CHAPTER XI.
Throckmorton, who was nothing if not prompt, had infused so much lifeand spirit into his love-affair that at the end of a week it was settledthat the wedding should take place the last of February--only a monthoff. Jacqueline's trousseau was not likely to be imposing, and the few,feeble reasons which Mrs. Temple urged for delay were swept away byThrockmorton's impetuosity. It was not the custom in that part of theworld for engagements to be formally announced; on the contrary, it wasin order to deny them up to the very last moment, and to regard them assomething surreptitious and to be hid under a bushel. General Temple hadmagniloquently given his consent, when Throckmorton went through theform of asking it. Mrs. Temple still shook her head gravely over thematter, particularly over the brief engagement, which was quite opposedto the leisurely way in which engagements were usually conducted in herexperience; but Throckmorton seemed to have mastered everybody at BarnElms. For himself that period was one of deep joy, and yet full ofharassing doubts. The more he studied Jacqueline under her new aspects,the stranger things became. It cut him to see how little realconsequence either her mother or her father attached to her. Judithseemed to be the only person who was concerned to make Jacqueline lovehim; to regard the girl as a woman, and not as a child. For Jacquelineherself, she was as changeable as the weather. Had she been steadilyindifferent to him, Throckmorton would have thought nothing necessarybut a manly fight to win her; but sometimes she showed devoted fondnessfor him, and, without rhyme or reason, she would change into the coldestindifference or teasing irritability. Throckmorton told himself it wasthe coyness and fickleness of a young girl in love; but sometimes ahateful suspicion overcame him that there was in Jacqueline an innatelevity and inconstancy that went to the root of her nature. The evidentdelight she took in the luxury and pleasures that were to be hers--thehorses, carriages, pianos, and flowers at Millenbeck--was rather that ofa child dazzled with the fineries of life. Her love for them was sounthinking and uncalculating that it did not shock Throckmorton; yet howcould he, with his knowledge, his experience of men, women, and things,help seeing the differences between them--differences that, had hisinfatuation been less complete, would have appalled him? As it was, justas Judith had predicted to herself, he often came to her for sympathyand encouragement--not expressed in words, but in the subtileunderstanding between them. Judith always spoke in praise of Jacqueline;she artfully managed to show Throckmorton the best of her. But forJudith the marriage could never have been hastened on, as Throckmortondesired; for, as soon as she found out Throckmorton's wish, she went towork on Jacqueline's trousseau with a sort of desperate energy thatcarried things through. Jacqueline could have no fine silk gowns, butshe was to have piles of the daintiest linen, of which the material costlittle, but the beautiful handiwork lavished upon it by Judith was wortha little fortune. Jacqueline herself, spurred on by Judith's industry,sewed steadily. As for Judith, the fever of working for Jacquelineseized her, and never abated. She even neglected her child forJacqueline, until Mrs. Temple, with stern disapproval, took her to taskabout it. Judith, blushing and conscience-stricken, owned to her fault,although nobody could accuse her of lacking love for the child. Butstill she managed to sew for Jacqueline, sitting up secretly by night,and with a pale, fixed face--stitch, stitch, stitching! Jacqueline couldnot understand it at all; and when she asked Judith about it once, shewas so suddenly and strangely agitated that Jacqueline, a littlefrightened, dropped the subject at once. But, in truth, this was toJudith a time of new, strange, and terrible grief and disappointment.How she had ever permitted Throckmorton to take up her whole heart andmind she did not know any more than she could fathom now how she evercame to mistake an early and immature fancy for a deep and abidingpassion, and had suffered herself to be married to Beverley Temple. Sheendured agonies of remorse for that, and yet hourly excused herself toherself. "How could I know," she asked herself in those long hours ofthe night when men and women come face to face with their sorrows. Butall her remorse was for Beverley. As for the hatred she ought to feelfor Throckmorton as the slayer of her husband, she had come to laugh itto scorn in her own mind. But, like all true women, she respected theworld--the narrow circle which constituted her world--and she feltoppressed with shame at the idea that the whole story might all one daycome out, and then what would they think of her? What would they do toher? She could not say, as she had once said, "I do not believe it." Shehad heard it from Throckmorton's own mouth. She would have to say, "Iknew it, and went to his house, and continued to be friendly with him,and spoke no word when he wished to marry Beverley's sister." She couldnot divine the reason of Freke's silence, but, torn and harassed andwearied with struggles of heart and conscience, she simply yielded tothe fatalism of the wretched, and let things drift. Sometimes in herown room, after she had spent the evening with Throckmorton andJacqueline, seeing clearly under his perfectly self-possessed exteriorhis infatuation for Jacqueline, she would be wroth with him. Judith, themost modest and unassuming of women, would say to herself, with scorn ofThrockmorton: "How blind he is! To throw away on Jacqueline, who in herturn throws it to the wind, what would make me the proudest creatureunder heaven! And am I unworthy of his love, or less worthy thanJacqueline?" To which her keen perceptions would answer rebelliously,"No, I am more worthy in every way." She would examine her facecarefully in the glass, holding the candle first one side, then theother. "This, then, is the face that Throckmorton is indifferent to. Itis not babyish, like Jacqueline's; there are no dimples, but--" Thenthe grotesqueness of it all would strike her, and even make her laugh.The fiercest pain, the most devouring jealousy never wrung from herthe faintest admission that there was anything to be ashamed of incherishing silently a profound and sacred love for Throckmorton. Hewas worthy of it, she thought, proudly. Toward him her manner neverchanged--she was mistress of some of the nobler arts of deception--butsometimes, although working for Jacqueline, and tending heraffectionately, she would be angry and disdainful because Jacquelinedid not always render to Throckmorton his due. She almost laughed toherself when she compared this horror of pain and grief which she nowendured with the shock and pity of Beverley's death. She remembered thatthe joy her child gave her seemed almost wicked in its intensity atthat time. What passions of happiness were hers when she would risestealthily in the night and, taking him from his little crib, would holdhim to her throbbing heart; and often, from the next room, she couldhear Mrs. Temple pacing her floor, and could imagine the silent wringingof the hands and all the unspoken agonies the elder mother endured for_her_ child! Then she would swiftly and guiltily put the child back inhis cradle, and, with remorse and self-denial, lie near him withouttouching him. Often in that long-past time, when she met him in hisnurse's arms, she would fly toward him with a merry, dancing step,laughing all the time--she was so happy, so proud to have him--and,looking up, would catch Mrs. Temple's eyes fixed on her with a stillreproach she understood well enough. Then she would turn away from him,and, sitting down by Mrs. Temple, would not even let her eyes wander tothe child, and would remain silent and unanswering to his baby wail.
