CHAPTER VI
There was incipient demoralisation already in the offices of Craig& Son. Young gentlemen perched on high benches still searched citymaps and explored high-way and by-way with compass andpencil-point, but their ears were alert to every shout from thestreets, and their interest remained centred in the newspaperbulletins across the way, where excited crowds clamoured fordetails not forthcoming.
All day, just outside the glass doors of the office, Broadwaystreamed with people; and here, where the human counter currentsrunning north and south encountered amid the racket of omnibuses,carts, carriages, and drays, a vast overflow spread turbulently,eddying out around the recruiting stations and newspaper officeswhich faced the City Park.
Sidewalks swarmed, the park was packed solid. Overhead flags flewfrom every flag pole, over every portal, across every alley andstreet and square--big nags, little flags, flags of silk, ofcotton, of linen, of bunting, all waving wide in the springsunshine, or hanging like great drenched flowers in the winnowingApril rain.
And it was very hard for the young gentlemen in the offices ofCraig & Son to keep their minds on their business.
Berkley had a small room to himself, a chair, a desk, a city mapsuspended against the wall, and no clients. Such occasionalcommissions as Craig & Son were able to give him constituted hissole source of income.
He also had every variety of time on his hands--leisure to walk tothe window and walk back again, and then walk all around theroom--leisure to go out and solicit business in a city wherealready business was on the edge of chaos and stillsliding--leisure to sit for hours in his chair and reflect uponanything he chose--leisure to be hungry and satisfy the inclinationwith philosophy. He was perfectly at liberty to choose any subjectand think about it. But he spent most of his time in trying toprevent himself from thinking.
However, from his window, the street views now were usuallyinteresting; he was an unconvinced spectator of the mob whichstarted for the _Daily News_ office, hissing, cat-calling, yelling:"Show your colours!" "Run up your colours!" He saw the mob visitthe _Journal of Commerce_, and then turn on the _Herald_, yellinginsult and bellowing threats which promptly inspired that journalto execute a political flip-flap that set the entire city smiling.
Stephen, who had conceived a younger man's furtive admiration forBerkley and his rumoured misdemeanours, often came into his roomwhen opportunity offered. That morning he chanced in for a momentand found Berkley at the window chewing the end of a pencil,perhaps in lieu of the cigar he could no longer afford.
"These are spectacular times," observed the latter, with a gesturetoward the street below. "Observe yonder ladylike warrior inbrand-new regimentals. Apparently, Stephen, he's a votary of Marsand pants for carnage; but in reality he continues to remain thesartorial artist whose pants are more politely emitted. He emittedthese--" patting his trousers with a ruler. "On what goose hasthis my tailor fed that he hath grown so sightly!"
They stood watching the crowds, once brightened only by the redshirts of firemen or the blue and brass of a policeman, but nowvaried with weird uniforms, or parts of uniforms, constructed onevery known and unknown pattern, military and unmilitary, foreignand domestic. The immortal army at Coventry was not morevariegated.
"There's a new poster across the street," said Stephen. Heindicated a big advertisement decorated with a flying eagle.
DOWN WITH SECESSION!
The Government Appeals to the New York Fire Department for One Regiment of Zouaves!
Companies will select their own officers. The roll is at Engine House 138, West Broadway.
ELSWORTH, COL: ZOUAVES.
"That's a good, regiment to enlist in, isn't it?" said the boyrestlessly.
"Cavalry for me," replied Berkley, unsmiling; "they can run faster."
"I'm serious," said Stephen. "If I had a chance--" He turned onBerkley: "Why don't you, enlist? There's nothing to stop you, isthere?"
"Nothing except constitutional timidity."
"Then why don't you?"
Berkley laughed. "Well, for one thing, I'm not sure how I'd behavein battle. I might be intelligent enough to run; I might be assenough to fight. The enemy would have to take its chances."
