CHAPTER XXVII
A LEGAL DOCUMENT IS RECEIVED
“He will be here to-day! Surely, Horace will be here to-day,” Nellie Wylie repeated to herself as the hours crept slowly on and the time arrived when, by her reckoning, her husband should have reached C——.
Mark had driven out to meet him, and the little woman scanned again and again the broad bosom of the plain for a sight of the returning carriage. The grass was dry and golden in the sunlight and her eyes ached from the reflected brightness as, shading them with her hand, she stood for the fiftieth time before the cabin door and sought to trace the slender thread of roadway.
“Alice, I am sure there is some one coming,” she cried at last, as a brown speck became visible against the horizon. Alice came and looked over her shoulder.
“It is only Jackson, the mail-carrier, I am afraid,” Alice replied. “You know, dearie, Mark would be detained for a little time, while Jackson has hastened directly here. You must not look too much upon Horace’s coming to-night, for the train may have been delayed or many things may have happened to detain him.”
The letter-box was fastened at the roadside nearly opposite Mark’s house, but seeing Alice in the doorway, Jackson threw his package of mail to her and galloped on to the next post.
“Here is a letter for you, dear,” said Alice as she sorted out the mail and came slowly up to the waiting sister.
“A letter? And from Horace, too! He must have written before he started.” And her bright eyes glanced eagerly over the sheet she had hurriedly opened. “Oh, merciful Heaven!”
The cry startled Alice, and she turned to see Elinor stagger as if stricken by a blow and then sink in a limp and helpless heap upon the ground.
“Why, Elinor! Nellie! What is it?” cried Alice, running to her and lifting the poor fallen head in her arms. “My poor Nellie! Is it bad news? Tell me!” she implored, while she rubbed the pulseless wrists and tried to arouse her to consciousness.
“Mamma, mamma!” cried little Robbie, frantic with alarm, trying to open her eyes with his little brown fingers. “Mamma! Is she dead?”
“No, Robbie, not dead. Oh, my child!” cried Alice; “if Mark would only come!”
“Uncle Mark is coming,” cried Robbie, and Alice lifted her head with a silent prayer of thanksgiving as she heard the sound of horses’ footsteps over the soft earth.
“How glad I am you’ve come!” she sobbed, as a few moments later he reached her side. “What can have happened to poor Nellie? Some dreadful news, I’m afraid.”
Mark lifted the letter, which still remained in her nerveless fingers. An enclosure fell from it to the ground. He picked it up and hastily looked it over. It was evidently a legal document, and as he read the first line his face grew pale with surprise and anger.
“Great Scott! What is this! Oh, my poor little girl!” And the great-hearted Mark Cramer turned away his head and groaned aloud. He turned to see Elinor staring at him with rigid eyes, full of wonder.
“What has happened, Mark—Alice? Oh, I know, I know!” and again the blue eyes were covered with the heavy eyelids. Then Mark lifted her in his arms, and bearing her as lightly as though she were a child, he carried her into the cabin and laid her upon a couch.
“Poor child, poor child!” he muttered. “It is her only chance of forgetfulness. It would be better almost if she never wakened.”
“Mark Cramer, will you tell me what has happened?” cried Alice, who had followed him in and now stood holding Robbie’s hand, her eyes dilated and expectant. Mark hesitated, but finally said through closed teeth:
“That paper is a copy of a bill of divorcement from Nellie.”
“A divorce? I don’t understand!” Alice caught her breath.
“Yes, that knave of a Wylie has divorced this poor girl! God only knows for what or why he has done so. But, by the eternal powers, I’ll know why! That man shall answer to me for this!” Mark’s eyes blazed.
“Hush, Mark! You are excited and know not what you are saying. There must be some mistake. It is probably only a joke. He has written Elinor every day, kind, affectionate letters, and I think he was to have come to-day, may be here in a few hours. He is only playing a practical joke upon her.”
“If so, he shall pay dearly for his joke!” Mark exclaimed. “Ah, my poor little sister! My poor Elinor!”
“Don’t, Mark! Think of Robbie hearing you! There is surely some mistake.”
“It’s a mistake he shall rue,” he groaned.
But Mark’s anger gave way to fear as hour after hour went by and Elinor only awoke from one swoon to go into another. Mark paced the floor, distracted with anxiety.
