The Foolish Virgin

T >> Thomas Dixon >> The Foolish Virgin

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"Please."

He seated himself and looked into the skies beyond
the peaks across the valley.

"Ten years ago I met my first mate. The meeting
was fortunate for both. She was a woman of gentle
birth, of beautiful spirit. Our courtship was ideal.
We thought alike, we felt alike, she loved my
profession even--an unusual trait in a woman. She
thought it so noble in its aims that the petty jealousy
that sometimes wrecks a doctor's life was to her an
unthinkable crime. The first year was the nearest to
heaven that I had ever gotten down here.

"And then, little mother, by one of those
inexplicable mysteries of nature she died when our baby
was born. For a while the light of the world went out.
I quit New York, gave up my profession and came here
just to lie in the sun on this mountainside and try to
pull myself together. I didn't think life could ever
be worth living again. But it was. I found about me
so much of human need--so much ignorance and
helplessness--so much to pity and love, I forgot the
ache in my own heart in bringing joy to others.

"I had money enough. I gave up the ambitions of
greed and strife and set my soul to higher tasks. For
nine years I've devoted my leisure hours to the study
of Motherhood as the hope of a nobler humanity. But
for the great personal sorrow that came to me in the
death of my wife and baby I should never have realized
the truths I now see so clearly.

"And then the other woman suddenly came into my
life. I never expected to love again--not because I
thought it impossible, but because I thought it
improbable in my little world here that I could
ever again meet a woman I would ask to be my wife. But
she dropped one day out of the sky."

He paused and took a deep breath.

"I recognized her instantly as my mate, gentle and
pure and capable of infinite joy or infinite pain. She
did not realize the secret of my interest in her. I
didn't expect it. I knew that under the conditions she
could not. But I waited."

He paused and searched for Mary's eyes.

"And you married her?" she asked in even tones.

"I have never allowed her to know that I love her."

"Why?"

"She was married."

Mary threw him a startled look and he went on
evenly:

"I could have used my power over mind and body to
separate her from her husband. I confess that I was
tempted. But there was a child. Their union had been
sealed with the strongest tie that can bind two human
beings. I have never allowed her to realize that she
might love me. Had I chosen to break the silence
between us I could have revealed this to her, taken her
and torn her from the man to whom she had borne a babe.
I had no right to commit that crime, no matter how deep
the love that cried for its own. Marriage is
based on the period of infancy of the child which spans
the maternal life of woman. God had joined these two
people together and no man had the right to put them
asunder!"

"And you gave her up?"

"I had to, little mother. On the recognition of
this eternal law the whole structure of our
civilization rests."

Mary bent her gaze steadily on his face for a
moment in silence.

"And you are telling me that I should be reconciled
to the man who choked me into insensibility?"

"I am telling you that he is the father of your
son--that he has rights which you cannot deny; that
when you gave yourself to him in the first impulse of
love a deed was done which Almighty God can never undo.
Your tragic blunder was the rush into marriage with a
man about whose character you knew so little. It's the
timid, shrinking, home-loving girl that makes this
mistake. You must face it now. You are responsible as
deeply and truly as the man who married you. That he
happened at that moment to be a brute and a criminal is
no more his fault than yours. It was YOUR business
to KNOW before you made him the father of your
child."

"I tried to appeal to his better nature that awful
night," Mary interrupted, "but he only laughed at me!"

"You owe him another trial, little mother--you owe
it to his boy, too."

Mary shook her head bitterly.

"I can't--I just can't!"

"You won't see him once?"

She sprang to her feet trembling.

"No--no!"

"I don't think it's fair."

"I'm afraid of him! You can't understand his power
over my will."

"Come, come, this is sheer cowardice--give the
devil his dues. Face him and fight it out. Tell him
you're done forever with him and his life, if you
will--but don't hedge and trim and run away like this.
I'm ashamed of you."

"I won't see him--I've made up my mind."

The Doctor threw up both hands.

"All right. If you won't, you won't. We'll let it
go at that."

He paused and changed his tones to friendly
personal interest.

"And you're determined to leave me and take my kid
away tomorrow?"

"We must go. I've no money to pay my board. I
can't impose on you----"

"It's going to be awfully lonely."

He looked at her with a strange, deep gaze, lifted
his stooping shoulders with sudden resolution and
changed his manner to light banter.

"I suppose I couldn't persuade you to give me that
boy?"

She smiled tenderly.

"You know his father did leave his mark on him
after all! The eyes are all his. Of course, I will
admit that those drooping lids have often been the mark
of genius--perhaps a genius for evil in this case. If
you don't want to take the risk--now's your chance. I
will----"

Mary shook her head in reproachful protest.

"Don't tease me, dear doctor man. I've just this
one day more with you. I'm counting each precious
hour."

"Forgive me!" he cried gayly. "I won't tease you
any more. Come, we'll run over now and see our
neighbor's new bungalow before you go. You admire this
one and threaten to duplicate it. He has built a
better one."

"I don't believe it."

"You'll go?"

"If you wish it----"

"Good. We'll take the boy, too. He can drive his
new wagon the whole way. It's only half a mile.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE NEW MAN

The door of the bungalow stood wide open. Mary paused
in rapture over the rich beds of wood violets that
carpeted the spaces between the drive and the log
walls.

