CHAPTER XXXV
In the Boyd house things went on much as before, but with a newheaviness. Ellen, watching keenly, knew why the little house was socheerless and somber. It had been Willy Cameron who had brought toit its gayer moments, Willy determinedly cheerful, slamming doors andwhistling; Willy racing up the stairs with something hot for Mrs. Boyd'stray; Willy at the table, making them forget the frugality of the mealswith campaign anecdotes; Willy, lamenting the lack of a chance to fish,and subsequently eliciting a rare smile from Edith by being discoveredangling in the kitchen sink with a piece of twine on the end of hisumbrella.
Rather forced, some of it, but eminently good for all of them. And thensuddenly it ceased. He made an effort, but there was no spontaneity inhim. He came in quietly, never whistled, and ate very little. He beganto look almost gaunt, too, and Edith, watching him with jealous, lovingeyes, gave voice at last to the thought that was in her mind.
"I wish you'd go away," she said, "and let us fight this thing outourselves. Dan would have to get something to do, then, for one thing."
"But I don't want to go away, Edith."
"Then you're a fool," she observed, bitterly. "You can't help me any,and there's no use hanging mother around your neck."
"She won't be around any one's neck very long, Edith dear."
"After that, will you go away?"
"Not if you still want me."
"Want you!"
Dan was out, and Ellen had gone up for the invalid's tray. They werealone together, standing in the kitchen doorway.
Suddenly Edith, beside him, ran her hand through his arm.
"If I had been a different sort of girl, Willy, do you think--could youever have cared for me?"
"I never thought about you that way," he said, simply. "I do care foryou. You know that."
She dropped her hand.
"You are in love with Lily Cardew. That's why you don't--I've known itall along, Willy. I used to think you'd get over it, never seeing herand all that. But you don't, do you?" She looked up at him. "The realthing lasts, I suppose. It will with me. I wish to heaven it wouldn't."
He was most uncomfortable, but he drew her hand within his arm again andheld it there.
"Don't get to thinking that you care anything about me," he said."There's not as much love in the world as there ought to be, and we allneed to hold hands, but--don't fancy anything like that."
"I wanted to tell you. If I hadn't known about her I wouldn't have toldyou, but--you said it when you said there's not as much love as thereought to be. I'm gone, but I guess my caring for you hasn't hurt me any.It's the only reason I'm alive to-day."
She freed her hand, and stood staring out over the little autumngarden. There was such brooding trouble in her face that he watched heranxiously.
"I think mother suspects," she said at last.
"I hope not, Edith."
"I think she does. She watches me all the time, and she asked to see Danto-night. Only he didn't come home."
"You must deny it, Edith," he said, almost fiercely. "She must not know,ever. That is one thing we can save her, and must save her."
But, going upstairs as usual before he went out, he realized that Edithwas right, and that matters had reached a crisis. The sick woman hadeaten nothing, and her eyes were sunken and anxious. There was anunspoken question in them, too, as she turned them on him. Mostsignificant of all, the little album was not beside her, nor the usuallitter of newspapers on the bed.
"I wish you weren't going out, Willy," she said querulously. "I want totalk to you about something."
"Can't we discuss it in the morning?"
"I won't sleep till I get it off my mind, Willy." But he could not facethat situation then. He needed time, for one thing. Surely there must besome way out, some way to send this frail little woman dreamless to herlast sleep, life could not be so cruel that death would seem kind.
He spoke at three different meetings that night, for the election wasclose at hand. Pink Denslow took him about in his car, and stood waitingfor him at the back of the crowd. In the intervals between hall and hallPink found Willy Cameron very silent and very grave, but he could notknow that the young man beside him was trying to solve a difficultquestion. Which was: did two wrongs ever make a right?
At the end of the last meeting Willy Cameron decided to walk home.
"I have some things to think over. Pink," he said. "Thanks for the car.It saves a lot of time."
Pink sat at the wheel, carefully scrutinizing Willy. It struck him thenthat Cameron looked fagged and unhappy.
"Nothing I can do, I suppose?"
"Thanks, no."
Pink knew nothing of Lily's marriage, nor of the events that hadfollowed it. To his uninquiring mind all was as it should be with her;she was at home again, although strangely quiet and very sweet, andher small world was at peace with her. It was all right with her, heconsidered, although all wrong with him. Except that she was strangelysubdued, which rather worried him. It was not possible, for instance,to rouse her to one of their old red-hot discussions on religion, ormarriage, or love.
"I saw Lily Cardew this afternoon, Cameron."
"Is she all right?" asked Willy Cameron, in a carefully casual tone.
"I don't know." Pink's honest voice showed perplexity. "She looks allright, and the family's eating out of her hand.. But she's changedsomehow. She asked for you."
"Thanks. Well, good-night, old man."
Willy Cameron was facing the decision of his life that night, as hewalked home. Lily was gone, out of his reach and out of his life. Butthen she had never been within either. She was only something wonderfuland far away, like a star to which men looked and sometimes prayed. Someday she would be free again, and then in time she would marry. Some onelike Pink, her own sort, and find happiness.
But he knew that he would always love her, to the end of his days, andeven beyond, in that heaven in which he so simply believed. All thethings that puzzled him would be straightened out there, and perhaps aman who had loved a woman and lost her here would find her there, andwalk hand in hand with her, through the bright days of Paradise.
Not that that satisfied him. He was a very earthly lover, with thehungry arms of youth. He yearned unspeakably for her. He would havedied for her as easily as he would have lived for her, but he could doneither.
That was one side of him. The other, having put her away in that warmcorner of his heart which was hers always, was busy with the practicalproblem of the Boyds. He saw only one way out, and that way he had beenseeing with increasing clearness for several days. Edith's candor thatnight, and Mrs. Boyd's suspicions, clearly pointed to it. There was oneway by which to save Edith and her child, and to save the dying womanthe agony of full knowledge.
Edith was sitting on the doorstep, alone. He sat down on the step belowher, rather silent, still busy with his problem. Although the night waswarm, the girl shivered.
"She's not asleep. She's waiting for me to go up, Willy. She means tocall me in and ask me."
"Then I'd better say what I have to say quickly. Edith, will you marryme?"
She drew off and looked at him.
"I'd better explain what I mean," he said, speaking with somedifficulty. "I mean--go through the ceremony with me. I don't meanactual marriage. That wouldn't be fair to either of us, because you knowthat I care for some one else."
"But you mean a real marriage?"
"Of course. Your child has the right to a name, dear. And, if you don'tmind telling a lie to save our souls, and for her peace of mind, we cansay that it took place some time ago."
She gazed at him dazedly. Then something like suspicion came into herface.
"Is it because of what I told you to-night?"
"I had thought of it before. That helped, of course."
It seemed so surprisingly simple, put into words, and the light on thegirl's face was his answer. A few words, so easily spoken, and two liveswere saved. No, three, for Edith's child must be considered.
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"You are like God," said Edith, in a low voice. "Like God." And fell tosoft weeping. She was unutterably happy and relieved. She sat there, notdaring to touch him, and looked out into the quiet street. Before hershe saw all the things that she had thought were gone; honor, a placein the world again, the right to look into her mother's eyes; she sawmarriage and happy, golden days. He did not love her, but he would behers, and perhaps in His own good time the Manager of all destinieswould make him love her. She would try so hard to deserve that.
Mrs. Boyd was asleep when at last Edith went up the staircase, andEllen, lying sleepless on her cot in the hot attic room, heard the girlsoftly humming to herself as she undressed, and marveled.