Part 4

_Bartlett_, restored to consciousness and confusion:--"Thanks; I think it will be better." He rises, and in his embarrassment draws a chair to the spot on which he has been kneeling, and sits down very close to her. He keeps the fan in his hand, as he talks: "It's rather nice out there, Miss Wyatt,--there on the island. You must be rowed out as soon as you can stand it. The General would like it."

_Constance._--"Is it a large place, the island?"

_Bartlett._--"About two acres, devoted exclusively to golden-rod and granite. The fact is, I was going to make a little study of golden-rod and granite, there. You shall visit the Fortunate Isle in my sketch, this afternoon, and see whether you'd like to go, really. People camp out there in the summer. Who knows, but if you keep on--gaining--this way, you may yet feel like camping out there yourself before you go away? You do begin to feel better, don't you? Everybody cries up this air."

_Constance._--"It's very pleasant; it seems fine and pure. Is the island a pretty place?"

_Bartlett_, glancing out at it over his shoulder:--"Well, you get the best of it from the parlour window, here. Not that it's so bad when you're on it; there's a surly, frugal, hard-headed kind of beauty about it,--like the local human nature--and it has its advantages. If you were camping out there, you could almost provision yourself from the fish and wild fowl of the surrounding waters,--supposing any of your party liked to fish or shoot. Does your father like shooting?"

_Constance._--"No, I don't believe he cares for it."

_Bartlett._--"I'm glad of that. I shall be spared the painful hospitality of pointing out the best places for ducks." At an inquiring look from Constance: "I'm glad for their sakes, not mine; _I_ don't want to kill them."

_Constance_, with grave mistrust:--"Not like shooting?"

_Bartlett._--"No, I think it's the sneakingest sort of assassination; it's the pleasure of murder without the guilt. If you must kill, you ought to be man enough to kill something that you'll suffer remorse for. Do you consider those atrocious sentiments, Miss Wyatt? I assure you that they're entirely my own."

_Constance_, blankly.--"I wasn't thinking--I was thinking--I supposed you liked shooting."

_Bartlett_, laughing uneasily.--"How did you get that impression?"

_Constance_, evasively.--"I thought all gentlemen did."

_Bartlett._--"They do in this region. It's the only thing that can comfort them in affliction. The other day our ostler's brother lost his sweetheart--she died, poor girl--and the ostler and another friend had him over here to cheer him up. They took him to the stable, and whittled round among the stalls with him half the forenoon, and let him rub down some of the horses; they stood him out among the vegetables and let him gather some of the new kind of potato-bugs; they made him sit in the office with his feet on top of the stove; they played billiards with him; but he showed no signs of resignation till they borrowed three squirrel-guns and started with him to the oak woods yonder. That seemed to 'fetch' him. You should have seen them trudging off together with their guns all aslant,--this way,--the stricken lover in the middle!" Bartlett rises to illustrate, and then at the deepening solemnity of Constance's face he desists in sudden dismay: "Miss Wyatt, I've shocked you!"

_Constance._--"Oh, no--no!"

_Bartlett._--"It _was_ shocking. I wonder how I could do it! I--I thought it would amuse you."

_Constance_, mournfully.--"It did, thank you, very much." After a pause: "I didn't know you liked--joking."

_Bartlett._--"Ah! I don't believe I do--all kinds. Good Lord--I beg your pardon." Bartlett turns away with an air of guilty consciousness, and goes to the window and looks out, Constance's gaze following him: "It's a wonderful day!" He comes back toward her: "What a pity you couldn't be carried there in your chair!"

_Constance._--"I'm not equal to that yet." Presently: "Then you--like--nature?"

_Bartlett._--"Why, that's mere shop in a landscape painter. I get my bread and butter by her. At least I ought to have some feeling of gratitude."

_Constance_, hastily.--"Of course, of course. It's very stupid of me, asking."

_Bartlett_, with the desperate intention of grappling with the situation.--"I see you have a passion for formulating, classifying people, Miss Wyatt. That's all very well, if one's characteristics were not so very characteristic of everybody else. But I generally find in my moments of self-consciousness, when I've gone round priding myself that such and such traits are my peculiar property, that the first man I meet has them all and as many more, and isn't the least proud of them. I dare say you don't see anything very strange in them, so far."

_Constance_, musingly.--"Oh, yes; very strange indeed. They're all--wrong!"

