Katrine: A Novel Read online

  VIII

  FRANK YIELDS TO TEMPTATION

  During the time of the house-party at Ravenel, Katrine gave vent to thenatural rebellion against her position but once. Dermott was away onsome business in New York; the daily letter from Dr. Johnston concerningher father's condition had not arrived; and she had seen the gay peoplefrom Ravenel coach past her as she sat alone on the Chestnut Ridge.

  For nearly a week she had been sleeping badly, awakening every hour ortwo through the night with something--something that could not be putaside--pressing upon her soul.

  Huddled in a sad little heap, in her white gown by the side of the bed,one unbearable night she stretched her arms along the coverlet, sobbingout to the everlasting silence the questionings as to what she had doneto be so neglected and set apart.

  "What has been in my life but shame--shame which was not mine?" shecried, as the horror of life with her drunken father came back to her."Why are some given everything," she demanded, "and I nothing? Where isGod's justice? What have I done; oh, what have I done?"

  Out in the wooded silence a bird began to sing a mournful melody. Of thegreatness of night he sang, and dead morns, and dropping stars; of dearforgotten things and loves that might have been, that may not be; ofpassion and unfulfilled desires, and through the pines the song enteredher heart like a response. She listened, not as a girl listening to abird, but as one artist listens to another with a rapture ofappreciation. And the music comforted her. And later, in the midst ofgreat sorrow, she saw intended significance in the occurrence.

  "It was an answer," she said, "to remind me that there will always bethat solace. Give me, oh God," she prayed, "power to make of all mysorrow music for the world!"

  The day following her midnight protest she heard from Nora and old Caesarthat the guests at Ravenel had gone; heard as well that "old Miss andMarse Frank were goin' shortly"; heard it with a stirring at her heartof physical pain to which she had grown used.

  On the evening of this day, a warm June evening, she expected him tocome, and dressed as though there were an engagement between them tospend the evening together. In a thin white gown, low in the neck, witha kerchief of filmy lace knotted in front, sleeves that fell away at theelbow, with faint, pink roses at her breast, her black hair turned highin a curly knot, she stood in the old rose-garden when he came.

  He wore a light overcoat over his evening dress, and stood hatless bythe boxwood arch looking across at her.

  "Katrine," he said, "little Katrine, I have come back to you."

  His face was illumined as he spoke her name. The peculiar ability toexpress more than he felt was always his, but at the instant he feltmore than he was able to express.

  "I am glad," she answered, not moving toward him nor offering to shakehands. It seemed enough that he was there.

  "They have gone at last," he said; adding, piously: "Thank God!"

  "You did not have a good time?" she asked.

  "I did not."

  "I am sorry," she said, baffling him by the serenity of her tone.

  "There were two or three occasions which stand out with a peculiarlyhorrible distinctness. One was the time we had an all-day picnic atBears' Den. Porter Brawley suggested it, and I hope he will suffer forit in eternity. It rained."

  Katrine laughed.

  "And there was an evening when we had charades, for which nobody had theleast gift or training. It was the evening you were to come to us. Whydidn't you, Katrine?"

  "I was not well," she answered. "But I shouldn't have come if I'd beenwell, Mr. Ravenel."

  She seemed to him so perfect, such an utterly desirable being, as shesat with roses in her hand and the moonlight shining on her flower-likeface.

  Neither noted the silence which fell between them, a silence which spokemore than language could have done, for language had become, betweenthem, an unnecessary thing.

  There was still no spoken word as they walked side by side along thepath which led to the house. At the turn into the wider way there was atall pine-tree, the boughs beginning high from the ground, the turfbeneath them covered with brown pine-needles. There was a bench here,upon which they had often sat together. In the moonlight this placeunder the tree was in a soft, warm glow. As they drew near it Frankspoke in a voice scarcely above a whisper. "Sit here, just for aminute?"

  It seemed as though they were alone together in the world. In themoonlit gloom under the pine they stood, near, nearer, and at length heput his arm around her gently, not drawing her toward him, only lettingit lie around her waist, as though they had a right to be there, heartto heart, in the stillness of the night. Standing thus, he felt hertremble, noted her quickened breath, and the rise and fall of her breastand shoulders because of his caress.

  Although they could not see each other in the gloom, she knew his lipssought hers. By an indefinable instinct she turned from him twice beforetheir lips met in a long kiss of passion and content. They kissed eachother again before he drew her down beside him on the garden bench inthe flower-scented dusk.

  "You care?" she asked, in a whisper, her breath on his cheek.

  "More than I thought I could care for anything in life," he answered.

  * * * * *

  It was after ten when Nora's shrill voice recalled them to themselves.

  Standing together, she asked, as she bade him good-night:"You--are--going--away?"

  For answer he clasped her slim white hands behind his throat and drewher toward him.

  "What do you think?" he said, his lips kissing hers in the speaking ofthe words.

  "I hope you will not go."

  "I shall not." And then: "Oh, for a few days, perhaps, to take mother toBar Harbor; but I shall come back. And we'll have the whole long summertogether, you and I; you and I," he repeated. "Good-night. Kiss me,Katrine!"

  "Good-night," she said, raising her lips to his; and then, almost asthough it were a benediction, she added: "God keep you always just asyou are, beloved." And as he had done many times before, Francis Ravenelfelt powerless before this girl who gave all, asking nothing in return.