Part 60 (2/2)

His mother peered into his eyes, and he clutched her by the arms, staring at her. Then he mumbled:

”Oh, it's you,” and smiled foolishly, and laughed as with a great relief.

”What is it, my boy?” said Mrs. Enslee.

”I must have dropped off to sleep. It was only a dream.”

”What was it?” Mrs. Enslee repeated; but he spoke with a sickly cheer:

”That's the one consolation about nightmares, when you wake up--thank G.o.d, they're not true!”

”But what did you dream?” Mrs. Enslee demanded till he explained:

”Well, it seemed to be my--er--wedding-day. And I was standing there by Persis--I was--er--fumbling in my pocket for the--er--ring, and feeling like a fool--because she's so much taller than I am--and the preacher said, 'If anybody knows any--er--reason why these two should not be--er--wed, let him speak now, or forever--'”

”Yes, yes,” said his audience of one.

”There was--er--silence for a minute. Then a man stood up in the church--I couldn't see his face--but he was tall, and he called out--er, 'I forbid the banns! She loves me. She is only marrying that man for his--er--money!' I turned to Persis and said: 'Is that true?' And she said: 'I don't know the man. I never saw him.' And then, when she said that, he gave her one look and--er--walked out of the church. And the--er--ceremony went on. But Persis s.h.i.+vered all the time--er--just s.h.i.+vered, and when I kissed her her lips were like--er--like ice. Then the music began, and we marched down the aisle--and then--then we--er--er--no, I won't tell you.”

”Go on--please go on!” the mother pleaded; but Willie grew embarra.s.sed, and his eyes wandered as he stammered:

”Well--at last--we were in our room--and I--er--she shrank away from me as if I were--er--a toad. And she swore she hated me--and loved the--er--other man. Then I saw everything red--I hated her. I wanted to throttle her--to tear her to pieces. But she ran to the window and fell, all--er--tangled up in the veil and the long train. I tried to save her--but I couldn't. And then--when it was too late--my love for her came back, and I cried, 'Persis! Persis!' and--er--woke up. Mother, do you believe in--er--dreams?”

”No, no, of course not,” said Mrs. Enslee, without conviction. ”Or else they go by contraries.”

”Ugh! How real they are while they last. I can't get over it.”

”Well, of course, I'm not superst.i.tious,” Mrs. Enslee insinuated; ”but, if you are, perhaps--I just say perhaps--it might be a sort of omen that you'd better not marry Persis, after all.”

”Not marry Persis!” Willie gasped.

”There are other women on earth,” Mrs. Enslee suggested.

”Not for me!”

Mrs. Enslee pondered a moment before she took up the debate again. ”But do you think she loves you as much as you'd like to be loved?”

Willie laughed. ”Huh! n.o.body ever loved me like that; n.o.body ever will.”

”Except your mother,” said Mrs. Enslee, laying her hand on his hair.

Willie hated to have his hair smoothed, and he edged away, laughingly bitterly.

”I'm afraid even you've found me--er--unattractive, mother. I couldn't have been much to be proud of even as a little brat. I never had a chum as a boy. I never had a girl--er--sweetheart. It wasn't that I didn't like other people, but other people can't seem to--er--like me.”

He pondered the mystery so tragically that Mrs. Enslee caressed him, and said: ”You mustn't say that. I adore you.”

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