As Kathleen sat rocking her baby to and fro, she was asking herself, "How shall I live the life that is before me? I dread the thought of looking my child's father in the face. My trust in him is gone. Yet I am as much to blame as he, in one sense, for I would not listen to those who were better able to judge of his character than I was."
How the past became present as she sat there! Her peaceful girlhood, with its luxurious surroundings and freedom from care. Her father's love for and trust in her, the tender, watchful care of her guardians, Aylmer's affection, and the self-devotion which placed her happiness before his own.
"I was wilful and selfish a little while ago; now it is my lot to have benefits repaid with ingratitude. I tried to make Ralph happy, and he causes me deep sorrow. I loved my husband, and gave him all I had, thinking that our marriage would be his salvation, and now! How foolish I was! How could one so weak, faulty, and headstrong bring to bear an influence which would change a strong nature like John's? Yet I was proud at the thought of giving my life for the elevation of his."
Kathleen laid her sleeping babe on his soft bed, after showering kisses on the innocent face; then, falling on her knees, she prayed long and earnestly for pardon and guidance; but even this resource did not bring calm at once.
The contrast between former expectations and present reality was too much for Kathleen. By turns she was distressed, despairing, and indignant. It was so horrible to recall those sneering words which reminded her that she had given her love and herself without being asked for either.
"And yet," she thought, "if ever a man seemed to plead for both with his whole being, John laid himself at my feet, as one who dared not ask for what he was unworthy to possess. Only three and a half years a wife, and it has come to this! Not yet twenty-five years old, and, it may be, I have a long life before me."
Kathleen remained beside her boy in the October twilight. She knew not whether her husband was in the house or not. She dreaded the thought of meeting him at dinner, and equally dreaded to absent herself, lest, in his present humour, he might say or do something to call the attention of the servants to their disagreement.
She was debating whether she should dress and go down to the meal, or make illness an excuse for absenting herself. She was feeling sufficiently indisposed to render such an excuse a true one, and her eyes were red with weeping.
Whilst she was debating with herself, the nurse entered softly.
"I am afraid you must have rung without my hearing you, ma'am," she said.
"I had not rung. Baby fell asleep, and I laid him down, and sat quietly by him. I am tired, and not feeling very well. Is Mr. Torrance in?"
The girl looked surprised. Then answered, "No, ma'am. A telegram came for him when you were out, and he had his bag packed, and went off by train. He left a message for you with Lucy, and he met me with baby on the stairs. He kissed him, and said I was to say he had left the kiss with the little man for you."
Lucy, the parlour-maid, could only tell her mistress that the master had been called away in a hurry, and would be absent a night, or maybe more. That was all. No intimation as to his destination, the message he had received, or the person or business that had summoned him away.
Kathleen's pride prevented her from asking more questions, or showing what she felt under this new slight. "He knew how terrible the suspense would be. He has put me on the rack on purpose," she said to herself. "It is only part of to-day's whole."
The cruelty of the thing added both to her anger and distress. There was no question of her going down and taking her place at a solitary dinner-table, so she put on a simple tea-gown, and gave orders that some light food should be brought to her dressing-room.
"There is a good fire in your boudoir, ma'am."
This was the little upstairs sitting-room which had been the scene of what Kathleen now regarded as her humiliating self-surrender. She shuddered at the thought of crossing its threshold.
"I prefer staying here," she replied. "It is equally comfortable, and, as I am not feeling very well, I shall probably lie down for awhile."
The food was brought, and Kathleen took a little, though without appetite.
"I must keep health and life if I can, for my baby's sake," she thought.
The parlour-maid who waited on Kathleen said, "I am sorry I forgot to tell you, ma'am, that Miss Ellicott called directly after you went out. As you were not in, she came again on her way home. That was just when master was starting for the station. He told Miss Ellicott that he was going off for the night, and said maybe she would spend an hour with you this evening, as you would be by yourself. She said she would come across after dinner."
