Out in the World CHAPTER 8.
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If Carl Jansen could have annihilated that statue-like image of his wife, as he last parted from her at the breakfast table, he would have felt better; but, let thought turn towards Madeline when it would — thus he saw her. By an effort of will, other images might be projected before his eyes; but they faded out quickly, leaving the stony statue in their place. It was so all through the first agitated evening following Madeline's departure; so through all the following days and weeks. Even years had no power wholly to cover and hide that strange, fearful specter, which, for a few moments, held his vision like an enchanter's spell.
No word, no sign from either. Both lived, for weeks, in blank suspense; yet wrapped about in pride, and without thought of concession.
Poor Madeline! She had gone out into the world alone. Who were her faithful friends? Upon whom, now, was she to lean? Over the threshold of what home, might her feet pass confidently, and with the firm tread of one who had a right to enter? Alas for the bewildered, erring young creature! She had not counted all the cost of this wrong act. When she left her husband's house, she went directly to Mrs. Woodbines. But, with what a different feeling from any experienced before, did she enter the residence of her fallacious friend. The old feeling of independence and equality had strangely departed from her. Now she was a homeless wanderer — coming to ask for temporary shelter. So keenly did she feel this as she stood at Mrs. Woodbine's door, that — but for having rung the bell, she would have turned away, and gone home to reconsider the step she was taking. But, she heard the servant's feel along the hall, and it was too late to retreat.
"Ah, my dear Mrs. Jansen!" With this heartily uttered welcome, Mrs. Woodbine entered the drawing-room where Madeline sat awaiting her, and, catching her hand, pressed it warmly. "But, bless me, child!" she added, in a changed voice, "What is the matter? You are as pale as a sheet!"
Madeline tried to answer; but there was only a dumb motion of the lips.
"Are you sick?"
Madeline shook her head.
"Nothing wrong with your husband, I hope?"
"Yes." The tone was faint, and, even on this monosyllable, betrayed a tremor.
"What is it child?" asked Mrs. Woodbine.
"I have left him."
"No!"
"It is true, Mrs. Woodbine!" The heart of Madeline was not strong enough. She sobbed out aloud, and hid her face.
"This is a serious matter, my dear," said Mrs. Woodbine, as soon as her visitor grew calm. "Left your husband! For what?" She looked sober.
"He positively forbade my coming to see you. That was going too far. I will not be commanded as a slave! I am here, acting in open disobedience; and do not mean to return until he signifies his wish to have me do so, promising, at the same time, to treat me as his equal in all things."
"Forbade your coming to see me! On what ground?" There was a stain of anger on the face of Mrs. Woodbine.
"Somebody has been making slanderous reports."
"About whom?" demanded Mrs. Woodbine, growing excited. Something looked out of her eyes at Madeline, which caused the latter's heart to shrink. She had never seen that expression in them before.
"I cannot tell," replied Madeline in a confused way. "No name was mentioned."
"What was said?" The manner of Mrs. Woodbine grew hard and almost imperious.
"Nothing that in any way touched your reputation," answered Madeline, trying to soothe the anger which had been aroused.
"Who's then?" Still she was imperative; and still she looked down upon Madeline with that strange, evil gaze, which made her heart shrink and shudder.
"I cannot answer, because I do not know," replied Madeline, showing distress. "I think it was more than half pretext on the part of my husband. He never liked our intimacy; and, finding that I was not going to give up my friends to gratify his whims and prejudices, has taken this course in order to effect his object. There is evil speaking everywhere. The best are not free from misrepresentation. Especially are women who take the independent stand you and others have taken, liable to false judgment. Somebody has spoken lightly of somebody who visits at your house — the light words repeated, have reached my husband's ears; this has given him a chance, as he supposes, to break up our intimacy. But he has not found me as clay in his fingers. It was a base pretense, I am satisfied — nothing more.
The evil look faded out of Mrs. Woodbine's eyes. Her face grew softer. She accepted the explanation. But, to Madeline, she did not assume the old cordial, winning air.
"I understand it all now," she gravely answered. "It was, as you affirm, a base thing in your husband. But my child, you have taken a serious step. What do you propose? Have you friends who will receive you?" Mrs. Woodbine gazed searchingly into Mrs. Jansen's face.
"I trust that I am strong enough to be my own friend," bravely, and with just a pulse of indignation in her voice, replied Mrs. Jansen even though her heart was growing like lead in her bosom. The change in this lady's manner struck her with a painful surprise.
"Of course you are — every true woman is strong enough for that." Mrs. Woodbine spoke with a certain air of approval — yet still with a reserve that chilled the feelings of her visitor. "And you are equal, I trust," she added, "to the contest on which you have entered. If your husband is the unemotional, strong-willed and wrong-willed man I think him, that contest must be a severe one, and may end in a permanent separation. Does he yet know of the step you purpose taking?"
