XIX
Shehad not regained control of herself when Charter entered the room but she turned and faced him with something as near a greeting as she was able to achieve. It was almost a shock to her to see him looking so splendidly well and strong and fearless after that other look that haunted her in the eyes of the man she had married.
"I thought Belhaven was here," he said abruptly. "I told him I was coming but your man says he's gone over to Astry's already."
"Johnstone came for him," she managed to say. "I—aren't you going too?"
"I suppose I've got to. I promised because I thought I'd see you there. I didn't want to come here; you see, I've told him."
Rachel colored. "You told—Belhaven?"
"That I loved you and I wouldn't let him keep you here like this."
She sank into the nearest chair, looking at him weakly. "Oh, John!"
"Well, it's true, isn't it? You wouldn't want me to sneak into the house without his knowing it?"
"I don't think you ought to come really; that's just it, John, we've lost everything."
He was indignant. "We haven't. I won't stand it, Rachel; it's ridiculous. He's trading on your generosity; he—why, he almost admitted it to me!"
Rachel leaned back in the chair, her head sinking into the cushions; she felt almost as if she might swoon. "John, he's just offered to set me free."
Charter swung around and looked at her, his face changing.
"Good! Then there's a spark in him. I thought he—well, I told him what I thought!"
She remembered Belhaven's face with a sudden illumination of mind. If Charter had told him what he thought of him perhaps it was no wonder he looked like that!
"I—I wish you hadn't!"
"Rachel," he stopped in his walk and bent over her, trembling, "is it possible you're half in love with him now?"
"No, no!"
"Then—oh, my dear, my dear, we'll get you free yet! Rachel, my darling!"
She let him hold her hands close but the tears were running down her face.
"John, I told him I wouldn't take it!"
"You told him you wouldn't take your freedom?" His tone was incredulous, dumbfounded.
She had only enough voice to murmur: "I—I can't!"
He dropped her hands and sprang up. "You don't care a pin for me! You love him!"
She could not endure that. "I don't, but—oh, can't you see? How can I? I did it myself—he's done nothing since; what right have I to make all this scandal just—just to be happy? Isn't there something higher? I've—I've got to take my punishment."
He looked at her with a set face, blanched until the tan showed in a band across his brow and cheeks.
"And how about me? Am I to be punished too?"
She got up then and went to him and put her arms around his neck; he felt her shivering from head to foot. "John, do you want to kill me? I can't bear any more. You know I love you. I'm trying hard to do the right thing just because I have to; I've been almost wicked in thinking of it, but now, John—you've got to go."
"See here, Rachel, I've always tried to be straight, to be honest, but I'm a scoundrel now. I told Belhaven I was making love to you and I am. I'd—I'd take you away with me this minute if you'd go! He'd get a divorce then."
She smiled faintly, looking up at his drawn face. "No, you wouldn't, you'd never do it,—when you thought of it, John,—because—I think you love me."
"That's what causes it—I mean elopements, isn't it?"
She shook her head. "No, because when a man really loves a woman he won't dishonor her."
"Well, that's why I've let you stay here. If it wasn't for that I'd have taken that—that fellow and thrown him in the river and carried you off. Rachel, I won't give you up!"
She slipped out of his arms again and made her way uncertainly back to her seat. "You've got to go over there now, John."
"To Astry's?" He glanced at the clock. "I've got ten minutes and I'm not sure I'll go at all."
She made a queer little gesture with her hands, as if she fought for breath, but he did not see it.
"You've got to go," she said gently, "because—because I can't have you here any longer. We're not in our senses to-night; we can't talk it over."
"You told me to go before, but what good did it do? We're no better off, we won't be any better off, until I make him give you up."
"I've set myself up to be good, I've made him think me so; he believes in me, but you—I see you don't, John."
His amazement made him swing around and stare at her blankly. "What do you mean?"
"If you believed in me—even a little bit—you'd see that I've got to do the right thing."
"I believe in you so much that I think you're too good; you're sacrificing yourself and you're sacrificing me too for an idea. I've got to the point where I don't care a fig for ideas; it doesn't matter to me if they did make you stand up and marry that—marry him—to save Eva. I'd like to smash everything out of my way; I want to set you free, I must!"
"You can't—there's no way out. I've just got to be punished!"
"For what, pray? For being an angel to your sister? For pitying that—that fellow?"
"No, for marrying him just because—"
"Because what?"
"Because I thought you loved some one else."
"Good Lord!"
"Well, that's it. I'm just as wicked and silly as that!"
"Look here, Rachel, this kills me! I did it, I was the fool, the lumpkin, the gumpy, who couldn't write a decent letter. I can't see why you didn't know!"
"Oh!" she wrung her hands together hysterically, "how can you? Can't you see that no woman could know? But that's no excuse. I did it and I've just got to suffer for it; I can't ruin my sister now!"
He did not reply, he could not, without risk of consigning Eva to that limbo of forgetfulness to which furious men assign unworthy objects. He planted himself firmly opposite to her, looking like a tower of strength, his face still blanched but his blue eyes kindled.
"I swear I won't give you up. I told him so too."
"To-day?"
"The other day. I told him to-day I was coming here before I went to Astry's. I told him after I found out you weren't going there. I thought I should meet you; I didn't want to come into his house, but I had to."
She looked down thoughtfully, clasping her hands again.
"He told me to-night, he offered to set me free; don't you think it was fine in him really?"
"I don't think it fine to do what you've got to, if you're an honest man!"
"Even when it's hard to do?"
"Oh, I know he's in love with you—damn him!"
"John!"
"I beg your pardon."
"It wasn't the language," she smiled feebly. "It was—to feel like that. I—I don't want him to love me."
"I suppose you thought a man could live here day after day and look at you as if you were a—well, a broomstick!" He was deeply sarcastic now, for he was furious; the pang was deeper than jealousy, it was rending his being.
Rachel saw his pain, and would have given the world to comfort him, to lay her hand on his crisp blond hair, to touch his cheek, but she dared only to get up from her chair and move further away from him. "John, you've got to go; you'll be late now and—"
"Well, he knows I was coming."
"That doesn't matter—please," she looked at him gently, almost humbly, "please don't make people talk. I want to be proud of you."
He walked straight across the room and took her in his arms and kissed her. "I'm going; I wouldn't hurt a hair of your head if I died for it, I'm willing to die to keep you safe; I'm going—God bless you, it's like death, Rachel, for I know you're sending me away, but I adore you for being just what you are!"
She kept on her feet until he went out, and stood still, by the table, with the soft light on her, but when she heard the door close behind him, she crumpled down into a pitiful, little heap on the floor, her head buried in the cushions of her chair, and she heard nothing, not even the storm; it seemed to her that it was more than she could bear!