"Aren't they beautiful!" she cried. "A perfect
carpet of dazzling green and purple!"

"Come right in," the Doctor urged from the steps.
"My neighbor's a patient of mine. He hasn't moved in
yet but he told me always to make myself at home."

Mary lifted the boy from his wagon, tied the goat
and led the child into the house. The Doctor showed
her through without comment. None was needed. The
woman's keen eye saw at a glance the perfection of care
with which the master builder had wrought the slightest
detail of every room. The floors were immaculate
native hard-wood--its grain brought out through shining
mirrors of clean varnish. There was not one shoddy
piece of work from the kitchen sink to the big
open fireplace in the spacious hall and living-room.

"It's exquisite!" she exclaimed at last. "It seems
all hand-made--doesn't it?"

"It is, too. The owner literally built it with his
own hands--a work of love."

"For himself?" Mary asked with a smile.

"For the woman he loves, of course! My neighbor's
a sort of crank and insisted on expressing himself in
this way. Come, I want you to see two rooms upstairs."

He led her into the room Jim had built for his
wife.

"Observe this furniture, if you please."

"Don't tell me that he built that too?" she
laughed.

"That's exactly what I'm going to tell you."

"Impossible!" she protested. "Why, the line and
finish would do credit to the finest artisan in
America."

"So I say. Look at the perfect polish of that
table! It's like the finish of a rosewood piano." He
touched the smooth surface.

"Of course you're joking?" Mary answered. "No
amateur could have done such work."

"So I'd have said if I had not seen him do
it."

"What on earth possessed him to undertake such a
task?"

"The love of a beautiful woman--what else?"

"He learned a trade--just to furnish this room with
his own hand?"

"Yes."

"His love must be the real thing," she mused.

"That's what I've said. Look at this iron work,
too--the stately andirons in that big fireplace, the
shovel, the tongs, and the massive strop-hinges on the
doors."

"He did that, too?" she asked in amazement.

"Every piece of iron on the place he beat out with
his own hand at his forge."

"And all for the love of a woman? The age of
romance hasn't passed after all, has it?"

"No."

Mary paused before the window looking south.

"What a glorious view!" she cried. "It's even
grander than yours, Doctor."

"Yes. I claim some of the credit, though, for
that. I helped him lay out the grounds."

"Who is this remarkable man?" she asked at last.

"A friend of mine. I'll introduce him directly.
He should be here at any moment now."

"We're intruding," Mary whispered. "We must
go. I mustn't look any more. I'll be coveting my
neighbor's house."

The doctor turned to the window and signaled to
someone on the lawn, as Mary hurried down the stairs.

She fairly ran into Jim, who was being pulled into
the house by the boy.

"'Ook, Mamma! 'Ook! I found a Daddy! He says he
be my Daddy if you let him. Please let him. I want a
Daddy, an' I like him. Please!"

Jim blushed and trembled and lifted his eyes
appealingly, while Mary stood white and still watching
him in a sort of helpless terror.

The child moved on to his wagon.

"Say, little girl," Jim began in low tones, "it's
been a thousand years since I saw you. Don't drive me
away--just give me one chance for God's sake and this
baby's that He sent us! I've gone straight. I've sent
back every dishonest dollar. I'm earning a clean
living down here and a good one. I've practiced for
two years cutting out the slang, too."

He paused for breath and she turned her head away.

"Just listen a minute! I know I was a beast that
night. I'm not the same now. I've been through the
fires of hell and I've come out a cleaner man.
Let me show you how much I love you! Life's too
short, but just give me a chance. If I could undo that
awful hour when I hurt you so, I'd crawl 'round the
world on my hands and knees--and I'll show you that I
mean it! I built this house for you and the baby."

Mary turned suddenly with wide dilated eyes.

"You--YOU built this house?" she gasped.

"I've worked on it every hour, day and night, the
past two years when I wasn't earning a living in the
mine. I made every stick of that furniture in the
rooms up there--for you and my boy. The house is
yours--whether you let me stay or not."

"I--I can't take it, Jim," she faltered.

"You've got to, girlie. You can't throw a gift
like this back in a fellow's face--it cost too much!
Your money's all gone. You've got to bring up that
kid. He's mine, too. I'm man enough to support my
wife and baby and I'm going to do it. I don't care
what you say. You've got to let me. I'm going to work
for you, live for you and die for you--whether you stay
with me or not. I've got the right to do that, you know."

She lifted her head and faced him squarely for the
first time, amazed at the new dignity and strength of
his quiet bearing.

"You HAVE changed, Jim----"

Her eyes sought the depths of his soul in a
moment's silence, and she slowly extended her hand:

"We'll try again!"

He bent and kissed the tips of her fingers reverently.

They stood for a moment hand in hand and looked
over the sunlit valley of the Swannanoa shimmering in
peace and beauty between its sheltering walls of blue
mountains. The bees were humming spring music among
the flowers at their feet and the faint odor of fruit
trees in blossom came from the orchard Jim had planted
two years before.

"I'll show you, little girl--I'll show you!" he whispered tensely.

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