_ BOOK II CHAPTER XV. VIOLA REVOLTS FROM CLARKE
No sooner were they seated in their carriage than Clarke broke forth in harsh protest. "You must not think of leaving Pratt's house at this time."
"Why not?" asked Viola, roused by the tone of his voice, which was even less considerate than his words.
"Because it will displease him--may possibly alienate him just at a moment when we need him most. He will not consent to be shut out from these test-sittings; on the contrary, he is likely to insist on their taking place in his own library. Furthermore, I don't see why you are in haste to leave so sumptuous an abode."
"Because I hate him, and all connected with him." Her voice was colored with a fierce disgust. "That is the reason, and reason enough."
"You must not let him know that."
"I don't care if he knows it or not. We are not dependent on him or his house."
"Yes, we are! He is most important to all of us until our tests are over and my book in type. I need his indorsement besides. He is very bitter and vindictive with those whom he thinks should be very grateful, and we must not anger him; we can't afford it."
Mrs. Lambert mildly protested. "I'm sure Mr. Pratt will not think of detaining us if father thinks it best for us to go, and I confess I am anxious to get away myself, Tony. He has been very disagreeable lately."
Clarke went on: "We must continue to let him think his advice and aid invaluable till our book is out, then we can cut loose from him. Our policy--"
Rebellion was in Viola's heart as she cuttingly interrupted: "You speak as if we were in league to cheat him of something. You have always told me that my powers were 'dedicated to the good of the world,' but lately you talk as if they were dedicated to your personal advancement in some way. Now which do you really mean?"
He saw his mistake. Once or twice before he had met her complete opposition, and he feared it. His voice suppled, became persuasive. "I mean, Viola, that in entering upon a great contest--one whose issue is to electrify the civilized world--"
"I don't believe it. What does the world care about a little speck of humanity like me? Professor Serviss is nearer right when he says that converting people to any creed is a thankless task. Ask grandfather to let me live my own life. He listens to you. Tell him I'm tired and--"
"He has promised to be easier on you after we have won our battle."
"But I dread the battle--oh, how I dread it! Professor Serviss says we will lose."
Clarke broke in, sharply: "Please don't quote what Serviss says. His view is that of the worldly wise materialist. You should listen to my advice--not his."
"You said you were anxious to have him on the committee."
"Yes, because I thought his name would count, and that he could bring Weissmann--but now I distrust him. He is too bigoted."
As he continued in this strain he stood in dark contrast to Morton, and the girl could not but wince under the revelation he was unconsciously making. "Anthony, you have talked in that strain ever since we came East. Nothing but using people, using people, all the time. You've been constantly running after those who could 'be of use to us!' and I don't like it. Every word you're saying now makes me doubt your sincerity. I was ashamed of you to-night--I am ashamed of you now. How can I respect you when you say things like that?"
He again tacked. "I do it all for the furtherance of our faith. To do our work we _must_ have authority. It is always necessary to make a big stir in the world in order to do good--think of Christ defying the money-changers and making a scene in the temple!"
She pursued her way. "It's the tone of your voice that scares me. You're a different person since we came here--you've been harsh and cruel to me." Her voice choked, and yielding to a flood of doubt she cried out: "I've lost faith in you. This ends it all, I will never marry you! I don't care what my 'guides' say. I daren't trust myself to you--now that's the truth."
The mother was aghast. "Why, Viola Lambert! What a terrible thing to say!"
"I can't help it, mother--that is my decision."
Clarke blundered a third time. "I won't release you! This mood is all the influence of those accursed pagans we have just left. That man Serviss has been an evil influence upon you from the very first. He has no God in his heart. You must keep away from that home--it is destructive."
"It is not!" she retorted, fiercely. "It is beautiful and honest and--sane, and I'm going there as often as they will let me--and I'm going to leave the Pratt house to-morrow! I will not stay there another day."
"There are others to be consulted about this," he grimly answered. "You have tried playing truant before."
She was now in full tide of revolt. "I am going to leave that house if I fall dead in the streets. I am going if 'they' choke me black in the face."
He sneered. "I know where you are going!"
At this moment she hated him and everything he stood for, and her voice was hoarse with her passion. "I don't care what you say or what you do, I will not be hounded and driven around like a slave by you or Simeon Pratt any longer. I'm going to have a little life of my own if 'they' tear me in pieces for it."
This outburst, so much more intense than any which had preceded it, alarmed Clarke and appalled Mrs. Lambert, who took her daughter in her arm with soothing words and caresses. "There, there, dearie! Don't worry--don't excite yourself. Father will not insist on your doing anything that will be harmful. He will protect you."
