Nina no longer went to the forest, rarely on the lake. Miss Shropshire could hardly persuade her to go out once a day for a walk, so enthralled was she by that bewildering ma.s.s of fine linen and lace. She was prouder of her tucks than she had ever been of a semi-circle of admirers, four deep; and when she had finished her first yoke she wept with delight.

Miss Shropshire often watched her curiously, half-comprehending. She abominated babies. Her home was with one of her married sisters, and a new baby meant the splitting of ear-drums, the foolish prattle and attenuated vocabulary of the female parent, and the systematic irritations of the inefficient nurse-maid. Why a woman should look as if heaven had opened its gates because she was going to have a baby, pa.s.sed her comprehension, particularly in the embarra.s.sing circ.u.mstances.

Nina was alone when Thorpe's next letter arrived.

"I am starting for Cuba," it began. "My brother Harold has joined me; and as his chest is in a bad way, he thinks of settling in a hot country. I have suggested California; but he is infatuated with the idea of Cuba. You will forgive me for leaving the United States for a short period, will you not, dearest? I can do you no particular good by remaining here, and I am bored to extinction. If you would but give me the word, I should start for California on the next steamer; but as you hold me to the original compact, perhaps you will give me a little lat.i.tude. The talk here is war, war, war,--never a variation by any possible chance. My sympathies are with the South, and if they fight I hope they'll win; but as I have no personal interest in the matter I feel like a man condemned to a long course of one highly seasoned dish, with no prospect of variety. Address as usual; your letters will be forwarded, unless I return in a few weeks, as I think I shall."

Then followed several closely written pages which advised her of the unalterable state of his affections.

Nina put the letter down, and stared before her with a wide introspective gaze. When Miss Shropshire entered, she handed her the first two pages. The older girl shut her lips.

"I don't like it," she said. "It means delay, and every week is precious. It looks--" She paused.

"Unlucky; I have been wondering. I have a queer helpless feeling, as if I were tangled in a net, and even Dudley, with all his love and will, could not get me out. I suppose there is something in fate. I feel very insignificant."

"Come, come, you are not to get morbid. n.o.body's life is a straight line. You must expect hard knots, and rough by-ways, and malaria, and all the rest of it. Don't borrow trouble. You are sure of him, anyhow."

"Sometimes I hate California. One might as well be on Mars. It's thousands of miles from New Orleans, and New Orleans is hundreds of miles from Cuba. And now that everything is getting so upset, who knows if he'll ever get my letters? I wish I'd started straight for New Orleans the moment I knew. I am utterly at the mercy of circ.u.mstances."

"Well, thank Heaven you're rich," said Miss Shropshire, bluntly. "Just fancy if you were some poor little wretch deserted by the man, and with no prospect but the county hospital; then you might be blue."

"Oh, I suppose it might be worse!" replied Nina.

The next day her buoyant spirits were risen again, and she resolved to accept the immediate arrangement of her destiny with philosophy; peace and happiness would be hers eventually. She could not violate the most jealous of social laws and expect all the good fairies to attend the birth of her child. But she longed by day for the luxury of the night, when she could cry, and beg Thorpe under her breath to come to her.

When the next steamer arrived it brought her no letter from Thorpe. But this was to be expected. Another steamer arrived; it brought nothing.

She turned very grey.

"Make a close calculation," she said to Miss Shropshire. "You know how long it takes to go to Cuba and back. Has there been time?"

"Yes, there has been time."

It was the middle of February, the end of a mild and beautiful winter.

Little rain had fallen. Nature seemed to Nina more caressing than ever.

The sun rarely veiled his face with a pa.s.sing cloud. She worked with feverish persistence, keeping up her spirits as best she could. There was a bare chance that the next steamer would bring Thorpe.

Her father had paid her another visit, and gone away unsuspicious. He had, in fact, talked of nothing but the approaching rebellion of the Southern States, and the possible effect on the progress of the country.

It was not likely that he would come again, for he had embarked on two new business enterprises, and he allowed himself to believe that Nina had pa.s.sed the danger point.

The third steamer arrived. It brought neither Thorpe nor a letter. Then Nina gave way. For twenty-four hours she wept and sobbed, paying no attention to expostulations and threats. Miss Shropshire was seriously alarmed; for the first time she fully realised the proportions of the responsibility she had a.s.sumed. She longed for advice. She even contemplated sending for Mr. Randolph; for with all her dogged strength of character she was but a woman, and an unmarried one. Finally she wrote to Clough, who had arrived in Napa a fortnight before. She could not bring herself to betray Nina's confidence; but Clough already knew.

Then she went to her room, and cursed Thorpe roundly and aloud. After that she felt calmer, and returned to Nina.

