CHAPTER XLII
FACE TO FACE
I did not see Colonel Meriwether. He passed on through to his seat inAlbemarle without stopping in our valley longer than over night. Part ofthe next morning I spent in writing a letter to my agents at Huntington,with the request that they should inform Colonel Meriwether at once onthe business situation, since now he was in touch by mail. Thealternative was offered him of taking over my father's interests throughthese creditors, accepting them as partners, or purchasing their rights;or of doing what my father had planned to do for him, which was to careindividually for the joint account, and then to allot each partner adividend interest, carrying a clear title.
All these matters I explained to my mother. Then I told her fully whathad occurred at the village the night previous between Ellen Meriwetherand my fiancee. She sat silent.
"In any case," I concluded, "it would suit me better if you and I couldleave this place forever, and begin again somewhere else."
She looked out of the little window across our pleasant valley to itsedge, where lay the little church of the Society of Friends. Then sheturned to me slowly, with a smile upon her face. "Whatever thee says,"was her answer. "I shall not ask thee to try to mend what cannot bemended. Thee is like thy father," she said. "I shall not try to changethee. Go, then, thy own way. Only hear me, thee cannot mend theunmendable by such a wrongful marriage."
But I went; and under my arm I bore a certain roll of crinkled, hairyparchment.
This was on the morning of Wednesday, in November, the day following thenational election in the year 1860. News traveled more slowly then, butwe in our valley might expect word from Washington by noon of that day.If Lincoln won, then the South would secede. Two nations wouldinevitably be formed, and if necessary, issue would be joined betweenthem as soon as the leaders could formulate their plans for war. Thismuch was generally conceded; and it was conceded also that the Southwould start in, if war should come, with an army well supplied withmunitions of war and led by the ablest men who ever served under the oldflag--men such as Lee, Jackson, Early, Smith, Stuart--scores andhundreds trained in arms at West Point or at the Virginia MilitaryInstitute at Lexington--men who would be loyal to their States and tothe South at any cost.
Our State was divided, our valley especially so, peace sentiment therebeing strong. The entire country was a magazine needing but a spark tocause explosion. It was conceded that by noon we should know whether ornot this explosion was to come. Few of us there, whether Unionists ornot, had much better than contempt for the uncouth man from the West,Lincoln, that most pathetic figure of our history, later loved by Northand South alike as greatest of our great men. We did not know him in ourvalley. All of us there, Unionists or Secessionists, for peace or forwar, dreaded to hear of his election.
Colonel Sheraton met me at the door, his face flushed, his browfrowning. He was all politics. "Have you any news?" he demanded. "Haveyou heard from Leesburg, Washington?"
"Not as yet," I answered, "but there should be messages from Leesburgwithin the next few hours." We had no telegraph in our valley at thattime.
"I have arranged with the postmaster to let us all know up here, theinstant he gets word," said Sheraton. "If that black abolitionist,Lincoln, wins, they're going to fire one anvil shot in the street, andwe can hear it up this valley this far. If the South wins, then twoanvils, as fast as they can load. So, Mr. Cowles, if we hear a singleshot, it is war--_war_, I tell you!
"But come in," he added hastily. "I keep you waiting. I am glad to seeyou this morning, sir. From my daughter I learn that you have returnedfrom a somewhat successful journey--that matters seem to mend for you.We are all pleased to learn it. I offer you my hand, sir. My daughterhas advised me of her decision and your own. Your conduct throughout,Mr. Cowles, has been most manly, quite above reproach. I could want nobetter son to join my family." His words, spoken in ignorance, cut meunbearably.
"Colonel Sheraton," I said to him, "there is but one way for a man toride, and that is straight. I say to you; my conduct has not been in theleast above reproach, and your daughter has not told you all that sheought to have told."
We had entered the great dining room as we talked, and he was drawing meto his great sideboard, with hospitable intent to which at that moment Icould not yield. Now, however, we were interrupted.
A door opened at the side of the room, where a narrow stairway ran downfrom the second floor, and there appeared the short, stocky figure, theiron gray mane, of our friend, Dr. Samuel Bond, physician for twocounties thereabout, bachelor, benefactor, man of charity, despite hislancet, his quinine and his calomel.
