Mr. Claghorn's Daughter Part 32

The pamphlet was relentless, as was proper; but in his accompanying letter to his wife Leonard was very tender. He showed her that there was but one course to pursue in the face of indisputable truth, and that was resignation to the will of heaven. Weak humanity might grieve over G.o.d's will; such sorrow was certainly pardonable by man, but was nevertheless rebellion; and, before complete reconciliation to G.o.d could be a.s.sumed, must be dismissed from the heart. Leaving religion, he proceeded to tell his wife that his longing for her was growing absolutely insupportable, and he was much more fervid in his pet.i.tion that she hasten her return home than he had been in his doctrinal expositions. He dispatched his letter, and returned to his former avocations, but with little spirit; he longed for Natalie, and had no room for other than the thoughts that accompanied his longing. In a few days he was able to start for home, Natalie having, in a very short letter, in which she made no comment on the one he had last written, announced her arrival in Hampton by a train due there a few minutes later than the one from New York by which he traveled, and when he finally alighted at the station, he was tremulous with antic.i.p.ation, and his disappointment was proportionate when the Newport train arrived with none of the expected travelers.

There was nothing to do but to bear a revulsion of feeling, which was actually painful. He walked across the Square to his home, and found the maids with everything prepared for his arrival, and with a letter from Natalie which informed him that she would be in Hampton on the following morning.

He went early to bed, discontented and fretful. He slept badly, and in the night got up and wandered restlessly about, and in his wanderings made a discovery which might have remained unnoticed had the fancies which vexed his repose been of a different character.

After the birth of her child, Natalie had occupied a room separate from her husband's, in order that the latter, whose literary labors were exacting, should not be disturbed. In his prowling Leonard discovered evidences that this arrangement was to be continued, and as he stood in the gaslight considering the tokens whereby he inferred that one room was reserved for masculine, the other for feminine occupancy, he mentally p.r.o.nounced the arrangement unsatisfactory, and experienced a feeling of vexation amounting to resentment.

But resentment gave way when, next morning, having seen Mrs. Joe and Paula drive away to Stormpoint, and having followed Natalie to the room which he had inspected the night before with dissatisfaction, he once more held her in his arms. The light that gleamed from her eyes, the roseate hue upon her feverish cheeks, the rich red lips upon which he pressed his own hungrily--the beautiful reality, fairer than the fairest vision of his hours of longing, banished every thought but one.

He held her long in a close embrace. He was very happy, and when she had withdrawn from his arms he sat upon the edge of the bed telling her of his disappointment of the day before, and of his nocturnal prowlings, and laughingly advancing his objections to the sleeping arrangements she had ordered. Meanwhile, she said but little, being engaged in searching for something in her trunk. At length she found whatever she had been seeking. "Leonard," she said, "go down to the library. I must speak to you, but not here."

The manner and the tone puzzled him--then he remembered. He sighed involuntarily. It was an inopportune moment to discuss conversion--but since she was in its throes----He went downstairs; his face betrayed vexation.

Soon she entered the room where he awaited her, seated in a big chair.

She knelt before him, taking his hand in hers. "Leonard," she said, "I am sorry you don't like the arrangement of the bedrooms."

Her solemnity had led him to expect something of greater importance than this, which was, however, decidedly a more welcome topic. "You know, dearest," he said, with a quizzical look, "as husband and wife----"

"Leonard! Leonard! We dare not be husband and wife."

He stared at her in amazement. "What do you mean?" he said.

"I mean this," she answered, producing "Dr. Burley's True Meaning." "Oh, Leonard! How could the same man write that book and be a father?"

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

HE CLASPED HER LITHE BODY WITH A CLUTCH OF FURY.

Mrs. Joe had not obeyed Dr. Stanley's injunction, to burn the "Call to the Careless," but had studied that delectable composition sufficiently to compel her to exonerate the doctor from her suspicion, that he had invented much of the matter, which he had, in fact, read from the text before him.

Her researches had not been without an object. It is, perhaps, unnecessary to point out that this lady's conscience was sufficiently elastic for ordinary purposes, even for ordinary political purposes, and it might have with stood the a.s.saults made upon it by her investigation, had she been of the usual s.e.x of politicians. She could go far in the interests of her son, but long ago she had borne another child, whose smile as it faded in death had ever been, at odd moments, before her, and constantly before her during her wanderings in fields theological, and she had but recently seen a woman crazed by contemplation of her baby in h.e.l.l. When she had learned, by means of her studies, that a great ecclesiastical body still dooms the vast majority of those born of woman to everlasting woe, it came upon her like a blow in the face that, in order to see her son in the legislature, she had aided in promulgating the diabolical creed which, in the face of nineteen centuries of Christianity, is still waved aloft as the Standard of a Christian Church.

