Part 4

Meanwhile Rachel made her way to young Mrs. Astry's room. She entered the boudoir, which opened on the balcony outside her own window, and she shuddered involuntarily at the thought of last night. Eva had come up from tennis and had just been dressed for luncheon, and the French maid courtesied and left the room as her sister entered.

Rachel came in gravely and closed the door. "Eva, you must dismiss Zélie."

Eva looked up with a violent start, her pretty face wet with tears. "Why?" she exclaimed, and there was a thrill of terror in her voice.

Rachel did not notice it; she told her quite simply all that Bantry had said. "She mustn't stay a day longer in this house, Eva. Dismiss her with a month's wages in lieu of notice. I'm sure she doesn't deserve it, but I'd do that."

Eva trembled; she knew that Rachel was inexorable and she knew also that she was in Zélie's power. She could not tell Rachel the whole truth, she could not refuse to dismiss Zélie, and she dared not resist her sister, so she temporized.

"Wouldn't it be better to keep her a while? If we dismiss her, she'll talk more--"

"Of what? If you keep her, you practically admit that you're afraid of her, the servants will believe her, and the end will be a scandal. Eva, you must dismiss her; I insist upon it."

"I--I can't!"

"You can't? Why?" Rachel's face flushed deeply.

Eva saw it; she busied herself arranging and rearranging the little silver articles on her toilet-table, though her fingers trembled.

"Well, for one thing, don't you think it's just old Bantry's spite? She's always jealous of a new servant."

"I think Bantry's immensely good and honest; she wouldn't accuse Zélie falsely. You haven't an idea how she feels; she's crying in my room now."

"Then, of course, it's all jealousy; she can't bear to have you marry and set up a household; she's afraid you'll take Zélie."

"She knows I wouldn't; besides I haven't thought of the household--oh, Eva, how can you talk of it?"

Eva covered her face with her hands. "It's killing me!" she sobbed.

Her sister looked at her with sudden contrition. She had been suffering so much herself that she had forgotten how much Eva must have to endure, and her cheek reddened again at the thought that Eva loved Belhaven, that to see him marry her would be bitter. Yet there was nothing she could say that would make it any easier to bear, and it was impossible to let this French girl make matters worse.

"You really must send Zélie away," she persisted. "I'm sure that Bantry's right about it."

Eva twisted in her chair, afraid to tell Rachel any more. "I hate to dismiss a servant," she said weakly.

Rachel could understand this, for she hated to do it herself, but sometimes even surgical operations are necessary and she was willing to concede something to Eva's nervous condition.

"I'll dismiss her for you," she said quietly.

Eva shivered, watching her as she moved to the door.

"Now?" she gasped.

"At once," said Rachel, but before she could touch the bell some one knocked at the door.

It was Pamela Van Citters. "I've come to say good-by," she explained. "Paul and I are going to drive back to town this afternoon."

Eva rose hastily from the dressing-table and threw herself into Pamela's arms. "Don't go!" she cried.

"It's sweet of you to ask me to stay, my dear, but think of my offspring. I haven't seen the baby for three days."

"What of it? He'll be all the more delighted to see you and he'll have cut a new tooth. Oh, Pamela, stay; Rachel's going to leave me."

Pamela turned large, startled eyes upon Rachel. "As soon as that?"

Rachel nodded; she could not speak, she felt as if a net had been spread around her feet,--a long, floating net, like those she had seen the fishermen draw up in the Sound, and that it was closing in.

Eva turned her head on her friend's shoulder. "Johnstone thinks it's best to have it soon."

Pamela tried to look vacant. "Of course it's the best way," she admitted; "a wedding does hang over one so. I nearly turned gray with fright while I was thinking of mine; it took the whole family to screw up my courage, and poor, dear Paul says he was in a perfect funk. Do you remember what a crush it was? I'd never have another like it; that's what I tell Paul when I want to frighten him. I suppose Lottie Prynne is rehearsing to duplicate hers; Paul says she's engaged to my cousin. You remember John Charter, Rachel?"

