The cable

“I  SEE the whole world through your tresses, Holly! They cover my eyes as a veil and everything glows, shines with glory!” Rodney had said to Cis.

It was true of them both that a joy past realization, past expression, filled and flooded their ways and their days. Cicely gave herself up to the rapture of a love so mighty that it was almost pain; gave herself with the generosity of a nature honest, fearless, intense. Rodney found her love for him far exceeding his expectation of it, and he had expected to be endowed beyond the average man by the love of a woman who, more than any that he had ever known, asked nothing for herself but to be allowed to submerge herself.

He was delirious, breathless at times when she bared to him her rare, sublimated passion, yet there was in her a quality which awed him, while she enkindled him. Cis loved him with all the forces of her royal human nature, yet with it she also loved him with a purity of soul that frightened the man, ten years her elder, versed in the ways of lesser women. Crimson as a flame fed by her lifeblood burned her love upon the altar she erected to it, but over and above the red flame of human love, burned a white flame of utter devotion, idealization, spiritual detachment; it dominated and sublimated the love that, though it was rare, yet was lower than this, its supplement. Wonderful in a girl whose life had not trained her for the highest form of love, was this purity of aim which Rodney recognized at all times in her.

Rodney himself arose to reverence this idealized love, to defer to it. He was not a man whose life was notably better, nor was it worse than the average man’s life. He had thrown off his religion because it would have thwarted him; because its law bore heavily upon his particular case; because it never had meant much to him, and this world fully engrossed him. He meant to be both rich and happy; he had intended to marry ambitiously, but Cis had come, with her red hair, and it had burned like dross everything that would have stood between her and him. He had fallen in love with Cicely Adair passionately and honestly; to get her and hold her his he was more than ready to throw over any other woman, however full her hands might have been when he had espoused her. After he had won Cis, Rodney was ready to stake anything on himself; he felt that he was sure to get the worldly goods which he craved. Cis must be first. Now that he had Cis, he knew that, even if he missed the riches, he should be rich. She filled his horizon, filled his eyes and heart, yet she held him indescribably above himself; she humbly worshipped him, abasing herself with wonder that such as he should love her, yet never descended to what Rodney himself knew was his natural level, nor ever for an instant suspected that she held him down while she lifted him up by assuming that he was the type of man whom Arthur tried to form to sit at his Round Table.

Cicely mystified Rodney; she was at once flame and starlight. He could not understand that the flame was of the sort that burned away dross; that Cis loved him with such overwhelming love that she walked under a sense of consecration. He could not understand, yet he recognized this and deferred to it in a way that amazed himself when he came to think it over. He could not risk letting Cis find him less than she believed him. Her trust in him, her idealization of him, humbled him and intrigued him. Could he marry Cis, deceiving her? Could he undeceive her? After they were married Cis would learn to accept things as they were; she would not love him less; she would love him more, tremendous as her love now was, for then there would be the complete blending which was marriage. Cis was not the sort of woman to criticise her husband. She would understand and justify him when she was his wife, nor would her slender hold upon the dominant Old Church be maintained against the clutch with which she would hold to her husband. Rodney’s fingers tightened as he thought how he would hold his wife, although Rome itself were hurled upon his grasp that held her. He knew that his love now flooded Cicely’s whole being with joy; when he was married to her he would show her that she had known no more of joy than the bird in the shell knows of the sunlight awaiting it.

Cis had received her engagement ring from Rodney, not the conventional diamond.

Rodney had a friend who was a dealer in precious stones; from him he had obtained a ruby perfect in color, beautifully cut, and he had himself designed its setting. Holly leaves laid one upon another, points resting each upon the following leaf, formed the ring; four leaf points converged to hold the wonderful ruby high to catch the light. It glowed and pulsated upon Cicely’s slender, nervous hand as if it refracted the light within her, the glow of her love for her lover.

“Oh, Rod, my dearest, it’s beyond words to praise!” sighed Cis, turning her hand to give the ruby light upon every side. “It’s too wonderful for me!”

Rodney caught her head between his hands and kissed and kissed her red hair. Then he crushed her face against his and held her lips to his in a long kiss.

