McClure's Magazine/Volume 28/Number 3/Flood-tide

by Margaret Cameron

 

FLOOD-TIDE

BY

MARGARET CAMERON

AUTHOR OF "COMEDIES IN MINIATURE," ETC.

"There is a tide in the affairs of men
Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune."

HALSTEAD had checked his trunk and was making his way toward the Forty-second Street entrance, where he was to meet Carter, when he caught sight of her. For an instant he paused, frowning, still gripped by the determination not to see her again in which his long struggle had resulted. Then he remembered that it would be the last time, and gave himself five minutes for the conventional leave-taking which would be all that could be possible in such a place.

"Will you stop long enough to say good-by?" he asked, at her shoulder.

If she caught her breath, he did not notice it for trying to control his own unsteady pulse. He gathered, however, a comfortless impression that her glance was entirely calm.

"How did you hear that I was going?" Her voice sounded unnatural in her own ears, and she forced a more even tone. "I intended to 'fold my tent like the Arab,'"

"You!" he exclaimed. "You going away? Where?"

"Just at present, to spend a day with my cousin at New Haven. I'm early for my train, I think. My watch stopped."

It seemed to him all at once that she looked very tired. Her eyes were duller than their wont; about her mouth lay drooping lines; he missed the customary easy elasticity of her bearing and a certain buoyant quality

"Shall we sit down for a moment?" That she hesitated before accepting his suggestion disquieted him further. Hesitancy was not characteristic of her.

"I beg pardon."—Halstead was sensitive—"perhaps you are not alone? Or Dewing is coming?"

"No." she said. "See that funny little man with the broad shoulders and the short legs. He looks as if he had been forty years a football player, and had gradually been telescoped. By the way, what was the score Saturday?"

Halstead replied briefly: "Tie. Six to six," the while he nursed a cumulative indignation that any man bearing, as Horace Dewing did, the immeasurable distinction of being Betty Davenport's accepted lover, could be so ungrateful and indifferent to the honors and privileges of his position that he could permit her to start on even so short a journey without his attendance, at least to the ticket gate.

Following his thought, he asked: "Shall you be long at New Haven?"

"Only until to-morrow afternoon,"

"Oh. of course! You'll return for the Keene's dinner to-morrow night!"

"No." She did not soften the brevity of her reply.

He turned to her in surprise, but her glance was toward the door.

"See that nice old—why, it's Mr. and Mrs. Eldridge!" She rose as two smiling, white-haired people came toward them, the man in clerical dress.

"Have you seen Mrs, Bidwell?" asked Mrs; Eldridge. "We are to meet her at this train. She's coming to visit us."

"No, I haven't seen her," replied Betty.

"I hope she's not going to miss it! Ordinarily we could wait, but Mr. Eldridge has a wedding to-night, and we must get home. I wonder if she could find her way alone?"

"If I see her, shall I tell her——?"

"Oh, if you please! Tell her, Betty, that we had to take this train, and we'll have a cab at the station to meet the next one. Thank you so much! Come, James."

"But Betty may not see Mrs. Bidwell," mildly protested the clergyman. "There will be other trains, and——"

"I decline to take any risks," interrupted his wife, whose firm tone in no wise discounted the sweetness of her smile. "You must not be late at that wedding, James. Everybody would say I had managed so badly! Mrs. Bidwell will come along presently, I'm sure."

"If I see her—" began Miss Davenport.

"Yes, if you please! Good-by," and the gently protesting clergyman was borne away by his energetic spouse.

Betty laughed. "He'll not be late at the wedding," she said, resuming her seat.

"Who is he?"

"Mr. Eldridge? Rector of 'The Three Angels' at New Rochelle. He used to be in Albany. He married—and buried—my parents, and christened me."

"And I suppose he'll marry you." Halstead used the carefully commonplace tone with which a man masks his wounds.

"I don't know." Her glance seemed to wander vaguely. "What is that megaphone man saying? It must be time for my train."

"Not quite, I think. I—please don't think me intrusive, but—is it to be soon?" Halstead knew that he was playing with fire, but he felt a savage pleasure in torturing himself with temptation to which both pride and honor forbade his yielding.

"Soon? What?"

"Your wedding."

She met his glance with reserve. "I don't know," she said, coldly.

"I beg pardon. I asked because I am going away, and if it is to be soon—very soon——"

"You are going away? For long?"

"I am going to Japan, for—forever, I hope." Striving to make his tone light, he still did not trust himself to look at her, for fear of what his eyes might tell of suffering.

"When?" Only an almost imperceptible hardness in her tone indicated the tension under which she held herself.