But Rachel was gone; she had stolen out of the room while Pamela was talking to Eva.

V

Having yielded to Eva's urgent request to stay a little longer, it was not until the following afternoon that Pamela and her husband returned to the city. Their departure broke up the week-end party, some of the others having drifted away during the earlier hours of the day. Of course Rachel had to undergo a second ordeal at parting.

"I'm not going to congratulate you," said Paul Van Citters bluntly. "Belhaven's a fortunate man."

In the carriage Pamela reproached him. "How could you, Paul? You put your foot in it!"

"Hanged if I care!" he retorted hotly. "She's throwing herself away and she looks as if she knew it. What in thunder do you women marry brutes for?"

"I don't know," replied Pamela demurely. "Some ask why I married you, dear."

Mrs. Billop pecked Rachel on both cheeks; her manner was almost as motherly and warming as a teapot cosy. "My dear, I'd love to see you married, but I quite understand quiet weddings are so much better taste; when we're really in love we don't want 'the madding crowd.' Sidney and I have ordered you a little present, a dainty trifle." It came later, a banqueting-lamp four feet high, and it looked like the givers. "I hope you'll love it for our sakes, dear."

Rachel thanked her and held out a weary hand to Sidney.

Colonel Sedley had ordered a farewell bouquet of orchids for Rachel and he got through his ordeal with a red face. The colonel was innocent of guile but he could not reconcile himself to Belhaven. He wrung Astry's hand at parting.

"You're losing the finest woman in the world in your sister-in-law. Oh, of course Mrs. Astry's lovely, but Rachel--to tell you the truth, Astry, I'm cut up; I wanted her to marry my favorite."

"You mean John Charter?"

"I do; he's going to feel this."

"He's to marry Mrs. Prynne."

"Oh, damn!" said the colonel, and plunged out into the omnibus, in which Mrs. Billop, Sidney, and Mrs. Prynne were already packed.

Astry's big, gray horses were prancing impatiently, and as soon as the footman had closed the door on the colonel's irate form, the carriage rolled away down the long drive from the terrace and disappeared at last through the picturesque Georgian gateway.

The presence of guests had been distinctly uncomfortable in the strained relations of the household, but this disappearance of the last--old Dr. Macclesfield and Count Massena had left early in the morning--plunged the group in the hall into a sudden panic. Eva took instant flight up-stairs, scarcely allowing them more than a vanishing view of her trailing draperies as she turned the last wide curve above the landing. Belhaven retired awkwardly toward the library, a retreat which offered only a new refinement of torment if Astry chose to follow him. But Astry did not; he remained standing at Rachel's side in the big doorway.

It was late afternoon and the western sun streamed over the close-cropped lawns, drenched the terrace in light, and reached across the tessellated floor to the hem of Rachel's white dress. The glow of it even penetrated the shadowy corners of the large hall and the warmth and fragrance of early spring breathed itself upon the atmosphere. A glint caught on the mediaeval arms that hung on the darkening walls. Astry had collected armor and carvings, curious ivories, and hideous, little Indian gods and Chinese idols, from every corner of the world. Here and there in the house cropped up a curiosity or an odd decoration, but his greatest treasures were gathered in his smoking-room. The world supposed that Astry was an agnostic; some of his intimates said that he was a Buddhist. The fact was that no one really knew him, for he guarded the peculiarities of his personality as carefully as the Veiled Prophet hid his face. He stood beside his sister-in-law and watched the omnibus leave the gate and, traveling down the long shaded road, disappear abruptly over the hill, as if it had plunged over the side of the universe. As abruptly they felt themselves to be alone.

