Part 15

She was right. When he entered and saw the picture by the fire--Indiana, sitting in her white wrap, with the tea-tray before her, and Jennings standing near--he paused for a moment. Jennings took the tray and left the room. Thurston felt neither curious nor interested to know why she had stayed there all night. He himself had not closed his eyes. He had summoned all his strength to make a certain resolution, one which he considered imperative, after his wife's passionate avowal of hate and regret. All else--things which at another time he would have accounted strange--seemed trivial and unimportant. He had relinquished all hope of winning his wife's love. He saw himself weaving the gray web of his life until the end. Indiana gave one swift glance at his face as he approached the fire, then quickly averted her eyes.

"I have weighed existing circumstances as fairly as possible, and have concluded that our case is hopeless," began Thurston, without preliminaries. Indiana, her hands tightly clasped, her eyes gazing straight before her, listened with strained attention. "I have tried to awaken you, gradually, to the personal responsibility of your new position. My confidence was strong in my own power to win a love that, to me, was worth waiting for--worth the winning." He covered his eyes with his hand, then went on, with an effort. "My courage has gone. The dread of a repetition of last night's frenzy--degrading to us both--between husband and wife--horrible!" His agitation would not permit him to continue. He turned from her and paced the room. Finally, he stopped and looked at her motionless figure. "Have you anything to say?"

Her lips trembled, she shook her head, trying to restrain an hysterical outburst of sobs. Then she rose to go to her room.

"One moment," said Thurston, sternly. "I do not wish your maid to see you like this. You must help yourself this morning, and--I shall breakfast with my mother. When you are quite composed and ready to receive her, she will come to you--as she thinks you retired early last night with a headache."

"Ah, she doesn't know!" exclaimed Indiana. "I'm glad of that--very glad."

"Your people were talking of going to Paris in a week or so--you will go with them--on a pleasure trip." Indiana, leaning against the table, lifted her eyes wonderingly to his. He met her gaze, proudly and relentlessly. "You will go with them to America--on a pleasure trip. I will break it to my mother, slowly--that you are not coming back."

A deathlike faintness passed over Indiana as she listened to his calm, passionless voice, pronouncing sentence upon her. She could not, at that moment, utter a word of pleading or remonstrance. He seemed like a rock of relentless justice, against which she might hurl herself, only to be dashed in pieces.

"You see, I have made it very easy for you to drop the shackles of the tyrant and regain your lost and coveted freedom," he added, bitterly. She grasped the edge of the table desperately with her small hands. "If you had only loved me," cried Thurston, despairingly, "it might have been different! But how could I expect it? You have never been taught to love--to sacrifice for love. Only to be loved--to demand sacrifices from others." Gathering all her strength, Indiana moved to the door. He held it open for her, and she passed him with averted eyes, looking dazed and hopeless. "Indiana!" he cried, involuntarily, as she disappeared down the long hall. By a great effort he prevented himself from rushing after her. Sinking down in a chair, he buried his face in his hands. He had spoken the final words between them--there was no retraction now. But so utterly had the serene and smiling little witch taken possession of his heart, he felt, that in exorcising her he was plucking it bodily from his breast. Only the necessity of appearing composed before his mother rescued him from succumbing utterly to his despair.

Indiana had not heard Thurston's smothered cry. She climbed the stairs laboriously, clinging to the banisters. There seemed to be iron weights hanging to her limbs. But this was the result of lying for so many hours on the hard floor, in the cold library. Consciousness, too, seemed fading away from her. She only wished to retain it until she reached her room; then, she felt, she would be quite satisfied to part with it forever. Thurston's last words echoed in her ears, "You have never been taught to love--to sacrifice for love--only to be loved--to demand sacrifices from others." That was what Jennings meant when he said that he looked back with satisfaction on his life, knowing he had served a loved master faithfully. Even Jennings realized the spirit of love, while--reaching her bed at last, she pushed back the covers and coiled herself in its soft depths. Thoughts floated mistily in her brain. "I have missed many things--to love, to serve, to sacrifice. Perhaps it was not all my fault--not all." She lapsed into unconsciousness, but it was the unconsciousness of which nature makes use to soothe exhausted and tired humanity--sleep.

