Barriers Burned Away Read online

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  REGRET

  The next day was the Sabbath, and a long, dreary one it was toChristine. But late in the afternoon Susie Winthrop came with a pale,troubled face.

  "Oh, Christine, have you heard the news?" she exclaimed.

  Christine's heart stood still with fear, but by a great effort shesaid, composedly, "What news?"

  "Mr. Fleet has gone home very ill; indeed, he is not expected to live."

  For a moment she did not answer, and when she did it was with a voiceunnaturally hard and cold: "Have you heard what is the matter?"

  Miss Winthrop wondered at her manner, but replied, "Brain fever, I amtold."

  "Is he delirious?" asked Christine, in a low tone.

  "Yes, all the time. Ernst, the little office-boy, told me he did notknow his own mother. It seems that the boy's father is with Mrs. Fleet,helping take care of him."

  Christine's face was averted and so colorless that it seemed likemarble.

  "Oh, Christine, don't you care?" said Susie, springing up and comingtoward her.

  "Why should I care?" was the quick answer.

  Susie could not know that it was in reality but an incoherent cry ofpain--the blind, desperate effort of pride to shield itself. But thetone checked her steps and filled her face with reproach.

  "Perhaps you have more reason to care than you choose to admit," shesaid, pointedly.

  Christine flushed, but said, coldly: "Of course I feel an interest inthe fate of Mr. Fleet, as I do in that of every passing acquaintance.I feel very sorry for him and his friends"; but never was sympathyexpressed in a voice more unnaturally frigid.

  Susie looked at her keenly, and again saw the tell-tale flush risingto her cheek. She was puzzled, but saw that her friend had no confidenceto give, and she said, with a voice growing somewhat cold also: "Well,really, Christine, I thought you capable of seeing as much as the restof us in such matters, but I must be mistaken, if you only recognizedin Dennis Fleet a passing acquaintance. Well, if he dies I doubt ifeither you or I look upon his equal again. Under right influences hemight have been one of the first and most useful men of his day. Butthey need not tell me it was overwork that killed him. I know it wastrouble of some kind."

  Christine was very pale, but said nothing; and Susie, pained andmystified that the confidence of other days was refused, bade herfriend a rather cold and abrupt adieu.

  Left alone, Christine bowed her white face in her hands and sat sostill that it seemed as if life had deserted her. In her morbid stateshe began to fancy herself the victim of some terrible fatality. Herheart had bounded when Susie Winthrop was announced, believing thatfrom her she would gain sympathy; but in strange perversity she hadhidden her trouble from her friend, and permitted her to go away incoldness. Christine could see as quickly and as far as any, and fromthe first had noted that Dennis was very interesting to her friend.Until of late she had not cared, but now for some reason the fact wasnot pleasing, and she felt a sudden reluctance to speak to Susie ofhim.

  Now that she was alone a deeper sense of isolation came over her thanshe had ever felt before. Her one confidential friend had departed,chilled and hurt. She made friends but slowly, and, having once becomeestranged, from her very nature she found it almost impossible to makethe first advances toward reconciliation.

  Soon she heard her father's steps, and fled to her room to nerve herselffor the part she must act before him. But she was far from successful;her pale face and abstracted manner awakened his attention and hissurmises as to the cause. Having an engagement out, he soon left herto welcome solitude; for when she was in trouble he was no source ofhelp or comfort.

  Monday dragged wearily to a close. She tried to work, but could not.She took up the most exciting book she could find, only to throw itdown in despair. Forever before the canvas or the page would rise apale thin face, at times stern and scornful, again full of reproach,and then of pleading.

  Even at night her rest was disturbed, and in dreams she heard themutterings of his delirium, in which he continually charged her withhis death. At times she would take his picture from its place ofconcealment, and look at it with such feelings as would be awakenedby a promise of some priceless thing now beyond reach forever. Thenshe would become irritated with herself, and say, angrily: "What isthis man to me? Why am I worrying about one who never could be muchmore to me living than dead? I will forget the whole miserable affair."

  But she could not forget. Tuesday morning came, but no relief. "Whetherhe lives or dies he will follow me to my grave!" she cried. "From thetime I first spoke to him there has seemed no escape, and in strange,unexpected ways he constantly crosses my path!"