"Ah, Doctor," began Colonel Sheraton, "here is our young friend backfrom his travels again. I'm going to tell you now, as I think I maywithout much risk, that there is every hope the Cowles family will winin this legal tangle which has threatened them lately--win handsomely,too. We shall not lose our neighbors, after all, nor have any strangersbreaking in where they don't belong. Old Virginia, as she was, andforever, gentlemen! Join us, Doctor. You see, Mr. Cowles," he added tome, "Doctor Bond has stopped in as he passed by, for a look at mydaughter. Miss Grace seems just a trifle indisposed thismorning--nothing in the least serious, of course."
We all turned again, as the front door opened. Harry Sheraton entered.
"Come, son," exclaimed his father. "Draw up, draw up with us. Pour us adrink around, son, for the success of our two families. You, Doctor, areglad as I am, that I know."
We stood now where we had slowly advanced toward the sideboard. ButDoctor Bond did not seem glad. He paused, looking strangely at me and atour host. "Harry," said he, "suppose you go look in the hall for mysaddle-bags--I have left my medicine case."
The young man turned, but for no reason apparently, stopped at the door,and presently joined us again.
"May I ask for Miss Grace this morning, Doctor," I began, politely.
"Yes," interjected Colonel Sheraton. "How's the girl? She ought to bewith us this minute--a moment like this, you know."
Doctor Bond looked at us still gravely. He turned from me to ColonelSheraton, and again to Harry Sheraton. "Harry," said he, sternly."Didn't you hear me? Get out!"
We three were left alone. "Jack, I must see you a moment alone," saidDoctor Bond to me.
"What's up," demanded Colonel Sheraton. "What's the mystery? It seems tome I'm interested in everything proper here. What's wrong, Doctor? Is mygirl sick?"
"Yes," said the physician.
"What's wrong?"
"She needs aid," said the old wire-hair slowly.
"Can you not give it, then? Isn't that your business?"
"No, sir. It belongs to another profession," said Doctor. Bond, dryly,taking snuff and brushing his nose with his immense red kerchief.
Colonel Sheraton looked at him for the space of a full minute, but gotno further word. "Damn your soul, sir!" he thundered, "explain yourself,or I'll make you wish you had. What do you mean?" He turned fiercelyupon me.
"By God, sir, there's only one meaning that I can guess. You, sir,what's wrong? _Are you to blame_?"
I faced him fairly now. "I am so accused by her," I answered slowly.
"What! _What_!" He stood as though frozen.
"I shall not lie about it. It is not necessary for me to accuse a girlof falsehood. I only say, let us have this wedding, and have it soon. Iso agreed with Miss Grace last night."
The old man sprang at me like a maddened tiger now, his eyes glaringabout the room for a weapon. He saw it--a long knife with ivory handleand inlaid blade, lying on the ledge where I myself had placed it when Ilast was there. Doctor Bond sprang between him and the knife. I alsocaught Colonel Sheraton and held him fast.
"Wait," I said. "Wait! Let us have it all understood plainly. Then letus take it up in any way you Sheratons prefer."
"Stop, I say," cried the stern-faced doctor--as honest a man, I think,as ever drew the breath of life. He hurled his sinewy form againstColonel Sheraton again as I released him.
"That boy is lying to us both,I tell you. I say he's not to blame, and I know it. I _know_ it, I say.I'm her physician. Listen, you, Sheraton--you shall not harm a man whohas lied like this, like a gentleman, to _save_ you and your girl."
"Damn you both," sobbed the struggling man. "Let me go! Let me alone!Didn't I _hear_ him--didn't you hear him _admit_ it?" He broke free andstood panting in the center of the room, we between him and the weapon."Harry!" he called out sharply. The door burst open.
"A gun--my pistol--get me something, boy! Arm yourself--we'll killthese--"
"Harry," I called out to him in turn. "Do nothing of the sort! You'llhave me to handle in this. Some things I'll endure, but not all thingsalways--I swear I'll stand this no longer, from all of you or any ofyou. Listen to me. Listen I say--it is as Doctor Bond says."
So now they did listen, silently.
"I am guiltless of any harm or wish of harm to any woman of thisfamily," I went on. "Search your own hearts. Put blame where it belongs.But don't think you can crowd me, or force me to do what I do not freelyoffer."
"It is true," said Doctor Bond. "I tell you, what he says could not byany possibility be anything else but true. He's just back home. _He hasbeen gone all summer._"
Colonel Sheraton felt about him for a chair and sank down, his gray facedropped in his hands. He was a proud man, and one of courage. It irkedhim sore that revenge must wait.