At noon she awoke of her own accord, wonderfully refreshed morally and physically. Things assumed a new aspect. The very knowledge of her love gave her happiness. One supreme fact remained, in spite of all that had passed--she loved her husband, and he her. It was impossible, she argued, that her conduct of last night could have utterly killed a love as deep as she knew his to be. The only barrier between them was his wounded love and pride, one which she thought she could easily break with her two small hands.

Jennings knocked, and whispered that Mrs. Bunker and her father and mother were below. He had told them she was asleep. Did she wish to give any message?

"Don't say anything. I'll be down in a little while, Jennings." She dismissed him with a reassuring smile and a nod.

"Her little leddyship looked so smiling--maybe it's all come right again," thought Jennings, in delight, as he descended the stairs.

"So they're all there," mused Indiana. "I shall act as if nothing is the matter." She continued the process of dressing, without a maid. A cold bath brought the bloom back to her cheeks. Her eyes were very bright, yet tender. She donned an airy, rose-colored morning-gown, dotted here and there with black velvet bows. Standing at her dressing-table, putting another black velvet bow in the fluffy, yellow puffs of her hair, a sudden misgiving assailed her--that her power to win him back might not be as strong as she imagined. She shivered at the remembrance of his stern, implacable face, when he entered the library that morning. What if he would not retract his words, remaining strong in his determination that they should part? Her face looked piteously back at her from the glass. "Well, I, too, am strong--very strong," she thought, bravely. "I am his wife--and I love him." She bent forward and kissed her face in the mirror. "Good luck to us, Indiana," she said, with a laugh, followed by a rush of tears. "We'll fight for our happiness--won't we?"

The family were sitting below in the library with Thurston and Lord Stafford. No one, so far, had ventured a remark or asked a question relating to the night before.

Mrs. Bunker, finally, tired of discussing matters which did not interest her, and anxious to know something relating to the subject uppermost in all their minds, went to the window, pretending that she wished to see if her hansom was still waiting, well aware Lord Stafford would follow her.

"You look charming this morning, Mrs. Bunker," remarked Lord Stafford, gallantly joining her, as she expected, in the window embrasure.

"So Indiana is sleeping it off," observed Mrs. Bunker, confidentially.

"I am sure I don't know," answered Lord Stafford, twirling his moustache.

"You were with Thurston when we came?"

"Yes," said Lord Stafford, indifferently.

"Well, he told you?" queried Mrs. Bunker, in an exasperated tone.

"Thurston said nothing, and, of course, I couldn't ask."

"Well, you English are the closest-mouthed people. They've had a row. Haven't you any curiosity to know how it ended?"

"I'm burning to find out," answered Lord Stafford, calmly.

"There's nothing burning about you--except your cigar," said Mrs. Bunker, contemptuously, "and that's going out."

"So it is--thank you."

"Let me hold the match, your hand is trembling, mine is as firm as a rock."

"Ah, I'm getting on--but you have discovered the secret of eternal youth."

"We had a time getting her home," said Mrs. Bunker, in a low voice, ignoring this last remark. "Do you think her mother and father had any influence with her? Not a bit. Grandma Chazy did it. I sent the poor, deluded parents to bed, and I put on a wrapper and fussed about my room, while she sat by herself in the parlor, working herself up into a rage about her husband's tyranny, and rushing to the window, every time a cab passed, to see if he was coming. Well, I grew tired of this, so I went to bed. When she had worn herself out, she put her head into my room. 'Grandma Chazy, where shall I sleep?' 'On the sofa, dear. Throw your cloak over you. I've only a single bed, or I would offer you half.' She slammed the door, in a rage. About a half hour later, 'Grandma Chazy, I guess I'll go home.' 'Is that so, dear? Going--good night.' And I fell asleep, apparently."

