XXI

CLARKE SHADOWS THE FEAST

Viola, looking up from a piece of antique jewelry which Kate was displaying, was startled by the sadness of her mother's face, and directed her next glance upon Morton, in the wish to discover the cause of her trouble. That the interview had been very grave and personal was evident, and with a sense of having been the subject of discussion, she rose to meet them.

Kate did not permit any explanations, for dinner was waiting and time limited. "Go fetch Mr. Lambert, Morton: unless we want to be late at the play we must go out at once."

Morton was glad of the interruption, for he was eager to have his understanding with Viola before the mother could bring any adverse influence to bear upon her. As they went out into the dining-room, side by side, he found her nearness sweeter and more concerning than ever before; and with a realization of having in a very vital way staked his immediate future upon her word, he was unusually gay, masking his persistent, deep-hid doubt in jocose remarks. Lambert seconded him with quiet humor, and together they caused even the mother's face to relax its troubled lines, while Viola, yielding to a sense of freedom and of youth, shook off all constraint, responding to Morton's unspoken suggestion, thinking only of him and of the secure, bright world in which he dwelt (and in which he seemed so large and so handsome a figure), and in this confidence and comfort they came to the mixing of the salad, which Kate slangily explained to be Morton's "particular stunt." He had fully a.s.sembled his ingredients, and was about to approach the actual, delicate blending when the maid appeared at his elbow to say that he was wanted at the telephone.

"Well, tell them to wait," he replied, testily. "This is a very precise moment."

"I told them you were at dinner, sir, but they said it was important."

He rose with a sigh. "I hope my 'whiff of garlic' won't settle into a steady breeze. Be patient a moment, kind people."

With mild wonder as to what the news might be, he took a seat at his desk and put the receiver to his ear.

"h.e.l.lo. Who is it?"

A hurried, eager, almost breathless boyish voice responded. "Is this Dr. Serviss?"

"It is."

"Can you tell me where Miss Viola Lambert and her mother are?"

"I cannot." By which he meant he was not empowered to do so.

"I was told they left Pratt's house with you sometime this afternoon."

"Have you inquired at the Courtleigh?"

"No. I was so sure--"

"Try either the Courtleigh or the Colorado," replied Morton, in the tone of authority.

The voice then asked: "Can you tell me where Clarke's Brooklyn relatives can be found?"

"I cannot. I know nothing whatever of Mr. Clarke's family."

"I must find them. Clarke has committed suicide, and it is necessary to notify his friends and--"

Morton's brain blurred with the force of this blow, "You don't mean it! When did it happen?"

"About an hour ago. We must find the Lamberts, and if you can give us any information--"

"Who are you?"

"I'm a representative of _The Recorder_. Can I see you for a few minutes, Dr. Serviss?"

"I am just starting for the theatre," hurriedly answered Morton, his voice as casual as he could make it; "and I fear it is impossible."

"It is very important, Dr. Serviss, for Pratt has told me that you know the Lamberts and all about their relationship to Clarke. If you--"

"It is quite impossible," replied Morton, with decision, and hung up the receiver. For a few moments he sat in deep thought, his mind leaping from point to point of this new complication. As he a.n.a.lyzed the far-reaching consequences of this tragic and terrible deed he bitterly exclaimed: "You've reached us now, Anthony Clarke! You have involved the woman you pretended to love and all her friends in a screaming sensation. Your name will be writ larger to-morrow than at any time during your whole life. You could not have hit upon a more effective revenge."

The situation grew each moment more satanic. "My name will be involved quite as prominently as hers. The mother, frantic with grief and remorse, will hate me and bitterly reproach us all. She will accuse us of causing his death. But, most important of all, what will be the effect of this news on Viola's mental condition?" His thought ran to her as he had just left her radiant with hope and new-found happiness, and it seemed as though the dead man had reached a remorseless, clutching hand to regain final dominion over her. His shadow hovered in the air above her head ready to envelop her.

"If I can only keep this from her for a few days, till my own control of her has strengthened. I _must_ keep it from her. She must not see to-morrow's papers with their ghastly story." He chilled with a fuller sense of the suicide's power to torture her. "She must leave the city to-night. She will be called before the coroner, her mediumship and Clarke's control of her will be howled through the street--" He groaned with the shame and anguish of the scene his imagination bodied forth. "Pratt's hand will also be felt. He will have his own tale, his own method of evasion, and will not hesitate to dishonor her."

