diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:47:18 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:47:18 -0700 |
| commit | bc15a1ee4ba97b9432d65678c5b24361e2bdfb27 (patch) | |
| tree | 115313c0b2ecb372aa34664f2d0591118934ce12 | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 15673-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 221000 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 15673-h/15673-h.htm | 15452 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 15673.txt | 11709 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 15673.zip | bin | 0 -> 207753 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
7 files changed, 27177 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15673-h.zip b/15673-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ca8b9f1 --- /dev/null +++ b/15673-h.zip diff --git a/15673-h/15673-h.htm b/15673-h/15673-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5cf6b6b --- /dev/null +++ b/15673-h/15673-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15452 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?> +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta name="generator" content= + "HTML Tidy for Linux/x86 (vers 1st August 2004), see www.w3.org" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= + "text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Day Of The Beast, by Zane + Grey. + </title> +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + body > p { /* paras at <body> level - not in <div> or <table> */ + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 0em; + } + + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 65%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 6em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + hr.plain { width: 65%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + .ads {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%;} + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + .poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 6em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 8em;} + .poem span.i5 {display: block; margin-left: 10em;} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 12em;} + .poem span.i7 {display: block; margin-left: 14em;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 16em;} + .poem span.i9 {display: block; margin-left: 18em;} + + + + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Day of the Beast, by Zane Grey + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Day of the Beast + +Author: Zane Grey + +Release Date: April 21, 2005 [EBook #15673] +[Last updated: May 30, 2011] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAY OF THE BEAST *** + + + + +Produced by Alicia Williams, Sankar Viswanathan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1> + THE DAY OF THE BEAST + <br /> + </h1> + <h5> + BY + </h5> + <h2> + ZANE GREY<br /><br /> + </h2> + <h5> + AUTHOR OF + <br /> + <br /> + TO THE LAST MAN, + <br /> + THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT, + <br /> + THE MYSTERIOUS RIDER, ETC. + </h5> + <h5> + + </h5> + <h5> + NEW YORK + <br /> + + GROSSET & DUNLAP + <br /> + PUBLISHERS + </h5> + <h6> + Made in the United States of America + <br /> + </h6> + <div class="center"> + <p> + <br /> + <br /> + THE DAY OF THE BEAST + </p> + <hr class="plain" /> + <p> + 1922 + <br /> + By Zane Grey + <br /> + Printed in the U.S.A. + </p> + </div> + <hr class="plain" /> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <h4> + + </h4> + <h4> + + </h4> + <h4> + <span class="center">DEDICATION + <br /></span> + </h4> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <span class="i5">Herein is embodied my tribute to the American + <br /></span> <span class="i4">men who gave themselves to the + service in the great + <br /></span> <span class="i4">war, and my sleepless and + eternal gratitude for + <br /></span> <span class="i4">what they did for me. + <br /></span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <font size="-1"><span style="margin-left: 28em;">ZANE + GREY.</span> + <br /></font> + </div> + </div> + <h3> + + </h3> + <h3> + + </h3> + <h3> + + </h3> + <h3> + Contents + </h3><span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href= + "#CHAPTER_I"><b>CHAPTER I</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>CHAPTER + II</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>CHAPTER + III</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>CHAPTER + IV</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>CHAPTER + V</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>CHAPTER + VI</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b>CHAPTER + VII</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b>CHAPTER + VIII</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b>CHAPTER + IX</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_X"><b>CHAPTER + X</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><b>CHAPTER + XI</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><b>CHAPTER + XII</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><b>CHAPTER + XIII</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><b>CHAPTER + XIV</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><b>CHAPTER + XV</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><b>CHAPTER + XVI</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><b>CHAPTER + XVII</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><b>CHAPTER + XVIII</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><b>CHAPTER + XIX</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><b>CHAPTER + XX</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><b>CHAPTER + XXI</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><b>CHAPTER + XXII</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"><b>CHAPTER + XXIII</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV"><b>CHAPTER + XXIV</b></a></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV"><b>CHAPTER + XXV</b></a></span> + <br /> + <h5> + <br /> + </h5> + <p> + <br /> + <br /> + </p> + <hr class="plain" /> + <h2> + <a name="THE_DAY_OF_THE_BEAST" id="THE_DAY_OF_THE_BEAST"></a>THE + DAY OF THE BEAST + </h2> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + His native land! Home! + </p> + <p> + The ship glided slowly up the Narrows; and from its deck Daren + Lane saw the noble black outline of the Statue of Liberty limned + against the clear gold of sunset. A familiar old pang in his + breast—longing and homesickness and agony, together with + the physical burn of gassed lungs—seemed to swell into a + profound overwhelming emotion. + </p> + <p> + "My own—my native land!" he whispered, striving to wipe the + dimness from his eyes. Was it only two years or twenty since he + had left his country to go to war? A sense of strangeness dawned + upon him. His home-coming, so ceaselessly dreamed of by night and + longed for by day, was not going to be what his hopes had + created. But at that moment his joy was too great to harbor + strange misgivings. How impossible for any one to understand his + feelings then, except perhaps the comrades who had survived the + same ordeal! + </p> + <p> + The vessel glided on. A fresh cool spring breeze with a scent of + land fanned Lane's hot brow. It bore tidings from home. Almost he + thought he smelled the blossoms in the orchard, and the damp + newly plowed earth, and the smoke from the wood fire his mother + used to bake over. A hundred clamoring thoughts strove for + dominance over his mind—to enter and flash by and fade. His + sight, however, except for the blur that returned again and + again, held fast to the entrancing and thrilling scene—the + broad glimmering sun-track of gold in the rippling channel, + leading his eye to the grand bulk of America's symbol of freedom, + and to the stately expanse of the Hudson River, dotted by moving + ferry-boats and tugs, and to the magnificent broken sky-line of + New York City, with its huge dark structures looming and its + thousands of windows reflecting the fire of the sun. + </p> + <p> + It was indeed a profound and stirring moment for Daren Lane, but + not quite full, not all-satisfying. The great city seemed to + frown. The low line of hills in the west shone dull gray and + cold. Where were the screaming siren whistles, the gay streaming + flags, the boats crowded with waving people, that should have + welcomed disabled soldiers who had fought for their country? Lane + hoped he had long passed by bitterness, but yet something rankled + in the unhealed wound of his heart. + </p> + <p> + Some one put a hand in close clasp upon his arm. Then Lane heard + the scrape of a crutch on the deck, and knew who stood beside + him. + </p> + <p> + "Well, Dare, old boy, does it look good to you?" asked a husky + voice. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, Blair, but somehow not just what I expected," replied Lane, + turning to his comrade. + </p> + <p> + "Uhuh, I get you." + </p> + <p> + Blair Maynard stood erect with the aid of a crutch. There was + even a hint of pride in the poise of his uncovered head. And for + once Lane saw the thin white face softening and glowing. + Maynard's big brown eyes were full of tears. + </p> + <p> + "Guess I left my nerve as well as my leg over there," he said. + </p> + <p> + "Blair, it's so good to get back that we're off color," returned + Lane. "On the level, I could scream like a madman." + </p> + <p> + "I'd like to weep," replied the other, with a half laugh. + </p> + <p> + "Where's Red? He oughtn't miss this." + </p> + <p> + "Poor devil! He sneaked off from me somewhere," rejoined Maynard. + "Red's in pretty bad shape again. The voyage has been hard on + him. I hope he'll be well enough to get his discharge when we + land. I'll take him home to Middleville." + </p> + <p> + "Middleville!" echoed Lane, musingly. "Home!... Blair, does it + hit you—kind of queer? Do you long, yet dread to get home?" + </p> + <p> + Maynard had no reply for that query, but his look was expressive. + </p> + <p> + "I've not heard from Helen for over a year," went on Lane, more + as if speaking to himself. + </p> + <p> + "My God, Dare!" exclaimed his companion, with sudden fire. "Are + you still thinking of her?" + </p> + <p> + "We—we are engaged," returned Lane, slowly. "At least we + <i>were</i>. But I've had no word that she——" + </p> + <p> + "Dare, your childlike faith is due for a jar," interrupted his + comrade, with bitter scorn. "Come down to earth. You're a + crippled soldier—coming home—and damn lucky at that." + </p> + <p> + "Blair, what do you know—that I do not know? For long I've + suspected you're wise to—to things at home. You know I + haven't heard much in all these long months. My mother wrote but + seldom. Lorna, my kid sister, forgot me, I guess.... Helen always + was a poor correspondent. Dal answered my letters, but she never + <i>told</i> me anything about home. When we first got to France I + heard often from Margie Henderson and Mel Iden—crazy kind + of letters—love-sick over soldiers.... But nothing for a + long time now." + </p> + <p> + "At first they wrote! Ha! Ha!" burst out Maynard. "Sure, they + wrote love-sick letters. They sent socks and cigarettes and candy + and books. And they all wanted us to hurry back to marry them.... + Then—when the months had gone by and the novelty had worn + off—when we went against the hell of real war—sick or + worn out, sleepless and miserable, crippled or half demented with + terror and dread and longing for home—then, by God, they + quit!" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, no, Blair—not all of them," remonstrated Lane, + unsteadily. + </p> + <p> + "Well, old man, I'm sore, and you're about the only guy I can let + out on," explained Maynard, heavily. "One thing I'm glad + of—we'll face it together. Daren, we were kids + together—do you remember?—playing on the + commons—straddling the old water-gates over the + brooks—stealing cider from the country + presses—barefoot boys going to school together. We played + Post-Office with the girls and Indians with the boys. We made + puppy love to Dal and Mel and Helen and Margie—all of + them.... Then, somehow the happy thoughtless years of youth + passed.... It seems strange and sudden now—but the war + came. We enlisted. We had the same ideal—you and + I.—We went to France—and you know what we did there + together.... Now we're on this ship—getting into port of + the good old U.S.—good as bad as she is!—going home + together. Thank God for that. I want to be buried in Woodlawn.... + Home! Home?... We feel its meaning. But, Dare, we'll have no + home—no place.... We are old—we are through—we + have served—we are done.... What we dreamed of as glory + will be cold ashes to our lips, bitter as gall.... You always + were a dreamer, an idealist, a believer in God, truth, hope and + womanhood. In spite of the war these somehow survive in you.... + But Dare, old friend, steel yourself now against disappointment + and disillusion." + </p> + <p> + Used as Lane was to his comrade's outbursts, this one struck + singularly home to Lane's heart and made him mute. The chill of + his earlier misgiving returned, augmented by a strange + uneasiness, a premonition of the unknown and dreadful future. But + he threw it off. Faith would not die in Lane. It could not die + utterly because of what he felt in himself. Yet—what was in + store for him? Why was his hope so unquenchable? There could be + no <i>resurgam</i> for Daren Lane. Resignation should have + brought him peace—peace—when every nerve in his + shell-shocked body racked him—when he could not subdue a + mounting hope that all would be well at home—when he + quivered at thought of mother, sister, sweetheart! + </p> + <p> + The ship glided on under the shadow of America's emblem—a + bronze woman of noble proportions, holding out a light to ships + that came in the night—a welcome to all the world. Daren + Lane held to his maimed comrade while they stood bare-headed and + erect for that moment when the ship passed the statue. Lane knew + what Blair felt. But nothing of what that feeling was could ever + be spoken. The deck of the ship was now crowded with passengers, + yet they were seemingly dead to anything more than a safe arrival + at their destination. They were not crippled American soldiers. + Except these two there were none in service uniforms. There + across the windy space of water loomed the many-eyed buildings, + suggestive of the great city. A low roar of traffic came on the + breeze. Passengers and crew of the liner were glad to dock before + dark. They took no notice of the rigid, erect soldiers. Lane, arm + in arm with Blair, face to the front, stood absorbed in his sense + of a nameless sublimity for them while passing the Statue of + Liberty. The spirit of the first man who ever breathed of freedom + for the human race burned as a white flame in the heart of Lane + and his comrade. But it was not so much that spirit which held + them erect, aloof, proud. It was a supreme consciousness of + immeasurable sacrifice for an ideal that existed only in the + breasts of men and women kindred to them—an unutterable and + never-to-be-spoken glory of the duty done for others, but that + they owed themselves. They had sustained immense loss of health + and happiness; the future seemed like the gray, cold, gloomy + expanse of the river; and there could never be any reward except + this white fire of their souls. Nameless! But it was the + increasing purpose that ran through the ages. + </p> + <p> + The ship docked at dark. Lane left Blair at the rail, gloomily + gazing down at the confusion and bustle on the wharf, and went + below to search for their comrade, Red Payson. He found him in + his stateroom, half crouched on the berth, apparently oblivious + to the important moment. It required a little effort to rouse + Payson. He was a slight boy, not over twenty-two, sallow-faced + and freckled, with hair that gave him the only name his comrades + knew him by. Lane packed the boy's few possessions and talked + vehemently all the time. Red braced up, ready to go, but he had + little to say and that with the weary nonchalance habitual with + him. Lane helped him up on deck, and the exertion, slight as it + was, brought home to Lane that he needed help himself. They found + Maynard waiting. + </p> + <p> + "Well, here we are—the Three Musketeers," said Lane, in a + voice he tried to make cheerful. + </p> + <p> + "Where's the band?" inquired Maynard, sardonically. + </p> + <p> + "Gay old New York—and me broke!" exclaimed Red Payson, as + if to himself. + </p> + <p> + Then the three stood by the rail, at the gangplank, waiting for + the hurried stream of passengers to disembark. Down on the wharf + under the glaring white lights, swarmed a crowd from which rose a + babel of voices. A whistle blew sharply at intervals. The whirr + and honk of taxicabs, and the jangle of trolley cars, sounded + beyond the wide dark portal of the dock-house. The murky water + below splashed between ship and pier. Deep voices rang out, and + merry laughs, and shrill glad cries of welcome. The bright light + shone down upon a motley, dark-garbed mass, moving slowly. The + spirit of the occasion was manifest. + </p> + <p> + When the three disabled soldiers, the last passengers to + disembark, slowly and laboriously descended to the wharf, no one + offered to help them, no one waited with a smile and hand-clasp + of welcome. No one saw them, except a burly policeman, who + evidently had charge of the traffic at the door. He poked his + club into the ribs of the one-legged, slowly shuffling Maynard + and said with cheerful gruffness: "Step lively, Buddy, step + lively!" + </p> + <p> + Lane, with his two comrades, spent three days at a + barracks-hospital for soldiers in Bedford Park. It was a long + flimsy structure, bare except for rows of cots along each wall, + and stoves at middle, and each end. The place was overcrowded + with disabled service men, all worse off than Lane and his + comrades. Lane felt that he really was keeping a sicker man than + himself from what attention the hospital afforded. So he was + glad, at the end of the third day, to find they could be + discharged from the army. + </p> + <p> + This enforced stay, when he knew he was on his way home, had + seemed almost unbearable to Lane. He felt that he had the + strength to get home, and that was about all. He began to + expectorate blood—no unusual thing for him—but this + time to such extent that he feared the return of hemorrhage. The + nights seemed sleepless, burning, black voids; and the days were + hideous with noise and distraction. He wanted to think about the + fact that he was home—an astounding and unbelievable thing. + Once he went down to the city and walked on Broadway and Fifth + Avenue, taxing his endurance to the limit. But he had become used + to pain and exhaustion. So long as he could keep up he did not + mind. + </p> + <p> + That day three powerful impressions were forced upon Lane, never + to be effaced. First he found that the change in him was vast and + incalculable and vague. He could divine but not understand. + Secondly, the men of the service, disabled or not, were old + stories to New Yorkers. Lane saw soldiers begging from + pedestrians. He muttered to himself: "By God, I'll starve to + death before I ever do that!" He could not detect any aloofness + on the part of passers-by. They were just inattentive. Lane + remembered with sudden shock how differently soldiers had been + regarded two or three years ago. He had read lengthy newspaper + accounts of the wild and magnificent welcome accorded to the + first soldiers to return to New York. How strange the contrast! + But that was long ago—past history—buried under the + immense and hurried and inscrutable changes of a nation. Lane + divined that, as he felt the mighty resistless throb of the great + city. His third and strongest impression concerned the women he + met and passed on the streets. Their lips and cheeks were rouged. + Their dresses were cut too low at the neck. But even this fashion + was not nearly so striking as the short skirts, cut off at the + knees, and in many cases above. At first this roused a strange + amaze in Lane. "What's the idea, I wonder?" he mused. But in the + end it disgusted him. He reflected that for two swift years he + had been out of the track of events, away from centers of + population. Paris itself had held no attraction for him. Dreamer + and brooder, he had failed to see the material things. But this + third impression troubled him more than the other two and stirred + thoughts he tried to dispel. Returning to the barracks he learned + that he and his friends would be free on the morrow; and long + into the night he rejoiced in the knowledge. Free! The grinding, + incomprehensible Juggernaut and himself were at the parting of + the ways. Before he went to sleep he remembered a forgotten + prayer his mother had taught him. His ordeal was over. What had + happened did not matter. The Hell was past and he must bury + memory. Whether or not he had a month or a year to live it must + be lived without memories of his ordeal. + </p> + <p> + Next day, at the railroad station, even at the moment of + departure, Lane and Blair Maynard had their problem with Red + Payson. He did not want to go to Blair's home. + </p> + <p> + "But hell, Red, you haven't any home—any place to go," + blurted out Maynard. + </p> + <p> + So they argued with him, and implored him, and reasoned with him. + Since his discharge from the hospital in France Payson had always + been cool, weary, abstracted, difficult to reach. And here at the + last he grew strangely aloof and stubborn. Every word that bore + relation to his own welfare seemed only to alienate him the more. + Lane sensed this. + </p> + <p> + "See here, Red," he said, "hasn't it occurred to you that Blair + and I need you?" + </p> + <p> + "Need me? What!" he exclaimed, with perceptible change of tone, + though it was incredulous. + </p> + <p> + "Sure," interposed Blair. + </p> + <p> + "Red—listen," continued Lane, speaking low and with + difficulty. "Blair and I have been through the—the whole + show together.... And we've been in the hospitals with you for + months.... We've all got—sort of to rely on each other.... + Let's stick it out to the end. I guess—you know—we + may not have a long time...." + </p> + <p> + Lane's voice trailed off. Then the stony face of the listener + changed for a fleeting second. + </p> + <p> + "Boys, I'll go over with you," he said. + </p> + <p> + And then the maimed Blair, awkward with his crutch and bag, + insisted on helping Lane get Red aboard the train. Red could just + about walk. Sombrely they clambered up the steps into the + Pullman. + </p> + <p> + Middleville was a prosperous and thriving inland town of twenty + thousand inhabitants, identical with many towns of about the same + size in the middle and eastern United States. + </p> + <p> + Lane had been born there and had lived there all his life, seldom + having been away up to the advent of the war. So that the + memories of home and town and place, which he carried away from + America with him, had never had any chance, up to the time of his + departure, to change from the vivid, exaggerated image of + boyhood. Since he had left Middleville he had seen great cities, + palaces, castles, edifices, he had crossed great rivers, he had + traveled thousands of miles, he had looked down some of the + famous thoroughfares of the world. + </p> + <p> + Was this then the reason that Middleville, upon his arrival, + seemed so strange, sordid, shrunken, so vastly changed? He + stared, even while he helped Payson off the train—stared at + the little brick station at once so familiar and yet so strange, + that had held a place of dignity in the picture of his memory. + The moment was one of shock. + </p> + <p> + Then he was distracted from his pondering by tearful and joyful + cries, and deeper voices of men. He looked up to recognize + Blair's mother, father, sister; and men and women whose faces + appeared familiar, but whose names he could not recall. His acute + faculty of perception took quick note of a change in Blair's + mother. Lane turned his gaze away. The agony of joy and + sorrow—the light of her face—was more than Lane could + stand. He looked at the sister Margaret—a tall, fair girl. + She had paint on her cheeks. She did not see Lane. Her strained + gaze held a beautiful and piercing intentness. Then her eyes + opened wide, her hand went to cover her mouth, and she cried out: + "Oh Blair!