Part 19

“Hush!” she whispered. “You’re ill, you mustn’t! Don’t cry like this.”

But Fanchon wept on until she lay there almost fainting, white and limp and broken. Virginia began to suspect what had happened before she came into the room.

“_Dieu_, they all hated me!” Fanchon gasped at last. “All but Leigh and that silly child, Emily.” She laughed wildly, still gasping. “She tried to paint her face like mine, and they made her wash it off. _Quelle drôle de chose que la vie!_ And they hated me for that.” She gasped again, dragging her hands away from Virginia and beating the air with them. “They made him hate me, too.”

“Oh, no, no!” cried Virginia. “Fanchon, you’re wild--you don’t understand!”

“Oh, I understand!” she retorted bitterly. “You’re one of them. I don’t know why you came here--you’re one of them!”

“I came because you’re ill. You’ll be very ill if you don’t stop.”

“You think I’ll die, _n’est-ce-pas_?” Her red mouth twisted oddly. “They’d like me to die, so he’d be free. They’re so good--they don’t like divorces!”

“Hush!” said Virginia steadily. “I wouldn’t stay here if you were not so ill, Fanchon, you’re trembling and shaking. Let me get a doctor for you; let me take you out of this wretched place.”

Fanchon laughed again hysterically.

“It’s a fine place, isn’t it? _Tiens!_ The place for Mrs. William Carter. You see I have no money. _Mon Dieu_, I wouldn’t take a cent of his--I’d starve first!”

“I understand.” Virginia laid her hand gently on her shoulder. “I should feel like that myself. But I’m a woman, Fanchon--let me help you while you’re so ill.”

Something in her touch, her voice, reached the girl. She stopped shivering and looked up into Virginia’s face. She looked up steadily, her own face changing and quivering. Then, suddenly, she sank back in her chair very pale and quiet, her large eyes fixed not on Virginia now, but on space.

“He was the only good man who ever loved me,” she said in a low voice. “I’m not bad--I’ve never been bad--but they thought I was, and I lied to him. I was afraid that if he knew I was divorced he wouldn’t care for me--not in that way--and it would have killed me then.” Her voice broke pitifully. “I--I loved him.”

Her head sank mournfully, she began to tear at the elaborate lace petticoat she wore.

“You mean William?” said Virginia gently.

She nodded. Then, with a convulsive effort, she went on, more to herself than to Virginia.

“He was good, and he loved me. He asked me to marry him, and I lied. I said I’d never been married before. I needn’t have said it, but I was afraid. I lied. And he hates me.” Her voice wavered again. “He hates me. I shall never see him again!”

“But you love him still, Fanchon,” Virginia said softly; “and if you love him you’ll forgive him.”

Fanchon’s face flamed suddenly.

“Never! I don’t want to see him again.” She rose unsteadily. “I’m going to dress and go out there.” She pointed toward the door, laughing again and trembling at the same time. “That fat man is out there. I’m going into his pictures. He’s not afraid to engage me for his show.”

“You can’t go, Fanchon,” said Virginia quickly. “You’re too ill. I must help you.” She stopped, and her eyes filled with tears. “Fanchon, I’m so sorry for you, I hope you understand. Let me help you.”

Fanchon turned, caught at a chair-back, and clung to it, laughing wildly.

“You’re so sorry for me--and he loves you!”

“No,” said Virginia, “he shan’t! If he did, it would make no difference. Fanchon, I want you to leave this place and come with me. Let me take care of you. You’re too ill to stand up.”

“To stand up? Why, I’m going to dance for the pictures. You call me ill? I can dance. _Attendez!_”

She let go of the chair to which she had been clinging, and seemed to listen, her head bent and her brown eyes brilliant, her whole small figure quivering and tense.

“_Mon Dieu_--I hear it--the music!”

She swayed slightly, and then softly, easily, she began to dance. She danced wonderfully, keeping time to the music that she seemed to hear, swaying with it, stepping back and forth, weaving a dance so strange, so weird, so silent, that Virginia could not move. She stood rooted to the spot, watching, fascinated--watching the white face and the wild hair, the half-bare shoulders and the slender lifted arms.

Fanchon clasped her hands behind her head, twisting her slender body this way and that. Her small bare feet flashed back and forth, soft and silent and incredibly swift. She danced across the room, back and forth, to and fro, and Virginia watched her. Never in her life had she seen such dancing, never in her life had she seen such a wretched, quivering, tear-stained face. She thought it would have touched a heart of stone.

