Part 51 (1/2)

They only allow me to write one letter in three months”--Aileen exploded again--”and I'm sure I can have that made different--some; but don't write me until you hear, or at least don't sign any name or put any address in. They open all mail and read it. If you see me or write me you'll have to be cautious, and you're not the most cautious person in the world. Now be good, will you?”

They talked much more--of his family, his court appearance Monday, whether he would get out soon to attend any of the suits still pending, or be pardoned. Aileen still believed in his future. She had read the opinions of the dissenting judges in his favor, and that of the three agreed judges against him. She was sure his day was not over in Philadelphia, and that he would some time reestablish himself and then take her with him somewhere else. She was sorry for Mrs. Cowperwood, but she was convinced that she was not suited to him--that Frank needed some one more like herself, some one with youth and beauty and force--her, no less. She clung to him now in ecstatic embraces until it was time to go.

So far as a plan of procedure could have been adjusted in a situation so incapable of accurate adjustment, it had been done. She was desperately downcast at the last moment, as was he, over their parting; but she pulled herself together with her usual force and faced the dark future with a steady eye.

Chapter LI

Monday came and with it his final departure. All that could be done had been done. Cowperwood said his farewells to his mother and father, his brothers and sister. He had a rather distant but sensible and matter-of-fact talk with his wife. He made no special point of saying good-by to his son or his daughter; when he came in on Thursday, Friday, Sat.u.r.day, and Sunday evenings, after he had learned that he was to depart Monday, it was with the thought of talking to them a little in an especially affectionate way. He realized that his general moral or unmoral att.i.tude was perhaps working them a temporary injustice. Still he was not sure. Most people did fairly well with their lives, whether coddled or deprived of opportunity. These children would probably do as well as most children, whatever happened--and then, anyhow, he had no intention of forsaking them financially, if he could help it. He did not want to separate his wife from her children, nor them from her. She should keep them. He wanted them to be comfortable with her. He would like to see them, wherever they were with her, occasionally. Only he wanted his own personal freedom, in so far as she and they were concerned, to go off and set up a new world and a new home with Aileen.

So now on these last days, and particularly this last Sunday night, he was rather noticeably considerate of his boy and girl, without being too openly indicative of his approaching separation from them.

”Frank,” he said to his notably lackadaisical son on this occasion, ”aren't you going to straighten up and be a big, strong, healthy fellow?

You don't play enough. You ought to get in with a gang of boys and be a leader. Why don't you fit yourself up a gymnasium somewhere and see how strong you can get?”

They were in the senior Cowperwood's sitting-room, where they had all rather consciously gathered on this occasion.

Lillian, second, who was on the other side of the big library table from her father, paused to survey him and her brother with interest. Both had been carefully guarded against any real knowledge of their father's affairs or his present predicament. He was going away on a journey for about a month or so they understood. Lillian was reading in a Chatterbox book which had been given her the previous Christmas.

”He won't do anything,” she volunteered, looking up from her reading in a peculiarly critical way for her. ”Why, he won't ever run races with me when I want him to.”

”Aw, who wants to run races with you, anyhow?” returned Frank, junior, sourly. ”You couldn't run if I did want to run with you.”

”Couldn't I?” she replied. ”I could beat you, all right.”

”Lillian!” pleaded her mother, with a warning sound in her voice.

Cowperwood smiled, and laid his hand affectionately on his son's head.

”You'll be all right, Frank,” he volunteered, pinching his ear lightly.

”Don't worry--just make an effort.”

The boy did not respond as warmly as he hoped. Later in the evening Mrs.

Cowperwood noticed that her husband squeezed his daughter's slim little waist and pulled her curly hair gently. For the moment she was jealous of her daughter.

”Going to be the best kind of a girl while I'm away?” he said to her, privately.

”Yes, papa,” she replied, brightly.

”That's right,” he returned, and leaned over and kissed her mouth tenderly. ”b.u.t.ton Eyes,” he said.

Mrs. Cowperwood sighed after he had gone. ”Everything for the children, nothing for me,” she thought, though the children had not got so vastly much either in the past.

Cowperwood's att.i.tude toward his mother in this final hour was about as tender and sympathetic as any he could maintain in this world. He understood quite clearly the ramifications of her interests, and how she was suffering for him and all the others concerned. He had not forgotten her sympathetic care of him in his youth; and if he could have done anything to have spared her this unhappy breakdown of her fortunes in her old age, he would have done so. There was no use crying over spilled milk. It was impossible at times for him not to feel intensely in moments of success or failure; but the proper thing to do was to bear up, not to show it, to talk little and go your way with an air not so much of resignation as of self-sufficiency, to whatever was awaiting you. That was his att.i.tude on this morning, and that was what he expected from those around him--almost compelled, in fact, by his own att.i.tude.

”Well, mother,” he said, genially, at the last moment--he would not let her nor his wife nor his sister come to court, maintaining that it would make not the least difference to him and would only harrow their own feelings uselessly--”I'm going now. Don't worry. Keep up your spirits.”

He slipped his arm around his mother's waist, and she gave him a long, unrestrained, despairing embrace and kiss.

”Go on, Frank,” she said, choking, when she let him go. ”G.o.d bless you.