"Mrs. Bunker," remarked Lord Stafford, "if I ever marry, it shan't be an American."

"Oh yes, you will, because you say you won't."

"Oh, then I shan't marry at all--that's the safest way."

"The most dangerous," assured Mrs. Bunker, mockingly. "A man is never safe from marriage until he is married."

"Ha, ha, ha! Very good. Mrs. Bunker, you are really the liveliest woman I have ever met."

"Well, I'm not going to waste my day here," said Mrs. Bunker, decidedly. "I want to see the shops and take Indiana along. Thurston," advancing into the room, "I'm dying to see Indiana."

Thurston looked at her gravely.

"My dear Mrs. Bunker, I have plans for the future, which it is best you should know before you see Indiana."

Mr. and Mrs. Stillwater looked anxious, but Mrs. Bunker took his words lightly.

"Don't make any plans, Thurston. And don't look so serious. You've made up your mind to something--I can see that--but she'll upset it all in a jiffy. You don't know Indiana."

"No," answered Thurston, without relaxing his gravity of expression, "and I never shall. Mr. Stillwater, your daughter is very anxious to go with you to Paris--and I have consented."

"Thurston, how good of you to let her!" cried Mrs. Stillwater, innocently. "It is the only thing to complete my happiness."

"I don't approve of it," said Mrs. Bunker.

"I am about making arrangements for a long trip--for scientific purposes," continued Thurston, in a slow, mechanical voice. "I will be away from England for some time, and I think it advisable your daughter should go home with you--until my mission is over."

Mr. Stillwater folded his arms, looking keenly into Thurston's eyes. "Well, of course, nothing would suit us better; but, my dear fellow--is it good for a young married couple to separate so soon?"

"No, it is not good."

"Then must you go?" asked Mr. Stillwater.

Thurston raised his eyes, meeting Stillwater's piercing glance, steadily. "I must go."

Mrs. Stillwater was so overcome with joy at the prospect of having Indiana at home once more, she failed to see anything strange in the arrangement. "Of course, we're sorry, Thurston, but if you're obliged to go away, it's quite natural you should want to leave Indiana with us."

"I, for one, don't like it," added Stillwater, decidedly.

"How long do you expect to be away?" inquired Mrs. Stillwater.

"For several months--perhaps forever." His voice broke. He turned from them all and leaned his forehead against the mantel, gazing with hopeless eyes into the fire. The others looked at one another in apprehensive silence.

"Good morning, everybody," said a gay, sweet voice. They all looked, in relieved surprise, at Indiana, smiling in answer to her greeting. Her cheeks were as rosy as her gown. Her eyes seemed to laugh with happiness. Thurston stared at her, aghast at this apparent heartlessness. "Her eyes have not looked so happy since I married her," he thought. "It's the prospect of freedom. My resolution was well taken--I'm glad, for her sake. What a charming little face--like a cherub. Ah, if she had only loved me!"

Indiana went to Lord Stafford, with outstretched hands. "Dear Uncle Gerald, you want to kiss me good-morning, don't you? Well, you shall." She put up her mouth to be kissed. Then she flitted airily to Mr. Stillwater, put her arms about his neck and nestled to his breast. "You dear old pop, I love you so!" She rubbed her face against his. "I was naughty last night, wasn't I? Don't tell anybody. You forgive me, don't you? There!" She kissed him a number of times, and then floated out of his arms, a rose-colored cloud, over to her mother. "You old goosie, you were afraid I wouldn't come home. Why didn't you take me by the shoulders and push me out? But you couldn't be harsh with your little Indy, your baby, your only one. I love you so!" Mrs. Stillwater pressed her joyfully to her breast, murmuring caressing words, and kissing her hair. Finally, releasing herself, Indiana looked at Mrs. Bunker, undecided how she should approach her. She had been severely scolded by that lady the night before.

Mrs. Bunker frowned at her, then smiled. "You little monkey," she said, then shook her finger warningly. Indiana answered by a good-natured grimace, then she went to Thurston.