"Now," said I, "I have something to add to the record. I hoped that apart of my story could be hid forever, except for Miss Grace and mealone. I have not been blameless. For that reason, I was willing,freely--not through force--to do what I could in the way of punishmentto myself and salvation for her. But now as this thing comes up, I canno longer shield her, or myself, or any of you. We'll have to go to thebottom now."
I flung out on the table the roll which I had brought with me to showthat morning to Grace Sheraton--the ragged hide, holding writings placedthere by my hand and that of another.
"This," I said, "must be shown to you all. Colonel Sheraton, I have beenvery gravely at fault. I was alone for some months in the wildernesswith another woman. I loved her very much. I forgot your daughter atthat time, because I found I loved her less. Through force ofcircumstances I lived with this other woman very closely for somemonths. We foresaw no immediate release. I loved her, and she lovedme--the only time I knew what love really meant, I admit it. We madethis contract of marriage between us. It was never enforced. We neverwere married, because that contract was never signed by us both. Here itis. Examine it."
It lay there before us. I saw its words again stare up at me. I sawagain the old pictures of the great mountains; and the cloudless sky,and the cities of peace wavering on the far horizon. I gazed once moreupon that different and more happy world, when I saw, blurring before myeyes, the words--_"I, John Cowles--I, Ellen Meriwether--take thee--takethee--for better, for worse--till death do us part."_ I saw her name,"_E-l-l-e-n_."
"Harry," said I, turning on him swiftly. "Your father is old. This isfor you and me, I think. I shall be at your service soon."
His face paled. But that of his father was now gray, very old and gray.
"Treachery!" he murmured. "Treachery! You slighted my girl. My God, sir,she should not marry you though she died! This--" he put out his handtoward the hide scroll.
"No," I said to him. "This is mine. The record of my fault belongs tome. The question for you is only in regard to the punishment.
"We are four men here," I added, presently, "and it seems to me thatfirst of all we owe protection to the woman who needs it. Moreover, Irepeat, that though her error is not mine, it was perhaps pride orsorrow or anger with me which led her to her own fault. It was GordonOrme who told her that I was false to her, and added lies about me andthis other woman. It was Gordon Orme, Colonel Sheraton, I do notdoubt--sir, _I found him in your yard, here, at midnight_, when I lastwas here. And, sir, there was a light--a light--" I tried to smile,though I fear my face was only distorted. "I agreed with your daughterthat it was without question a light that some servant had left bychance at a window."
I wish never to hear again such a groan as broke from that old man'slips. He was sunken and broken when he put out his hand to me. "Boy,"said he, "have mercy. Forgive. Can you--could you--"
"Can you yourself forgive this?" I answered, pointing to the scroll. "Iadmit to you I love Ellen Meriwether yet, and always will. Sir, if Imarried your daughter, it could only be to leave her within the hour."
Silence fell upon all of us. Harry set down his glass, and the clink onthe silver tray sounded loud. None moved but Doctor Bond, who, glassesupon nose, bent over the blurred hide, studying it.
"Colonel Sheraton," said he at length, "it seems to me that we have noquarrel here among ourselves. We all want to do what is best done now tomake amends for what has not always been best done. Mr. Cowles has givenevery proof we could ask--we could not ask more of any man--you have noright to ask so much. He wishes, at great cost to himself, I think, todo what he can to save your girl's happiness and honor. He admits hisown fault." He looked at me, savagely shaking a finger, but went on.
"Perhaps I, a physician, unfortunately condemned to see much of theinner side of human nature, am as well equipped as any to call him moreguiltless than society might call him. I say with him, let him who iswithout guilt first cast a stone. Few of us are all we ought to be, butwhy? We speak of double lives--why, we all lead double lives--the entireworld leads a double life; that of sex and of society, that of natureand of property. I say to you, gentlemen, that all the world is double.So let us be careful how we adjudge punishment; and let us be as fair toour neighbor as we are to ourselves. This is only the old, old questionof love and the law.
"But wait a minute--" he raised a hand as Colonel Sheraton stirred. "Ihave something else to say. As it chances, I am curious in otherprofessions than my own sometimes--I read in the law sometimes, again intheology, literature. I wish to be an educated man so far as I may be,since a university education was denied me. Now, I say to you, from myreading in the law, a strong question arises whether the two who wrotethis covenant of marriage are not at this moment _man and wife_!" Herapped a finger on the parchment.