The boy laughed, too, turned to the window, and suddenly caughtBerkley by the arm:
"Look! There's something going on down by the Astor House!"
"A Massachusetts regiment of embattled farmers arrived in thishamlet last night. I believe they are to pass by here on their wayto Washington," remarked Berkley, opening the window and leaningout.
Already dense crowds of people were pushing, fighting, forcingtheir way past the windows, driven before double lines of police;already distant volleys of cheers sounded; the throb of drumsbecame audible; the cheering sounded shriller, nearer.
Past the windows, through Broadway, hordes of ragged street arabscame running, scattered into night before another heavy escort ofpolice. And now the on-coming drums could be heard moredistinctly; and now two dusty officers marched into view, a colonelof Massachusetts infantry attended by a quartermaster of New Yorkmilitia.
Behind them tramped the regimental band of the 6th Massachusetts,instruments slung; behind these, filling the street from gutter togutter, surged the sweating drummers, deafening every ear withtheir racket; then followed the field and staff, then the Yankeeregiment, wave on wave of bayonets choking the thoroughfare far asthe eye could see, until there seemed no end to their coming, andthe cheering had become an unbroken howl.
Stephen turned to Berkley: "A fellow can't see too much of thiskind of thing and stand it very long. Those soldiers are no olderthan I am!"
Berkley's ironical reply was drowned in a renewed uproar as theMassachusetts soldiers wheeled and began to file into the AstorHouse, and the New York militia of the escort swung past hurrahingfor the first Northern troops to leave for the front.
That day Berkley lunched in imagination only, seriously inclined toexchange his present board and lodgings for a dish of glory and acot in barracks.
That evening, too, after a boarding-house banquet, and afterBurgess had done his offices, he took the air instead of other andmore expensive distraction; and tired of it thoroughly, and of thesolitary silver coin remaining in his pocket.
From his clubs he had already resigned; other and less innocenthaunts of his were no longer possible; some desirable people stillretained him on their lists, and their houses were probably open tohim, but the social instinct was sick; he had no desire to go; nodesire even to cross the river for a penny and look again on AilsaPaige. So he had, as usual, the evening on his hands, nothing inhis pockets, and a very weary heart, under a last year's eveningcoat. And his lodgings were becoming a horror to him; thelandlady's cat had already killed two enormous rats In the hallway;also cabbage had been cooked in the kitchen that day. Which lefthim no other choice than to go out again and take more air.
Before midnight he had no longer any coin in his pockets, and hewas not drunk yet. The situation seemed hopeless, and he found apoliceman and inquired politely for the nearest recruiting station;but when he got there the station was closed, and his kicks on thedoor brought nobody but a prowling Bowery b'hoy, sullenly in questof single combat. So Berkley, being at leisure, accommodated him,picked him up, propped him limply against a doorway, resumed hisown hat and coat, and walked thoughtfully and unsteadily homeward,where he slept like an infant in spite of rats, cabbage, and aswollen lip.
Next day, however, matters were less cheerful. He had expected torealise a little money out of his last salable trinket--a diamondhe had once taken for a debt. But it seemed that the stonecouldn't pass muster, and he bestowed it upon Burgess, breakfastedon coffee and sour bread, and sauntered downtown quite undisturbedin the brilliant April sunshine.
However, the prospect of a small commission from Craig & Son buoyedup his natural cheerfulness. All the way downtown he nourished hiscane; he hummed lively tunes in his office as he studied his mapsa
nd carefully read the real estate reports in the daily papers; andthen he wrote another of the letters which he never mailed,strolled out to Stephen's desk for a little gossip, reportedhimself to Mr. Craig, and finally sallied forth to execute thatgentleman's behest upon an upper Fifth Avenue squatter who haddeclined to vacate property recently dedicated to blasting, theIrish, and general excavation.
In a few moments he found himself involved in the usual crowd. The8th Massachusetts regiment was passing in the wake of the 6th, itssister regiment of the day before, and the enthusiasm and noisewere tremendous.