Upon the first shock of this knowledge she followed the inevitable course of the conscience-stricken, and proceeded to argue with the inward monitor. "n.o.body believes that now," she insisted; "the actual belief has been modified to accord with common sense. No Christian can admit that G.o.d is a demon, and no Christian can teach impossible falsehood." In answer to which, Conscience pointed to the t.i.tle-page, which proclaimed the Confession to be the "Standard of the Presbyterian Church in the United States of America.'" She resolved to seek enlightenment at the acknowledged head of human wisdom in Hampton, and called for the purpose on the great Dr. Burley himself. Him she encountered as he was emerging from his front door. "Does Hampton actually uphold the Westminster Confession?" she asked.

"Certainly, my dear madam, so does Brigston."

"I'm not interested in Brigston. I am in Hampton."

"And we are all glad that it is so. But, I see--I've always been afraid of it; you are going to try and get us all over to St. Perpetua, ha!

ha!"

"And does Hampton really believe----?"

"Only what is true. I must be off to my lecture now; we must have it out some other time. How's the Bishop? Fine fellow; wish we had him.

Good-bye; Mrs. Burley will be _delighted to_ see you," and the doctor waved the lady into the house and made his escape.

Having no desire to call upon Mrs. Burley, the lady of Stormpoint remained in the vestibule only long enough for the gentleman to get away; she then descended the steps and was about to enter her carriage, when she was accosted by Dr. Stanley, who, after the usual salutations, asked her if she had seen Leonard recently.

"I am about to call on him now--on unpleasant business."

"That's a pity. You'll wish you had stayed at home. I have just left him; he's as cross as three sticks, which I suppose are crosser than the proverbial two."

"I suppose because the newspapers are still nagging him."

"Perhaps; yet if you could manage a confidential talk with Mrs. Leonard, it might be a good thing."

"Ah! You've noticed that there's domestic trouble? I have suspected it.

Why was he willing to stay away from Newport? Why was his wife reluctant to come home?"

"Perhaps you can find out. Doctors can't ask indiscreet questions more than other people."

"And you think I can, or will?" In answer to which the physician merely shrugged his shoulders.

The lady drove away, her distaste for the task before her not diminished by the encounter. She was quite sure that the physician would not have made the allusions, which had fallen from him, unless he believed that the domestic status in the Morley mansion was of grave significance.

Which, in fact, it was; a dark shadow loomed, ever larger, in the old house.

Leonard was very unhappy. Natalie's ignorance, in respect to his longings, her utter absence of sympathy; these formed the side of the shadow visible to him. He was irritable, at times harsh; but more deadly in its possible results was a sullen resentment, so deep that its ferocity and strength were unsuspected by himself. He was gazing moodily out of the library window when Mrs. Joe's equipage stopped at the door, and in another moment the lady was ushered in.

"What is it?" he asked shortly. His manner was divested of its usual graces. He looked moodily at the floor.

"Only a matter of business. Leonard, have you informed the Hampton people of the gift of which I spoke to you?"

"It has been mentioned."

"Leonard, I ought not to give it."

"You don't mean you have met with serious losses?" he exclaimed, impressed by her manner.

"No, no! But my views have changed; that is, I have made discoveries.

Will it annoy you, personally, if the gift is not made?"

"I shall regret it; but n.o.body will blame me, if that's what you mean."

She was relieved. Still, it was painful to withhold a promised gift, especially painful to deprive him just now of the credit of being her almoner. "I wish you to take this," she said, handing him a cheque. "Let it go to the poor of the town, the hospital, the blind asylum----"

He took the slip of paper she held out to him. He was startled by the amount. "Mrs. Joe----" he commenced.

"We can arrange as to details," she interrupted. "Oblige me by taking it now."

He saw that she was somewhat agitated, and knew that she feared that the withdrawal of the gift to the Seminary might have wounded him. This was her way of curing such wounds. It would be ungracious to refuse the cheque, yet even as he looked at it, a strange foreboding was upon him.

He sat down saying he would prefer to give her a receipt as trustee. "As you say, we must arrange as to details. Meanwhile, I suggest a portion of the sum for the Missionary Fund----"

"Not one penny of it," she answered with energy.