Chapter 40

CADGE'S ASSIGNMENT.

"You say Winship is around at your place?" asked Judge Baker Friday morning. I had before told him about the approaching marriage. "The dear old boy! I am very glad."

"He wants to talk with you about a mortgage," I said bluntly. "Can you dissuade him? I think the situation in its main features is no secret to you."

The Judge frowned in surprise. "You don't mean that she--"

"Of course Helen has refused her father's offer. We have so arranged everything that no help from him is needed, but he may be rather obstinate, for I'm afraid she wrote to him, suggesting--I mean, she now regrets it," I added.

"Ah, those regrets! Those regrets!" He sat silent for a moment, thinking deeply. "That phase of an otherwise rosy situation is unfortunate. I will do my best with Winship, and you must explain to me your proposed arrangements; for I claim an uncle's privilege to be of use to Nelly, and she, with perhaps natural reticence, has acquainted me only partially with her affairs. I rejoice to hear that she now wishes to spare her father, but--you will pardon me, Burke?--she was hasty; she was hasty. It is easier to set forces of love or hate moving than to check them in motion. Sometimes I think, Burke, that people were in certain ways less reckless in the good old days when they had perpetually before their eyes the vision of a hair-trigger God, always cocked and ready to shoot if they crossed the line of duty. But Nelly is coming bravely through a severe test of character. May I offer you both my heartiest--"

It was just at that happy moment that the office boy announced Mr. Winship to share the Judge's kind wishes; and by good luck in came also Mrs. Baker, but a moment behind him.

"Why, Ezra!" she chirped in a flutter of amazed cordiality at sight of her husband's visitor. "You in New York? Why, for Nelly's wedding, of course! John Burke, why've you kept us in the dark these months and months? I'm--I'm really ashamed of you!"

Her plump gloved hands seized Mr. Winship's, while her small, swift, bird-like eyes looked reproach at me.

"Patience, Mrs. Baker; patience!" rejoined the Judge. "Is not an engaged man entitled to his secrets? Has it escaped your memory how, once upon a time, you and I--."

"There, now, Bake! Stop, can't you?" she interrupted with vehement good nature; and I ceased to intrude upon the three old friends.

That afternoon, when I sought Helen at the studio, I was more surprised than I should have been, and wonderfully relieved to discover the result of their conference.

Ignorant of any quarrel and overflowing with anxiety, Helen's father had unbosomed his anxieties about her health and accomplished what no diplomacy could have done. Mrs. Baker had flown with him to the studio, where, constrained by his presence, Helen had submitted to an incredible truce with her aunt.

"I told Tim'thy an' Frances we'd eat Sunday dinner with 'em," Mr. Winship told me; "an' they say you'n' Sis had ought to be married f'om their house. Good idee, seems to me, though Sis here don't take to it, somehow."

"Oh, I suppose I can endure Aunt Frank," said Helen, making savage dabs at Cadge's typewriter; "if you wish it--you and John."

She was making a great effort for her father's sake, and I could not exclaim against her chilly reception of the olive branch.

"It'll please Ma, w'en she comes to hear 'bout it; she thinks a sight of Frank Baker," urged Mr. Winship.

"'Fraid I'll have to tackle someb'dy else 'bout that money," he went on after a pause; "Tim'thy says he ain't got a cent loose, jest now. I did kind o' want to keep it quiet, keep it to the fambly like, but I can git it; I can git th' money; on'y it'll take time."

"Why, Father, I begged you not to try," said Helen impatiently. "I don't need money; ask John."

"W'at you've spent can't come on John," declared Mr. Winship; "I'll have to be inquirin' 'round. But I'm glad to see ye lookin' brighter'n you did yist'day, Sissy; Tim'thy's wife'll have an eye on ye. She's comin' here agin to-morrer, she says, to a weddin'. You didn't tell me 'bout any one gittin' married--not in sich a hurry, not to-morrer. W'ich gal is it?"

"Wouldn't think it was Cadge, would you?" laughed Kitty, staggering into the room under the weight of a big palm. "Next chum I have, it'll be in the contract that, in case of emergency, she helps run her own wedding. 'Course Helen's all right with me--or will be, once Caroline Bryant's disposed of."

In spite of the confusion of the wedding preparations, Helen did do credit to Kitty's nursing; and last evening, when there came the climax of all the bustle, she seemed stronger even than on Friday.

It was a night to remember!

The big Indians of the canvasses peeped grimly from ambushes of flowers and tall ferns, as the studio door opened and Kitty came running to meet me, her cheeks flushed and her curls in a hurricane.

