Out in the World CHAPTER 25.
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This scene passed, later in the evening.
"Can I speak a few words with you?" The lady to whom this was addressed glanced up at the speaker, who was standing, and then at her husband, who was reading at a center-table.
"Yes," she answered, in a kind voice — yet with a certain dignified sense of superiority, that was quite apparent in her manner; and then waited for the communication about to be made. "Can I see you alone?"
"Oh, certainly!" said the lady, evincing slight annoyance — yet rising promptly.
"What is it, Madeline?" she asked, as soon as they were in the adjoining bed-chamber — lady and nurse; the one sitting and the other standing.
"You will think strangely of me ma'am — but — " The nurse stopped in the middle of her sentence, and caught her breath with a half sob, like one under the influence of strong feeling.
"Strangely, Madeline! On what account? Speak out plainly." The lady's brow grew a little severe.
"I must leave you in the morning," said the nurse quietly, in a very low voice.
"Leave me! I don't understand you, Madeline. Leave me for what?"
"I came here very reluctantly, ma'am. If it hadn't been for Netty — " The voice choked again.
"You don't mean that you are going from Newport tomorrow morning!"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Leaving me, away from home, without a nurse! Impossible, Madeline! I shall consent to no such thing."
The nurse dropped her eyes from the lady's half angry face, and stood, looking quite pale and agitated, for some moments. Then she replied, with a steadiness of voice that left her auditor in no doubt concerning her resolution to do as she had intimated.
"I cannot explain, ma'am; but I must go. No inducement in your power to offer, would keep me here another day. I shall leave in the early boat. If I did not know," she added, "that you would object to any such arrangement, I would propose taking Netty with me. I could go home with her, and remain there until you returned."
The lady shook her head and said, "No!" emphatically.
"But what is the meaning of this? I cannot understand it, Madeline. Sit down," she added, in a gentler voice, seeing how white the face of her nurse was growing.
Madeline sat down, leaning heavily against her chair, like one oppressed with faintness.
"What is your reason for going?'
Madeline did not reply.
"Will you not confide in me? I am your friend."
"It would avail nothing, ma'am," answered Madeline.
"It might avail much. Who and what are you? There is a mystery about your life. I have seen this from the beginning. Give me your confidence. It will be better for you, Madeline; I know it will be better. There has been some sad error. Tell me the story frankly, so that I may know how to be your true friend."
"There are few lives without error," replied Madeline, sadly. "Mine has not escaped. But, as in too many instances, the error is past correction, and I must still eat the bitter fruit. I feel your kindness — but the confidence you ask, cannot be given."
A long silence followed. The lady was surprised and perplexed. Madeline, who had been in her family as a nurse for over a year, going quietly and faithfully through her duties, taking her place with the servants in the family as a servant, came all at once into a different aspect. The mistress felt a new impression of her character — felt, from her language, manner and bearing, the presence of an equal mind with equal culture.
"Let it be as you will, Madeline," she said, breaking the oppressive silence. "There must be painful, and I will believe, imperative reasons, for the course you are taking. It will leave me embarrassed here. I cannot hope to supply your place; and shall be obliged, failing in the effort, to return home."
Tears fell over Madeline's face as she answered —
"The reason, dear madam, is indeed painful and imperative. If it were not so, I could not leave you. Oh, if you will but consent to my taking Netty home! That would relieve you from all embarrassment, and you could remain here through the season. I will be very careful of her."
"No — no, Madeline. I cannot think of that, and I know that Mr. Cooper will object, positively. I am afraid, too, that, when he hears of your sudden purpose to go, he will be very angry."
Madeline sighed heavily.
"Can't you put off your departure for a day or two. The time is so short."
Madeline shivered, as she replied —
"I cannot remain a day longer. If you knew — " She stopped, showing much agitation.
"Knew what, Madeline? My dear woman, why not trust me?"