“Poor Nellie, I dread the hour when she shall finally awaken. Heaven is merciful to her in thus keeping her unconscious,” he repeated again and again. “What can have made the change in Horace Wylie? I should have supposed him too proud a man to have entered a divorce court, even if their life had been unpleasant. And I have always believed them to be congenial and happy. Surely my poor little sister loved him.”
“I am afraid, Mark, there is another woman in the case,” Alice said with conviction. “Depend upon it, no man could do such a cold-blooded, cruel act as this unless his affections were enchained by some other charmer who has usurped his wife’s place in his heart.”
“Hush! she hears you,” Mark whispered, as a faint moan came from the couch and he saw the blue eyes slowly unclosed to be fixed with painful directness upon him.
“What is it, dear; can I do anything for you?” he asked, going to her and stroking her curl-fringed forehead with his hand.
“Where is Tibby,” she murmured.
“Sure enough, where is Tibby? Alice, is it not time for Tibby to be home? Where did she go?”
“She went over to Nathan’s this morning, and has not yet returned. Shall I go after her?”
Elinor shook her head and looked with stony, unseeing, fixed eyes at the farthest corner of the ceiling. How pinched and drawn the white face looked, that had bloomed so rosily a few hours before.
A moan again escaped her white lips. Alice sighed in sympathy.
“Don’t, Nellie! Think of Robbie. Poor Robbie, he wants to speak to you.”
“Mamma, I love you,” Robbie said, softly patting her cheek with his little brown palm. “What makes you sick, mamma?”
“Robbie, Robbie, dear, dear Robbie! O God! O God! It cannot be!”
And again her eyes closed and she was still.
“It is better, anything is better than that awful stare,” Mark said, bowing his head. At last, as evening approached, Tibby was seen coming slowly along over the gray plain, swinging her hat in her hand and laughing with Donald, who accompanied her. Alice looked at the flushed face of the happy girl, so radiant, so hopeful, so roseate, and her heart sank at the thought of her meeting with the crushed, broken lily who lay upon the couch behind her. And she slipped quietly out of the door to meet Tibby and prepare her.
She put up her hand, enjoining quiet, as Tibby swung her hat in salutation.
“Tibby, dear,” Alice said as the twain came to her side, “Mrs. Wylie has received bad news, and is quite overcome by it. She asked for you and I think you may be able to comfort her.”
Tibby’s face blanched a little, and the laughing lips were sobered.
“I will go in at once. Good-by, Mr. Bartram. I’ll leave you to Mrs. Cramer’s care.” And she flitted away.
“We’re in great trouble, Donald. Mark will explain to you at another time,” Alice said.
“You have my sympathy, whatever it may be,” the young man replied gravely. “If I can be a help in any way, command me.”
“Thank you, Donald, we are always sure of that.”
He lifted his hat.
“You may bring Lissa over to-morrow. Perhaps the skein of mystery may be untangled by that time and more explainable,” she said as he turned away.
With the coming of Tibby the stony stare of Elinor’s eyes was washed away by blessed tears, and with her head upon Tibby’s breast she wept long and silently, while Tibby soothed her with whispered words. Then after a time the sobs became less frequent, and to the relief of all, Elinor slept.
“Thank God for this! and thank you, Tibby, also!” Mark ejaculated. “I feared her mind would give away to the shock. But this sleep will restore her. What a blessing is sleep. This world would be a mad-house of maniacs without it.”
“Yes, Mr. Cramer; but may I not now know what this all means?”
Mark handed Tibby the document which had wrought the ruin. She read it through with corrugated brow, and then sat thoughtfully with it in her hand.
“Can you understand the cause for this, Tibby?”
She shook her head.
“No, unless—I do not know, but there was a woman on the boat with us when we went to Santa Barbara, whom Mr. Wylie seemed to admire and who appeared completely infatuated with him. So much so as to cause remark. I did not tell Mrs. Wylie, but I overheard people talking of her. She was in some way one of his kind, that is, she believed in spiritism and he seemed to enjoy her society.
“Mrs. Wylie did not like her because she had been at the hotel in the mountains when we were there, and the ladies had been somewhat scandalized by her behavior. But of course it seems incredible that she should have been able to cause trouble. I should not think of her, only at the time I felt such an instinctive dislike for her, and fear, as if she was dangerous.” Tibby spoke with evident reluctance. “I am afraid I tried to punish her sometimes.”