  She felt that she must have some relief from the oppression on herspirit. Suddenly she thought of Ernst, and at once went to the storeand asked if he had heard anything later. He had not, but thought thathis mother would receive a letter that day.

  "I want to see your father's picture, and will go home that way, ifyou will give me the number."

  The boy hesitated, but at last complied with her wish.

  A little later Christine knocked at Mr. Bruder's door. There was noresponse, though she heard a stifled sound within. After a little sheknocked more loudly. Then the door slowly opened, and Mrs. Bruder stoodbefore her. Her eyes were very red, and she held in her hand an openletter. Christine expected to find more of a lady than was apparentat first glance in the hard-working woman before her, so she said, "Mygood woman, will you tell Mrs. Bruder I would like to see her?"

  "Dis is Mrs. Bruder," was the answer.

  Then Christine noticed the letter, and the half-effaced traces ofemotion, and her heart misgave her; but she nerved herself to say, "Icame to see your husband's picture."

  "It is dere," was the brief reply.

  Christine began to expatiate on its beauty, though perhaps for thefirst time she looked at a fine picture without really seeing it. Shewas at a loss how to introduce the object of her visit, but at lastsaid, "Your husband is away?"

  "Yes."

  "He is taking care of one of my father's--of Mr. Fleet, I am told.Have you heard from him as to Mr. Fleet's health?"

  "Dis is Miss Ludolph?"

  "Yes."

  "You can no read Sherman?"

  "Oh, yes, I can. German is my native tongue."

  "Strange dot him should be so."

  "Why?"

  "Der Shermans haf hearts."

  Christine flushed deeply, but Mrs. Bruder without a word put herhusband's letter into her hand, and Christine read eagerly what,translated, is as follows:

  "MY DEAR WIFE--Perhaps before this reaches you our best friend, ourhuman savior, will be in heaven. There is a heaven, I believe as Inever did before; and when Mrs. Fleet prays the gate seems to open,and the glory to stream right down upon us. But I fear now that noteven her prayers can keep him. Only once he knew her; then he smiledand said, 'Mother, it is all right,' and dropped asleep. Soon fevercame on again, and he is sinking fast. The doctor shakes his head andgives no hope. My heart is breaking. Marguerite, Mr. Fleet is not dyinga natural death; he has been slain. I understand all his manner now,all his desperate hard work. He loved one above him in wealth--nonecould be above him in other respects--and that one was Miss Ludolph.I suspected it, though till delirious, he scarcely ever mentioned hername. But now I believe she played with his heart--the noblest thatever beat--and then threw it away, as if it were a toy instead of therichest offering ever made to a woman. Proud fool that she was; shehas done more mischief than a thousand such frivolous lives as herscan atone for. I can write no more; my heart is breaking with griefand indignation."

  As Christine read she suffered her veil to drop over her face. Whenshe looked up she saw that Mrs. Bruder's gaze was fixed upon her asupon the murderer of her best friend. She drew her veil closer abouther face, laid the letter down, and left the room without a word. Shefelt so guilty and miserable on her way home that it would scarcelyhave surprised her had a policeman arrested her for the
crime withwhich her own conscience, as well as Mr. Bruder's letter, charged her;and yet her pride revolted at it all.

  "Why should this affair take so miserable a form with me?" she said."To most it ends with a few sentimental sighs on one side, and as agood joke on the other. All seems to go wrong of late, and I am destinedto have everything save happiness and the success upon which I set myheart. There is no more cruel mockery than to give one all save thevery thing one wants; and, in seeking to grasp that, I have broughtdown upon myself this wretched, blighting experience. On this chaoticworld! The idea of there being a God! Why, I could make a better worldmyself!" and she reached her home in such a morbid, unhappy state,that none in the great city need have envied the rich and flatteredgirl. Mechanically she dressed and came down to dinner.

  During the afternoon Ernst, while out on an errand, had slipped homeand heard the sad news. He returned to Mr. Ludolph's office crying.To the question, "What is the matter?" he had answered, "Oh, Mr. Fleetis dying; he is dead by dis time!"

  Mr. Ludolph was sadly shocked and pained, for as far as he could likeanybody besides himself and daughter, he had been prepossessed in favorof his useful and intelligent clerk, and he was greatly annoyed at thethought of losing him. He returned full of the subject, and the firstwords with which he greeted Christine were, "Well, Fleet will hang nomore pictures for you, and sing no more songs."