For a few moments there was struggle and hesitation with Madeline. Out of it she came resolved and firm. Her answer closed the interview. Rising, she said, with a quiet dignity of manner that left Mrs. Cooper no further plea for remonstrance —
"I shall never forget your kindness, and never cease to regret the necessity which compels me to leave you now. In every life, madam, there are things too sacred to be uncovered, even for the eyes of those nearest and dearest. There are burdens which we must bear alone, even though they become so heavy upon our weak shoulders that we fall fainting by the way. Mine is such a burden; and I shall only lay it down, when my feet stand at an open grave."
Turning away, she left the room, going out quickly. The lady made no effort to detain her. Madeline's room was on the next floor above. As she came along the passage, near the main stairway, she encountered Mrs. Jansen, accompanied by her two daughters, gayly dressed in ball attire. There was to be dancing in the great parlor on that evening, and the music was already echoing through the house. Madeline shrunk aside, turning her face to the wall. She feared to meet the husband and father. But, he had no heart for music and dancing, as she found soon after. She stood still for a little while, and then passed upstairs.
In her confusion, she turned to the right hand instead of the left, and did not perceive her mistake until she commenced examining the numbers, in order to determine her own room. This increased her bewilderment. As she stood, trying to get her mind clear, a deep, jarring cough sounded from one of the rooms. She knew from whom it came but too well! For some moments her feet seemed bound to the floor. The cough rattled on, painfully intense; ceasing with a heavy moan. In the pause, she was about moving back along the passage, when there came from the room an exclamation of alarm, and the door was thrown open. Mr. Jansen stepped out a pace or so. His eyes were startled with a look of fear. He held a white handkerchief to his mouth, which was stained with blood.
"Oh! Oh! Call somebody!" he cried out, in a half smothered voice. Then coughed, raising large mouthful of blood.
Madeline did not hesitate for an instant. It was no time to consider questions of propriety. The case before her stood as for life or death.
"Go in and lie down quickly!" she said, as she sprung across the passage, and almost forced him back into the room. "Lie down quickly!" she repeated.
Jansen obeyed, passively. Madeline jerked the bell, and then asked — "Is there any salt in the room?"
Mr. Jansen shook his head.
The blood still came up in large mouthfuls. Madeline held a basin, and wiped off the red stains from his lips at each expectoration. She was unnaturally calm — calm from the pressure of intense excitement — and pale as marble.
"Bring some salt, a tumbler, and water! Quickly! And call a doctor!" said Madeline, to a servant who answered the bell. The servant comprehending what he saw, ran downstairs, and soon reappeared with the desired articles.
"Did you find a doctor?" asked Madeline, as she mixed the salt and water.
"Yes. He will be here in a moment."
Madeline raised the head of Mr. Jansen, and held the saline draught to his lips. The servant went out, and she was again alone with him. The blood still came up freely — but the intervals were longer. She was wiping the blood and mucus away from his lips when the doctor came in, accompanied by the servant who had just left the chamber. Madeline moved back from the bed, giving place to the doctor. Her face was as pale as death. She staggered a little, and caught herself against the wall; then went groping towards the door, like one who saw but imperfectly.
"Your nurse has fainted ma'am," said one of the waiters, coming into Mrs. Cooper's room hastily. "She's fainted, and lying on the floor!"
"Where is she?" asked Mrs. Cooper, as she started up.
"She's lying in the passage, upstairs, ma'am."
When Mrs. Cooper reached the upper passage, she found that Madeline had been carried to her own chamber. She was lying on the bed, white and insensible.
"What does this mean? What happened to her?" she asked; but no one could answer her question.
It was nearly an hour before signs of life appeared.
During this time, Mrs. Cooper heard something about Mr. Jansen's hemorrhage, and the assistance which Madeline had rendered. The doctor had found her in the sick man's room, looking ghastly and frightened — yet doing all that was best to be done in the alarming emergency.
"This woman puzzles me," said Mrs. Cooper, as she sat with her husband, after Madeline had come to herself, and was considered well enough to be left alone for the night. "What was she doing at the other end of the house, where Mr. and Mrs. Jansen's rooms are situated? Her chamber is at the extreme east, and their rooms at the extreme west."