"'Most time for the minister," she cried breathlessly, "and not a sign of Cadge! Not a sign! And I want to tell you--Helen's sorry we invited the General, but she won't come, so that's no matter; but the Bakers--do they like him?"

"Like the minister?"

"Like Ned Hynes?" panted Kitty. "When we asked 'em yesterday, I forgot, but he'll be here. Pros. and he belong to a downtown club--'At the Sign of the Skull and Crossbones'--or something--"

"Well?"

"Oh, it's all right, but I thought I'd tell you. If only Cadge'd come! That's what eating me!" Kitty groaned. "But do you see our Princess? All she needed was me to make her comfy. Shall I get you the least little bit of colour, out of a box, Helen? Or--no; you're too lovely. But come, you must have some roses."

As Helen joined us, very pale in her shimmering dress, with her hair like an aureole about her head, she looked a tall, white Grace, a swaying lily shining in the dusky place. Almost with the old reverence I whispered:--

"You are the most beautiful of woman!"

"Do I please you, Sir?" she said, smiling as she moved away again with Kitty. "Won't you see to Father? He's come without his necktie."

"Sho, Sis!" said Mr. Winship; "don't my beard hide it? Declare I clean forgot."

Soon Helen returned to pin a flower at my button-hole.

"Where _can_ Cadge be?" she cried gaily; but her hands shook and she dropped the rose. "Do you suppose she's interviewing a lunatic asylum?"

What had changed her voice and burned fever spots in her cheeks? I wasn't so indifferent as I had seemed to Kitty's news. Had she told Helen, too, that Ned Hynes--what was he to my betrothed?

"Can't you rest somewhere and just show for the ceremony?" I said, "Nelly, you're not strong."

"There's not a place big enough for a mouse. But did you mean it? Do I really look well to-night? Am I just as beautiful as I was three-four months ago, or have I--"

"Oh, do slip out and 'phone the _Star_! I can feel my hair whitening," whispered Kitty, turning to me hastily, as a couple of women entered. "See, folks are beginning to come."

I went out into the warm and rainy night, but there was no Cadge at the _Star_ office. By the time I had returned with this information, the eyry held a considerable gathering. Mrs. Baker had arrived, and her two daughters; but I had no time to wonder at Milly's coming, for behind me entered Mrs. Van Dam and then, among a group of strangers, I noticed Hynes.

Involuntarily, at sight of him, my eyes turned to Helen; but not a muscle of her face betrayed deeper feeling than polite pleasure as she helped Kitty receive the wedding guests, greeting the General cordially, Hynes with graciousness.

Kitty's welcome to Mrs. Van Dam would have been irresistibly funny, if I had had eyes to see the humour.

"Cadge promised to be home early," she sputtered, "but probably she's telling some one this minute: 'Oh, I'll be there in time; I don't need much--not much more than the programme.'

"Can't _you_ guess where she is, Pros.?" she implored in an undertone, as her brother approached us. "If the minister gets here before Cadge does, I'll cut her off with a shilling."

"What an interesting place!" exclaimed Mrs. Van Dam, examining her surroundings through her quizzing glasses. "I've heard so much about your paintings, Miss Reid. And what an astonishing girl, this Miss Bryant! Where can she be? Helen, you sly girl, I hear news about you."

"Oh, very likely Miss Bryant is out of town," Reid answered for her with a quiet smile. "She'll show up after the paper goes to press, if not sooner."

"On her wedding day! The girl's a genius! And when may that be? When will the--ah--when will the paper go to press?"

"They take copy up to two o'clock for the second edition. But she maybe here at any moment."

The General stared at him with amazement.

"Oh, you don't know Cadge," sighed Kitty, "if you think she'd be jarred by her own wedding. But we must do something. Everybody's here and waiting. Sing, Helen, won't you? Oh, do sing."

Helen had not joined in the rapid conversation. Now she smiled assent with stately compliance. Undulating across the studio, she returned with a mandolin--not the one I remembered, but a pretty bit of workmanship in inlaid wood. Bending above this, she relieved the wait by merry, lilting tunes like the music of a bobolink, while Kitty fidgetted in and out, the puckers in her forehead every minute growing deeper.

While I listened to the gladsome music, my glance strayed to Milly, but she was almost hidden by the curtains of the tepee; and then to Ned, who sat with his face turned partly away from us. I noticed that he looked gaunt, and I found a bitter satisfaction in the thought that, perhaps, in Helen's "three-four months" he had not seen, until that night, either of the women with whose lives his own had been entangled.