But in this first real passion of her life, the child, much as sheadored him, was secondary. He was her comfort--she would not, if shecould, have let him out of her sight or out of her arms--but he couldno more make her forget Throckmorton than anything else; he could onlysoften the intolerable ache a little, when he leaned his curly head uponher breast; and as for that easy and conventional phrase, the goodnessof God, and that ready consolation that had seemed so apt at the time ofBeverley's death, she began to substitute, for the mild and mercifulDivinity, a merciless and relentless Jehovah, who had condemned her tosuffer forever, and who would not be appeased.
At first, the secret of the engagement was well kept. Only JackThrockmorton, who behaved beautifully about it, and Freke, knew of theimpending wedding. Freke's behavior was singular, not to say mysterious.He was so cool and unconcerned that Jacqueline was furiously piqued, andcould scarcely keep her mind off her grie
vance against him for nottaking her engagement more to heart, even when Throckmorton was withher. Freke's congratulations were quite perfunctory--as unlike JackThrockmorton's whole-souled good wishes as could be imagined. Onemorning, soon after the news had been confided to Freke, he came intothe dining-room, where Judith was sewing, with Jacqueline, also sewing,sitting demurely by her side.
"Making wedding finery, eh?" was Freke's remark as he seated himself.
"Yes," answered Judith, quietly, without laying down her work.
"I want to see how much Jacqueline will be changed by marriage--Youmustn't flirt with Jack, little Jacky."
He said this quite good-humoredly, and Jacqueline turned a warm color.
"And don't let me see you running after the chickens, as I saw you theother day. That wouldn't be dignified, you know; it would make MajorThrockmorton ridiculous. You must do all you can to keep the differencein your ages from becoming too obvious."
Judith felt a rising indignation. Jacqueline's head was bent lower. Shedreaded and feared that people would tease her about Throckmorton's age.Freke saw in a moment how it was with her, and kept it up.
"Throckmorton is sensible in one way. His hair is plentifully sprinkledwith gray, but he doesn't use art to conceal it."
"I do not think forty-four is old," said Judith, indignant atJacqueline's tame submission to this sort of talk. "I think, with mostwomen, Major Throckmorton would have the advantage over younger men."
As soon as she said this, she repented. Freke glanced at her with a lookso amused and so exasperating that she could have burst into tears ofshame on the spot.
"Come, Jacqueline," cried Freke, rising, "let us go for a walk. I don'tknow whether Throckmorton will permit this after you are married.Marriage, my dear little girl, is more of a yoke than a garland. I amwell out of mine, thank Heaven!"
Judith cast a beseeching look at Jacqueline, but Freke had fixed hiseyes commandingly on her. That was enough. Jacqueline rose and went outto get her hat.
Judith sat quite silent. She rarely spoke to Freke when she could helpit.
"What do you think of this ridiculous marriage?" he asked.
"I, at least, don't think it ridiculous. There are incongruities muchworse than a difference in age."
"Yes, I understand," assented Freke, with meaning. "I have found it so.If I were as free as Throckmorton, though, I would be in no hurry to putmy head in the noose."
"You said just now you were free."
"Did I? Well, in fact I am free in some States and not in others. Youpeople down here seem to regard me as an escaped felon. That sort ofthing doesn't exist any longer in civilized communities." Judith made noreply. She hated Freke with a kind of unreasoning hatred that put aguard upon her lips, lest she should be tempted to say something rash.And in a moment Jacqueline was back, and, with a defiant look at Judith,went off with Freke. Freke caught a glance from Judith's eyes as theywent out. The fact that it expressed great anger and contempt for himdid not make him overlook that her eyes were remarkably full of fire andthe turn of her head something beautiful.
"Judith is a thoroughbred--there's no mistake about that," he said toJacqueline--and kept on talking about Judith until he reduced Jacquelineto a jealous silence, and almost to tears--when a few words of praiserestored her to complete good humor. Throckmorton never played off onher like this--it was quite opposed to his directness andstraightforwardness.
Freke was more constantly at Barn Elms than ever before. It oftenoccurred to Judith that he took pains to keep secret from Throckmortonall the time he passed with Jacqueline. Sometimes she even suspectedthat Jacqueline had some share in keeping Throckmorton in the dark, soconstant was Freke's presence when Throckmorton was absent, and sounvarying was his absence when Throckmorton was present.
After a while, though, a hint of the engagement got abroad in thecounty, and the people generally, who had never relaxed in the slightestdegree their forbidding exterior to Throckmorton, now somewhat includedthe Temples in the ban. Throckmorton, engrossed with his own affairs,had ceased to care for himself, being quite content with the few peoplearound him who took him into their homes. But he felt it acutely forJacqueline, who told him, with childish cruelty, without thinking of thepang she inflicted, of the strange coolness that all at once seemed tohave fallen between her and her acquaintances. And Judith was sure thatFreke put notions of that kind and of every kind into the girl's head.Once, after one of Freke's daily visits--for, if anything, he cameoftener than Throckmorton--Jacqueline said, quite disconsolately, toJudith:
"Freke says I shall never have any more girl friends after I am married.Throckmorton is too old; and, besides, the people in this county willnever, never really recognize him."
"This county is not all the world--and, Jacqueline, pray, pray don'tlisten to anything Freke has to say."
"I know you don't like Freke."
"I hate him."
Judith, when she said this, looked so handsome and animated thatThrockmorton, entering at that moment, paid her a pretty compliment,which she received first with so much confusion and then with so muchhaughtiness that Throckmorton was as completely puzzled as the night heoffered to kiss her hand, and concluded that Judith was as freakish asall women are.
Among the smaller irritations which Throckmorton had to bear, at thisstrange time, was Jack's sly rallying. Jack assumed his father to be alove-sick octogenarian. Anything less love-sick than Throckmorton'ssimple and manly affection, or less suggestive of age than his alert andvigorous maturity, would be hard to find. But Jack had always possessedthe power of tormenting his father where women were concerned--thenatural penalty, perhaps, of having a son so little younger thanhimself. Jack felt infinite respect for Jacqueline, and never onceindulged in a joke calculated to really rouse Throckmorton; but someoccasions were too good for him to spare the major. Such conversationsas these were frequent:
"Major, are you going over to Barn Elms this evening?"
"No, I was there this morning."
"I understand, sir, that two visits a day, when the young lady is in theimmediate neighborhood, is the regulation thing."
"You are at liberty to understand what you please. With youngsters likeyourself, probably three visits would hardly be enough."
"I have been told that these things affect all ages alike."
Throckmorton scowled, but scowls were wasted on Jack, whose particularobject was to put the major in a bad humor; in which design, however, herarely succeeded.
