V.
Perhaps Julian Goetze did not willingly abide by the somewhat fallaciousreasoning of his friend. It is more than probable that each time hesuccumbed to the savage elements of his nature, he did so withreluctance and shame, with subsequent remorse, and good resolutionsformed a score of times, perhaps, to be as often broken.
As the weeks went by he became more and more involved in this singularaffair. In a way he had found it possible, as his friend had oncesuggested, to be in love with two women at one time.
When he was with Eva Delorme his love for the pure, beautiful girlseemed to take entire possession of his life. Evelin March, for thetime, was as hateful to him as his own weakness, or was whollyforgotten.
When in the presence of Evelin March his better self shrank away beforethe fierce heredity within him, and the face of Eva Delorme became onlya dim, haunting ghost that taunted him with his treachery.
Of the lives of these two he knew absolutely nothing. The evidentdistress which his reference to relatives and friends had occasioned Evaduring their first meeting, had caused him carefully to avoid thesubject afterward; and the other, who had never referred to her family,he had not cared to know. He had never even considered whether she waswife, maid or widow, until he suddenly became aware that the sentimenthe had awakened within her was not, as he had at first supposed, apassing fancy, but a fierce passion of jealous and tyrannical love. Sheno longer rallied him, and parried his compliments with her light,pointed sarcasm, as she had done at first, but assumed an unmistakablebearing of ownership and possession--questioning him closely regardingother sitters and female acquaintances--while he writhed helplessly inthe exquisite misery of a spell which he felt himself powerless tobreak.
Thus far he had never surrendered himself entirely to this passion. Morethan once he had hesitated on the very brink of the precipice. Whetherit was the haunting face of Eva Delorme that stayed him, or something inthe manner of the other, he could not tell.
One day he suddenly caught her in his arms. She suffered his embracefor a moment, then drew away from him.
"When we are married, Paul," she said, tenderly, "I will take you toItaly, where in some beautiful villa we will give ourselves up wholly toour love. I am rich, Paul, rich; and it is all yours, but we must wait."
He turned white and was silent. The thought of marriage with this womanhad never entered his head. He had already asked Eva Delorme to be hiswife. She had long since confessed her love for him, but had deferredher answer from week to week, and with such evident distress of mindthat the young artist felt that a secret sorrow lay heavily upon herlife. He longed to fly with her to some far country, away from it all,and from the dark shadows that encompassed his own.
The similarity of features which he had at first noticed in his twositters was at times almost forgotten; at others it had recurred to himand haunted him like a nightmare. More than once he had imagined he sawthe fleeting something in one woman that reminded him of the other. Hehad dallied over the portraits, making them photographically minute forcomparison. He had hesitated guiltily about showing either of these tothe other woman. He had sometimes longed, and always dreaded, to seethem side by side in person. They did not always come at their appointedtime, and he was in constant terror lest they should meet in the studio;and yet the thought had in it a fascination for him that made himfeverish for its realization. It was strange that they had never met inhis rooms--he did not realize, perhaps, how strange.
As the months slipped away, and he had become more and more distractedby the contending forces that were eating deeply into his life, he hadgrown almost indifferent to his curiosity and only dreaded theirmeeting.
It was now October. The portraits had been practically finished longsince. Day after day he had resolved to send that of Evelin March to thedealer for framing. He felt that he could then break away from her. Butstill he had hesitated and lingered, and now, when in a moment ofrecklessness he had taken a step nearer the brink of the precipice, shehad spoken to him of their marriage. The idea stunned him; he could notreply. She believed his emotion had been caused by her rebuff, and laidher hand gently on his arm.
"Don't be angry, Paul," she whispered.
He had never seen her so subdued and beautiful as she was at thatmoment. He was nearer to loving her than he had ever been.
"Yes," he said, with some agitation, "we must--wait."
That night after supper he sought Harry Lawton, and unburdened himself.
"What shall I do, Harry?" he said, piteously; "what _must_ I do?"
"Marry Eva Delorme and take a year's trip to Europe."
"But Eva hesitates--she has never yet given me a decided answer."
"Insist upon it. Then take her to the preacher at once, and fly."
"Oh, Harry, what a villain I am! Evelin is really in love with me, and Ihave given her just cause. I never saw her look as she did to-day."