Rachel, who had rather dreaded this moment, was astonished to find herself so tranquil. In the last few days she had become certain that Astry did not believe Eva's monstrous charge against her; what he really believed she found it impossible to imagine. That he could know his wife's folly and her cowardly makeshift to save herself, and yet force this terrible alternative upon her sister, Rachel herself did not believe. That he had probably thought Eva guilty of the worst was not unnatural, for the evidence, barring Eva's story about her sister, was overwhelmingly against her. Tortured between contending emotions, Rachel did not attempt to fathom her brother-in-law's conclusions; she had even ceased to consider his actions. She was wholly absorbed in the contemplation of the fast approaching event; her marriage to Belhaven had become a terror that walked by night and dwelt with her by day. She stood looking out into the sunshine and counting the hours that were left to her.

Astry's voice startled her.

"Marriage is a serious step, my dear Rachel," he said calmly, "a step that needs meditation; like hanging, it's usually fatal."

Rachel met his eyes. "I'd be glad of more time," she said quickly.

He shook his head, smiling slightly, though his eyes did not smile. "I have Belhaven to think of; I really couldn't stand him a day over Thursday."

Rachel made a little impatient gesture as if she had meant to speak and suddenly withdrawn into herself. His words seemed to imply a doubt of Eva that Rachel could not refute, and she was filled with dismay at her own helplessness. She could not defend her sister without impugning herself, she could not defend herself without traducing her sister. Eva's lie had been double-edged and, like all lies, it required a hundred falsehoods to hedge it in. She was silent.

Astry began to walk to and fro across the hall, his hands in his pockets, his head bent. At last, just as Rachel turned to go, he spoke again.

"Rachel, you don't want to marry this man," he looked keenly at her, "if it isn't true,--if--I'll take your word for it--if it's not compromising you, I want to know it."

The full significance of his words forcing itself upon Rachel, she flushed darkly. "You don't think I'm like--that!" she cried involuntarily.

He stood still and she felt his eyes on her.

"Then it isn't true! Good God, Rachel, why did you consent?"

She realized her danger, the possibility that his mind had leaped to a conclusion, the right one.

"Because," she said slowly, dragging out the words, "the situation was compromising--"

"I don't believe it! I did at first; I was mad, furious, but now--I know it isn't true. I believe that Eva--"

"You mustn't believe anything wrong of Eva!" she cried.

"What am I to believe then? This is maddening. But I'll get the truth yet. I can't make you women speak out, but, at least, Belhaven--"

"That's it, you've made it so--you've threatened to kill him!"

"You mean he's been a cur?"

She was silent.

Astry halted in his pacing to regard her sternly; he felt that she was defeating him, whether because she would not help him, or through some inadvertence, he did not know, but what he saw was her figure against the afternoon sunshine, the subtle grace of the long lines, the delicately poised head and slender throat, and her beauty, which had always appealed keenly to his senses, drove him on to exasperation.

He resumed with a new and bitter emphasis. "Rachel, there's only one explanation: Eva hasn't told me the whole truth. I've always thought you'd be square with me--what is it?"

She drew a long breath of misery. "I said that the situation would compromise me now," she dragged it out slowly again, "that I must marry him."

This was too much. Astry flung himself away with an inarticulate curse.

Rachel stood a moment looking after him, realizing it all, hot with shame and anger, then she turned and ran up-stairs. As she went, one of the parrots in the conservatory shrieked out its mocking cry, "Eva, Eva!" and she covered her ears with her hands and ran on to Eva's door. It was closed, but Rachel opened it and burst into the room, her face flushed and agitated, and running over to the lounge, she flung herself down and buried her head in the sofa-pillows.

Eva started to her feet with a little, frightened cry and then stood looking at her, waiting, but Rachel said nothing; she only continued to hide her face in the pillows, her whole body shaking with emotion.

"Rachel, what is it? Oh, what's happened?"

"It's Johnstone!" Rachel's voice was muffled by the pillows.

Eva shook like a leaf. "He hasn't killed him? Oh, Rachel, he hasn't--"

"He thinks I'm like that! He thinks I'm guilty. Eva, I can't stand it--I won't!"

"You mean he's been talking to you about it?" Eva was still trembling; she wrung her hands feebly. "What did he say?"

Rachel writhed on the lounge, hiding her face yet more. "He thinks I'm like that!" she shuddered. "I'm so ashamed, I--I can't stand it!"

