XXVI
"HE WILL NEVER FORGIVE"
I was walking away when a man touched me. Some one had seen me come fromthe doctor's office a few minutes before. Of course this meant detentiontill the coroner should arrive. I quarreled with the circumstances butfelt forced to submit. Happily Jupp now came to the front and I was ableto send him to New York to keep that watch over Mrs. Carew, withoutwhich I could not have rested quiet an hour. One great element of dangerwas removed most remarkably, if not providentially, from the path I hadmarked out for myself; but there still remained that of this woman'spossible impulses under her great determination to keep Gwendolen in herown care. But with Jupp to watch the dock, and a man in plain clothes atthe door of the small hotel she was at present bound for, I thought Imight remain in Yonkers contentedly the whole day.
It was not, however, till late the next afternoon that I found myselfagain in Homewood. I had heard from Jupp. The steamer had sailed, butwithout two passengers who had been booked for the voyage. Mrs. Carewand the child were still at the address she had given me. All lookedwell in that direction; but what was the aspect of affairs in Homewood?I trembled in some anticipation of what these many hours of bitterthought might have effected in Mrs. Ocumpaugh. Evidently nothing tolessen the gloom into which the whole household had now fallen. MissPorter, who came in haste to greet me, wore the careworn look of a longand unrelieved vigil. I was not astonished when she told me that she hadnot slept a wink.
"How could I," she asked, "when Mrs. Ocumpaugh did not close her eyes?She did not even lie down, but sat all night in an arm-chair which shehad wheeled into Gwendolen's room, staring like one who sees nothing outinto the night through the window which overlooks the river. Thismorning we can not make her speak. Her eyes are dry with fever; only nowand then she utters a little moan. The doctor says she will not live tosee her husband, unless something comes to rouse her. But the papersgive no news, and all the attempts of the police end in nothing. You sawwhat a dismal failure their last attempt was. The child on which theycounted proved to be both red-haired and pock-marked. Gwendolen appearsto be lost, lost."
In spite of the despair thus expressed my way seemed to open a little.
"I think I can break Mrs. Ocumpaugh's dangerous apathy if you will letme see her again. Will you let me try?"
"The nurse--we have a nurse now--will not consent, I fear."
"Then telephone to the doctor. Tell him I am the only man who can doanything for Mrs. Ocumpaugh. This will not be an exaggeration."
"Wait! I will get his order. I do not know why I have so much confidencein you."
In another fifteen minutes she came to lead me to Mrs. Ocumpaugh.
I entered without knocking; they told me to. She was seated, as theysaid, in a large chair, but with no ease to herself; for she was noteven leaning against its back, but sat with body strained forward andeyes fixed on the ripple of the great river where, from what she hadintimated to me in our last interview, she probably saw her grave. Therewas a miniature in her hand, but I saw at first glance that it was notthe face of Gwendolen over which her fingers closed so spasmodically. Itwas her husband's portrait which she held, and it was his face, arousedand full of denunciation, which she evidently saw in her fancy as I drewnearer her in my efforts to attract her attention; for a shiver suddenlycontracted her lovely features and she threw her arms out as if to wardfrom herself something which she had no power to meet. In doing this herhead turned slightly and she saw me.
Instantly the spell under which she sat frozen yielded to a recognitionof something besides her own terrible brooding. She let her arms drop,and the lips which had not spoken that morning moved slightly. I waitedrespectfully. I saw that in another moment she would speak.
"You have come," she panted out at last, "to hear my decision. It istoo soon. The steamer has twenty-four hours yet before it can make port.I have not finished weighing my life against the good opinion of him Ilive for." Then faintly--"Mrs. Carew has gone."
"To New York," I finished.
"No farther than that?" she asked anxiously. "She has not sailed?"
"I did not see how it was compatible with my duty to let her."
Mrs. Ocumpaugh's whole form collapsed; the dangerous apathy was creepingover her again. "You are deciding for me,"--she spoke very faintly--"youand Doctor Pool."
Should I tell her that Doctor Pool was dead? No, not yet. I wanted herto choose the noble course for Mr. Ocumpaugh's sake--yes, and for herown.
