Part 16 (2/2)
”Colonel, have I insinuated anything? Did I say she had oiled the wheels of his departure?”
”Come, come! You go too far!”
”Not at all. That's your own construction. I merely say that I am not concerned about that man's disappearance. I think he'll be looked after, as a valuable witness should be.”
”Well,” the colonel grumbled uneasily, ”I don't like mysteries myself, and I don't like family quarrels nor skeletons at the feasts of old friends. But I suppose there must be a drop in every cup. What were your alt.i.tude cases, Doctor?”
”The same old ones; poor Addison, you know. All those stories they tell an Easterner. As I pointed out to Mrs. Bogardus, in every case there was some predisposing cause. Addison had been too long in the mountains, and he was frightfully overworked; short of company officers. He came to me about an insect he said had got into his ear; buzzed, and bothered him day and night. The story got to the men's quarters. They joked about the colonel's 'bug.' I knew it was no joke. I condemned him for duty, but the Sioux were out. They thought at Was.h.i.+ngton no one but Addison could handle an Indian campaign. He was on the ground, too. So they sent him up higher where it was dry, with a thousand men in his hands. I knew he'd be a madman or a dead man in a month! There were a good many of the dead! By Jove! The boys who took his orders and loved the old fellow and knew he was sending them to their death! Well for him that he'll never know.”
”The 'alt.i.tude of heartbreak,'” sighed Mrs. Creve. The phrase was her own, for many a reason deeply known unto herself, but she gave it the effect of a quotation before the men.
”Then you think there is no 'alt.i.tude' in ours?”
”No; nor 'heartbreak' either,” said the doctor, helping himself to one of the colonel's cigars. ”But I don't say there isn't enough to keep a woman awake nights, and to make those young men avoid the sight of each other for a time. Thanks, I won't smoke now. I'm going to take a look at Mrs. Bogardus as I go out.”
XV
A BRIDEGROOM OF SNOW
The doctor had taken his look, feeling a trifle guilty under his patient's counter gaze, yet glad to have relieved the good colonel's anxiety. If he loved to gossip, at least he was particular as to whom he gossiped with.
Moya closed the door after him and silently resumed her seat. Mrs.
Bogardus helped herself to a sip of water. She was struggling with a dry constriction of the throat, and Moya protested a little, seeing the effort that it cost her to speak, even in the hoa.r.s.e, unnatural tone which was all the voice she had left.
”I want to finish now,” she said, ”and never speak of this again. It was I who accused them first--and then I asked him:--if there was anything he could say in their defense, to say it, for Chrissy's sake! 'I will never break bread with them again,' said he,--'either Banks or Horace.
I will not eat with them, or drink with them, or speak with them again!'
Think of it! How are we to live? How are they to inhabit the same city? He thinks I have been weak. I am weak! The only power I have is through--the property. Banks will never marry a poor girl. But that would be a dear-bought victory. Let her keep what faith in him she can.
No; in families, the ones who can control themselves have to give in--to those who can't. If you argue with Christine she simply gives way, and then she gets hysterical, and then she is ill. It's a disease. Mothers know how their children--Christine was marked--marked with trouble! I am thankful she has any mind at all. She needs me more than Paul does. I cannot be parted from my power to help her--such as it is.”
”When she is Banks Bowen's wife she will need you more than ever!” said Moya.
”She will. I could prevent the marriage, but I am afraid to. I am afraid! So, as the family is cut in two--in three, for I--” Mrs. Bogardus stopped and moistened her lips again. ”So--I think you and Paul had better make your arrangements and go as soon as you can wherever it suits you, without minding about the rest of us.”
Moya gave a little sobbing laugh. ”You don't expect me to make the first move!”
”Doesn't he say anything to you--anything at all?”
”He is too ill.”
”He is not ill!” Mrs. Bogardus denied it fiercely. ”Who says he is ill?
He is starved and frozen. He is just out of the grave. You must be good to him, Moya. Warm him, comfort him! You can give him the life he needs.
Your hands are as soft as little birds. They comfort even me. Oh, don't you understand!”
”Of course I understand!” Moya answered, her face aflame. ”But I cannot marry Paul. He has got to marry me.”
”What nonsense that is! People say to a girl: 'You can't be too cold before you are married or too kind after!' That does not mean you and Paul. If you are not kind to him _now_, you will make a great mistake.”
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