"Oh, Rachel, Rachel, you won't betray me, you can't, now!"

Her sister sat up suddenly, her face one blur of tears and blushes. "Eva, you've no right to make me so ashamed; I can't forgive it!"

The sinner sobbed bitterly. "Rachel, he'll kill him!"

"I--I almost wish he would!"

Eva wept hysterically. "It will kill me, too, that's all; but I don't suppose you care!"

Rachel looked at her, and gradually her senses cleared, her overwhelming feeling of shame passed into even deeper suffering; she saw the old relations of life take flesh again, the old need to save her sister, and she shivered.

"If you go back on it now," sobbed Eva, "he'll say I'm a liar and he'll cast me off; he'll disgrace me so I can never hold up my head again!"

Poor Rachel was silent.

"Oh, Rachel, I'm so wretched!"

The other girl made no reply; instead she got up and went to the window and opened the shutter. Across the distant city, above the house-tops and the spires, she saw the great dome of the Capitol, and from the lower terrace came the sweet perfume of heliotrope.

"I haven't slept," Eva went on; "it's killing me, I can't bear it. Rachel, Rachel," she fell on her knees again beside Rachel and hid her face on her dress, "I love him!"

"You mean Belhaven?"

There was a sound of strangled anguish from Eva and Rachel laid her hand on her shoulder. "Eva, have you told me the truth?"

There was a moment's silence.

"Yes."

"Then why in the world didn't you tell Astry the truth, too? Your one falsehood has cost us all this misery. Oh, I'm so ashamed, I feel as if I couldn't look Johnstone in the face again!" It was so incredible that even to save herself Eva should impugn her sister; Astry had dragged out that side of it, and Rachel was shuddering before it. "I don't see how you could do it!" she cried.

"He would have killed me!"

"If you haven't sinned, why are you so afraid of him? Eva, in your heart you're sinning against him now. You've got to give up Belhaven; if you can't you needn't ask me to do this awful thing. You'll have to give up Johnstone! I can't do it unless you're true; it's too much! Have you really chosen, Eva?"

Eva staggered to her feet and leaned against the wall, weeping. "I've chosen," she sobbed; "I've given him up. Oh, I've suffered enough. I wish I could be like you; you've no feeling!"

Rachel looked at her in amazement; was it possible that Eva did not know what she was suffering, what this terrible marriage would cost her? Was she so utterly selfish that she could not only malign her sister but sacrifice her without a pang?

But suddenly Eva flung herself into her arms.

"Oh, Rachel, I'm wicked, I'm worthless--you've been an angel. Forgive me! Save me, save us both; we're not worth it, but save us!"

A moment before Rachel had meant to tell her that she could never do it, that she would rather die, to beg for a reprieve, an escape, even if Eva had to suffer, but this anguish dwarfed her own; Eva had not the strength to take her punishment.

"Eva," her lips quivered, "Eva, promise me that this is the end, that it won't be in vain, that I will really save you if I take all this horror to myself?"

"I promise--" her golden head sank lower on Rachel's breast, "I promise; God help me to keep it!"

Rachel still loved her; she tried to quiet her, she put aside her own trouble and gave herself to the task of consoling her betrayer, and so the night passed.

In the morning she was married to Belhaven.

VI

Some time before his marriage Belhaven had leased an old house not far from Astry's, but nearer the Tennallytown Road. It had once been a tavern, but for fifteen years had been disused, and was part of an estate that belonged to Paul Van Citters' aunt. The old lady had turned it over to Paul to manage for her, and in one of his idle moments he had conceived the idea of refitting it and, perhaps, turning it into a club-house. He had employed an expensive architect and more expensive decorators, and the end had been an alarming hole in the aunt's pocketbook. After the first accounts came in, she closed down upon her nephew's artistic departure, and the old house had remained partly done over and, therefore, of two styles of architecture. The porch, with its Colonial pillars, the long, low wing that Paul had intended for a tea-room, and the terraced lawns, were only half done, but the roof had been reshingled with mossy green, the walls had been harmoniously decorated, and hardwood floors put down instead of wide, rough planks with pieces of zinc nailed over the rat-holes, which had served for a hundred years before. Paul's architect had ripped out the narrow staircase and widened the hall by throwing a small room into it; he had built a flight of wide and handsome stairs ascending to a landing under an oriel window; he had taken advantage of an ingle-nook and thrown out a second wing from the original house, and had foreshadowed even greater changes, when the aunt's pocketbook closed with a snap.

