.h.i.+ngton could have touched the ceiling with his hand. There's a fire in the larger room, I believe."

The party took the hint and filed out in silence, leaving Emmet and Lena in possession of the field. But to the mayor the victory appeared only half won, for Lena had risen to her feet at their first entrance, as if to remain standing in the presence of her superiors, thereby discounting his own a.s.surance. Now she flushed beneath his look of speechless indignation and reproach. If she had only supported him!

If she had only realised what a beauty she was in contrast with the other women! As superior as he knew himself to be to that little Cobbens, or to the bland and elephantine husband of Mrs. Parr.

No words now pa.s.sed between them, but in the other room the chatter continued, though in a more subdued key. Emmet knew well that they were only waiting for him to depart to break forth into excited comments; and presently he heard the phrase, "What a.s.surance!" followed by a lull, as if some one had made a cautioning gesture. Then the somewhat dilapidated piano began to tinkle, as it could tinkle only under the mincing fingers of Mrs. Parr. Had her random notes been given a name, they might have been called Mrs. Parr's Tale of a Wayside Inn.

Emmet realised that the fat was in the fire. If he were only free, he reflected bitterly, how little he would now care what they thought or said! He would take Lena as his wife and make a lady of her, and force her down their throats by the power of the money he meant to win.

Position was something, but money everything. Let him once get their husbands and sons in his debt, and every door would open wide. With Felicity as his wife, his acceptance was a.s.sured; but in his present mood he scorned to make his entry in such a manner. Now, if he spelled aright the handwriting on the wall, he might remain forever on the outside of the citadel he had thought to storm. He rose to his feet and paid his bill with a rueful conviction that he had fought not wisely, though so well.

The very action, the very throwing down of the money, somehow restored his earlier exhilaration, the a.s.surance of a man who can pay the bill.

It seemed symbolic of future accounts of whatever kind, all of which he meant to square. The web he had woven for himself was now so complete, his discomfiture so inevitable, that his spirits rose to meet the odds he had arrayed against himself.

Lena, divining his change of moods, but little realising their depths and heights, was tenderly grateful. He had stood up for her before them all, and her wildest hope was fulfilled. As they drove from the inn yard, she seized his left hand, which he was about to thrust into his glove, and pressed it tremulously to her lips. In this way she thanked him for what she thought he had done for her, for what in reality he could never do; and at the touch of her soft lips his accusing conscience spoke to him in no uncertain voice.

During the homeward drive she was unexpectedly easy upon him. An innate womanly tact warned her not to speak of the incident as committing him to her before the world. For the second time that evening she showed the wisdom of a daughter of Eve in dealing with one of the sons of men; but her gaiety, a new sparkle in her eyes, a new vibration in her laugh, told him unmistakably the secret joyousness of her heart. He had a glimpse also of what she might be under happier circ.u.mstances; he saw how the bud which was even now so sweet could unfold in love's sunlight; he imagined the possibility of their life together; but none the less he determined that now at last he must break away from her forever.

The immutable fact remained that he was married to Felicity. Though he had ceased to attend his own church from the days of his boyhood, the Catholic doctrine of the indissolubility of marriage remained as one of his traditions, and this too in spite of the fact that he had been married by a Protestant priest. He had not committed the one sin which his wife's church recognised as the only cause for divorce. There was no escape from his obligation, provided his wife would forgive him and take him back. Her wrong to him had borne the bitter fruit of his wrong to this defenceless girl. Let her come back--she could not come too soon--and face him with his faithlessness. He would tell her what she had done, and bid her to forgive him or not, as she chose.

The wind was now at their backs, and having slackened its velocity until it approximated their pace, it seemed to have died down altogether, leaving them to glide along in a dead calm. Emmet looked up at the stars, which had never seemed to s.h.i.+ne with such peculiar brilliancy, and thought of Leigh. There was the one man in whom he could confide. None of his old acquaintances could be trusted with such a vital secret. The astronomer bore no part in the struggles and jealousies about him. His very occupation at that moment invested him in Emmet's eyes with something of the impartiality and spiritual aloofness of the seer. It did not occur to him to seek the help of the confessional, to make his peace with the church from whose instruction, even as a boy, he had fled to the public schools, in spite of his mother's disapproval and the angry protests of his parish priest. That very night he would go to Leigh, if not for advice, at least for sympathy and understanding.

Immersed in such thoughts, he said little, but from time to time he drew Lena to him and kissed her, not with his former intensity, but with a softening sense of impending farewell. They had come within sight of the towers of St. George's Hall, looming against the pale horizon, when she threw him into sudden panic.

"Tom, dear," she said, "did you know that Miss Wycliffe took away the ring you gave me?"

"Took it away?" he echoed.

"Yes; she said it belonged to her, and that she had lost it in the car.

Of course, I had to give it up." After vacillating in delicate hesitation she went on. "I did n't mind losing the ring so very much, since it was really hers, but I was a little hurt that you did n't buy me a ring."

He winced perceptibly, and she hastened to make her peace.

"What a queer old thing it was! I liked it at first because you gave it to me, though it seemed to have an unlucky look, somehow. I 'd much rather have had just a little ring, with a solitary diamond in it."

"Did you tell her where you got it?" he demanded abruptly.

"She asked who gave me the ring, and I told her. But I did n't tell her we were engaged, or anything like that."

"What did you tell her, then?" he persisted.

"Just that you gave me the ring, Tom. Then she told me you must have found it in the car."

"I suppose she blamed me for not returning the thing to the office," he suggested.

His effort to appear indifferent did not escape her awakened perception. She suffered again the pang of losing him that had brought her to her knees on that dreadful night, and fluttered toward him in terror.