—poor boy! Brother!" + </p> + <p> + Only Lane heard her. The others were crying out themselves as + Blair's gray-haired mother received him into her arms. She seemed + a proud woman, broken and unsteady. Red Payson's grip on Lane's + arm told what that scene meant to him. How pitiful the vain + effort of Blair's people to hide their horror! Presently mother + and sister and women relatives fell aside to let the soldier boy + meet his father. This was something that rang the bells in Lane's + heart. Men were different, and Blair faced his father + differently. The wild boy had come home—the scapegoat of + many Middleville escapades had returned—the ne'er-do-well + sought his father's house. He had come home to die. It was there + in Blair's white face—the dreadful truth. He wore a ribbon + on his breast and he leaned on a crutch. For the instant, as + father and son faced each other, there was something in Blair's + poise, his look of an eagle, that carried home a poignant sense + of his greatness. Lane thrilled with it and a lump constricted + his throat. Then with Blair's ringing "Dad!" and the father's + deep and broken: "My son! My son!" the two embraced. + </p> + <p> + In a stifling moment more it seemed, attention turned on Red + Payson, who stood nearest. Blair's folk were eager, kind, + soft-spoken and warm in their welcome. + </p> + <p> + Then it came Lane's turn, and what they said or did he scarcely + knew, until Margaret kissed him. "Oh, Dare! I'm <i>so</i> glad to + see you home." Tears were standing in her clear blue eyes. + "You're changed, but—not—not so much as Blair." + </p> + <p> + Lane responded as best he could, and presently he found himself + standing at the curb, watching the car move away. + </p> + <p> + "Come out to-morrow," called back Blair. + </p> + <p> + The Maynard's car was carrying his comrades away. His first + feeling was one of gladness—the next of relief. He could be + alone now—alone to find out what had happened to him, and + to this strange Middleville. An old negro wearing a blue uniform + accosted Lane, shook hands with him, asked him if he had any + baggage. "Yas sir, I sho knowed you, Mistah Dare Lane. But you + looks powerful bad." + </p> + <p> + Lane crossed the station platform, and the railroad yard and + tracks, to make a short cut in the direction of his home. He + shrank from meeting any one. He had not sent word just when he + would arrive, though he had written his mother from New York that + it would be soon, He was glad that no one belonging to him had + been at the station. He wanted to see his mother in his home. + Walking fast exhausted him, and he had to rest. How dead his legs + felt! In fact he felt queer all over. The old burn and gnaw in + his breast had expanded to a heavy, full, suffocating sensation. + Yet his blood seemed to race. Suddenly an overwhelming emotion of + rapture flooded over him. Home at last! He did not think of any + one. He was walking across the railroad yards where as a boy he + had been wont to steal rides on freight trains. Soon he reached + the bridge. In the gathering twilight he halted to clutch at the + railing and look out across where the waters met—where + Sycamore Creek flowed into Middleville River. The roar of water + falling over the dam came melodiously and stirringly to his ears. + And as he looked again he was assailed by that strange sense of + littleness, of shrunkenness, which had struck him so forcibly at + the station. He listened to the murmur of running water. Then, + while the sweetness of joy pervaded him, there seemed to rise + from below or across the river or from somewhere the same strange + misgiving, a keener dread, a chill that was not in the air, a + fatal portent of the future. Why should this come to mock him at + such a sacred and beautiful moment? + </p> + <p> + Passers-by stared at Lane, and some of them whispered, and one + hesitated, as if impelled to speak. Wheeling away Lane crossed + the bridge, turned up River Street, soon turned off again into a + darker street, and reaching High School Park he sat down to rest + again. He was almost spent. The park was quiet and lonely. The + bare trees showed their skeleton outlines against the cold sky. + It was March and the air was raw and chilly. This park that had + once been a wonderful place now appeared so small. Everything he + saw was familiar yet grotesque in the way it had become dwarfed. + Across the street from where he sat lights shone in the windows + of a house. He knew the place. Who lived there? One of the + girls—he had forgotten which. From somewhere the + discordance of a Victrola jarred on Lane's sensitive ears. + </p> + <p> + Lifting his bag he proceeded on his way, halting every little + while to catch his breath. When he turned a corner into a side + street, recognizing every tree and gate and house, there came a + gathering and swelling of his emotions and he began to weaken and + shake. He was afraid he could not make it half way up the street. + But he kept on. The torture now was more a mingled rapture and + grief than the physical protest of his racked body. At last he + saw the modest little house—and then he stood at the gate, + quivering. Home! A light in the window of his old room! A + terrible and tremendous storm of feeling forced him to lean on + the gate. How many endless hours had the pictured memory of that + house haunted him? There was the beloved room where he had lived + and slept and read, and cherished over his books and over his + compositions a secret hope and ambition to make of himself an + author. How strange to remember that! But it was true. His day + labor at Manton's office, for all the years since he had + graduated from High School, had been only a means to an end. No + one had dreamed of his dream. Then the war had come and now his + hope, if not his faith, was dead. Never before had the + realization been so galling, so bitter. Endlessly and eternally + he must be concerned with himself. He had driven that habit of + thought away a million times, but it would return. All he had + prayed for was to get home—only to reach home + alive—to see his mother, and his sister Lorna—and + Helen—and then.... But he was here now and all that prayer + was falsehood. Just to get home was not enough.. He had been + cheated of career, love, happiness. + </p> + <p> + It required extreme effort to cross the little yard, to mount the + porch. In a moment more he would see his mother. He heard her + within, somewhere at the back of the house. Wherefore he tip-toed + round to the kitchen door. Here he paused, quaking. A cold sweat + broke out all over him. Why was this return so dreadful? He + pressed a shaking hand over his heart. How surely he knew he + could not deceive his mother! The moment she saw him, after the + first flash of joy, she would see the wreck of the boy she had + let go to war. Lane choked over his emotion, but he could not + spare her. Opening the door he entered. + </p> + <p> + There she stood at the stove and she looked up at the sound he + made. Yes! but stranger than all other changes was the change in + her. She was not the mother of his boyhood. Nor was the change + alone age or grief or wasted cheek. The moment tore cruelly at + Lane's heart. She did not recognize him swiftly. But when she + did.... + </p> + <p> + "Oh God!... Daren! My boy!" she whispered. + </p> + <p> + "Mother!" + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + His mother divined what he knew. And her embrace was so close, + almost fierce in its tenderness, her voice so broken, that Lane + could only hide his face over her, and shut his eyes, and shudder + in an ecstasy. God alone had omniscience to tell what his soul + needed, but something of it was embodied in home and mother. + </p> + <p> + That first acute moment past, he released her, and she clung to + his hands, her face upturned, her eyes full of pain and joy, and + woman's searching power, while she broke into almost incoherent + speech; and he responded in feeling, though he caught little of + the content of her words, and scarcely knew what he was saying. + </p> + <p> + Then he reeled a little and the kitchen dimmed in his sight. + Sinking into a chair and leaning on the table he fought his + weakness. He came close to fainting. But he held on to his sense, + aware of his mother fluttering over him. Gradually the spell + passed. + </p> + <p> + "Mother—maybe I'm starved," he said, smiling at her. + </p> + <p> + That practical speech released the strain and inspired his mother + to action. She began to bustle round the kitchen, talking all the + while. Lane watched her and listened, and spoke occasionally. + Once he asked about his sister Lorna, but his mother either did + not hear or chose not to reply. All she said was music to his + ears, yet not quite what his heart longed for. He began to + distrust this strange longing. There was something wrong with his + mind. His faculties seemed too sensitive. Every word his mother + uttered was news, surprising, unusual, as if it emanated from a + home-world that had changed. And presently she dropped into + complaint at the hard times and the cost of everything. + </p> + <p> + "Mother," he interrupted, "I didn't blow my money. I've saved + nearly a year's pay. It's yours." + </p> + <p> + "But, Daren, you'll need money," she protested. + </p> + <p> + "Not much. And maybe—I'll be strong enough to go to + work—presently," he said, hopefully. "Do you think Manton + will take me back—half days at first?" + </p> + <p> + "I have my doubts, Daren," she replied, soberly. "Hattie Wilson + has your old job. And I hear they're pleased with her. Few of the + boys got their places back." + </p> + <p> + "Hattie Wilson!" exclaimed Lane. "Why, she was a kid in the + eighth grade when I left home." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, my son. But that was nearly three years ago. And the + children have sprung up like weeds. Wild weeds!" + </p> + <p> + "Well! That tousle-headed Wilson kid!" mused Lane. An uneasy + conviction of having been forgotten dawned upon Lane. He + remembered Blair Maynard's bitter prophecy, which he had been + unable to accept. + </p> + <p> + "Anyway, Daren, are you able to work?" asked his mother. + </p> + <p> + "Sure," he replied, lying cheerfully, with a smile on his face. + "Not hard work, just yet, but I can do something." + </p> + <p> + His mother did not share his enthusiasm. She went on preparing + the supper. + </p> + <p> + "How do you manage to get along?" inquired Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Lord only knows," she replied, sombrely. "It has been very hard. + When you left home I had only the interest on your father's life + insurance. I sold the farm—" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, no!" exclaimed Lane, with a rush of boyhood memories. + </p> + <p> + "I had to," she went on. "I made that money help out for a long + time. Then I—I mortgaged this place.... Things cost so + terribly. And Lorna had to have so much more.... But she's just + left school and gone to work. That helps." + </p> + <p> + "Lorna left school!" ejaculated Lane, incredulously. "Why, + mother, she was only a child. Thirteen years old when I left! + She'll miss her education. I'll send her back." + </p> + <p> + "Well, son, I doubt if you can make Lorna do anything she doesn't + want to do," returned his mother. "She wanted to quit + school—to earn money. Whatever she was when you left home + she's grown up now. You'll not know her." + </p> + <p> + "Know Lorna! Why, mother dear, I carried Lorna's picture all + through the war." + </p> + <p> + "You won't know her," returned Mrs. Lane, positively. "My boy, + these years so short to you have been ages here at home. You will + find your sister—different from the little girl you left. + You'll find all the girls you knew changed—changed. I have + given up trying to understand what's come over the world." + </p> + <p> + "How—about Helen?" inquired Lane, with strange reluctance + and shyness. + </p> + <p> + "Helen who?" asked his mother. + </p> + <p> + "Helen Wrapp, of course," replied Lane, quickly in his surprise. + "The girl I was engaged to when I left." + </p> + <p> + "Oh!—I had forgotten," she sighed. + </p> + <p> + "Hasn't Helen been here to see you?" + </p> + <p> + "Let me see—well, now you tax me—I think she did come + once—right after you left." + </p> + <p> + "Do you—ever see her?" he asked, with slow heave of breast. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, now and then, as she rides by in an automobile. But she + never sees me.... Daren, I don't know what + your—your—that engagement means to you, but I must + tell you—Helen Wrapp doesn't conduct herself as if she were + engaged. Still, I don't know what's in the heads of girls to-day. + I can only compare the present with the past." + </p> + <p> + Lane did not inquire further and his mother did not offer more + comment. At the moment he heard a motor car out in front of the + house, a girl's shrill voice in laughter, the slamming of a + car-door—then light, quick footsteps on the porch. Lane + could look from where he sat to the front door—only a few + yards down the short hall. The door opened. A girl entered. + </p> + <p> + "That's Lorna," said Lane's mother. He grew aware that she bent a + curious gaze upon his face. + </p> + <p> + Lane rose to his feet with his heart pounding, and a strange + sense of expectancy. His little sister! Never during the endless + months of drudgery, strife and conflict, and agony, had he + forgotten Lorna. Not duty, nor patriotism, had forced him to + enlist in the army before the draft. It had been an ideal which + he imagined he shared with the millions of American boys who + entered the service. Too deep ever to be spoken of! The barbarous + and simian Hun, with his black record against Belgian, and French + women, should never set foot on American soil. + </p> + <p> + In the lamplight Lane saw this sister throw coat and hat on the + banister, come down the hall and enter the kitchen. She seemed + tall, but her short skirt counteracted that effect. Her bobbed + hair, curly and rebellious, of a rich brown-red color, framed a + pretty face Lane surely remembered. But yet not the same! He had + carried away memory of a child's face and this was a woman's. It + was bright, piquant, with darkly glancing eyes, and vivid cheeks, + and carmine lips. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, <i>hot dog</i>! if it isn't Dare!" she squealed, and with + radiant look she ran into his arms. + </p> + <p> + The moment, or moments, of that meeting between brother and + sister passed, leaving Lane conscious of hearty welcome and a + sense of unreality. He could not at once adjust his mental + faculties to an incomprehensible difference affecting everything. + </p> + <p> + They sat down to supper, and Lane, sick, dazed, weak, found + eating his first meal at home as different as everything else + from what he had expected. There had been no lack of warmth or + love in Lorna's welcome, but he suffered disappointment. Again + for the hundredth time he put it aside and blamed his morbid + condition. Nothing must inhibit his gladness. + </p> + <p> + Lorna gave Lane no chance to question her. She was eager, + voluble, curious, and most disconcertingly oblivious of a + possible sensitiveness in Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Dare, you look like a dead one," she said. "Did you get shot, + bayoneted, gassed, shell-shocked and all the rest? Did you go + over the top? Did you kill any Germans? Gee! did you get to ride + in a war-plane? Come across, now, and tell me." + </p> + <p> + "I guess about—everything happened to me—except going + west," returned Lane. "But I don't want to talk about that. I'm + too glad to be home." + </p> + <p> + "What's that on your breast?" she queried, suddenly, pointing at + the <i>Croix de Guerre</i> he wore. + </p> + <p> + "That? Lorna, that's my medal." + </p> + <p> + "Gee! Let me see." She got up and came round to peer down + closely, to finger the decoration. "French! I never saw one + before.... Daren, haven't you an American medal too?" + </p> + <p> + "No." + </p> + <p> + "Why not?" + </p> + <p> + "My dear sister, that's hard to say. Because I didn't deserve it, + most likely." + </p> + <p> + She leaned back to gaze more thoughtfully at him. + </p> + <p> + "What did you get this for?" + </p> + <p> + "It's a long story. Some day I'll tell you." + </p> + <p> + "Are you proud of it?" + </p> + <p> + For answer he only smiled at her. + </p> + <p> + "It's so long since the war I've forgotten so many things," she + said, wonderingly. Then she smiled sweetly. "Dare, I'm proud of + you." + </p> + <p> + That was a moment in which his former emotion seemed to stir for + her. Evidently she had lost track of something once memorable. + She was groping back for childish impressions. It was the only + indication of softness he had felt in her. How impossible to + believe Lorna was only fifteen! He could form no permanent + conception of her. But in that moment he sensed something akin to + a sister's sympathy, some vague and indefinable thought in her, + too big for her to grasp. He never felt it again. The serious + sweet mood vanished. + </p> + <p> + "Hot dog! I've a brother with the <i>Croix de Guerre</i>. I'll + swell up over that. I'll crow over some of these Janes." + </p> + <p> + Thus she talked on while eating her supper. And Lane tried to eat + while he watched her. Presently he moved his chair near to the + stove. Lorna did not wait upon her mother. It was the mother who + did the waiting, as silently she moved from table to stove. + </p> + <p> + Lorna's waist was cut so low that it showed the swell of her + breast. The red color of her cheeks, high up near her temples, + was not altogether the rosy line of health and youth. Her + eyebrows were only faint, thin, curved lines, oriental in effect. + She appeared to be unusually well-developed in body for so young + a girl. And the air of sophistication, of experience that seemed + a part of her manner completely mystified Lane. If it had not + been for the slangy speech, and the false color in her face, he + would have been amused at what he might have termed his little + sister's posing as a woman of the world. But in the light of + these he grew doubtful of his impression. Lastly, he saw that she + wore her stockings rolled below her knees and that the edge of + her short skirt permitted several inches of her bare legs to be + seen. And at that he did not know what to think. He was stunned. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, you served a while under Captain Thesel in the war," she + said. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I guess I did," replied Lane, with sombre memory resurging. + </p> + <p> + "Do you know he lives here?" + </p> + <p> + "I knew him here in Middleville several years before the war." + </p> + <p> + "He's danced with me at the Armory. Some swell dancer! He and + Dick Swann and Hardy MacLean sometimes drop in at the Armory on + Saturday nights. Captain Thesel is chasing Mrs. Clemhorn now. + They're always together.... Daren, did he ever have it in for + you?" + </p> + <p> + "He never liked me. We never got along here in Middleville. And + naturally in the service when he was a captain and I only a + private—we didn't get along any better." + </p> + <p> + "Well, I've heard Captain Thesel was to blame for—for what + was said about you last summer when he came home." + </p> + <p> + "And what was that, Lorna?" queried Lane, curiously puzzled at + her, and darkly conscious of the ill omen that had preceded him + home. + </p> + <p> + "You'll not hear it from me," declared Lorna, spiritedly. "But + that <i>Croix de Guerre</i> doesn't agree with it, I'll tell the + world." + </p> + <p> + A little frown puckered her smooth brow and there was a gleam in + her eye. + </p> + <p> + "Seems to me I heard some of the kids talking last summer," she + mused, ponderingly. "Vane Thesel was stuck on Mel Iden and Dot + Dalrymple both before the war. Dot handed him a lemon. He's still + trying to rush Dot, and the gossip is he'd go after Mel even now + on the sly, if she'd stand for it." + </p> + <p> + "Why on the sly?" inquired Lane. "Before I left home Mel Iden was + about the prettiest and most popular girl in Middleville. Her + people were poor, and ordinary, perhaps, but she was the equal of + any one." + </p> + <p> + "Thesel couldn't rush Mel now and get away with it, unless on the + q-t," replied Lorna. "Haven't you heard about Mel?" + </p> + <p> + "No, you see the fact is, my few correspondents rather neglected + to send me news," said Lane. + </p> + <p> + The significance of this was lost upon his sister. She giggled. + "Hot dog! You've got some kicks coming, I'll say!" + </p> + <p> + "Is that so," returned Lane, with irritation. "A few more or less + won't matter.... Lorna, do you know Helen Wrapp?" + </p> + <p> + "That red-headed dame!" burst out Lorna, with heat. "I should + smile I do. She's one who doesn't shake a shimmy on tea, believe + me." + </p> + <p> + Lane was somewhat at a loss to understand his sister's + intimation, but as it was vulgarly inimical, and seemed to hold + some subtle personal scorn or jealousy, he shrank from + questioning her. This talk with his sister was the most unreal + happening he had ever experienced. He could not adjust himself to + its verity. + </p> + <p> + "Helen Wrapp is nutty about Dick Swann," went on Lorna. "She + drives down to the office after——" + </p> + <p> + "Lorna, do you know Helen and I are engaged?" interrupted Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Hot dog!" was that young lady's exposition of utter amaze. She + stared at her brother. + </p> + <p> + "We were engaged," continued Lane. "She wore my ring. When I + enlisted she wanted me to marry her before I left. But I wouldn't + do that." + </p> + <p> + Lorna promptly recovered from her amaze. "Well, it's a damn lucky + thing you didn't take her up on that marriage stuff." + </p> + <p> + There was a glint of dark youthful passion in Lorna's face. Lane + felt rise in him a desire to bid her sharply to omit slang and + profanity from the conversation. But the desire faded before his + bewilderment. All had suffered change. What had he come home to? + There was no clear answer. But whatever it was, he felt it to be + enormous and staggering. And he meant to find out. Weary as was + his mind, it grasped peculiar significances and deep portents. + </p> + <p> + "Lorna, where do you work?" he began, shifting his interest. + </p> + <p> + "At Swann's," she replied. + </p> + <p> + "In the office—at the foundry?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + "No. Mr. Swann's at the head of the leather works." + </p> + <p> + "What do you do?" + </p> + <p> + "I type letters," she answered, and rose to make him a little bow + that held the movement and the suggestion of a dancer. + </p> + <p> + "You've learned stenography?" he asked, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + "I'm learning shorthand," replied Lorna. "You see I had only a + few weeks in business school before Dick got me the job." + </p> + <p> + "Dick Swann? Do you work for him?" + </p> + <p> + "No. For the superintendent, Mr. Fryer. But I go to Dick's office + to do letters for him some of the time." + </p> + <p> + She appeared frank and nonchalant, evidently a little proud of + her important position. She posed before Lane and pirouetted with + fancy little steps. + </p> + <p> + "Say, Dare, won't you teach me a new dance—right from + Paris?" she interposed. "Something that will put the shimmy and + toddle out of biz?" + </p> + <p> + "Lorna, I don't know what the shimmy and toddle are. I've only + heard of them." + </p> + <p> + "Buried alive, I'll say," she retorted. + </p> + <p> + Lane bit his tongue to keep back a hot reprimand. He looked at + his mother, who was clearing off the supper table. She looked + sad. The light had left her worn face. Lane did not feel sure of + his ground here. So he controlled his feelings and directed his + interest toward more news. + </p> + <p> + "Of course Dick Swann was in the service?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + "No. He didn't go," replied Lorna. + </p> + <p> + The information struck Lane singularly. Dick Swann had always + been a prominent figure in the Middleville battery, in those + seemingly long past years since before the war. + </p> + <p> + "Why didn't Dick go into the service? Why didn't the draft get + him?" + </p> + <p> + "He had poor eyesight, and his father needed him at the iron + works." + </p> + <p> + "Poor eyesight!" ejaculated Lane. "He was the best shot in the + battery—the best hunter among the boys. Well, that's + funny." + </p> + <p> + "Daren, there are people who called Dick Swann a slacker," + returned Lorna, as if forced to give this information. "But I + never saw that it hurt him. He's rich now. His uncle left him a + million, and his father will leave him another. And I'll say it's + the money people want these days." + </p> + <p> + The materialism so pregnant in Lorna's half bitter reply checked + Lane's further questioning. He edged closer to the stove, feeling + a little cold. A shadow drifted across the warmth and glow of his + mind. At home now he was to be confronted with a monstrous and + insupportable truth—the craven cowardice of the man who had + been eligible to service in army or navy, and who had evaded it. + In camp and trench and dug-out he had heard of the army of + slackers. And of all the vile and stark profanity which the war + gave birth to on the lips of miserable and maimed soldiers, that + flung on the slackers was the worst. + </p> + <p> + "I've got a date to go to the movies," said Lorna, and she + bounced out of the kitchen into the hall singing: + </p> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <span>"Oh by heck + <br /></span> <span>You never saw a wreck + <br /></span> <span>Like the wreck she made of me." + <br /></span> + </div> + </div> + <p> + She went upstairs, while Lane sat there trying to adapt himself + to a new and unintelligible environment. His mother began washing + the dishes. Lane felt her gaze upon his face, and he struggled + against all the weaknesses that beset him. + </p> + <p> + "Mother, doesn't Lorna help you with the house work?