In spite of the silence that had been maintained by the Barn Elms peopleregarding the engagement, Mrs. Sherrard, who had what is vulgarly calleda nose for news, found it out by some occult means, and Throckmorton washeld up in the road, as he was riding peacefully along, to answer herinquiries.
"I think you and Jacky Temple are going to be married soon, from what Ihear," was her first aggressive remark, putting her head out of thewindow of her ramshackly old carriage.
"Do you?" responded Throckmorton, with laughing eyes. "You must think mea deuced lucky fellow."
Mrs. Sherrard did not speak for a moment or two, and a cold chill struckThrockmorton, while the laugh died out of his eyes.
"That's as may be," she replied, diplomatically; "but the idea of yourmarching about, thinking you are deceiving _me_!"
"I am young and bashful, you know, Mrs. Sherrard."
"You are not young, but you are younger than you are bashful. You alwayswere one of those quiet dare-devils--the worst kind, to my mind."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"And Jane Temple--ha! ha!"
Throckmorton joined in Mrs. Sherrard's fine, ringing laugh.
"A Yankee son-in-law!" screamed Mrs. Sherrard, still laughing; then shebecame grave, and beckoned Throckmorton, sitting straight and square inhis saddle, to come closer, so the black driver could not hear. "Jane,you know," she said, confidentially, "was always daft about the warafter Beverley's death; and, let me tell you, Beverley was a fine, tall,handsome, brave, silly, commonplace fello
w as ever lived. Judith hasmore brains and wit than all the Temple men put together, and most ofthe women. Hers was as clear a case of a winged thing that can soarmarried to a Muscovy drake as ever I saw. Luckily, she hadn't anopportunity to wake up to it fully, before he was killed; and then, justlike a hot-headed, romantic thing, she wrapped herself in crape, and hasgiven up her whole life to Jane and General Temple, and Jacky."
Throckmorton felt a certain restraint in speaking of Judith to Mrs.Sherrard, who had assumed that it was his duty to fall in love withJudith instead of Jacqueline. So he flicked a fly off his horse's neckand remained silent.
"I do wish," resumed Mrs. Sherrard, pettishly, "that Jane Temple wouldact like a woman of sense, and send for me over to Barn Elms, and showme Jacky's wedding things."
"Very inconsiderate of Jane, I am sure. If it would relieve your mind atall, you might come to Millenbeck, and I would be delighted to show youmy coats and trousers. They are very few. I always have a plenty ofshirts and stockings, but my outside wardrobe isn't imposing."
"I don't take the slightest interest in your clothes. You don't dresshalf as much as Jack does."
"Of course not; I can't afford it."
"One thing is certain. If you have any sort of a wedding at Barn Elms,they'll have to send over and borrow my teaspoons. There hasn't been aparty at Barn Elms for forty years, that they haven't done it, and Ialways borrow Jane Temple's salad-bowl and punch-ladles whenever I havecompany."
"I don't think there will be any wedding feast there," answeredThrockmorton.
"Jacky wants one, _I_ know," said Mrs. Sherrard, very knowingly. "Jackyloves a racket."
"Quite naturally--at her age."
"Oh, yes, of course--her age, as you say. I shall tell Edmund Morford topay you a pastoral visit, as he always does upon the eve of marriages,to instruct you in the duties of the married state."
"Then I shall tell Edmund Morford that I know considerably more about myduties in the premises than he does; and I'll shut him up before he hasopened his mouth, as Sweeney would say."
"If anybody _could_ shut my nephew up, I believe it is you, GeorgeThrockmorton. Has Jane Temple suggested that you should join the churchyet?"
"She suggests it to me every time I go to Barn Elms, and whenever I gooff for a lover's stroll with Jacqueline, Mrs. Temple tells me I oughtto go home and seek salvation."
"And do you mind her?" asked Mrs. Sherrard, quite gravely; at whichThrockmorton gave her a look that was dangerously near a wink.
Mrs. Sherrard drove off, triumphant. She had got at the whole thing, inspite of Jane Temple.
The wedding preparations went bravely along; carried on chiefly byJudith. Jacqueline had set her heart on a white silk wedding dress,which for a time eclipsed everything else on her horizon. Mrs. Templedeclared that it was extravagant, but Judith, by keen persuasion,succeeded in getting the wedding-gown. She made it with her own hands,and across the front she designed a beautiful and intricate embroidery,to be worked by her.
"Judith, you will kill yourself over that wedding-gown," Mrs. Templeonce remarked. "You have drawn such an elaborate design upon it that youwill have to work night and day to get it finished."
"I shall simply have to be a little more industrious than usual,"replied Judith, with the deep flush that now alternated with extremepaleness.
Jacqueline herself was deeply interested in this gown; more so than inany particular of the coming wedding. Judith had marked off for herselfa certain task of work each day upon the embroidery of the gown. Everynight, when she stopped at the end of her task, it was as if anotherstone were laid upon her heart. Throckmorton had noticed her industry,and had admired her handiwork, which she proudly showed him.
"But you are getting white and thin over it," he said. "Wouldn't it bebetter that Jacqueline should not have such a beautiful frock, than foryou to work yourself ill over it? I have a great mind to speak to Mrs.Temple about it."
"No, no, pray don't!" cried Judith, with a kind of breathless eagerness."It would break my heart not to finish it."
Throckmorton looked at her closely. She was not given to that kind oftalk. But suddenly she began telling him a funny story of Mrs. Sherrardcoming over to pump Mrs. Temple about the coming event, and then shelaughed and made him laugh too. Walking back home that night, he foundhimself speculating on this development of fun and merriment inJudith--a thing she had always suppressed and kept in abeyance untillately.
"Certainly she is in better spirits--more like what one can see hernatural self is in the last month or two," he thought; and then he beganto think what a very sweet and natural woman she was, and to hope that,when Jacqueline was her age, she would have developed into somethinglike Judith. But he never liked to look very far into the future withJacqueline.
As the time drew nearer for the wedding, Freke's continued presence atBarn Elms became more marked. He did not avoid Throckmorton any longer,who thought no more of it than he did of Jack's frequent visits. Jackhad quite got over any chagrin or disappointment he might have felt, andwas kindness and attention itself to Jacqueline. Throckmorton sometimesfelt annoyed and discouraged at seeing how much more Jacqueline had incommon with Jack than with himself. They were on the terms of a brotherand sister--Jack teasing and joking, yet unvaryingly kind to her, andJacqueline always overflowing with talk to him, while with Throckmortonshe was sometimes at a loss for words. But one glance from her darkeyes--that peculiar witching glance that had fixed Throckmorton'sattention on her that very first Sunday in church--could always makeamends to him. As for Freke, he came and went with his violin under hisarm, and nobody attached any importance to him except Judith, whohonored him with the same still, guarded ill-will that Freke perfectlyrecognized, and did not apparently trouble himself about. His eternalpresence in the house was a nightmare to Judith. She wondered if hewould keep on that way after Jacqueline was gone--when Jacqueline wasmistress of Millenbeck; but she could not dwell on that without atightening at her heart. At all events, it would soon be over.