"He will know of it when he returns home at dinnertime."
"Not till then?"
"No. He will find a letter, advising him of my purpose to live separate, unless he consents to treat me as an equal. If he asks me to return, I will go back and make a new trial. If he remains silent — the separation must be permanent. As I said to him, I will not live in strife, nor will I humble myself to the station of an inferior. Equal and peaceable — or not at all! He will be in no doubt of the issue when he reads my letter."
"I am afraid," answered Mrs. Woodbine, "that you have acted hastily. What if he makes no reply?"
"I have counted that cost."
"Ah, indeed! Well you will be rich in resources if you prove able to meet it."
"How so?" Madeline might well ask in surprise. What could be the meaning of this changed spirit in her friend — the friend who had first counseled resistance to her husband's encroachments, and so often urged her to maintain her womanly freedom? She was puzzled, hurt and distressed by a circumstance that seemed inexplicable. "How so?" she repeated.
"In the first place, you give up an elegant home, and money to any fair extent that you may see fit to demand. Have you rich relatives, who will, in turn, supply these? Your good name is today, unsullied before the world. Abandon your husband, on almost any pretext, and though your life is pure as an angel's — the soil of slander will be cast over your garments. You have now ease, comfort, and complete independence in worldly matters — how will it be if you cast them all behind? My dear young friend, you stand this hour in the most momentous crisis of your life. I would not have advised this step. As society is now constituted, the woman who breaks the marriage bond is misunderstood and misinterpreted. Public opinion ranges itself against her, and a hundred impediments are thrown in the way of her honorable independence. A man cast loose upon the world, if he has strength and will, finds all things conspiring to his success; but a woman so cast loose, finds all things conspiring against her. I speak soberly, my dear young friend, and earnestly, for I have a larger experience of the world than you. No — no! this is not the way. Hold to your legal position as Mr. Jansen's wife — but maintain your independence. If he seeks to put on the tyrant, set him at naught — but hold to the material rights acquired in wedlock. If you abandon him — you abandon everything; but if he abandons you — the law will give alimony, and so leave you independent.
You see, child, that I take a sober, common-sense view of things. I look to the main chance. Understand me; I counsel no submission. You are his equal, and if skilled in the use of your native strength, fairly matched with him in any contest he may precipitate. The home you purpose abandoning is as much yours as his. Don't lose the advantage its possession gives you. Put on triple armor for defense, if that is needed; call to your aid all a fertile woman's resources, as I have done — and victory will surely perch on your banners. But don't — don't take this hazardous step. Your husband is narrow in his views — cold and stubborn. I do not believe he will send or come for you. He thinks women weak, and will trust to your repentance. To return to him after the final breach, would be a shame and a humiliation."
"I would die first," said Madeline, with aroused indignation.
Here the interview was interrupted by a visitor — a small, pale-faced, high-browed, dark-eyed woman, whose faded countenance yet self-reliant air, showed a person who had seen some service in the warfare of life.
"My dear Mrs. Windall," exclaimed Mrs. Woodbine, rising and advancing to meet her as she entered the drawing-room, "I'm so glad to see you this morning! Just in time to help me advise our young friend, Mrs. Jansen."
"Ah, Mrs. Jansen!" said the new comer, turning from Mrs. Woodbine — "I did not anticipate this pleasure. In trouble, child! What's happened?"
Before Madeline could speak, Mrs. Woodbine answered for her —
"Yes, she's in trouble, and we must see her through it, if possible."
"What kind of trouble?" asked Mrs. Windall.
"With her husband, of course. Oh, dear! these miserable husbands! they're the curse of our lives!"
A shadow dropped over the pale face of Mrs. Windall; her brows fell; her dark eyes grew intense; she looked angry — almost cruel —
"The curse of our lives! You may well say that." She spoke in a kind of panting undertone, like one in strong excitement.
"Well, dear?" turning to Madeline, "what has happened? A quarrel with your tyrant, of course! I can guess that much."
"We shall never quarrel again," replied Madeline, with a calmness of voice not expected by Mrs. Woodbine.
"Ha! what does that mean?" The eyes of Mrs. Windall flashed. There was apparent in her manner, a thrill of excitement.
"It means that we have parted company," said Madeline.
"Of your own choice?"
"Yes; I will not be a slave, nor will I dwell with any man in perpetual strife."
"Spoken like a brave, true woman!" said Mrs. Windall, grasping Madeline's hand — "and I welcome you to the sisterhood of those noble ones who can suffer — but not endure bonds. It would be better for our gender if there were many, many more of your spirit. My ear catches the ring of the true metal, and the music is sweet. I kiss you, dear, braveyoung woman, and receive you into our circle." And Mrs. Windall pressed her lips to Madeline's forehead. They were almost like the touch of marble lips — so cold — giving achill instead of warmth.
