Out in the World CHAPTER 12.
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"She has thought better of this," said Carl Jansen to himself, as he walked homeward at evening. But, he did not feel the confidence his words expressed. A dead weight was lying on his heart. Might not all this be a terrible dream? Oh, that he could awake! A desolate silence appeared to reign through the house as he entered. The air had a real or imaginarychilliness, that sent a shudder along his nerves.
No, she had not thought better of this! Carl did not yet clearly understand his wife's character. "I shall find her at home," he said to himself, many times, during that troubled afternoon. But, he did not find her at home. All was as he had left it at dinner time. Not a chair had been moved in the sitting-room, not a book taken from its place in the library, not a curtain drawn in their chamber. Not the slightest change in the strict order of things since he went away. How dreary it was! He asked no questions of the servants, and they, reading pain and mystery in his face, did not venture to question. But, they understood that something was wrong between him and his wife.
At the tea table, fronting him, Jansen saw, in the space vacant to material vision, that fixed, stony image which had been present to him all day, and in all places — his wife as he had left her in the morning. Eating was only a pretense. After taking a cup of tea, he went upstairs. What next? Should he go out, or remain at home? As to answering his wife's letter, or in any way communicating with her — that was not in all his thoughts. Pride, and a spirit of dogged adherence to any accepted line of conduct, prevented this. He did not even remember the place at which she had said a letter would reach her.
Suffer what he might in this contest, from one purpose Jansen did not waver for an instant. He would not pursue his fugitive wife — would offer no persuasions to return — would remain silent and passive. He had done nothing to provoke the step she had taken — so he talked with himself — and, therefore, he had no apologies or concessions to offer. In her communication, she had dictated terms — that was his reading of her letter — and he would listen to no dictation from a woman, even if she were his wife. To yield in anything, was to yield all. This was her desperate venture for the supremacy; but she would find herself mistaken in his character — her venture would fail.
"If I say 'come back,'" Carl remembered this touching sentence in his wife's letter; but he did not feel its true meaning. "No," he spoke out sternly, "I will not say come back! I might as well yield everything; become an appendage to my wife, instead of her head and husband. No — no! I do not thus understand my duty. On the nature of things, on legality, on religion, I set my feet, and there I will stand. If Madeline ignores all these, and makes a desperate effort to drive me into ignoring them, she will find, to her cost, that I am not a willow wand that she can bend as she pleases — but a sturdy oak, defiant of her little strength."
So he fortified himself in his position. He did not believe that Madeline could, or would hold out for any great length of time. He thought it more than probable, that, before bedtime, she would return home, humbled and repentant. She was subject to sudden and strong revulsions of feeling — was impulsive, and acted often under the first inspiration of an impulse. She had so acted on going away; and a change of feeling would bring her home again.
The hours passed — but Madeline did not return. Jansen found himself deceived. He did not grow softer — but harder, as the time wore on, and it became more and more clearly evident, that Madeline would not be at home that night.
Ten o'clock had been rung out by the clock on the mantel, and Jansen was sitting, crouched in a large easy-chair — the image of calm repose without — but all agitation within — when he heard the street door bell. he did not stir — but listened intently. A servant passed along the hall. As she opened the door, he held his breath. A voice. Not a woman'svoice! He felt a chill of disappointment. A man had entered, and the servant had shown him into the parlor.
"A gentleman wishes to see you, sir. Mr. Lawrence."
"Very well. I will be down."
The servant retired.
"Mr. Lawrence! What can he want, at this hour?" said Jansen. "It's rather strange!" His thought went naturally, to his wife, and connected her with the visit. Mrs. Lawrence was an old friend of Madeline's. After perplexing himself for a little while as to the import of this visit, Jansen went to the parlor carefully schooling his exterior, he met Mr. Lawrence with a quiet courtesy, that completely hid his real state of mind. For a few moments, the two men looked inquiringly at each other. In surprise at Jansen's manner, Mr. Lawrence at first thought the absence of his wife unknown to him.
"Mrs. Jansen is at my house," he said, coming at once to the purpose of his visit.