  She staggered into a chair and sat before him pale and panting, forshe thought he meant that death had taken place.

  "Why, what is the matter?" cried he.

  She stared at him gaspingly, but said nothing.

  "Here, drink this," he said, hastily pouring out a glass of wine.

  She took it eagerly. After a moment he said: "Christine, I do notunderstand all this. I was merely saying that my clerk, Mr. Fleet, wasnot expected--"

  The point of endurance and guarded self-control was past, and shecried, half-hysterically: "Am I never to escape that man? Must everyone I meet speak to me as if I had murdered him?"

  Then she added, almost fiercely: "Living or dead, never speak to meof him again! I am no longer a child, but a woman, and as such I insistthat his name be dropped between us forever!"

  Her father gave a low exclamation of surprise, and said, "What! washe one of the victims?" (this being his term for Christine's rejectedsuitors).

  "No," said she; "I am the victim. He will soon be at rest, while Ishall be tormented to the grave by--" She hardly knew what to say, somingled and chaotic were her feelings. Her hands clenched, and witha stamp of her foot she hastily left the room.

  Mr. Ludolph could hardly believe his eyes. Could this passionate,thoroughly aroused woman be his cold, self-contained daughter? He couldnot understand, as so many cannot, that such natures when aroused aretenfold more intense than those whom little things excite. A long andpeculiar train of circumstances, a morbid and overwrought physicalcondition, led to this outburst from Christine, which was as much acause of surprise to herself afterward as to her father. He judgedcorrectly that a great deal had occurred between Dennis and herselfof which he had no knowledge, and again his confidence in her wasthoroughly shaken.

  At first he determined to question her and extort the truth. But when,an hour later, she quietly entered the parlor, he saw at a glance thatthe cold, proud, self-possessed woman before him would not submit tothe treatment accepted by the little Christine of former days. Thewily man read from her manner and the expression of her eye that hemight with her consent lead, but could not command without awakeninga nature as imperious as his own.

  He was angry, but he had time to think. Prudence had given a decidedvoice in favor of caution.

  He saw what she did not recognize herself, that her heart had beengreatly touched, and in his secret soul he was not sorry now tobelieve that Dennis was dying.

  "Father," said Christine, abruptly, "how soon can we start on oureastern trip?"

  "Well, if you particularly wish it," he replied, "I can leave by theevening train to-morrow."

  "I do wish it very much," said Christine, earnestly, "and will beready."

  After an evening of silence and constraint they separated for thenight.

  Mr. Ludolph sat for a long time sipping his wine after she had gone.

  "After all it will turn out for the best," he said. "Fleet will probablydie, and then will be out of the way. Or, if he lives, I can easilyguard against him, and it will go no further. If she had been bewitchedby a man like Mr. Mellen, the matter would have been more difficult.

  "In truth," he continued, after a little, "now that her weak woman'sheart is occupied by an impossible lover, there is no danger frompossible ones;" and the man of the world went complacently to his rest,believing that what he regarded as the game of life was entirely inhis own hands.

  The next evening the night express bore Christine from the scene ofthe events she sought to escape; but she was to learn, in common withthe great host of the sinning and suffering, how little change of placehas to do with change of feeling. We take memory and character withus from land to land, from youth to age, from this world to the other,from time through eternity. Sad, then, is the lot of those who evercarry the elements of their own torture with them.

  It was Christine's purpose, and she had her father's consent, to makea long visit in New York, and, in the gayety and excitement of themetropolis, to forget her late wretched experience.

  As it was still early in September, they resolved to stop at West Pointand participate in the gayest season of that fashionable watering-place.At this time the hotels are thronged with summer tourists returninghomeward from the more northern resorts. Though the broad piazzas ofCozzens's great hotel were crowded by the _elite_ of the city, there wasa hum of admiration as Christine first made her round on her father'sarm; and in the evening, when the spacious parlor was cleared fordancing, officers from the post and civilians alike eagerly soughther hand, and hundreds of admiring eyes followed as she swept throughthe mazes of the dance, the embodiment of grace and beauty. She wasvery gay, and her repartee was often brilliant, but a close observerwould have seen something forced and unnatural in all. Such an observerwas her father. He saw that the sparkle of her eyes had no more heartand happiness in it than that of the diamonds on her bosom, and thatwith the whole strength of her resolute nature she was laboring torepel thought and memory. But, as he witnessed the admiration sheexcited on every side, he became more determined than ever that hisfair daughter should shine a star of the first magnitude in the_salons_ of Europe. At a late hour, and wearied past the powerof thought, she gladly sought refuge in the blank of sleep.

