Part 4

After the day and hour had been fixed for the first sketch of the portrait, Lucy returned to the factory deeply gratified that she had found a way to help the poor woman in her distress. Her father, immersed in business, had scarcely noticed her absence. She would have liked to tell him something of the poverty and illness of his old foreman, but an indefinable feeling of shyness kept her silent. The factory was closed on the same day.

Poor Martin's condition grew visibly worse. On the doctor's recommendation, he was transferred to the neighboring hospital, and the afflicted family reconciled themselves to the inevitable. Although the poor wife had tended him day and night with never-varying devotion, she could not but admit that she was not in a position to give him all that was required by the physician's directions.

Eugene, now the only support of the family, was obliged, in default of anything better, to take to retouching pictures for photographers. This ill-paid mechanical labor was beginning to have an injurious effect upon his imagination. The day-dreams which had filled his whole soul, anticipating his going to the Eternal City, to receive there the artist's consecration by studying the great masterpieces, he now saw vanishing into comfortless vacuity, replaced by nothing better than the dreamy monotony of earning his daily bread by hard and uninteresting work.

Lucy's meteoric appearance, however, had filled the darkened spirit of the young man with a cheering light. With fiery eagerness he began sketching the dear face which he had never been able to forget. The laboring mechanic disappeared, and the artist, once more awakened, felt his genius glow again with the desire to create. This girl, the very sight of whom made him tremble with joy, must not be allowed to lose her faith in his talent--his artistic capacity. In her eyes he wished to be that, which his dreams had promised he should be--a real artist, even if he were obliged to strain his powers to the very limit of the unattainable.

At the appointed hours Lucy came, bringing, like Schiller's 'Maiden from a foreign shore,' valuable gifts for his mother, with fruits and toys for the children. To Eugene, however, she brought the most fatal gift--a ray of that unsurpassable bitter-sweet pain which men call love, and which often ends only with life. After she had left the house all trace of her vanished; none of them knew whence she came or whither she went.

With each sitting Eugene grew into a condition of more blissful intoxication, although Lucy, in her refined unapproachableness, gave him not the slightest excuse for such a feeling. Only once he felt her thoughtful eyes resting upon him with an expression which sent the blood coursing madly through his veins.

IV.

One day when the picture was almost completed he received the following lines from her:

"I am going with my mother to Palm Beach, where we expect to spend a month or two. If my portrait is done before I come back, kindly send it to No. -- Fifth Avenue. Remember me to your dear ones.

LUCY."

A check was enclosed for the balance of the stipulated price.

Eugene felt an icy breath sweep over the glowing love which filled his heart, like the freezing north wind which brings death and destruction in its train, blowing over land and sea and carrying all before it. His artistic powers to strive for the heights of ideals seemed broken; he had no energy left. All was dark and gloomy within him.

"She is rich and I--oh, so poor!" was the thought incessantly in his mind.

In his present position as sole support of his family he could not long give himself up to such unfruitful emotions; he must work in order to provide bread for his mother and the children. And so he tried by hard, incessant labor, by constant occupation, to forget the sweet dream of his brief, imaginary happiness. A bitter feeling of depression rose in him at the thought that the richly-dressed lady must consider him a fool, puffed up with artistic pride; that she thought of him, if at all, with a pitying smile at his presumption.

Thanks to the skillful medical care which Martin shared at the hospital, he was soon on the road to recovery.

"You will have to get used to the idea of having a lame husband the rest of your life," he would say smilingly to his wife, who visited him daily.

"If only your love isn't lame, we shall be all right again," she answered him with simple affection. He wiped away an unobserved tear, and pressed her hand with emotion.

Eugene grew pale and nervous. Seeking forgetfulness in his work he labored day and night with unwearying diligence, allowing himself no time for rest. In the brief pauses he was obliged to make it obvious, however, that he had not entirely succeeded. Something of pain, of untold suffering, would then steal over his weary face. The nervous strain, continued for weeks, together with the hardly repressed mental conflict, began, little by little, to undermine his constitution, never of the strongest.

It was just a week after his father had left the hospital (with one leg shorter than the other but otherwise in good health) that Eugene fell fainting at his work. In a day or two a severe nervous fever developed. His parents, horribly frightened, did all in their power to aid his recovery.

Martin, though still weak, made haste to hobble to the factory, which, on the termination of the strike had opened as usual, to try for his former position.

"Is Mr. Denison here?" he asked of the book-keeper, who was a stranger to him.

"Mr. Denison has gone to Florida--the date of his return is uncertain," answered the book-keeper, returning to his interrupted occupation without paying any more attention to the white-faced cripple who stood leaning against the desk.

"My name is Martin, and I used to be in charge of the dyeing department here," persisted the anxious applicant, resolved not to be dismissed so easily.