“I deserve it,” he said releasing her. “The ruby is you; how can it be too wonderful for you? No white diamond for you, but a ruby, like this one. You are my Holly, my glowing, ruby-red Holly! My Christmas Gift! Cis, we shall be married on Christmas Eve? Cis, I beg of you, don’t ask me to wait longer! That’s almost two full months! I’ve found the apartment; I haven’t told you, but it’s a little bit of all right! Christmas Eve our wedding! Christmas morning, when the bells ring, to say for the first time: ‘Good morning, my wife!’ ‘Good morning, Rod, my own man!’ And our Christmas breakfast in our own home—no trips away then; perhaps later!—but I yours, you mine, wholly, forever, my Holly upon my own walls! Cis, in mercy—say yes!”

“Rod! Rory, my darling!” Cis caught her breath, her words almost a cry. “I want to come and I can’t! It’s too soon, Rod dear! Only two months; not quite that! I could leap with you into fire when you call me, yet I can’t marry, not so soon! Girls—girls—Oh, yes! Girls have to get ready, get clothes and things, and it takes time, Rod!”

“Cis, you’re a royal princess, a giver by rank and nature! Would you put me off with such a mean, a dishonest excuse? Do you know what you ask when you ask me to wait? You, the generous, the unselfish, the royal giver! As though you hadn’t clothes! If you have enough to go to Lucas and Henderson’s every day you have enough to live in your own home, hidden from all eyes but mine—and they won’t see your clothing, my Holly! We’ll live only about seventy years, all told; less than fifty more! Will you waste time? How dare you waste time, youth time, too! We should have been married these four years, at least. You could have been married at eighteen, if I’d have known you then—No, we couldn’t! I couldn’t have married you then, my own. You are my own, Cis! Nothing else is mine! Cis, I’ve had a harder life than you know; I’m going to tell you when we’re in our home, sitting down all alone, you in my arms, your dear red head on my shoulder! But don’t be a niggard with me, generous Cis! Make up my hard luck to me. Oh, make it up to me! You’ll wipe out memory of the word hard luck! Cis, how can you think of delaying life together? It’s cowardly, unfair, cold love, and these things are not in you! Christmas, Holly?”

Rod had pleaded with such quivering earnestness that Cis paled and trembled before it, swept beyond her power to hesitate, even beyond deciding.

“My poor Rory! Were you so badly off four years ago?” she murmured. “But I’d have married you, if you were a beggar with a little dog on a string! I’ll come home to you at Christmas, then, my own Rodney; I’ll keep my birthday with my husband in my own home. Oh, Rory O’Moore!”

For Rodney had fallen at her feet and was kissing her hands over and over again, kissing the ruby which he had placed upon one of them, as if he feared his own joy, and for the moment dared not rise to the level of the girl who had shackled her brave freedom for his sake, who so trusted him and sacrificed for him.

Three days later Cis received an invitation from Miss Gallatin to dine and spend the evening with her. Rodney had told his eccentric, but fine landlady of his engagement and speedy marriage. In default of relatives on either side Miss Hannah Gallatin felt it incumbent upon her to do something as a mild celebration of what had happened, the more that she had doubted Rodney, and, for lack of anything else upon which to hang that doubt, had feared that he was playing with Cis, would never marry her. Besides this, with the ardor of her own strong, and comparatively recent adherence to the Catholic Church, she was anxious about Cicely’s marriage to a renegade from it, Cicely, whose own lukewarmness was only too evident.

Miss Gallatin was not an ordinary boarding house keeper; queer as she was in appearance, uncouth and almost shabby in attire, she had come of good stock; her youth had passed in refined, even luxurious surroundings; she was well-read, clever, was what used to be meant by “a gentlewoman.” She was dependent upon her own exertions for a livelihood because her patrimony had passed from her wholly into a brother’s hands, owing to her father’s conviction that nothing of his must ever be administered by one who would be likely to use its smallest fraction to benefit that menace to American institutions, the Roman Catholic Church.

Miss Gallatin did not invite Cicely to dine at the common table; it was not covenable to expose a young girl to criticism among her lover’s fellow-boarders; she was so far from being their concern that they were sure to watch her closely and later to comment on her violently.

A small table was spread in a cozy room near the general dining room and in it Cicely and Rodney were to dine with their hostess, and a gentleman whom Miss Gallatin explained to Cicely in private.