The girl, sobbing in reaction, bowed to the maternal bosom, feeling once more her own helplessness, receiving no help from her mother's sympathy, which was merely superficial. Her only hope of release lay in the strong, bright, self-reliant, humorous people she had just left, those to whom her grandfather and his "band" were less than shadows. They alone could save her from the despairing madness which she felt creeping upon her like a beast in the night. Her nerves, strung to dangerous tension, gave away utterly, and Clarke, realizing this, ceased to chide, and the ride ended without another word.
Pratt, who had been waiting for hours with the angry impatience of senility, met them at the door, truculent as a terrier. "What time o' night do you call this?" he asked, with insulting inflection.
Mrs. Lambert answered: "I'm very sorry, but we had a sitting, and it took longer--"
"A sitting!" He faced Viola. "What did you do that for? I told you I didn't want any sittings given unless I was present, and you promised not to give any."
"I did not!" she replied, lifting a tear-stained but imperious face to him.
"Well, Clarke did."
Clarke hastily interposed: "The 'chief control' asked for it--said he wanted to talk to some of those present."
"I don't care what the 'chief control' said--"
Viola, thoroughly roused, now faced him, pale and scornful. "What right have you to ask where I've been or what I've done? I am not your servant--nor one of your poor relatives. You seem to forget that. I will not be your guest another day! I'd leave this house this instant if I could. I came here against my wish, and I will not be insulted by you any longer. I wish I had never seen you." And with haughty step she started to pass him.
He put out a hand to stay her. "Hold on, now!"
With flashing eyes and a voice that smote him like a whip, she cried out, "Leave me alone, please!" He fell back against the wall, and she passed on and up the stairway, leaving him leaning there in dismay, his jaw lax.
The mother hastily followed, and as the door closed behind them Viola turned with blazing eyes. "This is horrible--disgraceful! I hope you enjoy being treated like that! How can you endure it? How can you ask me to endure it? If Anthony Clarke possessed one shred of real manhood--But he hasn't. He's so selfishly bent on his own plans he's willing to let me suffer anything. I'm done with him, mother. You needn't try to find excuse for him. I don't see how I endured him so long. He must never touch me again."
"Don't do anything rash, child."
"Will you submit to more insult? You can stay on till you are ordered out of the house if you like, but I will not!"
"But you know they advise it."
The girl turned, a new tone in her voice. "There, now, mother, we come back to that again! I'm tired of hearing that. If they insist on our staying here I will be sure they are the voices of devils and not those they claim to be. I don't believe my father would ask me to stay in a house where the very servants sniff at us. I don't believe he would let Anthony make use of me in this way. Professor Serviss calls our faith a delusion, and to-night I almost hope he's right. I have lost the spirit of the martyr, and everything seems foolish to me."
Mrs. Lambert regarded her daughter with horror. "Child, some earth-bound spirit has surely taken possession of you."
"I hope it will stay till to-morrow--till I get out of this house," she replied, and went to her own room without a good-night kiss, leaving her mother hurt and dismayed.
A few moments later Clarke knocked at the sitting-room door. "Julia, here is a message I want you to give to Viola."
As she opened to him he faced her, pale and tremulous, all his anger, all his resolution gone. "She was unjust to me," he said, humbly; "take her this." He extended a folded leaf of paper in a hand that partook of the pallor of his face.
"You poor boy," she exclaimed, her heart wrung by his suffering, "you mustn't mind what she said--it was only a girlish pet."
"Mother," he cried, passionately, "to lose her now would kill me. She is my hope, my stay, my God! She has stabbed me to the heart to-night. Did she mean it? She can't mean it!"
She patted him on the shoulder. "Go to bed, laddie, it's only a mood. She will be all sunshine to-morrow. It's only a reaction from a wearisome day--be patient and don't worry."
"She tortured me deliberately," he went on, wildly. "She let that man take her hand. She smiled at him in a way that set my brain on fire. I tried to be calm. I didn't intend to speak harshly, but I wanted to kill him when he said good-night to her. May God eternally damn his soul if he tries to steal her from me!"
She recoiled from his fury. "Tony! What are you saying?"
"I mean it! Do you think I will submit to his treachery? I told him she was mine, and yet he took her hand--he leaned to her--he looked into her face." His eyes blazed with such wild light that the gentle woman shrank and shivered.
"Tony, you are letting your imagination run away with you. Go to bed this instant," she commanded, in a voice that trembled.
He went away at last, weeping, miserably maudlin, almost incoherent, and when she closed and locked the door upon him she dropped into a chair, and for the first time since her husband's death gave way to tears of bewilderment and despair. _