"Every place is filled now, and well filled," said the book-keeper with a trace of irritation, not looking up from his big ledger; "and anyhow, you may be quite sure there will be no change in the staff as long as the boss is away."

Crushed and despairing, Martin tottered out of the office. But full of confidence in his ability as a dyer, he decided to go to another factory and offer his services.

His sad, depressed appearance, however, was no good introduction in a place where only strong hands were looked for, so nothing but disappointment awaited him at the other places.

"The strike has ruined business," said one of the manufacturers, while another laid the blame on over-production. "Come in some other day," said a third.

During all these unsuccessful attempts to provide the means of subsistence one week after another slipped away. Now the lack of the barest necessities stared them in the face--bitter need, upon whose hideous features they had not before been forced to look.

And Eugene, in the delirium of his fever, was always talking of the inaccessible maiden from another sphere. His clear-sighted mother began to grasp the meaning of all this with anxious foreboding.

"What's to be done? What's to be done?" the poor cripple asked himself, wringing his hands, when he was notified that unless he paid his back rent within twenty-four hours, he and his family would be put into the street.

With despair in his heart he hastened out, and sold everything of any value that was yet left to him in order to avoid this disgrace.

"And then we'll get out of this unlucky street!" cried the mother, sobbing and wiping the hot tears from her eyes.

After a short family council it was decided to move over to New York.

"No one knows me there; I can get any kind of employment in New York--and work is easier to find there than it is here," said Martin to comfort his sobbing wife.

A week later found the sorely-tried family in one of the great barracks of tenements in the lower part of the city. As a whole, the neighborhood could not be surpassed for lack of comfort, and little more appeared in the three bare rooms tenanted by the Martin family.

Eugene's condition had improved, although he was still confined to his bed; but the poor father's mind was even more tormented by the fearful spectre of poverty, and yet--in busy, populous New York, surely, there was work to be found!

He was going upstairs one day when he was stopped by a woman who was a stranger to him. She opened an adjoining door, and asked him to step into the room. Her husband was lying there sick in bed and groaning with pain.

"Excuse me," began the woman, "my husband is a street-cleaner--he sweeps Fifth Avenue," she added, with a proud intonation. "For twenty-five years--mind that--he had done his duty; and now the commissioners send for him today and here he is, sick in bed and can't sweep his Fifth Avenue!" She went on with great loquacity, without paying any heed to the embarrassed face of her new neighbor.

"If you will take his place I will give you his whole day's wages!" she shouted, handing him the money together with the broom.

Martin was unable to resist the fascination of coins so badly needed. The other street-cleaners were waiting down stairs. After the robust woman had communicated the whole affair to them through the window they took Martin into their ranks without any waste of words and marched on before he had time to realize where he was going. Pressing his hat over his eyes he hobbled along with them as well as he could, while actual tears rolled down into his grey beard.

But the thought of coming home at night with the money he had earned soothed him to some extent. His family need never know, and he was not acquainted with another soul in the great city.

How sorely he was hurt by the knowledge that his former employer's wife had seen him at this undignified occupation is already known to the reader.

V.

On the evening in question Lucy was unusually quiet and absorbed. She had scarcely seemed to understand the loving words whispered in her ear by her lover who sat beside her; she was obliged to force herself, even, to return monosyllabic answers to his questions. Her thoughts were elsewhere. She had only been back from Palm Beach a little while, and had heard nothing from the family in which she was so much interested. But her busy imagination depicted the well-known room which contained the portfolio which had played such a part in her life; and Eugene's fair, curly head, and glowing, longing glances. Then once more, she saw his father with the broom--the almsgiving scene. Her thoughts were incessantly occupied with the son of a street-cleaner!

A burning flush of shame overspread her pale face, which George Elmore accepted as the answer to his tenderly whispered entreaties that she should become his wife at once, and kissed her hand repeatedly.

The son of a street-cleaner to thrust himself between her and George! Being what she was--a proud woman and an heiress, she was startled.

"How could I so far forget myself!" she reflected. "Heavens! if George were to suspect!"

She tried her best to drive away the embarrassing--nay, the dishonoring thought. The idea struck her as ludicrous--horribly ludicrous, and that disturbed her even more.

Obviously there was but one way out of this labyrinth of tormenting thoughts--to marry as soon as possible. She had a mind to say the decisive word this very evening and appoint, finally the day for the wedding. As George's wife she would find rest and healing for her stubborn heart in the fulfilment of her duty, and be able to realize how foolish it was to allow it unlimited play outside the bounds of reason. In the meantime the poor family must be helped. In spite of the foundations of reason which she had just laid, she felt an interest in them.

"Nonsense! It is nothing but sympathy for those unfortunates," she tried to persuade herself. Tomorrow she would have a talk with her father with a view to having Martin restored to his old place in the factory. She would pretend to have gained her knowledge of their circumstances from a friend who had employed their son for a short time.