"Good morning, Thurston," she said, after a swift glance, demurely offering her cheek. Thurston hesitated. "Ah, here's dear Lady Canning," continued Indiana, artfully, still standing in an expectant position. Thurston bent down quickly and touched his lips to her cheek.

"I have been so worried about this child," said Lady Canning, taking Indiana's outstretched hands, when she had greeted the others very graciously. "I wanted to see you last night, dear, but Thurston wouldn't let me. Are you sure you feel quite well again?" She seated herself, drawing Indiana to her side and looking anxiously in her face.

"Splendid," replied Indiana, sinking down on her knees and putting her arm about Lady Canning's waist. "It was a bad spell--while it lasted, but when it passes off I always feel better. I won't have another for a long time--I hope never." She peeped slyly under her eyelashes at Thurston. "A bad spell is good for something--it makes me realize how much everybody loves me, and how much I love everybody--and I do love you, dear Lady Canning."

"Darling!" murmured Lady Canning, quite overcome, pressing Indiana's head to her breast.

"There now, who can resist Indiana," said Mrs. Stillwater. "Darling, your husband says you are going to Paris with us."

"Am I?" asked Indiana, in a surprised voice. She turned to Lady Canning. "I want you to scold Thurston, dear. He's too good. He's given in, because they're dying for me to go to Paris with them. But I wouldn't think of such a thing. I wouldn't leave him--or you, dear Lady Canning."

"Oh, Indy!" exclaimed Mrs. Stillwater, in a hurt and jealous tone.

"Indiana," said Stillwater, watching her face, "Thurston says you can home with us, if you like, while he's on his trip."

"What trip?" asked Indiana, quickly.

"Is it possible you have not given up that idea, Thurston?" questioned Lady Canning, severely. She turned apologetically to Mrs. Stillwater. "He always had an insane desire to go to the North Pole, but I thought marriage had cured him of it. Indiana, put your foot down on that idea, once and for all."

"I put my foot down!" exclaimed Indiana. "Oh dear no--he's the master. But let us hope he will think better of it." She folded her hands severely, bearing with the highest degree of equanimity the astonished looks of her family.

Thurston, who at first could scarcely give credence to what he heard, concluded she was playing the hypocrite in order to win sympathy for herself, and at the same time divert it from him, putting him in the character of a heartless husband.

"That little monkey's playing for something," thought Mrs. Bunker, "and she'll win her game, as sure as I'm her grandmother. Well, Indiana, it's settled, then, that you're not going to Paris with us."

"Grandma Chazy, I'm a married woman," answered Indiana, with an offended air, "I can't be running about like a young girl." Lady Canning nodded approvingly.

"I must get out of this," exclaimed Mrs. Bunker, desperately. "I feel choked for air. We're going to do some shopping. Indiana, do you want to come?"

"Well, considering Indiana was so ill, I think it advisable for her to remain quietly at home to-day," said Lady Canning. "But I should be very pleased to have you all dine with us this evening."

Indiana heard Lady Canning with a sensation of relief. She was suffering a tension of suspense. And she felt that to go out with her family and keep up this semblance of light-heartedness would have been an unendurable strain.

"There, what did I tell you?" remarked Mrs. Bunker to Thurston, when they were on the point of leaving. "Where are your plans now?" He made no answer, standing, determined and pale, by the mantel, and following Indiana's every move as she flitted from one to the other, kissing them good-bye. "Good morning, Lady Canning," said Mrs. Bunker. "I wish I had your complexion. Yes, I do."

"Come early," pleaded Indiana, clinging to her mother, "and we'll have a good, long talk before dinner, my dearest mother--and--and--after to-day we'll spend all our time together."

"I think it's a shame you can't go with us. You're perfectly well?"

"No, Lady Canning's right--I have a headache. I was excited last night--at the hotel."

"Your color's so bright--perhaps you're feverish," observed Mrs. Stillwater, anxiously. "Indy, is it all right between you and Thurston?"