“I feel honored to entertain him, the gentleman whom you’re to meet at dinner, Miss Adair,” she said. “He’s a great man, doing great things as if they were less than little ones. He has a fine estate and plenty of money; is not married. He is not so much a good Catholic, as an enraptured one; he consistently puts his faith before all else. He has travelled everywhere, speaks several languages, has a great library, reads much, writes, too, a little, I believe; essays, articles on current questions, giving the Catholic point of view. He is organizing Catholic lay men and women to be ready to serve the Church wherever it is needed, and his quite splendid big house is the headquarters for this league of his. He has people staying there all the time who need what he can give; a chance for a convert to get on his feet, for instance, one who is impoverished by coming in, and a chance to find friends if he is alone, lonely, needing countenance and advice. He has a teacher of Italian there, to fit people to stem the tide of theft of Italian immigrants through bribery by the Protestant sects. All these sorts of things he does. He is well on toward forty; a knight riding to rescue, if ever there was one! I call him Sir Anselm—not to his face! In fact, I rarely see him. He’s in town, and I’m gratified to death that he’s going to stay here. He’s come to see Miss Miriam Braithwaite; she’s a great friend of his, one of his sort, a convert. His name is Anselm Lancaster.”

Cis heard this long tale of the man whom she was to meet, without actually hearing it; she felt no smallest interest in this fine gentleman, nearing forty, who was spending his days, strength and means for his Church and hers. If she thought at all of what Miss Gallatin told her as she made her hair tidy for dinner, it was that he “must be fusty and musty, pokey and dull to fuss over things like that.” In the attractive little room where she dined, Cis was introduced to Mr. Lancaster. She saw him tall, slenderly built, elegant in dress, fine of feature, handsome, perhaps, and with a gleam of pure humor in his eyes which was unexpected to her in an extremely devout man. Then she forgot all about him, for Rodney began to talk to Miss Gallatin, the stranger joined in, and in listening to Rodney, who did talk well and fluently, Cis forgot all else, her eyes as well as her cars feasting upon Rodney’s perfections.

Occasionally Cis spoke, uttering one of her characteristic quick speeches, much to the point, with a humorous turn and a keenness of insight that made Mr. Lancaster look at her attentively, smiling upon her as if he were ready, desirous more correctly, to draw her into conversation, but Cis did not see this, nor did she respond beyond the requirements of civility, to the remarks to this end which he addressed to her. It came out that Cis was secretary to Mr. Lucas, and when he heard this Mr. Lancaster turned to her with alacrity.

“Mr. Wilmer Lucas?” he cried. “Lucas and Henderson? That office is deeply concerned with the franchise now before the legislature and Congress. Everybody is agog to know how it is going. I, myself, am imploring all the saints to get it through! It will matter greatly to my plans, if it succeeds. I’m going to be able to found an Italian colony, if it goes through; give employment to many heads of families, and save no end of bambini from proselytizing societies for their destruction! You must know something about the way the matter is tending, Miss Adair. Please admit that it is trying, to feel that the knowledge one needs is just across the table, but wholly inaccessible, enclosed by the nimbus of your hair, sacred as a trust.”

“I know all about it,” said Cis. “I handle the whole correspondence, but I’m not talking.”

“Don’t imagine that I would suspect you of betraying a trust, still less that I would want information at that price,” said Mr. Lancaster. “It must soon be decided and made public. Interesting to see the inner wheels go around, drop a little accelerating oil on them in a hidden corner!”

“Yes,” agreed Cis. “I like wheels, things getting done. But I don’t care more about that franchise than anything else, except that everybody seems to be wild about it. Rather sport to be the only one in the know, except your principals! What I’d like to find out is who’s going to carry off the World’s Series Championship!”

Mr. Lancaster laughed, with a friendly and admiring look at unconscious Cis, who was laughing at Rod’s assurance that he could tell her, only she wouldn’t believe him. They had a bet on the result of the baseball season, on the chances of which they differed.

After dinner there was music; Mr. Lancaster played the piano remarkably well, and Rodney had brought his violin; he played with brilliant excellence music that was sometimes sentimental, sometimes frolicsome, always popular, and never classical. Cis had a pleasant voice and sang with natural expression and taste, but she could not be induced to utter a note.

“I don’t want to sing where I can be heard,” she explained. “Padded cell, solitary confinement for my concert hall!” and again Mr. Lancaster laughed at her; he evidently found her unaffected gaiety refreshing.

At last the evening was at an end, and Miss Gallatin was helping Cis into her coat preparatory to her leaving.