“Punish her? How?”
“O, I made her upset her coffee, spill her soup, and do other awkward things. I am glad now that I did them; that is, if she is to blame—for this.”
“I see you feel convinced that she is,” Mark said. “And I am inclined to trust your intuition.”
Tibby’s care of Mrs. Wylie was untiring, and when another day had come and the grief-tortured woman could control herself sufficiently to talk of her trouble, Mark sought from her to learn something more of the cause of it; but any suggestion of the idea that Horace had been beguiled by another woman met with indignant protest from Elinor.
“O, no, no; there is nothing of the kind! Horace has always been devoted to me. I think he must be insane. I can account for this in no other way. I am sure his belief in spiritism has in some way been the primary cause of the trouble. It does unbalance the mind, we know,” she faltered. “We never had any disagreement except over that.”
“Yes,” Mark said, “I am willing to believe that anything may come from embracing that creed. But what does he write you, Elinor?”
“Here is the letter. Read it and interpret it if you can. I have read it several times with no further enlightenment,” she replied sadly.
“‘I fear this letter may prove a surprise to you, and a shock. I hardly know how to make you understand the reason why I have taken this step. It seems to be a necessary one. But I have not taken it without due reflection. I am convinced our marriage has not been the soul-marriage, which is the only true one, and that our tastes and requirements are so dissimilar, it is better that we should go separate ways. I am willing to provide abundantly for all your needs and for Robbie. You will, of course, desire to keep him with you at least until he is old enough to be sent away to school. I have placed with my attorney a sum of money which shall be paid to you regularly each month, sufficient, I am sure, for all your requirements, and I shall be glad to supplement it if at any time you desire more.
“‘Is there anything here at home which you would especially desire me to send you? I imagine you will prefer to make Forest City your permanent home, and I would suggest that you keep Tibby with you as long as possible. Your harp and piano I have already had boxed awaiting your order. And now, dear Nellie, I hope you will accept this trial in the right spirit, believing it for the best, as I do. It has been a trial, also, to me, I assure you, but it has seemed a duty, if not an actual necessity.
“The man is certainly insane, or—”
“Infatuated with some other woman,” interrupted Alice as Mark hesitated.
“I will never believe that,” said Elinor pathetically. “I shall write to him. Yes, I must write to him. This seems so unreal, I am constantly feeling as though I should awaken and find it but a painful dream.”
“Yes, write to him by all means, and learn, if possible, the cause of this change of heart.”
“I’ve been wondering where I should address him. You know his partner wired me that he had started for New York. You don’t think he could have gone through east, already?”
“I will go to town to-day and telegraph Johnson,” Mark responded.
He did so, and received this reply:
“Wylie left San Francisco for New York, the eighth instant, in company with his wife.”
“‘Oh, my prophetic soul!’” quoted Alice, when she heard it, and Tibby nodded assent.
“I know it is that woman of the boat. My instincts did not deceive me,” she said.
How Elinor lived through the next fortnight she could never have told. She remained as one stunned, and unable to talk to any one. She would lie on the couch for hours and not move, or sit under the canopy of the doorway, her hands lying listlessly in her lap, her sad eyes staring pathetically into space. When spoken to she would arouse herself with a start, and look at her friends with so pitiful an expression in her blue eyes that they would turn away to hide their tears of sympathy. She ate only when urged to do so, and slept only when forced to do so by Tibby.
“If we could only interest her in something,” Alice said over and over, for she scarcely even noticed little Robbie.
At last Lissa came in one day, bringing her herbarium of Nebraska flowers.
“This was a God-send to me,” she said, “when I was brooding over my sorrow. Perhaps I can interest Mrs. Wylie in it.”
“O, how much you have done with it,” cried Tibby, “since the time when you and I made our first botanical excursion together.”
“You drew my attention from the dead to the living, growing things about me, Tibby, dear, and I can never thank you enough,” Lissa replied.
Wonderful as it may seem, Mrs. Wylie did allow herself to become interested in the bright descriptions which Lissa gave her of the native wild flowers of the State, and promised to go with her in the afternoon to gather autumn specimens, and thus the first step was taken in distracting her mind from her grief.