"Just one more," begged Kitty, when Helen stopped. "You're my only hope; do sing, Helen."

Dropping the mandolin, Helen began without accompaniment "The King of Thule:"--

"'There stood the old carouser, And drank the last life glow; And hurled the hallowed goblet Into the tide below.

"He saw it plunging and filling, And sinking deep in the sea; Then fell his eyelids forever, And never more drank he!'"

It was the ballad she had sung at Christmas--in what different mood! Then her voice had been as carefree as a bird's carol, but now it lent to the limpid simplicity of the air a sobbing, shuddering sweetness--an almost weird intensity that strangely affected her listeners.

When she had finished, something like a gasp went through the room. With a heart-breaking coldness I felt that I was her only unmoved auditor, or--no; Ned seemed studying with weary disapproval the pattern of his shoes.

"Love and death; and at a wedding!" Mrs. Van Dam shivered. "Something more cheerful, Helen."

"Let's go--let's go and eat up Cadge's spread; that'd be cheerful," sniffed Kitty, her hot, nervous hand patting Helen's shoulder. "The Princess's tired. But we must do something."

"Eat the wedding supper before the wedding. Original, I must say!"

But the General willingly enough helped Kitty to marshal us into the crowded little dining-room; where Helen and I found ourselves beside Mr. Winship and Ethel. Her father accepted Helen's music with as little surprise as he had shown at her beauty.

"Comin' home pretty soon, ain't ye," he asked, "to give us some hymn tunes Sunday evenings? W'at'll I git for ye? Must be hungry after so much singing."

"I'm afraid I wasn't in voice to-night," said she rather wearily.

"Not in voice!" protested Ethel with shy enthusiasm; "why, Nelly, I never before heard even you sing like that; it was-it was-oh, it was wonderful!"

I dared not look at her, yet I saw every movement of the slight little figure--saw the blush of eagerness that mounted even to the blonde little curls about her forehead; and, retreating impatiently, I tried to follow Mr. Winship's example, as he waited on the company with a quaintly fine courtesy. Indeed, he made quite a conquest of the General, who presently, after chatting with him for some time with keen interest, asked abruptly:--

"Why haven't we had him here before? So interesting, such an original! Room here for you, Milly. Some salad, please, Mr. Hynes."

Hynes's pinched face took colour. With alacrity he obeyed the General's orders, fetching plates and glasses, and hovering about the group that included Milly and her mother, until Mrs. Baker's face began to wear a disturbed flush, though Milly's small, white features remained impassive.

I watched the little drama with dawning comprehension. Then Ned did not--Helen--it was really Ethel's sister with whom he longed to make peace, while I--Ethel--

Helen's voice roused me.

"Can't we go into the other room?" she asked. "I'm tired; can't we go and sit quietly together?"

With the fading of the glow and colour left by the music, she looked indeed tired, almost haggard. In spite of the regal self possession with which she rose, drawing Ethel with her, I knew in the face of Milly's triumph-yes, I had known before--why her restless spirit had spurred her on to such flights of folly; why she had--she brings no love to me; has she perhaps offered pity?

We turned together to the door, but there was a sound of hurrying feet, and Miss Bryant rushed before us, followed by a big bearded giant of a man.

"Forbear and eat no more till my necessities be served," she declaimed, advancing to the table. "Food has not passed my lips to-day; or--not much food."

"Cadge!" gasped Helen with a choking laugh, sinking again upon her chair.

Reid calmly extended a plate of salad to his betrothed, while Kitty groaned, scandalized:--

"You mustn't eat now! You mustn't! Where've you been? Look at the state you're in! _Don't_ eat, Cadge; you must dress this minute!"

"Bridgeport," returned Miss Bryant, grinning benevolently on the wedding guests, her wet hair clinging about her face, her shirt waist dampened with the raindrops that trickled from her hatbrim. "Driving an antelope to a racing sulky. If _I_ bear marks, y'ought to see the antelope; _and_ the sulky! Seven column picture, Kitty; I've made a lay-out. You must get right at it--antelope kicking the atmosphere into small pieces--"

"Cadge," suggested Reid, mildly, "our train leaves at midnight."

"We'll make it; but this story must come out whether or not 'Mrs. Prosper K. Reid' does. Won't dress, but--say, just you show my wedding gown, Kitty; not for publication but as an evidence--more salad, Pros."

Kitty ran and brought a billowy mass of fleecy white stuff, and Cadge stood, devouring salad, over the dainty thing, gesticulating at it with her fork and explaining its beauties:--

"You can see for yourselves it's swell. Mrs. Edgar fitted me at the _Star_ office, with furious mug-makers pounding on the door."

