The Trey o' Hearts/Chapter 50
CHAPTER L
The Wife
AGAIN three days elapsed; and Judith, returning from the double funeral of her father and sister, doffed her mourning for a gown less sombre and more suited to the atmosphere of a sick-room, then relieved the nurse in charge of Alan.
He remained as he had been ever since the falling of the thunderbolt—in absolute coma.
But he lived, and—or the physicians lied—must soon regain consciousness.
Kneeling by his bedside, Judith prayed long and earnestly.
When she arose, it was to answer a tap upon the door. She admitted Tom Barcus and suffered him to lead her into the recess of the window, where they spoke in guarded tones.
"I've come to tell you something," Barcus announced with characteristic awkwardness. "I've known it for three days—ever since the wedding, in fact—and kept it to myself, not knowing whether I ought to tell you yet or not."
He paused, eying her uncertainly, unhappily.
"I am prepared," Judith assured him calmly.
"You couldn't be. It's the most amazing thing imaginable. … See here …"
"Well?"
"You understand, don't you, that Alan must never know that Rose was killed by that lightning stroke?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean"—the man floundered miserably—"you see, he loved her so—I thought—I'm sure it would be best—if you can bring yourself to it—to let him go on believing it wasn't Rose who was killed, but Judith. And that's skating so close to the truth that it makes no difference: the Judith Alan knew and the Judith I knew in the beginning is gone as completely as though she and not Rose had been killed."
After a long pause, the girl asked him quietly: "I understand. But don't you see that, if I were to consent to this—lend myself to a deception which I must maintain through all my life to come—Alan would consider me his wife?"
"Well, but—you see—you are his wife. … Oh, don't think I'm off my bat: I'm telling you the plain, unvarnished truth. You are Alan's wife. … You remember that day in New York when you substituted for Rose, when Alan tried to elope with her, and you went with him to Jersey City, and stood up to be married by a preacher-guy named Wright—and Marrophat broke in just at the critical moment and busted up the party?"
"Well?" she demanded.
Barcus produced a folded yellow paper from his coat-pocket and proffered it.
"Read that. It was handed to me as best man just before the ceremony. Seeing it was addressed to Alan, and knowing he was in no frame of mind to be bothered by telegrams, I slipped it into my pocket and forgot all about it temporarily. When I came to find it, I took the liberty of reading it. But read it for yourself."
The typewritten lines of the message blurred and ran together almost indecipherably in Judith's vision. None the less she contrived to grasp the substance of its meaning:
"Why didn't you wire me sooner? Marriage to Rose impossible. Rev. Mr. Wright informs me your marriage to Judith last week was completed before Marrophat interrupted. Judith legally your wife. Would have advised you sooner had you let me know where to address you. Hope to heaven this gets to you before too late."
The message was signed with the name of Alan's confidential man of business in New York. ...
When Judith looked up, she was alone in the room, but for the silent patient on his couch. Slowly, almost fearfully, she crept to his bedside and stood looking down into the face of her husband. And while she looked Alan's lashes fluttered, his respiration quickened, a faint colour crept into his pallid cheeks, and his eyes opened wide and looked into hers.
His lips moved and breathed a word of recognition:
"Judith!"
With a low cry of tenderness, the girl sank to her knees and encircled his head with her arms.
"Judith," she whispered, hiding her face in his bosom, "Judith is no more. …"
A pause, then again the feeble voice:
"Then, if I was mistaken, if you aren't Judith, you must be Rose—my wife!"
She said steadily, "I am your wife."
His hands fumbled with her face, closed upon her cheeks, lifted her head until her eyes looked into his.
And for many minutes he held her so, looking deep into the soul of the woman.
Then quietly he said, "I know …"
THE END