CHAPTER XI

ON THE BRIDGE

Of a summer night, the wild-rose (we call her that more for what she was, than is) wandered through the crowded world with Frank. Both were in black, and made a sober and grave couple. Edith took his arm with a sweet trustfulness, and often looked at him, meeting his eyes with steadfast gaze. Wholly had she given herself to him, for she worried no more about theories or the last changes of girlhood, but stepped down to his level and followed him through his world. That world was a very human world, and as our young couple really were young, they found it absorbingly interesting.

A silver moon was aloft again, flooding the streets and making pale glow of the street-lamps; again the children ran, filling the night with laughter; again the corner stand dispensed green and scarlet liquids; again the girls and boys stood in groups chatting, flirting, rippling with silver mirth. The old, old world! But where was the wild enchantment? Where were the Enchanted Gardens? Where was the golden air and the delirious yearning? Under this moon had sprung the electric bolt that flashed their lives into one. Under this moon had they been young god and goddess treading the mid-spaces, winging the mid-heavens. But spring had deepened into summer; nature was at her ripening; for these two April was gone forever.

Yet how sweeter and simpler was July, rich with moist roots in the soil, green and earthy and real. It was very good to be human beings in this human world, one with its absorbing activities, its joys and pangs and desires. Each season has its own glory. How incomplete would the spring be if nothing ripened! How good is the summer with its promise of brown harvests!

And so they wandered along, glad of each other, intimate, sweetly close. Just then they passed before an ice-cream saloon, brilliant with electric bulbs, the Summer Night’s Palace of the Poor. They paused a moment.

“I’m awfully thirsty,” said Edith laughingly.

“Come in, then. I’ll blow you!”

“Do you think we ought?”

“Ain’t we thirsty?”

“Ain’t, Frank?” laughingly.

“Shucks!” he cried; “ain’t’s all right!”

So they went in and sat at the marble counter. Overhead whirled the electric fans, wafting gusts of hot air on feverish faces; flies buzzed; the counter was dripping; the dispensers spirted syrup, spooned ice-cream and sizzled in carbonated waters, and then set before the thirsty a sparkling, foamy drink. Edith, glancing in the long mirror before her, saw the reflection of thirsty, tired, drawn faces, girls and boys, men and women. They were drowning in oblivion their hard lives and the hot day. Dawn to darkness many of them had strained and fought against weight and time and machinery and human beings. They were fagged and feverish. A mother with a baby in her lap was feeding ice-cream to the eager little one, who kept crying:

“More! more!”

Edith laughed softly.

“Do you see it?” she asked Frank.

He looked and smiled.

“Come,” she said suddenly, touching his hand, “I want to walk with you, far away! Away by ourselves! Away from everything!”

They wandered down East Broadway to Brooklyn Bridge, and then along the foot-path, far out to the high center. There they stopped and leaned at the rail and peered out. Save for the occasional train and trolley snaking by with its glow of gold, here was silence. On the shores two mighty cities climbed twinkling to the horizons, hills of stars. Overhead, in the dim-studded heavens rolled the glory of the moon. Beneath hurried the river, heaving, swaying, with a silver-moonpath. Golden ferries shuttled across, in zones of golden water. Tugs went puffing steam, visible in moonlight, with lantern glistening gold or red. On ferry-slip the signal lamps were lustrous. It was a wonderfully beautiful night.

The two drew very near, and gazed in silence.

“Do you love me as much as you used to?” whispered Edith.

“More,” he said.

“It’s different, though,” she sighed. A woman regrets the slipping by of the enchantment.

“It’s better,” said Frank.

“Frank!”

“Yes, sweetheart!”

“Do you know,” she put an arm about him, “you are all I have in this world now?”

“All?”

“Yes. I depend so much on you now,” she sighed.

“I want you to,” said he.

“Oh,” she cried, “it’s strange to be a woman. I don’t like it.” Then she laughed shyly. “Do you know, if it weren’t for you, Frank, I’d want to be a man!”

He snorted laughter.

“Why, that’s clever!” he cried. “Good for you, Edith!”

“Do you think I am clever--sometimes?”

“Do I!” he whistled.

She was delighted.

“Wait till we’re married. Mrs. Lasser will surprise the Mister!” she cried. “Such things I’ll cook and sew and fix! And all for you!”

“Edith.”

“Yes, dear.”

“There are some things I want to tell you.”

“Tell me. I’m right here.”

He spoke slowly:

“I’ve saved up over a hundred dollars, and my father is going to give me another hundred.”

“Yes,” she spoke breathlessly.

“You know,” he said slowly, “we can buy furniture on instalment.”

“Yes, Frank.”

“I’ve thought we could even get a phonograph, too. You love music, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she could scarcely speak, “I do.”

He paused; then, very slowly:

“Don’t you think we could look around for three little rooms and furnish them?”

Tears were trickling. She thought it sweet of him to be so thoughtful; and then, the sudden reality of their own home was too much for a heart greatly tried these last few weeks. She turned to him.

“Oh, Frank, our own home ... our marriage....”

“Wait, Edith,” he said, and took her two hands and looked in her face. “There’s been something I’ve wanted to say ... wanted to say since our talk that afternoon ... before your mother died ... you remember?”

Did she remember? What else so vividly?

“Yes,” she said breathlessly.

“Edith,” he spoke in a new manly way, “I’m going to be your husband. You must trust me. You must believe in me.”

“I do ... I do,” she whispered.

“That woman,” he went on, “probably meant well, but women don’t know anything about all this. They get a notion in their head and then simply make mischief. She’s just made you unhappy. Now I want you to do one thing, Edith.”

“Yes....”

“I want you to drop this--never speak of it again. For I’m to be your husband, and you must trust to me.”

There was a deep silence; soft came the sea-smell from the moon-stirring waters.

“Will you, Edith?”

“Frank,” she whispered, “I will! For I know I should love you in spite of anything.”

At that moment, curiously, she stood so strongly by Frank, that she turned against Nell with a sense of resentment, and resolved to bother no more with fine words.

“Edith!” he cried; “Edith!”

“Frank!”

They clung together, closer, and with tender passion. Their lips met. He crushed her in his arms. And then, like flame leaping, their bodies cried for each other.

“Good God!” he cried. “We must get married, Edith!”

“Yes,” she spoke with a sharp intake of breath, “we must get married!”

They released each other; they did not dare stay in that place. But back they hurried to the crowded world. New life had broken loose within them; the mighty Power that creates had bent them to its will; fire was in the heart, the brain, the blood. Their time was near at hand.