CHAPTER XXXV.THE INTERVIEW.
Dr. Morris was very tired, for his labors that day had been unusually severe, and it was with a feeling of comfort and relief that at an earlier hour than usual, he had turned his steps homeward, finding a bright fire waiting him in the library, where his late dinner was soon brought by the housekeeper. It was very pleasant in that cosy library of oak and green, with the bright fire on the hearth, and the smoking dinner set so temptingly before him. And Morris felt the comfort of his home, thanking the God who had given him all this, and chiding his wayward heart that it had ever dared to repine. Hewas not repining to-night, as with his hands crossed upon his head he sat looking into the fire and watching the bits of glowing anthracite dropping into the pan. He was thinking of the sick-bed which he had visited last, and how a faith in Jesus can make the humblest room like the gate of Heaven; thinking how the woman’s eyes had sparkled when she told him of the other world, where she would never know pain or hunger or cold again, and how quickly their lustre was dimmed when she spoke of her absent husband, the soldier to whom the news of her death, with the child he had never seen, would be a crushing blow.
“They who have neither wife nor child are the happier perhaps,” he said; and then he thought of Katy and her great sorrow when baby died, wondering if to spare herself that pain she would rather baby had never been. “No—oh, no,” he answered to his own inquiry. “She would not lose the memory which comes from that little grave for all the world contains. It is better once to love and lose than not to love at all. In Heaven we shall see and know why these things were permitted, and marvel at the poor human nature which rebelled against them.”
Just at this point of his soliloquy, the telegram was brought to him. “Come in the next train. I am in great trouble.”
He read it many times, growing more and more perplexed with each reading, and then trying to decide what his better course would be. There were no patients needing him that night, that he knew of; he might perhaps go if there was yet time for the train which passed at four o’clock. There was time, he found, and telling Mrs. Hull that he had been suddenly called to New York, he bade his boy bring out his horse and take him at once to the depot. It was better to leave no message for the deacon’s family, as he did not wish to alarm them unnecessarily. “I shall undoubtedly be back to-morrow,” he thought, as he took his seat in the car, wondering what could be the trouble which had prompted that strange despatch.
It was nearly midnight when he reached the city, buta light was shining from the windows of that house in Madison Square, and Katy, who had never for a moment doubted his coming, was waiting for him. But not in the parlor; she was too sick now to go down there, and when she heard his ring and his voice in the hall asking for her, she bade Esther show him to her room. More and more perplexed, Morris ran up to the room where Katy lay, or rather crouched, upon the sofa, her eyes so wild and her face so white that, in great alarm, Morris took the cold hands she stretched feebly towards him, and bending over her said, “What is it, Katy? Has anything dreadful happened? and where is your husband?”
At the mention of her husband Katy shivered, and rising from her crouching position, she pushed her hair back from her forehead and replied, “Oh, Morris! I am so wretched,—so full of pain! I have heard of something which took my life away. I amnotWilford’s wife, for he had another before me,—a wife in Italy,—who is not dead! AndI, oh Morris! whatamI? I knew you would know just what I was, and I sent for you to tell me and take me away from here, back to Silverton. Help me, Morris! I am choking! I am—yes—I am—going to faint!”
It was the first time Katy had put the great horror in words addressed to another, and the act of doing so made it more appalling, and with a moan she sank back among the pillows of the couch, while Morris tried to comprehend the strange words he had heard, “I am not Wilford’s wife, for he had another before me,—a wife in Italy,—who is not dead.”
Dr. Morris was thoroughly a man, and though much of his sinful nature had been subdued, there was enough left to make his heart rise and fall with great throbs of joy as he thought of Katyfree, even though that freedom were bought at the expense of dire disgrace to others, and of misery to her. But only for a moment did he feel thus—only till he knelt beside the pallid face with the dark rings beneath the eyes, and saw the faint, quivering motion around the lips, which told that she was not wholly unconscious.
“My poor little wounded bird,” he said, as pityingly asif he had been her father, while much as a father might kiss his suffering child, he kissed the forehead and the eyelids where the tears began to gather.
Katy was not insensible, and the name by which he called her, with the kisses that he gave, thawed the ice around her heart and brought a flood of tears, which Morris wiped away, lifting her gently up and pillowing her hot head upon his arm, while she moaned like a weary child.
“It rests me so just to see you, Morris. May I go back with you, as your housekeeper, instead of Mrs. Hull;—that is, if I am not his wife? The world might despise me, but you would know I was not to blame. I should go nowhere but to the farm-house, to church, and baby’s grave. Poor baby! I am glad God gave her to me, even if I am not Wilford’s wife; and I am glad now that she died.”
She was talking to herself rather than to Morris, who, smoothing back her hair and chafing her cold hands, said,
“My poor child, you have passed through some agitating scene. Are you able now to tell me all about it, and what you mean by another wife?”
There was a shiver, and the white lips grew still whiter as Katy began her story, going back to St. Mary’s churchyard and then coming to her first night in New York, when Juno had told her of a picture and asked her whose it was. Then she told of Wilford’s admission of an earlier love, who, he said, was dead; of the trouble about the baby’s name, and his aversion to Genevra; but when she approached the dinner at the elder Cameron’s, her lip quivered in a grieved kind of way as she remembered what Wilford had said ofherto his mother, but she would not tell this to Morris,—it was not necessary to her story,—and so she said, “They were talking of what I ought never to have heard, and it seemed as if the walls were closing me in so I could not move to let them know I was there. I said to myself, ‘I shall go mad after this,’ and I thought of you all coming to see me in the mad-house, your kind face, Morris, coming up distinctly before me, just as it would look at me if I werereally crazed. But all this was swept away like a hurricane when I heard the rest, the part aboutGenevra, Wilford’s other wife.”
Katy was panting for breath, but she went on with the story, which made Morris clench his hands as he comprehended the deceit which had been practiced so long. Of course he did not look at it as Katy did, for he knew that according to all civil law she was as really Wilford’s wife as if no other had existed, and he told her so, but Katy shook her head. “He can’t have two wives living. And I tell you I knew the picture—Genevra is not dead, I have seen her; I have talked with her,—Genevra is not dead.”
“Granted that she is not,” Morris answered, “the divorce remains the same.”
“I do not believe in divorces. Whom God hath joined together let not man put asunder,” Katy said with an air which implied that from this argument there could be no appeal.
“That is the Scripture, I know,” Morris replied, “but you must know that for one sin our Saviour permitted a man to put away his wife, thus making it perfectly right.”
“But in Genevra’s case the sin did not exist. She was as innocent as I am, and that must make a difference.”
She was very earnest in her attempts to prove that Genevra was still a lawful wife, so earnest that a dark suspicion entered Morris’s mind, finding vent in the question, “Katy, don’t you love your husband, that you try so hard to prove he is not yours?”
There were red spots all over Katy’s face and neck as she saw the meaning put upon her actions, and, covering her face with her hands, she sobbed violently as she replied, “I do, oh, yes, I do! I never loved any one else. I would have died for him once. Maybe I would die for him now; but, Morris, he is disappointed in me. Our tastes are not alike, and we made a great mistake, or Wilford did when he took me for his wife. I was better suited to most anybody else, and I have been so wicked since, forgetting all the good I ever knew, forgetting prayer save as I went through the form from old habit’ssake; forgetting God, who has punished me so sorely that every nerve smarts with the stinging blows.”
Oh, how lovingly, how earnestly Morris talked to Katy then, telling her of Him who smites but to heal, who chastens not in anger, and would lead the lost one back into the quiet fold where there was perfect peace.
And Katy, listening eagerly, with her great blue eyes fixed upon his face, felt that to experience that of which he talked, was worth more than all the world beside. Gradually, too, there stole over her therestshe always felt with him—the indescribable feeling which prompted her to care for nothing except to do just what he bade her do, knowing it was right; so when he said to her, “You cannot go home with me, Katy; your duty is to remain here in your husband’s house,” she offered no remonstrance. Indeed, Morris doubted if she fully understood him, she looked so sick and appeared so strange.
