Chris

“ And so it was Chris who first saw the child. He was sitting at the end of the wood box, on the floor before the oven—that little stray boy whom Sarah Ernestine had picked up as she had once picked up Allen. He looked up at Christopha with big, soft eyes, naïve as the first bird. Almost before she knew that she meant to do so, Chris stooped, with a wondering word, and took him in her arms. He clung to her and she sat in the rocking chair near the window where stood Jacob's carnation plant. And she tried both to look at the child and to love him, at the same time. ”

“ Chris rose with a shudder.
"And if the wretch offers to touch me," she moaned, "If he does—"
"He will not. He dare not. Heaven help him if he tries any experiment of that kind. If he does, Rollo will kill him to a certainty."
"Ah, I had forgotten the faithful dog. Those dogs are more useful to us than a score of men. I will step by the back way and through my dressing-room. Oh, Enid, how glad I shall be to find myself outside the walls of this dreadful house!" ”

“ Chris filled his lungs with a long 'breath. He was back in the old world; the world where all living things are alike mortal, where even man is as the flower that fadeth, the beast that perisheth.
And the old way was better.
So far he had gone, when the consciousness that he was not alone--that strange consciousness of humanity which, be the old way never so charming, separates men from it inevitably--came to him, and he sat up on the low string cot, set so regardless of symmetry just where it had first been dumped down in the room. ”

“ Chris inquired, as I paused.
"Yes, that's all," I replied.
"It's a very nice story," he said, patronizingly. "I like it almost as much as 'Jack the Giant Killer' and 'Jack and the Beanstalk', and better than 'Cinderella'."
"Shall I tell you what it means?" I asked.
He looked at me doubtfully.
"Are you going to scold me?" he asked, moving restlessly on my knee; "'cause I'm going to be a good boy now."
"No, my dear, I'm not going to scold you," I said reassuringly. "I only want to tell you what I mean by my story."
"Will it take long?" he asked; "'cause I'm hungry, and want my tea." ”

“ Chris gave back the stare defiantly. 'That is my wife, Thakoor-sahib.'
The old chieftain stood bewildered for a moment; then he gave a scornful laugh.
'Men of thy sort are no friends to India, baboo-jee,' he said. So, with a twirl of the straight grey moustache, he strode away, leaving Chris more lonely than ever.
So absolutely alone, that the sheer physical pain of his loneliness drove him on towards the sound of laughter and voices, the popping of champagne corks, which came from the marble-screened verandah where the refreshment-tables stood. ”

“ Poor Chris! We became great friends. He's dead, too! How they all seem to die but me! I suppose there is a "little cherub" with an eye on me somewhere "up aloft." But I cannot help thinking there are a lot of good men gone before their proper time—or anyway long before their job was half done.
We were all fond of Chris on board the schooner—all but the captain—for somehow Mr. Chris fell in love with the captain's wife, and that's a great mistake on board ship—or on shore either if it comes to that—at least they say so. ”

“ Chris assured her quite seriously. "I have only once in my life met anyone with whom I could possibly imagine myself falling in love. And he was not a bit like Trevor."
"What was he like?" asked Hilda. "A sort of fancy person? Or someone out of a book?"
"Oh no, he was quite real—the nicest man." A faraway look came into Chris's eyes; she suddenly spoke very softly as one in the presence of a vision. ”

“ Chris went past her and into the room where Marie lay.
She was fast asleep, her hair spread out over the pillow like a dark wing, and Chris went down on his knees beside her and hid his face. She had nobody now in the world but him—Miss Chester had gone, and Feathers. . . Oh, he would make it up to her! He would spend his whole life trying to make up to her all she had suffered. ”

“ Littimer rose and went swiftly towards the house. At any other time the action would have been rude, but Chris fully understood. She had touched the man to the bottom of his soul, and he was anxious to hide his emotion.
"Poor man," Chris murmured. "His hard cynicism conceals a deal of suffering. But the suffering is past; we have only to wait patiently for daylight now."
Chris rose restlessly in her turn and strolled along the terrace to her favourite spot looking over the cliffs. ”