However, he extricated himself and went about his business; foundthe squatter, argued with the squatter, gracefully dodged a brickfrom the wife of the squatter, laid a laughing complaint before theproper authorities, and then banqueted in imagination. What aluncheon he had! He was becoming a Lucullus at mental feasts.
Later, his business affairs and his luncheon terminated, attemptingto enter Broadway at Grand Street, he got into a crowd so rough andungovernable that he couldn't get out of it--an unreasonable,obstinate, struggling mass of men, women, and children sohysterical that the wild demonstrations of the day previous, and ofthe morning, seemed as nothing compared to this dense, far-spreadriot.
Broadway from Fourth to Cortlandt Streets was one tossing mass offlags overhead; one mad surge of humanity below. Through itbattalions of almost exhausted police relieved each other inattempting to keep the roadway clear for the passing of the NewYork 7th on its way to Washington.
Driven, crushed, hurled back by the played-out police, the crowdshad sagged back into the cross streets. But even here the policecharged them repeatedly, and the bewildered people turnedstruggling to escape, stumbled, swayed, became panic-stricken andlost their heads.
A Broadway stage, stranded in Canal Street, was besieged as arefuge. Toward it Berkley had been borne in spite of his effortsto extricate himself, incidentally losing his hat in the confusion.At the same moment he heard a quiet, unterrified voice pronouncehis name, caught a glimpse of Ailsa Paige swept past on the humanwave, set his shoulders, stemmed the rush from behind, and into themomentary eddy created, Ailsa was tossed, undismayed, laughing, andpinned flat against the forward wheel of the stalled stage.
"Climb up!" he said. "Place your right foot on the hub!--now theleft on the tire!--now step on my shoulder!"
There came a brutal rush from behind; he braced his back to it; sheset one foot on the hub, the other on the tire, stepped to hisshoulder, swung herself aloft, and crept up over the roof of thestage. Here he joined her, offering an arm to steady her as thestage shook under the impact of the reeling masses below.
"How did you get into this mob?" he asked.
"I was caught," she said calmly, steadying herself by the arm heoffered and glancing down at the peril below. "Celia and I wereshopping in Grand Street at Lord and Taylor's, and I thought I'dstep out of the shop for a moment to see if the 7th was coming, andI ventured too far--I simply could not get back. . . . And--thankyou for helping me." She had entirely recovered her serenity; shereleased his arm and now stood cautiously balanced behind thedriver's empty seat, looking curiously out over the turbulent seaof people, where already hundreds of newsboys were racing hitherand thither shouting an afternoon extra, which seemed to exciteeverybody within hearing to frenzy.
"Can you hear what they are shouting?" she inquired. "It seems tomake people very angry."
"They say that the 6th Massachusetts, which passed through hereyesterday, was attacked by a mob in Baltimore."
"_Our_ soldiers!" she said, incredulous. Then, clenching her smallhands: "If I were Colonel Lefferts of the 7th I'd march my menthrough Baltimore to-morrow!"
"I believe they expect to go through," he said, amused. "That iswhat they are for."
The rising uproar around was affecting her; the vivid colour in herlips and cheeks deepened. Berkley looked at her, at the cockadewith its fluttering red-white-and-blue ribbons on her breast, atthe clear, fearless eyes now brilliant with excitement andindignation.
"Have you thought of enlisting?" she asked abruptly, withoutglancing at him.
"Yes," he said, "I've ventured that far. It's perfectly safe tothink about it. You have no idea, Mrs. Paige, what warlikesentiments I cautiously entertain in my office chair."
She turned nervously, with a sunny glint of gold hair andfluttering ribbons:
"Are you _never_ perfectly serious, Mr. Berkley? Even at such amoment as this?"
