A Man's Hearth Part 11

He did not know, but he found the superst.i.tion of a singular charm.

"Give me the salt, then, and you take the other," he divided the ceremony.

"No," she denied quietly. "You should carry the Book, because you will make the laws. I will take the salt, because I shall keep the hearth."

So they went in, he oddly sobered by the dignity she laid upon him.

There were only two rooms on the ground floor. The one into which they stepped was large and square, with a floor of brick faded to a mellow Tuscan red, and walls of soft brown plaster. A brick fireplace was built against the north side; the furnis.h.i.+ngs comprehended two arm-chairs, a round Sheraton table and china closet, a tall wooden clock, and four rag rugs in red and white. In one corner, modestly retired, a plain deal table supported an oil cook-stove, with an air of decent humility and shrinking from observation. The open door beyond revealed a bed-chamber, also rag-rugged, furnished with a n.o.ble meagreness, but displaying a four-posted bed of carved and time-darkened ash. Elsie took a long, full look, then regarded her husband with widening eyes.

"Anthony, _where_ did you buy them? And what did you pay for them?"

No one within his memory had ever called Adriance by his unabbreviated name. It came to him as part of this new life where he was full-grown man and master. And he welcomed the frank comrades.h.i.+p with which she used it, without a sentimental affectation of shyness.

"At a little place with a sign 'Antiques'," he confessed. "I had pa.s.sed it in the car. I thought they might do as well as new things, since we have got to economize. I never bought any furniture before; if they won't do----"

"They are perfect." The mirth in her eyes deepened. "But you had better let me help you, next time we shop economically. Hadn't we better build a fire, first, to drive away the chill? Oh, and is there anything to eat?"

"In the cupboard over there; everything the grocer could think of," he said meekly. "I'll go get anything else you say. First, though, I'll run down to the gate and bring in our suit-cases."

"Do," she approved. "I want an ap.r.o.n. Do you know, you never asked me if I could cook."

"Can you?"

"Wait and see. What woman thought of the oil-stove?"

"The antiquarian's wife. She said the fireplace was more bother than it was use and suggested stuffing it with paper to keep the draughts out."

"Well, we will stuff it with fire," she declared.

They built the fire; or rather, Adriance built it, aided by the girl's tactful advice. When the flames were roaring and leaping, she sent him to the nearest shop where lamps could be purchased, the trifling question of light having been overlooked.

When he hurried back from the village, the need of light was becoming imminent. Dusky twilight came early here under the edge of the hills.

Climbing the steep road, Anthony Adriance looked across the violet-tinted river toward the chain of lights marking the street where Tony Adriance had lived and idled. Already he knew himself removed, altered; he was interested in keeping on with this thing. Of course, he must keep on, he had set a barrier blocking retreat; he had taken a wife.

He opened the brown door of the shabby little cottage, and stopped.

The fire on the hearth had settled to a warm, rosy steadiness, filling the room with its glow and starting velvet shadows that tapestried the simple place with an airy brocade of s.h.i.+fting patterns. In the centre of the room stood the round table, robed in white and gay with the antique shop's ware of blue-and-white Wedgewood. The perfume of coffee and fragrance of good food floated on the warm air. The fire snapped at intervals as if from jovial excess of spirits, and a tea-kettle was bubbling with the furious enthusiasm of all true tea-kettles. It was the room of his fancy, the unattainable home that Elsie had pictured on the first evening he had spoken to her out of his sick heart.

Elsie herself stood beside the hearth. Elsie? He never had seen her like this. But then, he scarcely had seen her at all except in the severe black of a nurse's livery.

She had merely taken off her jacket, now, although he did not realize the fact. Her soft white blouse rolled away from a round, full throat pure in color and smoothness as cream. She was no sylph-slim beauty, but a deep-bosomed, young girl-woman, fas.h.i.+oned with that rich fulness of curve and outline that artists once loved, but which Fas.h.i.+on now disapproves. Her mouth, too, curved in generous, womanly softness; neither a thin line nor a round rosebud. Her dark hair rippled of itself around her forehead and was l.u.s.trous in the firelight.

His entrance caught her off guard. He surprised herself in her eyes, before she masked feeling in gayety. And he saw a wistful, frightened girl whose trembling excitement matched his own.

The latching of the door behind him ended the brief instant of revelation. At once she turned to him the cordial comrade's face he knew.

"Dinner is served," she announced merrily. "At least, it is waiting in the oven. We have hot biscuits, scrambled eggs, a fifty-eighth variety of baked beans, and strawberry jam. There is no meat, because you only shopped at a grocery, sir. Do you really adore canned oysters, Anthony?"