“ His whole appearance, in his sallow yellow vest, gun-gray coat and breeches and canary-colored stockings, was one of mingled power and weakness; strength joined with an unhealthy habit of never being in the sun, and a cruelty best enjoyed when he knew that he could win.
His cold eyes pinned Chris with their gaze as if the boy were a butterfly transfixed by a pin. His thin, pallid lips curled with disdain and yet, Chris thought, uneasiness perhaps, as he eyed the two lads and the little knot of men. ”

“ Having reached the water's very edge, he set these in a row, and kept an eye on Chris; for he was the pujâri of the temple, with the right, for a small fee, to re-mark the bathers with their proper caste marks.
'What race, my son?' he asked drowsily, as Chris came up out of the river.
The question sent a vast pride through the young man. With bare limbs scarce hidden by the dripping shawl, he stood hesitating for a brief second, and then squatted down beside the familiar earthen platters. ”

“ A little gleam of surprise, or of amusement, Chris hardly knew which, shot out of the man’s steady eyes. But the next moment he looked drier, he spoke more cautiously than ever.
“They do take fancies into their heads, ma’am, people that are not quite right do,” he answered.
“But is he not quite right? Isn’t he only pretending? And isn’t that why he will not speak?” asked Chris, running the questions one into another in her eagerness. “The more I see of him the more absurd it seems to suppose that he is not in his right senses. Do, Stelfox, tell me all about him, and why he is shut up here.” ”

“ Chris?"
But Chris turned her face away with quivering lips. "I think—and I hope—that I shall die," she said.
"Chris, my darling—"
"Yes," Chris insisted. "If it shocks you I can't help it. I don't want to live, and I don't want my child to live, either. Life is too hard. If—if I had had any choice in the matter, I would never have been born. And so if I die before the baby comes, it is the best thing that could possibly happen for either of us. And I think—I think"—she hesitated momentarily before a name she had not uttered for weeks—"Trevor would say the same." ”

“ Chris felt quite glad she had offended him. From one point of view, as the master of the house where she and her mother lived so comfortably, she liked him very much. From any other she began to feel that she did not like him at all. She felt again the aversion with which he had inspired her on the day of her arrival, an aversion which his kindness had been gradually dispelling. Perhaps it was that he showed too decided an acquiescence in the fact that his ward’s mental malady was incurable. ”

“ It is in there that Chris is standing, facing across the counter an old man in a blouse, with a scar running white into the gray thickets of his beard, an old man with a smile at once lewd and benevolent, repulsive with dirt and yet magnificent by reason of the Olympian structure of his body. I think he is the soul of the universe, equally cognizant and disregardful of every living thing, to whom I am not more dear than the bare-armed slouchy woman at the neighboring door. ”

“ And the more we love everyone, the more we shall know of God, and the nearer we shall be to heaven; for you see, dear, to know God is Heaven, and God is Love."
I paused, and Chris looked contemplative.
"I'm going to be like the good man, who gave away the water out of his flask," he said, with the air of one taking a great resolution. "I'm going to love everyone, and Briggs too."
"I like to hear you say that," I said, stroking his head, with the tumbled, golden curls. "Now, I think you had better go to your tea. Briggs will be waiting for you." ”

“ As the door closed him in with Lossie, Chris came flying up the stairs, taking three steps at a time, a young god in his swiftness, strength and joy, bringing all the best gifts that life and love can bring to the beloved woman—too late. ”

“ She gave a little scream. 'Sick! my dear Chris! that settles it. I can't have you bringing back microbes. It--it isn't fair on us, you know. And there are a lot of jolly globe-trotters at the hotel--one of them says he knew me in London.'
There was a world of regret in her tone, and the pity of it, the hideous mistake for her came home to Chris. 'There is no reason,' he said, in a sort of despair, 'why I should turn you out of this'--here he gave a hard sort of laugh--'I don't really care for it, you know, Viva, though I used to think I did. ”

“ Chris cried.
She would have thrown her arms about her darling, but he stopped her. He caught her wrists and held her back.
"Chris, you must not! When animals are hurt they will bite without knowing what they are doing. Chris, do you hear me? You must go."
But she would not. "Do you think I would leave him now—when he wants me most? And as if he would bite me—Cinders—Cinders—who never even growled at me!"
She bent over him again, beside herself with grief. Cinders, in the midst of his pain, tried gently to wag his tail. His brown eyes, faithful, appealing, full of love, gazed up at her. ”

