FullReads

Recollection of it all came to her with a rush; but the words ran together and swam in a maddening blur–the roar from the street below, dull with distance; the hum of the big building, with its faint concussions of closing doors; the air from the open window, not like the sweet prairie air of to-day, but heavy, smoky, typical breath of the town, yet pregnant with the indescribable throb of spring, impossible to efface or to disguise! The compelling intimacy and irrevocability of that memory overwhelmed her, now; a dark, evil flood that blotted out the sunshine of the present.

The paper rustled, as the man smoothed it flat with his hand.

“Shall I read?” he asked.

The woman’s face stood clear–cruelly clear–in the sunlight; about her mouth and eyes there was an expression which, from repetition, we have learned to associate with the circle surrounding a new-made grave: an expression hopelessly desperate, desperately hopeless.

Of a sudden her chin trembled and her face dropped into her hands.

“Read, if you wish”; and the smooth brown head, with its thread of gray, trembled uncontrollably.

“Eleanor!” with a sudden vibration of tenderness in his voice. “Eleanor,” he repeated.

But the woman made no response.

The man had taken a step forward; now he sat down again, looking through the open doorway at the stretch of green prairie, with the road, a narrow ribbon of brown, dividing it fair in the middle. In the distance a farmer’s wagon was rumbling toward town, a trail of fine dust, like smoke, suspended in the air behind. It rattled past, and the big collie on the step woke to give furious chase in its wake, then returned slowly, a little conscious under the stranger’s eye, to sleep as before. Asa Arnold sat through it all, still as one devitalized; an expression on his face no man had ever seen before; one hopeless, lonely, akin to that of the woman.

“Read, if you wish,” repeated Camilla, bitterly.

For a long minute her companion made no motion.

“It’s unnecessary,” he intoned at last. “You know as well as I that neither of us will ever forget one word it contains.” He hesitated and his voice grew gentle. “Eleanor, you know I didn’t come here to insult you, or to hurt you needlessly;–but I’m human. You seem to forget this. You brand me less than a man, and then ask of me the unselfishness of a God!”

Camilla’s white face lifted from her hands.

“I ask nothing except that you leave me alone.”

For the first time the little man showed his teeth.

“At last you mention the point I came here to arrange. Were you alone, rest assured I shouldn’t trouble you.”

“You mean–“

“I mean just this. I wouldn’t be human if I did what you ask–if I condoned what you’ve done and are still doing.” He was fairly started now, and words came crowding each other; reproachful, tempestuous.

“Didn’t you ever stop to think of the past–think what you’ve done, Eleanor?” He paused without giving her an opportunity to answer. “Let me tell you, then. You’ve broken every manner of faith between man and woman. If you believe in God, you’ve broken faith with Him as well. Don’t think for a moment I ever had respect for marriage as a divine institution, but I did have respect for you, and at your wish we conformed. You’re my wife now, by your own choosing. Don’t interrupt me, please. I repeat, God has no more to do with ceremonial marriage now than he had at the time of the Old Testament and polygamy. It’s a man-made bond, but an obligation nevertheless, and as such, at the foundation of all good faith between man and woman. It’s this good faith you’ve broken.” A look of bitterness flashed over his face.

“Still, I could excuse this and release you at the asking, remaining your friend, your best friend as before; but to be thrown aside without even a ‘by your leave,’ and that for another man–” He hesitated and finished slowly: