The House Behind the Cedars/XX
XX
DIGGING UP ROOTS
When the first great shock of his discovery wore
off, the fact of Rena's origin lost to Tryon some of
its initial repugnance--indeed, the repugnance was
not to the woman at all, as their past relations were
evidence, but merely to the thought of her as a wife.
It could hardly have failed to occur to so reasonable
a man as Tryon that Rena's case could scarcely
be unique. Surely in the past centuries of free
manners and easy morals that had prevailed in
remote parts of the South, there must have been
many white persons whose origin would not have
borne too microscopic an investigation. Family
trees not seldom have a crooked branch; or, to use
a more apposite figure, many a flock has its black
sheep. Being a man of lively imagination, Tryon
soon found himself putting all sorts of hypothetical
questions about a matter which he had already
definitely determined. If he had married Rena in
ignorance of her secret, and had learned it afterwards,
would he have put her aside? If, knowing
her history, he had nevertheless married her, and
she had subsequently displayed some trait of
character that would suggest the negro, could he have
forgotten or forgiven the taint? Could he still
have held her in love and honor? If not, could
he have given her the outward seeming of affection,
or could he have been more than coldly tolerant?
He was glad that he had been spared this ordeal.
With an effort he put the whole matter definitely
and conclusively aside, as he had done a hundred
times already.
Returning to his home, after an absence of several
months in South Carolina, it was quite apparent
to his mother's watchful eye that he was in
serious trouble. He was absent-minded, monosyllabic,
sighed deeply and often, and could not always
conceal the traces of secret tears. For Tryon was
young, and possessed of a sensitive soul--a source
of happiness or misery, as the Fates decree. To
those thus dowered, the heights of rapture are
accessible, the abysses of despair yawn threateningly;
only the dull monotony of contentment is
denied.
Mrs. Tryon vainly sought by every gentle art
a woman knows to win her son's confidence.
"What is the matter, George, dear?" she would
ask, stroking his hot brow with her small, cool
hand as he sat moodily nursing his grief. "Tell
your mother, George. Who else could comfort
you so well as she?"
"Oh, it's nothing, mother,--nothing at all,"
he would reply, with a forced attempt at lightness.
"It's only your fond imagination, you best of
mothers."
It was Mrs. Tryon's turn to sigh and shed
a clandestine tear. Until her son had gone away
on this trip to South Carolina, he had kept no
secrets from her: his heart had been an open
book, of which she knew every page; now, some
painful story was inscribed therein which he meant
she should not read. If she could have abdicated
her empire to Blanche Leary or have shared it
with her, she would have yielded gracefully; but
very palpably some other influence than Blanche's
had driven joy from her son's countenance and
lightness from his heart.
Miss Blanche Leary, whom Tryon found in the
house upon his return, was a demure, pretty little
blonde, with an amiable disposition, a talent for
society, and a pronounced fondness for George
Tryon. A poor girl, of an excellent family
impoverished by the war, she was distantly related
to Mrs. Tryon, had for a long time enjoyed that
lady's favor, and was her choice for George's wife
when he should be old enough to marry. A woman
less interested than Miss Leary would have
perceived that there was something wrong with Tryon.
Miss Leary had no doubt that there was a woman
at the bottom of it,--for about what else should
youth worry but love? or if one's love affairs run
smoothly, why should one worry about anything
at all? Miss Leary, in the nineteen years of her
mundane existence, had not been without mild
experiences of the heart, and had hovered for some
time on the verge of disappointment with respect
to Tryon himself. A sensitive pride would have
driven more than one woman away at the sight of
the man of her preference sighing like a furnace
for some absent fair one. But Mrs. Tryon was
so cordial, and insisted so strenuously upon her
remaining, that Blanche's love, which was strong,
conquered her pride, which was no more than a
reasonable young woman ought to have who sets
success above mere sentiment. She remained in the
house and bided her opportunity. If George
practically ignored her for a time, she did not throw
herself at all in his way. She went on a visit to
some girls in the neighborhood and remained away
a week, hoping that she might be missed. Tryon
expressed no regret at her departure and no
particular satisfaction upon her return. If the house
was duller in her absence, he was but dimly conscious
of the difference. He was still fighting a
battle in which a susceptible heart and a reasonable
mind had locked horns in a well-nigh hopeless
conflict. Reason, common-sense, the instinctive
ready-made judgments of his training and environment,--
the deep-seated prejudices of race and
caste,--commanded him to dismiss Rena from
his thoughts. His stubborn heart simply would
not let go.