At last she could endure it no longer; it seemed to her like the dance of death.

“Stop!” she cried. “Oh, Fanchon, stop!”

Virginia’s voice, the sharp sound of her own name, broke the spell. Fanchon turned her head and looked at her. Something seemed to snap in her brain; her eyes clouded, she reeled, and, stretching out groping hands, she staggered blindly and would have fallen had not the other girl caught her. Virginia held her by main force, almost lifting her in her strong young arms, for suddenly all the life and motion had left the small wasted figure, and Fanchon lay white and senseless against her breast.

Ten minutes later Virginia came out of Fanchon’s room and closed the door behind her. She was very pale, but her eyes shone. She ignored the patient Bernstein and spoke directly to the woman.

“Mrs. Quantah, I’m going to take Mrs. Carter home with me. Have you a telephone?”

Mrs. Quantah stood rigidly.

“I ain’t got no phone, an’ she ain’t a goin’ to take her trunk until she pays. She owes me two weeks’ board now, and extries.”

“I was just telling the lady,” Mr. Bernstein began, “I’d pay in advance if--”

“I’ll pay,” said Virginia superbly, sweeping past them, her head up. “Make out your bill in full, Mrs. Quantah.”

She opened the hall door and called Lucas.

“Drive over for Dr. Barbour, Lucas. Bring him here at once, if you can. While you’re over there, phone to Plato to get the west room ready for an invalid--yes, and phone to the colonel that I want him out here--in a taxi.”

“Yes’m, Miss Jinny.”

Lucas turned the fat horses around with their heads toward the highroad. Then he looked back at the tall white-clad figure in the door.

“Hurry!” she called after him.

Lucas whipped up.

“G’long, Billy! Ain’t dat jus’ Miss Jinny? I knowed it, I knowed it--if she ain’t gwine t’ bring Miz Wilyum Carter home! Ain’t dat Miss Jinny cl’ar down to de groun’? I declare to goodness if it don’ beat all.”

XXVIII

SUNDAY morning fell on the first day of September, and it was very hot--so hot that Mr. Carter refused to go to church. He was sitting in the shade of his library, in his shirt-sleeves and his stocking feet, when his wife and Emily returned from service. Emily went up to her room at once, but Mrs. Carter came into the library, took off her hat, and sat down to get cool. She was a little flushed and thoughtful.

“The Denbighs were not in church,” she remarked after a moment. “I don’t know that I ever knew Colonel Denbigh to miss a Sunday, except when his son died. Do you remember, Johnson?”

Mr. Carter nodded. He had stopped reading the Sunday paper and was slowly fanning himself with it.

“Sensible man to stay at home,” he grunted.

“People stare so at us!” Mrs. Carter complained. “Emily and I felt like a circus. I’m so glad we’ve got Leigh off to college at last!”

Mr. Carter made no reply to this, but after an interval he muttered something about a young donkey. Mrs. Carter sighed.

“Where’s William?” she asked in a whisper.

Mr. Carter, who had become nervous under continued misfortune, started violently.

“I don’t know. Do you happen to think he’s drowned himself?”

“Johnson!”

“I’m expecting anything,” said Mr. Carter desperately. “There’s only one sensible person in this family, and that’s Dan.”

“Dan’s out at the Denbighs’--I don’t know what for. He’s been out there twice since Friday, and he’s worried. I can see it.”

“Of course! He’s in love with that girl now, I reckon, and she won’t have a cripple.”

“He isn’t a cripple!” cried his mother warmly. “He’s only lame; but it’s not that; papa--I think it’s something about--” She looked around a little flushed and added, in a whisper, “about Fanchon.”

Mr. Carter said something short and cryptic and relapsed into silence.

“I don’t feel that it’s right,” his wife continued bravely. “It’s worrying me, Johnson. William hasn’t--well, he hasn’t shown any feeling at all.”

“He’s going to get a divorce.”

William’s mother sighed.

“I hate divorces,” she said at last. “We never had one in the family.”

“That’s because you’re from South Carolina,” retorted her husband unfeelingly. “Can’t get one there, anyway.”

Mrs. Carter disregarded this.