"Always," he insisted. "I was only philosophising upon thesescenes of inexpensive patriotism which fill even the most urbaneand peaceful among us full of truculence. . . . I recently saw mytailor wearing a sword, attired in the made-to-measure panoply ofbattle."
"Did that strike you as humorous?"
"No, indeed; it fitted; I am only afraid he may find a soldier'sgrave before I can settle our sartorial accounts."
There was a levity to his pleasantries which sounded discordant toher amid the solemnly thrilling circumstances impending. For theflower of the city's soldiery was going forth to battle--a thousandgay, thoughtless young fellows summoned from ledger, office, andcounting-house; and all about her a million of their neighbours hadgathered to see them go.
"Applause makes patriots. Why should I enlist when merely bycheering others I can stand here and create heroes in battalions?"
"I think," she said, "that there was once another scoffer whoremained to pray."
As he did not answer, she sent a swift side glance at him, foundhim tranquilly surveying the crowd below where, at the corner ofCanal and Broadway, half a dozen Zouaves, clothed in theircharacteristic and brilliant uniforms and wearing hairy knapsackstrussed up behind, were being vociferously acclaimed by the peopleas they passed, bayonets fixed.
"More heroes," he observed, "made immortal while you wait."
And now Ailsa became aware of a steady, sustained sound audibleabove the tumult around them; a sound like surf washing on adistant reef.
"Do you hear that? It's like the roar of the sea," she said. "Ibelieve they're coming; I think I caught a strain of military musica moment ago!"
They rose on tiptoe, straining their ears; even the skylarkinggamins who had occupied the stage top behind them, and the driver,who had reappeared, drunk, and resumed his reins and seat, stood upto listen.
Above the noise of the cheering, rolling steadily toward them overthe human ocean, came the deadened throbbing of drums. A far, thinstrain of military music rose, was lost, rose again; the doublethudding of the drums sounded nearer; the tempest of cheers becameterrific. Through it, at intervals, they could catch the clearmarching music of the 7th as two platoons of police, sixty strong,arrived, forcing their way into view, followed by a full company ofZouaves.
Then pandemonium broke loose as the matchless regiment swung intosight. The polished instruments of the musicians flashed in thesun; over the slanting drums the drumsticks rose and fell, but inthe thundering cheers not a sound could be heard from brass orparchment.
Field and staff passed headed by the colonel; behind jolted twohowitzers; behind them glittered the sabre-bayonets of theengineers; then, filling the roadway from sidewalk to sidewalk theperfect ranks of the infantry swept by under burnished bayonets.
They wore their familiar gray and black uniforms, forage caps, andblue overcoats, and carried knapsacks with heavy blankets rolled ontop. And New York went mad.
What the Household troops are to England the 7th is to America. Inits ranks it carries the best that New York has to offer. Thepolished metal gorgets of its officers reflect a past unstained;its pedigree stretches to the cannon smoke fringing the Revolution.
To America the 7th was always The Guard; and now, in the luridobscurity of national disaster, where all things traditional werecrashing down, where doubt, distrust, the agony of indecisionturned government to ridicule and law to anarchy, there was nodoubt, no indecision in The Guard. Above the terrible clamour ofpolitical confusion rolled the drums of the 7
th steadily beatingthe assembly; out of the dust of catastrophe emerged itsdisciplined gray columns. Doubters no longer doubted, uncertaintybecame conviction; in a situation without a precedent, theprecedent was established; the _corps d'elite_ of all statesoldiery was answering the national summons; and once more theassociated states of North America understood that they were firstof all a nation indivisible.
Down from window and balcony and roof, sifting among the bayonets,fluttered an unbroken shower of tokens--gloves, flowers,handkerchiefs, tricoloured bunches of ribbon; and here and there abracelet or some gem-set chain fell flashing through the sun.
Ailsa Craig, like thousands of her sisters, tore thered-white-and-blue rosette from her breast and flung it down amongthe bayonets with a tremulous little cheer.