"I never tasted one," he slowly replied, putting down the packages he had brought, without taking his gaze from her.

"Well, you bought six tins of them," she shrugged.

He made no pretense of replying, this time, moving across the room toward her. He was remembering that she was a bride, who by her confession loved him, and that he had given her nothing except the gold ring compelled by custom; not a caress, not a flower, even, to speak of tenderness and rea.s.surance. He was astounded at himself, appalled by his degree of selfish absorption. All day she had given him of her understanding, her warm companions.h.i.+p, her gracious tact and heartening cheerfulness, exacting nothing--and he had taken. Oh, yes, he had taken!

Troubled by his silence, her color mounting in a vivid sweep, the girl tried to turn aside from his approach.

"We must have a little cat," she essayed diversion. "I hope you like kittens? Purrs should go with crackling logs. Not an Angora or a Persian; just a p.u.s.s.y."

Her voice died away. Very quietly and firmly Adriance had taken her into his arms.

"I've made a bad beginning," he made grave avowal. "I am learning how much I need to learn. And I don't deserve my luck in having you to teach me."

She rested quietly in his arms, as if conceding his right, but she did not look at him. She was very supple and soft to hold, he found. There breathed from her a fresh, faint fragrance like the clean scent of just-gathered daffodils, but no perfume that he recognized. She was individual even in little things. He wondered what she was thinking. The uneven rise and fall of her breast timed curiously with the pulse of his heart, as she leaned there, and the fact affected him unreasonably. He did not want her to move; warmth and content were flowing into him.

Content, yet---- Suddenly, he knew; a man confronted with a blaze of light after long groping.

"Elsie!" he cried, his voice sounding through the room his great amazement. "Elsie! Elsie!"

She looked at him then, putting her two little hands on his breast and forcing herself back against his arm that she might read his face. But he would not have it so, compelling her submission to the marvel that had mastered him. What the church had essayed to do was done, now.

Anthony Adriance had taken a wife.

"I love you," he repeated, inarticulate still with wonder, his lips against her cheek. "Why didn't you tell me? I love you."

He never forgot that she met him generously, with no mean reminder of his tardiness. She took his surrender, and set no price on her own. Her lips were fresh as a cup lifted to his thirst for good and simple things; he thought her kiss was to the touch what her eyes were to the gaze, and tried clumsily to tell her so.

When they finally remembered the delayed supper, that meal was in need of repairs. And because now Adriance would not suffer the width of the room between himself and his wife, he insisted in aiding her in the process, thereby delaying matters still further. Nine o'clock had been struck by the clock in the corner when they sat down to table, lighted by the new lamp. It had a garnet shade, that lamp, upon which its purchaser received the compliments of Mrs. Adriance.

She delivered an impromptu lecture on the subject, as the light glowed into full radiance and illumined her, seated behind it.

"Red, sir, is the color of life. It was the color of the alchemist's fabled rose, looked for in their mystic cauldrons, because if the ruddy image formed on the surface of the brew, the bubbling liquid was indeed the true elixir of youth and immortality. Red is the color of dawn, of sunset, of a fireside; of bright blood, poured splendidly for a good cause or daintily glimpsed in a girl's blush. Red are a cardinal's robes, a Chinese bride's gown, a Spanish bride's flowers. To be kept in a red-draped chamber, in Queen Elizabeth's time, was believed to cure beauty of the smallpox without a scar. Lastly, red is the color of the heart."

"'Lord, keep our heart's-blood red,'" paraphrased Adriance soberly. "I am not clever like you, but I know red is the color of your own jewels."

"Mine?"

He caught her hands across the table.

"Have you forgotten what stones were likened to the value of a good woman? Elsie, Elsie, when I can, I will give you--not diamonds or pearls, but rubies. Rubies, for to-night."

Neither of the two was given to continued sentimentality of speech. But the deep happiness, the s.h.i.+ning wonder that still dazzled them found expression in plans for this new future; mere suggestions for the comfort of the house or the pleasure of their leisure together. She mentioned a much-discussed book, and he promised to read it aloud to her.

"I've always wanted to read aloud, but I never found anyone who would listen," he told her, over the strawberry jam and coffee. "You can't escape, so----! You can embroider, and listen."

"Embroider!" She heaped scorn on the word. "Let me inform you, sir, that there will be dish-towels to hem, and napkins. Do you know we have only one tablecloth, and that has a frightful border, with fringe? Blue fringe? And there are no curtains at the windows. Embroider? I shall _sew_, and listen."

"Well, so long as you listen!" He lighted a cigar and leaned back luxuriously. "What little hands you have!"

She spread them out on the table and seriously contemplated them.