  The next morning they drove out early, before the sun was high andwarm. It was a glorious autumn day. Recent rains had purified theatmosphere, so that the unrivalled scenery of the Hudson stood out inclear and grand outline.

  As Christine looked about her she felt a thrill of almost delight--thefirst sensation of the kind since that moment of exultation whichDennis had inspired, but which he had also turned to the bitternessof disaster and humiliation. She was keenly alive to beauty, and shesaw it on every side. The Ludolph family had ever lived among themountains on the Rhine, and the heart of this latest child of the raceyearned over the rugged scenery before her with hereditary affection,which had grown stronger with each successive generation.

  The dew, like innumerable pearls, gemmed the grass in the park-likelawn of the hotel, and the slanting rays of the sun flecked theluxuriant foliage. Never before had this passion for the beautiful innature been so gratified, and all the artist feeling within her awoke.

  On reaching the street the carriage turned southward, and, after passingthe village of Highland Falls, entered on one of the most beautifuldrives in America. At times the road led under overarching forest-trees,shaded and dim with that delicious twilight which only myriads offluttering leaves can make. Again it would wind around some boldheadland, and the broad expanse of the Hudson would shine out dottedwith white sails. Then through a vista its waters would
sparkle,suggesting an exquisite cabinet picture. On the right the thickly-woodedmountains rose like emerald walls, with here and there along theirbase a quiet farmhouse. With kindling eye and glowing cheeks she drankin view after view, and at last exclaimed, "If there were only a fewold castles scattered among these Highlands, this would be the veryperfection of scenery."

  Her father watched her closely, and with much satisfaction.

  "After all, her wound is slight," he thought, "and new scenes andcircumstances will soon cause her to forget."

  Furtively, but continually, he bent his eyes upon her, as if to readher very soul. A dreamy, happy expression rested on her face, as ifa scene were present to her fancy even more to her taste than the oneher eyes dwelt upon. In fact she was living over that evening at MissWinthrop's, when Dennis had told her that she could reach truest andhighest art--that she could feel--could copy anything she saw; andexhilarated by the fresh morning air, inspired by the scenery, shefelt for the moment, as never before, that it might all be true.

  Was he who gave those blissful assurances also exerting a subtile,unrecognized power over her? Certainly within the last few weeks shehad been subject to strange moods and reveries. But the first dawningof a woman's love is like the aurora, with its strange, fitful flashes.The phenomena have never been satisfactorily explained.

  But, as Mr. Ludolph watched complacently and admiringly, her expressionsuddenly changed, and a frightened, guilty look came into her face.The glow upon her cheeks gave place to extreme pallor, and she glancednervously around as if fearing something, then caught her father'seye, and was conscious of his scrutiny. She at once became cold andself-possessed, and sat at his side pale and quiet till the ride ended.But he saw from the troubled gleam of her eyes that beneath that calmexterior were tumult and suffering. Few in this life are so guilty andwretched as not to have moments of forgetfulness, when the happierpast comes back and they are oblivious of the painful present. Sucha brief respite Christine enjoyed during part of her morning ride. Thegrand and swiftly varying scenery crowded her mind with pleasant images,which had been followed by a delicious revery. She felt herself to bea true priestess of Nature, capable of understanding and interpretingher voices and hidden meanings--of catching her evanescent beauty andfixing it on the glowing canvas. The strong consciousness of such powerwas indeed sweet and intoxicating. Her mind naturally reverted to himwho had most clearly asserted her possession of it.

  "He, too, would have equal appreciation of this scenery," she said toherself.

  Then came the sudden remembrance, shrivelling her pretty dreams as thelightning scorches and withers.