“I don’t feel right about it. She--she saved Leigh.”

Mr. Carter pursed his lips, moving his feet comfortably about on the rug. He and his wife had been over this ground before, and it irked him. He watched his toes moving inside of his coarse white stockings. There was a silence.

The door-bell rang sharply. Mrs. Carter jumped.

“Oh, Johnson, put on your coat and your shoes,” she cried. “Miranda’s let some one in.”

Mr. Carter began to jam his hot feet into his shoes, which seemed incredibly too small to receive them.

“Drat it!” he said.

He had not got to the coat when Miranda’s amiable chocolate face appeared at the door.

“Col’nel Denbigh, Mist’ Carter,” she said, and withdrew.

The colonel, carrying his wide hat in his hand, came in. He looked very tall, very thin, and very grave.

“Oh, colonel, is there anything the matter?” Mrs. Carter cried impulsively, seeing his face.

The colonel stood still, his white head erect and his fine old face flushing a little.

“I came to see William,” he said. “Is he here?”

Mrs. Carter ran to the door.

“Miranda,” she called after the girl, “go up and tell Mr. William to come down.”

Meanwhile, Mr. Carter had offered a chair. He was a little startled and perplexed, but he looked keenly at the colonel.

“Do you want us to go, colonel?” he asked bluntly.

Colonel Denbigh lifted a protesting hand.

“No! I want you all to hear what I have to say, especially William. It concerns William.”

Mrs. Carter, who had returned to her seat, looked frightened. There was an awkward pause, the colonel sitting quietly in the high-backed chair, looking into the crown of his hat.

“It’s--it’s very hot,” ventured Mrs. Carter faintly.

The colonel glanced kindly from one to the other.

“It’s the heat that has made it so bad for--her,” he observed enigmatically.

Mr. Carter’s mouth tightened and he glanced angrily toward the door. He heard his son coming down-stairs. William entered, looking pale and haggard, and Colonel Denbigh rose. The old man was so tall that he seemed to tower.

“William,” he said grimly, “I came to see you. Virginia sent me. We wanted Dan to tell you, but Dan doesn’t wish to interfere. Your wife is at my house--very ill.”

William turned from white to red. For a moment he seemed nonplused, then he rallied.

“I have no wife, Colonel Denbigh,” he said slowly. “Fanchon left me weeks ago. I expect to sue her for divorce.”

Colonel Denbigh held up his hand.

“Sit down, please,” he said, “and listen.” He sat down himself, glancing from one to the other, and finally fixing his eyes on William’s downcast face. “I hate to butt into other people’s affairs,” he said simply. “Mr. Carter, I think you know I’m not a meddler?”

Mr. Carter nodded grimly. He, too, was looking at William.

“We all respect and love you, colonel,” cried Mrs. Carter tremulously; “but--you know William’s had a terrible time.”

“I know it, madam. Far be it from me to belittle it. But the other day Virginia found Fanchon out at Quantah’s. Do you know the place?” He glanced again at Mr. Carter. “It’s wretched. William’s wife was there, ill and penniless. My granddaughter went in to see her, and while she was there Fanchon went out of her head and fainted in Jinny’s arms. I think you all know Jinny. She paid the poor girl’s bills--”

“I offered her money, I’ve tried to send her money,” William broke in hoarsely. “I didn’t know where she was.”

The colonel nodded.

“I understand that. She told Jinny she wouldn’t take your money. She told her story--in a way--to Jinny. She admitted that she loved you still, that she had always loved you. You were the only good man who had ever loved her, she said. Then she fainted. Jinny sent for Dr. Barbour. It happened that your brother Dan was over there. He came back with Lucas. I was out, and he and Jinny brought Fanchon to our house. He had been looking for Fanchon. He had guessed that she hadn’t any money, and he wanted to pay Jinny back for the expenses. He’s shared our watch over Fanchon, but”--the colonel smiled--“he wouldn’t interfere. That’s what he said. So Jinny sent me. Fanchon has been out of her head, and all night, sometimes all day, she’s calling you, William. Her pride, her poor little hurt pride, took her away, but now she calls and calls.”

The colonel rose quietly and took up his hat. “I think that’s all. I came to tell you. She’s suffered, and she saved Leigh; but if you feel you can’t forgive her--”

Mrs. Carter was crying.

“Oh, Johnson, I think we ought to go,” she said.