"With _what_?" gasped the General.

"Mug-makers; alleged artists; after an old photo. Anyhow, it's money in Mrs. Edgar's pocket. One of her biggest customers owes her a lot, she says, and she can't get a cent; needed cash to pay her rent; little boy ill, too. My, but I'm hungry! Can't I eat while I'm being married?"

I felt Helen start; I remembered that I had seen Mrs. Edgar's name among her bills. Poor girl!

And then the wedding; and the practical Cadge surprised us all.

All her soul was shining in her eyes as she said, "I will." She looked upon Pros. with the shy love of a girl who has loved but once. For a brief minute we saw the depth, the earnestness, the affection that in her seek so often the mask of frivolity, and I wouldn't be surprised if more than one tempest-tossed soul envied her peace, her love, her certitude.

The ceremony was short. The giant, who proved to be Big Tom, gave away the bride. As the couple rushed off for a brief honeymoon, the newly made Mrs. Reid--still with the shimmer of tears in her beautiful eyes--tried hard to resume her old manner.

"'Member, Kitty," she called back from the stairway in a voice that trembled, "you can't make that antelope cavort too lively. Brown'll send photographs in the morning."

Soon only Mr. Winship and I were left with Kitty and Helen and the painted Indians.

"What a Cadge!" said Helen languidly, as she walked with us to the door. "But she's the best girl in the world."

I believe she's pretty nearly right. I haven't always done Miss Bryant justice. My mind dwelt upon the lovely picture she had made of trust and happiness; and I wondered whether my own wife would show shining, happy eyes like hers when--In my restless dreams the vision of them lingered, grotesquely alternating with a swaying figure driving a shadowy antelope--a figure that was sometimes Helen's and sometimes little Ethel's--until I waked--

And thus began to-day--it has been the hardest day in a hard week.

It is three hours now, maybe, since we returned from Mrs. Baker's Sunday dinner. A love feast after a feud is trying, but Helen was brave. Mrs. Baker is too honest for diplomacy, and at first I watched Helen nervously, as she sat in the familiar library, a red spot in each cheek, pitting a quiet hauteur against the embarrassed chirpings of her aunt and Milly's sphynx-like silence.

But little by little the cordiality of the Judge and of his tactful sister, helped by Ethel's radiant delight and Mr. Winship's pleasure in the visit, gave another flavour to the dinner than that of the fatted calf, and warmed the atmosphere out of its chill reminiscence of the encounter with Hynes.

The children, too, were a resource, though for a minute Joy was a terror. Baker, junior, was offering me a kodak picture, when she came running up to look at it.

"You can have it," said Boy; "it's clearer than the one you liked the other day."

"Thath me!" cried Joy, with a fiendish hop and skip. "Me'n Efel on 'e thidewalk. Mither Burke, you like me'n Efel?"

"I like you very much."

"Efel too, or o'ny me? Mr. Burke, w'y you don't like Efel too?"

Like Ethel--the shy little wild flower! Like Ethel!

"Say, Mr. Burke," said Boy opportunely, "here's an envelope to put it in."

"W'at I like," Mr. Winship said, his frosty blue eyes twinkling with enjoyment, "is to see Sis here gittin' a good dose o' home folks; do her more good'n med'cine."

And almost he seemed right, for, as the minutes wore on, a brighter colour rose to Helen's cheeks, and the marvellous charm she knows so well how to use held us fascinated. She waged a war of jests with the Judge and fell back into her old caressing ways with Miss Baker. Ethel could scarcely contain her happiness, and even Milly showed signs of melting.

I brought Helen away as early as I could--as soon as we had completed plans for a quiet wedding next Wednesday.

"I hope you're proud of her, Ezra," declared Mrs. Baker as we took leave; "she told you she's refused a title? But there! All foreigners break their wives' hearts--Nelly's a sensible girl! You didn't expect, though, to find New York crazy over her?"

"Oh, I don't know; Helen 'Lizy's ma was a hansome girl; Sis here had ought to be satisfied if she wears a half as well."

"Come again thoon to thing to Joy," lisped the baby; "Joy loveth you tho muth."

Helen buried her face in the yellow curls, and when she turned away her eyes were wet.

I stayed at the studio only long enough to beg Kitty to see that her charge rests. Just as we were parting at the door, Helen turned full on me her great, lambent eyes.

"Do you love me?" she asked suddenly.

"Why, I loved you," I replied, "when you were a little freckled Nelly in pigtails."

And that, at least, is true! God help me to be kind to the most beautiful woman in the world!