CHAPTER VIII
James and Clemency had hardly started upon their drive before there wasa ring at the office door, and Doctor Gordon, who was alone there,answered it. He was confronted by a man who lived half-way between Altonand the next village on the north. He had walked some three miles to getsome medicine for his wife, who was suffering from rheumatism. He waspathetically insistent upon the fact that his wife did not require acall from the doctor, only some medicine. "Now, see here, Joe," saidGordon, "if I really thought your wife needed a call, I would go, and itshould not cost you a cent more than the medicine, but I am dog tired,and not feeling any too well myself, and if her symptoms are just as yousay, I think I can send her something which will fix her up all right."
"She is just the way she was last year," said the man. He did not lookunlike Gordon, although he was poorly clad, and was a genuine son of theNew Jersey soil. His poor clothes, even his skin, had a clayey hue, asif he had been really cast from the mother earth. It was frozen outside,but a reddish crust from the last thaw was on his hulking boots. Hespoke with a drawl, which was nasal, and yet had something sweet in it."I would have came this afternoon, but I was afraid you might have wentout," he remarked.
"Yes, I was out," replied Gordon, who was filling out a prescription.The man stooped and patted the bull terrier, which had not evinced theslightest emotion at his entrance.
"Mighty fine dog," said the man.
"Yes, he is a pretty good sort," replied Gordon.
"Shouldn't like to meet him if I had came up to your house an' no oneround, and he had took a dislike to me."
"I should not myself," said Gordon. "But he does not dislike you."
"Dogs know me pooty well," said the man. "They ain't no particler likin'for me. Don't want to run and jump an' wag, but they know I mean well,and they mostly let me alone."
"Yes, I guess that's so," said Gordon. "Jack would have barked if he hadnot known you were all right, Joe."
"Queer how much they know," said the man reflectively, and a dazed lookoverspread his dingy face with its cloud of beard. If once he becamelaunched upon a current of reflection, he lost his mental bearingsinstantly and drifted.
"Well, they do know," said Gordon. "Now listen, Joe! You see thisbottle. You give your wife a spoonful of the medicine in a glass ofwater every three hours. Mind, you make it a whole tumbler full ofwater."
"Yes, sir," replied the man.
"Of course, you need not wake her up if she gets to sleep," said thedoctor, "but every three hours when she is awake."
"Yes, sir." The man began fumbling in his pocket, but Gordon stoppedhim. "No," he said, "put up your pocketbook, Joe. I don't want anymoney. I get this medicine at wholesale, and it don't cost much."
"I come prepared to pay," said the man. He straightened his shouldersand flushed.
"Oh, well," said Doctor Gordon, "wait. If you need more medicine, or itseems necessary that I should drive over to see your wife, you can do alittle work on my garden in the spring, or you can let me have a bushelof your new potatoes when they are grown next summer, or some apples,and we'll call it square. Wait; I don't want any money for that bottleof medicine to-night anyhow. Did you walk over, Joe?"
Joe said that he had walked over. "Aaron might just as well drive youhome as not," said Gordon. "The sooner your wife has that medicine thebetter. How is the baby getting along?"
"First-rate. I'd just as soon walk, doctor."
For answer Gordon opened the door and called Aaron, and told him tohitch up and take the man home.
"Doctor Elliot has gone with the bay," said Aaron. "The teams are aboutplayed out, and there's nothin' except the gray."
"Take her then."
"She looked when I fed her jest now as if she was half a mind to balk attakin' her feed," Aaron remarked doubtfully.
"Nonsense! Give her a loose rein, and she'll be all right."
Aaron went out grumbling.
Gordon offered the man a cigar, which he accepted as if it had been adiamond. "I'll save it up for next Sunday, when I've got a little timeto sense it," he said. "I know what your cigars be."
Gordon forced another upon him, and the man looked as pleased as achild.
Presently a shout was heard, and Gordon opened the office door.
"Here's Aaron with the buggy," he said.
He stood in the doorway watching, but the gray, instead of balking, wentout of the yard with an angry plunge. Gordon shook his head.
"Confound him, he's pulling too hard on the lines," he muttered. Then heclosed and locked the office door, and went into the living-room to findit deserted. Gordon called up the stairs. "Have you gone to bed, Clara?"His voice was at once tenderly solicitous and angry.
Mrs. Ewing answered him from above, and in her tone was somethingpropitiating. "Yes, Tom, dear," she called.
Gordon hesitated a moment. His face took on its expression of utmostmisery. "Is--the pain very bad?" he called then, and called as if hewere in actual fear.
