The House of the Whispering Pines (36 page)

Fainter and fainter the words fell, and slower and slower heaved the
youthful breast under her heavily pressing palm. Mr. Moffat made a sign
across the court-room, and I saw Dr. Carpenter get up and move nearer to
the witness stand. But she stood in no need of his help. In an instant
her cheek flushed; the eye I watched with such intensity of wonder that
apprehension unconsciously left me, rose, glowed, and fixed itself at
last—not on the judge, not on the prisoner, not even on that prisoner's
counsel—but on
me
; and as the soft light filled my soul and awoke awe,
where it had hitherto awakened passion, she quietly said:

"There is a room upstairs, in the club-house, where I have often been
with Adelaide. It has a fireplace in it, and I had seen a box there,
half filled with wood the day before. This is the room I went to, and
here I built a fire. When it was quite bright, I took out something I
had brought in my satchel, and thrust it into the flame. Then I got up
and walked away. I—I did not feel very strong, and sank on my knees
when I got to the couch, and buried my face in my arms. But I felt
better when I came back to the fire again, and very brave till I caught
a glimpse of my face in the mirror over the mantelpiece. That—that
unnerved me, and I think I screamed. Some one screamed, and I think it
was I. I know my hands went out—I saw them in the glass; then they fell
straight down at my side, and I looked and looked at myself till I saw
all the terror go out of my face, and when it was quite calm again, I
stooped down and pulled out the little tongs I had been heating in the
fire, and laid them quick—quick, before I could be sorry again—right
across my cheek, and then—"

Uproar in the court. If she had screamed when she said she did, so some
one cried out loudly now. I think that pitiful person was myself. They
say I had been standing straight up in my place for the last two minutes.

Let me have
A dram of poison; such soon speeding geer
As will disperse itself through all the veins,
That the life-weary taker may fall dead.

Come, bitter conduct, come unsavoury guide!
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on
The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark.

Romeo and Juliet

"I have not finished," were the first words we heard, when order was
restored, and we were all in a condition to listen again.

"I had to relate what you have just heard, that you might understand what
happened next. I was not used to pain, and I could never have kept on
pressing those irons to my cheek if I had not had the strength given me
by my own reflection in the glass. When I thought the burn was quite deep
enough, I tore the tongs away, and was lifting them to the other cheek
when I saw the door behind me open, inch by inch, as thought pushed by
hesitating touches.

"Instantly, I forgot my pain, almost my purpose, watching that door. I
saw it slowly swing to its full width, and disclose my sister standing in
the gap, with a look and in an attitude which terrified me more than the
fire had done. Dropping the tongs, I turned and faced her, covering my
cheek instinctively with my hand.

"I saw her eyes run over my elaborate dinner dress—my little hand-bag,
and the candle burning in a room made warm with a fire on the hearth.
This, before she spoke a single word. Then, with a deep labouring breath,
she looked me in the eye again, with the simple question:

"'And where is he?'"

Carmel's head had drooped at this, but she raised it almost instantly.
Mine did not rise so readily.

"'Do you mean Elwood?' I asked. 'You know!' said she. 'The veil is down
between us, Carmel; we will speak plainly now. I saw him give you the
letter. I heard you ask Arthur to harness up the horse. I have demeaned
myself to follow you, and we will have no subterfuges now. You expect
him here?'

"'No,' I cried. 'I am not so bad as that, Adelaide—nor is he. Here is
the note. You will see by it what he expects, and at what place I should
have joined him, if I had been the selfish creature you think,' I had the
note hidden in my breast. I took it out, and held it towards her. I did
not feel the burn at all, but I kept it covered. She glanced down at the
words; and I felt like falling at her feet, she looked so miserable. I am
told that I must keep to fact, and must not express my feelings, or those
of others. I will try to remember this; but it is hard for a sister,
relating such a frightful scene.