Mrs. Temple had at last got interested in the wedding preparations, andeverything was going on famously until about two weeks before thewedding, when one day General Temple got a letter. There was to be areunion of Beverley's old command at Richmond, and it was desired thatthe Temple family should attend.
Such a request was sacred in the eyes of General and Mrs. Temple. It wasat once decided that General Temple must go, and he insisted that Mrs.Temple should go also. She was only too willing. Inconvenient as itmight otherwise be to leave home, the idea of having Beverley talked of,eulogized, remembered, was too near the idolatrous mother's heart to beforegone. The invitation also included Judith, but it was clearlyimpossible for both Judith and Mrs. Temple to leave Barn Elms at thesame time just then; so it was quickly settled, to Judith's infiniterelief, that Mrs. Temple should be the one to go. Mrs. Temple was helpedto a decision by the reflection that Judith, being young and handsome,it was not impossible that some miscreant might suggest the possibilityof her marrying again; and, without uttering this impious thought, ithad its influence upon her. So it was fixed that, within a day or two,they were to start, and would be gone probably four days. Throckmortonwas vexed at the decision--vexed at the entire readiness to sacrificeJacqueline's convenience to that of the dead and gone Beverley. But hewisely said nothing; in a little while Jacqueline would have some onethat would always consider her first. But suddenly Jacqueline raised atempest by declaring that she wanted to go with her father and mother asfar as a certain station on the railroad, near Richmond, and thence topay a visit to her Aunt Susan Steptoe. Now, Jacqueline had never showedthe slightest fondness for this Aunt Steptoe, and, in fact, wassingularly lacking in family affection, after the Virginia pattern,which takes in a whole family connection. Consequently, the notion wasthe more remarkable. When it was first broached, it was simplypooh-poohed by the general, and calmly ignored by Mrs. Temple. Judithlooked at her with reproachful eyes.
"You know, Jacqueline, there is no earthl
y reason for such a whim; and Iam sure Major Throckmorton would not like it."
"It's of no consequence what Major Throckmorton thinks about it!" criedJacqueline, unterrified by a warning light in Judith's eye--it alwaysmade Judith angry when Jacqueline spoke slightingly of Throckmorton.
But Jacqueline held to her notion with the most singular and startlingpertinacity. Usually a word or two from Judith would bring her back tothe basis of common sense; but in this case, nothing Judith could saywould alter Jacqueline's determination. She was tired of weddingclothes--tired of Barn Elms--tired of everybody; in fact, she made nosecret to Judith of being tired of Throckmorton, and wanting to escapefrom him for a time, if only for four days. She forced her mother tolisten to her, and would take no denial. At last she hit upon theargument to move Mrs. Temple. It was the last request she had to makeuntil she was married, and, if Mrs. Temple could do so much for the deadBeverley, she certainly could not refuse this trifling request from theliving Jacqueline. Mrs. Temple turned pale at this; and she faltered outthat, childish and unreasonable as the scheme was, she wouldagree--provided Throckmorton gave his consent.
That night, when Throckmorton came for his usual visit, Jacqueline methim at the hall-door with a tenderness that surprised and charmed him.It was so sweet, he could hardly believe it to be true. But, before theevening was over, Jacqueline demanded payment in the shape of hisconsent that she should pay this little visit to her Aunt Susan.
"Damn Aunt Susan!" was Throckmorton's inward remark at this; and hemanaged to convey practically the same idea to Jacqueline. But it did nogood. Jacqueline had the scheme in her head, and it must be carried out.It was in vain that Throckmorton reasoned gently with her. He had oftenheard that weak women were the most intractable in the world, and therecollection made him wince when he saw how dense this lovely youngcreature was to common sense. But she was so ineffably pretty--sheleaned her bright head on his shoulder and pleaded--and, of course,after a while, Throckmorton yielded, ostensibly because Jacqueline askedhim so sweetly, but really because she was utterly impervious to reason.
When the consent was at last wheedled out of him, Throckmorton felt soreat heart and humiliated. He also felt, for a brave man, a littlefrightened. How often was this sort of thing going to happen? It wastrue that, after he was married, he could use his authority asJacqueline's husband to prevent her from doing anything particularlyfoolish, but it did not please him that he should rule his wife as ifshe were a child. Jacqueline saw nothing of Throckmorton's secretdissatisfaction; but Judith, with the clairvoyance of love, saw it in aninstant. For the first time in her life, she followed him out into thehall, where he was getting into his overcoat, with rather a blackcountenance.
"Don't be troubled about it," she said, in her charming way. "She is soyoung--she will learn so much from you!"
Throckmorton took Judith's hand in his. She made no resistance thistime--that quick inner sense told her instinctively that there wassomething comforting to him in her gentle and womanly clasp. He lookedat her with a somber expression on his face that gradually lightened.
"Do you think she will ever be different?"
"Yes," cried Judith, gayly. "How perfectly ignorant you are of love! Ideclare you are worse than Jacqueline. It's the greatest reformer in theworld--the most cunning teacher as well. It will teach Jacqueline allshe ought to know; but it can't do it at once."
"But does she love me?" asked Throckmorton, smiling a little.
"How could she help it?" answered Judith, turning her head archly, andimplying that Throckmorton considered himself a lady-killer--which madehim laugh, and sent him off home in a little better humor with the worldand himself.
Meanwhile, back in the drawing-room, Jacqueline was having aconversation with Simon Peter, who was raking down the fire for thenight. General and Mrs. Temple had left the room. Usually Jacquelineslipped off to bed an hour before they did; but to-night she lingered,standing over the fire with one little foot on the brass fender.
"How does it look to-night, Uncle Simon?" she asked, meaning how did thesky look, and what were the chances for good weather.
"Hit looks mighty cu'rus to me, Miss Jacky," answered Simon Peter, in aqueer sort of a voice that made Jacqueline stare at him. "I seed twotuckey-buzzards flyin' ober de house tog'er'r--and dat's a sign--"
"A sign of what?"
"A sign 'tain' gwi' be no weddin' at Barn Elms dis year."
Jacqueline turned a little pale. It had not been a great many yearssince she had fully believed every one of Simon Peter's signs and omens;and even now, his solemn prophecies sent a chill to her childish heart.
"An'," continued Simon Peter, advancing and raising a propheticforefinger, "dis heah night I done heah de owls hootin' 'Tu-whoo,tu-whoo, tu-whoo!'--three times, dat ar way--dat doan' means nuttin'but a funeral, when owls hoots dat away."
