I looked at him, my eyes staring wide. I could
not believe what he said.
“Why,” I began; “how utterly monstrous!”
A step sounded in the hall behind him, and he turned
back. We were joined by the tall clerical figure
of the Reverend Doctor Halford, who had, it seemed,
been at least one to keep his appointment as made.
He raised his hand as if to silence me, and held out
to me a certain object. It was the slipper of
the Baroness Helena von Ritz—white, delicate,
dainty, beribboned. “Miss Elisabeth does
not pretend to understand why your gift should take
this form; but as the slipper evidently has been worn
by some one, she suggests you may perhaps be in error
in sending it at all.” He spoke in even,
icy tones.
“Let me into this house!” I demanded.
“I must see her!”
There were two tall figures now, who stood side by
side in the wide front door.
“But don’t you see, there has been a mistake,
a horrible mistake?” I demanded.
Doctor Halford, in his grave and quiet way, assisted
himself to snuff. “Sir,” he said,
“knowing both families, I agreed to this haste
and unceremoniousness, much against my will.
Had there been no objection upon either side, I would
have undertaken to go forward with the wedding ceremony.
But never in my life have I, and never shall I, join
two in wedlock when either is not in that state of
mind and soul consonant with that holy hour.
This ceremony can not go on. I must carry to you
this young lady’s wish that you depart.
She can not see you.”
There arose in my heart a sort of feeling of horror,
as though something was wrong, I could not tell what.
All at once I felt a swift revulsion. There came
over me the reaction, an icy calm. I felt all
ardor leave me. I was cold as stone.
“Gentlemen,” said I slowly, “what
you tell me is absolutely impossible and absurd.
But if Miss Elisabeth really doubts me on evidence
such as this, I would be the last man in the world
to ask her hand. Some time you and she may explain
to me about this. It is my right. I shall
exact it from you later. I have no time to argue
now. Good-by!”
They looked at me with grave faces, but made no reply.
I descended the steps, the dainty, beribboned slipper
still in my hand, got into my carriage and started
back to the city.
THE MARATHON
As if two gods should
play some heavenly match, and on this wager
lay two earthly women.—Shakespeare.
An automaton, scarcely thinking, I gained the platform
of the station. There was a sound of hissing
steam, a rolling cloud of sulphurous smoke, a shouting
of railway captains, a creaking of the wheels.
Without volition of my own, I was on my northward
journey. Presently I looked around and found
seated at my side the man whom I then recollected I
was to meet—Doctor Samuel Ward. I
presume he took the train after I did.