Everywhere the crowd was breaking into the street; citizens marchedwith their hands on the shoulders of the soldiers; old gentlementoddled along beside strapping sons; brothers passed arms aroundbrothers; here and there a mother hung to the chevroned sleeve ofson or husband who was striving to see ahead through blurring eyes;here and there some fair young girl, badged with the nationalcolours, stretched out her arms from the crowd and laid her handsto the lips of her passing lover.
The last shining files of bayonets had passed; the city swarmedlike an ant-hill.
Berkley's voice was in her ears, cool, good-humoured:
"Perhaps we had better try to find Mrs. Craig. I saw Stephen inthe crowd, and he saw us, so I do not think your sister-in-law willbe worried."
She nodded, suffered him to aid her in the descent to the sidewalk,then drew a deep, unsteady breath and gazed around as thoughawaking from a dream.
"It certainly was an impressive sight," he said. "The Governmentmay thank me for a number of heroes. I'm really quite hoarse."
She made no comment.
"Even a thousand well-fed brokers in uniform are bound to beimpressive," he meditated aloud.
Her face flushed; she walked on ignoring his flippancy, ignoringeverything concerning him until, crossing the street, she becameaware that he wore no hat.
"Did you lose it?" she asked curtly,
"I don't know what happened to that hysterical hat, Mrs. Paige.Probably it went war mad and followed the soldiers to the ferry.You can never count on hats. They're flighty."
"You will have to buy another," she said, smiling.
"Oh, no," he said carelessly, "what is the use. It will onlyfollow the next regiment out of town. Shall we cross?"
"Mr. Berkley, do you propose to go about town with me, hatless?"
"You have an exceedingly beautiful one. Nobody will look at me."
"Please be sensible!"
"I am. I'll take you to Lord and Taylor's, deliver you to yoursister-in-law, and then slink home----"
"But I don't wish to go there with a hatless man! I can'tunderstand----"
"Well, I'll have to tell you if you drive me to it," he said,looking at her very calmly, but a flush mounted to his cheek-bones;"I have no money--with me."
"Why didn't you say so? How absurd not to borrow it from me----"
Something in his face checked her; then he laughed.
"There's no reason why you shouldn't know how poor I am," he said."It doesn't worry me, so it certainly will not worry you. I can'tafford a hat for a few days--and I'll leave you here if you wish.Why do you look so shocked? Oh, well--then we'll stop at Genin's.They know me there."
They stopped at Genin's and he bought a hat and charged it, givinghis addresses in a low voice; but she heard it.
"Is it becoming?" he asked airily, examining the effect in a glass."Am I the bully boy with the eye of glass, Mrs. Paige?"
"You are, indeed," she said, laughing. "Shall we find Celia?"
But they could not find her sister-in-law in the shop, which wasnow refilling with excited people.
"Celia _non est_," he observed cheerfully. "The office is closedby this time. May I see you safely to Brooklyn?"
She turned to the ferry stage which was now drawing up at the curb;he assisted her to mount, then entered himself, humming under hisbreath:
"To Brooklyn! To Brooklyn! So be it. Amen. Clippity, Cloppity, back again!"
On the stony way to the ferry he chatted cheerfully, irresponsibly,but he soon became convinced that the girl beside him was notlistening, so he talked at random to amuse himself, amiablyaccepting her pre-occupation.
"How those broker warriors did step out, in spite of IllinoisCentral and a sadly sagging list! At the morning board PacificMail fell 3 1/2, New York Central 1/4, Hudson River 1/4, Harlempreferred 1/2, Illinois Central 3/4. . . . I don't care. . . ._You_ won't care, but the last quotations were Tennessee 6's, 41, A41 1/2. . . . There's absolutely nothing doing in money orexchange. The bankers are asking 107 a 1/2 but sell nothing. Oncall you can borrow money at four and five per cent--" he glancedsideways at her, ironically, satisfied that she paid noheed--"_you_ might, but I can't, Ailsa. I can't borrow anythingfrom anybody at any per cent whatever. I know; I've tried.Meanwhile, few and tottering are my stocks, also they continuedownward on their hellward way.