"Yes--mother--it's all right." Mrs. Stillwater looked at her with an anxious expression. But Indiana met her gaze hopefully. "Don't worry, mother," she said. "I love Thurston, and he loves me--so it's all right, isn't it?"

"Yes, my darling," sighed Mrs. Stillwater, greatly relieved.

"Even if--if things don't go as they should sometimes," said Indiana, wistfully, "they come right after a while--don't they--when people really love each other?"

"Nothing matters, so long as you love each other," Mrs. Stillwater assured her, with the wisdom of her long matrimonial experience.

Indiana watched them driving off, from the window--her mother and father in one hansom, Mrs. Bunker and Lord Stafford in another. The latter had manifested a desire to go shopping. He thought seriously of joining the party on their Parisian trip.

"Thurston," asked Lady Canning, in a very serious voice, "is there anything wrong between you and your wife?" Indiana, at the window, listened with every nerve.

"Nothing, mother," answered Thurston, purposely refraining from one glance at the little figure standing in the shadow of the curtains.

"Then what has driven you to this sudden resolve? How could you think of doing such a cruel thing?"

"I mean to do it, mother."

Lady Canning looked at her son with very displeased eyes. "Thurston, you are developing an exceedingly bad temper. You--you have never before acted in such an inconsistent, inconsiderate manner. And with such a sweet wife. You don't deserve her."

"Mother, don't scold him," said Indiana, pleadingly. Thurston cast on her an indescribable look.

Jennings appeared then, and announced that the carriage was waiting to take Lady Canning for her morning drive. She sat in displeased silence, until her maid brought her bonnet and cloak. Before she left the room, she turned severely to Thurston. "I do do not wish to see you again until you tell me you have abandoned this fool-hardy, heartless idea, for good and all." She took Indiana in her arms. "My darling, forgive him, for my sake."

"I will, dear Lady Canning," said Indiana, angelically. "I--it's very weak, I know, but I couldn't be angry with him--no matter what he did." Thurston stared at her, aghast at such hypocrisy. Indiana led Lady Canning out into the hall. "Don't worry," she whispered, as Jennings held the door open for her to pass to the carriage. "It will be all right, I'll manage him." When she returned to the library, Thurston was staring into the fire. She approached quietly, and he raised his eyes, to see her standing meekly before him, her hands clasped in a childish fashion.

"You have played your part well," he said, bitterly.

Indiana raised her eyes supplicatingly, then dropped them again. "I wasn't acting," she said, innocently.

"It's well that you can be so light-hearted, when I am suffering tortures," he continued, with an involuntary burst of grief and bitterness.

"No, no, I was acting--but I felt the part. I do love everybody, and I want to be good again and make up."

"Cease playing the spoilt child," said Thurston, wearily. "Last night's performance can never be repeated under my roof--never shall be. You can tell your own story. Paint me the brutal husband--the tyrant. I shall not contradict you. I am resolved upon one thing--to leave England." He stared hopelessly into the fire again, leaning his forehead on the mantel.

"I suppose it's no use--asking you--to--forgive me," she said, watching him sharply. He turned quickly, and she dropped her eyes. "If--if there won't be a repetition," she continued, her lips quivering like those of a child on the verge of tears.

"You cannot change your nature," he replied, coldly, not allowing himself to believe in the sincerity of this contrition.

"No, and that's why you're very wrong in being so hard with me. I was good, wasn't I? For three months and then, when the folks rushed down on me, like a river breaking a dam, I broke out--that's all." She raised her arms, with a long, despairing sigh. "Thurston, if you will go away, may I stay with your mother?"

"Indiana, you don't know how I suffer--you cannot. As long as all the love is on my side, my wishes will be commands to you; my plans for your welfare and happiness--domination. There should be no such question between a man and wife who love each other. It could not have ended otherwise. A union without the sacred seal of love--is cursed." He went from her to the door, terribly agitated, wishing they could part finally, then and there, in order to spare himself the further torture of looking at Indiana with the thought that he had renounced her.