Kathleen scarcely knew whether to be glad or sorry at the prospect of seeing Ger. It would be difficult to look cheerful, or to hide the tell-tale traces of tears. She did not wish to repeat the story of her trouble, even in such sympathetic ears. How, indeed, could she repeat those cruel, taunting words, the very memory of which made her face glow with the flush of shame? Besides, it were better that none should come between her and John.
Husband and wife would best settle their differences without calling in a mediator, and Kathleen felt that hers was no case for mediation. It was one of cruel, scathing words, of taunt and sneer, and mock politeness on the one side; of bitter suffering and resentment on the other, which could never be changed, yet must be endured in silence, and with such courage and patience as she could command.
There was an interval during which Kathleen's thoughts went back to her mother's story, her fault, punishment, penalty and final peace.
"She paid by the wreck of her physical strength, but she was forgiven, and her days of suffering cheered by my father's tenderest love. I have wrecked my life in a worse manner, and I shall never have a like consolation."
Truly John Torrance had, for the first time, shown his worst side to Kathleen during the recent quarrel. He had not meant to go so far, but he was angry with himself, disturbed by serious losses, and further irritated by Aylmer's appeal on the subject of a will. Hence the resolution to give Kitty a lesson, and put her in her right place for once.
Still, he could not forget all he owed her, and as soon as she was out of sight he began to feel ashamed of himself.
"Poor Kitty! I have been a little rough on her, but she is so fiery, and needs a curb sometimes," he thought. "I have always been master, and I intend to be. Can she have told Hetty Stapleton that, if I would have given her the chance she would have gladly accepted me? It is likely enough."
At that moment Mr. Torrance saw his wife leave the house in walking attire, and exclaimed, "I have guessed rightly, and Kitty is off to put things straight with Hetty."
He laughed loudly, and, though admiring Kathleen's courage and rectitude, he decided that the walk would do her good.
"It will take the temper out of her, and she will come back in a reasonable frame of mind," he said to himself.
Immediately afterwards the telegram came. It was unimportant, but he decided to use it as an excuse for leaving home.
"Kathleen will be troubled and anxious, and, in wondering what has happened to call me away, she will forget our little tiff, and be only thankful to welcome me back again," he thought.
When he met the nurse he left the kiss and message, partly to atone to the child for his former unkindness, partly to mollify Kathleen when she heard of it.
The impetuosity of Kathleen's temper made a reaction inevitable, and her unselfish love could not be wholly destroyed by the shattering of its idol. So, as she thought of her husband, it was with sorrow as well as anger. After receiving his message, she bent over her child and touched with her lips the place he had kissed. It was something to know that he tried to make amends to her darling baby. John had asked Geraldine to come and cheer her, so he had given an anxious thought to her comfort. He had been very cruel, but his temper was hasty—so like her own.
In this somewhat softened mood, Geraldine found her. She read a tale of trouble on Kathleen's face, but was not the one to force confidences; so she talked about the baby's progress, of Ralph's good work at school, of some protégés in whom they were both interested.
Kathleen's manner was, however, absent and constrained.
"I was sorry Mr. Torrance had been called away," continued Ger, "but he said he should only be a night or two absent, and he seemed very anxious you should not be lonely."
Kathleen's tears began to fall, and she replied, "I may as well own that John and I had our first real quarrel to-day. I was angry, and I went out. On my return, he was gone. It is miserable to think of it all, and I feel quite broken down. The worst of it is, I can tell no one else."
"Except One," replied Geraldine. "Trust Him, and He will guide you and comfort you. I shall pray that this trouble may be overruled for good. A failure that shows us our weakness, often proves a blessing in the end. It makes us afraid of venturing on ground which we have found dangerous, and renders us more watchful over ourselves."
"I would not have a repetition of to-day's experience for the world," said Kathleen. "But oh, Ger, I do need both strength and comfort very badly!"
