The Redemption of Anthony/Chapter 8
CHAPTER VIII
THE next night Mrs. Martin put the last touches of Priscilla's room to make it comfortable for the night, put out the light, and leaned over to kiss the girl good night. Priscilla threw her arms about her neck and drew her down to her passionately.
"Lie down beside me a little, mother, and let's talk," she said.
Without a word Mrs. Martin obeyed, kissing the hand that soothed her face and brow.
"Mother, do you remember how sorry you were when I came home to stay? How you didn't want me?"
"Yes, I remember."
"But now you do want me, don't you, mother?" She slid into the circle of her mother's arms, sure of her welcome.
"Yes, sweetheart, now I want you. You are making up to me for a great many barren years."
"Mother, you never speak about my father. Did you love him?"
"No, not after the first six weeks of living with him," she admitted bitterly. "That's the reason I didn't want you. I suppose you were a reminder. Not that that excuses my neglect," she added.
"I don't mind now. Of course I hate to think of all those years we missed together; but I loved you so, that if you'd never cared at all, it would have made no difference in my feeling."
"I am the one who has lost, dear—all your sweet freshness, your new interests, your revivifying youngness. I shall have to make up for my wilful loss in the years to come."
The arms clung closer in the darkness. "You love me enough to make me your friend now, don't you, mother?"
"Of course, dear."
"Could you tell me what it is that has come to you these last two days?"
Mrs. Martin stirred uneasily. "Come to me?"
"Yes; all day to-day and yesterday I've felt as if something has gone out—a light in you, mother—I don't know how to say it."
"I have not been well to-day; the strain and anxiety of the week has told on your old lady mother."
Priscilla felt that her question had been evaded. "'Old lady mother!' My most beautiful lady!" she protested. "Mother, I want to ask you about Mr. Drake."
"Well, dear, what of him?"
"You like him very much, don't you?"
"Yes, I like him very much, Priscilla."
"The Parson told me, when I first came home, that you made Mr. Drake."
"That's absurd, dear. No one makes a great man; he's born."
"But you helped him?"
"Yes, I helped him."
"I thought at first that perhaps you cared for each other."
Mrs. Martin turned her head on the pillow as if it burned her. "We did—we do—we care for each other greatly; we're fast friends," she said, trying to be casual.
"Yes, I see now that it was only that, but I thought at first—it seemed as if he must want you for always, to help in his work."
"He doesn't need me any longer for his work."
"But it doesn't seem fair for you to have helped him to be great, and then that—that some one else should have his life when he is great."
"That's the way of the world, Priscilla."
"Mother, he says he loves me. I don't know what to do." She clung to her mother as if she faced some great danger.
"Do you love him, Priscilla?"
"I don't know. I think he's the most wonderful person I know—next to you."
"He asked you to marry him?"
"Yes; he wants me to go abroad with him."
Mrs. Martin caught her breath painfully. "And you said?"
"I'm not sure just what I said, but I remember I told him I couldn't possibly go away without you."
Mrs. Martin laughed harshly.
"So he said we'd take you, too, of course."
The woman got up and went to the window and flung the curtain high, and put her hand to her throat, as if she choked. Presently she turned and said quietly:
"That was very sweet of you both, but, of course, I couldn't go."
"Then I won't. I don't want to think of it, anyway."
"But you must think of it, you must think of it," Mrs. Martin repeated, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. "It is not as it was with Peter; this is the treasure of a mature man, hoarded long and grown heavy with concealment. You must not tamper with Tony's love. If you want it, take it; if not, you must let him go."
"But, mother, how could I fill his life? Little, stupid me married to that great man! Suppose he should get tired of me; suppose he should expect me to help him the way you did, and I couldn't! I'd die of the shame of it."
"He's offered you his love; never mind about anything else."
"He frightened me so! He's so quiet usually, but to-day he was—he was like somebody else; somebody fierce and breathless and frightened."
Mrs. Martin sat still several moments before she spoke. "This experience has come into his life late, to make or mar it. It is a terrible responsibility for the woman, Priscilla, but I know you are equal to it, if you love him."
"You think it would be a good thing for him to marry?"
"I think it is a tremendous thing for him to love!"
"Mother, do you want me to marry him?"
Silence.
"Do you, mother?"
Mrs. Martin went to the window again, and came back. "I want the happiness of you two people more than anything on earth. If it is to come to you through each other, then I want to see you married."
"If you'd like it, mother, I'll marry him."
"You must be sure of yourself, Priscilla. It would be very terrible if a child of mine should fail him," she added, half to herself.
"Oh, I want so to please you both, mother—you and him. You are the two people I admire the most. But I don't see how I could bear it to go away from you. We'll all have to live together, won't we?"
"We'll see, dear, when the time comes. I think I'll go now—I'm a little tired." She gathered the girl into her arms and kissed her tenderly. "I hope this man may bring all the happiness to you, my girl, that I haven't brought, and I hope you'll give all the happiness to him that I couldn't bring," she added softly.
"Oh, mother, don't—it makes me cry. It's just as if you were saying good-by to something."
"It's sort of good-by to my little girl."
"No, no—not for a long time yet."
"Good night, sweet one."