Part 31 (1/2)
On the contrary, Fairfax thought so. He leaned forward eagerly, and Rainsford, watching him, saw a transfigured man.
”Death,” said the engineer, ”has taken everything from me. Life has given me nothing, old man. I have a feeling that perhaps now, through this, I may regain what I have lost.... I long to take my chance.”
The other exclaimed sympathetically, ”My dear fellow, you must take it by all means.”
Fairfax remained thoughtful a moment, then asked almost appealingly----
”Why, how can I do so? Such an effort would cost my living, _her_ living, the renting of a place to work in....” As he watched Rainsford's face his eyes kindled.
”I offered to lend you money once, Tony,” recalled his friend, ”and I wish to G.o.d you'd taken the loan then, because just at present--”
The Utter Failure raised his near-sighted eyes, and the look of disappointment on the bright countenance of the engineer cut him to the heart.
”Never mind.” Fairfax's voice was forced in its cheerfulness. ”Something or other will turn up, I shall work Sundays and half-days, and I reckon I can put it through. I am bound to,” he finished ardently, ”just bound to.”
Rainsford said musingly, ”I made a little investment, but it went to pot. I hoped--I'm always hoping--but the money didn't double itself.”
The engineer didn't hear him. He was already thinking how he could transform his kitchen into a studio, although it had an east light. Just here Rainsford leaned over and put his hand on Antony's sleeve. ”I want to say a word to you about your wife. I don't think she's very well.”
”Molly?” answered his companion calmly. ”She's all right. She has a mighty fine const.i.tution, and I never heard her complain. When did you see her, Rainsford?” He frowned.
”Sat.u.r.day, when you were in New York. You forgot to send your pa.s.s-book, and I went for it myself.”
”Well?” queried Antony. ”What then?”
”Mrs. Fairfax gave me the book, and I stopped to speak with her for a few moments. I find her very much changed.”
The light died from the young man's illumined face where his visions had kindled a sacred fire. The realities of life blotted it out.
”I'm not able to give Molly any distractions, that you know.”
”She doesn't want them, Tony.” Rainsford looked kindly and affectionately, almost tenderly, at him, and repeated gently: ”She doesn't want amus.e.m.e.nt, Tony.”
And Fairfax threw up his head with a sort of despair on his face--
”My G.o.d, Rainsford,” he murmured, ”what can I do?”
”I'm afraid she's breaking her heart,” said the older man. ”Poor little woman!”
CHAPTER XXVII
In the little room they used as parlour-kitchen and which to one of the inhabitants at least was lovely, Fairfax found Molly sitting by the window through which the spring light fell. The evening was warm. Molly wore a print dress, and in her bodice he saw that she had thrust a spray of pink geranium from the window-boxes that Antony had made and filled for her. Nothing that had claim to beauty failed to touch his senses, and he saw the charm of the picture in the pale spring light. He had softly turned the door-handle, and as there was a hand-organ playing without and Molly listening to the music, he entered without her hearing him.
”Is it yourself?” she exclaimed, startled. ”You're home early, Tony.”
He told her that he had come to take her for a little walk, and as she moved out of the light and came toward him, he thought he knew what Rainsford had meant. She was thin and yet not thin. The roundness had gone from her cheeks, and there was a mild sadness in her eyes.
Reproached and impatient, suffering as keenly as she, he was nevertheless too kind of heart and nature not to feel the tragedy of her life. He drew her to him and kissed her. She made no response, and feeling her a dead weight he found that as he held her she had fainted away. He laid her on the bed, loosened her dress, and bathed her icy temples. Before she regained consciousness he saw her pallor, and that she had greatly changed. He was very gentle and tender with her when she came to herself; and, holding her, said--