"Now,—to-night. My train leaves at 6:35, and I have just time to connect with the 'Empress of India' at Vancouver."

"Isn't this—very—sudden?"

As the cool voice slowly dropped the words, resentment stirred him. It seemed to him that she might at least feign regret; their friendship had apparently been pleasant to her. There grew in him a bitter desire to end it all quickly, and to get away. Over the confusion of many voices sounded the drone of the man with the megaphone, while Halstead replied mechanically to her query.

"Sudden? No, not particularly. I have been considering an excellent offer to go out there, and yesterday I cabled that I would take this steamer. I think your train is called. Shall we go?"

The girl sat perfectly still. "To Japan," she said, "and for years." Halstead winced and arose with decision.

"Your train." his tone was formal; "I must not detain you."

"Oh, I've decided to wait for Mrs. Bidwell," she replied, hurrying her words; "didn't I tell you? I'm in no haste, and she might not understand that they will expect her."

Halstead almost groaned as he resumed his seat beside her, and in the silence that ensued between them he moodily bit his mustache, while around them moved the eddying crowds, and above the sound of many feet tapping the paved floor came still the monotonous announcement of departing trains.

Suddenly the girl stripped off a glove, and laid a ringless left hand in her lap. Then, because it shook, she frowned, and gripped the fingers around the magazine she held.

"Then you won't be at the Keene's dinner, either." The light tone conveyed no hint of the trembling that had fallen upon her. "How fortunate for them that the number is merely diminished by two! Eleventh hour invitations are so awkward, and poor relations are usually obvious expedients."

"You intend going on somewhere from New Haven, then?" Halstead's mind was busily seeking a means to end, decently, a situation that he felt to be increasingly difficult, and his question was perfunctory.

"Yes, I'm going—home." For the first time her voice escaped control, and the last word was almost inaudible.

"Home!" he echoed. Incredulously, he turned to look at her, but for once her eyelids were lowered, and she failed to meet his glance. Her left hand moved slightly, but its tentative suggestion was lost in his preoccupation.

"Home!" he repeated. "You're going home—alone—like this?"

"Oh, I didn't tell anybody. I was—tired, and—and I just ran away. I didn't want anyone to come—here—with me." Her voice still wavered uncertainly, and she continued to look steadily at the gloveless hand gripping the magazine.

A growing excitement burned in Halstead's eyes.

"But Dewing?" he demanded. "Dewing knew?"

Under the eager pursuit of his glance, the feminine instinct of flight reasserted itself. She hid her left hand under its gloved fellow, and gathering all her forces in an effort to assume the calm frankness which, to women of her type, is an armor, forced herself to meet his glance with apparent simplicity, and to speak with deliberation, covering her retreat.

"Oh, yes, Horace knew. He said he would come to the train, but I told him I'd rather not."

Halstead fell back, biting his mustache, and his brain jeered at his impulsive heart.

She altered her position, sitting more easily, her lighter tone suggesting that the relaxation was not alone physical. "And you?" she asked. "Why is there no one to see you off?"

"There is," he replied. "Carter was to meet mc here. He's probably waiting in the crowd over there by the door somewhere."

"Then I mustn't detain you." She glanced at the clock, and again it seemed to him that she looked pitifully tired. "Your train goes at 6:35? You have only half an hour."

He arose unwillingly now, determined to seize the opportunity to end the strain and yet reluctant finally to leave her presence. She arose, also, and instinct giving way once more to the impulse born of parting, extended her bare left hand. "Good-by," she said.

When he took the hand, the close, nervous clasp of it comforted him, even while it threatened his careful self-control.

"I wish you knew—" He checked the impulsive words and stood looking down at the hand he held, wondering how he should complete the sentence without betraying himself and leaving regret with her.

As his glance fell for the first time on her fingers, she held her breath for an expectant instant; then the quick light died out of her face, leaving it paler than before.

"I do know that Mr. Carter will never forgive me if I keep you longer. He must be growing impatient," She moved her hand as if to liberate it, gently adding, "Good-by."

"Good-by," he dully responded. "I'm going to Japan, and you'll marry— Betty! Where is your engagement ring?" Snatching at the fingers that had almost slipped from his clasp, his breath caught in his throat, and his eyes blazed into hers the story of his heart.

"It's gone. I gave it back to Horace," she whispered, when she could control her lips.

"When?"

"This morning.

"Why?"

Against the encroachment of his tone, her last feeble struggle began in hysterical flippancy and ended in capitulation.

"Because his name commenced with D." Her laughter was palpably artificial. "'Change the name and not the letter,' you know—ah, please let go my hand!"