"No, dear," the woman's patient, beseeching voice answered, "not verybad."
"Not very?"
"No, only I felt a little twinge, and thought I had better go to bed. Iam quite comfortable now. I think I shall go to sleep. I am sorry toleave you alone all the evening, Tom."
"That's right," called Gordon. His voice rang harsh, in spite of hiseffort to control it. He threw his arm over his eyes, and fairly gropedhis way back to his office, stifling his sobs. When he was in his officehe flung himself into a chair, and bent his head over his hands on thetable, and his whole frame shook. "Oh, my God!" he muttered. "Oh, myGod!" He did not weep, but he gasped like a child whom his mother hascommanded not to weep. Terrible emotion fairly convulsed him. Hestruggled with it as with a visible foe. At last he sat up and filledhis pipe. The dog had crept close to him, and was nestling against himand whimpering. Gordon patted his head. The dog licked his hand.
The simple, ignorant sympathy of this poor speechless thing nearlyunnerved the man again, but he continued to smoke. He looked at the dog,whose honest brown eyes were fixed upon him with an almost uncannyunderstanding, and reflected how the woman upstairs, who was passing outof his life, had become in a few days so associated with the animal,that after she was gone he could never see him without a pang. Helooked about the office, with whose belongings she was less associatedthan with anything in the house, and it seemed to him that everythingeven there would have for him, after she had passed, a terrible sting ofreminiscence. It seemed to him, as he looked about, as if she werealready gone. He was, in fact, suffering as keenly in anticipation as hewould in reality. The horror, the worst horror of life, of being leftalive with the dead and the associations of the dead was already uponhim. Some people are comforted by such associations, others they rend.Gordon was one whom they would rend, whom they did rend. He made up hismind, as he sat there, that he would have to go away from Alton, andenter new scenes for the healing of his spirit, and yet he knew that heshould not go: that at the last his courage would assert itself.
He sat smoking, the dog's head on his knee. There was not a sound to beheard in the house. Emma, the maid, had gone away to visit a sicksister. She might not be back that night. So there was absolute silence,even in the kitchen. Suddenly the dog lifted his head and listened tosomething which Gordon could not himself hear. He watched the dogcuriously. The dog gave a low growl of fear and rage, and made for theoffice door. He began scratching at the threshold, and emitted a perfectvolley of barks. It did not sound like one dog, but a whole pack.Gordon, with an impulse which he could not understand, quickly put outthe prism-fringed lamp which hung over his table. Then he sprang to thedog, and had the dog by the collar. "Be still, Jack," he said in a lowvoice, and the dog obeyed instantly, although he was quivering under hishand. Gordon could feel the muscles run like angry serpents under thesmooth white hair, he felt the crest of rage along his back. But theanimal was so well trained that he barked no more. He only growled verysoftly, as if to himself, and quivered.
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Gordon ordered him to charge in a whisper, and the dog stretched himselfat his feet, although it was like the crouch of a live wire. Then Gordonrose and went softly to a window beside the door. The office had veryheavy red curtains. It was impossible, since they were closely drawn,that a ray of light from within should have been visible outside. Gordonhad reasoned it out quickly when he extinguished the lamp. Whoever waswithout would have had no possible means of knowing that anything exceptthe dog was in the office, but the light once out, Gordon could peeparound the curtain and ascertain, without being himself seen, what orwho was about. He had a premonition of what he should see, and he sawit. The stable door was almost directly opposite that of the office.Between the two doors there was a driveway. On this driveway the onlypale thing to be seen in the darkness was the tall, black figure of aman standing perfectly still, as if watching. His attitude wasunmistakable. The long lines of him, upreared from the pale streak ofthe driveway, were as plainly to be read as a sign-post. They signifiedwatchfulness. His back was toward the office. He stood face toward thecurve of the drive toward the road, where any one entering would firstbe seen. Gordon, peeping around his curtain, knew the dark figure as hewould have known his own shadow. In one sense it had been for years hisshadow, and that added to the horror of it. The man behind the curtainwatched, the man in the drive watched; and the dog, crouched at thethreshold of the door, watched with what sublimated sense God aloneknew, which enabled him to know as much as his master, and now and thencame the low growl. Gordon began to formulate a theory in his mind. Heremembered suddenly the man whom Aaron had driven home. He realized thatthe watching man might easily have mistaken him for Gordon himself,going away with his man to make a call upon some patient. He suspected,with an intensity which became a certainty, that the man knew thatClemency and Elliot were out and would presently return, and that it wasfor them he was watching. All the time he thought of the sick womanupstairs, and was glad that her room faced on the other side of thehouse. He was in agony lest she should be disturbed.