Jacqueline shuddered.
"O Uncle Simon, hush!"
"I tole you kase you arsk me," replied Simon Peter, stolidly; and atthat moment Delilah came in.
"O mammy," cried Jacqueline, fairly bursting into tears, "you don't knowwhat awful signs and things Uncle Simon has been seeing--funerals, andbuzzards, and no wedding!"
"He have, have he!" snapped Delilah, with wrath and menace. "SimonPeter, he su't'ny is de foolishest nigger I ever seed. He ain' nevergot 'ligion good; he allus wuz a blackslider, an' heah he come skeerin'my little missy ter def wid he buzzards an' he things!"
Simon Peter, who bore this marital assault with meekness, copied fromGeneral Temple, only remarked sheepishly:
"I done see de signs; an', Miss Jacky, she arsk me, an' I done tole her'bout de two buzzards."
"Wid de tails tied tog'er'r, I reckon!" answered Delilah, with witheringsarcasm; "an' maybe dey wuz gwi' fly ter Doc Wortley's ter see efanybody gwi' die soon.--Doan' you min' Simon Peter, honey; jes' come widmammy up-sty'ars an' she holp you to ondress an' put you in yo' bed."
Jacqueline went off, and in half an hour was tucked snugly in the greatfour-poster. But she would not let Delilah leave her. She kept herpulling the window-curtains this way and that, then raking down the firebecause the light from the blazing logs hurt her eyes, and thenstirring the flames into a blaze so that she might see the shadows onthe wall. At last, however, Delilah got out, Jacqueline calling afterher disconsolately:
"O mammy, do you believe in the two buzzards flying--"
"You jes' shet dat little mouf, an' go ter sleep, honey," was Delilah'ssensible reply, as she went out.
The next day the whole party got off, General Temple leaving directionsenough behind him to last if he were going to Turkey instead of toRichmond. Jacqueline at the last seemed loath to part from Judith. Shesaid good-by half a dozen times, and wept a little at parting. Therewould be no need of letters, as they would only be gone four days.Jacqueline was to stop off at the station, and join her father andmother there on their return from Richmond, getting home ten days beforethe wedding. There was some talk of asking Mrs. Sherrard to come overand stay with Judith during the absence of General and Mrs. Temple, butJudith protested. With her child she would not suffer for company, andthe work on Jacqueline's wedding-dress would keep her busily employed,while Delilah and Simon Peter were protection enough for her at night.Besides this, Throckmorton and Jack would be over every day to lookafter her. When it was all arranged, Judith felt a sensation ofgladness. She would have four days in which she would not be compelledto play her silent and desperate part. She could weep all night withoutthe fear that Mrs. Temple's clear eyes would notice how pale and wornshe was in the morning; she could relax a little the continual tensionon her nerves, her feelings, her expression. So, when they were gone,she came back into the lonely house, and, leaving Beverley with hismammy, went up to her own room, and taking out the white silkwedding-gown went to work on it with a pale, unhappy face; she had darednot show an unhappy face before.
The day passed quickly enough, and the short winter afternoon closed in.Judith would no longer take time for her u
sual afternoon walk; everymoment must be devoted to Jacqueline's gown. About eight o'clock, asshe sat in the drawing-room, stitching away, while overhead in herown room Delilah watched the little Beverley as he slept, she heardThrockmorton's step upon the porch. As she heard it, she gave a slightstart, and put her hand on her heart--something she always felt aninvoluntary inclination to do, and which she had to watch herself toprevent. Throckmorton came in, and greeted her with his usual gracefulkindness.
"I thought I would come over and see that nobody stole you andBeverley," he said.
"There's no danger for me," answered Judith; "but for a beautiful boylike my boy--why, he's always in danger of being stolen."
Throckmorton scoffed at this.
In five minutes they were seated together, having the first real_tete-a-tete_ of their lives. Judith sat under the mellow gleam of thetall, old-fashioned lamp, the light falling on her chestnut hair andblack dress and the billowy expanse of white silk spread over her lap,making high white lights and rich shadows. Throckmorton had oftenadmired her as she sewed. Sewing was a peculiarly gracious and feminineemployment, he thought, and Judith's sewing, when he saw it, was alwayssomething artistic like what she was now doing. Throckmorton lay back inone corner of the great sofa, his feet stretched out to the fire. Theytalked occasionally, but there were long stretches of silence when theonly sound was the crackling of the wood-fire and the dropping of theembers. Yet the unity was complete; there is no companionship so realas that which admits of perfect silence. Throckmorton, on the whole,though, talked more than usual. Something in Judith always inspired himto speak of things that he rarely mentioned at all. They talked a littleof Jacqueline, but there were innumerable subjects on which they foundthemselves in sympathy. The evening passed quickly for both. WhenThrockmorton had gone, and the house was shut up for the night, Judithfelt that she had passed the evening in a sort of shadowy happiness; itwould have been happiness itself, except that in ten days more it wouldbe wrong even to think of Throckmorton.
Two days more passed. Every evening Throckmorton found himself makinghis way toward Barn Elms. Each evening passed in the same quiet, simplefashion, but yet there was something different to Throckmorton fromany evenings he had ever spent in his life. As for Judith, after thefirst one, she began to look forward with feverish eagerness to theevening. She lived all day in expectation of that two hours' talk withThrockmorton. She dressed for him; she hurried little Beverley to bedthat she might be ready for him. Her eyes assumed a new brilliancy, andshe became handsomer day by day.
On the day that the general and Mrs. Temple were to leave for home aletter arrived from Mrs. Temple. The general had been seized with anacute attack of gout, and it would probably take two or three daysnursing to bring him around, so that they would not be home until thelast of the week. Mrs. Temple had written to Jacqueline, and would writeagain in a day or two, notifying Judith when to send to the riverlanding for them. The delay was peculiarly inconvenient then, but it wasGod's will. Mrs. Temple never had any trouble in reconciling herself toGod's will, except where Beverley was concerned.
Not a line had been received from Jacqueline. It did not surpriseJudith, because Jacqueline hated letter-writing; but Throckmortonadmitted, in an embarrassed way, that he had written to her, but she hadnot answered his letter.
During all this time Freke had not put in an appearance, for whichJudith was devoutly thankful.
On the fifth evening that Throckmorton went his way to Barn Elms, itoccurred to him that he went there oftener when Jacqueline was away thanwhen she was there, and he was glad there were no gossiping tongues towag about it. But luckily little Beverley, Delilah, and Simon Peter werethe only three persons who knew where Throckmorton spent his evenings,and none of them were either carping or critical.
