Part 6 (2/2)
”Not until you tell me why you cried.”
”But I haven't been crying.”
”Oh, yes you have. I----”
”Supper is served in the library, Mrs. Courtlandt,” interrupted Judson of the velvet tread. As they left the room in the wake of their guests the butler detained Stephen Courtlandt and said something in a low tone.
”Has Mr. Greyson gone up?” he asked hurriedly and when Judson answered in the affirmative he turned to Jerry:
”I must go to Uncle Nick. I may not be down again.”
”Is he----” but he was mounting the stairs two steps at a time before Jerry had finished the sentence. With a feeling of foreboding she entered the library. The guests were grouped around the fire with Judson and a maid serving supper. She stopped in the shadow of the doorway.
Up-stairs the spirit of an old, weary man was pa.s.sing, here--the room and its furnis.h.i.+ngs made a rich background for the s.h.i.+mmering satin of dainty gowns; the firelight played mad pranks with jewels at white throats and on pink fingers, with the glittering buckles on silver slippers; bright eyes were laughing into eyes that pleaded or compelled, young voices were teasing, challenging.
Jerry's breath came unevenly. She had cried last night. It was a rare indulgence for her. She could not tell now why. How could Steve have known? She hoped that none of these chattering boys and girls suspected it. She looked about the room. How she loved it! It stood for all the background she had acquired by her marriage. She loved the old seventeenth century Courtlandt, she held long, one-sided conversations with him when she was sure that she was quite alone. He had given her to understand that a _marriage de convenance_ quite met with his approval, that in his day girls married to please their parents. She wasn't so sure of the judgment of Steve's mother. Her eyes, so like her son's, looked down with a grave question in their depths when she appealed to her.
The group around the fire made room as they welcomed her with gay reproof for tardiness. Felice Denbigh inquired impatiently for Steve.
Jerry made his apologies and explained his absence. The voices of the guests became hushed. One by one they left, almost tiptoeing through the hall. Peggy snuggled up to her sister when the two were alone.
”Has--has Uncle N-Nick--gone?” she whispered. Then as Jerry shook her head, ”If--if he does will you come and sleep with me?”
”I will, dear, but there is nothing to frighten you. Why should there be in the pa.s.sing of an old man's spirit?”
”But--but he was such a cross old man. What has made you so brave, Jerry? Once you would have dreaded it as much as I--being here at a time like this, I mean.”
”Perhaps it is the hours I have spent in the hospital with the sick and wounded soldiers. I have seen so much and felt so much, that death has seemed beautiful, not terrible. Go to bed, child. I'll come in later and stay with you.”
She went down the hall. ”But he was such a cross old man!” Peggy's obituary of Nicholas Fairfax echoed persistently in her mind. What a tragic thing to have said about one. She couldn't blame her sister. Old Nick had been consistently disagreeable to her and Peg was too young to take into consideration his age and illness. She lingered for a moment before the door of the room in which Nicholas Fairfax lay. Could she help? The nurse came out suddenly and almost collided with her.
”Goodness, Mrs. Courtlandt, you gave me a start! I was just coming for you. Mr. Stephen sent me. His uncle wants you.”
With her breath coming hurriedly, her heart pounding, Jerry followed the woman. What could Old Nick want? To continue his insults? She pa.s.sed into the inner room. The window was open to let in the clear winter air.
The old man was raised high on his pillows. Steve held one of the gnarled hands. Courtlandt was behind him. Greyson, as rigid and immovable as one of the mountains of his own country, stood at the foot of the bed. Doctor Rand, his face grave and deeply lined, motioned the girl to take her place opposite Steve, then he and the nurse and Greyson moved back to the outer room. As Jerry bent over him, Nicholas Fairfax looked up into her eyes. They met his tenderly. The tenseness of his expression relaxed, he fumbled for something under his pillow. Jerry reached for him and drew out an open prayer-book. His shaking finger pointed to the page; it was the marriage service.
”Read that--read that--aloud,” he commanded in a voice which still held a ring of power.
Slipping to her knees beside the bed the girl read. Haltingly, huskily at first, but as she lost thought of self in the beauty and meaning of the words her voice cleared.
”'Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after G.o.d's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony and forsaking all others keep thee only to him as long as ye both shall live?'”
The gnarled, claw-like hand fell on the book. The Old man leaned forward. His voice, weaker now, interrupted:
”'And forsaking all others keep thee only to him as long as ye both--shall live,' did you mean it, girl, when you made that vow?”
Jerry's face was colorless. There was a broken exclamation from Steve.
She laid her hand gently over the icy hand on the book. Her young ardent eyes met his dim ones steadily.
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