Doctor Gordon was usually a man of resources, but now he did not knowwhat to do. The dark figure on the park-drive made now and then aprecautionary motion of his right arm as he watched, which wassignificant. Gordon knew that he was holding a revolver in readiness. Inthe event of Aaron returning alone he would probably be puzzled, andGordon thought that he might slip away. In the event of James andClemency returning first, Gordon thought that he knew conclusively whathe purposed--a bullet for James, and then away with the girl, unless hewas hindered.
Gordon let the curtain slip back into place, and with a warning gestureto the dog, who was ready for action, he tiptoed across the room to thetable, in a drawer of which he kept his own revolver. He opened thedrawer softly, and rummaged with careful hands. No revolver was there.He made sure. He even opened other drawers and rummaged, but the weaponwas certainly missing. He stood undecided for a moment. Then he wentsoftly out of the room, bidding in a whisper the dog to follow. He creptupstairs and paused at a closed chamber door. Then he opened it verycarefully. Mrs. Ewing at once spoke. "Is that you, dear?" she said.
"Yes, I wanted to tell you not to be frightened, dear, if you shouldhear a shot or the dog bark."
There was a rustling in the dark room. Mrs. Ewing was evidently sittingup in bed. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" she whispered.
Gordon forced a laugh. "Nothing at all," he replied, "except there's afox or something out in the yard, and Jack is wild. I may get a shot athim. Do you know where my revolver is?"
"Why, where you always keep it, dear, in the table drawer in theoffice."
"I don't seem to see it. I guess I will take your little pistol."
"Oh, Tom, I am sorry, but I know that won't go off. Clemency tried itthe other day. You remember that time Emma dropped it. I think somethingor other got bent. You know it was a delicate little thing."
"Oh, well," said Gordon carelessly, "I dare say I can find my revolver."
"I don't see who could have taken it away." said Mrs. Ewing. "I am sorryabout my pistol, because you gave it to me too, dear."
"I'll get another for you," said Gordon, "Those little dainty,lady-like, pearl-mounted weapons don't stand much."
"I am feeling very comfortable, dear," Mrs. Ewing said in her anxious,sweet voice. "You will be careful, won't you, with your revolver, withthat dog jumping about?"
"Yes, dear. I dare say I shall not use the revolver anyway, but don't befrightened if you should hear a little commotion."
"No, Tom."
"Go to sleep."
"Yes, I think I can. I do feel rather sleepy."
Gordon closed the door carefully and retraced his steps to the office,the dog at his heels. He slipped the curtain again and looked out. Theman still stood watching in the driveway. Gordon had never been at sucha loss as to his best course of action. He was absolutely courageous,but here he was unarmed, and he could have no reasonable doubt that ifhe should go out, he would be immediately shot. In such a case, what ofthe woman upstairs? And, moreover, what of James and Clemency? Hethought of any available weapon, but there was nothing except his ownstick. That was stout, it was true, but could he be quick enough withit? His mad impulse to rush out unarmed except with that paltry thingcould hardly be restrained, but he had to think of other lives besidehis own.
He began to think that the only solution of the matter was the return ofAaron alone. The watching man would immediately realize that he had madesome mistake, that he, Gordon, was in the house, or had been left at thehome of a patient. He could have no possible reason for molesting theman. He would probably slip aside into a shadow, then make his way backto the road. In such a case Gordon determined that he and Aaron wouldfollow him to make sure that no harm came to James and Clemency. SoGordon stood motionless waiting, in absolute silence, except for thefrequently recurring mutter of fear and rage of the dog. As time went onhe became more and more uneasy. It seemed to him finally that Aaronshould have been back long before. He moved stealthily across the room,and consulted his watch by the low light of the hearth fire. Aaron hadbeen gone an hour. He should have returned, for the mare was a goodroadster when she did not balk. Gordon shook his head. He began to bealmost sure that the mare had balked. He returned to the window. Hisevery nerve was on the alert. The moment that James and Clemency shoulddrive into the yard, he made ready to spring, but the horrible fear lestit should be entirely unavailing haunted him. If only Aaron would come.Then the man would slip into cover of the shadows, and steal out intothe road, and Gordon would jump into the buggy, and he and Aaron wouldfollow him. He knew the man well enough to be sure that he would neverventure an attack upon James and Clemency with witnesses. If only Aaronwould come! Gordon became surer that the mare had balked. He vowedwithin himself that she should be shot the next day if she had. Everymoment he thought he heard the sound of wheels and horse's hoofs. Hisnervous tension became something terrible. Once he thought of stealingthrough the house, and out by the front door, and walking to meet Jamesand Clemency so as to warn them. But that would leave the helpless womanupstairs alone. He dared not do that.
He thought then of going to the front of the house, and watching there,and endeavoring to intercept James and Clemency before they turned intothe driveway. But he felt that he could not for one second relax hiswatch upon the watching man, and he had no guarantee whatever that, atthe first sound of wheels, the man himself would not make for the frontof the house. Then he thought, as always, of not disturbing the sickwoman whose room faced the road. It seemed to him that his only coursewas to remain where he was and wait for the return of Aaron before Jamesand Clemency. He knew now that the horse must have balked. His only hopewas that James and Clemency, since it was such a fine night, and timeis so short for lovers, might take such a long drive that even the balkymare might relent. Always he heard at intervals the trot of a horse,which only existed in his imagination. He began to wonder if he shouldknow when Aaron, or Clemency and James, actually did drive into theyard, if he
should be quick enough. Suddenly he thought of the dog: thathe would follow him, and of what might happen. The dog's chain-leash wason the table. He stole across, got it, fastened it to the animal'scollar, and made the end secure to a staple which he had had fixed inthe wall for that purpose. As yet no intention of injury to the manexcept in self-defense was in his mind. If actually attacked, he mustdefend himself, of course, but he wished more than anything to drive theintruder away with no collision. That was what he hoped for. The timewent on, and the strain upon the doctor's nerves was nearly driving himmad. Sometimes the mare balked for hours. He began to hope that Aaronwould leave her, and return home on foot. That would settle the matter.But he remembered a strange trait of obstinacy in Aaron. He rememberedhow he had once actually sat all night in the buggy while the marebalked. The man balked as well as the horse. "The damned fool," hemuttered to himself in an agony. The dog growled in response. Then itwas that first the thought came to Gordon of what might be done to savethem all. He stood aghast with the horror of it. He was essentially aman of peace himself, unless driven to the wall. He was a good fighterat bay, but there was in his heart, along with strength, utter good-willand gentleness toward all his kind. He only wished to go his way inpeace, and for those whom he loved to go in peace, but that had beendenied him. He began considering the nature of the man whose dark figureremained motionless on the driveway. He knew him from the first. Itsounded sensational, his recapitulation of his knowledge, but it wasentirely true. It was that awful truth, which is past human belief,which no man dares put into fiction. That man out there had been fromhis birth a distinct power for evil upon the face of the earth. He hadmenaced all creation, so far as one personality may menace it. He was aforce of ill, a moral and spiritual monster, and the more dangerous,because of a subtlety and resource which had kept him immune from thelaw. He outstripped the law, whose blood-hounds had no scent keen enoughfor him. He had broken the law, but always in such a way that there wasnot, and never could be, any proof. There had not been even suspicion.There had been knowledge on Gordon's part, and Mrs. Swing's, butknowledge without proof is more helpless than suspicion with it. The manwas unassailable, free to go his way, working evil.
Again Gordon thought he heard the nearing trot of a horse, and again thedog growled. Gordon was not quite sure that time that a horse had notpassed the house. He told himself in despair that he could not be sureof knowing when James and Clemency came, and again the awful thoughtseized him, and again he reflected upon the man outside. Suppose,instead of wearing the semblance of humanity, he had worn the semblanceof a beast, then his course would have been clear enough. Suppose itwere a hungry wolf watching out there, instead of a man, and this manwas worse than any wolf. He was like the weir-wolf of the oldScandinavian legend. He had all the cowardly cruelty of a wolf, he was ameans of evil, but he had the trained brain of a man.
Gordon thought he heard footsteps, and the man made a very slightmotion. Gordon thought joyfully that Aaron had left the balky mare, andhad returned, but it was not so. He had heard nothing except thepulsations of the blood in his own overwrought brain.