Furthermore, this threatening shame so far from arousing a new distrust and a desire to escape further connection with her, swept him into a profounder desire to serve and shield her. His heart filled with pity and love, and into his eyes a stern light--the light of battle--came. "She shall not be tortured so, if I can defend her or lead the way to escape. Lambert must leave the city at once and take them both with him."

He rose and walked about the room in order to recover command of his face and voice. "Truly the miserable fanatic has wrought well. He has promised himself that his spirit, freed from the body, will be able to possess and control his victim. The mother will understand and accept this. Will Viola?" The thought of her, dominated by this new and revolting delusion, filled him with dismay and horror. "She, too, will be smitten with remorse, and the scale may be turned against me and my influence." This was indeed the most disturbing consideration of all.

Realizing at length that every additional minute of absence made his explanation more difficult, he returned to his guests with impa.s.sive face and resolute determination to control his thought even from Viola's mind-reading power.

Kate saw at once that some dark thing shadowed him, "What is it, Morton?"

"One of my acquaintances has met with trouble--financial trouble--and wants my help. I'll tell you about it later," he curtly replied, attacking the salad again. She was silenced though not satisfied, and dinner was resumed in almost painful silence and in general depression.

Viola was especially troubled by the change in Morton's face, and with a desire to be of some comfort to him softly said: "Perhaps you would rather not go to the theatre to-night. Please don't do so on our account."

Her glance and her tone, both more intimately sympathetic than she had hitherto permitted them to be, touched him deeply, and with an effect of throwing off his gloom he cheerily responded: "We will not let any outside matter interfere with our happiness. There is nothing to be gained by staying at home. Please forget all about this interruption."

As he spoke she sat with hands before her, gazing straight at him with eyes that slowly lost their outward look. Her eyelids fell, she began to whiten and to droop, and her hands twitched and trembled.

Seized for an instant with an unreasoning fear--a belief that she had been able, after all, to penetrate his mind and read its dreadful secret, Morton sat irresolute, in the grasp of a blind despair, a palsy of the will. Clarke's dead hand seemed at the instant more powerful than the living man had been. This stupefaction lasted but a single second, for back to the young scientist's heart, like a swelling wave, came the red blood of his anger, his love, his mastering will. Rising swiftly but calmly, he caught her hands in his saying, gently: "You are forgetting your promise to me. Look at me. I want to see if you are really going to disobey my commands."

She slowly raised her face to him, but only faintly responded to his voice. "I cannot permit this," he went on. "You have left this behind you, I will not permit you to give way. It is a kind of treason to me--your physician. For my sake you must put this weakness aside and a.s.sert your real self." He spoke gently, tenderly, as the lover, rather than as the man of science, and the mysterious power of his hand, the pa.s.sionate pity of his eyes restored her to self-mastery, and she murmured:

"Please forgive me. I didn't mean to do this."

"I know that. But you must not invite your trouble. You laid your hands upon the table. You must not do that. I'll order you to eat off the mantel-piece, if you do that again," he added, with intent to make her smile.

Mrs. Lambert, who had risen to go to Viola's relief, sank back into her seat with a sense of being forgotten at a time when she should have been her daughter's first thought. She was no longer necessary.

Her place had been taken by another, a man and a stranger, hostile to her faith, and with this knowledge her heart grew cold and bitter with defeat and despair, the anguish and the neglect which are to be forevermore the darker side of the mother's glory had come to her at last with cruel force.

The entire attack lasted but a few minutes, but it served to bring Viola nearer to her lover than all the hours of their more formal intercourse, though the full revelation of his true relationship was yet to come.

She loved and trusted him, but as her friend, her defender. She rose at last to demonstrate that she was entirely herself again. "I am ashamed of myself," she said, humbly. "Please don't look so concerned." She turned to Kate. "I a.s.sure you it was only a little faintness. You see I didn't sleep very well last night."

"Let's not try to go out," interposed Kate. "You're tired."

"Oh no; please, _please_ don't let me spoil the evening. I will never forgive myself. Truly I want to go."