"She glanced down at the paper and let it drop, almost immediately, from
her hand, 'I cannot read his words!' she cried; 'I do not need to; we
both know which of us he loves best. You cannot say that it is I, his
engaged wife.' I was silent, and her face took on an awful pallor.
'Carmel,' said she, 'do you know what this man's love has been to me? You
are a child, a warm-hearted and passionate child; but you do not know a
woman's heart. Certainly, you do not know mine. I doubt if any one
does—even he. Cares have warped my life. I do not quarrel with these
cares; I only say that they have robbed me of what makes girlhood lovely.
Duty is a stern task-master; and sternness, coming early into one's life,
hardens its edges, but does not sap passion from the soul or devotion
from the heart. I was ready for joy when it came, but I was no longer
capable of bestowing it. I thought I was, but I soon saw my mistake. You
showed it to me—you with your beauty, your freshness, your warm and
untried heart. I have no charms to rival these; I have only love, such
love as you cannot dream of at your age. And
this
is no longer
desirable to him!'

"You see that I remember every word she spoke. They burned more fiercely
than the iron. That did not burn at all, just then. I was cold
instead—bitterly, awfully cold. My very heart seemed frozen, and the
silence was dreadful. But I could not speak, I could not answer her.

"'You have everything,' she now went on. 'Why did you rob me of my one
happiness? And you have robbed me. I have seen your smile when his head
turned your way. It was the smile which runs before a promise. I know it;
I have had that smile in my heart a long, long time—but it never
reached my lips. Carmel, do you know why I am here?' I shook my head. Was
it her teeth that were chattering or mine? 'I am here to end it all,'
said she. 'With my hope gone, my heart laid waste, life has no prospect
for me. I believe in God, and I know that my act is sinful; but I can no
more live than can a tree stricken at the root. To-morrow he will not
need to write notes; he can come and comfort you in our home. But never
let him look at me. As we are sisters, and I almost a mother to you, shut
my face away from his eyes—or I shall rise in my casket and the tangle
of our lives will be renewed.'

"I tell you this—I bare my sister's broken heart to you, giving you her
very words, sacred as they are to me and—and to others, who are
present, and must listen to all I say—because it is right that you
should understand her frenzy, and know all that passed between us in
that awful hour."

This was irregular, highly irregular—but District Attorney Fox sat on,
unmoved. Possibly he feared to prejudice the jury; possibly he recognised
the danger of an interruption now, not only to the continuity of her
testimony, but to the witness herself; or—what is just as
likely—possibly he cherished a hope that, in giving her a free rein and
allowing her to tell her story thus artlessly, she would herself supply
the clew he needed to reconstruct his case on the new lines upon which it
was being slowly forced by these unexpected revelations. Whatever the
cause, he let these expressions of feeling pass.

At a gesture from Mr. Moffat, Carmel proceeded:

"I tottered at this threat; and she, a mother to me from my cradle,
started instinctively to catch me; but the feeling left her before she
had taken two steps, and she stopped still. 'Drop your hand,' she cried.
'I want to see your whole face while I ask you one last question. I could
not read the note. Why did you come
here?
I dropped my hand, and she
stood staring; then she uttered a cry and ran quickly towards me. 'What
is it?' she cried. 'What has happened to you? Is it the shadow or—'

"I caught her by the hand. I could speak now. 'Adelaide,' said I, 'you
are not the only one to love to the point of hurt. I love
you
. Let this
little scar be witness,' Then, as her eyes opened and she staggered, I
caught her to my breast and hid my face on her shoulder. 'You say that
to-morrow I shall be free to receive notes. He will not wish to write
them, tomorrow. The beauty he liked is gone. If it weighed overmuch with
him, then you and I are on a plane again—or I am on an inferior one.
Your joy will be sweeter for this break!'