He found Judith as usual in the drawing-room, and as usual embroideringon the wedding-dress. But there was something strange about herappearance; she looked altogether different from what she usuallydid--more girlish, more unrestrained. Throckmorton could not make it outfor a long time. Then he said, suddenly, "You have left off your widow'scap."
Judith let her hands fall into her lap, and looked at him withglittering eyes.
"Yes," she said, calmly. "I grew intolerably tired of being a hypocrite,and to-night I determined for once to be my true self, so I laid asidemy widow's cap. I believe, if I had owned a white gown, I should haveput it on."
Throckmorton was so startled that he rose to his feet. Judith rose, too,letting the white silk fall in a heap on the floor.
"Are you surprised?" she asked, with suppressed excitement. "Well, so amI. But I will tell you--what I never dared breathe before--I am no truewidow to Beverley Temple's memory. I never loved him. I married himbecause--because I did not know any better, I suppose. I spent twomiserable weeks as his wife. I was beginning to find out--and then hewent away, and almost before I realized it, he was killed." Shehesitated for a moment; the picture of Throckmorton and Beverley intheir life-and-death struggle came quickly before her eyes. Throckmortonwas too dazed, astounded, confounded, to open his mouth. He only lookedat her as she stood upright, trembling and red and pale by turns.
"I had no friends but General and Mrs. Temple; he was my guardian. Youknow, I had neither father nor mother, brother nor sister. I felt themost acute remorse for Beverley, and the most intense pity for him, cutoff as he was, and I fancied I felt the profoundest grief. One suffersin sympathy, you know, and, when I saw his mother's pitiable sorrow, itmade me feel sorry too. The world--_my_ world--saw me a broken-heartedwidow--a widow while I was almost a bride. Don't you think any womanof feeling would have done as I did--tried to atone to the man I hadmistakenly married by being true to his memory? I determined to devotemy life to his father and mother; and, in some way I can't explain,except that you know how Mrs. Temple is, I pretended that my heart wasbroken; but I tell you, Beverley Temple never touched my heart, eitherin life or death, although I did not know it then. But for--for sometime the deceit has lain heavy upon me. I am tired of pretending to bewhat I am not. I wish for life, for love, for happiness."
She stopped and threw herself into a chair with an _abandon_ thatThrockmorton had never seen before. Still, he did not utter a word. ButJudith knew that he was keenly observing her, feeling for her, and evendeeply moved by what she told him.
"So to-night the feeling was so strong upon me, I took off my widow'scap and threw it on the floor; it was a sudden impulse, just as I wasleaving my room, and I took Beverley's picture from around my neck, andI didn't have the courage to throw it in the fire as I wanted to; Ionly"--with a nervous laugh--"put it in my pocket."
She took the picture from her dress and handed it him. Throckmortonreceived it mechanically, but, the instant his eyes fell upon it, hiscountenance changed. In a moment or two he said, in an indescribablevoice:
"I know this face well; he was killed on the 14th of April. I shallnever forget that face to my dying day."
"I know all about it," responded Judith, rising and coming toward him;"Freke told me."
Her excitement was no longer suppressed, and Throckmorton was deeplyagitated. He took Judith's hand.
"But did he tell you all? _I_ did not fire the shot that killed yourhusband; it was fired by one of his own men--probably aimed for me. Inever succeeded in drawing my pistol at all. The first I knew, in thosefrightful moments, was when he shrieked and threw up his arms. I thoughthe would never breathe again."
"But he lived some hours," continued Judith, "and--and--I thought it wasyou, and I ought to have hated you for it, but I could not; I could not;and now, God is so good!"
She dropped into a chair. Throckmorton felt as if the world were comingto an end, his ideas about Judith were being so quickly and strangelytransformed. He was too stupefied to speak, and for five minutes therewas a dead silence between them. Then Throckmorton's strong common senseawoke. He went to her and took her hand.
"For your own sake, for your child's sake, be careful. Do not tell a
nyone what you have told me. The penalty of deception is great, and yourpenalty will be to keep it up a little while longer. When I am marriedto Jacqueline, you will have a friend, a home. Then, if you want to takeoff those black garments, to be yourself, you may count on me; but, forthe present, be prudent. You are so impulsive."
But Judith now was weeping violently and accusing herself. The reactionhad come. Throckmorton felt strangely thrilled by her emotion. Hecomforted her, he held her hands, and even pressed kisses on them. In afew minutes he had soothed her. The old habits of self-control came backto her. She rallied bravely, and in half an hour she was quite composed.But it was the composure of despair. She remembered, then, hadThrockmorton but loved her, the only obstacle between them would havebeen shown to be imaginary.
Throckmorton stayed late. In spite of Judith's quietness, he feltunhappy about her. She was too quiet, too deathly pale. He felt anintense pity for her, and he feared that she and her child would notmuch longer find a home under the roof of Barn Elms.
Three days more passed. There was still no word from Jacqueline, andMrs. Temple wrote that the general's gout bade fair to be a much moreserious matter than they had first anticipated. It might be that thewedding--which was to be of the quietest sort--might have to bepostponed. But that was nothing to Mrs. Temple and the general, whoreveled in the luxury of a meeting where Beverley was remembered,praised, and eulogized as can be done only by Southerners. Nor did itseem to matter to Jacqueline. In fact, Throckmorton and Judith appearedto be the only persons particularly interested in it. As for Freke, hehad not been seen by either of them since the day the Barn Elms peopleleft.
Throckmorton continued to spend his evenings at Barn Elms. The idea ofJudith sitting solitary and alone in the drawing-room the whole long,dull evening, drew him irresistibly. Not one line had Jacquelinewritten, either to him or to Judith. Nor had Throckmorton written againto her. He was not the man to give a woman more than one opportunity tosnub him. In his heart he was cruelly mortified; his pride, of which hehad much, was hurt. He feared that it was a part of that arrogance whichfirst youth shows to maturity.
On the eighth day after Jacqueline's departure something like alarmbegan to possess Judith. She called it superstition, and tried to put itaway from her. The day had been dull and gloomy--a fine, drizzling rainfalling. The flat, monotonous landscape looked inexpressibly dreary inthe gray mist that hung low over the trees. It was dark long before sixo'clock. The night had closed in, and Judith, sitting alone in thedrawing-room, had risen to light the lamp, when she heard the front dooropen softly, and the next instant she recognized Jacqueline's peculiarlight step--so light that even Mrs. Temple's keen ears could not alwaysdetect it when fits of restlessness seized the girl at night, and shewould walk up and down her room over her mother's head. And in a momentJacqueline came into the room, and up to Judith, and looked at her withstrange, agonized eyes.
The surprise, the shock of seeing her at that hour and in that way, wasextreme; and Judith's first words as her hands fell on Jacqueline'sshoulder were:
"Jacqueline, you are wet through."