"Margins wiped, out in war, Profits are scattered far, I'll to the nearest bar, Ailsa oroon!"
he hummed to himself, walking-stick under his chin, his new hat notabsolutely straight on his well-shaped head.
A ferry-boat lay in the slip; they walked forward and stood in thecrowd by the bow chains. The flag new over Castle William; latesunshine turned river and bay to a harbour in fairyland, where,through the golden haze, far away between forests ofpennant-dressed masts, a warship lay all aglitter, the sun strikingfire from her guns and bright work, and setting every red bar ofher flag ablaze.
"The _Pocahontas_, sloop of war from Charleston bar," said a man inthe crowd. "She came in this morning at high water. She got toSumter too late."
"Yes. Powhatan had already knocked the head off John Smith,"observed Berkley thoughtfully. "They did these things better incolonial days."
Several people began to discuss the inaction of the fleet offCharleston bar during the bombardment; the navy was freelydenounced and defended, and Berkley, pleased that he had started arow, listened complacently, inserting a word here and therecalculated to incite several prominent citizens to fisticuffs. Andthe ferry-boat started with everybody getting madder.
But when fisticuffs appeared imminent in mid-stream, out ofsomewhat tardy consideration for Ailsa he set free the dove ofpeace.
"Perhaps," he remarked pleasantly, "the fleet _couldn't_ cross thebar. I've heard of such things."
And as nobody had thought of that, hostilities were averted.
Paddle-wheels churning, the rotund boat swung into the Brooklyndock. Her gunwales rubbed and squeaked along the straining pilesgreen with sea slime; deck chains clinked, cog-wheels clattered,the stifling smell of dock water gave place to the fresher odour ofthe streets.
"I would like to walk uptown," said Ailsa Paige. "I really don'tcare to sit still in a car for two miles. You need not come anyfarther--unless you care to."
He said airily: "A country ramble with a pretty girl is alwaysagreeable to me. I'll come if you'll let me."
She looked up at him, perplexed, undecided.
"Are you making fun of Brooklyn, or of me?"
"Of neither. May I come?"
"If you care to," she said.
They walked on together up Fulton Street, following the stream ofreturning sight-seers and business men, passing recruiting stationswhere red-legged infantry of the 14th city regiment stood in groupsreading the extras just issued by the _Eagle_ and _Brooklyn Times_concerning the bloody riot in Baltimore and the attack on the 6thMassachusetts. Everywhere, too, soldiers of the 13th, 38th, and70th regiments of city infantry, in blue state uniforms, weremarching about briskly, full of the business of recruiting and oftheir departure, which was scheduled for the twenty-third of April.
Already the complexion of the Brooklyn civic sidewalk crowds waseverywh
ere brightened by military uniforms; cavalrymen of the troopof dragoons attached to the 8th New York, jaunty lancers from thetroop of lancers attached to the 69th New York, riflemen in greenepaulettes and facings, zouaves in red, blue, and brown uniformscame hurrying down the stony street to Fulton Ferry on their returnfrom witnessing a parade of the 14th Brooklyn at Fort Greene. Andevery figure in uniform thrilled the girl with suppressedexcitement and pride.
Berkley, eyeing them askance, began blandly:
"Citizens of martial minds, Uniforms of wondrous kinds, Wonderful the sights we see-- Ailsa, you'll agree with me."
"_Are_ you utterly without human feeling?" she demanded. "Because,if you are, there isn't the slightest use of my pretending to becivil to you any longer."
"Have you been pretending?"
"I suppose you think me destitute of humour," she said, "but thereis nothing humourous about patriotism and self-sacrifice to me, andnothing very admirable about those who mock it."