He wondered if he were really going mad, although all the time his mindwas steadily at work upon the awful problem which had been forced uponit. Should any power for evil be allowed to exist upon the earth ifmortal man had strength to stamp it out? Suppose that was a poisonoussnake out there, and not a man. What was out there was worse than anysnake. Gordon reasoned as the first man in Eden may have reasoned; andhe did not know whether his reasoning were right or wrong. Meantime, thedanger increased every moment. Of one thing he was perfectly sure: hehad no personal motive for what he might or might not do. He had reachedthat pass when he was himself, as far as he himself was concerned,beyond hate of that man outside. It was a principle for which he argued.Should a monster, something abnormal in strength and subtlety andwickedness, something which menaced all the good in the world, beallowed to exist? Gordon argued that it should not. He was driven to itby years of fruitless struggling against this monstrous creation in theshape of man. He had seen such suffering because of him; his whole lifehad been so turned and twisted this way and that way because of him,that he himself had in the end become abnormal, and mentally askew, withthe system of things. He was conscious of it himself. He had beennaturally a good, simple, broad-visioned man, full of charity, withalmost no subtlety. He had been forced to lead a life which strained anddiverted all these good traits. Where he would have been open, he hadbeen secret. Where he would have had no suspicion of any one, his firstsight now seemed to be for ulterior motives. He weighed and measuredwhere he naturally would have scattered broadcast. He had been obligedto compress his broad vision into a narrow window of detection. He wasnot the man he had been. Where he had gazed out of wide doors andwindows at life, he now gazed through keyholes, and despised himself forso doing. In order to evade the trouble which had fallen to his lot, hetook refuge in another personality. Thomas Gordon was a man whom ahappy and untroubled life would have kept from all worldly blemish. Nowthe gold was tarnished, and he himself always saw the tarnish, as onesees a blur before the eye. Twenty years before, if any one had told himthat he would at any period of his life become capable of standing andarguing with himself as to the right or wrong of what was now in hismind, he would have been incredulous. He had in reality become anotherman. Circumstances had evolved him, during the course of twenty years,into something different, as persistent winds evolve a pliant tree intoanother than its typical shape. Gordon had lost his type.
As he stood at the window the room grew cold. The hearth fire had dieddown. He knew that the furnace needed attention, but he dared not quithis post and his argument. He became sure that the maid would not returnthat night. He knew that Aaron was sitting with his human obstinacybehind the obstinate brute, somewhere on the road. He knew that Jamesand Clemency might at any moment drive in, and he might rush out toolate to prevent murder and the kidnapping of the girl. He knew what theman was there for. And he knew the one way to thwart him, but it was sohorrible a way that it needed all this argument, all this delay andnearing of danger, before he adopted it.
The increasing cold of the room seemed to act as a sort of physical goadtoward action. "By God, it _is_ right!" he muttered. Then he looked atthe dog crouching still with that wiry intentness before the door. Thedog came of a good breed of fighters. He was in himself both weapon andwielder of weapon. He was a concentrated force. His white body wasknotted with nerves and muscles. The chances were good if--Gordonpictured it to himself--and again the horror and doubt were over him. Hehimself had acquired a certain stiffness and lassitude from years, andlong drives in one position. He would stand no chance unarmed against abullet. But the dog--that was another matter. The dog would make aspring like the spring of death itself, and that white leap of attackmight easily cause the aim to go wrong. It would be like aiming atlightning. He knew how the dog would gather himself together, all readyfor that terrible leap, the second he opened the door. He knew that hemight be able to open the door for the leap without attracting theman's attention, faced as he was the other way, if he could keep the dogquiet. He knew how it would be. He could see that tall dark figurerolled on the drive, struggling as one struggles with death, for breath,under the vise-like grip on his throat. Gordon knew that the dog'sunerring spring would be for the throat; that was the instinct of hisrace, a noble race in its way, to seize vice and danger by the throat,and attack the very threshold of life.
Gordon returned to the window. It seemed to him again that he heard ahorse's trot. He felt sure that it was not the trot of the gray, who hada slight lameness. He knew the trot of the gray. He became sure thatJames and Clemency would the next moment enter the drive. He set hismouth hard, crept toward the dog, and patted him. As he patted him hefelt the rage-crest rise higher on his back. Gordon bade him be quiet,and slipped his leash from the staple. Then he took it from the collar.He listened again. It seemed to him that his ears could not deceive him.It seemed to him t
hat James and Clemency were coming. He was almostdelirious. He fancied he heard their voices and the girl's laugh ringout. Holding the dog firmly by the collar, he rose and very carefullyand noiselessly slipped the bolt of the door back. Then he waited asecond. Then as slowly and carefully, still holding the dog by thecollar, and whispering commands to hush his growls, he turned the doorknob.
"There was a white flash of avenging brute force upon theman." Page 177.]
Then the thing was done. He flung the door open. He saw the man in thedrive, standing with his face toward the road. He had heard nothing.Then he loosened his grasp of the straining dog's collar, and there wasa white flash of avenging brute force upon the man. Gordon saw only oneleap of the dog before the man was down. A futile pistol shot rang out.Then came the snarl and growl of a fighting dog fastened upon his prey.