Part 29 (1/2)
Mariana replied tartly.
”I am sure I don't see how my objection to living upon fried cabbage could reflect upon you. I did not know you cared for it.”
”You know I do not. But I don't see why you should make a fuss about a wholesome article of food.”
”It is not wholesome. It is exceedingly indigestible.”
”At any rate, it belongs to your neighbors. You aren't forced to eat it.”
”No, but you implied that the time would come when I'd be glad to. I merely said it never would.”
”Then let the cabbage be d.a.m.ned,” said Algarcife.
”Gladly,” responded Mariana, and they said no more.
Algarcife selected a ma.n.u.script from his desk and went out. He felt as if his nerves had quickened into ramifying wires through which a current of electricity was pa.s.sing. He was not angry with Mariana. He was angry with no one, but he was racked by the agony of diseased sensibilities, and, though rationally he endeavored to be sympathetic in his bearing to his wife, his rational nature seemed ploughed by the press of his nerves, and for the first time in his life he found self-restraint beyond his grasp.
As he ascended the steps of the newspaper office where he was to leave the ma.n.u.script, he ran against a man whom he knew and who stared at him in astonishment.
”My G.o.d, Algarcife, you are a ghost! What have you been doing?”
”Wrestling with Providence,” returned Algarcife, shortly. ”Hardly a becoming job.”
”Well, take my advice and leave off at the first round. If you don't mind the comparison, you bear a close resemblance to that Egyptian mummy in the museum.”
”No doubt. But that Egyptian has a d.a.m.ned sight the best of it. He lived three thousand years ago.”
And he pa.s.sed on.
It was several nights after this that he started from a heavy sleep to find that Mariana had left his side. Rising upon his elbow, he glanced about the room, and saw her white-robed form revealed in nebulous indistinctness against the open window. Her head was resting upon her clasped hands and she was looking out into the night.
”Mariana,” he said.
Her voice came with a m.u.f.fled sound from the obscurity.
”Yes.”
”What are you doing?”
The white figure stirred slightly.
”Thinking,” she answered.
”Don't think. It is a confounded mistake. Go to sleep.”
”I can't sleep. It is so hot.”
”Lie down and I will fan you.”
”No.”