She could not, however, entirely suppress the pricks of conscience which told her that her silence to her father had delayed this restoration, and had thus been responsible for the complete destitution of these worthy people.

Three days later Martin received orders through a workman in the factory who knew his address to report there with a view to resuming his former position. Accordingly great joy prevailed in the Martin family. Eugene was the only one now, weak and ill as he still was, to remain gloomy and self-absorbed.

A gleam of happier feeling overspread his pale face when he brought out Lucy's picture, now almost completed, and heightened the attractiveness of the cheeks, or made the thoughtful eyes yet more speaking. And then he thought how, when it was all done, he would seek her out and himself deliver it to her, and once more he resolved to allow the full fascination of her dear presence to work its will upon him.

"And after that, I must avoid her--flee from her! We must be as two stars which cannot tear themselves from their own destined spheres, but are forced to wander each in its own appointed orbit," he murmured to himself with bitter pain, gazing at the picture with unspeakable dejection.

VI.

The delicious month of May had now come round once more. Nature, awakening to life, put on its wondrous robe of many colors, and the sun in proud consciousness of its power to tempt with the alluring warmth, the flowers concealed in the mystic bosom of Mother Earth, shone with ever increasing fervency. In Central Park Nature's feathered choir poured forth its gay song into the lovely spring air, while the perfumed lilacs lavished their scent upon all who came, caring not whether the dweller in tenements breathed it in greedily, or whether the superior residents of Fifth Avenue ignored it contemptuously.

In the house of the rich manufacturer the perfume of the lilacs was not missed; the most _recherche_ hot-house plants supplanting them in fragrance were artistically grouped on both sides of the great staircase down to the front door, filling all the room with a perfume that bewildered the senses. Servants in livery hastened busily, but noiselessly, about, putting the last touches to the decorations of the parlor for the wedding ceremony to be performed on this day. In the adjoining room a beautiful altar was visible, decked with superb flowers from which festoons of myrtle ran up to a hanging bell of red and white roses.

Carriage after carriage rolled to the door, from which descended fair guests, arrayed in splendid Worth and Felix gowns, while faultlessly dressed gentlemen helped them to alight.

In her room upstairs stood Lucy, in a white dress and gold-embroidered veil, with orange blossoms upon her bosom. Although apparently calm, she was deathly pale, and her heart, whose feelings had been suppressed with so much difficulty, betrayed itself by violent beating. A nameless uneasiness was upon her, almost suffocating her at times. Eugene's fair head and disquieting eyes were before her mind vividly--now--when in an hour's time she would be the bride of another. More than once she was obliged to have recourse to the smelling-bottle which stood upon the dressing-table, in order not to give way--to be strong enough to bear the torture of the ceremony with dignified calmness.

"The shock to my parents--the society in which I move--no, no, there is no retreat for me!" she murmured with decision in answer to her heart's loud insistence. She was marrying George in fulfillment of her parents' wishes and also to escape from her tormenting self. That in making this decision she had buried the ideals of her youth--her life's happiness, no one should ever guess. It was time now to steer boldly forth into the deep sea of matrimony, deprived forever of her life's compass.

Mrs. Denison, in a costly dress, had repeatedly opened the window and gazed with anxious impatience at all the carriages that came from the lower part of the city, but she saw no sign of their own carriage so impatiently awaited. Mr. Denison had gone down town in the morning, promising to be back before noon, and now it was four o'clock.

Disquieting rumors had already begun to circulate to the effect that the great banking house with which their whole fortune was deposited was on an unstable footing, owing to a rapid fall in the stock market.

Mr. Denison had said nothing of this to his wife, although a horrible agitation had taken possession of him, when, upon leaving the house he had told the coachman to drive at full speed to the banking house.

The guests were all assembled. The clergyman was waiting, but still there was no sign of Mr. Denison. An uneasy whisper, an ever-increasing impatience, could be noticed. Mrs. Denison's thin face took on a feverish red. Elmore's father was just about to telephone down town, when, at last the carriage rolled up to the door. The coachman, excited with overdriving, leaped from his seat and opened the carriage door; but he had no sooner cast a glance into the carriage than he uttered a loud cry, and with unsteady footsteps, hastened to Mrs. Denison.

"Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Denison, please don't be alarmed--" he panted in a trembling voice, "The big banking house down town failed this morning--and--it seems--Mr. Denison was so fearfully upset--so fearfully--when he came out of the bank his face was all red--and I heard him say in a low voice that he would have to fail too! Yes--and now--please don't be frightened--he's lying dead in the carriage!"