Belhaven had leased the place and furnished it simply, intending to entertain his friends with various fêtes, over which the beautiful Mrs. Astry was to preside, accompanied, of course, by an admiring and docile husband. Unhappily Belhaven and Eva had reckoned without Astry.

It was to this quaint old house that Belhaven took Rachel. There seemed to be nothing else to do. Neither of them had framed, even dimly, that existence which must follow the marriage in Astry's library, and it came to them with a shock when Astry pleasantly suggested a wedding trip.

It was afternoon when they were left alone together in the quaint old room that had been the tavern tap-room. Belhaven had furnished it with admirable and simple taste and, as the sun shone through the many-paned windows and lit up the warm tints of rugs and hangings, touching the gold frame of an old-fashioned mirror over the still more old-fashioned mantel, Rachel was struck with its charms. She walked over to the fireplace and, opening the little cupboard set at one side of the chimney, revealed two deep shelves; above the mirror was another little door and two more shelves. She opened both.

"What delightful corners," she said dreamily. "Do you suppose the old fellow kept his rum here and his accounts there, and mixed them at bedtime?"

"Possibly before bedtime," replied Belhaven, with an effort. He had been trying to swallow a cup of tea that Rachel had poured for him.

The servants had prepared a little tea-table and decorated it with an appropriate bouquet of white roses and lilies-of-the-valley. It had loomed up embarrassingly gigantic when they entered, out of all proportion to its actual size, but Rachel had very simply made the tea before she rose to look at the mantel. Belhaven could not quite imitate her; her fortitude and her forbearance were so impressive that he found himself watching her with a curiously complex feeling. She was not beautiful, as he conceived beauty, but she was wonderfully reassuring and restful, and her tranquil manner, her self-controlled expression, the clear gray of her eyes, all seemed to convey a message. As yet Belhaven did not fully grasp it; he did not know women like this, but dimly, like a blind man, his soul was groping forward to meet hers. Hitherto he had had a very good opinion of himself, he had not been too severe on his own backsliding, but the last few days had convinced him that there was a reckoning, even for him. If it had been hard for Rachel, it had been equally hard for him; he had faced the terrible prospect of being called a coward, and he had been unable to save himself without injury to a woman. The situation had been gall and wormwood and, thinking of it, he watched Rachel as she moved about the room inspecting it.

"I like your house," she said frankly.

"It is also yours," he replied abruptly, and then hated himself for saying it.

A faint color rose to her pale cheeks. "Thank you," she said gravely, "you're very courteous."

There was another silence. The warm sunlight, creeping across the floor, had climbed from the hem of Rachel's dress to the belt, where she had fastened a bunch of violets that one of the old servants had brought her, her only wedding bouquet. Her long-fingered, slender hand hung at her side and Belhaven saw the ring he had just placed on it with almost a start of surprise. She was his wife, incredible circumstance!

"I want to speak to you," he said, with an effort; "shall I call you--Rachel?"

She smiled. "I think so; we needn't pretend about conventionalities; if it's simpler to call me Rachel, pray do so. I can't quite make up my mind to what I shall call you yet. Probably for a time it will be something as cryptic as 'um.'"

"I wish I had your fortitude," said Belhaven fervently.

"Better not; when we have it, we're called upon to exercise it, we're used as buffers by our weaker neighbors. Personally I've often regretted that I wasn't as irresponsible as Sidney Billop. I know of no one more care-free and sweetly untroubled; Sidney's a veritable lily of the field."