Her cheeks were deeply flushed; she looked straight ahead of her asshe walked beside him.
Yet, even now the swift little flash of anger revealed an innerglimpse to her of her unaltered desire to know this man; of herinterest in him--of something about him that attracted her butdefied analysis---or had defied it until, pursuing it too far oneday, she had halted suddenly and backed away.
Then, curiously, reflectively, little by little, she retraced hersteps. And curiosity urged her to investigate in detail the FourFears--fear of the known in another, fear of the unknown inanother, fear of the known in one's self, fear of the unknown inone's self. _That_ halted her again, for she knew now that it wassomething within herself that threatened her. But it was hisnearness to her that evoked it.
For she saw, now that her real inclination was to be with him, thatshe had liked him from the first, had found him agreeable--pleasantpast belief--and that, although there seemed to be no reason forher liking, no excuse, nothing to explain her half-fearful pleasurein his presence, and her desire for it, she did desire it. And forthe first time since her widowhood she felt that she had beenliving her life out along lines that lay closer to solitude than tothe happy freedom of which she had reluctantly dreamed locked inthe manacles of a loveless marriage.
For her marriage had been one of romantic pity, born of theignorance of her immaturity; and she was very young when she becamethe wife of Warfield Paige--Celia's brother--a gentle,sweet-tempered invalid, dreamy, romantic, and pitifully confidentof life, the days of which were already numbered.
Of the spiritual passions she knew a little--of the passion ofpity, of consent, of self-sacrifice, of response to spiritual need.But neither in her early immaturity nor in later adolescence hadshe ever before entertained even the most innocent inclination fora man. Man's attractions, physical and personal, had left only thelightest of surface impressions--until the advent of this man.
To what in him was she responsive? What intellectual charm had herevealed? What latent spiritual excellence did she suspect? Whatwere his lesser qualities--the simpler moral virtues--the admirableattributes which a woman could recognise. Nay, where even were thenobler failings, the forgivable faults, the promise of futurethings?
Her uplifted, questioning eyes searched and fell. Only theclear-cut beauty of his head answered her, only the body's grace.
She sometimes suspected pity as her one besetting sin. Was it pityfor this man--a young man only twenty-four, her own age, socheerful under the crushing weight of material ruin? Was it hispoverty that appealed?
Was it her instinct to protect? If all she heard was true, hesorely needed protection from himself. For tales of him hadfiltered to her young ears--indefinite rumours of unworthythings--of youth wasted and manhood threatened--of excessesincomprehensible to her, and to those who hinted them to her.
Was it his solitude in the world for which she was sorry? She hadno parents, either. But she had their house and their memoriesconcrete in every picture, every curtain, every chair and sofa.Twilight whispered of them through every hallway, every room; dawnwas instinct with their unseen spirits, sweetening everything inthe quiet old house. . . . And that day she had learned _where_ helived. And she dared not imagine _how_.
They turned together into the quiet, tree-shaded street, and, inthe mellow sunset light, something about it, and the pleasantvine-hung house, and the sense of restfulness moved her with awistful impulse that he, too, should share a little of the homewelcome that awaited her from her own kin.
"Will you remain and dine with us, Mr. Berkley?"
He looked up, so frankly surprised at her kindness that it hurt herall through.
"I want to be friends with you," she said impulsively. "Didn't youknow it?"
They had halted at the foot of the stoop.
"I should think you could see how easy it would he for us to becomefriends," she said with pretty self-possession. But her heart wasbeating violently.
His pulses, too, were rapping out a message to his intelligence:"You had better not go in," it ran. "You are not fit to go in.You had better keep away from her. You know what will happen ifyou don't."
As they entered the house her sister-in-law rose from the piano inthe front parlour and came forward.
"_Were_ you worried, dearest?" cried Ailsa gaily. "I reallycouldn't help it. And Mr. Berkley lost his hat, and I've broughthim back to dinner."