There followed no startle — no look of surprise — no marked change of any kind.
"Is she?" The coldness of voice — the indifference of manner — chilled Mr. Lawrence. He moved back a step or two. Jansen did not ask him to resume the seat from which he had arisen.
"Do you wish to communicate with her?" asked Mr. Lawrence, uttering the first thought that came into his mind.
"No, sir!" Jansen shook his head, and shut his mouth closely. His voice and deportment were icy.
"Good evening!" said Mr. Lawrence, bowing stiffly, and retiring towards the door.
"Good evening," returned Jansen, not relaxing a feature, or softening his tones.
"The next time I go on a fool's errand," so Mr. Lawrence spoke with himself as he shut the door behind him, "I'll be a greater fool than I am now! I might have known how it was! He's turned her out of doors for wicked conduct; and I'm served right for meddling in the matter. All Jessie's geese are swans. She'll keep to her faith in this woman, after her vileness is known to all the world. But, she shall not harbor her in my house; I'm resolved on that. The air that my wife breathes shall not be polluted by one like her. Faugh! I'm mad with myself! What will Jansen think? He'll put my wife on a par with this woman. Their names will be spoken together!"
This thought chafed him sharply. He knew how pure and true his wife was, and he could not bear that her good name should be sullied by a slanderous breath.
"I'll settle this matter!" So he continued talking with himself as he hurried homeward, gathering hardness by the way. "Sick or well — in the morning she goes from my house. Jessie must stand aside. I will not be argued with, persuaded, nor set at naught. So vile a woman shall not poison the atmosphere of my home!"
"I knew just how it was!" said Mr. Lawrence, angrily, on getting home and meeting his wife.
"Did you see Mr. Jansen?" asked Mrs. Lawrence, her voice choking a little.
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"I told him that his wife was at my house; to which he answered, 'Is she?' as coldly as if I had mentioned the most trivial circumstance. He did not seem even annoyed. 'Do you wish to communicate with her?' I asked, and he said, curtly, 'No, sir!' My next words were, 'Good evening,' to which he replied, 'Good evening,' then I left.
Now, isn't that beautiful! What must a wife be — what must a wife have done — when her husband thus acts towards her? She has left him of her own will, or been turned out of doors — and he doesn't care a farthing what becomes of her. There's one thing certain, Jessie, she cannot remain here. I won't have your name mixed up with hers. On that I am resolved. Tomorrow morning she must go away!"
Mrs. Lawrence did not reply. She had dropped her eyes away from those of her husband, and was looking down at the floor. Her face, which had flushed eagerly as he came in, had already grown pale. She looked hurt — stunned — grieved.
"I knew she was a vile, wicked woman!" Mr. Lawrence spoke with indignation.
Mrs. Lawrence only shook her head.
"The devil would be a saint in your esteem, if — "
Mr. Lawrence stopped. The eyes of his wife had lifted themselves from the floor, and were resting steadily in his face.
"And this is all that passed between you and Mr. Jansen?" she said.
"All. And wasn't that enough? What more would you have had him say? A husband may not choose to denounce his wife."
"It is always safest to infer good," said Mrs. Lawrence.
"And so take a thief into your house, under the pleasant delusion that he is honest. No, Jessie, it is always safest to infer evil."
"And so hurt the innocent. I am no believer in this philosophy. Good or evil, Madeline cannot hurt me. But, evil I will not credit against her, in the absence of proof."
"In the absence of proof! You amaze me, Jessie! Common report has long been against her, and now her husband has turned her from his house. What more do you need?"
"Report is no proof, Mr. Lawrence. As to her having been turned out of doors by her husband, we have only your inference. She may have left him of her own free will. More probably, in a state of partial derangement, which he did not perceive, and, therefore, remains blind and angry. I knew Madeline intimately, and cannot be mistaken in her. Be her faults and errors what they may, I do not believe her impure. Impulsive, strong-willed, thoughtless, imprudent, if you will; all these — but not evil. I must have very conclusive proof to believe this."