"I know it," answered Jacqueline, in a voice as unlike her own as herlooks; "I have been out in the rain for hours and hours!"
"What is the matter with you?" cried Judith, taking hold of her."Something dreadful has happened!"
"Dreadful enough for me!" replied Jacqueline, white and dry-eyed.
"What is it?" Judith was not easily frightened, but she trembled as shespoke.
"Everything!" answered Jacqueline. "In the first place, I have leftFreke. That broke my heart!"
"Left Freke!"
"Yes. I didn't go to Aunt Steptoe's. I got off at the station and Frekewas there. He took me to a minister's and got him to marry us. The mancould hardly read and write, and he said something about a license; butFreke gave him fifty dollars, and he performed the ceremony."
Judith caught hold of her, to see if she were really in the flesh,talking in this way.
"Don't hold me so hard, Judith. I will tell you all I can; but I feel asif I should die, I am so weak and ill--" and she suddenly began to coughviolently. Judith ran and got her a glass of wine. The first idea in hermind was, not the poor, deluded child, but Throckmorton.
"But where is Freke--and your father and mother?--O Jacqueline,Jacqueline!"
"Don't reproach me, Judith. But for you I would never have returned. Myfather and mother know nothing about it. Freke found out they were yetin Richmond. If they had been at Barn Elms, I don't think I ever wouldhave had the courage to come back. The feeling soon came to me that Ihad committed a great wrong in marrying Freke; and then--and then--hetold me perhaps we weren't married at all in Virginia, and so I wouldhave to go with him out to the place--somewhere in the West--and bemarried to him straight and right."
"If Freke had never committed any other wrong in his whole life, histelling you that made him deserve to be killed!" cried Judith.
"Don't say a word against Freke," said Jacqueline, a new anger blazingup in her eyes. "I love Freke; it almost kills me when I think I maynever see him again, for I ran away from him. At first I thought all thetime of the trouble I should bring upon you all. I could see my father'sgray head sink down in his hands. I could imagine how my mother wouldshut herself up in her room as she did when Beverley died. They hadalways thought so little of me that it gave me a kind of triumph when Iremembered, 'They'll have to think about me now!'"
"And Throckmorton?"
"I never thought about him at all. As Freke said, he was entirely tooold for me. But I will not speak of him. He knew I never loved him--orhe ought to have known it. Then, when Freke found out that mamma andpapa were still in Richmond, it came to me like a flash that I could gethome, and I was sure of one friend, and only one in the worldnow--yourself. And I thought you were so clever you could manage to keepanybody from finding out where I had been. I seemed to hear your voicecalling to me all the time, and every moment it seemed to crush me moreand more that Freke was a divorced man, and that, however he might sayhe was free, he was not. So, we were staying at a little town throughwhich the railroad passed, and Freke had to go into Richmond yesterdayto get some money, and my conscience suddenly rose up and tortured me,and I couldn't stay another moment--and, mind you, Judith, I love Freke.So I took the train all alone, and made the boat, and landed at OakPoint about twelve o'clock. I pretended to be surprised that nobody wasthere to meet me, and said I would walk as far as Turkey Thicket--youknow it is only a little way from the landing. But, of course, I didnot. Then I was so afraid that some one would see me that, instead oftaking the main road, I came through the fields and by-paths. I believeI have walked ten miles instead of six, from Oak Point--and it wasraining, too. I was nearly frightened out of my life--frightened bynegroes and stray dogs, and afraid that I should see Freke every momentbefore me, and, if he should overtake me, I knew I should go back withhim. I can no more resist him when he is with me than I can stopbreathing. Well, with weakness--for I felt ill from the moment Istarted--and with fear, and being so tired, and the rain, I thought Ishould die before I reached here. But now I am home--home!--"Jacqueline's voice rose in a piteous cry. She had been weeping all thetime, but now she burst into a perfect tempest of sobs and tears thatshook her like a leaf.
In her quiet life Judith had never been brought face to face with anyterrible emergency, and this one unnerved and horrified her so that fora time she was as helpless as Jacqueline. She walked the floor,struggling with the wild impulse to send for Throckmorton; that he alonecould tell them what to do; and else she and the poor child would sinkunder the horror of the situation, for to her simple and straightforwardmind both conscience and the social code were unalterably opposed toconsidering a divorced man as a single man. But some instinct of commonsense saved her--saved her even from calling Delilah, and caused her toface the thing alone. She gave Jacqueline brandy, she rubbed hervigorously; she even got her up-stairs alone and into her bed. By thattime the violence of her emotions
was spent; Jacqueline lay in the largefour-poster perfectly calm and white. After a while even a sense ofphysical well-being seemed to possess her; warmth and light andstimulation had their effect. She fell into a heavy sleep, but Judithwas terrified to notice her pallor give place to a crimson flush on herface, and her icy hands grow burning hot. By that time Judith'scomposure had partly returned. She called Delilah, who came inwondering, and told her briefly that Jacqueline had come homeunexpectedly and was not well, without mentioning how she had come fromthe river-landing. Delilah, who was not of a curious turn, saw forherself that part of Judith's statement was true, for Jacqueline had aburning fever. It was impossible to get Dr. Wortley before morning, but,like most women who live in the country, Judith could cope with ordinaryailments, and, whenever the doctor was called in, he always found thatthe proper thing had been done beforehand.
But, besides Jacqueline's undeniable illness, the thought that tormentedJudith was how to keep the dreadful thing that had happened fromJacqueline's father and mother and from the world. It must inevitablycome out that she had not been near Mrs. Steptoe's, and only the factthat Jacqueline was a poor correspondent had kept it from being knownalready. On the impulse of the moment, Judith sat down and wrote Mrs.Steptoe a letter, begging her, for General and Mrs. Temple's sake, notto mention until she heard further from Barn Elms, that Jacqueline hadnot been with her; and as she wrote hurriedly and nervously, she couldhear Jacqueline's heavy and fitful breathing. Some simple remedies hadbeen applied, but Judith knew that the best thing for her was to sleep,and so her troubled slumber was undisturbed except by her own feverishmutterings. All the time it hung like a sword over Judith. "What willThrockmorton say?" for, of course, he must be the first one to know it;there could be no mercy in deceiving him. Judith, sitting before thefire, gazing into it with troubled eyes and aching heart, beganthinking, pitying, praying for Throckmorton. Yes, it would be afrightful blow to him. There would be no need for the wedding-gown now.As this thought occurred to her, Judith rose and, going softly towardthe wardrobe where she kept her dainty work, took out the dress, and,unwrapping it from the white cloth in which she laid it away socarefully every night, spread it over her knees. How much love, despair,and torture had been worked into that embroidery! "It is so pretty, itis a pity it can't be used," she said to herself, absently, turning thesilk about in her fingers; and at that moment she heard a choking,gurgling sound from the bed. Jacqueline was half sitting up, her headsupported on her arm, and a thin stream of blood was trickling from herlips.