He released it instantly, but his eyes compelled her gaze as he bent toward her.

"I love you! I love you!" he whispered.

"Oh, don't!" She shrank slightly and covered her flushing cheek with her hand. "Please—not here!"

Obediently drawing a little away from her, his quick glance found in the careless, hurrying crowd no impediment to the course of his long restrained wooing, but he touched her arm, and they stepped aside a few paces, out of the thickest current.

"Betty," he asked very gently, "do you love me?"

Her lips quivered. "Oh, why do you ask me here?" she cried. "You know—you must have known—and I couldn't marry Horace after I realized—" A sob choked her, and he waited while she fought for self-control. When he spoke again, his voice was grave and quiet.

"I never even dreamed it, dear. If I had, do you think I would have run away from you?"

A faint smile crept into her eyes. "Were you running away? So was I. I was afraid——"

"Of me?" gravely.

"Of—life, I think. It seemed so big, all at once—and so tragic!"

"But you knew that I——"

"Oh, no! Sometimes I wondered if you did—a little; but not often. I only knew that I was afraid. Now—" sudden realization widened her eyes, and her tone grew sharper. "Dwight, must you go to Japan—now?"

For a moment he pulled at his mustache, while she stood anxiously watching the sterner lines appear in his face, half unconsciously noting the streaks of gray over his temples, and about his eyes the traces of sleepless nights. From a neighboring bench, an elderly woman yielded them, with tender reminiscence, the tribute that all the world pays a lover. A party of travelers, laden with bags, golf-clubs, umbrellas, and rugs, jostled them in passing, and the voice of the train-caller came again monotonously through the long room.

"I'm afraid I must, dear," at last said Halstead. "You see, it's rather important to the man at the other end. Certain serious business interests depended upon my decision. I have accepted, and now if I fail him——"

"But the next steamer!" she begged. "Look, we have only twenty minutes!"

He frowned, pulling still at his mustache, and she pressed pleading fingers for a moment on his arm, removing them at once.

A vigorous, clean-featured man of thirty-five, or thereabout, approached them, smiling.

"Well!" he exclaimed. "You two look as if you were deciding the destiny of the Universe. Give it up, Halstead! You've only twenty minutes left."

"Hello, Carter!" Halstead mechanically extended his hand. "Thought you weren't coming."

Carter cast a whimsical glance at him, responding dryly: "Oh, did you? I've been holding up a door-post at our trysting-place over there for exactly twenty-five minutes! Miss Davenport," sadly shaking his head, "this chap isn't right! Doesn't this sudden whim of his to rush off to the other side of everywhere impress you as being decidedly crazy?"

"I've been trying to persuade him to stay over one steamer for—treatment," said Betty. She endeavored to respond to his mood of raillery, but as she turned to Halstead, her eyes grew wistful again. "Will you?"

"Betty, I can't! I must go, and I can't even be sure that I can come back for you for a long time. Perhaps—would you be willing to come out to me—by and by?"

After looking into his face a moment, she turned her troubled glance toward the mystified Carter. Thus recalled to a realization of his friend's presence, Halstead continued: "See here. Carter, it was no end good of you to come to see me off, but the truth is—" Betty was looking toward the door, but as he paused, she flushed and nodded slightly—"the truth is, Joe, Miss Davenport has just promised to marry me, and—and so—you see—" he paused, frowning expectantly.

"To marry—Jove!" gasped Carter. "Why!—why!" It was obviously impossible to ask what had become of Dewing.

"You see, I was going away," hurriedly broke in Miss Davenport, her head very high and her cheeks very pink; "I was—I am—going home to-morrow—to my aunt's in Albany, you know. 1—it was impossible for me to remain here any longer——"

"Oh!" comprehensively ejaculated Carter.

"And—and we just happened to meet here. I'm going to New Haven to-night, and—and he said he was going to Japan, and—and——"

"To be sure! Certainly!" Carter interrupted her breathless utterance with soothing conviction. "Nothing could be more natural! And you're simply the luckiest mortals in the world that you found it out in time. I've seen it all along! Oh, I'm a regular old woman for match-making, and anyone can see with half an eye that you two were just born for each other. Now, I'm off. Bless you, my children!" He gave a hearty hand to each. "It's mighty tough your having to part like this, now, isn't it? Why don't you go along?" he inquired of Betty.

"Nobody axed me to," she laughed, winking the tears off her lashes.

"Betty!" Halstead seized her arm. "You wouldn't! Would you?"

"Blessed man, how could I—in fifteen minutes? If you'd give me half an hour, now—!" in a gallant attempt to be merry.