_Bartlett._--"Well! I don't know--I'm very sorry-- Then you consider it wrong not to like shooting and to be fond of joking and nature, and"--

_Constance_, bewilderedly.--"Wrong? Oh no!"

_Bartlett._--"Oh, I'm glad to hear it. But you just said it was."

_Constance_, slowly recalling herself, with a painful blush, at last.--"I meant--I meant I didn't expect any of those things of you."

_Bartlett_, with a smile.--"Well, on reflection, I don't know that I did, either. I think they must have come without being expected. Upon my word, I'm tempted to propose something very ridiculous."

_Constance_, uneasily.--"Yes? What is that?"

_Bartlett._--"That you'll let me try to guess _you_ out. I've failed so miserably in my own case, that I feel quite encouraged."

_Constance_, morbidly.--"I'm not worth the trouble of guessing out."

_Bartlett._--"That means no. You always mean no by yes, because you can't bear to say no. That is the mark of a very deep and darkling nature. I feel that I _could_ go on and read your mind perfectly, but I'm afraid to do it. Let's get back to myself. I can't allow that you've failed to read my mind aright; I think you were careless about it. Will you give your intuitions one more chance?"

_Constance_, with an anxious smile.--"Oh yes."

_Bartlett._--"All those traits and tastes which we both find so unexpected in me are minor matters at the most. The great test question remains. If you answer it rightly, you prove yourself a mind-reader of wonderful power; if you miss it-- The question is simply this: Do I like smoking?"

_Constance_, instantly, with a quick, involuntary pressure of her handkerchief to her delicate nostrils.--"Oh, yes, indeed!"

_Bartlett_, daunted and reddening.--"Miss Wyatt, you have been deluding me. You are really a mind-reader of great subtlety."

_Constance._--"I don't know--I can't say that it was _mind_-reading exactly." She lifts her eyes to his, and in his embarrassment he passes his hand over his forehead and then feels first in one pocket, and then in the other for his handkerchief; suddenly he twitches it forth, and with it a pipe, half a dozen cigars, and a pouch of smoking tobacco, which fly in different directions over the floor. As he stoops in dismay and sweeps together these treasures, she cries: "Oh, it didn't need all _that_ to prove it!" and breaks into a wild, helpless laugh, and striving to recover herself with many little moans and sighs behind her handkerchief, laughs on and on: "Oh, don't! I oughtn't! Oh dear, oh dear!" When at last she lies spent with her reluctant mirth, and uncovers her face, Bartlett is gone, and it is her mother who stands over her, looking down at her with affectionate misgiving.

III.

MRS. WYATT _and_ CONSTANCE.

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Laughing, Constance?"

_Constance_, with a burst of indignant tears.--"Yes, yes! Isn't it shocking? It's horrible! He made me."

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"He?"

_Constance_, beginning to laugh again.--"Mr. Bartlett; he's been here. Oh, I _wish_ I _wouldn't_ be so silly!"

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Made you? How could he make _you_ laugh, poor child?"

_Constance._--"Oh, it's a long story. It was all through my bewilderment at his resemblance. It confused me. I kept thinking it was _he_,--as if it were some dream,--and whenever this one mentioned some trait of his that totally differed from _his_, don't you know, I got more and more confused, and--mamma!"--with sudden desolation--"I know he knows all about it!"

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"I am sure he doesn't. Mr. Cummings only told him that his resemblance was a painful association. He assured your father of this, and wouldn't hear a word more. I'm certain you're wrong. But what made you think he knows?"

_Constance_, solemnly.--"He behaved just as if he didn't."

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Ah, you can't judge from that, my dear." Impressively: "Men are very different."

_Constance_, doubtfully.--"Do you think so, mamma?"

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"I'm certain of it."

_Constance_, after a pause.--"Mamma, will you help take this shawl off my feet? I am so warm. I think I should like to walk about a little. Can you see the island from the gallery?"

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Do you think you'd better try to leave your chair, Constance?"

_Constance._--"Yes, I'm stronger this morning. And I shall never gain, lounging about this way." She begins to loose the wraps from her feet, and Mrs. Wyatt coming doubtfully to her aid she is presently freed. She walks briskly towards the sofa, and sits down quite erectly in the corner of it. "There! that's pleasanter. I get so tired of being a burden." She is silent, and then she begins softly and wearily to laugh again.

_Mrs. Wyatt_, smiling curiously.--"What is it, Constance? I don't at all understand what made you laugh."

_Constance._--"Why, don't you know? Several times after I had been surprised that he didn't like this thing, and hadn't that habit and the other, he noticed it, and pretended that it was an attempt at mind-reading, and then all at once he turned and said I must try once more, and he asked, 'Do I like smoking?' and I said instantly, 'Oh, yes!' Why, it was like having a whole tobacconist's shop in the same room with you from the moment he came in; and of course he understood what I meant, and blushed, and then felt for his handkerchief, and pulled it out, and discharged a perfect volley of pipes and tobacco, that seemed to be tangled up in it, all over the floor, and then I began to laugh--so silly, so disgusting; so perfectly flat! and I thought I should _die_, it was so ridiculous! and-- Oh, dear, I'm beginning again!" She hides her face in her handkerchief and leans her head on the back of the sofa: "Say something, _do_ something to stop me, mother!" She stretches an imploring left hand toward the elder lady, who still remains apparently but half convinced of any reason for mirth, when General Wyatt, hastily entering, pauses in abrupt irresolution at the spectacle of Constance's passion.

IV.

GENERAL WYATT, CONSTANCE, _and_ MRS. WYATT.

_Constance._--"_Oh_, ha, ha, ha! Oh, _ha_, ha, ha, ha!"

_General Wyatt._--"Margaret! Constance!" At the sound of his voice, Constance starts up with a little cry, and stiffens into an attitude of ungracious silence, without looking at her father, who turns with an expression of pain toward her mother.

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Yes, James. We were laughing at something Constance had been telling me about Mr. Bartlett. Tell your father, Constance."

_Constance_, coldly, while she draws through her hand the handkerchief which she has been pressing to her eyes.--"I don't think it would amuse papa." She passes her hand across her lap, and does not lift her heavy eye-lashes.

_Mrs. Wyatt_, caressingly.--"Oh, yes, it would; I'm sure it would."

_Constance._--"You can tell it then, mamma."

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"No; you, my dear. You tell it so funnily; and"--in a lower tone--"it's so long since your father heard you laugh."

_Constance._--"There was nothing funny in it. It was disgusting. I was laughing from nervousness."

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Why, Constance"--

_General Wyatt._--"Never mind, Margaret. Another time will do." He chooses to ignore the coldness of his daughter's bearing toward himself. "I came to see if Constance were not strong enough to go out on the lake this morning. The boats are very good, and the air is so fine that I think she'll be the better for it. Mr. Bartlett is going out to the island to sketch, and"--

_Constance._--"I don't care to go."

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Do go, my daughter! I know it will do you good."

_Constance._--"I am not strong enough."

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"But you said you were better, just now; and you should yield to to your father's judgment."

_Constance._--"I will do whatever papa bids me."

_General Wyatt._--"I don't bid you. Margaret, I think I will go out with Mr. Bartlett. We will be back at dinner." He turns and leaves the room without looking again at Constance.

V.

CONSTANCE _and_ MRS. WYATT; _then_ BARTLETT.

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Oh, Constance! How can you treat your father so coldly? You will suffer some day for the pain you give him!"

_Constance._--"Suffer? No, I'm past that. I've exhausted my power of suffering."

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"You haven't exhausted your power of making others suffer."

_Constance_, crouching listlessly down upon the sofa.--"I told you that I lived only to give pain. But it's my fate, not my will. Nothing but that can excuse me."

_Mrs. Wyatt_, wringing her hands.--"Oh, oh! Well, then, give _me_ pain if you must torment somebody. But spare your father,--spare the heart that loves you so tenderly, you unhappy girl."

_Constance_, with hardness.--"Whenever I see papa, my first thought is, If he had not been so harsh and severe, it might never have happened! What can I care for his loving me when he hated _him_? Oh, _I_ will do my duty, mother; _I_ will obey; I _have_ obeyed, and I know how. Papa can't demand anything of me _now_ that isn't easy. I have forgiven everything, and if you give me time I can forget. I _have_ forgotten. I have been laughing at something so foolish, it ought to make me cry for shame."

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Constance, you try me beyond all endurance! You talk of forgiving, you talk of forgetting, you talk of that wretch! Forgive _him_, forget _him_, if you can. If he had been half a man, if he had ever cared a tithe as much for you as for himself, all the hate of all the fathers in the world could not have driven him from you. You talk of obeying"--

_Mary, the serving woman_, flying into the room.--"Oh, please, Mrs. Wyatt! There are four men carrying somebody up the hill. And General Wyatt just went down, and I can't see him anywhere, and"--

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"You're crazy, Mary! He hasn't been gone a moment; there isn't time; it can't be he!" Mrs. Wyatt rushes to the gallery that overlooks the road to verify her hope or fear, and then out of one of the doors into the corridor, while Constance springs frantically to her feet and runs toward the other door.