Judith, who for once lost her presence of mind, ran toward the bed, and,supporting Jacqueline's head, called loudly for help. In her haste shehad thrown the dress almost across Jacqueline, and a few drops of bloodfell upon it.
"Look, look!" gasped Jacqueline; "my dress is being ruined!"
Judith heard Delilah running up the stairs in response to her frightenedcall, but Jacqueline's eyes had such a strange expression in them thatshe asked her involuntarily, as she tremblingly supported her:
"Jacqueline, do you know me?"
"Perfectly," answered Jacqueline. "I know everything about me."
Delilah, who was a natural-born nurse, was as calm as Judith wasagitated.
"'Tain' nuttin' tall, chile; 'scusin' 'tis er leetle speck o' blood fumyo' th'oat. I kin stop it righter way"; and, sure enough, in ten minutesshe had applied some simple remedy and the blood ceased to flow.Meanwhile Jacqueline, unable to speak, had motioned eagerly andviolently to Judith to remove the white silk dress. Judith threw it on achair. Jacqueline's eyes filled with tears.
"It is such a pity to have it ruined--and one's wedding-dress, too!"
"Hush-hush! you must not talk," cried Judith.
The flow of blood apparently was a trifle, and in a little whileJacqueline lay back in the great, old-fashioned bed silent, deadlywhite, but composed.
Judith, with overflowing eyes, folded up the white dress, but she couldnot prevent some tears falling on it, and the dress, already stainedwith blood, was also stained with tears. The thought of Jacqueline,though, could not banish the thought of Throckmorton; the more so whenJacqueline, beckoning, brought Judith close to her. Judith thought shewanted something for her comfort.
"_You_ must tell him; he will take it better from you."
Jacqueline, lying wide awake in the bed, and Judith, sitting by her,holding her hand, were both expectant of Throckmorton. At last, abouthalf-past eight, his firm step was heard on the porch. Judith's heartleaped into her mouth; she did not exactly take in all the bearings ofwhat Jacqueline had told her, or whether she was or was not married toFreke; and Throckmorton, with his knowledge of affairs, would know all.
She rose silently and went down-stairs, leaving Delilah with Jacqueline.Throckmorton was standing before the fire in the drawing-room. There wassomething in his determined eye and in his tone as he spoke to her thatstruck a chill to Judith's heart.
"Jacqueline, has come, you know," she said.
"Yes, Simon Peter told me so at the door. It does not surprise me."
Judith remained silent for a few moments, when Throckmorton, suddenlywheeling toward her, and looking her straight in the face, said, curtly:
"What is all this? She never was near Mrs. Steptoe's. I found out, byhaving my letter returned to me by Mrs. Steptoe herself. What has madeher ill? Don't tremble so, but tell me--you know I have a right to knowit all."
But Judith continued to be silent and to tremble. She even began toweep; but Throckmorton, taking her hand, said, firmly:
"There must be no concealments."
His own stern composure controlled Judith's agitation.
"All?" she asked, faintly.
"Yes--all!" he answered.
When Throckmorton used an authoritative tone with her, he could alwayscompel her; and so, scarcely knowing how she did it, with tears andsobs, and faint deprecations for Jacqueline, she told him all. Shenoticed Throckmorton's dark skin growing paler and paler; he began tognaw his iron-gray mustache--always a sign of extreme agitation withhim.
"Now, tell me this--collect your thoughts and don't cry so--doesshe--does she love that--" He could not bring himself to utter Freke'sname.
Judith remained silent. Throckmorton, in his determination to make heranswer, seized her arm. It hurt her so that she could have cried out,but she made no sound.
"Tell me!" he said, in a voice and manner so unlike his own gentlecourtesy, that Judith could scarcely have recognized it. But Judith wasobstinately silent. Nevertheless, she lifted her eyes to his with soeloquent a plea for mercy for Jacqueline, that he was unconsciouslysoftened.
"You will not tell me!" he said, relaxing his fierce hold. "I can't makeyou answer--you have a spirit like a soldier. But it makes no differencenow whether she loves him or not. If she were free to-morrow, I couldkill her with my own hands easier than I could marry her!--and yet--Iloved her well."
"But," cried Judith, putting her hand on his arm in her eagerness,"something must be done. It must be managed so that people shall notknow it, until her father and mother have decided what is to be done. Itwill almost kill them!"
"Yes. But if you can manage with Mrs. Steptoe--"
"I have already written to her."
"I am no lawyer, but it seems to me that it rests with Jacquelinewhether it is a marriage or not. But General and Mrs. Temple wouldrather see her in her grave than married to any divorced man--and tohim!"
"And there is a good deal of doubt about his divorce, I believe," addedJudith.
"There is at present nothing to be done. General and Mrs. Temple will nodoubt be here as soon as possible; it is hardly worth while to alarmthem. Is she very ill, do you think?"
"I don't know--Jacqueline was always delicate. And--what of him--ofFreke?" continued Judith, in a trembling voice. "Is there to be nopunishment for him?"
Like a woman, Judith could not look at the case in its practical light;but like a man, Throckmorton, in the midst of his horror, grief, andsurprise, yet retained his ba
lance.
"Any punishment of him would react on her--to have her name made publicwith his--Good God! But there is no power on earth to keep GeneralTemple from committing some frightful folly when he knows of it."
This was a new horror to Judith. A painful pause followed. Then Judithsaid:
"How like Freke it was--how perfectly reckless of consequences! He isunlike any man I ever saw or heard of. I believe, in his strange way, heloves Jacqueline; but what does any one know of such a man!"
The absence of vindictiveness toward Freke, on Throckmorton's part,surprised Judith; but, in truth, he scarcely thought of Freke: acreature as weak and impressionable as Jacqueline was bound to succumbto the first overmastering influence. Throckmorton himself had neverbeen able to get any real influence over her. Presently Judith said:
"One thing I do know--she wants your forgiveness."
"She has it, poor child!"
Then there was another pause. Throckmorton, after a while, rose to go.
"If you want anything, send for me. I shall be over early in themorning." He hesitated a moment, and then said: "This has been astrange experience for me; but it is over--" And then, as if checking aconfession, went out of the room and out of the house.
When Judith went up-stairs, Jacqueline was still sleeping, but presentlyshe wakened, and turned her lovely, troubled eyes on Judith.
"He is very sorry, Jacqueline, and he forgives you and will trouble youno more," she whispered. A look of relief came into Jacqueline's face.She closed her eyes as if to sleep.