"Nonsense! She is a schemer and an actress. I did not suppose she wantedto marry you, but since that is her idea I can see right through her.This being the case, and your determination to marry the other fixed,the sooner you do it and get away, the better."
"I am afraid you are right, Harry; there seems to be no other course. Ihaven't the moral courage to tell her the truth."
"No need of it, whatever. It wouldn't help matters in the least. Justmarry and go away quietly, and don't return until you get ready. If youneed money draw on me at sight."
"Thank you, Harry. I expect Eva soon. I am going to put the finaltouches on her picture, and I will urge my suit. If she accepts me Iwill take her away at once. Evelin's picture is ready for framing; Iwill send it to the dealer's to-morrow. I wish to God I could get awaybefore she comes again!"
"Why not? You have nothing to keep you. If the girl really loves you shewill marry you out of hand, and be only too glad to cut loose from allunpleasant associations. And now let's take a last look at thepictures," he said.
They had been walking slowly in the direction of Goetze's cottage. Theyentered now, and the artist lighted the gas. Then he arranged theportraits of the two women as he had done for his friend's inspectionnearly a half-year previous. Both were thinking of that evening now. Howlong ago it seemed. Harry sat silent before them for a long time.
"They are wonderful portraits, Goetze," he said, at length; "but, do youknow, it doesn't seem to me that they have quite the artistic value ofthe first sketches."
"You are right, Harry; they are too minute. I shall destroy some of thatto-morrow."
The other was silent. After a long pause he said, thoughtfully, "There_is_ something-- I can't tell where it is, either; but it is certainlythere."
"You refer to the resemblance?"
"Yes; it is hardly that, however."
"I have thought very little about it lately. It troubled me terribly fora while."
"Well, good-night, Julian," said Lawton, rising. "If there are to be anyorange-blossoms, I suppose I am best man."
"Yes, Harry. Good-night!"
Two days later, when Eva Delorme came to the studio, the artist thoughthe had never seen her so beautiful.
And now the whiteness of his own soul was turned to view. He resembledas little the man who had trembled before Evelin March, as Evelin Marchwas like this beautiful being before him.
With all the ardor and fervid eloquence of his nature he urged his suit;and she, tearful and trembling before him, half consented. He caught herto his breast and covered her face with kisses.
"My darling--my darling," he murmured, "we will leave this smoky, dingycity; I will take you to a beautiful land where the flowers never fadeand the air is forever filled with their fragrance. Where the blue skiesof an eternal summer are above us, and the blue waves of a whisperingsea shall lull us to peace. There is a tiny island in the Mediterraneanon the coast of France. I was there once; it is like heaven. I will takeyou there. Say that you will go, sweetheart; we will start to-day."
The girl lifted her face to his, and kissed h
im on the forehead.
"It would be heaven, indeed, Julian; but--we must wait."
The artist started and grew pale. Her final words had been the same asthose used by Evelin March. She did not seem to notice his emotion, ormistook its cause.
"You know that I love you, Julian," she continued, "and I will doanything for your happiness; but--oh, Julian"--
She burst into tears and hid her face on his shoulder. He felt that somemystery of grief weighed upon her, and he longed to urge herconfidence, but refrained. He soothed her gently with tender words andcaresses. By and by she grew calm.
"Julian," she said, "I am in no condition to-day to give you a sitting.I will come to-morrow, and then--I will give you a final answer,and--oh, my love, do not urge me further to-day; I--I cannot endure it."
Then suddenly throwing her arms about his neck she pressed one fiercekiss upon his lips and hurried from the room.
After she was gone the artist walked up and down the studio for a longtime in deep thought. He was wildly happy in her love, and yet he wastroubled. It was strange that her words should have been the same asthose of Evelin March. Her manner, too, during the last moment had beenunusual. Something about it had jarred him--almost reminded him of theother woman. What was it between these two?
By and by, he noticed something white lying on the floor. It was awoman's handkerchief--a bit of cambric and lace exhaling the delicateodor of violets. He pressed it to his lips repeatedly, and whispered hername over and over, then hid it away in his bosom. He had not noticed,in the dim light, that in one corner, in small, delicate letters, werethe initials, E. M. D.