With a loud shriek, wringing her hands and moaning, Mrs. Denison hastened to the carriage. The gentlemen guests carried Mr. Denison's body, still warm, into the house. "Heart failure," said one to another. The women gathered around Mrs. Denison, who was loudly weeping, and tried to console her. Then one by one they stole away, since it was quite obvious that there would be no more thought of the marriage that day.

Lucy, worn out by weeks of mental agitation, was overcome by the sudden shock of this sad news, and fell back without a word upon the sofa, gliding gently from it to the floor. A beneficent unconsciousness clouded her perceptions. No one had time to care for her; all the servants had been sent right and left to bring medical aid for Mr. Denison. All means of restoration were tried, but failed to bring him back to life. "Apoplexy," said the physicians, and silently left the house.

Meanwhile Lucy lay on the soft carpet without a word or motion. In her dazzling white dress, with the gold-embroidered veil, with the marble paleness on her face, she looked like a sculptured goddess who had fallen from her pedestal.

The last wedding guests, those who had helped to carry Mr. Denison up to his room, had just driven away, sighing and shaking their heads as they discussed the sad event. The stillness of death settled over the house. Suddenly a sound was heard as of soft footsteps drawing near. Then the door of Lucy's boudoir, which had been left ajar, was gently opened. A curly-headed young man with a disturbed countenance appeared upon the threshold, looking right and left with admiring wonder. The front door was still standing open--no one had found time to close it.

Eugene, bringing Lucy's portrait, had thus been able to penetrate unperceived, to the upper story. Hardly able to believe his eyes, he gazed at the fair form in bridal attire lying upon the floor.

Startled and trembling in all his limbs, he was about to close the door he had just opened, when he caught sight of Lucy's face, pale as death, through the veil. Hastily putting down the portrait, he darted to her side, and trembling with intense excitement, caught her cold hands to his heart.

"Miss Lucy! Miss Lucy!" he cried, at first in a low voice, then louder and more anxiously--but she still lay there, cold and apparently lifeless.

Distracted, he looked about for help. He caught sight of the smelling bottle which Lucy had already used so often. He seized it quickly, pushed aside her veil, and held it to her nostrils.

A slight tremor passed through the beautiful limbs. Lucy moved her hand, but let it fall again. Eugene sprang up joyfully. As if she had been a feather he lifted the girl, now stirring a little. In blissful intoxication, he clasped his heart's ideal for one moment in his arms. Her breath played over his face, making him tremble with delight--carrying him out of himself, so that he pressed his lips to her's, not knowing what he did. "How has this bright creature filled my lonely life with sunshine!" he murmured sadly to himself, as with a deep sigh he laid Lucy on the sofa.

And then,--he felt the soft arms suddenly thrown about his neck. Lucy, still dazed and dreaming, had forgotten all about her wedding day, and knew nothing of her father's death. Eugene's words of love had roused her from her death-like stupor; she was conscious only of his nearness--of the intoxication of his kiss.

"Oh, Eugene," she whispered, "what a lovely dream!" She still lay with closed eyes. Eugene, speechless with delight, pressed her passionately to his beating heart. Lucy, startled, opened her eyes.

Suddenly George Elmore, his eyes blazing, stood before her, looking down upon her haughtily.

Without losing his self-command in the least he said with cutting scorn, "Oh, I am interrupting a tete-a-tete! We have a lover, have we? Just as well I have found it out in time! Ha, ha! I wish you much happiness--especially as in my own case my family would have to decline the honor of an alliance with a bankrupt's daughter!" Then he bowed coldly and went out.

Lucy, realizing the situation, uttered a cry and attempted to rise, but once again overcome with weakness, fell back with the same marble paleness upon her brow.

VII.

Mr. Denison's funeral had already taken place some weeks. Nearly every day Lucy had been seen dressed in deep mourning, crossing to New Jersey. In her firm serious face decision showed itself as, hour after hour she bent over big ledgers, separating debts from assets, while the book-keeper stood by her side to offer her any assistance in his power.

After a long and searching examination, it became evident that the firm need not absolutely declare itself insolvent, since the great banking house in Wall Street whose reported failure had brought the catastrophe to the Denison household, had recovered itself, thanks to a favorable turn in the stock-market, and promised to reimburse all its creditors.

The Martin family, after all the severe trials it had undergone in New York, had moved back to New Jersey. Through the proved usefulness of old Martin, who now labored with redoubled eagerness to produce new and unheard of combinations of color, the prestige of the factory, which had sunk low in the silk market, now began to rise again to its former height.

Lucy and her mother, selling their fine house on Fifth Avenue, had also moved to New Jersey, in the vicinity of the works, since Lucy insisted upon superintending everything herself. She trembled with impatience and joy when Eugene's fair curly head was seen approaching the house.

On the expiration of her year of mourning she gave her hand to the man to whom her heart has long been given.