A sigh broke in concert from all within that room. The next moment, Iknow not how, we were all four of us bending above the scroll. "Seethere," went on the old doctor. "There is a definite, mutual promise, aconsideration moving from each side, the same consideration in eachcase, the promise from each bearing the same intent and value, andhaving the same qualifying clauses. The contract is definite; it isdated. It is evidently the record of a unanimous intent, an identicalframe of mind between the two making it at that time. It is signed andsealed in full by one party, no doubt in his own hand. It is written andacknowledged by the other party in her own hand--"
"But not _signed_!" I broke in. "See, it is not _signed_. She said shewould sign it one letter each week--weeks and weeks--until at last,this, which was only our engagement, should with the last letter makeour marriage. Gentlemen," I said to them, "it was an honest contract. Itwas all the formality we could have, all the ceremony we could have. Itwas all that we could do. I stand before you promised to two women.Before God I was promised to one. I loved her. I could do no more--"
"It was enough," said Doctor Bond, dryly, taking snuff. "It was awedding."
"Impossible!" declared Colonel Sheraton.
"Impossible? Not in the least," said the doctor. "It can be invalid onlyupon one ground. It might be urged that the marriage was notconsummated. But in the courts that would be a matter of proof. Whateverour young friend here might say, a court would say that consummation wasvery probable.
"I say, as this stands, the contract is a definite one, agreeing to do adefinite thing, namely, to enter into the state of marriage. Thequestion of the uncompleted signature does not invalidate it, nor indeedcome into the matter at all. It is only a question whether thesignature, so far as it goes, means the identity of the Ellen Meriwetherwho wrote
the clause preceding it. It is a question of identificationsolely. Nothing appears on this contract stipulating that she must signher full name before the marriage can take place. That verbal agreement,which Mr. Cowles mentions, of signing it letter by letter, does not inlaw affect a written agreement. This written contract must, in the law,be construed just as It stands, and under its own phrasing, by its owninherent evidence. The obvious and apparent evidence is that the personbeginning this signature was Ellen Meriwether--the same who wrote thelast clause of the contract. The handwriting is the same--thesupposition is that it is the same, and the burden of proof would lie onthe one denying it.
"Gentlemen," he went on, taking a turn, hands behind back, his big redkerchief hanging from his coat tails, "I take Mr. Cowles' word as toacts before and after this contract. I think he has shown to us that heis a gentleman. In that world, very different from this world, he actedlike a gentleman. In that life he was for the time freed of the covenantof society. Now, in this life, thrown again under the laws of society,he again shows to us that he is a gentleman, here as much as there. Wecannot reason from that world to this. I say--yes, I hope I am bigenough man to say--that we cannot blame him, arguing from that world tothis. We can exact of a man that he shall be a gentleman in either oneof those worlds; but we cannot exact it of him to be the _same_gentleman in _both_!
"Now, the question comes, to which of these worlds belongs John Cowles?The court will say that this bit of hide is a wedding ceremony.Gentlemen," he smiled grimly, "we need all the professions hereto-day--medicine, ministry and law! At least, Colonel Sheraton, I thinkwe need legal counsel before we go on with any more weddings for thisyoung man here."
"But there is no record of this," I said. "There is no execution induplicate."
"No," said the doctor. "It is only a question of which world you elect."I looked at him, and he added, "It is also only a question of morals. Ifthis record here should be destroyed, you would leave the other partywith no proof on her side of the case."
He brushed off his nose again, and took another short turn from thetable, his head dropped in thought. "It is customary," he said as heturned to me, "to give the wife the wedding certificate. The law, theministry, and the profession of medicine, all unite in their estimate ofthe relative value of marital faithfulness as between the sexes. It isthe _woman_ who needs the proof. All nature shields the woman's sex. Sheis the apple of Nature's eye, and even the law knows that."
I walked to the mantel and took up the knife that lay there. I returnedto the table, and with a long stroke I ripped the hide in two. I threwthe two pieces into the grate.
"That is my proof," said I, "that Ellen Meriwether needs no marriagecertificate! I am the certificate for that, and for her!"