"I can't think he is dead," said Nina, abruptly, speaking coherently for the first time. "If he were, I should know it. I should _see_ him." Miss Shropshire shivered, and cast an apprehensive glance into the dark corners of the room. "But he is ill; that is the only explanation. You don't doubt him?" turning fiercely to her friend.

"No; I can't say that I do. No--" with some reluctance, "decidedly not.

He's not that sort. Like most men, he will probably cool off in time; but he's no weatherc.o.c.k, and one could hardly help believing in his honesty."

Nina kissed her with pa.s.sionate grat.i.tude. "I couldn't stand having you doubt him," she said. "I never have, not for a moment; but--oh--what does it matter what is the reason? He hasn't come, and I haven't heard from him. That is enough!"

"There will be one more steamer. There is just time."

"He won't come. I _feel_ that everything is going wrong. One way and another, my life is going to ruin--"

"Nonsense, you are merely overwrought and despondent--"

"That is not all. And I know myself. Listen--if my baby dies, and he does not come, I shall go down lower than I have ever been, and I shall stay there. I'd never rise again, nor want to--"

"Then, for Heaven's sake, don't do your best to kill it! Brace up. I believe that a good deal of what you say is true. Some people are strong for the pleasure of giving other people a chance to add to the plat.i.tudes of the world; but you are not that sort. So take care of yourself."

"Very well; put me to bed. I will do what I can."

She did not rise the next day, and, when Clough came, consented, listlessly, to see him. In this interview he made no impression on her whatever; he might have been an automaton. Her brain realised no man but the one for whom her weary heart ached.

She made an effort on the following day, and embroidered, and listened while Miss Shropshire read aloud to her. The effort was renewed daily; and every hour she fought with her instinct to succ.u.mb to despair.

Physically, she was very tired. She longed for the care and tenderness which would have been hers in happier circ.u.mstances.

VI

Miss Shropshire took the precaution to ask Clough to come to the cottage a day or two before the next steamer was due, and to be prepared to remain. The steamer arrived, and with it nothing of interest to Nina Randolph.

She was very ill. Even Clough, who was inimitable in a sick room, looked grey and anxious. But it pa.s.sed; and the time came when the housekeeper, who had had many babies in her time, placed a little girl in Nina's arms.

Nina, who had been lying with closed eyes, exhausted and wretched, turned her face toward the unfamiliar weight, and looked wonderingly into the face of the child. For a moment she hardly realised its significance, vivid as had been her imaginings. The baby's colour was fair and agreeable, and its large blue eyes moved slowly about with an expression of sober inquiry.

Nina glanced hastily outward. She was alone for the moment. Miss Shropshire had gone to her well-earned rest, and Dr. Clough was in the dining-room, attended by Mrs. Atkins. Nina drew the baby closer, and kissed it. For the moment she held Dudley Thorpe in her arms,--for she could not grasp their separateness,--and peace returned. Thorpe was ill, of course; but he was hardy and young, and would recover. The rapture of young motherhood possessed her. She kissed the baby many times, softly, fearing that it might break, then drew back and gazed at it with rapt adoration. Once she met its wise solemn eyes, and the first soul of Dudley Thorpe looked from their depths. She moved it with trembling care, and laid its head on her breast.

She gave no thought to the time when the world must know; the world no longer existed for her. Dudley Thorpe was her husband, and his child was in her arms,--an actual tangible beautiful certainty; all the rest that went to make up life was nebulae.

It was a very good baby, and gave little trouble; consequently Nina was permitted to hold it most of the time. She felt no desire to rise from the bed, to take an active part in life again. She would have liked to remain there until Thorpe came and sat beside her. She spoke little, excepting to the child, and perhaps those hours, despite the great want, were the happiest of her life.

"What are some women made of?" demanded Miss Shropshire of Dr. Clough.

"What is she going to do with that baby? That's what I want to know. It may be months before Dudley Thorpe gets here, and it certainly won't be long before Mr. Randolph comes up again. I don't believe she has given a thought to the consequences--and I have always thought her an unusually bright and level-headed woman."

"I see nothing to do but let matters take their course." He hesitated a moment, then gave Miss Shropshire a swift tentative glance, shifting his eyes hastily. "Would you--you believe in my disinterestedness, do you not, Miss Molly?"

"I do, indeed. You have been a real friend. I'm sure I don't know what I should have done without you."

"Then--if Mr. Thorpe does not return, when she has become convinced that he does not mean to return, will you help me to make her understand that I am only too willing to marry her and adopt her child?"

Miss Shropshire stared, then shook her head. "You don't know Nina. It would be years before she got over her infatuation for Dudley Thorpe, if ever; and by that time everybody would know. Besides, I don't share your distrust of Thorpe. He is selfish, and is probably travelling beyond the reach of mails; but he is the soul of honour: no one could doubt that."

"He may be dead."

"We should have heard by this time; and it would not help you if he were. Most likely it would kill her."