Part 62 (2/2)

”See,” he said, ”I'm as grave as a judge. I will never laugh AT you, but I hope to laugh WITH you many a time, for to tell you the truth the experience has reminded me of the 'inextinguishable laughter of the G.o.ds.' Please don't go yet.”

”If I must come so often my visits must be brief.”

”Then you will come?”

”I haven't promised anything except for to-morrow. Good-morning.”

”Let me walk home with you.”

”No, positively. You have wasted too much time already.”

”You will at least shake hands in token of peace and amity before we part?”

”Oh, certainly, if you think it worth the while when we are to meet so soon again. Oh! you hurt me. You did that once before.”

His face suddenly became grave and even tender in its expression, as he said, in a low, deep voice, ”More than once, Miss Ida. Don't think I forget or forgive myself because you treat me so generously.”

She would not look up and meet his eyes, but replied, in tones that trembled with repressed feeling, ”I could forgive anything after your manner towards father this morning. Never think I can forget such favors,” and then she s.n.a.t.c.hed away her hand and went swiftly out. Her tears fell fast as she sought her home by quiet streets with bowed head and vail drawn tightly down, and she murmured:

”I cannot give him up--I cannot, indeed, I cannot. If I lose him it must be because there is no help for it.”

Then conscience uttered its low, faint protest and her tears fell faster still.

When reaching her room she threw herself on the sofa and sobbed, ”Would it be so very, very wrong to win him if I could? she can't love him as much as I do. Why, I was ready to die even to win his respect, and now in these visits he gives me a chance to win his love. Is he pledged to Miss Burton yet? If he is, I do not know it. He does seem to care for me--there is often something in his face and tone that whispers hope. If he loves her as I love him he could not be here in New York all this week. But it's her love that troubles me--I've seen it in her eyes when he was not observing, and I fear she just wors.h.i.+ps him. Alas, he gave her reason. His manner has been that of a lover, and no one--he least of all--would think of flirting with Jennie Burton. But does he lover her so deeply that I could not win him if I had a chance? Would it be very wicked if I did? Must I give up my happiness for her happiness?

I came to New York to get away from danger and temptation and here I am right in the midst of it. What shall I do! Oh, my Saviour, I'm half afraid to speak to thee about this.”

”If I could only see Mr. Eltinge,” she murmured, after an hour of distracted thought and indecision. ”There is no time to write--indeed, I could not write on such a subject, and--and--I'm afraid he'd advise me against it. He can't understand a woman's feelings in a case like this, at least he could not understand a pa.s.sionate, faulty girl like me. I've no patience--no fort.i.tude.

I could die for my love--I think, I hope, I could for my faith,--but I feel no power within me to endure patiently year after year. I would be like the poor, weak women they shut up in the Inquisition and who suffered on to the end only through remorseless compulsion, because the walls were too thick for escape, and the tormentor's hands and the rack were irresistible. My soul would succ.u.mb as well as my body. This would seem wild, wicked talk to Mr. Eltinge; it would seem weak and irrational to any man. But I'm only Ida Mayhew, and such is my nature. I've been made all the more incapable of patient self-sacrifice by self-indulgence from my childhood up.

Oh, will it be very, very wrong to win him if I can?” and the pa.s.sionate tears and sobs that followed these words would seem to indicate that she understood her nature only too well.

At last she concluded, in weariness and exhaustion, ”I'm too weak and distracted to think any more. I hardly know whether it's right or wrong. I hope it isn't very wrong. I won't decide now. Let matters take their own course as they have done and I may see clearer by and by.”

But deep in her heart she felt that this was about the same as yielding to the temptation.

She bathed her eyes, tried to think how she could spend the intervening hours before they would meet again. Then with a sense of dismay she began to consider, ”If we are to meet so often what are we to talk about? He once tried to converse with me and found me so ignorant he couldn't. It seemed to me I didn't know anything that evening, and he'll soon grow disgusted with me again as he sees my poor little pack of knowledge is like a tramp's bundle that he carries around with him. I must read--I must study every moment, or I haven't the remotest chance of success. Success! Oh, merciful heaven! it's the same as if I were setting about it all deliberately and there's no use of deceiving myself. I hope it isn't very, very wrong.”

She went to her father's library with flushed cheeks and hesitating steps, as if it were the tree from which she might pluck the fruit of forbidden knowledge. The long rows of ponderous and neglected books appalled her; she took down two or three and they seemed like unopened mines, deep and rocky. She felt instinctively that there was not time for her to trans.m.u.te their ores into graceful and natural mental adornments.

”Methuselah himself couldn't read them all,” she exclaimed. ”By the powers! if here isn't more books than I can carry, on one subject.

I suppose cartloads have been written about art. I've no doubt he's read them all, but I never can; I fear my attempt to read up is like trying to get strong by eating a whole ox at once. Oh, why did I waste my school-days, and indeed all my life as I have!”

and she stamped her foot in her impatience and irritation.

”Well,” she sighed at last, with a grim sort of humor; ”I must do the best I can. It's the same as if I were on a desert island. I must tie together some sort of a raft in order to cross the gulf that separates us, for I never can stand it to stay here alone.

Since I have not time to spare I may as well commence with that encyclopaedia, and learn a little about as many things as possible; then if he introduces a subject he shall at least see that I know what he is talking about.” And during the afternoon the poor girl plodded through sever articles, often recalling her wandering thoughts by impatient little gestures, and by the time her father returned she was conscious of knowing a very little indeed about a number of things. ”No matter,” she thought, compressing her lips, ”I won't give up till I must. It's my one chance for happiness in this world, and I'll cling to it while there is a shred of hope left.”

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