Out in the World CHAPTER 14.
Back to Out in the World
"Is that woman here?" It was the question of Mr. Lawrence as he came in at evening.
"No," was the simple answer of his wife. "Thank fortune for that!" "She may come back and stay all night," said Mrs. Lawrence.
"You asked her to do so, of course!"
"Yes; but the chances are against her returning. I scarcely think we shall see her."
"The affair is town-talk already," remarked Mr. Lawrence.
"What?"
"Mrs. Jansen's quarrel with, and abandonment of her husband. I heard it in half a dozen places."
"What was said? What cause was assigned?" asked Mrs. Lawrence.
"Oh, forty reasons were given."
"Of which thirty-nine were sheer fabrications," said Mrs. Lawrence.
"I don't know anything about that. The most plausible to my mind, was this: That Mr. Jansen had positively forbidden any further association with certain men and women of doubtful reputation; and that her ladyship had gone off in a huff, expecting him to repent, humble himself, and entreat of her to return and do just as she pleased. But, it is pretty generally held by those who know Jansen, that she will find it harder to get back than she imagined; and that the only door will be through a humiliation of herself, a confession of wrong, and a promise to do better. Jansen doesn't say much — doesn't throw his arms about, bluster, and talk large; but he is steady to any purpose as a steel spring. There was too much at stake when my lady hazarded that throw of the dice!"
"What other reasons were given?" asked Mrs. Lawrence.
"Oh, I can't remember a third of them. One was, that she wished to make a trip to Europe in company with a gentleman and his wife, not on the best terms with each other, who will go in the next steamer. Jansen demurred, and thence came a fierce quarrel. Another, that she wanted him to buy a house in Fifth Avenue, to which he positively objected. Another report connects her name with that of Mr. Guyton. It is said, that they are often seen on the street, and are altogether too intimate. The fact is, Jessie, that woman must have been very imprudent; if not, why so many stories about her? I trust she will not show her face here again! I don't want your name mentioned in the same breath with hers."
Mrs. Lawrence did not reply. Her thought was following, yearningly, after Madeline, and questioning as to her future, over which hung a dark and threatening cloud. The evening passed — but Madeline returned not to the house of her friend. Two or three times during the evening, as Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence sat, the one reading to himself, and the other sewing — the former, letting his book drop from his eyes, indulged in hard sentences against Mrs. Jansen, to which his wife made no other response than simply to look at him in her grave, quiet way, with as much reproof in her glances as she felt might be given without irritation.
All the next day passed without word of her unhappy friend reaching Mrs. Lawrence. When her husband came home in the evening, he brought no news of her. He had met Mr. Jansen on the street twice, each time receiving a polite — but rather stiff bow. There was nothing unusual in his manner — nothing from which he could infer the continued absence of his wife.
"It's my opinion," said Mr. Lawrence, "that one day's experience has been enough for our high-strung friend, and that she is safely at home again. It's all very fine for the bird to escape from its cage, and strike free wings upon the sunny air. But, in night and storm, in cold and hunger, in presence of the hawk — how gladly would it get back into its prisonagain."
"I hope that you may be right in your opinion, and that Madeline is with her husband," remarked Mrs. Lawrence — but not in a tone that expressed confidence.
Days passed, and still no certain news about Madeline was received. To end this suspense, Mrs. Lawrence called at Mr. Jansen's house, and asked for her, as if she believed her to be at home.
"She's not here, ma'am," replied the servant, who had opened the door. Mrs. Lawrence stepped into the vestibule, in order to question the servant, and get from her all about her friend that she might be induced to communicate.
"When do you expect her to return?" she asked.
"I don't know ma'am,"
A chill of disappointment ran along the nerves of Mrs. Lawrence.
"Has she been back since she went away last week?"
"No, ma'am."
"Have you heard from her?"
"No, ma'am."
The servant answered these questions with evident reluctance. Mrs. Lawrence had closed the street door.
"Can't I sit down and rest for a few minutes?" she said. "I have come over from Brooklyn, and feel very tired."
"Oh, certainly ma'am," answered the servant, showing her into the parlor. She sat down, and the servant stood near.
"You can't tell me anything about Mrs. Jansen?" said Mrs. Lawrence.
"No, ma'am." Still with a reserve that was almost embarrassing.
"I am not asking you these questions from simple curiosity. I am an old friend, and a warm friend of Mrs. Jansen; and I want to know something certain about her. She was at my house on Wednesday and stayed all night."
"At your house!" a flash of interest swept across the servant's face.
"Yes, she came to my house in the evening, long after it was dark, and stayed all night. In the morning she went away."
"Did she say where she was going, ma'am?"
"No."
The troubled look, which Mrs. Lawrence had noticed from the first, deepened.
"Oh, I wish I knew where she was!" exclaimed the servant, breaking out of her reserve, and wringing her hands together.
"Doesn't Mr. Jansen know?" inquired Mrs. Lawrence.
"I'm afraid not. If he does, he won't tell us anything."
"You have asked him?"
"Oh, yes. I ask him every time he comes home; but, he answers me short. He don't like us to question him, ma'am."
"He's very much troubled?"
"Yes ma'am; of course he's troubled. But, he doesn't show it as some men would."
Mrs. Lawrence did not feel that it would be honorable to press the servant any farther, though a crowd of questions were in her thoughts. The main facts were learned — that Mrs. Jansen had not returned home, and that the servants at least, were in ignorance as to where she had gone. She went away, feeling sadder than when she called.
Weeks passed, and still no word came to Mrs. Lawrence about her friend. She inquired of her husband, every day, if he had learned anything about her — but the answer was always the same. Madeline had dropped out of sight, like a foundering vessel, and there remained no sign upon the surface to say where she had gone down.
The weeks gathered into months, and yet the mystery that hung over Mrs. Jansen was not solved. Her husband remained as ignorant in regard to her, as the small circle of interested friends, who, like Mrs. Lawrence, kept her in troubled remembrance. He need not have remained in such ignorance. Had he bent just a little from his cold, proud impassiveness — just far enough to have placed, through proper agencies, a follower on her path — he might have kept himself advised as to all her movements. But, this would have been felt as yielding or conceding something. The fact might, in some way, come to her knowledge, and be wrongly construed. She had gone of her own will; and when she came back, she must come of her own will. That was the position he had assumed — and which he resolved to maintain. Suffer what he might, he would yield nothing. That would be to lower the dignity of his manhood.
This much must be said for Carl Jansen — he suffered intensely. He had loved his wife deeply — and still loved her. For the words spoken so imperatively on that fatal morning, he had repented many times — and many times wished they had never been uttered. But, once said, they might not be recalled without humiliation such as pride would never brook. How many times had he come home, during the first few weeks of separation, fondly hoping to find his wife in her old place. He would not have welcomed her with any show of gladness. She would not have known of the sunlight and warmth that swept into his heart. But he would have been kind and gentle — perhaps tender. He would have been more guarded in the future, and less inclined to put hindrances in her way. Her liberty would have been larger. Alas for her! — alas for him! — that she did not return.
Back to Out in the World