Unfortunately he has just admitted that those stories are substantially true, said the father curtly.
I wont believe it, sobbed his mother, until he tells me so himself. You didnt, did you, back out of a fight, and let that Bob Bennett, whose mother used to be my sewing girl, and whom I supported for months after he was born, and his father died with the cholera and left her nothing, by giving her work and paying her cash, and who is now putting on all sorts of airs because everybodys congratulating her on having such a wonderful son, and nobodys congratulating me at all, and sometimes I almost which I was dead.
Clearness of statement was never one of Mrs. Glens salient characteristics. Nor did deep emotion help her in this regard. Still it was only too evident that the fountains of her being were moved by having another womans son exalted over her own. Her maternal pride and social prestige were both quivering under the blow.
Harry met this with a flank movement.
You both seem decidedly disappointed that I did not get myself wounded or killed, he said.
Thats an unmanly whimper, said his father contemptuously.
Why, Harry, Bob Bennett didnt get either killed or wounded, said his mother with that defective ratiocination which it is a pretty womans privilege to indulge in at her own sweet will.
Harry withdrew from the mortifying conference under the plea of the necessity of going to his room to remove the grime of travel.
He was smarting with rage and humiliation. His panoply of conceit was pierced for the first time since the completion of his collegiate course sent him forth into the world a being superior, in his own esteem, to the accidents and conditions that the mass of inferior mortals are subject to. Yet he found reasons to account for his parents defection to the ranks of his enemies.
Its no new thing, he said, while carefully dressing for a call upon Rachel in the evening, for father to be harsh and unjust to me, and mother has one of her nervous spells, when everything goes wrong with her.
Anyhow, he continued, theres Ned Burnleigh, who understands me and will do me justice, and he amounts to more than all of Sardisexcept Rachel, who loves me and will always believe that what I do is right.
He sat down at his desk and wrote a long letter to Ned, inveighing bitterly against the stupidity and malice of people living in small villages, and informing him of his intention to remove to Cincinnati as soon as an opening could be found for him there, which he begged Ned to busy himself in discovering.
Attired in his most becoming garb, and neglecting nothing that could enhance his personal appearance, he walked slowly up the hill in the evening to Rachel Bonds house. The shrinkage which his self-sufficiency had suffered had left room for a wonderful expansion of his affection for Rachel, whose love and loyalty were now essential to him, to compensate for the falling away of others. The question of whether he should break with her was now one the answering of which could be postponed indefinitely. There was no reason why he should not enjoy the sweet privileges of an affianced lover during his stay in Sardis. What would happen afterward would depend upon the shape that things took in his new home.
He found Rachel sitting on the piazza. Though dressed in the deepest and plainest black she had never looked so surpassingly beautiful. As is usually the case with young women of her type of beauty, grief had toned down the rich coloring that had at times seemed almost too exuberant into that delicate shell-like tint which is the perfection of natures painting. Her round white arms shone like Junos, as the outlines were revealed by the graceful motions which threw back the wide sleeves. Her wealth of silken black hair was drawn smoothly back from her white forehead, over her shapely head, and gathered into a simple knot behind. Save a black brooch at her throat, she wore no ornamentsnot even a plain ring.
She rose as Harry came upon the piazza, and for a moment her face was rigid with intensity of feeling. This evidence of emotion went as quickly as it came, however, and she extended her hand with calm dignity, saying simply:
You have returned, Mr. Glen.
In his anxiety to so play the impassioned lover as to conceal the recreancy he had fostered in his own heart, Harry did not notice the coolness of this greeting. Then, too, his self-satisfaction had always done him the invaluable service of preventing a ready perception of the repellant attitudes of others.
He came forward eagerly to press a kiss upon her lips, but she checked him with uplifted hand.
O, the familys in there, are they? said he, looking toward the open windows of the parlor. Well, what matter? Isnt it expected that a fellow will kiss his affianced wife on his return, and not care who knows it?
He pointed to the old apple-tree where they had plighted their troth that happy night, with a gesture and a look that was a reminder of their former meeting and an invitation to go thither again. She comprehended, but refused with a shudder, and, turning, motioned him to the farther end of the piazza, to which she led the way, moving with a sweeping gracefulness of carriage that Harry thought had wonderfully ripened and perfected in the three months that had elapsed since their parting.
Fore gad, he said to himself. (This was a new addition to his expletory vocabulary, which had accrued from Ned Burnleighs companionship.) Id like to put her alongside of one of the girls that Neds always talking about. I dont believe shes got her equal anywhere.
Arriving at the end of the piazza he impetuously renewed his attempt at an embrace, but her repulse was now unmistakable.
Sit down, she said, pointing to a chair; I have something to say to you.
Harrys first thought was a rush of jealously. Some rascal has supplanted me, he said bitterly, but under his breath.
She took a chair near by, put away the arm he would have placed about her waist, drew from her pocket a dainty handkerchief bordered with black, and opened it deliberately. It shed a delicate odor of violets.
Harry waited anxiously for her to speak.
This mourning which I wear, she began gently, I put on when I received the news of your downfall.
My downfall? broke in Harry hotly. Great heavens, you dont say that you, too, have been carried away by this wretched village slander?
I put it on, she continued, unmindful of the interruption, because I suffered a loss which was greater than any merely physical death could have occasioned.
I dont understand you.
My faith in you as a man superior to your fellows died then. This was a much more cruel blow than your bodily death would have been.
Fore gad, you take a pleasant view of my deceasea much cooler one, I must confess, than I am able to take of that interesting event in my history.
Her great eyes blazed, and she seemed about to reply hotly, but she restrained herself and went on with measured calmness:
The reason I selected you from among all other men, and loved you, and joyfully accepted as my lot in life to be your devoted wife and helpmate, was that I believed you superior in all manly things to other men. Without such a belief I could love no man.
She paused for an instant, and Harry managed to stammer:
But what have I done to deserve being thrown over in this unexpected way?
You have not done anything. That is the trouble. You have failed to do that which was rightfully expected of you. You have allowed others, who had no better opportunities, to surpass you in doing your manly duty. Whatever else my husband may not be he must not fail in this.