Colonel Sheraton staggered to me, his hand trembling, outstretched."You're free to marry my poor girl--" he began.
"It is proof also," I went on, "that I shall never see Ellen Meriwetheragain, any more than I shall see Grace Sheraton again after I havemarried her. What happens after that is not my business. It is mybusiness, Colonel Sheraton, and yours--possibly even your son's"--Ismiled at Harry--"to find Gordon Orme. I claim him first. If I do notkill him, then you--and you last, Harry, because you are least fit."
"Gentlemen, is it all agreed?" I asked. I tossed the knife back on themantel, and turned my back to it and them.
"Jack," said my old wire-hair, Doctor Bond, "I pray God I may never seethis done again to any man. I thank God the woman I loved died yearsago. She was too good--they're all too good--I, a physician, say theyare all too good. Only in that gap between them and us lies any marginwhich permits you to lie to yourself at the altar. To care for them--toshield them--they, the apple of the Eye--that is why we men are here."He turned away, his face working.
"Is it agreed?" I asked of Colonel Sheraton, sternly.
His trembling hand sought mine. "Yes," he said. "Our quarrel isdischarged, and more than so. Harry, shake hands with Mr. Cowles. ByGod! men, our quarrel now runs to Gordon Orme. To-morrow we start forCarolina, where we had his last address. Mr. Cowles, my heart bleeds, itbleeds, sir, for you. But for her also--for her up there. The courtsshall free you quickly and quietly, as soon as it can be done. It is youwho have freed us all. You have been tried hard. You have provedyourself a man."
But it was not the courts that freed us. None of us ever sought actualknowledge of what agency really freed us. Indeed, the time came swiftlyfor us all to draw the cloak of secrecy about one figure of this story,and to shield her in it forever.
Again we were interrupted. The door at the stair burst open. A blackmaid, breathless, broke into the room.
WHEN THE WAY OF WOMEN PASSETH A MAN'S UNDERSTANDING]
"She's a-settin' there--Miss Grace just a-settin' there--" she began,and choked and stammered.
"What is it?" cried Doctor Bond, sharply, and sprang at the door. Iheard him go up the stairs lightly as though he were a boy. We allfollowed, plying the girl with questions.
"I went in to make up the room," blubbered she, "an' she was justsettin' there, an' I spoke to her an' she didn't answer--an' I called toher, an' she didn't answer--she's just a-settin' there right _now_."
As a cloud sweeps over a gray, broken moor, so now horror swept upon usin our distress and grief. We paused one moment to listen, then went onto see what we knew we must see.
I say that we men of Virginia were slow to suspect a woman. I hope weare still slower to gossip regarding one. Not one of us ever askedDoctor Bond a question, fearing lest we might learn what perhaps heknew.
He stood beyond her now, his head bowed, his hand touching her wrist,feeling for the pulse that was no longer there. The solemnity of hisface was louder than speech. It seemed to me that I heard his silentdemand that we should all hold our peace forever.
Grace Sheraton, her lips just parted in a little crooked smile, such asshe might have worn when she was a child, sat at a low dressing table,staring directly into the wide mirror which swung before her at itsback. Her left arm lay at length along the table. Her right, with itshand under her cheek and chin, supported her head, which leaned butslightly to one side. She gazed into her own face, into her own heart,into the mystery of human life and its double worlds, I doubt not. Shecould not tell us what she had learned.
Her father stepped to her side, opposite the old doctor. I heard sobs asthey placed her upon her little white bed, still with that littlecrooked smile upon her face, as though, she were young, very youngagain.
I went to the window, and Harry, I think, was close behind me. Before melay the long reaches of our valley, shimmering in the midday autumn sun.It seemed a scene of peace and not of tragedy.
But even as I looked, there came rolling up our valley, slowly, almostas though visible, the low, deep boom of the signal gun from the villagebelow. It carried news, the news from America!
We started, all of us. I saw Colonel Sheraton half look up as he stood,bent over the bed. Thus, stunned by horror as we were, we waited. It wasa long time, an interminable time, moments, minutes, it seemed to me,until there must have been thrice time for the repetition of the signal,if there was to be one.
There was no second sound. The signal was alone, single; ominous.
"Thank God! Thank God!" cried Colonel Sheraton; swinging his handsaloft, tears rolling down his old gray cheeks. "_It is war_! Now we mayfind forgetfulness!"