"Well, it's no use to talk, Jessie," answered Mr. Lawrence, in a most positive manner. "She is not going to remain in this house, after tonight. Bag and baggage, she must be off tomorrow morning. I don't want any of your 'ifs,' or 'buts.' I want you to see that what I say comes to pass."
To this, Mrs. Lawrence made no reply. Her face was clouded and troubled. She turned a little aside from her husband; not looking acquiescence. He saw this, and commenced walking the floor, fuming, and threatening magnificently, as weak men, who find themselves amid baffling circumstances, do sometimes. This was only "beating the air," as he felt, and his state of turbulence in a little while subsided.
Mr. Jansen sat down, after his visitor's hasty withdrawal, not feeling altogether satisfied with what he had done. To say the least, he had been neither courteous nor gentlemanly. He remembered, that Mr. Lawrence lived in Brooklyn, a distance of over two miles from his residence in New York, and that the evening was far gone. Something was due to him. He had taken no small trouble in giving information about his wife. Jansen's love of approbation was hurt. He desired to stand well in the eyes of other people; to be always right before the world. But, he was not right in this — he stood self-convicted of an unpardonable rudeness.
This was not the only source of dissatisfaction. He was far from being indifferent in regard to his wife, or what concerned her. Instead, he was deeply interested, his inward sensehearkening after her departing footsteps with painful eagerness. Any sound, and sign, any shadow of news would have been gladly received; only pride would not let him show the least desire, or take a single step in the direction his heart was going. He need not have taken a step in this case — need scarcely have asked a question. To his thirsty lips, a cuphad been raised — and in blind self-will he had dashed it aside!
"Over in Brooklyn, at the house of Mr. Lawrence! What can she be doing there?" So at last the burden of thought found relief in words.
He remembered Mrs. Lawrence as one of Madeline's early acquaintances. He had liked her, for her intelligence and womanly bearing; and had more than once regretted that in his wife's absorption among more showy and spurious friends, she had virtually dropped this one. Mr. Lawrence, whom he met occasionally in business, he did not like.
What was she doing there? He might have found out. The information he now so desired to possess, had been just within his reach — offered, not asked — and he had thrust it roughly aside. The fact that she had gone to the house of Mr. Lawrence, was favorable to her in his eyes. As he thought of it, a sense of relief came. Mrs. Lawrence was a sensible woman — free from all modern fancies and philosophies. One from whom good advice and good influence might be expected. She would counsel Madeline for her good — advise her to return to her husband and her duty. Jansen grew more confident of this, as thought dwelt on the fact that his wife was with this old and true friend. The case looked hopeful — Madeline would find no encouragement for her perversity with Mrs. Lawrence. Under her better influence, she would be led to see how wrong she was acting. She would come back, humbled and penitent; he would be vindicated. Pride, self-will, love of rule and predominance, conceit of superiority — all these would remain untouched. Master in his own house, with not a prerogative yielded — he would continue to be.
The satisfaction born of thought like this, was soon marred by questions as to how his unmannerly repulse of Mr. Lawrence would affect the case. Would it not give strong color to any representations his wife might make in regard to him, and tend to draw Mrs. Lawrence over to her side? There were probabilities in this view of the case that troubled him. But, there was no helping it now. He was not the man to concede anything; to humiliate himself by coming down from any assumed position. He could not write to Mr. Lawrence, nor go to him. He could not make the faintest sign without losing something that his narrow soul held dear. So he must stand still and wait. If Madeline came back, well; if she "persisted in her folly and crime," the consequences to him must be accepted and borne.
He thought coolly to his conclusions, not wavering for an instant. With him, there was no quick fusing of thought into determinations, that hardened rapidly, then fused quickly again flowing into new forms. Nothing of the kind. He had no versatility of character, so to speak. All his reasonings moved in a narrow circle, which grew and grew into daily increasing importance in his eyes.
Another thought disturbed the tranquil state which had begun to settle over his feelings. Might not the utter indifference he had manifested in regard to his wife, have the effect to create unjust suspicions against her in the eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence? Might it not lead them to turn away from her, and so leave her adrift, to float with some evil tide on a disastrous shore? Well might this thought trouble him!
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