Mr. Carter said nothing, but glanced silently at William. So did Colonel Denbigh.

“William,” said the latter gravely, “Jinny said, ‘Tell William that Fanchon loves him as few women love, and she’s calling him!’ She lies there, quite out of her head still, William, calling and calling to her husband.”

Mrs. Carter got up and put on her hat.

“I’m coming with you, colonel,” she sobbed. “I’ve felt it was all wrong. We were hard on her, poor girl!”

“No, mother, I’ll go,” said William. “It’s my business. I’m going with you, colonel.”

The colonel straightened himself.

“Thank God!” he said simply.

He was aware that Mr. Carter, red and out of breath, was being urged into his coat and hat by his wife. He was to take them all, then. It was lucky he had brought the wagonette instead of the old rockaway.

The wagonette was waiting outside under the shadow of a tree, the horses carefully netted, and Lucas wearing a brown linen coat and a big straw hat. Colonel Denbigh helped Mrs. Carter up the high steps and they started, the colonel and Mr. Carter on one side and Mrs. Carter and William on the other.

Facing each other thus, an awkward silence fell, broken only by the heavy tread of the horses’ hoofs. They were almost half-way out there before the colonel thought of anything to say.

“The oats came on well this year, Carter,” he remarked at last, with forced cheerfulness. “Fine crop!”

Mr. Carter, whose feet still felt several sizes too large for his shoes, let his misery loose.

“I wouldn’t give a cent for the oat-crop,” he said bluntly. “I’m not a horse.”

The colonel, startled for a moment, exploded into laughter, but Mrs. Carter was shocked.

“Oh, Johnson!” she gasped, and then, anxious to propitiate the colonel, she plunged in desperately. “It’s been such a beautiful year,” she said anxiously. “I don’t think I ever remember a season when things held so well. Nothing looks rusty yet.”

The colonel rubbed his chin.

“Except old men, madam,” he remarked with a twinkle.

She laughed tremulously, winking back her tears.

“I feel like an old woman, colonel.”

He shook his head, but his eyes were not on her. They had passed on to her son.

William, flushed and silent, sat with his eyes down. The colonel, sharply aware of the tension in the air, wondered. Could Jinny make this lummox see? At the thought of Jinny the old man’s eyes lighted, and he looked ahead toward his own gates. They stood open, and he could see the old ginkgo-tree beside the door, already turning yellow as gold in the sun. The horses turned placidly, the wheel grated slightly on the stone curb, and they were going up the drive to the house.

“She’s in the west room,” said the colonel, glancing toward two windows where the shutters were half-closed. “We got a nurse the second night. I wasn’t willing to have Jinny wear herself out. She was up with her for twenty-four hours on a stretch.”

Mrs. Carter made an inarticulate sound, glancing at William in a frightened way, but no one spoke until the wagonette stopped at the door. Daniel Carter came down the piazza steps to meet them.

“She’s better,” he said soberly. “Virginia thinks she knows her.”

His mother clung to his hand as he helped her out.

“Oh, Dan, why didn’t you tell us?” she whispered.

He glanced grimly at William.

“I thought it was no use, mother.”

She knew what he meant, and she, too, glanced at William. He was following Colonel Denbigh up the steps, but his face was set and hard.

“What is it, Dan? How is she, really?” his mother asked anxiously. “I felt so ashamed when the colonel told us. We’ve been very unkind to her, Dan.”

He nodded. They were behind the others, but he saw Virginia on the stairs.

“Fanchon has been delirious and very ill,” he answered in a low voice; “but Dr. Barbour says she’ll get well. The Denbighs have been most noble, most kind to her.”

“You mean Jinny,” his mother murmured.

“I mean both.” His eyes softened. “Virginia is an angel!”

Mrs. Carter, looking at him suddenly, winked back her tears. She knew now--he loved Virginia! She patted his arm, but she was looking at the stairs.

Virginia, in a pink morning gown, the short sleeves falling away from her white arms, came down, bearing a tray. She saw them at the door, and she blushed, but she put down the tray before she spoke.

“Daniel, please take your mother into the drawing-room and tell her about Fanchon.” She took a step forward and held out her hand. “William, I hope you’re coming with me?” she said.

He took her hand, aware that his father and Colonel Denbigh, his mother and Daniel, were all watching. His blush was deeper than hers.