_Constance._--"Oh, yes, yes! It's papa! It's my dear, good, kind papa! He's dead; he's drowned; I drove him away; I murdered him! Ah-h-h-h!" She shrinks back with a shriek at sight of Bartlett, whose excited face appears at the door.--"Go! It was you, _you_ who made me hate my father! You made me kill him, and now I abhor you! I"--

_Bartlett._--"Wait! Hold on! What is it all?"

_Constance._--"Oh, forgive me! I didn't mean--I didn't know it was you, sir! But where _is_ he? Oh, take me to him! Is he dead?" She seizes his arm, and clings to it trembling.

_Bartlett._--"Dead? No, he isn't dead. He was knocked over by a team coming behind him down the hill, and was slightly bruised. There's no cause for alarm. He sent me to tell you; they've carried him to your rooms."

_Constance._--"Oh, thank Heaven!" She bows her head with a sob, upon his shoulder, and then lifts her tearful eyes to his: "Help me to get to him! I am weak." She totters and Bartlett mechanically passes a supporting arm about her. "Help me, and don't--don't leave me!" She moves with him a few paces toward the door, her head drooping; but all at once she raises her face again, stares at him, stiffly releases herself, and with a long look of reproach walks proudly away to the other door, by which she vanishes without a word.

_Bartlett_, remaining planted, with a bewildered glance at his empty arm: "Well, I wonder who and what and where I am!"

III.

DISSOLVING VIEWS.

I.

GENERAL WYATT _and_ MRS. WYATT.

In the parlour stands an easel with a canvas of inordinate dimensions upon it, and near this a small table, with a fresh box of colours in tubes, and a holiday outfit of new brushes, pallet, and other artist's materials, evidently not the property of Bartlett. Across the room from this apparatus is stretched Constance's easy-chair, towards which General Wyatt, bearing some marks of his recent accident in a bandaged wrist and a stiff leg, stumps heavily, supported by Mrs. Wyatt. Beside this chair is the centre-table of the parlour, on which are an open box of cigars, and a pile of unopened newspapers.

_General Wyatt_, dropping into the chair with a groan.--"Well, my dear! I feel uncommonly ashamed of myself, taking Constance's chair in this manner. Though there's a great consolation in thinking she doesn't need it any longer." Settling himself more comfortably in the chair, and laying his stick across his knees: "Margaret, I begin to be very happy about Constance. I haven't had so light a heart for many a long day. The last month has made a wonderful change in her. She is almost like her old self again."

_Mrs. Wyatt_, sighing.--"Yes, it seems almost too good to be true. I don't know quite what to make of it. Sometimes, I almost fear for her mind. I'm sure that half the time she forgets that Mr. Bartlett isn't that wretch, and I can see her awake with a start to the reality every little while, and then wilfully lull her consciousness to sleep again. He's terribly like. I can hardly keep from crying out at times; and yesterday I did give way: I was _so_ ashamed, and he looked so _hurt_. I see Constance restrain herself often, and I dare say there are times that we don't know of when she doesn't."

_General Wyatt._--"Well, all that may be. But it's a thing that will right itself in time. We must do our best not to worry him. This painter is a fine fellow, my dear. I took a great fancy to him at the beginning. I liked him from the moment I saw him."

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"James! You were going to strike him with your cane."

_General Wyatt._--"That was before I saw _him_. I was going to strike the other one. But that's neither here nor there. We must be careful not to hurt his feelings; that's all. We've got our Constance back again, Margaret. Impossible as it seems, we have got her back by his help. Isn't it wonderful to see that killing weight lifted from her young life? It's like a miracle."

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"It isn't lifted _all_ the time, James."

_General Wyatt._--"No matter--no matter. It isn't crushing her all the time either. I'm glad for what relief there is, and I feel that all is going well. Do you hear that step, Margaret? Listen! That's _like_ the old bounding tread of our little girl. Where is the leaden-footed phantom that used to drag along that hall? Is she coming this way?"

_Mrs. Wyatt_, listening.--"No, she is going to our rooms. Has Mr. Bartlett been here yet?"