“So it’s all settled, Miss Adair—let me call you Cicely, will you?” said Miss Gallatin.

“No, but say Cis; I like it!” Cis responded to the affection in the rugged, patient, lonely face over her shoulder. “Yes, it’s settled! See the ring? I’m to be married at Christmas, if you please! My birthday.”

“Are you a Noël maid?” asked Miss Gallatin. “I noticed the ring; most beautiful! Now I understand the holly leaves and the ruby single holly berry. A marvellous ruby, a significant and beautiful design for a Christmas girl!”

“Rod made the design; he calls me Holly,” said Cis proudly. “He’s a great Rodney!”

“Has he come back to the Church to thank God for you where He should be thanked?” asked Miss Gallatin softly. “I want to be sure of your happiness, my dear.”

“Dear me, no, he hasn’t, Miss Gallatin!” Cis laughed, but she spoke impatiently. “He is so good as it is, that I’m sure he’s all right. I can’t seem to worry over Rod!”

“You’ve got to build your house square with its foundation, if it’s to stand,” said Miss Gallatin. “Dear Cis, I do hope you’ll be happy; be blessed, which is more. I suppose it may be that you’re to be the torch bearer, lead G. Rodney Moore to heaven. God sees farther than we can! Did you like Mr. Lancaster?”

“Who’s Mr. Lancaster? Oh, that man downstairs? He seems all right, plays like a dream, though I always think it is a little queer for a man to play the piano. Isn’t he sort of religious-crazy? All right to be a Catholic, but you can’t keep at it all the time, as if it was a hurdy-gurdy and the pennies would stop if you stopped grinding it!” Cis laughed at herself, and gathered up her gloves, ready to go.

“Oh, my child, can’t you see the difference between grinding at a thing and being permeated with it?” cried Miss Gallatin. “You don’t grind at the thought of Rod; you feel him, you breathe him, though you are not consciously thinking of him. So it is with the love of God; God is, and you exist in Him; there is nothing that is not of Him in all your actions and thoughts, though it may be only that His presence is beneath it all, not conscious every instant to your mind. Thus Anselm Lancaster loves God.”

Cis stopped short in her passage to the door, and stared silently for a moment at Hannah Gallatin. Then she said slowly:

“I never stop thinking of Rod; he is ceaselessly before my eyes; I breathe him, not air. Do you mean to say that anyone ever feels like that to God, to God, Whom you do not see, Who is—well, far off, not part of us, just—Oh, how shall I say it? Just God, heard about in church, not very well known?”

“Who is ‘just God.’ You said it well, poor Cis. Who is our Beginning, our End, in Whom ‘we live, and move and have our being’; Saint Paul answered you before you asked your question. I mean that He is loved in that way by many, and that unless you share in that love to a degree, all other love will fail you, and life be wretched in its course and in its end,” said Miss Gallatin solemnly.

Cis stared at her for another instant, then she turned to go.

“I never once thought that piety meant that,” she said. “Yet of course God is what you say. It’s quite nice; I never thought I liked piety much. Perhaps if you hang on tight when you don’t get it, God lets you get it later on. But you must hang on awfully tight when you don’t feel like hanging, I suppose! Well, I certainly don’t get it now! Thanks, Miss Gallatin. And thanks for the dinner and nice evening.”

On the way to Mrs. Wallace’s Rodney broke a long silence by saying:

“That man was interested in you, Holly; he sat up and took notice when you spoke.”

“Did he? Who did?” asked Cis, emerging from her thoughts.

“Who did! How many did you meet? I’d think you were playing off, Cis, if you ever played tricks, off or on! That Lancaster stained-glass ecclesiastical piece, to be sure!” retorted Rodney. “Gracious, what a fool a man makes of himself—woman, either!—when he or she get going on religion! Thank the gods, we are free from humbug! Say, Cis, how much do you love me?” Rodney sought her hand to punctuate his question.

“Kids say: ‘More’n tongue can tell!’ I suspect that’s the answer, Rory O’Moore!” said Cis.