“It is not safe for you to be alone. Esther must stay with you,” he continued, feeling her rapid pulse and noticing the alternate flushing and paling of her cheek.
A fever was coming on, he feared, and summoning Esther to the room, he said,
“Your mistress is very sick. You must stay with her till morning, and if she grows worse, let me know. I shall be in the library.”
Then, with a few directions with regard to the medicine he fortunately had with him, he left the chamber, and repaired to the library below, where he spent the few remaining hours of the night, pondering on the strange story he had heard, and praying for poor Katy whose heart had been so sorely wounded.
The quick-witted Esther saw that something was wrong, and traced it readily to Wilford, whose exacting nature she thoroughly understood. She had not been blind during the two years and a half she had been Katy’s maid, and no impatient word of Wilford’s, or frown upon his face, had escaped her when occurring in her presence, while Katy’s uniform sweetness and entire submission to his will had been noted as well, so that in Esther’s opinion Wilford was a domestic tyrant, and Katy was anangel. Numerous were her conjectures as to the cause of the present trouble, which must be something serious, or Katy had never telegraphed for Dr. Grant, as she felt certain she had.
“Whatever it is, I’ll stand her friend,” she said, as she bent over her young mistress, who was talking of Genevra and the grave at St. Mary’s, which was no grave at all.
She was growing worse very rapidly, and frightened at last at the wildness of her eyes, and her constant ravings, Esther went down to Morris, and bade him come quickly to Mrs. Cameron.
“She is taken out of her head, and talks so queer and raving.”
Morris had expected this, but he was not prepared to find the fever so high, or the symptoms so alarming.
“Shall I send for Mrs. Cameron and another doctor, please?” Esther asked.
Morris had faith in himself, and he would rather no other hand should minister to Katy; but he knew he could not stay there long, for there were those at home who needed his services. Added to this, her family physician might know her constitution, now, better than he knew it, and so he answered that it would be well to send for both the doctor and Mrs. Cameron.
It was just daylight when Mrs. Cameron arrived, questioning Esther closely, and appearing much surprised when she heard of Dr. Grant’s presence in the house. That he came by chance, she never doubted, and as Esther merely answered the questions put directly to her, Mrs. Cameron had no suspicion of the telegram.
“I am glad he happened here at this time,” she said. “I have the utmost confidence in his skill. Still it may be well for Dr. Craig to see her. I think that is his ring.”
The city and country physicians agreed exactly with regard to Katy’s illness, or rather the city physician bowed in acquiescence when Morris said to him that the fever raging so high had, perhaps, been induced by natural causes, but was greatly aggravated by some sudden shock to the nervous system. This was before Mrs. Cameron came up, but it was repeated in her presence by Dr. Craig,who thus left the impression that the idea had originated with himself, rather than with Dr. Grant, as perhaps he thought it had. He was at first inclined to patronize the country doctor, but soon found that he had reckoned without his host. Morris knew more of Katy, and quite as much of medicine as he did himself, and when Mrs. Cameron begged him to stay longer, he answered that her son’s wife was as safe in his brother physician’s hands as she could be in his.
Mrs. Cameron was very glad that Dr. Grant was there, she said. It was surely Providence who sent him to New York on that particular day, and Morris shivered as he wondered if it were wrong not to explain the whole to her.
“Perhaps it is best she should not know of the telegram,” he thought, and merely bowing to her remarks, he turned to Katy, who was growing very restless and moaning as if in pain.
“It hurts,” she said, turning her head from side to side; “I am lying on Genevra.”
With a sudden start, Mrs. Cameron drew nearer, but when she remembered the little grave at Silverton, she said, “It’s the baby she’s talking about.”