"No," I ventured to rejoin. "You are the only one who can settle yourown fate. The word must come from you. I am only trying to make itpossible for you to meet your husband without any additional wrong toblunt his possible forgiveness."
"Oh, he will never forgive--and I have lost all."
And the set look returned in its full force.
I made my final attempt.
"Mrs. Ocumpaugh, we may never have another moment together inconfidence. There is one thing I have never told you, something which Ithink you ought to know, as it may affect your whole future course. Itconcerns Gwendolen's real mother. You say you do not know her."
"No, no; do not bring up that. I do not want to know her. My darling ishappy with Mrs. Carew--too happy. O God! Give me no opportunity fordisturbing that contentment. Don't you see that I am consumed withjealousy? That I might--"
She was roused enough now, cheek and lip and brow were red; even hereyes looked blood-shot. Alarmed, I put out my hand in a soothinggesture, and when her voice stopped and her words trailed off into aninarticulate murmur I made haste to say:
"Listen to my little story. It will not add to your pain, ratheralleviate it. When I hid behind the curtain on that day we all regret, Idid not slip from my post at your departure. I knew that another patientawaited the doctor's convenience in my own small room, where he hadhastily seated her when your carriage drove up. I also knew that thispatient had overheard what you said as well as I, for impervious as thedoor looked I had often heard the doctor's mutterings when he thought Iwas safe beyond ear-shot, if not asleep. And I wanted to see how shewould act when she rejoined the doctor; for I had heard a little of whatshe had said before, and was quite aware that she could help you out ofyour difficulty if she wished. She was a married woman, or rather hadbeen, but she had no use for a child, being very poor and anxious toearn her own living. Would she embrace this opportunity to part with itwhen it came? You may imagine my interest, boy though I was."
"And did she? Was she--"
"Yes. She was ready to make her compact with the doctor just as you haddone. Before she left everything was arranged for. It was her child youtook--reared--loved--and have now lost."
At another time she might have resented these words, especially thelast; but I had roused her curiosity, her panting eager curiosity, andshe let them pass altogether unchallenged.
"Did you see this woman? Was she of common blood, common manners? Itdoes not seem possible--Gwendolen is by nature so dainty in all herways."
"The woman was a lady. I did not see her face, it was heavily veiled,but I heard her voice; it was a lady's voice and--"
"What?"
"She wore beautiful jewels."
"Jewels? You said she was poor."
"So she declared herself, but she had on her neck under her coat astring of beads which were both valuable and of exquisite workmanship. Iknow, because it broke just as she was leaving, and the beads fell allover the floor, and one rolled my way and I picked it up, scamp that Iwas, when both their backs were turned in their search for the others."
"A bead--a costly bead--and you were not found out?"
"No, Mrs. Ocumpaugh, she never seemed to miss it. She was too excitedover what she had just done to count correctly. She thought she hadthem all. But this has been in my pocket for six years. Perhaps you haveseen its like; I never have, in jeweler's shop or elsewhere, tillyesterday."
"Yesterday?" Her great eyes, haggard with suffering, rose to mine, thenthey fell on the bead which I had tak
en from my pocket. The cry she gavewas not loud, but it effectually settled all my doubts.
"What did you know of Mrs. Carew before she came to ----?" I askedimpressively.
For minutes she did not answer; she was trembling like a leaf.
"Her mother!" she exclaimed at last. "Her mother! her own mother! Andshe never hinted it to me by word or look. Oh, Valerie, Valerie, whattortures we have both suffered! and now you are happy while I--"
Grief seemed to engulf her. Feeling my position keenly, I walked to thewindow, but soon turned and came back in response to her cry: "I mustsee Mrs. Carew instantly. Give my orders. I will start at once to NewYork. They will think I have gone to be on hand to meet Mr. Ocumpaugh,and will say that I have not the strength. Override their objections. Iput my whole cause in your hands. You will go with me?"
"With pleasure, madam."
And thus was that terrifying apathy broken up, to be succeeded by aspell of equally terrifying energy.