  "_He--he is dead!--he must be by this time!_"

  And dread and guilt and something else which she did not define, butwhich seemed more like a sense of great loss, lay heavy at her heart.No wonder her father was perplexed and provoked by the sad change inher face. At first he was inclined to remonstrate and put spurs to herpride. But there was a dignity about the lady at his side, even thoughshe was his daughter, that embarrassed and restrained him. Moreover,though he understood much and suspected far more--more indeed than thetruth--there was nothing acknowledged or tangible that he could layhold of, and she meant that it should be so. For reasons she did notunderstand she felt a disinclination to tell her troubles to SusieWinthrop, and she was most resolute in her purpose never to permit herfather to speak on the subject.

  If Mr. Ludolph had been as coarse and ignorant as he was hard andselfish, he would have gone to work at the case with sledge-hammerdexterity, as many parents have done, making sad, brutal havoc indelicate womanly natures with which they were no more fit to deal thana blacksmith with hair-springs. But though he longed to speak, andbring his remorseless logic to bear, Christine's manner raised a barrierwhich a man of his fine culture could not readily pass.

  She joined her father at a late breakfast, smiling and brilliant, buther gayety was clearly forced. The morning was spent in sketching, sheseeming to crave constant occupation or excitement.

  In the afternoon father and daughter drove up the river to the militarygrounds to witness a drill. Mr. Ludolph did his best to rally Christine,pointing out everything of interest. First, the grand old ruin of FortPutnam frowned down upon them. This had been the one feature wanting,and Christine felt that she could ask nothing more. Her wonder andadmiration grew as the road wound along the immediate bluff and aroundthe plain by the river fortifications. But when she stood on the piazzaof the West Point Hotel, and looked up through the Highlands towardNewburgh, tears came to her eyes, and she trembled with excitement.From her recent experiences her nerves were morbidly sensitive. Buther father could only look and wonder, she seemed so changed to him.

  "And is the Rhine like this?" she asked.

  "Well, the best I can say is, that to a German and a Ludolph it seemsjust as beautiful," he replied.

  "Surely," said she, slowly and in half-soliloquy, "if one could livealways amid such scenes as these, the Elysium of the gods or the heavenof the Christians would offer few temptations."

  "And among just such scenes you shall live after a short year passes,"he answered, warmly and confidently. But with anger he missed thewonted sparkle of her eyes when these cherished plans were broached.

  In bitterness Christine said to herself: "A few weeks since this thoughtwould have filled me with delight. Why does it not now?"

  Silently they drove to the parade-ground. At the sally-port of thedistant barracks bayonets were gleaming. There was a burst of martialmusic, then each class at the Academy--four companies--came out uponthe grassy plain upon the double-quick. Their motions were light andswift, and yet so accurately timed that each company seemed one perfectpiece of mechanism. A cadet stood at a certain point with a small colorflying. Abreast of this their advance was checked as suddenly as ifthey had been turned to stone, and the entire corps was in line. Thenfollowed a series of skilful manoeuvres, in which Christine was muchinterested, and her old eager manner returned.

  "I like the army," she exclaimed; "the precision and inflexible routinewould just suit me. I wish there was war, and I a man, that I mightenter into the glorious excitements."

  Luxurious Mr. Ludolph had no tastes in that direction, and, shrugginghis shoulders, said: "How about the hardships, wounds, and chances ofan obscure death? These are the rule in a campaign; the gloriousexcitements the exceptions."

  "I did not think of those," she said, shrinking against the cushions."Everything seems to have so many miserable drawbacks!"

  The pageantry over, the driver turned and drove northward through themost superb scenery.

  "Where are we going?" asked Christine.

  "To the cemetery," was the reply.

  "No, no! not there!" she exclaimed, nervously.

  "Nonsense! Why not?" remonstrated her father.

  "I don't wish to go there!" she cried, excitedly. "Please turn around."

  Her father reluctantly gave the order, but added, "Christine, youcertainly indulge in strange moods and whims of late."

  She was silent a moment, and then she began a running fire of questionsabout the Academy, that left no space for explanations.

  That evening she danced as resolutely as ever, and by her beauty andbrilliant repartee threw around her many bewildering spells that eventhe veterans of the Point could scarcely resist.

  But when alone in her own room she looked at her white face in themirror, and murmured in tones full of unutterable dread and remorse,"He is dead--he must be dead by this time!"