“I came because you sent for me, Virginia,” he replied in a hard, level tone.

Virginia’s hand fell at her side. For a moment she looked at him in silence; then she turned.

“Come,” she said in a low voice.

William followed her up the wide old stairs, moving slowly, only aware of the humiliation he felt. After ascending the last flight Virginia stood before an open door and beckoned. He came to her side.

“Listen!” she whispered.

“William!”

He started. He knew the voice--it was Fanchon’s.

“William!” she called again, and the light, hurrying voice went on--sometimes in French, sometimes in English, but always repeating the cry, “William!”

“It’s like that all day,” said Virginia. “She calls and calls you. It’s pitiful, William, and it’s beautiful--she loves you so!”

He raised his dull eyes slowly from the floor to Fanchon’s face. What he saw there made him draw a deep breath of pain.

He stepped into the room. The light was dim, but he saw the face on the pillow and the soft, dark, wildly disheveled hair. Fanchon lay there, tossing, moving her hands restlessly, her fawn-like eyes brilliant and vacant, her small white face tear-stained, and her lips moving, whether words came or not.

While her husband stood there, his head bowed, just inside the door, she began to speak again in rambling and broken sentences.

“William! I’m not bad--I’ve never been bad--_non, non_! You can’t threaten me--I won’t stand it, I’ll call my husband--William, William!”

She sat up in bed, and tears ran down her cheeks. She seemed to be looking at Virginia, who still stood in the door.

“I didn’t do wrong--I loved him. You shan’t take him away--I love him--William!”

William listened, and it seemed to him as if his own heart stopped beating. The soft, appealing voice, and the white, pitiful face! He felt a sudden sensation of suffocation.

“_Guillaume de mon cœur!_ He’ll come,” cried Fanchon softly.

William took a quick step forward, hesitated, and then went across the room. He knelt beside the bed and caught the trembling, groping little hands in his and held them.

Virginia turned away.

She went quietly out of the room and shut the door behind her.

XXIX

WHEN Virginia came down-stairs she heard the pleasant jingle of ice in the drawing-room. Plato was serving iced tea, there being no occasion in life, not even a funeral, when refreshments were not served; but Mr. Carter and her grandfather were the only tea-drinkers. Mrs. Carter was sitting in the corner, surreptitiously wiping her eyes, and Daniel was walking up and down on the rear piazza. Virginia heard his restless tramp as she crossed the hall and stood for a moment in the drawing-room door. They all looked up at her, and Plato discreetly withdrew, bearing his tray.

“How is she, Jinny?” the colonel asked quietly, setting aside his slender glass of tea.

“I think she knew him,” Virginia answered simply, and then, ignoring the two men, she went over to Mrs. Carter. “You were good to come,” she said softly.

“Oh, Virginia!” Mrs. Carter dabbed at her eyes, “I feel as if I’d been guilty.” She lowered her voice and added in a whisper: “What did William say?”

Virginia smiled, a beautiful light in her eyes.

“I think he’s forgiven her already,” she replied sweetly. “I’ve been with her for hours and hours, and I’m fond of her. I can’t help it. She’s like a child, Mrs. Carter, and she loves William. Besides, she’s suffered terribly, and don’t you think suffering expiates everything?”

Mrs. Carter pressed her handkerchief against her lips. For a moment she was silent, aware of her husband’s eyes and Colonel Denbigh’s. Involuntarily they looked at her. She wavered a little, and then she spoke, faint-heartedly but sincerely.

“Johnson, I think we ought to go up-stairs, too. We ought to tell William how we feel--at least, I should. I’m ready to do anything that’s right.”

Mr. Carter nodded his head slowly.

“I’ve just told the colonel that we’re not really monsters,” he replied bluntly; “but we’ve had rather a rough experience, take it all in all. There’s Leigh, nothing but a boy, and he’s killed a man. It’s not a nice thing to think about. He told me one night how he felt. It haunts him. Besides, I’ve seen William falling down on his work. The whole racket got on our nerves. I reckon we were hard on her. William used to call her a wild fawn. Maybe, if we’d met her from the first in the right way, she’d have tamed down.”

Colonel Denbigh pulled hard at his mustache.

“Give her a little love, Carter, and trust in the Lord,” he advised gently.

It was Virginia, however, who solved the problem.