_General Wyatt._--"Not yet. He was to come when he got back from his sketching. _What_ a good fellow, to take so much trouble for Constance's amusement! It was uncommonly kind of Mr. Bartlett, Margaret, offering to give her these lessons."

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Yes, it worries me."

_General Wyatt._--"Why in the world should it worry you, Margaret?"

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"You can't offer him any compensation for his instructions."

_General Wyatt._--"Of course not. That would be offensive. Well?"

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Well, James, can't you see how it complicates everything? He is conferring another obligation. He might almost think we tried to throw them together."

_General Wyatt_, fiercely.--"He had better not! Why, Margaret, he's a gentleman! He can't think that."

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"No, I suppose not. I suppose it's our trouble that has made me suspicious of every one." She goes sadly about the room, rearranging, with a house-keeper's instinct, everything in it.

_General Wyatt._--"You needn't trouble yourself with the room, Margaret; Mary told me that she and the landlady had put it in order."

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"That's just why I need." After a moment: "Are you going to be here, James?"

_General Wyatt._--"Yes, I thought I should stay. It's a cheerful place to read and smoke. It won't disturb them, will it?"

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Oh, no! It's quite necessary some one should stay. I'm very glad you can, for I've got a few little things to do."

_General Wyatt._--"All right. I'll stay and do the dragon, or whatever it is. But I wish you hadn't put it in that light, Margaret. I was proposing to enjoy myself."

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Enjoy yourself, James? With such a terribly perplexing affair before you!"

_General Wyatt._--"I don't see anything perplexing about it. It's perfectly simple, to my mind. Mr. Bartlett kindly proposes to give Constance a few lessons in drawing,--or painting; I don't know which it is. That's the beginning and the end of it."

_Mrs. Wyatt_, with a heavy sigh.--"Yes, that's the _beginning_."

_General Wyatt_, impatiently.--"Well?"

_Mrs. Wyatt._--"Nothing. Are you quite comfortable, here? Have you got everything you wish?"

_General Wyatt_, with a glance at the things on the table at his elbow.--"Here are my cigars, and--yes, here are the papers. Yes, I'm all right. But what do you mean by 'nothing'? What--Ah, here's Mr. Bartlett!" As Bartlett comes into the room, the General, since he cannot conveniently rise, makes a demonstration of welcome with his hands. Bartlett has his colour-box under his arm, and a canvas in his hand. "You've been improving the shining hour, I see. What have you there?"

II.

BARTLETT, GENERAL WYATT, _and_ MRS. WYATT.

_Bartlett_, with a smile and nod inclusive of Mrs. Wyatt.--"Nothing worth looking at." He goes and faces it against the wall. "Have I kept Miss Wyatt waiting?"

_Mrs. Wyatt_, anxiously.--"It's too bad you should waste your time upon her, Mr. Bartlett. I don't know why we let you."

_Bartlett._--"You can't help yourself, Mrs. Wyatt. The wrong is owing to circumstances beyond your control. If I have any virtue it is a particularly offensive form of stubbornness. Besides,"--more seriously,--"I feel myself honoured to do it--to contribute anything to Miss Wyatt's--ah--ah--In short, if she can stand it _I_ can."

_General Wyatt._--"It's immensely kind of you. By the way, you won't mind my staying here, will you, to read my papers, while you're at work? Because if you do, I can clear out at once." Mrs. Wyatt, with mute but lively tokens of dismay, attends the General's further remarks: "I don't want to stay here and be a bore and a nuisance, you know." Mrs. Wyatt vanishes from the scene in final despair.

_Bartlett_, going up to the easel and dragging it into an entirely new position.--"Not in the least. Some woman been putting this room in order, hasn't there?"

_General Wyatt._--"Three."

_Bartlett._--"I thought so." He continues to disarrange all the preparations for his work. His operations bring him in the vicinity of General Wyatt, upon whose box of cigars his eye falls. "Oh, I say, General! Smoking?"

_General Wyatt._--"Certainly. Why not?"

_Bartlett._--"Well, I don't know. I thought perhaps--I supposed--I imagined somehow from something she said, or that happened--it was offensive to Miss Wyatt."

_General Wyatt._--"Why, bless your heart, man, she minds it no more than I do!"

_Bartlett._--"You don't say so! Why, I haven't smoked any for the last two weeks, because--because-- And I'm almost dead for a pipe!"

_General Wyatt._--"Why, poor fellow! Why, here! Take a cigar!"