Morris knew better, and as Katy still continued to move her head as if something were really hurting her, he passed his hand under her pillow and drew out the picture she must have kept near her as long as her consciousness remained. He knew it was Genevra’s picture, and was about to lay it away, when the cover dropped into his hand, and his eye fell upon a face which was not new to him, while an involuntary exclamation of surprise escaped him, as Katy’s assertion that Genevra was living was thus fully confirmed. Marian had not changed past recognition since her early girlhood, and Morris knew the likeness at once, pitying Katy more than he had pitied her yet, as he remembered how closely Marian Hazelton had been interwoven with her married life, and the life of the little child which had borne her name.
“What is that?” Mrs. Cameron asked, and Morris passed the case to her, saying, “A picture which was under Katy’s pillow.”
Morris did not look at Mrs. Cameron, but tried to busy himself with the medicines upon the stand, while she too recognized Genevra Lambert, wondering how it came in Katy’s possession and how much she knew of Wilford’s secret.
“She must have been rummaging,” she thought, and then as she remembered what Esther had said about her mistress appearing sick and unhappy, when her husband left home, she repaired to the parlor and summoning Esther to her presence, asked her again, “When she first observed traces of indisposition in Mrs. Cameron.”
“When she came home from that dinner at your house. She was just as pale as death, and her teeth fairly chattered as I took off her things.”
“Dinner? What dinner?” Mrs. Cameron asked, and Esther replied, “Why, the night Mr. Wilford went away or was to go. She changed her mind about meeting him at your house, and said she meant to surprise him. But she came home before Mr. Cameron, looking like a ghost, and saying she was sick. It’s my opinion something she ate at dinner hurt her.”
“Very likely, yes. You can go now,” Mrs. Cameron said, and Esther departed, never dreaming how much light she had inadvertently thrown upon the mystery.
“She must have been in the library and heard all we said,” Mrs. Cameron thought, as she nervously twisted the fringe of her breakfast shawl. “I remember we talked of Genevra, and that we both heard a strange sound from some quarter, but thought it came from the kitchen. That was Katy. She was there all the time and let herself quietly out of the house. I wonder does Wilford know,” and then there came over her an intense desire for Wilford to come home—a desire which was not lessened when she returned to Katy’s room and heard her talking of Genevra and the grave at St. Mary’s “where nobody was buried.”
In a tremor of distress, lest she should betray something which Morris must not know Mrs. Cameron tried to hush her, talking as if it was the baby she meant, but Katy answered promptly, “It’s Genevra Lambert I mean, Wilford’s other wife; the one across the sea. She wasinnocent, too—as innocent as I, whom you both deceived.”
Here was a phase of affairs for which Mrs. Cameron was not prepared, and excessively mortified that Morris should hear Katy’s ravings, she tried again to quiet her, consoling herself with the reflection that as Morris was Katy’s cousin, he would not repeat what he heard, and feeling gratified now that Dr. Craig was absent, as she could not be so sure of him. If Katy’s delirium continued, no one must be admitted to the room except those who could be trusted, and as there had been already several rings, she said to Esther that as the fever was probably malignant and contagious, no one must be admitted to the house with the expectation of seeing the patient, while the servants were advised to stay in their own quarters, except as their services might be needed elsewhere. And so it was that by the morrow the news had spread of some infectious disease at No. —— on Madison Square, which was shunned as carefully as if smallpox itself had been raging there instead of the brain fever, which increased so fast that Morris suggested to Mrs. Cameron that she telegraph for Wilford.
“They might find him, and they might not,” Mother Cameron said. “They could try, at all events,” and in a few moments the telegraphic wires were carrying the news of Katy’s illness, both to the west, where Wilford had gone, and to the east, where Helen read with a blanched cheek that Katy perhaps was dying, and she must hasten to New York.
This was Mrs. Cameron’s suggestion, wrung out by the knowing that some woman besides herself was needed in the sick room, and by feeling that Helen could be trusted with the story of the first marriage, which Katy talked of constantly, telling it so accurately that only a fool would fail of being convinced that there was much of truth in those delirious ravings.