Halstead bit his lip. "Joe, is there any way of getting to a preacher and back here in a quarter of an hour?"

"Not that I know of, but you might bring Mahomet to the mountain. I saw Mr. Eldridge a minute ago."

"Not my Mr. Eldridge!" cried Betty. "Oh, no! They took the 5:50."

"Then it's their ghosts! I saw Mr. and Mrs. Eldridge and some other woman come out of the tea-room not five minutes ago. They're probably out there now, waiting for their gate to open."

"If I only had a license!" groaned Halstead.

"Don't need one in New York State," alertly responded Carter. "Shall I run?"

"Betty, Betty, will you go?"

"Why—why—if—oh, Mr. Eldridge christened me!" she finished impotently, feeling the breath of Fate upon her.

"Run, Joe!" cried Halstead, but Carter was off before the words were formed.

"Betty—oh, my love, will you marry me here—now—and go with me?" Regardless of the throngs about them, he took her hands, and bent his head to read her face.

"Why—I—how can I? How can you? Oh—it isn't possible!" The brave voice shook pitifully. "Oh, Dwight, suppose he shouldn't find them!"

"You darling!" he breathed.

After that, they stood, tense and motionless, watching the doors that lead to the tracks. Presently appeared the rotund figure and placid face of Mr. Eldridge, followed in rapid succession by his wife, Mrs. Bidwell, and Charter. Mrs. Eldridge reached them first.

"James insisted upon waiting for Mrs. Bidwell, and we missed four trains," she exclaimed. "My dear child, have you thought?"

Miss Davenport hid her face in the older woman's shoulder, whispering: "I don't have to think: I know."

"Betty," softly and tenderly, "do you love him? Are you very sure?"

The girl lifted her head, flushing proudly. "Mrs. Eldridge, this is Dwight," was her conclusive reply.

The clergyman's wife turned from her scrutiny of Halstead's face as her husband joined them, panting a little from his rapid walk.

"It's all quite as it should be, James," she announced. "The dear child is exactly like her mother."

"Bless my soul! Bless my soul!" gasped the old man. "How you young people do rush things! My dear Betty," in a low tone, as he drew her apart from the others, "isn't this very sudden? What about Horace Dewing?"

A shadow fell athwart her face. "I am very sorry about Horace, but—he understands. I told him—the truth."

"You told him——"

"I had to be honest, hadn't I, Mr. Eldridge? He was very good about it." Quick tears wet her lashes, but she blinked them off again. "And I was going away—I really was! But I met Dwight here, and—oh. Mr. Eldridge, he's going to Japan."

"Yes, yes, young Carter told me. My dear child——"

"James," interrupted .Mrs. Eldridge, "if you don't make haste with this wedding, you'll miss the other one entirely. Come over this way."

They followed her to a comparatively quiet spot near the west end, and there, while the locomotives without rumbled a mighty triumphal paean, the simple old words of the marriage service transformed, for that little company, the resounding vault of the railway station into the lofty spaces of a cathedral, and the multitudinous voice of the hurrying throng became to them a hymning choir, chanting unceasingly of the love that is brave to meet life and strong to endure.

"God bless you, my dear." Mrs. Eldridge wiped her eyes, kissed Betty, and promptly embraced the commonplace that crowds ever upon the heels of romance. "What about your things? Shall I send your trunk after you?"

"Why—it's here—somewhere. I was going home, you know." In Betty's eyes shone ineffable light, and she seemed to speak from a great distance.

Mrs. Eldridge took Betty's purse from her unresisting hands and extracted from it the transfer company's receipt.

"James, take this and find that trunk quickly." Her husband hurried away. "Mr. Halstead, have you a ticket for your wife?"

"No, not yet. You see, I—"

The clergyman's wife took instant possession of the roll of bills which Halstead drew from his pocket and, thrusting apart of them into Carter's hand, concluded her directions.

"Mr. Carter, we have only five minutes. There is not time to get a through ticket. Get one to Montreal, find Mr. Eldridge, check that trunk, and meet us at the gate in five minutes." Carter dashed through the crowd. "Mr. Halstead, at Montreal you can get the rest of your transportation. Give me your Pullman check. I'll try to get you a drawing-room. All you have to do is to go to the gate and wait." The last words were called over her shoulder as she propelled Mrs. Bidwell through the crowd toward the Pullman office.

Halstead turned to his wife in silence. She put her hand in his, and for a moment they stood looking at each other in the radiance of this new transfiguration. Then, silently still, he drew her hand within the curve of his arm, and together they walked through the crowded ways of the long waiting-room and out through its portals, into life.