Then suddenly, like poison, Ricossia's low, bell-like laugh at their last meeting rang in his ears. And his words—what were they? He had said that Lynn was not attracted by him in the ordinary way—bah! any one a degree above a cur would say that. Lynn loved him, Amherst, that was certain; but there were different kinds and degrees of love. Had he not seen a kind sweet woman, a devoted wife and mother, leave home, husband, children, everything that made her life; had he not seen her ready to pay with a life-time of odium and desolation for the feverish joy of a few anxious months? Lynn had a stronger nature than the majority of women; that was nothing; she would be likely to go to greater extremes for that very reason. She was so sensible, so logical, so prudent—were they not the very women who forsook all caution when vitally interested? Ricossia was a boy, a child; yes, and had it not passed into a proverb, the love of a woman of thirty for a youth?—what was he thinking of? where had his fancies led him? Doubt Lynn! Lynn, whom he had known from a child!—yes, known! the mockery of the word! Who ever knew another human being? Strangers we wandered into life; strangers we left it; strangers we were, each to other, always; husband to wife, child to mother—above all, lover to beloved. He groaned as he walked, but no feeling of resentment toward his betrothed held place as yet. Lynn, as he had told her, was the one woman on earth to him: he would abide by her explanation. If—he turned cold and faint at the thought—if, in the past, she had been infatuated with that "half-devil and half-child," Ricossia; and, if she had done foolish things, mad things ... yes, even wrong things—he could forgive them, knowing that she loved him, and him only, now. After all, when one considered Ricossia's reputation, merely to be seen with him was enough; and she had, probably, traded unduly on her social position and good name. Perhaps it was nothing more than pity; the boy was dying and he was so young, so friendless. On the whole Amherst decided that he was probably acting like a fool; one might almost as well be jealous of a corpse as of Ricossia, who might be one at that moment for anything he knew to the contrary. With a sudden rush of compunction and self-reproach Amherst left Pine Avenue and, descending to the city, hailed a passing car. He would look the boy up; confound it all, the young fool might be dying a miserable death at this very moment while he maundered away like a simpleton in a melodrama. He would see how Ricossia was holding out, anyway; this last cold spell wasn't just the best thing for a consumptive, and he would like to see the cub spend his last months on earth in comparative comfort, whether he deserved to or not. And, perhaps—but no! he couldn't touch on that—not with him!
The car took him within a few blocks of his destination. He walked slowly on, feeling cheered and comparatively happy. When one has writhed in doubt and misery for a certain number of hours the reaction is usually strong; and Amherst wondered how he had ever come to attach so much importance to the babblings of a green-eyed tabby cat and the insults of a hound. He inhaled the clear night air with calm enjoyment; to-morrow he would see Lynn and then—and then—
He had nearly reached the Chatham when the door opened quietly and a woman descended the steps. As she advanced toward him she raised her head in a blind, unseeing sort of fashion. The light of a flickering gas jet shone clearly and pitilessly on her upturned face; a face which, though drawn and hollow-eyed, was strangely familiar—the face of his intended wife, Lynn Thayer.
CHAPTER XXIII
WHEN LOVE IS DONE
"The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one—
Yet the light of the whole life dies
When love is done."
—Old Song.
"I love—but I believe in love no more."—Shelley.
Lunn recognized him almost immediately and stood quite still, looking into his face with a curious deliberation and intentness.
"One would almost think you had expected me," said Amherst, involuntarily. One seldom says what is uppermost in one's mind on these occasions.
"I think I did," said Lynn with equal quietness. "When I awoke this morning something told me that this would happen."
"There is a cab-stand a few blocks away," he continued, courteously. "May I take you there and see you into one?"