"Jansen? — Jansen?" Mr. Cooper uttered the name in a tone of curious inquiry. "Oh, he's the man that had such a time with his first wife. Don't you remember? He married a mirthful, spirited, beautiful girl — her name was Spencer, I believe — "
"Why, that is Madeline's name!" exclaimed Mrs. Cooper.
"Madeline Spencer! The very name! I remember it perfectly!"
Husband and wife looked at each other in silent surprise.
"Can it be possible that Madeline is the former wife of Mr. Jansen?" said Mrs. Cooper.
"I wouldn't wonder. She's always seemed to me above her position."
"No one could have been more faithful," replied Mrs. Cooper.
"I did not mean that she assumed airs above her position; but, that she was fitted for a superior place."
"In my interview with her this evening," said Mrs. Cooper, "she put off the relation of a domestic, and talked with me as one of equal condition. Heretofore, few words have passed between us. She has not been communicative nor chatty, like girls who usually fill the place she held with us. Tonight, her language was that of an educated woman, who had thought, and felt, and suffered; of a woman of character and purpose — strong to bear, and resolute to do, what her convictions showed to be right."
"Depend upon it," said Mr. Cooper, "she is Jansen's first wife!"
"And if so, how infinitely superior to the coarse, vulgar woman who now claims him for her husband. Why, she disgusts every one! She's the laughing-stock of the house. And such forward, boisterous girls! They've been here only two days, and yet everybody is remarking on their rudeness and lack of good manners. I noticed Madeline looking at them yesterday, as they ran screaming up and down the piazza. And I now remember that she caught up Netty suddenly, and ran with her into the house, as if to escape from their annoyance. I do not wonder that she decided to leave here immediately."
"She will not be well enough to go in the morning," said Mr. Cooper. "The shock of this evening's encounter with Mr. Jansen will probably make her ill."
"Her case assumes a new aspect," remarked the lady. "Did you ever hear anything ill against her? — anything concerning her character, I mean?
"Well, there was some hard talk — there always will be in such cases. People are very prone to imagine evil. But, I fancy, she kept her garments free from stain. The separation was her own act. They had a quarrel, it was said, about something. He was overbearing and tyrannical; and she strong-willed and independent. In a fit of passion, she went away, declaring her purpose never to return unless he promised a different line of conduct. He would not promise — and she would not humble herself. So they stood apart, year after year; and, finally, on the plea of desertion, her husband obtained a divorce. So the case stands, I think. This is the head and front of the offending — nothing more."
"Taking it for granted," said Mrs. Cooper, "that Madeline is the person we suppose, can we blame her for going away?"
"Not fairly. I do not see how she can remain a day longer."
"Is she not entitled to consideration on our part," asked Mrs. Cooper.
"I think so."
"She has been in our family for over a year, and has been faithful to Netty. I do not like to see her going away from here alone; going out into the world friendless and homeless, it may be. Her case touches me."
"What have you to suggest?"
"That we leave here tomorrow afternoon."
"And go home?"
"Yes. I cannot remain without a nurse; and the chances are all against my obtaining one. Beyond this, I am impressed with the conviction that we cannot disregard Madeline and be blameless. In the order of that Providence, she is now in our hands. Her situation, if what we suppose in regard to her be true, is one of peculiar interest. Let us take her home. It may involve a little self-denial. But, good is born of self-denial."
"The matter is in your hands," said Mr. Cooper. "I shall make no objection, decide as you will."
"Then I decide to go home tomorrow."
"So let it be."
In the morning, Madeline did not come as usual, for Netty.
"I'm afraid she's sick. The agitation of last evening has been too much for her," said Mrs. Cooper, on rising to attend to her early awaking child.
"It may be well to see how she is," suggested the husband.
It was nearly seven o'clock. After dressing Netty, Mrs. Cooper went up to Madeline's room. She found the door open — but no one in the room. Glancing around hurriedly, she saw that Madeline's trunk had been taken away; and on examining the closet and case of drawers, discovered that everything had been removed from them. Inquiry at the office, settled all doubts. The nurse had left Newport by the early morning line.
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