"I will not ask you to tell me anything, dear Kitty, and I need not remind you that, whatever your present want, God's love can and will supply it. I am only the maiden aunt, and have no experience in matrimonial differences, but I do know how important it is to prevent such from becoming habitual. At any cost of self-denial and self-restraint, for the sake of your child, your hope of happiness with your husband, above all, for Christ's sake, fight against every temptation to indulge in anything that could build up a wall of separation between you and John."
Geraldine spoke earnestly, for, with the memory of Kathleen's girlish temperament and fits of self-will, she thought it not unlikely that she had given way to passion, and thus the quarrel had been brought about.
Mr. Torrance had always treated his wife with such marked respect, and shown her so much consideration in the presence of others, that it was probable some hasty speech of Kathleen had caused the trouble.
Her cousin seemed to read Geraldine's thoughts.
"If you imagine that I did something to provoke John, you are mistaken, Ger," she said. "Knowing me as you do, you are not to blame for supposing that I deserve a full share of responsibility for what has happened. I would rather be misunderstood than clear myself by telling all that passed."
Kathleen shuddered involuntarily as she spoke, and Ger, seeing how deeply she was distressed, could only say tender, loving words, and express a hope that this first serious misunderstanding might be also the last.
"Shall I stay with you to-night?" she asked. "If you wish it, I will send a line to mother, and remain here."
Kathleen thanked her, but would not agree to this, feeling that even so kind a presence would be a restraint.
"I shall go early to bed," she said, "and I am going to have my boy beside me for company. I have told nurse to bring his cot into my room."
So Geraldine left her, having first promised Kathleen that she would repeat nothing that had passed, either to her mother or Mr. Matheson.
"Better so," thought Ger. "One may reasonably hope, that as some years have passed before a first quarrel, there will be no speedy repetition of it. Interference would do harm, and the meddler would share the usual fate of those who come between husband and wife."
There is nothing harder or more embarrassing than the first meeting after a quarrel and an angry parting between friends, lovers, or a married pair. With a longing for reconciliation, comes unwillingness to make the first advance, or doubt as to its being accepted. Cruel words and deeds may be regretted, but pride may prevent the fault being acknowledged. Each may determine that the other shall yield, so the breach widens until it becomes impassable.
Kathleen had been cruelly taunted, and her husband's words would never be forgotten. On the other hand, she remembered her own fits of passion; but she could say, "I have tried to conquer them, for my child's sake especially. And John is so much older. Besides, he is quite cool, and his taunts, softly uttered and with a smile, maddened me." Then love pleaded. "He is my husband, my baby's father. I have to live with him. He was sorry before he left home." Kathleen wept, thought, prayed, and at last forgot her trouble in sleep.
The following day passed without Mr. Torrance. Then came a telegram. He would be home the next afternoon, and a carriage was to meet him at the station.
Kathleen usually met her husband, but hesitated about doing so now. Yet, if the concession would bring about a better understanding, it might be well to make it, she thought.
After all, Mr. Torrance came by an earlier train. Hearing a footstep as she was sitting in the grounds, she turned and saw her husband, but could not utter a word.
His face wore its pleasantest expression. His trip had proved fortunate. A debt had been paid to him, and he had gained more money by another's loss, so he was in high good humour.
"I startled you, Kitty," he said; "you might have seen a ghost. Did you get my kiss, and did Geraldine come to you?"
Kathleen's white lips moved, but no sound came, and her husband was shocked at her looks.
"You are quite unnerved, Kitty; surely not by my jesting words? I never meant to grieve you by my nonsense. I was worried by a number of things at the time. Forget and forgive, like the dear girl you are."
He drew her close to him, and kissed her repeatedly, but Kathleen only gasped out from quivering lips, "I wish I could forget."
"My darling, you are too sensitive, or you would think nothing of such trifles. You said some pretty sharp things too, but I just put them out of mind, as the wisest way."
"You forget more easily than I can, John, but I will try."
"There's a sweet Kitty," he replied cheerfully. "Now let us have the boy down. What a splendid fellow he is growing!"
