The Mayor of Warwick

by Herbert M. Hopkins

His answer was not what she had hoped for, but her woman's wisdom forbade her to press the matter then. Of his love she felt no doubt; the intensity of his look, the well-nigh fierce impulsiveness of his caresses, showed her that the appeal she made to him was almost irresistible. Almost, but not quite. She could never be in his company long without a consciousness of the warring elements within him—on this side love, on that side ambition, fighting foot to foot and point to point, neither strong enough to win the victory. Sometimes he would gaze at her in silence, with his warm, speculative eyes, until, drawn like a fascinated bird, she fluttered to his arms in the hope of the great decision, but her hope was never realised. Now she divined that tears and prayers would not help her cause; he must be allured by her charm, not driven by her claims upon his compassion.

At this thought she recovered her composure and dried her eyes, and strove with success to make him forget her importunity. Disarmed and soothed, he sunk down to a lower seat beside her and rested his head boyishly upon her lap. He pushed back her short sleeve, nestled his face in the bend of her arm, and kissed it hungrily. The action, their relative positions, introduced a new element into their relationship, to which her deep maternal instinct made quick response. With a new tenderness she threw the fold of her cape about his head and shoulders, and held him close. Thus they sat for some time in silence. Beyond the warm shelter of her cape he heard the faint soughing of the wind, which had brought the rain at last, a drowsy and monotonous rain that lulled his senses. Instinctively he rested heavily upon her in weary abandonment. Finally his form relaxed, and she saw that he was fast asleep.

The strain of the position upon her back and arms grew greater each moment, till it was almost more than she could endure; but still she held out bravely, fearing to move lest she should wake him from the sleep he seemed so much to need. She knew also that his waking would mean separation, and she could not bear that thought as yet, before she had discovered the secret of success. What could she do more than she had done to make herself indispensable to him? That was the question which she turned over in her mind with such intensity that she almost lost her sense of growing distress. Indeed, the distress of body and mind seemed strangely one, the physical tension but an expression of the mental.

It was idle, she reflected, to think of studying politics to keep pace with his widening interests. She had only a vague conception of the extent to which his mind had been enlarged by contact with the world, but she was shrewd enough to know that companionship in such interests was not what he desired in her. In her he sought only rest and charm and love. Nor was it dress in which she lacked, unless, indeed, he desired her to deck herself like the rich women of the society he scorned. Just as a nurse's habit possesses a fascination for some men, so she had seen that her little cap, her very apron, though badges of servitude, made a peculiar appeal to his tenderness. Other men, too, had thought them becoming. It was a dress to reveal her beauty. Her curves were the softer for its severity, her colour the more radiant against that black and white. On the street also she knew he could find no fault with her. Like many a pretty woman of her class, she possessed a skill in dressing like a lady, and ability in making small means cover great needs, that amounted to genius. No—there was only one thing to do, and that was to love him more and more, until a consciousness of her love so pervaded him, even when absent, that he must finally come back to her to stay.

The cars had long since ceased to pass, and the silence of the dead of night settled down over the city. She heard the coloured cook saying good-bye to her lover at the gate where she herself had waited, their low, melodious voices and happy gurgles of laughter as soft as the damp wind that came puffing in through the open window. After what seemed an interminable lapse of time, an automobile went past, like a miniature whirlwind, dashing the raindrops right and left from its gleaming sides, bearing some late revellers through the deserted streets at a rate of speed forbidden by the traffic of the day. Even that incident became a distant memory, and now only the occasional howl of a prowling cat broke the stillness, a strangely ominous and mournful sound. In the bar of light upon the floor at her feet the shadow of the tossing branches of a tree moved continually, till she closed her eyes in dizziness.

Hours passed, hours that seemed a lifetime. The pain extended through her whole frame, and tears of mute suffering dropped slowly down upon the flap of the cape that kept her lover warm. From time to time she shifted her position gently and won a temporary relief, but presently the sense of strain returned, and yet she would not waken him and let him go. It was the first time she had ever seen him asleep,—one of love's tenderest experiences,—and moreover he was sleeping with a sense of absolute peace and security in her arms. She longed to slip down beside him, to rest her cheek against his, and to go with him into that shadowy world of dreams.

Suddenly out of the darkness a soft little form, wet with the rain, leaped lightly upon her. The discarded kitten had found its mistress at last. Gentle as the impact was, it sufficed to disturb her balance, and she sank slowly downward in a faint. Her arm, locked about his head, saved her from a fall, but the pressure of her body awoke him. He struggled confusedly, oppressed by a sense of suffocation and by a vague fear; then, scarcely awake, he caught her in his arms.

"Lena!" he cried, startled by the inexplicable change. "Lena!"

He touched her cheek, he listened in vain to hear her breathe, and then an icy terror gripped his heart. Scarcely knowing what he did or why, he raised her carefully in his arms and carried her to the window, where the fine rain sifted in upon her face. He felt her shiver slightly, and then her eyes were looking into his.

"Thank God!" he said brokenly. "I thought that you were dead."