“ Chris smiled all over her sunny face. She looked the merest child standing before him wrapped in the mackintosh that flapped about her bare ankles, the ruddy hair all loose about her back. "Then whatever made you pretend you had?" she said.
He smiled back, half against his will, with the eloquent shrug that generally served him where speech was awkward.
"And the woman you fought about?" she continued relentlessly.
"Mademoiselle Christine," he pleaded, "you ask of me the impossible. You do not know what you ask."
"Don't be silly," said Chris imperiously. ”

“ If he didn't say them he would look them. And his eyes are so terribly keen. They frighten me. They see—everything."
"But, chérie," he reasoned, "they could not see what is not there. You have nothing to hide from him. You have no shame. Why, then, have you fear?"
"I don't know," gasped Chris. "Only I know that he would never understand. He would think—he would think—"
"He would think that we have been—pals—for as long as we have known each other," said Bertrand soothingly. "He knows it already. It is true, is it not?"
But Chris's eyes had been opened too suddenly and tragically. ”

“ Chris. Who was the woman, though! As they drew near I saw and recognized the captain's wife.
I didn't quite know what to do—whether to make my presence known to them or not. I did not wish to embarrass them, so I lay still on the top of the rock which overhung the path. On they came, talking very earnestly.
"It's no use, Chris, talking like that. I know you love me—loved me long before I ever met him. Can't you be content? I wouldn't marry you, with only a coasting mate's pay—now, could I? You men are so unreasonable." ”

“ Chris said more calmly, but still gravely; "it's very dan-ger-rus, and it's not sport-man-like."
"Thank you, my darling," she said simply. "Granny will remember another time."
"Shut up, Chris," said Uncle Godfrey laughing, "and don't talk nonsense."
"Well, I want somebody to play with me," he said inconsequently, as he returned to his Uncle's side. "I want someone to play with me very badly." ”

“ Chris waited till he had extricated the car from the stream of traffic, then impulsively she spoke—
"Trevor, I didn't think you were like Aunt Philippa. I thought you understood."
She saw his grave face soften. "Believe me, I am not in the least like your Aunt Philippa," he said.
"No; but—"
"But, Chris?"
"I think you needn't have asked me that," she said, a little quiver in her voice. "Even Cinders knows me better than that."
"Cinders ought to know you better than anyone," remarked Mordaunt. "His opportunities are unlimited." ”

“ But let me warn you, Chris. He is not a man to stand any trifling. I have heard it from several quarters. Jack, as you are aware, knows him well, and he will tell you the same. You may try his patience too far, and that, I presume, is not your intention. Should it happen, I think that you would regret it all your life."
"But I haven't trifled! I don't trifle!" protested Chris, divided between distress and indignation.
Aunt Philippa smiled unpleasantly—she seldom displayed any other variety of smile. "That, my dear, is very much a matter of opinion. You had better go now to Hilda. ”

“ There was sharp pain in Chris's voice. She raised herself quickly. "You don't understand, dear, and I—can't explain. But you are not to ask that of him. I can't bear it."
There was a quiver of passion in the last words. It was as though they were uttered in spite of her.
Mordaunt stood motionless, in utter silence. His face was in shadow.
Bertrand turned to the kneeling girl. "Will you, then, plead for yourself, chérie?" he said. "He will not refuse you. He knows all."
"No, no; he doesn't," said Chris.
"But you will tell him," urged Bertrand gently. ”

“ He smiled a little. "I am not laughing, Chris, I assure you. I have always thought until this moment that Cinders was more precious to you than anyone else in the world."
"Oh, that's because you're a man," said Chris inconsequently. "Men always have absurd theories about women and the things they care for. As if we can't love heaps of people at the same time!"
"You can only love one person best," he pointed out.
"At a time," supplemented Chris, with a merry smile. "And you choose your person according to your mood. At least, I do. Oh, Trevor," with a sudden change of tone, "don't look! ”