CHAPTER XLVI
A PROBLEM
It was a little more than a week after Edna's adventure in the Gardens,and about ten o'clock in the morning, that something happened--somethingwhich proved that Mrs. Cliff was entirely right when she talked about thefeeling in her bones. Edna received a letter from Captain Horn, which wasdated at Marseilles.
As she stood with the letter in her hand, every nerve tingling, everyvein throbbing, and every muscle as rigid as if it had been cast inmetal, she could scarcely comprehend that it had really come--that shereally held it. After all this waiting and hoping and trusting, here wasnews from Captain Horn--news by his own hand, now, here, this minute!
Presently she regained possession of herself, and, still standing, shetore open the letter. It was a long one of several sheets, and she readit twice. The first time, standing where she had received it, she skimmedover page after page, running her eye from top to bottom until she hadreached the end and the signature, but her quick glance found not whatshe looked for. Then the hand holding the letter dropped by her side.After all this waiting and hoping and trusting, to receive such aletter! It might have been written by a good friend, a true and generousfriend, but that was all. It was like the other letters he had written.Why should they not have been written to Mrs. Cliff?
Now she sat down to read it over again. She first looked at the envelope.Yes, it was really directed to "Mrs. Philip Horn." That was something,but it could not have been less. It had been brought by a messenger fromWraxton, Fuguet & Co., and had been delivered to Mrs. Cliff. That ladyhad told the messenger to take the letter to Edna's salon, and she wasnow lying in her own chamber, in a state of actual ague. Of course, shewould not intrude upon Edna at such a moment as this. She would waituntil she was called. Whether her shivers were those of ecstasy,apprehension, or that nervous tremulousness which would come to any onewho beholds an uprising from the grave, she did not know, but she surelyfelt as if there were a ghost in the air.
The second reading of the letter was careful and exact. The captain hadwritten a long account of what had happened after he had left Valparaiso.His former letter, he wrote, had told her what had happened before thattime. He condensed everything as much as possible, but the letter was avery long one. It told wonderful things--things which ought to haveinterested any one. But to Edna it was as dry as a meal of stale crusts.It supported her in her fidelity and allegiance as such a meal would havesupported a half-famished man, but that was all. Her soul could not liveon such nutriment as this.
He had not begun the letter "My dear Wife," as he had done before. Itwas not necessary now that his letters should be used as proof that shewas his widow! He had plunged instantly into the subject-matter, and hadsigned it after the most friendly fashion. He was not even coming to her!There was so much to do which must be done immediately, and could not bedone without him. He had telegraphed to his bankers, and one of the firmand several clerks were already with him. There were great difficultiesyet before him, in which he needed the aid of financial counsellors andthose who had influence with the authorities. His vessel, the _Arato_,had no papers, and he believed no cargo of such value had ever entered aport of France as that contained in the little green-hulled schoonerwhich he had sailed into the harbor of Marseilles. This cargo must belanded openly. It must be shipped to various financial centres, and whatwas to be done required so much prudence, knowledge, and discretion thatwithout the aid of the house of Wraxton, Fuguet & Co., he believed hisdifficulties would have been greater than when he stood behind the wallof gold on the shore of the Patagonian island.
He did not even ask her to come to him. In a day or so, he wrote, itmight be necessary for him to go to Berlin, and whether or not he wouldtravel to London from the German capital, he could not say, and for thisreason he could not invite any of them to come down to him.
"Any of us!" exclaimed Edna.
For more than an hour Mrs. Cliff lay in the state of palpitation whichpervaded her whole organization, waiting for Edna to call her. And atlast she could wait no longer, and rushed into the salon where Edna satalone, the letter in her hand.
"What does he say?" she cried, "Is he well? Where is he? Did he getthe gold?"
Edna looked at her for a moment without answering. "Yes," she saidpresently, "he is well. He is in Marseilles. The gold--" And for a momentshe did not remember whether or not the captain had it.
"Oh, do say something!" almost screamed Mrs. Cliff. "What is it? Shall Iread the letter? What does he say?"
This recalled Edna to herself. "No," said she, "I will read it to you."And she read it aloud, from beginning to end, carefully omitting thosepassages which Mrs. Cliff would have been sure to think should have beenwritten in a manner in which they were not written.
"Well!" exclaimed Mrs. Cliff, who, in alternate horror, pity, andrapture, had listened, pale and open-mouthed, to the letter. "CaptainHorn is consistent to the end! Whatever happens, he keeps away from us!But that will not be for long, and--oh, Edna!"--and, as she spoke, shesprang from her chair and threw her arms around the neck of hercompanion, "he's got the gold!" And, with this, the poor lady sankinsensible upon the floor.
"The gold!" exclaimed Edna, before she even stooped toward her faintingfriend. "Of what importance is that wretched gold!"
An hour afterwards Mrs. Cliff, having been restored to her usualcondition, came again into Edna's room, still pale and in a state ofexcitement.
"Now, I suppose," she exclaimed, "we can speak out plainly, and telleverybody everything. And I believe that will be to me a greater delightthan any amount of money could possibly be."
"Speak out!" cried Edna, "of course we cannot. We have no more right tospeak out now than we ever had. Captain Horn insisted that we should notspeak of these affairs until he came, and he has not yet come."
"No, indeed!" said Mrs. Cliff, "that seems to be the one thing he cannotdo. He can do everything but come here. And are we to tell nobody that hehas arrived in France?--not even that much?"