“I want you to prove it, my treasure!” said Rod. “I’ve been thinking of it for some time. I saw when you were talking to-night of that franchise that the matter was already decided, that you knew which way it was going. Cis, I’d never ask you to betray that code of your firm’s; I’d never ask you to do a thing that was wrong, but I more than ask, I beg of you, give me a hint, tell me whether the franchise is going through or not. Cis, listen before you answer! I’ll never, I swear to you, let another person have a hint of what I know, nor will anyone ever guess I’ve had inside information. I’ve a little money, a few thousands; that stock can be bought for, say .33, brokers’ commissions and all told. It will sell for 200 within a year, if it goes at all. Tell me only this: Shall I take the stock to the limit of my capital, or is it hands off? See? I don’t ask for a word directly on the franchise, but shall I buy or let it alone? Tell me, Cis; it’s for us both, you know.”

That last appeal stiffened Cis. She cried impatiently:

“Do you think I want to profit by dishonor?”

“Cis, Cis, my Holly-bride, my wife in eight weeks, do listen to me!” implored Rod. “It isn’t wrong to give me the tip; I won’t let anyone else share it; you wouldn’t be betraying confidence, but you would share your knowledge with your full self. You and I will be one person months before that franchise matter is public, likely. Only this, Cis: Shall I buy that stock, or not? Just nod yes, or shake your head, no. Make me by a nod, or save me by a shake of the head; that’s all! I need money, Cis. You hesitate! Fine old love yours is!”

“Oh, Rod, I can’t! Don’t you see I can’t?” begged Cis. “Don’t ask me, don’t! Mr. Lucas—they all trust me. I never played anyone false in all my life——”

“Except me!” cried Rodney bitterly. “You’re my wife, or as good as that, with all yourself pledged to me, yet when you can serve me, merely by a tiny nod when I ask: ‘Cis, shall I buy that stock?’ you are stiff-necked and indifferent; you won’t by the tiny inclination of your head help me upon my feet! Shame, Cicely Adair! It’s not what I call love; it’s not what I counted on in you! I thought you’d die for me, if need were! It’s not the money, not first! You fail me, Cis; you refuse to help me!”

“Oh, Rod, oh, Rod!” cried Cis in torture. “You know, you know it’s all false! I—can’t! Oh, I will, I will! Oh, Rod, don’t look like that, not at me; not at Cis! I’ll die for you, I will! I shall be dead if I’m no longer trustworthy, but I’d die for you! Buy the stock. The franchise is decided; it is going through! Oh, Rod, Rod! Oh, what have I done!”

“Right, my precious, my darling! Anyone would say you had done right. No one will be the worse for it, and I’ll be far, far better! We’ll be better! Bless you, my Holly girl, my brave, true, loyal Holly girl!” cried Rodney triumphantly.

“Don’t call me loyal!” Cis gasped. “And plan so I’ll never profit by that money. Rodney, it is heaven to love you, but, oh, it can be hell to have anyone so necessary to you that everything goes down before the dread of paining him!”

Rodney left Cis on the steps of Mrs. Wallace’s house, looking wan and pale, grief and terror in her wide eyes, but he did not pity her. He was sure that she would soon throw off what he considered her morbid exaggeration of her failure to keep her employers’ secret.

“Fancy her not telling me! The silly darling!” Rodney thought, striding away, whistling loudly the air with which he serenaded Cis when he passed down her street at night; he was sure that she was still standing within the open door; listening to his receding steps and his merry whistling.

“I’ve got her where I want her! Exactly where I I want her! She’d throw over this world, and the next, and everything in them for me! There’s not another like her; all mad love for me, yet crystal-clear in soul! Oh, soul! It’s not that; it’s her honesty, her truth, her selflessness! I can’t seem to face fooling her; I guess I’ll have to lay the cards on the table in front of her, before Christmas, too! I don’t want to fool Cis Adair! And there’s not the slightest risk in doing it, not now! Probably there never was. She’s no doddering slave of ignorant prejudice! Besides, I’ve got her where I want her; to-day proved that! Dandy good thing it happened; tested her, gave me pluck to start in square with her, and honesty’s the only policy with Cis, that’s sure! Just where I want her! My splendid girl! It hurt, but she stood pat! Conscience won’t make a coward of brave Cis! And afterward I’ll know how to salve the conscience if it happens to smart a little. After Christmas I’ll be her conscience! Just where I want her, that gorgeous Cis of mine!”

Rodney went on glowing with triumph, the haunting dread of his past weeks almost laid, and Cis, when the last echo of his going had died away, closed the door and went up stairs slowly, for the first time in all her life seeking her bed with a heavy heart.