"There is the cost to be counted," said Mrs. Woodbine, now interposing. "Always it is best to count the cost. Mrs. Jansen has left her husband. What next? Where is she going? What will she do? Who are her friends?"
"All true women are her friends," responded Mrs. Windall, becoming heroic in manner.
"She will need something beyond mere friendship."
"True friendship is full of service," answered Mrs. Windall.
"In my opinion," said Mrs. Woodbine, speaking in a an asserting tone of voice, "the highest office of friendship towards Mrs. Jansen is to advise her to go back to her home and maintain her rights there. I have said this to her already, and my hope was that you would say the same. There she will possess all external advantages — every luxury and comfort she desires — a liberal supply of money — ease and independence, if she will assert and maintain it. There are plenty of ways in which a bright, resolute woman may rule, instead of being ruled by her husband, and thus hold in freedom, all the advantages of her position. Go back, Mrs. Jansen; that is my advice."
"I am not so mercenary as you seem to imagine," replied Madeline, flashing her beautiful eyes into the face of Mrs. Woodbine. There was an air of defiance in this, quite offensive to the latter, whose love of having things her own way never calmly brooked a spirit of opposition. Madeline had been, up to this time, a docile learner in her new school ofwoman's rights; but now that she was asserting a right to think and act for herself, Mrs. Woodbine felt that her superior judgment was being set at naught, and this was more than she could calmly bear.
"But a great deal sillier than I imagined," came in sharp retort from her lips. "You must live! How? That's the question. Have you the answer ready?"
"The world is wide," said Madeline, her tones less impassioned. "And I shall find my place in it. I am strong enough, I trust, both to do and to dare in whatever work or strife befall me. But, I will not dwell in contention with my husband. I hold the marriage bond as too holy a thing for this. I loved my husband — I still regard him above all other men" — her voice gave way — but she recovered it quickly, and went on — "and I will not meet him in open war, wounding and receiving wounds. There may be women who glory in battle; but I am not one of these. My spirit will not brook tyranny — so I flee from the tyrant's presence and seek to dwell in peace."
"You are not a woman of my stamp," retorted Mrs. Woodbine, with a half contemptuous motion of the head. No tyrant shall drive me from the place assigned me by natural right, and by law. If the question come as to who will leave this house by voluntary act — my husband or me — be sure that I will remain at any cost. He can go if it so pleases him; but not I. I thought you had more pluck, child. Pshaw! Cast these romantic notions to the wind. Love! Don't talk of that. When a husband puts on the tyrant — love vanishes."
Madeline had entered the house of Mrs. Woodbine, intending to remain there temporarily. She had expected a far different reception. She had looked for sympathy, support, and encouragement. Alas! How suddenly this admired and almost worshiped friend — had become transformed. Now, she arose, as if to depart.
"Don't go," said Mrs. Woodbine. But there was no feeling in her voice — no actual invitation to remain.
Mrs. Windall arose at the same time. Her eyes were on the face of Madeline. She was reading it with keen — but sinister glances.
Mrs. Jansen did not reply to the remark of Mrs. Woodbine — but drew her shawl to her shoulders, and stepped back towards the door. Mrs. Windall did the same.
"My dear young friend! I trust you will reflect deeply on what you are about doing," said Mrs. Woodbine, in a tone of warning.
"Be advised by me. Go home. Sleep for another night on this question, remembering that it is to affect for good or ill your whole life. I am your friend. Don't for get this. Your true friend, who seeks to save you from calamity. Mrs. Windall! Join me in admonishing her to beware of a step, which, once taken, cannot be retraced, and may lead to untold evils."
"Come home with me, dear," said Mrs. Windall, turning to Madeline. "As Mrs. Woodbine intimates, the most vital things are concerned, and every step should be well-considered. We will go over the whole matter together, and see what is best to be done. Trust me, Mrs. Woodbine" — looking towards that lady — "I will counsel her as faithfully as if she were my own child. Good day! Come, dear!"
And without giving time for interposition, even if that had been in Mrs. Woodbine's thought, she hurried Madeline away.
"Faithfully!" Mrs. Woodbine spoke with herself, standing alone in her drawing-room.
"Yes, as the hawk deals with the dove! Foolish young creature! I wish she were safely back in her home again. What strength has she for the battle that is before her? — what endurance for the storms that will beat upon her fair young head? Well! well! Some natures are incomprehensible! Some spirits move blindly upon ruin. You cannot counsel them — you cannot hold them back. As for Mrs. Jansen, I wash my hands clear of all responsibility. Be her future what it may, no blame shall rest at my door!"
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