A Man's Hearth Part 26

"It is a good guitar," she approved. "And gay, with all this mother-of-pearl inlay and the little colored stones set in the pegs! But these wire strings must come off, Anthony. They are too loud and too harsh."

"It is so, madame," the old man nodded entire agreement, before Adriance could speak. "The guitar was used on the stage, where loudness----!" He shrugged. "Never would you guess, madame, who brought that instrument in to me last week."

"No?" Elsie wondered, politely interested.

"It was that enormous Russian who formerly rode beside your husband in the motor wagon, madame. He has not a head, that Michael, but he has a heart. About the cines he is mad--the moving pictures, I would say. Well then, into the poor boarding-house where he lives came an actress. She was out of work, or she would not have been there, _bien sur_! The guitar was hers. Michael brought it here to sell for her. I believe she is sick. Because she is of the stage, he is a slave to her."

"He is in love?"

"He, madame? It has not even occurred to him. He would not presume."

"Poor idealist!" said Adriance. "We will take the theatrical guitar, but wrap it up so I can get home without someone tossing me a penny."

He laughed as he spoke, and had forgotten the guitar's story before they reached Alaric Cottage. But Elsie neither laughed nor forgot. That evening, as she sat across the hearth from Anthony, evoking music gay or weird for his enchantment, she thought much of the girl who had last played her decorative instrument.

"Is it my guitar, truly, Anthony?" she questioned, at last.

"It certainly isn't mine," he retorted teasingly.

She made a grimace at him. But she also made a resolve.

CHAPTER XVII

RUSSIAN MIKE AND MAiTRE RAOUL GALVEZ

Russian Mike lived in a settlement perhaps a mile back from the river road. He usually pa.s.sed the Adriances' house each morning, a few moments earlier than the lighter-footed Anthony set forth, whose swinging stride carried him two steps to the big man's one. Elsie had long since made acquaintance with her husband's a.s.sistant. During the bitter weather she frequently had called him from the snow-piled road to warm his slow blood with a cup of her vivifying Creole coffee. The Monday morning following the purchase of the guitar, she knew just when to run down the path and find the bulky, lounging figure pa.s.sing her gate.

At the sight of the girl in her lilac-hued frock, a drift of white-wool scarf wound about her shoulders, her dark little head s.h.i.+ning almost bronze in the bright morning light, Mike came to a halt and awkwardly jerked at his coa.r.s.e cap. It had flaps that fastened down under his chin, so that he was embarra.s.sed equally by the difficulty of removing his headgear and the _inconvenance_ of remaining covered. But Elsie's smile was a suns.h.i.+ne of the heart that melted such chills of doubt, as she came up to him.

"Good-morning, Michael. Thank you for bringing back my kitty-puss, Sat.u.r.day night. She _will_ run away, somehow."

"It ain't nothing, ma'am," he deprecated, confused, yet gratified.

"It was very kind. Michael," she considerately lowered her eyes to her breeze-blown scarf, "yesterday Mr. Adriance bought a guitar for me, from the antique shop. We heard where it came from--how you brought it. Will you tell the lady who owned it that I should be sorry to keep a thing she might miss? Tell her, please, that I hope she will soon grow well, and when she is ready I shall be happy to return the guitar to her. We will just play that she lent it to me for a while."

His rough face and ma.s.sive neck slowly reddened to match his fiery hair.

"You, you----" he stammered, inarticulate. His mittened fist wrung the nearest fence paling. "I ain't----! Thank you, lady."

Mischief curled Elsie's lips like poppy petals, as she contemplated the discomfited giant.

"Is she very pretty, Michael?"

"No, ma'am," was the unexpected avowal. "Not 'less she's dolled up for actin'. She's nice, just. I guess many ain't like the swell one Andy used to work for: dolled up any time."

"Andy? Mr. Adriance? He never worked----"

"For an actress; yes, ma'am," finished Mike, calmly a.s.sertive. "He treated her to tea, the day after Christmas, when we was sent over to New York. Ain't you seen her? Swell blonde, with awful big sort of light eyes an' nice clothes on?" He leaned against the frail old fence, shutting his eyes reminiscently. "She had on some kind of perfumery----!

Since I seen her, n.o.body else ain't very good-lookin'."

"He treated her to tea?" Elsie faintly repeated. She did not intend an espial upon Anthony; the question was born of pain and bewilderment.

"She ast him to. They went to a eatin' place an' I watched the truck.

Tony, _she_ called him." Mike ponderously straightened himself and prepared to depart. "I guess I'll get to work, ma'am."

Elsie nodded, and turning, crept back.

Adriance had appeared on the threshold of the cottage, his dog leaping about him in the daily disappointed, daily renewed hope of accompanying the wors.h.i.+pful master. He was whistling and fumbling in his pockets for a match, as he stood. But he was struck dumb and motionless by the change in the pale girl who turned from the gate. She seemed almost groping her way up the path.

"Elsie!" he called, springing down the steps. "Why, Elsie?"

To his utter dismay, she crumpled into his extended arms, her eyes shut.

He gathered her to him and swept her into the house, himself sick with absolute panic. Illness was so new to them; he did even know of a doctor nearer than the stately and important family physician in New York. He felt the world rock beneath his feet; his world, which held only his wife. Trembling, he laid her on their bed and knelt beside it, her head still on his arm.

"Elsie!" he choked, his eyes searching her face. "Girl!"

Perhaps it was the misery in his voice, perhaps the anguish of love with which he clasped her, but she moved in his arms.

"Yes," she whispered. "I--I shall be well, in a moment."

"You're not dying? Not in pain? What can I do?"

"No, no. Wait a little. Put me down; I must think."

He obeyed, settling her among the pillows with infinite tenderness. He dared not kiss her lest he disturb recovery, but he carefully drew the pins from her hair and smoothed out the thick, soft ripples. He had a vague recollection of reading somewhere that a woman's locks should be unbound when she swooned. It was in a novel, of course; still, it might be true. And there was one panacea that he knew!

Elsie did not open her eyes, but she heard him rise and hurry into the other room. The giddiness had left her now, and she could think.

Of course she had recognized Mike's portrait of Lucille Masterson. She had seen the other woman, lovely, imperious in a.s.sured beauty; almost had breathed the rich odor of her _Essence Enivrante_--which was not French at all, but distilled in an upper room on Forty-second street where individual perfumes were composed for those who could pay well.

Anthony had gone to her, the day after Christmas. The day after that Christmas! Lying there, Elsie recalled how she and Anthony had gone together to church in Yuletide mood and knelt hand in hand in the bare little pew as simply as children: "because they had found each other."

And then their first Christmas dinner in their holly-decked house, when the puppy had sat in rolypoly unsteadiness on Anthony's knee, regaled with food that should have slain him, while she laughed and remonstrated and abetted the crime. The day after all that, the day after he had given her the garnet love-ring, Anthony had gone to Mrs. Masterson? Her reason cried out against the absurdity. Yet, he had gone.

The clink of china hurriedly moved in the next room had ceased.

Adriance came to the bedside, leaning over to slip his arm carefully under the pillow and raise the girl's head. In his other hand he held a cup of hot tea, the only medicine he knew.

All his wife's heart melted toward him in his helpless helpfulness.

Suddenly she remembered that he had come back to her from that meeting.

He had seen the invincible Lucille, yet had returned to glorious content with his wife. The ordeal she long had foreseen and dreaded was over.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him quietly.

He looked like a man who had been ill, and his gaze devoured her, enfolded her.

"What was it?" he asked unsteadily. "What is it?"