"She started, raised my head from her shoulder, looked at me and
shuddered—but no longer with hate. 'Carmel!' she whispered, 'the
story—the story I read you of Francis the First and—'

"'Yes,' I agreed, 'that made me think,' Her knees bent under her; she
sank at my feet, but her eyes never left my face. 'And—and Elwood?' 'He
knows nothing. I did not make up my mind till to-night. Adelaide, it had
to be. I hadn't the strength to—to leave you all, or—or to say no, if
he ever asked me to my face what he asked me in that note,'

"And then I tried to lift her; but she was kissing my feet, kissing my
dress, sobbing out her life on my hands. Oh, I was happy! My future
looked very simple to me. But my cheek began to burn, and instinctively I
put up my hand. This brought her to her feet. 'You are suffering,' she
cried. 'You must go home, at once, at once, while I telephone to Dr.
Carpenter,' 'We will go together,' I said. 'We can telephone from there.'
But at this, the awful look came back into her face, and seeing her
forget my hurt, I forgot it, too, in dread of what she would say when she
found strength to speak.

"It was worse than anything I had imagined; she refused absolutely to go
back home. 'Carmel,' said she, 'I have done injustice to your youth. You
love him, too—not like a child but a woman. The tangle is worse than I
thought; your heart is caught in it, as well as mine, and you shall have
your chance. My death will give it to you.' I shook my head, pointing to
my cheek. She shook hers, and quietly, calmly said, 'You have never
looked so beautiful. Should we go back together and take up the old life,
the struggle which has undermined my conscience and my whole existence
would only begin again. I cannot face that ordeal, Carmel. The morning
light would bring me daily torture, the evening dusk a night of blasting
dreams. We three cannot live in this world together. I am the least loved
and so I should be the one to die. I am determined, Carmel. Life, with
me, has come to this.'

"I tried to dissuade her. I urged every plea, even that of my own
sacrifice. But she was no more her natural self. She had taken up the
note and read it during my entreaties, and my words fell on deaf
ears. 'Why, these words have killed me,' she cried crumpling the note
in her hand. 'What will a little poison do? It can only finish what he
has begun.'

"Poison! I remembered how I had heard her pushing about bottles in the
medicine cabinet, and felt my legs grow weak and my head swim. 'You will
not!' I cried, watching her hand, in terror of seeing it rise to her
breast. 'You are crazed to-night; to-morrow you will feel differently.'

"But the fixed set look of her bleak face gave me no hope. 'I shall never
feel differently. If I do not end it to-night, I shall do so soon. When a
heart like mine goes down, it goes down forever,' I could only shudder. I
did not know what to do, or which way to turn. She stood between me and
the door, and her presence was terrible. 'When I came here,' she said, 'I
brought a bottle of cordial with me and three glasses. I brought a little
phial of poison too, once ordered for sickness. I expected to find Elwood
here. If I had, I meant to drop the poison into one glass, and then fill
them all up with the cordial. We should have drunk, each one of us his
glass, and one of us would have fallen. I did not care which, you or
Elwood or myself. But he is not here, and the cast of the die is between
us two, unless you wish a certainty, Carmel,—in which case I will pour
out but one glass and drink that myself.'

"She was in a fever, now, and desperate. Death was in the room; I felt it
in my lifted hair, and in her strangely drawn face. If I screamed, who
would hear me? I never thought of the telephone, and I doubt if she would
have let me use it then. The power she had always exerted over me was
very strong in her at this moment; and not till afterwards did it cross
my mind that I had never asked her how she got to the house, or whether
we were as much alone in the building as I believed.

"'Shall I drink alone?' she repeated, and I cried out 'No'; at which her
hand went to her breast, as I had so long expected, and I saw the glitter
of a little phial as she drew it forth.

"'Oh, Adelaide!' I began; but she heeded me no more than the dead.

"On leaving home, she had put on a long coat with pockets and this coat
was still on her, and the pockets gaping. Thrusting her other hand into
one of these, she drew out a little flask covered with wicker, and set it
on a stand beside her. Then she pulled out two small glasses, and set
them down also, and then she turned her back. I could hear the drop, drop
of the liquor; and, dark as the room was, it seemed to turn darker, till
I put out my hands like one groping in a sudden night. But everything
cleared before me when she turned around again. Features set like hers
force themselves to be seen.

"She advanced, a glass in either hand. As she came, the floor swayed,
and the walls seemed to bow together; but they did not sway her. Step
by step, she drew near, and when she reached my side she smiled in my
face once. Then she said: 'Choose aright, dear heart. Leave the
poisoned one for me.'