"I shall tell Ralph," replied Edna. "I shall write to him to come here assoon as possible, but that is all until the captain arrives, and we knoweverything that has been done, and is to be done. I don't wish any one,except you and me and Ralph, even to know that I have heard from him."
"Not Cheditafa? Not the professor? Nor any of your friends?"
"Of course not," said Edna, a little impatiently. "Don't you see howembarrassing, how impossible it would be for me to tell them anything, ifI did not tell them everything? And what is there for me to tell them?When we have seen Captain Horn, we shall all know who we are, and what weare, and then we can speak out to the world, and I am sure I shall beglad enough to do it."
"For my part," said Mrs. Cliff, "I think we all know who we are now. Idon't think anybody could tell us. And I think it would have been a greatdeal better--"
"No, it wouldn't!" exclaimed Edna. "Whatever you were going to say, Iknow it wouldn't have been better. We could have done nothing but what wehave done. We had no right to speak of Captain Horn's affairs, and havingaccepted his conditions, with everything else that he has given us, weare bound to observe them until he removes them. So we shall not talk anymore about that."
Poor Mrs. Cliff sighed. "So I must keep myself sealed and locked up, justthe same as ever?"
"Yes," replied Edna, "the same as ever. But it cannot be for long. Assoon as the captain has made his arrangements, we shall hear from him,and then everything will be told."
"Made his arrangements!" repeated Mrs. Cliff. "That's another thing Idon't like. It seems to me that if everything were just as it ought tobe, there wouldn't be so many arrangements to make, and he wouldn't haveto be travelling to Berlin, and to London, and nobody knows where else. Iwonder if people are giving him any trouble about it! We have had allsorts of troubles already, and now that the blessed end seems almostunder our fingers, I hope we are not going to have more of it."
"Our troubles," said Edna, "are nothing. It is Captain Horn whosho
uld talk in that way. I don't think that, since the day we leftSan Francisco, anybody could have supposed that we were in any sortof trouble."
"I don't mean outside circumstances," said Mrs. Cliff. "But I suppose wehave all got souls and consciences inside of us, and when they don't knowwhat to do, of course we are bound to be troubled, especially as theydon't know what to tell us, and we don't know whether or not to mindthem when they do speak. But you needn't be afraid of me. I shall keepquiet--that is, as long as I can. I can't promise forever."
Edna wrote to Ralph, telling him of the captain's letter, and urging himto come to Paris as soon as possible. It was scarcely necessary to speakto him of secrecy, for the boy was wise beyond his years. She did speakof it, however, but very circumspectly. She knew that her brother wouldnever admit that there was any reason for the soul-rending anxiety withwhich she waited the captain's return. But whatever happened, or whateverhe might think about what should happen, she wanted Ralph with her. Shefelt herself more truly alone than she had ever been in her life.
During the two days which elapsed before Ralph reached Paris fromBrussels, Edna had plenty of time to think, and she did not lose any ofit. What Mrs. Cliff had said about people giving trouble, and about herconscience, and all that, had touched her deeply. What Captain Horn hadsaid about the difficulties he had encountered on reaching Marseilles,and what he had said about the cargo of the _Arato_ being probably morevaluable than any which had ever entered that port, seemed to put anentirely new face upon the relations between her and the owner of thisvast wealth, if, indeed, he were able to establish that ownership. Themore she thought of this point, the more contemptible appeared her ownposition--that is, the position she had assumed when she and the captainstood together for the last time on the shore of Peru. If that gold trulybelonged to him, if he had really succeeded in his great enterprise,what right had she to insist that he should accept her as a condition ofhis safe arrival in a civilized land with this matchless prize, with noother right than was given her by that very indefinite contract which hadbeen entered into, as she felt herself forced to believe, only for herbenefit in case he should not reach a civilized land alive?
The disposition of this great wealth was evidently an anxiety and aburden, but in her heart she believed that the greatest of his anxietieswas caused by his doubt in regard to the construction she might now placeupon that vague, weird ceremony on the desert coast of Peru.
The existence of such a doubt was the only thing that could explain thetone of his letters. He was a man of firmness and decision, and when hehad reached a conclusion, she knew he would state it frankly, withouthesitation. But she also knew that he was a man of a kind and tenderheart, and it was easy to understand how that disposition had influencedhis action. By no word or phrase, except such as were necessary tolegally protect her in the rights he wished to give her in case of hisdeath, had he written anything to indicate that he or she were not bothperfectly free to plan out the rest of their lives as best suited them.
In a certain way, his kindness was cruelty. It threw too much upon her.She believed that if she were to assume that a marriage ceremonyperformed by a black man from the wilds of Africa, was as binding, atleast, as a solemn engagement, he would accept her construction and allits consequences. She also believed that if she declared that ceremonyto be of no value whatever, now that the occasion had passed, he wouldagree with that conclusion. Everything depended upon her. It was toohard for her.
To exist in this state of uncertainty was impossible for a woman ofEdna's organization. At any hour Captain Horn might appear. How shouldshe receive him? What had she to say to him?
For the rest of that day and the whole of the night, her mind never leftthis question: "What am I to say to him?" She had replied to his letterby a telegram, and simply signed herself "Edna." It was easy enough totelegraph anywhere, and even to write, without assuming any particularposition in regard to him. But when he came, she must know what to do andwhat to say. She longed for Ralph's coming, but she knew he could nothelp her. He would say but one thing--that which he had always said. Infact, he would be no better than Mrs. Cliff. But he was her own flesh andblood, and she longed for him.