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + "She used to. But not any more." + </p> + <p> + "Do you let her go out at night to the movies—dances, and + all that?" + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Lane made a gesture of helplessness. "Lorna goes out all the + time. She's never here. She stays out until midnight—one + o'clock—later. She's popular with the boys. I couldn't stop + her even if I wanted to. Girls can't be stopped these days. I do + all I can for her—make her dresses—slave for + her—hoping she'll find a good husband. But the young men + are not marrying." + </p> + <p> + "Good Heavens, are you already looking for a husband for Lorna?" + broke out Lane. + </p> + <p> + "You don't understand, Dare. You've been away so long. Wait till + you've seen what girls—are nowadays. Then you'll not wonder + that I'd like to see Lorna settled." + </p> + <p> + "Mother, you're right," he said, gravely. "I've been away + so—long. But I'm back home now. I'll soon get on to things. + And I'll help you. I'll take Lorna in hand. I'll relieve you of a + whole lot." + </p> + <p> + "You were always a good boy, Daren, to me and Lorna," murmured + Mrs. Lane, almost in tears. "It's cheered me to get you home, + yet.... Oh, if you were well and strong!" + </p> + <p> + "Never mind, mother. I'll get better," he replied, rising to take + up his bag. "I guess now I'd better go to bed. I'm just about all + in.... Wonder how Blair and Red are." + </p> + <p> + His mother followed him up the narrow stairway, talking, trying + to pretend she did not see his dragging steps, his clutch on the + banisters. + </p> + <p> + "Your room's just as you left it," she said, opening the door. + Then on the threshold she kissed him. "My son, I thank God you + have come home alive. You give me hope in—in spite of + all.... If you need me, call. Good night." + </p> + <p> + Lane was alone in the little room that had lived in waking and + dreaming thought. Except to appear strangely smaller, it had not + changed. His bed and desk—the old bureau—the few + pictures—the bookcase he had built himself—these were + identical with images in his memory. + </p> + <p> + A sweet and wonderful emotion of peace pervaded his + soul—fulfilment at last of the soldier's endless longing + for home, bed, quiet, rest. + </p> + <p> + "If I have to die—I can do it <i>now</i> without hate of + all around me," he whispered, in the passion of his spirit. + </p> + <p> + But as he sat upon his bed, trying with shaking and clumsy hands + to undress himself, that exalted mood flashed by. Some of the + dearest memories of his life were associated with this little + room. Here he had dreamed; here he had read and studied; here he + had fought out some of the poignant battles of youth. So much of + life seemed behind him. At last he got undressed, and + extinguishing the light, he crawled into bed. + </p> + <p> + The darkness was welcome, and the quiet was exquisitely soothing. + He lay there, staring into the blackness, feeling his body sink + slowly as if weighted. How cool and soft the touch of sheets! + Then, the river of throbbing fire that was his blood, seemed to + move again. And the dull ache, deep in the bones, possessed his + nerves. In his breast there began a vibrating, as if thousands of + tiny bubbles were being pricked to bursting in his lungs. And the + itch to cough came back to his throat. And all his flesh seemed + in contention with a slowly ebbing force. Sleep might come + perhaps after pain had lulled. His heart beat unsteadily and + weakly, sometimes with a strange little flutter. How many weary + interminable hours had he endured! But to-night he was too far + spent, too far gone for long wakefulness. He drifted away and + sank as if into black oblivion where there sounded the dreadful + roll of drums, and images moved under gray clouds, and men were + running like phantoms. He awoke from nightmares, wet with cold + sweat, and lay staring again at the blackness, once more alive to + recurrent pain. Pain that was an old, old story, yet ever acute + and insistent and merciless. + </p> + <p> + The night wore on, hour by hour. The courthouse clock rang out + one single deep mellow clang. One o'clock! Lane thrilled to the + sound. It brought back the school days, the vacation days, the + Indian summer days when the hills were golden and the purple haze + hung over the land—the days that were to be no more for + Daren Lane. + </p> + <p> + In the distance somewhere a motor-car hummed, and came closer, + louder down the street, to slow its sound with sliding creak and + jar outside in front of the house. Lane heard laughter and voices + of a party of young people. Footsteps, heavy and light, came up + the walk, and on to the porch. Lorna was returning rather late + from the motion-picture, thought Lane, and he raised his head + from the pillow, to lean toward the open window, listening. + </p> + <p> + "Come across, kiddo," said a boy's voice, husky and low. + </p> + <p> + Lane heard a kiss—then another. + </p> + <p> + "Cheese it, you boob!" + </p> + <p> + "Gee, your gettin' snippy. Say, will you ride out to Flesher's + to-morrow night?" + </p> + <p> + "Nothing doing, I've got a date. Good night." + </p> + <p> + The hall door below opened and shut. Footsteps thumped off the + porch and out to the street. Lane heard the giggle of girls, the + snap of a car-door, the creaking of wheels, and then a low hum, + dying away. + </p> + <p> + Lorna came slowly up stairs to enter her room, moving quietly. + And Lane lay on his bed, wide-eyed, staring into the blackness. + "My little sister," he whispered to himself. And the words that + had meant so much seemed a mockery. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + Lane saw the casement of his window grow gray with the glimmering + light of dawn. After that he slept several hours. When he awoke + it was nine o'clock. The long night with its morbid dreams and + thoughts had passed, and in the sunshine of day he saw things + differently. + </p> + <p> + To move, to get up was not an easy task. It took stern will, and + all the strength of muscle he had left, and when he finally + achieved it there was a clammy dew of pain upon his face. With + slow guarded movements he began to dress himself. Any sudden or + violent action might burst the delicate gassed spots in his lungs + or throw out of place one of the lower vertebrae of his spine. + The former meant death, and the latter bent his body like a + letter S and caused such excruciating agony that it was worse + than death. These were his two ever-present perils. The other + aches and pains he could endure. + </p> + <p> + He shaved and put on clean things, and his best coat, and + surveyed himself in the little mirror. He saw a thin face, white + as marble, but he was not ashamed of it. His story was there to + read, if any one had kind enough eyes to see. What would Helen + think of him—and Margaret Maynard—and Dal—and + Mel Iden? Bitter curiosity seemed his strongest feeling + concerning his fiancee. He would hold her as engaged to him until + she informed him she was not. As for the others, thought of them + quickened his interest, especially in Mel. What had happened to + her. + </p> + <p> + It was going to be wonderful to meet them—and to meet + everybody he had once known. Wonderful because he would see what + the war had done to them and they would see what it had done to + him. A peculiar significance lay between his sister and + Helen—all these girls, and the fact of his having gone to + war. + </p> + <p> + "They may not think of it, but <i>I know</i>," he muttered to + himself. And he sat down upon his bed to plan how best to meet + them, and others. He did not know what he was going to encounter, + but he fortified himself against calamity. Strange portent of + this had crossed the sea to haunt him. As soon as he was sure of + what had happened in Middleville, of the attitude people would + have toward a crippled soldier, and of what he could do with the + month or year that might be left him to live, then he would know + his own mind. All he sensed now was that there had been some + monstrous inexplicable alteration in hope, love, life. His ordeal + of physical strife, loneliness, longing was now over, for he was + back home. But he divined that his greater ordeal lay before him, + here in this little house, and out there in Middleville. All the + subtlety, intelligence, and bitter vision developed by the war + sharpened here to confront him with terrible possibilities. Had + his countrymen, his people, his friends, his sweetheart, all + failed him? Was there justice in Blair Maynard's scorn? Lane's + faith cried out in revolt. He augmented all possible catastrophe, + and then could not believe that he had sacrificed himself in + vain. He knew himself. In him was embodied all the potentiality + for hope of the future. And it was with the front and stride of a + soldier, facing the mystery, the ingratitude, the ignorance and + hell of war, that he left his room and went down stairs to meet + the evils in store. + </p> + <p> + His mother was not in the kitchen. The door stood open. He heard + her outside talking to a neighbor woman, over the fence. + </p> + <p> + "—Daren looks dreadful," his mother was saying in low + voice. "He could hardly walk... It breaks my heart. I'm glad to + have him along—but to see him waste away, day by day, like + Mary Dean's boy—" she broke off. + </p> + <p> + "Too bad! It's a pity," replied the neighbor. "Sad—now it + comes home to us. My son Ted came in last night and said he'd + talked with a boy who'd seen young Maynard and the strange + soldier who was with him. They must be worse off than + Daren—Blair Maynard with only one leg and—" + </p> + <p> + "Mother, where are you? I'm hungry," called Lane, interrupting + that conversation. + </p> + <p> + She came hurriedly in, at once fearful he might have heard, and + solicitous for his welfare. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, you look better in daylight—not so white," she + said. "You sit down now, and let me get your breakfast." + </p> + <p> + Lane managed to eat a little this morning, which fact delighted + his mother. + </p> + <p> + "I'm going to see Dr. Bronson," said Lane, presently. "Then I'll + go to Manton's, and round town a little. And if I don't tire out + I'll call on Helen. Of course Lorna has gone to work?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh yes, she leaves at half after eight." + </p> + <p> + "Mother, I was awake last night when she got home," went on Lane, + seriously. "It was one o'clock. She came in a car. I heard girls + tittering. And some boy came up on the porch with Lorna and + kissed her. Well, that might not mean much—but something + about their talk, the way it was done—makes me pretty sick. + Did you know this sort of thing was going on?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes. And I've talked with mothers who have girls Lorna's age. + They've all run wild the last year or so. Dances and rides! Last + summer I was worried half to death. But we mothers don't think + the girls are really <i>bad</i>. They're just crazy for fun, + excitement, boys. Times and pleasures have changed. The girls say + the mothers don't understand. Maybe we don't. I try to be + patient. I trust Lorna. I can't see through it all." + </p> + <p> + "Don't worry, mother," said Lane, patting her hand. "I'll see + through it for you. And if Lorna is—well, running too + much—wild as you said—I'll stop her." + </p> + <p> + His mother shook her head. + </p> + <p> + "One thing we mothers all agree on. These girls, of this + generation, say fourteen to sixteen, <i>can't</i> be stopped." + </p> + <p> + "Then that is a serious matter. It must be a peculiarity of the + day. Maybe the war left this condition." + </p> + <p> + "The war changed all things, my son," replied his mother, sadly. + </p> + <p> + Lane walked thoughtfully down the street toward Doctor Bronson's + office. As long as he walked slowly he managed not to give any + hint of his weakness. The sun was shining with steely brightness + and the March wind was living up to its fame. He longed for + summer and hot days in quiet woods or fields where daisies + bloomed. Would he live to see the Indian summer days, the smoky + haze, the purple asters? + </p> + <p> + Lane was admitted at once into the office of Doctor Bronson, a + little, gray, slight man with shrewd, kind eyes and a thoughtful + brow. For years he had been a friend as well as physician to the + Lanes, and he had always liked Daren. His surprise was great and + his welcome warm. But a moment later he gazed at Lane with + piercing eyes. + </p> + <p> + "Look here, boy, did you go to the bad over there?" he demanded. + </p> + <p> + "How do you mean, Doctor?" + </p> + <p> + "Did you let down—debase yourself morally?" + </p> + <p> + "No. But I went to the bad physically and spiritually." + </p> + <p> + "I see that. I don't like the color of your face.... Well, well, + Daren. It was hell, wasn't it? Did you kill a couple of Huns for + me?" + </p> + <p> + Questions like this latter one always alienated Lane in some + unaccountable way. It must have been revealed in his face. + </p> + <p> + "Never mind, Daren. I see that you <i>did</i>.... I'm glad you're + back alive. Now what can I do for you?" + </p> + <p> + "I've been discharged from three hospitals in the last two + months—not because I was well, but because I was in better + shape than some other poor devil. Those doctors in the service + grew hard—they had to be hard—but they saw the worst, + the agony of the war. I always felt sorry for them. They never + seemed to eat or sleep or rest. They had no time to save a man. + It was cut him up or tie him up—then on to the next.... + Now, Doc, I want you to look me over and—well—tell me + what to expect." + </p> + <p> + "All right," replied Doctor Bronson, gruffly. + </p> + <p> + "And I want you to promise not to tell mother or any one. Will + you?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I promise. Now come in here and get off some of your + clothes." + </p> + <p> + "Doctor, it's pretty tough on me to get in and out of my + clothes." + </p> + <p> + "I'll help you. Now tell me what the Germans did to you." + </p> + <p> + Lane laughed grimly. "Doctor, do you remember I was in your + Sunday School class?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I remember that. What's it got to do with Germans?" + </p> + <p> + "Nothing. It struck me funny, that's all.... Well, to get it + over. I was injured several times at the training camp." + </p> + <p> + "Anything serious?" + </p> + <p> + "No, I guess not. Anyway I forgot about <i>them.</i> Doctor, I + was shot four times, once clear through. I'll show you. Got a bad + bayonet jab that doesn't seem to heal well. Then I had a dose of + both gases—chlorine and mustard—and both all but + killed me. Last I've a weak place in my spine. There's a vertebra + that slips out of place occasionally. The least movement may do + it. I <i>can't</i> guard against it. The last time it slipped out + I was washing my teeth. I'm in mortal dread of this. For it + twists me out of shape and hurts horribly. I'm afraid it'll give + me paralysis." + </p> + <p> + "Humph! It would. But it can be fixed.... So that's all they did + to you?" + </p> + <p> + Underneath the dry humor of the little doctor, Lane thought he + detected something akin to anger. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, that's all they did to my body," replied Lane. + </p> + <p> + Doctor Bronson, during a careful and thorough examination of + Lane's heart, lungs, blood pressure, and abdominal region, did + not speak once. But when he turned him over, to see and feel the + hole in Lane's back, he exclaimed: "My God, boy, what made + this—a shell? I can put my fist in it." + </p> + <p> + "That's the bayonet jab." + </p> + <p> + Doctor Bronson cursed in a most undignified and unprofessional + manner. Then without further comment he went on and completed the + examination. + </p> + <p> + "That'll do," he said, and lent a hand while Lane put on his + clothes. It was then he noticed Lane's medal. + </p> + <p> + "Ha! The <i>Croix de Guerre!</i>... Daren, I was a friend of your + father's. I <i>know</i> how that medal would have made him feel. + Tell me what you did to get it?" + </p> + <p> + "Nothing much," replied Lane, stirred. "It was in the Argonne, + when we took to open fighting. In fact I got most of my hurts + there.... I carried a badly wounded French officer back off the + field. He was a heavy man. That's where I injured my spine. I had + to run with him. And worse luck, he was dead when I got him back. + But I didn't know that." + </p> + <p> + "So the French decorated you, hey?" asked the doctor, leaning + back with hands on hips, and keenly eyeing Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "Why did not the American Army give you equal honor?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, for one thing it was never reported. And besides, it + wasn't anything any other fellow wouldn't do." + </p> + <p> + Doctor Bronson dropped his head and paced to and fro. Then the + door-bell rang in the reception room. + </p> + <p> + "Daren Lane," began the doctor, suddenly stopping before Lane, + "I'd hesitate to ask most men if they wanted the truth. To many + men I'd lie. But I know a few words from me can't faze you." + </p> + <p> + "No, Doctor, one way or another it is all the same to me." + </p> + <p> + "Well, boy, I can fix up that vertebra so it won't slip out + again.... But, if there's anything in the world to save your + life, I don't know what it is." + </p> + <p> + "Thank you, Doctor. It's—something to know—what to + expect," returned Lane, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + "You might live a year—and you might not.... You might + improve. God only knows. Miracles <i>do</i> happen. Anyway, come + back to see me." + </p> + <p> + Lane shook hands with him and went out, passing another patient + in the reception room. Then as Lane opened the door and stepped + out upon the porch he almost collided with a girl who evidently + had been about to come in. + </p> + <p> + "I beg your——" he began, and stopped. He knew this + girl, but the strained tragic shadow of her eyes was strikingly + unfamiliar. The transparent white skin let the blue tracery of + veins show. On the instant her lips trembled and parted. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Daren—don't you know me?" she asked. + </p> + <p> + "Mel Iden!" he burst out. "Know you? I should smile I do. But + it—it was so sudden. And you're older—different + somehow. Mel, you're sweeter—why you're beautiful." + </p> + <p> + He clasped her hands and held on to them, until he felt her + rather nervously trying to withdraw them. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Daren, I'm glad to see you home—alive—whole," + she said, almost in a whisper. "Are you—well?" + </p> + <p> + "No, Mel. I'm in pretty bad shape," he replied. "Lucky to get + home alive—to see you all." + </p> + <p> + "I'm sorry. You're so white. You're wonderfully changed, Daren." + </p> + <p> + "So are you. But I'll say I'm happy it's not painted face and + plucked eyebrows.... Mel, what's happened to you?" + </p> + <p> + She suddenly espied the decoration on his coat. The blood rose + and stained her clear cheek. With a gesture of exquisite grace + and sensibility that thrilled Lane she touched the medal. "Oh! + The <i>Croix de Guerre</i>.... Daren, you were a hero." + </p> + <p> + "No, Mel, just a soldier." + </p> + <p> + She looked up into his face with eyes that fascinated Lane, so + beautiful were they—the blue of corn-flowers—and + lighted then with strange rapt glow. + </p> + <p> + "Just a soldier!" she murmured. But Lane heard in that all the + sweetness and understanding possible for any woman's heart. She + amazed him—held him spellbound. Here was the + sympathy—and something else—a nameless need—for + which he yearned. The moment was fraught with incomprehensible + forces. Lane's sore heart responded to her rapt look, to the + sudden strange passion of her pale face. Swiftly he divined that + Mel Iden gloried in the presence of a maimed and proven soldier. + </p> + <p> + "Mel, I'll come to see you," he said, breaking the spell. "Do you + still live out on the Hill road? I remember the four big white + oaks." + </p> + <p> + "No, Daren, I've left home," she said, with slow change, as if + his words recalled something she had forgotten. All the radiance + vanished, leaving her singularly white. + </p> + <p> + "Left home! What for?" he asked, bluntly. + </p> + <p> + "Father turned me out," she replied, with face averted. The soft + roundness of her throat swelled. Lane saw her full breast heave + under her coat. + </p> + <p> + "What're you saying, Mel Iden?" he demanded, as quickly as he + could find his voice. + </p> + <p> + Then she turned bravely to meet his gaze, and Lane had never seen + as sad eyes as looked into his. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, haven't you heard—about me?" she asked, with + tremulous lips. + </p> + <p> + "No. What's wrong?" + </p> + <p> + "I—I can't let you call on me." + </p> + <p> + "Why not? Are you married—jealous husband?" + </p> + <p> + "No, I'm not married—but I—I have a baby," she + whispered. + </p> + <p> + "Mel!" gasped Lane. "A war baby?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + Lane was so shocked he could not collect his scattered wits, let + alone think of the right thing to say, if there were any right + thing. "Mel, this is a—a terrible surprise. Oh, I'm + sorry.... How the war played hell with all of us! But for + you—Mel Iden—I can't believe it." + </p> + <p> + "Daren, so terribly true," she said. "Don't I look it?" + </p> + <p> + "Mel, you look—oh—heartbroken." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I am broken-hearted," she replied, and drooped her head. + </p> + <p> + "Forgive me, Mel. I hardly know what I'm saying.... But + listen—I'm coming to see you." + </p> + <p> + "No," she said. + </p> + <p> + That trenchant word was thought-provoking. A glimmer of + understanding began to dawn in Lane. Already an immense pity had + flooded his soul, and a profound sense of the mystery and tragedy + of Mel Iden. She had always been unusual, aloof, proud, + unattainable, a girl with a heart of golden fire. And now she had + a nameless child and was an outcast from her father's house. The + fact, the fatality of it, stunned Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, I must go in to see Dr. Bronson," she said. "I'm glad + you're home. I'm proud of you. I'm happy for your mother and + Lorna. You must watch Lorna—try to restrain her. She's + going wrong. All the young girls are going wrong. Oh, it's a more + dreadful time <i>now</i> than before or during the war. The + let-down has been terrible.... Good-bye, Daren." + </p> + <p> + In other days Manton's building on Main Street had appeared a + pretentious one to Lane's untraveled eyes. It was an old + three-story red-brick-front edifice, squatted between higher and + more modern structures. When he climbed the dirty dark stairway + up to the second floor a throng of memories returned with the + sensations of creaky steps, musty smell, and dim light. When he + pushed open a door on which MANTON & CO. showed in black + letters he caught his breath. Long—long past! Was it + possible that he had been penned up for three years in this + stifling place? + </p> + <p> + Manton carried on various lines of business, and for Middleville, + he was held to be something of a merchant and broker. Lane was + wholly familiar with the halls, the several lettered doors, the + large unpartitioned office at the back of the building. Here his + slow progress was intercepted by a slip of a girl who asked him + what he wanted. Before answering, Lane took stock of the girl. + She might have been all of fifteen—no older. She had curly + bobbed hair, and a face that would have been comely but for the + powder and rouge. She was chewing gum, and she ogled Lane. + </p> + <p> + "I want to see Mr. Manton," Lane said. + </p> + <p> + "What name, please." + </p> + <p> + "Daren Lane." + </p> + <p> + She tripped off toward the door leading to Manton's private + offices, and Lane's gaze, curiously following her, found her + costume to be startling even to his expectant eyes. Then she + disappeared. Lane's gaze sought the corner and desk that once + upon a time had been his. A blond young lady, also with bobbed + hair, was operating a typewriter at his desk. She glanced up, and + espying Lane, she suddenly stopped her work. She recognized him. + But, if she were Hattie Wilson, it was certain that Lane did not + recognize her. Then the office girl returned. + </p> + <p> + "Step this way, please. Mr. Smith will see you." + </p> + <p> + How singularly it struck Lane that not once in three years had he + thought of Smith. But when he saw him, the intervening months + were as nothing. Lean, spare, pallid, with baggy eyes, and the + nose of a drinker, Smith had not changed. + </p> + <p> + "How do, Lane. So you're back? Welcome to our city," he said, + extending a nerveless hand that felt to Lane like a dead fish. + </p> + <p> + "Hello, Mr. Smith. Yes, I'm back," returned Lane, taking the + chair Smith indicated. And then he met the inevitable questions + as best he could in order not to appear curt or uncivil. + </p> + <p> + "I'd like to see Mr. Manton to ask for my old job," interposed + Lane, presently. + </p> + <p> + "He's busy now, Lane, but maybe he'll see you. I'll find out." + </p> + <p> + Smith got up and went out. Lane sat there with a vague sense of + absurdity in the situation. The click of a typewriter sounded + from behind him. He wanted to hurry out. He wanted to think of + other things, and twice he drove away memory of the girl he had + just left at Doctor Bronson's office. Presently Smith returned, + slipping along in his shiny black suit, flat-footed and slightly + bowed, with his set dull expression. + </p> + <p> + "Lane, Mr. Manton asks you to please excuse him. He's extremely + busy," said Smith. "I told him that you wanted your old job back. + And he instructed me to tell you he had been put to the trouble + of breaking in a girl to take your place. She now does the work + you used to have—very satisfactorily, Mr. Manton thinks, + and at less pay. So, of course, a change is impossible." + </p> + <p> + "I see," returned Lane, slowly, as he rose to go. "I had an idea + that might be the case. I'm finding things—a little + different." + </p> + <p> + "No doubt, Lane. You fellows who went away left us to make the + best of it." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, Smith, we fellows 'went away,'" replied Lane, with satire, + "and I'm finding out the fact wasn't greatly appreciated. Good + day." + </p> + <p> + On the way out the little office girl opened the door for him and + ogled him again, and stood a moment on the threshold. + Ponderingly, Lane made his way down to the street. A rush of cool + spring air seemed to refresh him, and with it came a realization + that he never would have been able to stay cooped up in Manton's + place. Even if his services had been greatly desired he could not + have given them for long. He could not have stood that place. + This was a new phase of his mental condition. Work almost + anywhere in Middleville would be like that in Manton's. Could he + stand work at all, not only in a physical sense, but in + application of mind? He began to worry about that. + </p> + <p> + Some one hailed Lane, and he turned to recognize an old + acquaintance—Matt Jones. They walked along the street + together, meeting other men who knew Lane, some of whom greeted + him heartily. Then, during an ensuing hour, he went into familiar + stores and the post-office, the hotel and finally the Bradford + Inn, meeting many people whom he had known well. The sum of all + their greetings left him in cold amaze. At length Lane grasped + the subtle import—that people were tired of any one or + anything which reminded them of the war. He tried to drive that + thought from lodgment in his mind. But it stuck. And slowly he + gathered the forces of his spirit to make good the resolve with + which he had faced this day—to withstand an appalling + truth. + </p> + <p> + At the inn he sat before an open fire and pondered between brief + conversations of men who accosted him. On the one hand it was + extremely trying, and on the other a fascinating and grim + study—to meet people, and find that he could read their + minds. Had the war given him some magic sixth sense, some + clairvoyant power, some gift of vision? He could not tell yet + what had come to him, but there was something. + </p> + <p> + Business men, halting to chat with Lane a few moments, helped + along his readjustment to the truth of the strange present. + Almost all kinds of business were booming. Most people had money + to spend. And there was a multitude, made rich by the war, who + were throwing money to the four winds. Prices of every commodity + were at their highest peak, and supply could not equal demand. An + orgy of spending was in full swing, and all men in business, + especially the profiteers, were making the most of the + unprecedented opportunity. + </p> + <p> + After he had rested, Lane boarded a street car and rode out to + the suburbs of Middleville where the Maynards lived. Although + they had lost their money they still lived in the substantial + mansion that was all which was left them of prosperous days. + House and grounds now appeared sadly run down. + </p> + <p> + A maid answered Lane's ring, and let him in. Lane found himself + rather nervously expecting to see Mrs. Maynard. The old house + brought back to him the fact that he had never liked her. But he + wanted to see Margaret. It turned out, however, that mother and + daughter were out. + </p> + <p> + "Come up, old top," called Blair's voice from the hall above. + </p> + <p> + So Lane went up to Blair's room, which he remembered almost as + well as his own, though now it was in disorder. Blair was in his + shirt sleeves. He looked both gay and spent. Red Payson was in + bed, and his face bore the hectic flush of fever. + </p> + <p> + "Aw, he's only had too much to eat," declared Blair, in answer to + Lane's solicitation. + </p> + <p> + "How's that, Red?" asked Lane, sitting down on the bed beside + Payson. + </p> + <p> + "It's nothing, Dare.... I'm just all in," replied Red, with a + weary smile. + </p> + <p> + "I telephoned Doc Bronson to come out," said Blair, "and look us + over. That made Red as sore as a pup. Isn't he the limit? By + thunder, you can't do anything for some people." + </p> + <p> + Blair's tone and words of apparent vexation were at variance with + the kindness of his eyes as they rested upon his sick comrade. + </p> + <p> + "I just came from Bronson's," observed Lane. "He's been our + doctor for as long as I can remember." + </p> + <p> + Both Lane's comrades searched his face with questioning eyes, and + while Lane returned that gaze there was a little constrained + silence. + </p> + <p> + "Bronson examined me—and said I'd live to be eighty," added + Lane, with dry humor. + </p> + <p> + "You're a liar!" burst out Blair. + </p> + <p> + On Red Payson's worn face a faint smile appeared. "Carry on, + Dare." + </p> + <p> + Then Blair fell to questioning Lane as to all the news he had + heard, and people he had met. + </p> + <p> + "So Manton turned you down cold," said Blair, ponderingly. + </p> + <p> + "I didn't get to see him," replied Lane. "He sent out word that + my old job was held by a girl who did my work better and at less + pay." + </p> + <p> + The blood leaped to Blair's white cheek. + </p> + <p> + "What'd you say?" he queried. + </p> + <p> + "Nothing much. I just trailed out.... But the truth is, + Blair—I couldn't have stood that place—not for a + day." + </p> + <p> + "I get you," rejoined Blair. "That isn't the point, though. I + always wondered if we'd find our old jobs open to us. Of course, + I couldn't fill mine now. It was an outside job—lots of + walking." + </p> + <p> + So the conversation see-sawed back and forth, with Red Payson + listening in languid interest. + </p> + <p> + "Have you seen any of the girls?" asked Blair. + </p> + <p> + "I met Mel Iden," replied Lane. + </p> + <p> + "You did? What did she—" + </p> + <p> + "Mel told me what explained some of your hints." + </p> + <p> + "Ahuh! Poor Mel! How'd she look?" + </p> + <p> + "Greatly changed," replied Lane, thoughtfully. "How do you + remember Mel?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, she was pretty—soulful face—wonderful + smile—that sort of thing." + </p> + <p> + "She's beautiful now, and sad." + </p> + <p> + "I shouldn't wonder. And she told you right out about the baby?" + </p> + <p> + "No. That came out when she said I couldn't call on her, and I + wanted to know why." + </p> + <p> + "But you'll go anyhow?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "So will I," returned Blair, with spirit. "Dare, I've known for + over a year about Mel's disgrace. You used to like her, and I + hated to tell you. If it had been Helen I'd have told you in a + minute. But Mel ... Well, I suppose we must expect queer things. + I got a jolt this morning. I was pumping my sister Margie about + everybody, and, of course, Mel's name came up. You remember + Margie and Mel were as thick as two peas in a pod. Looks like + Mel's fall has hurt Margie. But I don't just <i>get</i> Margie + yet. She might be another fellow's sister—for all the + strangeness of her." + </p> + <p> + "I hardly knew <i>my</i> kid sister," responded Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Ahuh! The plot thickens.... Well, I couldn't get much out of + Marg. She used to babble everything. But what little she told me + made up in—in shock for what it lacked in volume." + </p> + <p> + "Tell me," said Lane, as his friend paused. + </p> + <p> + "Nothing doing." ... And turning to the sick boy on the bed, he + remarked, "Red, you needn't let this—this gab of ours + bother you. This is home talk between a couple of boobs who're + burying their illusions in the grave. You didn't leave a sister + or a lot of old schoolgirl sweethearts behind to——" + </p> + <p> + "What the hell do you know about whom I left behind?" retorted + Red, with a swift blaze of strange passion. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, say, Red—I—I beg your pardon, I was only + kidding," responded Blair, in surprise and contrition. "You never + told me a word about yourself." + </p> + <p> + For answer Red Payson rolled over wearily and turned his back. + </p> + <p> + "Blair, I'll beat it, and let Red go to sleep," said Lane, taking + up his hat. "Red, good-bye this time. I hope you'll be better + soon." + </p> + <p> + "I'm—sorry, Lane," came in muffled tones from Payson. + </p> + <p> + "Cut that out, boy. You've nothing to be sorry for. Forget it and + cheer up." + </p> + <p> + Blair hobbled downstairs after Lane. "Don't go just yet, Dare." + </p> + <p> + They found seats in the parlor that appeared to be the same + shabby genteel place where Lane had used to call upon Blair's + sister. + </p> + <p> + "What ails Red?" queried Lane, bluntly. + </p> + <p> + "Lord only knows. He's a queer duck. Once in a while he lets out + a crack like that. There's a lot to Red." + </p> + <p> + "Blair, his heart is broken," said Lane, tragically. + </p> + <p> + "Well!" exclaimed Blair, with quick almost haughty uplift of + head. He seemed to resent Lane's surprise and intimation. It was + a rebuke that made Lane shrink. + </p> + <p> + "I never thought of Red's being hurt—you know—or as + having lost.... Oh, he just seemed like so many other boys ruined + in health. I——" + </p> + <p> + "All right. Cut the sentiment," interrupted Blair. "The fact is + Red is more of a problem than we had any idea he'd be.... And + Dare, listen to this—I'm ashamed to have to tell you. + Mother raised old Harry with me this morning for fetching Red + home. She couldn't see it my way. She said there were hospitals + for sick soldiers who hadn't homes. I lost my temper and I said: + 'The hell of it, mother, is that there's nothing of the kind.' + ... She said we couldn't keep him here. I tried to coax her.... + Margie helped, but nothing doing." + </p> + <p> + Blair had spoken hurriedly with again a stain of red in his white + cheek, and a break in his voice. + </p> + <p> + "That's—tough," replied Lane, haltingly. He could choke + back speech, but not the something in his voice he would rather + not have heard. "I'll tell you what. As soon as Red is well + enough we'll move him over to my house. I'm sure mother will let + him share my room. There's only Lorna—and I'll pay Red's + board.... You have quite a family—" + </p> + <p> + "Hell, Dare—don't apologize to me for my mother," burst out + Blair, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + "Blair, I believe you realize what we are up against—and I + don't," rejoined Lane, with level gaze upon his friend. + </p> + <p> + "Dare, can't you see we're up against worse than the + Argonne?—worse, because back here at home—that + beautiful, glorious thought—idea—spirit we had is + gone. Dead!" + </p> + <p> + "No, I can't see," returned Lane, stubbornly. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I guess that's one reason we all loved you, Dare—you + couldn't see.... But I'll bet you my crutch Helen makes you see. + Her father made a pile out of the war. She's a war-rich snob now. + And going the pace!" + </p> + <p> + "Blair, she may make me see her faithlessness—and perhaps + some strange unrest—some change that's seemed to come over + everything. But she can't prove to me the death of anything + outside of herself. She can't prove that any more than Mel Iden's + confession proved her a wanton. It didn't. Not to me. Why, when + Mel put her hand on my breast—on this medal—and + looked at me—I had such a thrill as I never had before in + all my life. Never!... Blair, it's <i>not</i> dead. That + beautiful thing you mentioned—that spirit—that fire + which burned so gloriously—it is <i>not</i> dead." + </p> + <p> + "Not in you—old pard," replied Blair, unsteadily. "I'm + always ashamed before your faith. And, by God, I'll say you're my + only anchor." + </p> + <p> + "Blair, let's play the game out to the end," said Lane. + </p> + <p> + "I get you, Dare.... For Margie, for Lorna, for Mel—even if + they have—" + </p> + <p> + "Yes," answered Lane, as Blair faltered. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + As Lane sped out Elm Street in a taxicab he remembered that his + last ride in such a conveyance had been with Helen when he took + her home from a party. She was then about seventeen years old. + And that night she had coaxed him to marry her before he left to + go to war. Had her feminine instinct been infallibly right? Would + marrying her have saved her from what Blair had so forcibly + suggested? + </p> + <p> + Elm Street was a newly developed part of Middleville, high on one + of its hills, and manifestly a restricted section. Lane had found + the number of Helen's home in the telephone book. When the + chauffeur stopped before a new and imposing pile of red brick, + Lane understood an acquaintance's reference to the war rich. It + was a mansion, but somehow not a home. It flaunted something + indefinable. + </p> + <p> + Lane instructed the driver to wait a few moments, and, if he did + not come out, to go back to town and return in about an hour. The + house stood rather far from the street, and as Lane mounted the + terrace he observed four motor cars parked in the driveway. Also + his sensitive ears caught the sound of a phonograph. + </p> + <p> + A maid answered his ring. Lane asked for both Mrs. Wrapp and + Helen. They were at home, the maid informed him, and ushered Lane + into a gray and silver reception room. Lane had no card, but gave + his name. As he gazed around the room he tried to fit the + delicate decorative scheme to Mrs. Wrapp. He smiled at the idea. + But he remembered that she had always liked him in spite of the + fact that she did not favor his attention to Helen. Like many + mothers of girls, she wanted a rich marriage for her daughter. + Manifestly now she had money. But had happiness come with + prosperity? + </p> + <p> + Then Mrs. Wrapp came down. Rising, he turned to see a large + woman, elaborately gowned. She had a heavy, rather good-natured + face on which was a smile of greeting. + </p> + <p> + "Daren Lane!" she exclaimed, with fervor, and to his surprise, + she kissed him. There was no doubt of her pleasure. Lane's thin + armor melted. He had not anticipated such welcome. "Oh, I'm glad + to see you, soldier boy. But you're a man now. Daren, you're + white and thin. Handsomer, though!... Sit down and talk to me a + little." + </p> + <p> + Her kindness made his task easy. + </p> + <p> + "I've called to pay my respects to you—and to see Helen," + he said. + </p> + <p> + "Of course. But talk to me first," she returned, with a smile. + "You'll find me better company than that crowd upstairs. Tell me + about yourself.... Oh, I know soldiers hate to talk about + themselves and the war. Never mind the war. Are you well? Did you + get hurt? You look so—so frail, Daren." + </p> + <p> + There was something simple and motherly about her, that became + her, and warmed Lane's cold heart. He remembered that she had + always preferred boys to girls, and regretted she had not been + the mother of boys. So Lane talked to her, glad to find that the + most ordinary news of the service and his comrades interested her + very much. The instant she espied his <i>Croix de Guerre</i> he + seemed lifted higher in her estimation. Yet she had the delicacy + not to question him about that. In fact, after ten minutes with + her, Lane had to reproach himself for the hostility with which he + had come. At length she rose with evident reluctance. + </p> + <p> + "You want to see Helen. Shall I send her down here or will you go + up to her studio?" + </p> + <p> + "I think I'd like to go up," replied Lane. + </p> + <p> + "If I were you, I would," advised Mrs. Wrapp. "I'd like your + opinion—of, well, what you'll see. Since you left home, + Daren, we've been turned topsy-turvy. I'm old-fashioned. I can't + get used to these goings-on. These young people 'get my goat,' as + Helen expresses it." + </p> + <p> + "I'm hopelessly behind the times, I've seen that already," + rejoined Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, I respect you for it. There was a time when I objected to + your courting Helen. But I couldn't see into the future. I'm + sorry now she broke her engagement to you." + </p> + <p> + "I—thank you, Mrs. Wrapp," said Lane, with agitation. "But + of course Helen was right. She was too young.... And even if she + had been—been true to me—I would have freed her upon + my return." + </p> + <p> + "Indeed. And why, Daren?" + </p> + <p> + "Because I'll never be well again," he replied sadly. + </p> + <p> + "Boy, don't say that!" she appealed, with a hand going to his + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + In the poignancy of the moment Lane lost his reserve and told her + the truth of his condition, even going so far as to place her + hand so she felt the great bayonet hole in his back. Her silence + then was more expressive than any speech. She had the look of a + woman in whom conscience was a reality. And Lane divined that she + felt she and her daughter, and all other women of this distraught + land, owed him and his comrades a debt which could never be paid. + For once she expressed dignity and sweetness and genuine sorrow. + </p> + <p> + "You shock me, Daren. But words are useless. I hope and pray + you're wrong. But right or wrong—you're a real + American—like our splendid forefathers. Thank God + <i>that</i> spirit still survives. It is our only hope." + </p> + <p> + Lane crossed to the window and looked out, slowly conscious of + resurging self-control. It was well that he had met Mrs. Wrapp + first, for she gave him what he needed. His bleeding vanity, his + pride trampled in the dirt, his betrayed faith, his unquenchable + spirit of hope for some far-future good—these were not + secrets he could hide from every one. + </p> + <p> + "Daren," said Mrs. Wrapp, as he again turned to her, "if I were + in my daughter's place I'd beg you to take me back. And if you + would, I'd never leave your side for an hour until you were well + or—or gone. ... But girls now are possessed of some + infernal frenzy.... God only knows how <i>far</i> they go, but + I'm one mother who is no fool. I see little sign of real love in + Helen or any of her friends.... And the men who lounge around + after her! Walk upstairs—back to the end of the long + hall—open the door and go in. You'll find Helen and some of + her associates. You'll find the men, young, sleek, soft, + well-fed—without any of the scars or ravages of war. They + didn't go to war!... They <i>live</i> for their bodies. And I + hate these slackers. So does Helen's father. And for three years + our house has been a rendezvous for them. We've prospered, but + <i>that</i> has been bitter fruit." + </p> + <p> + Strong elemental passions Lane had seen and felt in people during + the short twenty-four hours since his return home. All of them + had stung and astounded him, flung into his face the hard brutal + facts of the materialism of the present. Surely it was an + abnormal condition. And yet from the last quarter where he might + have expected to find uplift, and the crystallizing of his + attitude toward the world, and the sharpening of his + intelligence—from the hard, grim mother of the girl who had + jilted him, these had come. It was in keeping with all the other + mystery. + </p> + <p> + "On second thought, I'll go up with you," continued Mrs. Wrapp, + as he moved in the direction she had indicated. "Come." + </p> + <p> + The wide hall, the winding stairway with its soft carpet, the + narrower hallway above—these made a long journey for Lane. + But at the end, when Mrs. Wrapp stopped with hand on the farthest + door, Lane felt knit like cold steel. + </p> + <p> + The discordant music and the soft shuffling of feet ceased. + Laughter and murmur of voices began. + </p> + <p> + "Come, Daren," whispered Mrs. Wrapp, as if thrilled. Certainly + her eyes gleamed. Then quickly she threw the door open wide and + called out: + </p> + <p> + "Helen, here's Daren Lane home from the war, wearing the <i>Croix + de Guerre</i>." + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Wrapp pushed Lane forward, and stood there a moment in the + sudden silence, then stepping back, she went out and closed the + door. + </p> + <p> + Lane saw a large well-lighted room, with colorful bizarre + decorations and a bare shiny floor. The first person his glance + encountered was a young girl, strikingly beautiful, facing him + with red lips parted. She had violet eyes that seemed to have a + startled expression as they met Lane's. Next Lane saw a slim + young man standing close to this girl, in the act of withdrawing + his arm from around her waist. Apparently with his free hand he + had either been lowering a smoking cigarette from her lips or had + been raising it there. This hand, too, dropped down. Lane did not + recognize the fellow's smooth, smug face, with its tiny curled + mustache and its heated swollen lines. + </p> + <p> + "Look who's here," shouted a gay, vibrant voice. "If it isn't old + Dare Lane!" + </p> + <p> + That voice drew Lane's fixed gaze, and he saw a group in the far + corner of the room. One man was standing, another was sitting + beside a lounge, upon which lay a young woman amid a pile of + pillows. She rose lazily, and as she slid off the lounge Lane saw + her skirt come down and cover her bare knees. Her red hair, + bobbed and curly, marked her for recognition. It was Helen. But + Lane doubted if he would have at once recognized any other + feature. The handsome insolence of her face was belied by a + singularly eager and curious expression. Her eyes, almost green + in line, swept Lane up and down, and came back to his face, while + she extended her hands in greeting. + </p> + <p> + "Helen, how are you?" said Lane, with a cool intent mastery of + himself, bowing over her hands. "Surprised to see me?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, I'll say so! Daren, you've changed," she replied, and the + latter part of her speech flashed swiftly. + </p> + <p> + "Rather," he said, laconically. "What would you expect? So have + you changed." + </p> + <p> + There came a moment's pause. Helen was not embarrassed or + agitated, but something about Lane or the situation apparently + made her slow or stiff. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, you—of course you remember Hardy Mackay and Dick + Swann," she said. + </p> + <p> + Lane turned to greet one-time schoolmates and rivals of his. + Mackay was tall, homely, with a face that lacked force, light + blue eyes and thick sandy hair, brushed high. Swann was slight, + elegant, faultlessly groomed and he had a dark, sallow face, + heavy lips, heavy eyelids, eyes rather prominent and of a + wine-dark hue. To Lane he did not have a clean, virile look. + </p> + <p> + In their greetings Lane sensed some indefinable quality of + surprise or suspense. Swann rather awkwardly put out his hand, + but Lane ignored it. The blood stained Swann's sallow face and he + drew himself up. + </p> + <p> + "And Daren, here are other friends of mine," said Helen, and she + turned him round. "Bessy, this is Daren Lane.... Miss Bessy + Bell." As Lane acknowledged the introduction he felt that he was + looking at the prettiest girl he had ever seen—the girl + whose violet eyes had met his when he entered the room. + </p> + <p> + "Mr. Daren Lane, I'm very happy to meet some one from 'over + there,'" she said, with the ease and self-possession of a woman + of the world. But when she smiled a beautiful, wonderful light + seemed to shine from eyes and face and lips—a smile of + youth. + </p> + <p> + Helen introduced her companion as Roy Vancey. Then she led Lane + to the far corner, to another couple, manifestly disturbed from + their rather close and familiar position in a window seat. These + also were strangers to Lane. They did not get up, and they were + not interested. In fact, Lane was quick to catch an impression + from all, possibly excepting Miss Bell, that the courtesy of + drawing rooms, such as he had been familiar with as a young man, + was wanting in this atmosphere. Lane wondered if it was + antagonism toward him. Helen drew Lane back toward her other + friends, to the lounge where she seated herself. If the situation + had disturbed her equilibrium in the least, the moment had + passed. She did not care what Lane thought of her guests or what + they thought of him. But she seemed curious about him. Bessy Bell + came and sat beside her, watching Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, do you dance?" queried Helen. "You used to be good. But + dancing is not the same. It's all fox-trot, toddle, shimmy + nowadays." + </p> + <p> + "I'm afraid my dancing days are over," replied Lane. + </p> + <p> + "How so? I see you came back with two legs and arms." + </p> + <p> + "Yes. But I was shot twice through one leg—it's about all I + can do to walk now." + </p> + <p> + Following his easy laugh, a little silence ensued. Helen's green + eyes seemed to narrow and concentrate on Lane. Dick Swann inhaled + a deep draught of his cigarette, then let the smoke curl up from + his lips to enter his nostrils. Mackay rather uneasily shifted + his feet. And Bessy Bell gazed with wonderful violet eyes at + Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Oh! You were <i>shot</i>!" she whispered. + </p> + <p> + "Yes," replied Lane, and looked directly at her, prompted by her + singular tone. A glance was enough to show Lane that this very + young girl was an entirely new type to him. She seemed to vibrate + with intensity. All the graceful lines of her body seemed + strangely instinct with pulsing life. She was bottled lightning. + In a flash Lane sensed what made her different from the + fifteen-year-olds he remembered before the war. It was what made + his sister Lorna different. He felt it in Helen's scrutiny of + him, in the speculation of her eyes. Then Bessy Bell leaned + toward Lane, and softly, reverently touched the medal upon his + breast. + </p> + <p> + "The <i>Croix de Guerre</i>," she said, in awe. "That's the + French badge of honor.... It means you must have done something + great.... You must have—<i>killed</i> Germans!" + </p> + <p> + Bessy sank back upon the lounge, clasping her hands, and her eyes + appeared to darken, to turn purple with quickening thought and + emotion. Her exclamation brought the third girl of the party over + to the lounge. She was all eyes. Her apathy had vanished. She did + not see the sulky young fellow who had followed her. + </p> + <p> + Lane could have laughed aloud. He read the shallow souls of these + older girls. They could not help their instincts and he had + learned that it was instinctive with women to become emotional + over soldiers. Bessy Bell was a child. Hero-worship shone from + her speaking eyes. Whatever other young men might be to her, no + one of them could compare with a soldier. + </p> + <p> + The situation had its pathos, its tragedy, and its gratification + for Lane. He saw clearly, and felt with the acuteness of a woman. + Helen had jilted him for such young men as these. So in the + feeling of the moment it cost him nothing to thrill and fascinate + these girls with the story of how he had been shot through the + leg. It pleased him to see Helen's green eyes dilate, to see + Bessy Bell shudder. Presently Lane turned to speak to the + supercilious Swann. + </p> + <p> + "I didn't have the luck to run across you in France!" he queried. + </p> + <p> + "No. I didn't go," replied Swann. + </p> + <p> + "How was that? Didn't the draft get you?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes. But my eyes were bad. And my father needed me at the works. + We had a big army contract in steel." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, I see," returned Lane, with a subtle alteration of manner he + could not, did not want to control. But it was unmistakable in + its detachment. Next his gaze on Mackay did not require the + accompaniment of a query. + </p> + <p> + "I was under weight. They wouldn't accept me," he explained. + </p> + <p> + Bessy Bell looked at Mackay disdainfully. "Why didn't you drink a + bucketful of water—same as Billy Means did? He got in." + </p> + <p> + Helen laughed gayly. "What! Mac drink water? He'd be ill.... + Come, let's dance. Dick put on that new one. Daren, you can watch + us dance." + </p> + <p> + Swann did as he was bidden, and as a loud, violent discordance + blared out of the machine he threw away his cigarette, and turned + to Helen. She seemed to leap at him. She had a pantherish grace. + Swann drew her closely to him, with his arm all the way round + her, while her arm encircled his neck. They began a fast swaying + walk, in which Swann appeared to be forcing the girl over + backwards. They swayed, and turned, and glided; they made strange + abrupt movements in accordance with the jerky tune; they halted + at the end of a walk to make little steps forward and back; then + they began to bounce and sway together in a motion that Lane + instantly recognized as a toddle. Lane remembered the one-step, + the fox-trot and other new dances of an earlier day, when the + craze for new dancing had become general, but this sort of + gyration was vastly something else. It disgusted Lane. He felt + the blood surge to his face. He watched Helen Wrapp in the arms + of Swann, and he realized, whatever had been the state of his + heart on his return home, he did not love her now. Even if the + war had not disrupted his mind in an unaccountable way, even if + he had loved Helen Wrapp right up to that moment, such singular + abandonment to a distorted strange music, to the close and + unmistakably sensual embrace of a man—that spectacle would + have killed his love. + </p> + <p> + Lane turned his gaze away. The young fellow Vancey was pulling at + Bessy Bell, and she shook his hand off. "No, Roy, I don't want to + dance." Lane heard above the jarring, stringing notes. Mackay was + smoking, and looked on as if bored. In a moment more the Victrola + rasped out its last note. + </p> + <p> + Helen's face was flushed and moist. Her bosom heaved. Her gown + hung closely to her lissom and rather full form. A singular + expression of excitement, of titillation, almost wild, a softer + expression almost dreamy, died out of her face. Lane saw Swann + lead Helen up to a small table beside the Victrola. Here stood a + large pitcher of lemonade, and a number of glasses. Swann filled + a glass half full, from the pitcher, and then, deliberately + pulling a silver flask from his hip pocket he poured some of its + dark red contents into the glass. Helen took it from him, and + turned to Lane with a half-mocking glance. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, I remember you never drank," she said. "Maybe the war + made a man of you!... Will you have a sip of lemonade with a shot + in it?" + </p> + <p> + "No, thank you," replied Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Didn't you drink over there?" she queried. + </p> + <p> + "Only when I had to," he rejoined, shortly. + </p> + <p> + All of the four dancers partook of a drink of lemonade, + strengthened by something from Swann's flask. Lane was quick to + observe that when it was pressed upon Bessy Bell she refused to + take it: "I hate booze," she said, with a grimace. His further + impression of Bessy Bell, then, was that she had just fallen in + with this older crowd, and sophisticated though she was, had not + yet been corrupted. The divination of this heightened his + interest. + </p> + <p> + "Well, Daren, you old prune, what'd you think of the toddle?" + asked Helen, as she took a cigarette offered by Swann and tipped + it between her red lips. + </p> + <p> + "Is that what you danced?" + </p> + <p> + "I'll say so. And Dick and I are considered pretty spiffy." + </p> + <p> + "I don't think much of it, Helen," replied Lane, deliberately. + "If you care to—to do that sort of thing I'd imagine you'd + rather do it alone." + </p> + <p> + "Oh Lord, you talk like mother," she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + "Lane, you're out of date," said Swann, with a little sneer. + </p> + <p> + Lane took a long, steady glance at Swann, but did not reply. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, everybody has been dancing jazz. It's the rage. The old + dances were slow. The new ones have pep and snap." + </p> + <p> + "So I see. They have more than that," returned Lane. "But pray, + never mind me. I'm out of date. Go ahead and dance.... If you'd + rather, I'll leave and call on you some other time." + </p> + <p> + "No, you stay," she replied. "I'll chase this bunch pretty soon." + </p> + <p> + "Well, you won't chase me. I'll go," spoke up Swann, sullenly, + with a fling of his cigarette. + </p> + <p> + "You needn't hurt yourself," returned Helen, sarcastically. + </p> + <p> + "So long, people," said Swann to the others. But it was perfectly + obvious that he did not include Lane. It was also obvious, at + least to Lane, that Swann showed something of intolerance and + mastery in the dark, sullen glance he bestowed upon Helen. She + followed him across the room and out into the hall, from whence + her guarded voice sounded unintelligibly. But Lane's keen ear, + despite the starting of the Victrola, caught Swann's equally low, + yet clearer reply. "You can't kid me. I'm on. You'll vamp Lane if + he lets you. Go to it!" + </p> + <p> + As Helen came back into the room Mackay ran for her, and locking + her in the same embrace—even a tighter one than + Swann's—he fell into the strange steps that had so shocked + Lane. Moreover, he was manifestly a skilful dancer, and showed + the thin, lithe, supple body of one trained down by this or some + other violent exercise. + </p> + <p> + Lane did not watch the dancers this time. Again Bessy Bell + refused to get up from the lounge. The youth was insistent. He + pawed at her. And manifestly she did not like that, for her face + flamed, and she snapped: "Stop it—you bonehead! Can't you + see I want to sit here by Mr. Lane?" + </p> + <p> + The youth slouched away fuming to himself. + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Lane got up, and seated himself beside Bessy so that he + need not shout to be heard. + </p> + <p> + "That was nice of you, Miss Bell—but rather hard on the + youngster," said Lane. + </p> + <p> + "He makes me sick. All he wants to do is lolly-gag.... Besides, + after what you said to Helen about the jazz I wouldn't dance in + front of you on a bet." + </p> + <p> + She was forceful, frank, naive. She was impressed by his + nearness; but Lane saw that it was the fact of his being a + soldier with a record, not his mere physical propinquity that + affected her. She seemed both bold and shy. But she did not show + any modesty. Her short skirt came above her bare knees, and she + did not try to hide them from Lane's sight. At fifteen, like his + sister Lorna, this girl had the development of a young woman. She + breathed health, and something elusive that Lane could not catch. + If it had not been for her apparent lack of shame, and her rouged + lips and cheeks, and her plucked eyebrows, she would have been + exceedingly alluring. But no beauty, however striking, could + under these circumstances, stir Lane's heart. He was fascinated, + puzzled, intensely curious. + </p> + <p> + "Why wouldn't you dance jazz in front of me?" he inquired, with a + smile. + </p> + <p> + "Well, for one thing I'm not stuck on it, and for another I'll + say you said a mouthful." + </p> + <p> + "Is that all?" he asked, as if disappointed. + </p> + <p> + "No. I'd respect what you said—because of where you've been + and what you've done." + </p> + <p> + It was a reply that surprised Lane. + </p> + <p> + "I'm out of date, you know." + </p> + <p> + She put a finger on the medal on his breast and said: "You could + never be out of date." + </p> + <p> + The music and the sliding shuffle ceased. + </p> + <p> + "Now beat it," said Helen. "I want to talk to Daren." She gayly + shoved the young people ahead of her in a mass, and called to + Bessy: "Here, you kid vamp, lay off Daren." + </p> + <p> + Bessy leaned to whisper in his ear: "Make a date with me, quick!" + </p> + <p> + "Surely, I'll hunt you up. Good-bye." + </p> + <p> + She was the only one who made any pretension of saying good-bye + to Lane. They all crowded out before Helen, with Mackay in the + rear. From the hall Lane heard him say to Helen: "Dick'll sure go + to the mat with you for this." + </p> + <p> + Presently Helen returned to shut the door behind her; and her + walk toward Lane had a suggestion of the oriental dancer. For + Lane her face was a study. This seemed a woman beyond his + comprehension. She was the Helen Wrapp he had known and loved, + plus an age of change, a measureless experience. With that + swaying, sinuous, pantherish grace, with her green eyes narrowed + and gleaming, half mocking, half serious, she glided up to him, + close, closer until she pressed against him, and her face was + uplifted under his. Then she waited with her eyes gazing into + his. Slumberous green depths, slowly lighting, they seemed to + Lane. Her presence thus, her brazen challenge, affected him + powerfully, but he had no thrill. + </p> + <p> + "Aren't you going to kiss me?" she asked. + </p> + <p> + "Helen, why didn't you write me you had broken our engagement?" + he counter-queried. + </p> + <p> + The question disconcerted her somewhat. Drawing back from close + contact with him she took hold of his sleeves, and assumed a + naive air of groping in memory. She used her eyes in a way that + Lane could not associate with the past he knew. She was a + flirt—not above trying her arts on the man she had jilted. + </p> + <p> + "Why, didn't I write you? Of course I did." + </p> + <p> + "Well, if you did I never got the letter. And if you were on the + level you'd admit you never wrote." + </p> + <p> + "How'd you find out then?" she inquired curiously. + </p> + <p> + "I never knew for sure until your mother verified it." + </p> + <p> + "Are you curious to know why I did break it off?" + </p> + <p> + "Not in the least." + </p> + <p> + This reply shot the fire into her face, yet she still persisted + in the expression of her sentimental motive. She began to finger + the medal on his breast. + </p> + <p> + "So, Mr. Soldier Hero, you didn't care?" + </p> + <p> + "No—not after I had been here ten minutes," he replied, + bluntly. + </p> + <p> + She whirled from him, swiftly, her body instinct with passion, + her expression one of surprise and fury. + </p> + <p> + "What do you mean by that?" + </p> + <p> + "Nothing I care to explain, except I discovered my love for you + was dead—perhaps had been dead for a long time." + </p> + <p> + "But you never discovered it until you <i>saw</i> + me—here—with Swann—dancing, drinking, smoking?" + </p> + <p> + "No. To be honest, the shock of that enlightened me." + </p> + <p> + "Daren Lane, I'm just what <i>you</i> men have made me," she + burst out, passionately. + </p> + <p> + "You are mistaken. I beg to be excluded from any complicity in + the—in whatever you've been made," he said, bitterly. "I + have been true to you in deed and in thought all this time." + </p> + <p> + "You must be a queer soldier!" she exclaimed, incredulously. + </p> + <p> + "I figure there were a couple of million soldiers like me, queer + or not," he retorted. + </p> + <p> + She gazed at him with something akin to hate in her eyes. Then + putting her hands to her full hips she began that swaying, + dancing walk to and fro before the window. She was deeply hurt. + Lane had meant to get under her skin with a few just words of + scorn, and he had imagined his insinuation as to the change in + her had hurt her feelings. Suddenly he divined it was not that at + all—he had only wounded her vanity. + </p> + <p> + "Helen, let's not talk of the past," he said. "It's over. Even if + you had been true to me, and I loved you still—I would have + been compelled to break our engagement." + </p> + <p> + "You would! And why?" + </p> + <p> + "I am a physical wreck—and a mental one, too, I fear.... + Helen, I've come home to die." + </p> + <p> + "Daren!" she cried, poignantly. + </p> + <p> + Then he told her in brief, brutal words of the wounds and ravages + war had dealt him, and what Doctor Bronson's verdict had been. + Lane felt shame in being so little as to want to shock and hurt + her, if that were possible. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, I'm sorry," she burst out. "Your mother—your + sister.... Oh, that damned horrible war! <i>What</i> has it not + done to us?... Daren, you looked white and weak, but I never + thought you were—going to die.... How dreadful!" + </p> + <p> + Something of her girlishness returned to her in this moment of + sincerity. The past was not wholly dead. Memories lingered. She + looked at Lane, wide-eyed, in distress, caught between strange + long-forgotten emotions. + </p> + <p> + "Helen, it's not dreadful to have to die," replied Lane. + "<i>That</i> is not the dreadful part in coming home." + </p> + <p> + "What <i>is</i> dreadful, then?" she asked, very low. + </p> + <p> + Lane felt a great heave of his breast—the irrepressible + reaction of a profound and terrible emotion, always held in + abeyance until now. And a fierce pang, that was physical as well + as emotional, tore through him. His throat constricted and ached + to a familiar sensation—the welling up of blood from his + lungs. The handkerchief he put to his lips came away stained red. + Helen saw it, and with dilated eyes, moved instinctively as if to + touch him, hold him in her pity. + </p> + <p> + "Never mind, Helen," he said, huskily. "That's nothing.... Well, + I was about to tell you what is so dreadful—for me.... It's + to reach home grateful to God I was spared to get + home—resigned to the ruin of my life—content to die + for whom I fought—my mother, my sister, <i>you</i>, and all + our women (for I fought for nothing else)—and find my + mother aged and bewildered and sad, my sister a painted little + hussy—and <i>you</i>—a strange creature I despise.... + And all, everybody, everything changed—changed in some + horrible way which proves my sacrifice in vain.... It is not + death that is dreadful, but the uselessness, the hopelessness of + the ideal I cherished." + </p> + <p> + Helen fell on the couch, and burying her face in the pillows she + began to sob. Lane looked down at her, at her glistening auburn + hair, and slender, white, ringed hand clutching the cushions, at + her lissom shaking form, at the shapely legs in the rolled-down + silk stockings—and he felt a melancholy happiness in the + proof that he had reached her shallow heart, and in the fact that + this was the moment of loss. + </p> + <p> + "Good-bye—Helen," he said. + </p> + <p> + "Daren—don't—go," she begged. + </p> + <p> + But he had to go, for other reasons beside the one that this was + the end of all intimate relation between him and Helen. He had + overtaxed his strength, and the burning pang in his breast was + one he must heed. On the hall stairway a dizzy spell came over + him. He held on to the banister until the weakness passed. + Fortunately there was no one to observe him. Somehow the + sumptuous spacious hall seemed drearily empty. Was this a home + for that twenty-year-old girl upstairs? Lane opened the door and + went out. He was relieved to find the taxi waiting. To the driver + he gave the address of his home and said: "Go slow and don't give + me a jar!" + </p> + <p> + But Lane reached home, and got into the house, where he sat at + the table with his mother and Lorna, making a pretense of eating, + and went upstairs and into his bed without any recurrence of the + symptoms that had alarmed him. In the darkness of his room he + gradually relaxed to rest. And rest was the only medicine for + him. It had put off hour by hour and day by day the inevitable. + </p> + <p> + "If it comes—all right—I'm ready," he whispered to + himself. "But in spite of all I've been through—and have + come home to—I don't <i>want</i> to die." + </p> + <p> + There was no use in trying to sleep. But in this hour he did not + want oblivion. He wanted endless time to think. And slowly, with + infinite care and infallible memory, he went over every detail of + what he had seen and heard since his arrival home. In the + headlong stream of consciousness of the past hours he met with + circumstances that he lingered over, and tried to understand, to + no avail. Yet when all lay clearly before his mental gaze he felt + a sad and tremendous fascination in the spectacle. + </p> + <p> + For many weeks he had lived on the fancy of getting home, of + being honored and loved, of being given some little meed of + praise and gratitude in the short while he had to live. Alas! + this fancy had been a dream of his egotism. His old world was + gone. There was nothing left. The day of the soldier had + passed—until some future need of him stirred the emotions + of a selfish people. This new world moved on unmindful, through + its travail and incalculable change, to unknown ends. He, Daren + Lane, had been left alone on the vast and naked shores of Lethe. + </p> + <p> + Lane made not one passionate protest at the injustice of his + fate. Labor, agony, war had taught him wisdom and vision. He + began to realize that no greater change could there be than this + of his mind, his soul. But in the darkness there an irresistible + grief assailed him. He wept as never before in all his life. And + he tasted the bitter salt of his own tears. He wept for his + mother, aged and bowed by trouble, bewildered, ready to give up + the struggle—his little sister now forced into erotic + girlhood, blind, wilful, bold, on the wrong path, doomed beyond + his power or any earthly power—the men he had met, warped + by the war, materialistic, lost in the maze of self-preservation + and self-aggrandizement, dead to chivalry and the honor of + women—Mel Iden, strangest and saddest of mysteries—a + girl who had been noble, aloof, proud, with a heart of golden + fire, now disgraced, ruined, the mother of a war-baby, and yet, + strangest of all, not vile, not bad, not lost, but groping like + he was down those vast and naked shores of life. He wept for the + hard-faced Mrs. Wrapp, whose ideal had been wealth and who had + found prosperity bitter ashes at her lips, yet who preserved in + this modern maelstrom some sense of its falseness, its baseness. + He wept for Helen, playmate of the years never to return, + sweetheart of his youth, betrayer of his manhood, the young woman + of the present, blase, unsexed, seeking, provocative, all + perhaps, as she had said, that men had made her—a travesty + on splendid girlhood. He wept for her friends, embodying in them + all of their class—for little Bessy Bell, with her + exquisite golden beauty, her wonderful smile that was a light of + joy—a child of fifteen with character and mind, not yet + sullied, not yet wholly victim to the unstable spirit of the day. + </p> + <p> + And traveling in this army that seemed to march before Lane's + eyes were the slackers, like Mackay and Swann, representative of + that horde of cowards who in one way or another had avoided the + service—the young men who put comfort, ease, safety, + pleasure before all else—who had no ideal of + womanhood—who could not have protected women—who + would not fight to save women from the apish Huns—who + remained behind to fall in the wreck of the war's degeneration, + and to dance, to drink, to smoke, to ride the women to their + debasement. + </p> + <p> + And for the first and the last time Lane wept for himself, + pitifully as a child lost and helpless, as a strong man facing + irreparable loss, as a boy who had dreamed beautiful dreams, who + had loved and given and trusted, who had suffered insupportable + agonies of body and soul, who had fought like a lion for what he + represented to himself, who had killed and killed—and whose + reward was change, indifference, betrayal and death. + </p> + <p> + That dark hour passed. Lane lay spent in the blackness of his + room. His heart had broken. But his spirit was as unquenchable as + the fire of the sun. If he had a year, a month, a week, a day + longer to live he could never live it untrue to himself. Life had + marked him to be a sufferer, a victim. But nothing could kill his + soul. And his soul was his faith—something he understood as + faith in God or nature or life—in the reason for his + being—in his vision of the future. + </p> + <p> + How then to spend this last remnant of his life! No one would + guess what passed through his lonely soul. No one would care. But + out of the suffering that now seemed to give him spirit and + wisdom and charity there dawned a longing to help, to save. He + would return good for evil. All had failed him, but he would fail + no one. + </p> + <p> + Then he had a strange intense desire to understand the present. + Only a day home—and what colossal enigma! The war had been + chaos. Was this its aftermath? Had people been rocked on their + foundations? What were they doing—how living—how + changing? He would see, and be grateful for a little time to + prove his faith. He knew he would find the same thing in others + that existed in himself. + </p> + <p> + He would help his mother, and cheer her, and try to revive + something of hope in her. He would bend a keen and patient eye + upon Lorna, and take the place of her father, and be kind, + loving, yet blunt to her, and show her the inevitable end of this + dancing, dallying road. Perhaps he could influence Helen. He + would see the little soldier-worshipping Bessy Bell, and if by + talking hours and hours, by telling the whole of his awful + experience of war, he could take up some of the time so fraught + with peril for her, he would welcome the ordeal of memory. And + Mel Iden—how thought of her seemed tinged with strange + regret! Once she and he had been dear friends, and because of a + falsehood told by Helen that friendship had not been what it + might have been. Suppose Mel, instead of Helen, had loved him and + been engaged to him! Would he have been jilted and would Mel have + been lost? No! It was a subtle thing—that answer of his + spirit. It did not agree with Mel Iden's frank confession. + </p> + <p> + It might be difficult, he reflected, to approach Mel. But he + would find a way. He would rest a few days—then find where + she lived and go to see her. Could he help her? And he had an + infinite exaltation in his power to help any one who had + suffered. Lane recalled Mel's pale sweet face, the shadowed eyes, + the sad tremulous lips. And this image of her seemed the most + lasting of the impressions of the day. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + The arbiters of social fate in Middleville assembled at Mrs. + Maynard's on a Monday afternoon, presumably to partake of tea. + Seldom, however, did they meet without adding zest to the + occasion by a pricking down of names. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Wrapp was the leading spirit of this self-appointed + tribunal—a circumstance of expanding, resentment to Mrs. + Maynard, who had once held the reins with aristocratic hands. + Mrs. Kingsley, the third member of the great triangle, claimed an + ancestor on the Mayflower, which was in her estimation a guerdon + of blue blood. Her elaborate and exclusive entertainments could + never be rivalled by those of Mrs. Wrapp. She was a widow with + one child, the daughter Elinor, a girl of nineteen. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Maynard was tall, pale, and worldly. Traces of lost beauty + flashed in her rare smiles. When Frank Maynard had failed in + business she had shrouded her soul in bitterness; and she saw the + slow cruel years whiten his head and bend his shoulders with the + cold eye of a woman who had no forgiveness for failure. After Mr. + Maynard's reverse, all that kept the pair together were the son + Blair, and the sweet, fair-haired, delicate Margaret, a girl of + eighteen, whom the father loved, and for whom the mother had + large ambitions. They still managed, in ways mysterious to the + curious, to keep their fine residence in the River Park suburb of + Middleville. + </p> + <p> + On this April afternoon the tea was neglected in the cups, and + there was nothing of the usual mild gossip. The discussion + involved Daren Lane, and when two of those social arbiters + settled back in their chairs the open sesame of Middleville's + select affairs had been denied to him. + </p> + <p> + "Why did he do it?" asked Mrs. Kingsley. + </p> + <p> + "He must have been under the influence of liquor," replied Mrs. + Maynard, who had her own reasons for being relieved at the + disgrace of Daren Lane. + </p> + <p> + "No, Jane, you're wrong," spoke up Mrs. Wrapp, who, whatever else + she might be, was blunt and fair-minded. "Lane wasn't drunk. He + never drank before the war. I knew him well. He and Helen had a + puppy-love affair—they were engaged before Lane went to + war. Well, the day after his return he called on us. And if I + never liked him before I liked him then. He's come back to die! + He was ill for two weeks—and then he crawled out of bed + again. I met him down town one day. He really looked better, and + told me with a sad smile that he had 'his ups and downs'.... No, + Lane wasn't drunk at Fanchon Smith's dance the other night. I was + there, and I was with Mrs. Smith when Lane came up to us. If ever + I saw a cool, smooth, handsome devil it was Lane.... Well, he + said what he said. I thought Mrs. Smith would faint. It is my + idea Lane had a deep motive back of his remark about Fanchon's + dress and her dancing. The fact is Lane was <i>sick</i> at what + he saw—sick and angry. And he wanted Fanchon's mother and + me to know what he thought." + </p> + <p> + "It was an insult," declared Mrs. Maynard, vehemently. + </p> + <p> + "It made Mrs. Smith ill," added Mrs. Kingsley. "She told me + Fanchon tormented the life out of her, trying to learn what Lane + said. Mrs. Smith would not tell. But Fanchon came to me and + <i>I</i> told her. Such a perfectly furious girl! She'll not wear + <i>that</i> dress or dance <i>that</i> dance very soon again. The + story is all over town." + </p> + <p> + "Friends, there are two sides to every question," interposed the + forceful Mrs. Wrapp. "If Lane cared to be popular he would have + used more tact. But I don't think his remark was an insult. It + was pretty raw, I admit. But the dress was indecent and the dance + was rotten. Helen told me Fanchon was half shot. So how could she + be insulted?" + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Maynard and Mrs. Kingsley, as usual, received Mrs. Wrapp's + caustic and rather crude opinions with as good grace as they + could muster. Plain it was that they felt themselves a shade + removed from this younger and newer member of society. But they + could not show direct antagonism to her influence any more than + they could understand the common sense and justice of her + arguments. + </p> + <p> + "No one will ever invite him again," declared Mrs. Maynard. + </p> + <p> + "He's done in Middleville," echoed Mrs. Kingsley. And that + perhaps was a gauntlet thrown. + </p> + <p> + "Rot!" exclaimed Mrs. Wrapp, with more force than elegance. "I'll + invite Daren Lane to my house.... You women don't get the point. + Daren Lane is a soldier come home to die. He gave himself. And he + returns to find all—all this sickening—oh, what shall + I call it? What does he care whether or not we invite him? Can't + you see that?" + </p> + <p> + "There's a good deal in what you say," returned Mrs. Kingsley, + influenced by the stronger spirit. "Maybe Lane hated the new + styles. I don't blame him much. There's something wrong with our + young people. The girls are crazy. The boys are wild. Few of them + are marrying—or even getting engaged. They'll do + <i>anything</i>. The times are different. And we mothers don't + know our daughters." + </p> + <p> + "Well, I know <i>mine</i>" returned Mrs. Maynard, loftily. "What + you say may be true generally, but there are exceptions. My + daughter has been too well brought up." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, Margie is well-bred," retorted Mrs. Wrapp. "We'll admit she + hasn't gone to extremes, as most of our girls have. But I want to + observe to you that she has been a wall-flower for a year." + </p> + <p> + "It certainly <i>is</i> a problem," sighed Mrs. Kingsley. "I feel + helpless—out of it. Elinor does precisely what she wants to + do. She wears outlandish clothes. She smokes and—I'm afraid + drinks. And dances—<i>dreadfully.</i> Just like the other + girls—no better, no worse. But with all that I think she's + good. I feel the same as Jane feels about that. In spite of + this—this modern stuff I believe all the girls are + fundamentally the same as ten years ago." + </p> + <p> + "Well, that's where you mothers get in wrong," declared Mrs. + Wrapp with her vigorous bluntness. "It's your pride. Just because + they're <i>your</i> daughters they are above reproach.... What + have you to say about the war babies in town? Did you ever hear + of <i>that</i> ten years ago? You bet you didn't. These girls are + a speedy set. Some of them are just wild for the sake of + wildness. Most of them <i>have</i> to stand for things, or be + left out altogether." + </p> + <p> + "What in the world can we do?" queried Mrs. Maynard, divided + between distress and chagrin. + </p> + <p> + "The good Lord only knows," responded Mrs. Wrapp, herein losing + her assurance. "Marriage would save most of them. But Helen + doesn't want to marry. She wants to paint pictures and be free." + </p> + <p> + "Perhaps marriage is a solution," rejoined Mrs. Maynard + thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + "Whom on earth can we marry them to?" asked Mrs. Kingsley. "Most + of the older men, the bachelors who're eligible haven't any use + for these girls except to <i>play</i> with them. True, these + young boys only think of little but dances, car-rides, and + sneaking off alone to spoon—they get engaged to this girl + and that one. But nothing comes of it." + </p> + <p> + "You're wrong. Never in my time have I seen girls find lovers and + husbands as easily as now," declared Mrs. Wrapp. "Nor get rid of + them so quickly.... Jane, you can marry Margaret. She's pretty + and sweet even if you have spoiled her. The years are slipping + by. Margaret ought to marry. She's not strong enough to work. + Marriage for her would make things so much easier for you." + </p> + <p> + With that parting dig Mrs. Wrapp rose to go. Whereupon she and + Mrs. Kingsley, with gracious words of invitation and farewell, + took themselves off leaving Mrs. Maynard contending with an + outraged spirit. Certain terse remarks of the crude and practical + Mrs. Wrapp had forced to her mind a question that of late had + assumed cardinal importance, and now had been brought to an issue + by a proposal for Margaret's hand. Her daughter was a great + expense, really more than could longer be borne in these times of + enormous prices and shrunken income. A husband had been found for + Margaret, and the matter could be adjusted easily enough, if the + girl did not meet it with the incomprehensible obstinacy peculiar + to her of late. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Maynard found the fair object of her hopes seated in the + middle of her room with the bright contents of numerous boxes and + drawers strewn in glittering heaps around her. + </p> + <p> + "Margaret, what on earth are you doing there?" she demanded. + </p> + <p> + "I'm looking for a little picture Holt Dalrymple gave me when we + went to school together," responded Margaret. + </p> + <p> + "Aren't you ever going to grow up? You'll be hunting for your + dolls next." + </p> + <p> + "I will if I like," said the daughter, in a tone that did not + manifest a seraphic mood. + </p> + <p> + "Don't you feel well?" inquired the mother, solicitously. + Margaret was frail and subject to headaches that made her + violent. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, I'm well enough." + </p> + <p> + "My dear," rejoined Mrs. Maynard, changing the topic. "I'm sorry + to tell you Daren Lane has lost his standing in Middleville." + </p> + <p> + The hum and the honk of a motor-car sounded in the street. + </p> + <p> + "Poor Daren! What's he done?... Any old day he'll care!" + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Maynard was looking out of the window. "Here comes a crowd + of girls.... Helen Wrapp has a new suit. Well, I'll go down. And + after they leave I want a serious talk with you." + </p> + <p> + "Not if I see you first!" muttered Margaret, under her breath, as + her mother walked out. + </p> + <p> + Presently, following gay talk and laughter down stairs, a bevy of + Margaret's friends entered her boudoir. + </p> + <p> + "Hello, old socks!" was Helen's greeting. "You look punk." + </p> + <p> + "Marg, where's the doll? Your mother tipped us off," was Elinor's + greeting. + </p> + <p> + "Where's the eats?" was Flossie Dickerson's greeting. She was a + bright-eyed girl, with freckles on her smiling face, and the + expression of a daring, vivacious and happy spirit—and + acknowledged to be the best dancer and most popular girl in + Middleville. Her dress, while not to be compared with her + friends' costumes in costliness, yet was extreme in the + prevailing style. + </p> + <p> + "Glad to see you, old dear," was dark-eyed, dark-haired Dorothy + Dalrymple's greeting. Her rich color bore no hint of the + artificial. She sank down on her knees beside Margaret. + </p> + <p> + The other girls draped themselves comfortably round the room; and + Flossie with a 'Yum Yum' began to dig into a box of candy on + Margaret's couch. They all talked at once. "Hear the latest, + Marg?" + </p> + <p> + "Look at Helen's spiffy suit!" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, money, money, what it will buy!" + </p> + <p> + "Money'll never buy <i>me</i>, I'll say." + </p> + <p> + "Marg, who's been fermentin' round lately? Girls, get wise to the + flowers." + </p> + <p> + "Hot dog! See Marg blush! That comes from being so pale. What are + rouge and lip-stick and powder for but to hide truth from our + masculine pursuers?" + </p> + <p> + "Floss, you haven't blushed for a million years." + </p> + <p> + It was Dorothy Dalrymple who silenced the idle badinage. + </p> + <p> + "Marg, you rummaging in the past?" she cried. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, and I love it," replied Margaret. "I haven't looked over + this stuff for years. Just to remember the things I did!... Here, + Dal, is a picture you once drew of our old teacher, Miss Hill." + </p> + <p> + Dorothy, whom the girls nicknamed "Dal," gazed at the drawing + with amaze and regret. + </p> + <p> + "She was a terror," continued Margaret. "But Dal, you never had + any reason to draw such a horrible picture of her. You were her + pet." + </p> + <p> + "I wasn't," declared Dorothy. + </p> + <p> + "Maybe you never knew Miss Hill adored you, Dal," interposed + Elinor. "She was always holding you up as a paragon. Not in your + lessons—for you were a bonehead—but for deportment + you were the class!" + </p> + <p> + "Dal, you were too good for this earth <i>then</i>, let alone + these days," said Margaret. + </p> + <p> + "Miss Hill," mused Elinor, gazing at the caricature. "That's not + a bad drawing. I remember Miss Hill never had any use for me. + Small wonder. She was an honest-to-God teacher. I think she + wanted us to be good.... Wonder how she got along with the kids + that came after us." + </p> + <p> + "I saw Amanda Hill the other day," spoke up Flossie. "She looked + worn out. She was nice to me. I'll bet my shirt she'd like to + have us back, bad as we were.... These kids of to-day! My Gawd! + they're the limit. They paralyze <i>me</i>. I thought I was + pretty fast. But compared to these youngsters I'm tied to a post. + My kid sister Joyce—Rose Clymer—Bessy Bell!... Some + kids, believe me. And take it from me, girls, these dimple-kneed + chickens are vamping the older boys." + </p> + <p> + "They're all stuck on Bessy," said Helen. + </p> + <p> + Margaret squealed in delight. "Girls, look here. Valentines! Did + you ever?... Look at them.... And what's this?... 'Wonders of + Nature—composition by Margaret Maynard.' Heavens! Did I + write that? And what's this sear and yellow document?" + </p> + <p> + A slivery peal of laughter burst from Margaret. + </p> + <p> + "Dal, here's one of your masterpieces, composed when you were + thirteen, and mooney over Daren Lane." + </p> + <p> + "I? Never! I didn't write it," denied Dorothy, with color in her + dark cheeks. + </p> + <p> + "Yes you did. It's signed—'Yours forever Dot Dalrymple.' + ... Besides I remember now Daren gave it to me. Said he wanted to + prove he could have other girls if he couldn't have me." + </p> + <p> + "How chivalrous!" exclaimed Dorothy, joining in the laugh. + </p> + <p> + "Ah! here's what I've been hunting," declared Margaret, waving + aloft a small picture. "It's a photograph of Holt, taken five + years ago. Only the other evening he swore I hadn't kept + it—dared me to produce it. He'll want it now—for some + other girl. But nix, it's mine.... Dal, isn't he a handsome boy + here?" + </p> + <p> + With sisterly impartiality Dorothy declared she could not in the + wildest flight of her imagination see her brother as handsome. + </p> + <p> + "Holt used to be good-looking," said she. "But he outgrew it. + That South Carolina training camp and the flu changed his looks + as well as his disposition." + </p> + <p> + "Holt <i>is</i> changed," mused Margaret, gazing down at the + picture, and the glow faded from her face. + </p> + <p> + "Dare Lane is handsome, even if he is a wreck," said Elinor, with + sudden enthusiasm. "Friday night when he beat it from Fanchon's + party he sure looked splendid." + </p> + <p> + Elinor was a staunch admirer of Lane's and she was the inveterate + torment of her girl friends. She gave Helen a sly glance. Helen's + green eyes narrowed and gleamed. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, Dare's handsomer than ever," she said. "And to give the + devil his due he's <i>finer</i> than ever. Too damn fine for this + crowd!... But what's the use—" she broke off. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, poor Dare Lane!" sighed Elinor. "Dare deserves much from + all of us, not to mention <i>you</i>. He has made me think. Thank + Heaven, I found I hadn't forgotten how." + </p> + <p> + "El, no one would notice it," returned Helen, sarcastically. + </p> + <p> + "It's easy to see where you get off," retorted Elinor. + </p> + <p> + Then a silence ensued, strange in view of the late banter and + quick sallies; a silence breathing of restraint. The color died + wholly from Margaret's face, and a subtle, indefinable, almost + imperceptible change came over Dorothy. + </p> + <p> + "You bet Dare is handsome," spoke up Flossie, as if to break the + embarrassment. "He's so <i>white</i> since he came home. His eyes + are so dark and flashing. Then the way he holds his + head—the look of him.... No wonder these damned slackers + seem cheap compared to him.... I'd fall for Dare Lane in a + minute, even if he is half dead." + </p> + <p> + The restraint passed, and when Floss Dickerson came out with + eulogy for any man his status was settled for good and all. + Margaret plunged once more into her treasures of early + schooldays. Floss and Elinor made merry over some verses Margaret + had handed up with a blush. Helen apparently lapsed into a + brooding abstraction. And presently Dorothy excused herself, and + kissing Margaret good-bye, left for home. + </p> + <p> + The instant she had gone Margaret's gay and reminiscent mood + underwent a change. + </p> + <p> + "Girls, I want to know what Daren Lane did or said on Friday + night at Fanchon's," spoke up Margaret. "You know mother dragged + me home. Said I was tired. But I wasn't. It was only because I'm + a wall-flower.... So I missed what happened. But I've heard talk + enough to make me crazy to know about this scandal. Kit Benson + was here and she hinted things. I met Bessy Bell. She asked me if + I knew. She's wild about Daren. That yellow-legged broiler! He + doesn't even know her.... My brother Blair would not tell me + anything. He's strong for Daren. But mother told me Daren had + lost his standing in Middleville. She always hated Daren. Afraid + I'd fall in love with him. The idea! I liked him, and I like him + better now—poor fellow!... And last, when El mentioned + Daren, did you see Dal's face? I never saw Dal look like that." + </p> + <p> + "Neither did I," replied Elinor. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I have," spoke up Helen, with all of her mother's + bluntness. "Dal always was love-sick over Daren, when she was a + mere kid. She never got over it and never will." + </p> + <p> + "Still water runs deep," sapiently remarked Elinor. "There's a + good deal in Dal. She's fine as silk. Of course we all remember + how jealous she was of other girls when Daren went with her. But + I think now it's because she's sorry for Daren. So am I. He was + such a fool. Fanchon swears no nice girl in Middleville will ever + dance that new camel-walk dance in public again." + </p> + <p> + "What did Daren say?" demanded Margaret, with eyes lighting. + </p> + <p> + "I was standing with Helen, and Fanchon when Daren came up. He + looked—I don't know how—just wonderful. We all knew + something was doing. Daren bowed to Fanchon and said to her in a + perfectly clear voice that everybody heard: 'I'd like to try your + camel-walk. I'm out of practice and not strong, but I can go once + around, I'm sure. Will you?'" + </p> + <p> + "You're on, Dare," replied Fanchon. + </p> + <p> + "Then he asked. 'Do you like it?'" + </p> + <p> + "'I'll say so, Dare—crazy about it.'" + </p> + <p> + "Of course you know why it's danced—and how it's + interpreted by men," said Daren. + </p> + <p> + "What do you mean?" asked Fanchon, growing red and flustered. + </p> + <p> + "Then Daren said: 'I'll tell your mother. If she lets you dance + with that understanding—all right.' He bent over Mrs. Smith + and said something. Mrs. Wrapp heard it. And so did Mrs. Mackay, + who looked pretty sick. Mrs. Smith nearly <i>fainted</i>!... but + she recovered enough to order Daren to leave." + </p> + <p> + "Do you know what Daren said?" demanded Margaret, in a frenzy of + excitement. + </p> + <p> + "No. None of the girls know. We can only imagine. That makes it + worse. If Fanchon knows she won't tell. But it is gossip all over + town. We'll hear it soon. All the girls in town are imagining. + It's spread like wildfire. And what <i>do</i> you think, Margie? + In church—on Sunday—Doctor Wallace spoke of it. He + mentioned no names. But he said that as the indecent dress and + obscene dance of the young women could no longer be influenced by + the home or the church it was well that one young man had the + daring to fling the truth into the faces of their mothers." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, it was rotten of Daren," replied Margaret, with tears in her + eyes. She was ashamed, indignant, incredulous. "For him to do a + thing like that! He's always been the very prince of gentlemen. + What on earth possessed him? Heaven knows the dances are vile, + but that doesn't excuse Daren Lane. What do I care what Doctor + Wallace said? Never in a thousand years will Mrs. Smith or mother + or any one forgive him. Fanchon Smith is a little snob. I always + hated her. She's spiteful and catty. She's a flirt all the way. + She would dance any old thing. But that's not the point. Daren's + disgraced himself. It was rotten—of him. And—I'll + never—forgive—him, either." + </p> + <p> + "Don't cry, Margie," said Elinor. "It always makes your eyes red + and gives you a headache. Poor Daren made a blunder. But some of + us will stick to him. Don't take it so badly." + </p> + <p> + "Margie, it was rotten of Daren, one way you look at it—our + way," added Flossie. "But you have to hand it to him for that + stunt." + </p> + <p> + Helen Wrapp preserved her sombre mood, silent and brooding. + </p> + <p> + "Margie," went on Elinor, "there's a lot back of this. If Dare + Lane could do that there must be some reason for it. Maybe we all + needed a jolt. Well, we've got it. Let's stand by Daren. I will. + Helen will. Floss will. You will. And surely Dal will." + </p> + <p> + "If you ask <i>me</i> I'll say Dare Lane ought to hand something + to the men!" burst out Floss Dickerson, with fire in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + "You said a mouthful, kiddo," responded Helen, with her narrow + contracted gaze upon Margaret. "Daren gave me the once + over—and then the icepick!" + </p> + <p> + "Wonder what he gave poor Mel—when he heard about her," + murmured Elinor, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + "Mel Iden ought to be roasted," retorted Helen. "She was always + so darned superior. And all the time ..." + </p> + <p> + "Helen, don't you say a word against Mel Iden," burst out + Margaret, hotly. "She was my dearest friend. She was lovely. Her + ruin was a horrible shock. But it wasn't because she was bad.... + Mel had some fanatical notion about soldiers giving + all—going away to be slaughtered. She said to me, 'A + woman's body is so little to give,'" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I know Mel was cracked," replied Helen. "But she needn't + have been a damn fool. She didn't need to have had that baby!" + </p> + <p> + "Helen, your idea of sin is to be found out," said Elinor, with + satire. + </p> + <p> + Again Floss Dickerson dropped her trenchant personality into the + breach. + </p> + <p> + "Aw, come off!" she ejaculated. "Let somebody roast the men once, + will you? I'm the little Jane that <i>knows</i>, believe me. All + this talk about the girls going to hell makes me sick. We may be + going—and going in limousines—but it's the men who're + stepping on the gas." + </p> + <p> + "Floss, I love to hear you elocute," drawled Helen. "Go to it! + For God's sake, roast the men." + </p> + <p> + "You always have to horn in," retorted Floss. "Let me get this + off my chest, will you?... We girls are getting talked about. + There's no use denying it. Any but a blind girl could see it. And + it's because we do what the men want. Every girl wants to go + out—to be attractive—to have fellows. But the price + is getting high. They say in Middleville that I'm rushed more + than any other girl. Well, if I am I know what it costs.... If I + didn't 'pet'—if I didn't mush, if I didn't park my corsets + at dances—if I didn't drink and smoke, and wiggle like a + jelly-fish, I'd be a dead one—an egg, and don't you + overlook that. If any one says I <i>want</i> to do these things + he's a fool. But I do love to have good times, and little by + little I've been drawn on and on.... I've had my troubles staving + off these fellows. Most of them get half drunk. Some of the girls + do, too. I never went that far. I always kept my head. I never + went the limit. But you can bet your sweet life it wasn't their + fault I didn't fall for them.... I'll say I've had to walk home + from more than one auto ride. There's something in the gag, 'I + know she's a good girl because I met her walking home from an + auto ride.' That's one thing I intend to cut out this + summer—the auto rides. Nothing doing for little Flossie!" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, can't we talk of something else!" complained Margaret, + wearily, with her hands pressing against her temples. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + Mrs. Maynard slowly went upstairs and along the hall to her + daughter's room. Margaret sat listlessly by a window. The girls + had gone. + </p> + <p> + "You were going for a long walk," said Mrs. Maynard. + </p> + <p> + "I'm tired," replied Margaret. There was a shadow in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + The mother had never understood her daughter. And of late a + subtle change in Margaret had made her more of a puzzle. + </p> + <p> + "Margaret, I want to talk seriously with you," she began. + </p> + <p> + "Well?" + </p> + <p> + "Didn't I tell you I wanted you to break off your—your + friendship with Holt Dalrymple?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes," replied Margaret, with a flush. "I did not—want to." + </p> + <p> + "Well, the thing which concerns you now is—he can't be + regarded as a possibility for you." + </p> + <p> + "Possibility?" echoed Margaret. + </p> + <p> + "Just that, exactly. I'm not sure of your thoughts on the matter, + but it's time I knew them. Holt is a ne'er-do-well. He's gone to + the bad, like so many of these army boys. No nice girl will ever + associate with him again." + </p> + <p> + "Then I'm not nice, for I will," declared Margaret, spiritedly. + </p> + <p> + "You will persist in your friendship for him in the face of my + objection?" + </p> + <p> + "Certainly I will if I have any say about it. But I know Holt. + I—I guess he has taken to drink—and carrying on. So + you needn't worry much about our friendship." + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Maynard hesitated. She had become accustomed to Margaret's + little bursts of fury and she expected one here. But none came; + Margaret appeared unnaturally calm; she sat still with her face + turned to the window. Mrs. Maynard was a little afraid of this + cold, quiet girl. + </p> + <p> + "Margaret, you can't help seeing now that your mother's judgment + was right. Holt Dalrymple once may have been very interesting and + attractive for a friend, but as a prospective husband he was + impossible. The worst I hear of him is that he drinks and + gambles. I know you liked him and I don't want to be unjust. But + he has kept other and better young men away from you." + </p> + <p> + Margaret's hand clenched and her face sank against the + window-pane. + </p> + <p> + "We need say no more about him," went on Mrs. Maynard. "Margaret, + you've been brought up in luxury. If your father happened to die + now—he's far from well—we'd be left penniless. We've + lived up every dollar.... We have our poor crippled Blair to care + for. You know you must marry well. I've brought you up with that + end in view. And it's imperative you marry soon." + </p> + <p> + "Why must a girl marry?" murmured Margaret, wistfulness in her + voice. "I'd rather go to work." "Margaret, you are a Maynard," + replied her mother, haughtily. "Pray spare me any of this new + woman talk about liberty—equal rights—careers and all + that. Life hasn't changed for the conservative families of + blood.... Try to understand, Margaret, that you must marry and + marry well. You're nobody without money. In society there are + hundreds of girls like you, though few so attractive. That's all + the more reason you should take the best chance you have, before + it's lost. If you don't marry people will say you can't. They'll + say you're fading, growing old, even if you grow prettier every + day of your life, and in the end they'll make you a miserable old + maid. Then you'll be glad to marry anybody. If you marry now you + can help your father, who needs help badly enough. You can help + poor Blair.... You can be a leader in society; you can have a + house here, a cottage at the seashore and one in the mountains; + everything a girl's heart yearns for—servants, horses, + autos, gowns, diamonds——" + </p> + <p> + "Everything except love," interrupted Margaret, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Maynard actually flushed, but she kept her temper. + </p> + <p> + "It's desirable that you love your husband. Any sensible woman + can learn to care for a man. Love, as you dream about it is + merely a—a dream. If women waited for that they would never + get married." + </p> + <p> + "Which would be preferable to living without love." + </p> + <p> + "But Margaret, what would become of the world? If there were + fewer marriages—Heaven knows they're few enough + nowadays—there would be fewer families—and in the end + fewer children—less and less——" + </p> + <p> + "They'd be better children," said Margaret, calmly. + </p> + <p> + "Eventually the race would die out." + </p> + <p> + "And that'd be a good thing—if the people can't love each + other." + </p> + <p> + "How silly—exasperating!" ejaculated Mrs. Maynard. "You + don't mean such nonsense. What any girl wants is a home of her + own, a man to fuss over. I didn't marry for love, as you dream + it. My husband attended to his business and I've looked after his + household. You've had every advantage. I flatter myself our + marriage has been a success." + </p> + <p> + Margaret's eyes gleamed like pointed flames. + </p> + <p> + "I differ with you. Your married life hasn't been successful any + more than it's been happy. You never cared for father. You + haven't been kind to him since his failure." + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Maynard waved her hand imperiously in angry amaze. + </p> + <p> + "I won't stop. I'm not a baby or a doll," went on Margaret, + passionately. "If I'm old enough to marry I'm old enough to talk. + I can think, can't I? You never told me anything, but I could + see. Ever since I can remember you and father have had one + continual wrangle about money—bills—expenses. Perhaps + I'd have been better off without all the advantages and luxury. + It's because of these things you want to throw me at some man. + I'd far rather go to work the same as Blaid did, instead of + college." + </p> + <p> + "Whatever on earth has come over you?" gasped Mrs. Maynard, + bewildered by the revolt of this once meek daughter. + </p> + <p> + "Maybe I'm learning a little sense. Maybe I got some of it from + Daren Lane," flashed back Margaret. + </p> + <p> + "Mother, whatever I've learned lately has been learned away from + home. You've no more idea what's going on in the world to-day + than if you were actually dead. I never was bright like Mel Iden, + but I'm no fool. I see and hear and I read. Girls aren't pieces + of furniture to be handed out to some rich men. Girls are waking + up. They can do things. They can be independent. And being + independent doesn't mean a girl's not going to marry. For she can + wait—wait for the right man—for love.... You say I + dream. Well, why didn't you wake me up long ago—with the + truth? I had my dreams about love and marriage. And I've learned + that love and marriage are vastly different from what most + mothers make them out to be, or let a girl think." + </p> + <p> + "Margaret, I'll not have you talk in this strange way. You owe me + respect if not obedience," said Mrs. Maynard, her voice + trembling. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, well, I won't say any more," replied Margaret, "But can't + you spare me? Couldn't we live within our means?" + </p> + <p> + "After all these years—to skimp along! I couldn't endure + it." + </p> + <p> + "Whom have you in mind for me to—to marry?" asked the girl, + coldly curious. + </p> + <p> + "Mr. Swann has asked your hand in marriage for his son Richard. + He wants Richard to settle down. Richard is wild, like all these + young men. And I have—well, I encouraged the plan." + </p> + <p> + "<i>Mother!</i>" cried Margaret, springing up. + </p> + <p> + "Margaret, you will see" + </p> + <p> + "I despise Dick Swann." + </p> + <p> + "Why?" asked her mother. + </p> + <p> + "I just do. I never liked him in school. He used to do such mean + things. He's selfish. He let Holt and Daren suffer for his + tricks." + </p> + <p> + "Margaret, you talk like a child." + </p> + <p> + "Listen, mother." She threw her arms round Mrs. Maynard and + kissed her and spoke pleadingly. "Oh, don't make me hate myself. + It seems I've grown so much older in the last year or + so—and lately since this marriage talk came up. I've + thought of things as never before because I've—I've learned + about them. I see so differently. I can't—can't love Dick + Swann. I can't bear to have him touch me. He's rude. He takes + liberties.... He's too free with his hands! Why, it'd be wrong to + marry him. What difference can a marriage service make in a + girl's feelings.... Mother, let me say no." + </p> + <p> + "Lord spare me from bringing up another girl!" exclaimed Mrs. + Maynard. "Margaret, I can't make you marry Richard Swann. I'm + simply trying to tell you what any sensible girl would see she + had to do. You think it over—both sides of the + question—before you absolutely decide." + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Maynard was glad to end the discussion and to get away. In + Margaret's appeal she heard a yielding, a final obedience to her + wish. And she thought she had better let well enough alone. The + look in Margaret's clear blue eyes made her shrink; it would + haunt her. But she felt no remorse. Any mother would have done + the same. There was always the danger of that old love affair; + there was new danger in these strange wild fancies of modern + girls; there was never any telling what Margaret might do. But + once married she would be safe and her position assured. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + Daren Lane left Riverside Park, and walked in the meadows until + he came to a boulder under a huge chestnut tree. Here he sat + down. He could not walk far these days. Many a time in the Indian + summers long past he had gathered chestnuts there with Dal, with + Mel Iden, with Helen. He would never do it again. + </p> + <p> + The April day had been warm and fresh with the opening of a late + spring. The sun was now gold—rimming the low hills in the + west; the sky was pale blue; the spring flowers whitened the + meadow. Twilight began to deepen; the evening star twinkled out + of the sky; the hush of the gloaming hour stole over the land. + </p> + <p> + "Four weeks home—and nothing done. So little time left!" he + muttered. + </p> + <p> + Two weeks of that period he had been unable to leave his bed. The + rest of the time he had dragged himself around, trying to live up + to his resolve, to get at the meaning of the present, to turn his + sister Lorna from the path of dalliance. And he had failed in + all. + </p> + <p> + His sister presented the problem that most distressed Lane. She + had her good qualities, and through them could be reached. But + she was thoughtless, vacillating, and wilful. She had made him + promises only to break them. Lane had caught her in falsehoods. + And upon being called to account she had told him that if he + didn't like it he could "lump" it. Of late she had grown away + from what affection she had shown at first. She could not bear + interference with her pleasures, and seemed uncontrollable. Lane + felt baffled. This thing was a Juggernaut impossible to stop. + </p> + <p> + Lane had scraped acquaintance with Harry Hale, one of Lorna's + admirers, a boy of eighteen, who lived with his widowed mother on + the edge of the town. He appeared to be an industrious, + intelligent, quiet fellow, not much given to the prevailing + habits of the young people. In his humble worship of Lorna he was + like a dog. Lorna went to the motion pictures with him + occasionally, when she had no other opportunity for excitement. + Lane gathered that Lorna really liked this boy, and when with him + seemed more natural, more what a fifteen-year-old girl used to + be. And somehow it was upon this boy that Lane placed a forlorn + hope. + </p> + <p> + No more automobiles honked in front of the home to call Lorna + out. She met her friends away from the house, and returning at + night she walked the last few blocks. It was this fact that awoke + Lane's serious suspicions. + </p> + <p> + Another problem lay upon Lane's heart; if not so distressing as + Lorna's, still one that added to his sorrow and his perplexity. + He had gone once to call on Mel Iden. Mel Iden was all soul. + Whatever had been the facts of her downfall—and reflection + on that hurt Lane so strangely he could not bear it—it had + not been on her part a matter of sex. She was far above + wantonness. + </p> + <p> + Through long hours in the dark of night, when Lane's pain kept + him sleepless, he had pondered over the mystery of Mel Iden until + it cleared. She typified the mother of the race. In all periods + of the progress of the race, war had brought out this instinct in + women—to give themselves for the future. It was a provision + of nature, inscrutable and terrible. How immeasurable the + distance between Mel Iden and those women who practised birth + control! As the war had brought out hideous greed and baseness, + so had it propelled forward and upward the noblest attributes of + life. Mel Iden was a builder, not a destroyer. She had been + sexless and selfless. Unconsciously during the fever and emotion + of the training of American men for service abroad, and the + poignancy of their departure, to fight, and perhaps never return, + Mel Iden had answered to this mysterious instinct of nature. + Then, with the emotion past, and face to face with staggering + consequences, she had reacted to conscious instincts. She had + proved the purity of her surrender. She was all mother. And Lane + began to see her moving in a crystal, beautiful light. + </p> + <p> + For what seemed a long time Lane remained motionless there in the + silence of the meadow. Then at length he arose and retraced his + slow steps back to town. Darkness overtook him on the bridge that + spanned Middleville River. He leaned over the railing and peered + down into the shadows. A soft murmur of rushing water came up. + How like strange distant voices calling him to go back or go on, + or warning him, or giving mystic portent of something that would + happen to him there! A cold chill crept over him and he seemed + enveloped in a sombre menace of the future. But he shook it off. + He had many battles to fight, not the least of which was with + morbid imagination. + </p> + <p> + When he reached the center of town he entered the lobby of the + Bradford Inn. He hoped to meet Blair Maynard there. A company of + well-dressed youths and men filled the place, most of whom + appeared to be making a merry uproar. + </p> + <p> + Lane observed two men who evidently were the focus of attention. + One was a stranger, very likely a traveling man, and at the + moment he presented a picture of mingled consternation and anger. + He was brushing off his clothes while glaring at a little, stout, + red-faced man who appeared about to be stricken by apoplexy. This + latter was a Colonel Pepper, whose acquaintance Lane had recently + made. He was fond of cards and sport, and appeared to be a + favorite with the young men about town. Moreover he had made + himself particularly agreeable to Lane, in fact to the extent of + Lane's embarrassment. At this moment the stranger lost his + consternation wholly in wrath, and made a threatening movement + toward Pepper. Lane stepped between them just in time to save + Pepper a blow. + </p> + <p> + "I know what he's done. I apologize for him," said Lane, to the + stranger. "He's made a good many people victims of the same + indignity. It's a weakness—a disease. He can't help + himself. Pray overlook it." + </p> + <p> + The stranger appeared impressed with Lane's presence, probably + with his uniform, and slowly shook himself and fell back, to + glower at Pepper, and curse under his breath, still uncertain of + himself. + </p> + <p> + Lane grasped Colonel Pepper and led him out of the lobby. + </p> + <p> + "Pepper, you're going to get in an awful mess with that stunt of + yours," he declared, severely. "If you can't help it you ought at + least pick on your friends, or the town people—not + strangers." + </p> + <p> + "Have—a—drink," sputtered Pepper, with his hand at + his hip. + </p> + <p> + "No, thanks." + </p> + <p> + "Have—a—cigar." + </p> + <p> + Lane laughed. He had been informed that Colonel Pepper's failing + always took this form of remorse, and certainly he would have + tried it upon his latest victim had not Lane interfered. + </p> + <p> + "Colonel, you're hopeless," said Lane, as they walked out. "I + hope somebody will always be around to protect you. I'd carry a + body guard.... Say, have you seen Blair Maynard or Holt Dalrymple + to-night?" + </p> + <p> + "Not Blair, but Holt was here early with the boys," replied + Pepper. "They've gone to the club rooms to have a little game. + I'm going to sit in. Lately I had to put up a holler. If the boys + quit cards how'm I to make a living?" + </p> + <p> + "Had Holt been drinking?" + </p> + <p> + "Not to-night. But he's been hitting the bottle pretty hard of + late." + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Lane buttonholed the little man and peered down + earnestly at him. "Pepper, I've been trying to straighten Holt + up. He's going to the bad. But he's a good kid. It's only the + company.... The fact is—this's strictly confidential, mind + you—Holt's sister begged me to try to stop his drinking and + gambling. I think I can do it, too, with a little help. Now, + Pepper, I'm asking you to help me." + </p> + <p> + "Ahuh! Well, let's go in the writing room, where we can talk," + said the other, and he took hold of Lane's arm. When they were + seated in a secluded corner he lighted a cigar, and faced Lane + with shrewd, kindly eyes. "Son, I like you and Blair as well as I + hate these slackers Swann and Mackay, and their crowd. I could + tell you a heap, and maybe help you, though I think young Holt is + not a bad egg.... Is his sister the dark one who steps so + straight and holds herself so well?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, that sounds like Dorothy," replied Lane. + </p> + <p> + "She's about the only one I know who doesn't paint her face and I + never saw her at—well, never mind where. But the fact I + mean makes her stand out in this Middleville crowd like a light + in the dark.... Lane, have you got on yet to the speed of the + young people of this old burg?" + </p> + <p> + "I'm getting on, to my sorrow," said Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Ahuh! You mean you're getting wise to your kid sister?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I'm sorry to say. What do you know, Pepper?" + </p> + <p> + "Now, son, wait. I'm coming to that, maybe. But I want to know + some things first. Is it true—what I hear about your + health, bad shape, you know—all cut up in the war? Worse + than young Maynard?" + </p> + <p> + Pepper's hand was close on Lane's. He had forgotten his cigar. + His eyes were earnest. + </p> + <p> + "True?" laughed Lane, grimly. "Yes, it's true.... I won't last + long, Pepper, according to Doctor Bronson. That's why I want to + make hay while the sun shines." + </p> + <p> + "Ahuh!" Pepper cleared his throat. "Forgive this, boy.... Is it + also true you were engaged to marry that Helen Wrapp—and + she threw you down, while you were over there?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, that's perfectly true," replied Lane, soberly. + </p> + <p> + "God, I guess maybe the soldier wasn't up against it!" ejaculated + Pepper, with a gesture of mingled awe and wonder and scorn. + </p> + <p> + "What was the soldier up against, Pepper?" queried Lane. + "Frankly, I don't know." + </p> + <p> + "Lane, the government jollied and forced the boys into the army," + replied Pepper. "The country went wild with patriotism. The + soldiers were heroes. The women threw themselves away on anything + inside a uniform. Make the world safe for democracy—down + the Hun—save France and England—ideals, freedom, + God's country, and all that! Well, the first few soldiers to + return from France got a grand reception, were made heroes of. + They were lucky to get back while the sentiment was hot. But that + didn't last.... Now, a year and more after the war, where does + the soldier get off? Lane, there're over six hundred thousand of + you disabled veterans, and for all I can read and find out the + government has done next to nothing. New York is full of begging + soldiers—on the streets. Think of it! And the poor devils + are dying everywhere. My God! think of what's in the mind of one + crippled soldier, let alone over half a million. I just have a + dim idea of what I'd felt. You must know, or you will know, Lane, + for you seem a thoughtful, lofty sort of chap. Just the kind to + make a good soldier, because you had ideals and nerve!... Well, a + selfish and weak administration could hardly be expected to keep + extravagant promises to patriots. But that the American public, + as a body, should now be sick of the sight of a crippled + soldier—and that his sweetheart should turn him + down!—this is the hideous blot, the ineradicable shame, the + stinking truth, the damned mystery!" + </p> + <p> + When Pepper ended his speech, which grew more vehement toward the + close, Lane could only stare at him in amaze. + </p> + <p> + "See here, Lane," added the other hastily, "pardon me for blowing + up. I just couldn't help it. I took a shine to you—and to + see you like this—brings back the resentment I've had all + along. I'm blunt, but it's just as well for you to be put wise + quick. You'll find friends, like me, who will stand by you, if + you let them. But you'll also find that most of this rotten world + has gone back on you...." + </p> + <p> + Then Pepper made a sharp, passionate gesture that broke his cigar + against the arm of his chair, and he cursed low and deep. + Presently he addressed Lane again. "Whatever comes of any + disclosures I make—whatever you <i>do</i>—you'll not + give me away?" + </p> + <p> + "Certainly not. You can trust me, Pepper," returned Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Son, I'm a wise old guy. There's not much that goes on in + Middleville I don't get on to. And I'll make your hair curl. But + I'll confine myself to what comes closest home to you. I + <i>get</i> you, Lane. You're game. You're through. You have come + back from war to find a hell of a mess. Your own + sister—your sweetheart—your friend's brother and your + soldier pard's sister—on the primrose path! And you with + your last breath trying to turn them back! I'll say it's a damn + fine stunt. I'm an old gambler, Lane. I've lived in many towns + and mixed in tough crowds of crooked men and rotten women. But + I'm here to confess that this after-the-war stuff of + Middleville's better class has knocked out about all the faith I + had left in human nature.... Then you came along to teach me a + lesson." + </p> + <p> + "Well, Pepper, that's strong talk," returned Lane. "But cut it, + and hurry to—to what comes home to me. What's the matter + with these Middleville girls?" + </p> + <p> + "Lane, any intelligent man, who <i>knows</i> things, and who can + think for himself, will tell you this—that to judge from + the dress, dance, talk, conduct of these young girls—most + of them have <i>apparently</i> gone wrong." + </p> + <p> + "You include our nice girls—from what we used to call + Middleville's best families?" + </p> + <p> + "I don't only include them. I throw the emphasis on them. The + girls you know best." + </p> + <p> + Lane straightened up, to look at his companion. Pepper certainly + was not drunk. + </p> + <p> + "Do you know—anything about Lorna?" + </p> + <p> + "Nothing specifically to prove anything. She's in the thick of + this thing in Middleville. Only a few nights ago I saw her at a + roadhouse, out on the State Road, with a crowd of youngsters. + They were having a high old time, I'll say. They danced jazz, and + I saw Lorna drink lemonade into which liquor had been poured from + a hip-pocket flask." + </p> + <p> + Lane put his head on his hands, as if to rest it, or still the + throbbing there. + </p> + <p> + "Who took Lorna to this place?" he asked, presently, breathing + heavily. + </p> + <p> + "I don't know. But it was Dick Swann who poured the drink out of + the flask. Between you and me, Lane, that young millionaire is + going a pace hereabouts. Listen," he went on, lowering his voice, + and glancing round to see there was no one to overhear him, + "there's a gambling club in Middleville. I go there. My rooms are + in the same building. I've made a peep-hole through the attic + floor next to my room. Do I see more things than cards and + bottles? Do I! If the fathers of Middleville could see what I've + seen they'd go out to the asylum.... I'm not supposed to know + it's more than a place to gamble. And nobody knows I know. Dick + Swann and Hardy Mackay are at the head of this club. Swann is the + genius and the support of it. He's rich, and a high roller if I + ever saw one.... Among themselves these young gentlemen call it + the Strong Arm Club. Study over that, Lane. Do you <i>get</i> it? + I know you do, and that saves me talking until I see red." + </p> + <p> + "Pepper, have you seen my sister—there?" queried Lane, + tensely. + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "With whom?" + </p> + <p> + "I'll not say, Lane. There's no need for that. I'll give you a + key to my rooms, and you can go there—in the + afternoons—and paste yourself to my peep-hole, and + watch.... Honest to God, I believe it means bloodshed. But I + can't help that. Something must be done. I'm not much good, but I + can see that." + </p> + <p> + Colonel Pepper wiped his moist face. He was now quite pale and + his hands shook. + </p> + <p> + "I never had a wife, or a sweetheart," he went on. "But once I + had a little sister. Thank Heaven she didn't live her girlhood in + times like these." + </p> + <p> + Lane again bowed his head on his hands, and wrestled with the + might of reality. + </p> + <p> + "I'm going to take you to these club-rooms to-night," went on + Pepper. "It'll cause a hell of a row. But once you get in, + there'll be no help for them. Swann and his chums will have to + stand for it." + </p> + <p> + "Did you ever take an outsider in?" asked Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Several times. Traveling men I met here. Good fellows that liked + a game of cards. Swann made no kick at that. He's keen to gamble. + And when he's drinking the sky's the limit." + </p> + <p> + "Wouldn't it be wiser just to show me these rooms, and let me + watch from your place—until I find my sister there?" + queried Lane. + </p> + <p> + "I don't know," replied Pepper, thoughtfully. "I think if I were + you I'd butt in to-night with me. You can drag young Dalrymple + home before he gets drunk". + </p> + <p> + "Pepper, I'll break up this—this club," declared Lane. + </p> + <p> + "I'll say you will. And I'm for you strong. If it was only the + booze and cards I'd not have squealed. That's my living. But by + God, I can't stand for the—the other stuff any longer!... + Come on now. And I'll put you on to a slick stunt that'll take + your breath away." + </p> + <p> + He led the way out of the hotel, in his excitement walking rather + fast. + </p> + <p> + "Go slow, Pepper," said Lane. "We're not going over the top." + </p> + <p> + Pepper gave him a quick, comprehending look. + </p> + <p> + "Good Lord, Lane, you're not as—as bad as all that!" + </p> + <p> + Lane nodded. Then at slower pace they went out and down the + bright Main Street for two blocks, and then to the right on West + Street, which was quite comparable to the other thoroughfare as a + business district. At the end of the street the buildings were + the oldest in Middleville, and entirely familiar to Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Give White's the once over," said Pepper, indicating a brightly + lighted store across the street. "That place is new to you, isn't + it?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I don't remember White, or that there was a confectionery + den along here." + </p> + <p> + "Den is right. It's some den, believe me.... White's a + newcomer—a young sport, thick with Swann. For all I know + Swann is backing him. Anyway he has a swell joint and a good + trade. People kick about his high prices. Ice cream, candy, soda, + soft drinks, and all that rot. But if he knows who you are you + can get a shot. It'll strike you funny later to see he waits on + the customers himself. But when you get wise it'll not be so + funny. He's got a tea parlor upstairs—and they say it's + some swell place, with a rest room or ladies' dressing room back. + Now from this back room the girls can get into the club-rooms of + the boys, and go out on the other side of the block. In one way + and out the other—at night. Not necessary in the + afternoon.... Come on now, well go round the block." + </p> + <p> + A short walk round the block brought them into a shaded, wide + street with one of Middleville's parks on the left. A row of + luxuriant elm trees helped the effect of gloom. The nearest + electric light was across on the far corner, with trees obscuring + it to some extent. At the corner where Pepper halted there was an + outside stairway running up the old-fashioned building. The + ground floor shops bore the signs of a florist and a milliner; + above was a photograph gallery; and the two upper stories were + apparently unoccupied. To the left of the two stores another + stairway led up into the center of the building. Pepper led Lane + up this stairway, a long, dark climb of three stories that taxed + Lane's endurance. + </p> + <p> + "Sure is a junk heap, this old block," observed Pepper, as he + fumbled in the dim light with his keys. At length he opened a + door, turned on a light and led Lane into his apartment. "I have + three rooms here, and the back one opens into a kind of areaway + from which I get into an abandoned storeroom, or I guess it's an + attic. To-morrow afternoon about three you meet me here and I'll + take you in there and let you have a look through the peep-hole I + made. It's no use to-night, because there'll be only boys at the + club, and I'm going to take you right in." + </p> + <p> + He switched off the light, drew Lane out and locked the door. + "I'm the only person who lives on this floor. There're three + holes to this burrow and one of them is at the end of this hall. + The exit where the girls slip out is on the floor below, through + a hallway to that outside stairs. Oh, I'll say it's a Coney + Island maze, this building! But just what these young rakes + want.... Come on, and be careful. It'll be dark and the stairs + are steep." + </p> + <p> + At the end of the short hall Pepper opened a door, and led Lane + down steep steps in thick darkness, to another hall, dimly + lighted by a window opening upon the street. + </p> + <p> + "You'll have to make a bluff at playing poker, unless my butting + in with you causes a row," said Pepper, as he walked along. + Presently he came to a door upon which he knocked several times. + But before it was opened footsteps and voices sounded down the + hall in the opposite direction from which Pepper had escorted + Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Guess they're just coming. Hard luck," said Pepper. "'Fraid + you'll not get in now." + </p> + <p> + Lane counted five dark forms against the background of dim light. + He saw the red glow of a cigarette. Then the door upon which + Pepper had knocked opened to let out a flare. Pepper gave Lane a + shove across the threshold and followed him. Lane did not + recognize the young man who had opened the door. The room was + large, with old walls and high ceiling, a round table with chairs + and a sideboard. It had no windows. The door on the other side + was closed. + </p> + <p> + "Pepper, who's this you're ringin' in on me?" demanded the young + fellow. + </p> + <p> + "A pard of mine. Now don't be peeved, Sammy," replied Pepper. "If + there's any kick I'll take the blame." +</p> + +<p> + +Then the five young men glided swiftly into the room. The last one was +Dick Swann. In the act of closing the door behind him, he saw Lane, and +started violently back. His face turned white. His action, his look +silenced the talk. +</p> + +<p> +"Lane! What do you want?" he jerked out. +</p> + +<p> +Lane eyed him without replying. He thought he read more in Swann's face +and voice than any of the amazed onlookers. +</p> + +<p> +"Dick, I fetched Lane up for a little game," put in Pepper, with +composure. +</p> + +<p> +Swann jerked as violently out of his stiffened posture as he had frozen +into it. His face changed--showed comprehension--relief--then flamed +with anger. +</p> + +<p> +"Pepper, it's a damn high-handed imposition for you to bring strangers +here," he burst out. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I'm sorry you take it that way," replied Pepper, with deprecatory +spreading of his hands. He was quite cool and his little eyes held a +singular gleam. "You never kicked before when I brought a stranger." +</p> + +<p> +Swann fiercely threw down his cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +"Hell! I told you never to bring any Middleville man in here." +</p> + +<p> +"Ahuh! I forgot. You'll have to excuse me," returned Pepper, not with +any particular regret. +</p> + +<p> +"What's the matter with my money?" queried Lane, ironically, at last +removing his steady gaze from Swann to the others. Mackay was there, and +Holt Dalrymple, the boy in whom Lane had lately interested himself. Holt +resembled his sister in his dark rich coloring, but his face wore a +shade of sullen depression. The other two young men Lane had seen in +Middleville, but they were unknown to him. +</p> + +<p> +"Pepper, you beat it with your new pard," snarled Swarm. "And you'll not +get in here again, take that from me." +</p> + +<p> +The mandate nettled Pepper, who evidently felt more deeply over this +situation than had appeared on the surface. +</p> + +<p> +"Sure, I'll beat it," returned he, resentfully. "But see here, Swann. Be +careful how you shoot off your dirty mouth. It's not beyond me to hand a +little tip to my friend Chief of Police Bell." +</p> + +<p> +"You damned squealer!" shouted Swann. "Go ahead--do your worst. You'll +find I pull a stroke.... Now get out of here." +</p> + +<p> +With a violent action he shoved the little man out into the hall. Then +turning to Lane he pointed with shaking hand to the door. +</p> + +<p> +"Lane, you couldn't be a guest of mine." +</p> + +<p> +"Swann, I certainly wouldn't be," retorted Lane, in tones that rang. +"Pepper didn't tell me you were the proprietor of this--this joint." +</p> + +<p> +"Get out of here or I'll throw you out!" yelled Swann, now beside +himself with rage. And he made a threatening move toward Lane. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't lay a hand on me," replied Lane. "I don't want my uniform +soiled."</p> + +<p>With that Lane turned to Dalrymple, and said quietly: "Holt, I came here +to find you, not to play cards. That was a stall. Come away with me. You +were not cut out for a card sharp or a booze fighter. +What's got into you that + you can gamble and drink with <i>slackers</i>?" + </p> + <p> + Dalrymple jammed his hat on and stepped toward the door. "Dare, + you said a lot. I'll beat it with you—and I'll never come + back." + </p> + <p> + "You bet your sweet life you won't," shouted Swann. + </p> + <p> + "Hold on there, Dalrymple," interposed Mackay, stepping out. + "Come across with that eighty-six bucks you owe me." + </p> + <p> + "I—I haven't got it, Mackay," rejoined the boy, flushing + deeply. + </p> + <p> + Lane ripped open his coat and jerked out his pocket-book and tore + bills out of it. "There, Hardy Mackay," he said, with deliberate + scorn, throwing the money on the table. "There are your + eighty-six dollars—<i>earned</i> in France.... I should + think it'd burn your fingers." + </p> + <p> + He drew Holt out into the hall, where Pepper waited. Some one + slammed the door and began to curse. + </p> + <p> + "That ends that," said Colonel Pepper, as the three moved down + the dim hall. + </p> + <p> + "It ends us, Pepper, but you couldn't stop those guys with a + crowbar," retorted Dalrymple. + </p> + <p> + Lane linked arms with the boy and changed the conversation while + they walked back to the inn. Here Colonel Pepper left them, and + Lane talked to Holt for an hour. The more he questioned Holt the + better he liked him, and yet the more surprised was he at the + sordid fact of the boy's inclination toward loose living. There + was something perhaps that Holt would not confess. His health had + been impaired in the service, but not seriously. He was getting + stronger all the time. His old job was waiting for him. His + mother and sister had enough to live on, but if he had been + working he could have helped them in a way to afford him great + satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + "Holt, listen," finally said Lane, with more earnestness. "We're + friends—all boys of the service are friends. We might even + become great pards, if we had time." + </p> + <p> + "What's time got to do with it?" queried the younger man. "I'm + sure I'd like it—and know it'd help me." + </p> + <p> + "I'm shot to pieces, Holt.... I won't last long...." + </p> + <p> + "Aw, Lane, don't say that!" + </p> + <p> + "It's true. And if I'm to help you at all it must be now.... You + haven't told me everything, boy—now have you?" + </p> + <p> + Holt dropped his head. + </p> + <p> + "I'll say—I haven't," he replied, haltingly. + "Lane—the trouble is—I'm clean gone on Margie + Maynard. But her mother hates the sight of me. She won't stand + for me." + </p> + <p> + "Oho! So that's it?" ejaculated Lane, a light breaking in upon + him. "Well, I'll be darned. It <i>is</i> serious, Holt.... Does + Margie love you?" + </p> + <p> + "Sure she does. We've always cared. Don't you remember how Margie + and I and Dal and you used to go to school together? And come + home together? And play on Saturdays?... Ever since then!... But + lately Margie and I are—we got—pretty badly mixed + up." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I remember those days," replied Lane, dreamily, and + suddenly he recalled Dal's dark eyes, somehow haunting. He had to + make an effort to get back to the issue at hand. + </p> + <p> + "If Margie loves you—why it's all right. Go back to work + and marry her." + </p> + <p> + "Lane, it can't be all right. Mrs. Maynard has handed me the + mitt," replied Holt, bitterly. "And Margie hasn't the courage to + run off with me.... Her mother is throwing Margie at + Swann—because he's rich." + </p> + <p> + "Oh Lord, no—Holt—you can't mean <i>it</i>!" + exclaimed Lane, aghast. + </p> + <p> + "I'll say I do mean it. I <i>know</i> it," returned Holt, + moodily. "So I let go—fell into the dumps—didn't care + a d—— what became of me." + </p> + <p> + Lane was genuinely shocked. What a tangle he had fallen upon! + Once again there seemed to confront him a colossal Juggernaut, a + moving, crushing, intangible thing, beyond his power to cope + with. + </p> + <p> + "Now, what can I do?" queried Holt, in sudden hope his friend + might see a way out. + </p> + <p> + Despairingly, Lane racked his brain for some word of advice or + assurance, if not of solution. But he found none. Then his spirit + mounted, and with it passion. + </p> + <p> + "Holt, don't be a miserable coward," he began, in fierce scorn. + "You're a soldier, man, and you've got your life to + <i>live</i>!... The sun will rise—the days will be long and + pleasant—you can work—<i>do</i> something. You can + fish the streams in summer and climb the hills in autumn. You can + enjoy. Bah! don't tell me one shallow girl means the world. If + Margie hasn't courage enough to run off and marry + you—<i>let her go!</i> But you can never tell. Maybe Margie + will stick to you. I'll help you. Margie and I have always been + friends and I'll try to influence her. Then think of your mother + and sister. Work for <i>them</i>. Forget yourself—your + little, miserable, selfish desires.... My God, boy, but it's a + strange life the war's left us to face. I <i>hate</i> it. So do + you hate it. Swann and Mackay giving nothing and getting all! ... + So it looks.... But it's false—false. God did not intend + men to live solely for their bodies. A balance <i>must</i> be + struck. They have <i>got</i> to pay. Their time will come.... As + for you, the harder this job is the fiercer you should be. I've + got to die, Holt. But if I could live I'd show these slackers, + these fickle wild girls, what they're doing.... You can do it, + Holt. It's the greatest part any man could be called upon to + play. It will prove the difference between you and them...." + </p> + <p> + Holt Dalrymple crushed Lane's hand in both his own. On his face + was a glow—his dark eyes flashed: "Lane—that'll be + about all," he burst out with a kind of breathlessness. Then his + head high, he stalked out. + </p> + <p> + The next day was bad. Lane suffered from both over-exertion and + intensity of emotion. He remained at home all day, in bed most of + the time. At supper time he went downstairs to find Lorna + pirouetting in a new dress, more abbreviated at top and bottom + than any costume he had seen her wear. The effect struck him at + an inopportune time. He told her flatly that she looked like a + French grisette of the music halls, and ought to be ashamed to be + seen in such attire. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, I don't think you're a good judge of clothes these days," + she observed, complacently. "The boys will say I look spiffy in + this." + </p> + <p> + So many times Lorna's trenchant remarks silenced Lane. She hit + the nail on the head. Practical, logical, inevitable were some of + her speeches. She knew what men wanted. That was the pith of her + meaning. What else mattered? + </p> + <p> + "But Lorna, suppose you don't look nice?" he questioned. + </p> + <p> + "I <i>do</i> look nice," she retorted. + </p> + <p> + "You don't look anything of the kind." + </p> + <p> + "What's nice? It's only a word. It doesn't mean much in my young + life." + </p> + <p> + "Where are you going to-night?" he asked, sitting down to the + table. + </p> + <p> + "To the armory—basketball game—and dance afterward." + </p> + <p> + "With whom?" + </p> + <p> + "With Harry. I suppose that pleases you, big brother?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, it does. I like him. I wish he'd take you out oftener." + </p> + <p> + "<i>Take</i> me! Hot dog! He'd kill himself to take me all the + time. But Harry's slow. He bores me. Then he hasn't got a car." + </p> + <p> + "Lorna, you may as well know now that I'm going to stop your car + rides," said Lane, losing his patience. + </p> + <p> + "You are <i>not</i>," she retorted, and in the glint of the eyes + meeting his, Lane saw his defeat. His patience was exhausted, his + fear almost verified. He did not mince words. With his mother + standing open-mouthed and shocked, Lane gave his sister to + understand what he thought of automobile rides, and that as far + as she was concerned they had to be stopped. If she would not + stop them out of respect to her mother and to him, then he would + resort to other measures. Lorna bounced up in a fury, and in the + sharp quarrel that followed, Lane realized he was dealing with + flint full of fire. Lorna left without finishing her supper. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, that's not the way," said his mother, shaking her head. + </p> + <p> + "What is the way, mother?" he asked, throwing up his hands. + </p> + <p> + "I don't know, unless it's to see her way," responded the mother. + "Sometimes I feel so—so old-fashioned and ignorant before + Lorna. Maybe she is right. How can we tell? What makes all the + young girls like that?" + </p> + <p> + What indeed, wondered Lane! The question had been hammering at + his mind for over a month. He went back to bed, weary and + dejected, suffering spasms of pain, like blades, through his + lungs, and grateful for the darkness. Almost he wished it was all + over—this ordeal. How puny his efforts! Relentlessly life + marched on. At midnight he was still fighting his pangs, still + unconquered. In the night his dark room was not empty. There were + faces, shadows, moving images and pictures, scenes of the war + limned against the blackness. At last he rested, grew as free + from pain as he ever grew, and slept. In the morning it was + another day, and the past was as if it were not. + </p> + <p> + May the first dawned ideally springlike, warm, fresh, fragrant, + with birds singing, sky a clear blue, and trees budding green and + white. + </p> + <p> + Lane yielded to an impulse that had grown stronger of late. His + steps drew him to the little drab house where Mel Iden lived with + her aunt. On the way, which led past a hedge, Lane gathered a + bunch of violets. + </p> + <p> + "'In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of + love,'" he mused. "It's good, even for <i>me</i>, to be alive + this morning.... These violets, the birds, the fresh smells, the + bursting green! Oh, well, regrets are idle. But just to + think—I had to go through all I've known—right down + to this moment—to realize how stingingly sweet life is...." + </p> + <p> + Mel answered his knock, and sight of her face seemed to lift his + heart with an unwonted throb. Had he unconsciously needed that? + The thought made his greeting, and the tender of the violets, + awkward for him. + </p> + <p> + "Violets! Oh, and spring! Daren, it was good of you to gather + them for me. I remember.... But I told you not to come again." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I know you did," he replied. "But I've disobeyed you. I + wanted to see you, Mel.... I didn't know how badly until I got + here." + </p> + <p> + "You should not want to see me at all. People will talk." + </p> + <p> + "So you care what people say of you?" he questioned, feigning + surprise. + </p> + <p> + "Of me? No. I was thinking of you." + </p> + <p> + "You fear the poison tongues for me? Well, they cannot harm me. + I'm beyond tongues or minds like those." + </p> + <p> + She regarded him earnestly, with serious gravity and slowly + dawning apprehension; then, turning to arrange the violets in a + tiny vase, she shook her head. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, you're beyond me, too. I feel a—a change in you. + Have you had another sick spell?" + </p> + <p> + "Only for a day off and on. I'm really pretty well to-day. But I + have changed. I feel that, yet I don't know how." + </p> + <p> + Lane could talk to her. She stirred him, drew him out of himself. + He felt a strange desire for her sympathy, and a keen curiosity + concerning her opinions. + </p> + <p> + "I thought maybe you'd been ill again or perhaps upset by the + consequences of your—your action at Fanchon Smith's party." + </p> + <p> + "Who told you of that?" he asked in surprise. + </p> + <p> + "Dal. She was here yesterday. She will come in spite of me." + </p> + <p> + "So will I," interposed Lane. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. "No, it's different for a man.... I've missed + the girls. No one but Dal ever comes. I thought Margie would be + true to me—no matter what had befallen.... Dal comes, and + oh, Daren, she is good. She helps me so.... She told me what you + did at Fanchon's party." + </p> + <p> + "She did! Well, what's your verdict?" he queried, grimly. "That + break queered me in Middleville." + </p> + <p> + "I agree with what Doctor Wallace said to his congregation," + returned Mel. + </p> + <p> + As Lane met the blue fire of her eyes he experienced another + singularly deep and profound thrill, as if the very depths of him + had been stirred. He seemed to have suddenly discovered Mel Iden. + </p> + <p> + "Doctor Wallace did back me up," said Lane, with a smile. "But no + one else did." + </p> + <p> + "Don't be so sure of that. Harsh conditions require harsh + measures. Dal said you killed the camel-walk dance in + Middleville." + </p> + <p> + "It surely was a disgusting sight," returned Lane, with a + grimace. "Mel, I just saw red that night." + </p> + <p> + "Daren," she asked wistfully, following her own train of thought, + "do you know that most of the girls consider me an outcast? + Fanchon rides past me with her head up in the air. Helen Wrapp + cuts me. Margie looks to see if her mother is watching when she + bows to me. Isn't it strange, Daren, how things turn out? Maybe + my old friends are right. But I don't <i>feel</i> that I am what + they think I am.... I would do what I did—over and over." + </p> + <p> + Her eyes darkened under his gaze, and a slow crimson tide stained + her white face. + </p> + <p> + "I understand you, Mel," he said, swiftly. "You must forgive me + that I didn't understand at once.... And I think you are + infinitely better, finer, purer than these selfsame girls who + scorn you." + </p> + <p> + "Daren! You—understand?" she faltered. + </p> + <p> + And just as swiftly he told her the revelation that thinking had + brought to him. + </p> + <p> + When he had finished she looked at him for a long while. "Yes, + Daren," she finally said, "you understand, and you have made me + understand. I always felt"—and her hand went to her + heart—"but my mind did not grasp.... Oh, Daren, how I thank + you!" and she held her hands out to him. + </p> + <p> + Lane grasped the outstretched hands, and loosed the leaping + thought her words and action created. + </p> + <p> + "Mel, let me give your boy a father—a name." + </p> + <p> + No blow could have made her shrink so palpably. It + passed—that shame. Her lips parted, and other emotions + claimed her. + </p> + <p> + "Daren—you would—marry me?" she gasped. + </p> + <p> + "I am asking you to be my wife for your child's sake," he + replied. + </p> + <p> + Her head bowed. She sank against him, trembling. Her hands clung + tightly to his. Lane divined something of her agitation from the + feel of her slender form. And then again that deep and profound + thrill ran over him. It was followed by an instinct to wrap her + in his arms, to hold her, to share her trouble and to protect + her. + </p> + <p> + Strong reserve force suddenly came to Mel. She drew away from + Lane, still quivering, but composed. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, all my life I'll thank you and bless you for that offer," + she said, very low. "But, of course it is impossible." + </p> + <p> + She disengaged her hands, and, turning away, looked out of the + window. Lane rather weakly sat down. What had come over him? His + blood seemed bursting in his veins. Then he gazed round the dingy + little parlor and at this girl of twenty, whose beauty did not + harmonize with her surroundings. Fair-haired, white-faced, + violet-eyed, she emanated tragedy. He watched her profile, clear + cut as a cameo, fine brow, straight nose, sensitive lips, strong + chin. She was biting those tremulous lips. And when she turned + again to him they were red. The short-bowed upper lip, full and + sweet, the lower, with its sensitive droop at the corner, + eloquent of sorrow—all at once Lane realized he wanted to + kiss that mouth more than he had ever wanted anything. The moment + was sudden and terrible, for it meant love—love such as he + had never known. + </p> + <p> + "Daren," she said, turning, "tell me how you got the <i>Croix de + Guerre</i>." + </p> + <p> + By the look of her and the hand that moved toward his breast, + Lane felt his power over her. He began his story and it was as if + he heard some one else talking. When he had finished, she asked, + "The French Army honored you, why not the American?" + </p> + <p> + "It was never reported." + </p> + <p> + "How strange! Who was your officer?" + </p> + <p> + "You'll laugh when you hear," he replied, without hint of laugh + himself. "Heavens, how things come about! My officer was from + Middleville." + </p> + <p> + "Daren! Who?" she asked, quickly, her eyes darkening with + thought. + </p> + <p> + "Captain Vane Thesel." + </p> + <p> + How singular to Lane the fact she did not laugh! She only stared. + Then it seemed part of her warmth and glow, her subtle response + to his emotion, slowly receded. He felt what he could not see. + </p> + <p> + "Oh! He. Vane Thesel," she said, without wonder or surprise or + displeasure, or any expression Lane anticipated. + </p> + <p> + Her strange detachment stirred a hideous thought—could + Thesel have been.... But Lane killed the culmination of that + thought. Not, however, before dark, fiery jealousy touched him + with fangs new to his endurance. + </p> + <p> + To drive it away, Lane launched into more narrative of the war. + And as he talked he gradually forgot himself. It might be hateful + to rake up the burning threads of memory for the curious and the + soulless, but to tell Mel Iden it was a keen, strange delight. He + watched the changes of her expression. He learned to bring out + the horror, sadness, glory that abided in her heart. And at last + he cut himself off abruptly: "But I must save something for + another day." + </p> + <p> + That broke the spell. + </p> + <p> + "No, you must never come back." + </p> + <p> + He picked up his hat and his stick. + </p> + <p> + "Mel, would you shut the door in my face?" + </p> + <p> + "No, Daren—but I'll not open it," she replied resolutely. + </p> + <p> + "Why?" + </p> + <p> + "You must not come." + </p> + <p> + "For my sake—or yours?" + </p> + <p> + "Both our sakes." + </p> + <p> + He backed out on the little porch, and looked at her as she stood + there. Beyond him, indeed, were his emotions then. Sad as she + seemed, he wanted to make her suffer more—an inexplicable + and shameful desire. + </p> + <p> + "Mel, you and I are alike," he said. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, no, Daren; you are noble and I am...." + </p> + <p> + "Mel, in my dreams I see myself standing—plodding along the + dark shores of a river—that river of tears which runs down + the vast naked stretch of our inner lives.... I see you now, on + the opposite shore. Let us reach our hands across—for the + baby's sake." + </p> + <p> + "Daren, it is a beautiful thought, but it—it can't be," she + whispered. + </p> + <p> + "Then let me come to see you when I need—when I'm down," he + begged. + </p> + <p> + "No." + </p> + <p> + "Mel, what harm can it do—just to let me come?" + </p> + <p> + "No—don't ask me. Daren, I am no stone." + </p> + <p> + "You'll be sorry when I'm out there in—Woodlawn.... That + won't be long." + </p> + <p> + That broke her courage and her restraint. + </p> + <p> + "Come, then," she whispered, in tears. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + Lane's intentions and his spirit were too great for his + endurance. It was some time before he got downtown again. And + upon entering the inn he was told some one had just called him on + the telephone. + </p> + <p> + "Hello, this is Lane," he answered. "Who called me?" + </p> + <p> + "It's Blair," came the reply. "How are you, old top?" + </p> + <p> + "Not so well. I've been down and out." + </p> + <p> + "Sorry. Suppose that's why you haven't called me up for so long?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, Buddy, I can't lay it all to that.... And how're you?" + </p> + <p> + The answer did not come. So Lane repeated his query. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I'm still hobbling round on one leg," replied Blair. + </p> + <p> + "That's good. Tell me about Reddie." + </p> + <p> + Again the reply was long in coming.... + </p> + <p> + "Haven't you heard—about Red?" + </p> + <p> + "No." + </p> + <p> + "Haven't seen the newspapers lately?" + </p> + <p> + "I never read the papers, Blair." + </p> + <p> + "Right-o. But I had to.... Buck up, now, Dare!" + </p> + <p> + "All right. Shoot it quick," returned Lane, feeling his breast + contract and his skin tighten with a chill. + </p> + <p> + "Red Payson has gone west." + </p> + <p> + "Blair! You don't mean—dead?" exclaimed Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, Reddie's gone—and I guess it's just as well, poor + devil!" + </p> + <p> + "How? When?" + </p> + <p> + "Two days ago, according to papers.... He died in Washington, + D.C. Fell down in the vestibule of one of the government + offices—where he was waiting.... fell with another + hemorrhage—and died right there—on the + floor—quick." + </p> + <p> + "My—God!" gasped Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, it's tough. You see, Dare, I couldn't keep Reddie here. + Heaven knows I tried, but he wouldn't stay.... I'm afraid he + heard my mother complaining. Say, Dare, suppose I have somebody + drive me in town to see you." + </p> + <p> + "I'd like that, Blair." + </p> + <p> + "You're on. And say, I've another idea. To-night's the Junior + Prom—did you know that?" + </p> + <p> + "No, I didn't." + </p> + <p> + "Well, it is. Suppose we go up? My sister can get me cards.... I + tell you, Dare, I'd like to see what's going on in that bunch. + I've heard a lot and seen some things." + </p> + <p> + "Did you hear how I mussed up Fanchon Smith's party?" + </p> + <p> + "You bet I did. That's one reason I want to see some of this + dancing. Will you go?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I can stand it if you can." + </p> + <p> + "All right, Buddy, I'll meet you at the inn—eight o'clock." + </p> + <p> + Lane slowly made his way to a secluded corner of the lobby, where + he sat down. Red Payson dead! Lane felt that he should not have + been surprised or shocked. But he was both. The strange, cold + sensation gradually wore away and with it the slight trembling of + his limbs. A mournful procession of thoughts and images returned + to his mind and he sat and brooded. + </p> + <p> + At the hour of his appointment with his friend, Lane went to the + front of the lobby. Blair was on time. He hobbled in, erect and + martial of bearing despite the crutch, and his dark citizen's + suit emphasized the whiteness of his face. Being home had + softened Blair a little. Yet the pride and tragic bitterness were + there. But when Blair espied Lane a warmth burned out of the + havoc in his face. Lane's conscience gave him a twinge. It dawned + upon him that neither his spells of illness, nor his distress + over his sister Lorna, nor his obsession to see and understand + what the young people were doing could hold him wholly excusable + for having neglected his comrade. + </p> + <p> + Their hand-clasp was close, almost fierce, and neither spoke at + once. But they looked intently into each other's faces. Emotion + stormed Lane's heart. He realized that Blair loved him and that + he loved Blair—and that between them was a measureless + bond, a something only separation could make tangible. But little + of what they felt came out in their greetings. + </p> + <p> + "Dare, why the devil don't you can that uniform," demanded Blair, + cheerfully. "People might recognize you've been 'over there.'" + </p> + <p> + "Well, Blair, I expected you'd have a cork leg by this time," + said Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Nothing doing," returned the other. "I want to be perpetually + reminded that I was in the war. This 'forget the war' propaganda + we see and hear all over acts kind of queer on a soldier.... + Let's find a bench away from these people." + </p> + <p> + After they were comfortably seated Blair went on: "Do you know, + Dare, I don't miss my leg so much when I'm crutching around. But + when I try to sit down or get up! By heck, sometimes I forget + it's gone. And sometimes I want to scratch my lost foot. Isn't + that hell?" + </p> + <p> + "I'll say so, Buddy," returned Lane, with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + "Read this," said Blair, taking a paper from his pocket, and + indicating a column. + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Lane read a brief Associated Press dispatch from + Washington, D.C., stating that one Payson, disabled soldier of + twenty-five, suffering with tuberculosis caused by gassed lungs, + had come to Washington to make in person a protest and appeal + that had been unanswered in letters. He wanted money from the + government to enable him to travel west to a dry climate, where + doctors assured him he might get well. He made his statement to + several clerks and officials, and waited all day in the vestibule + of the department. Suddenly he was seized with a hemorrhage, and, + falling on the floor, died before aid could be summoned. + </p> + <p> + Without a word Lane handed the paper back to his friend. + </p> + <p> + "Red was a queer duck," said Blair, rather hoarsely. "You + remember when I 'phoned you last over two weeks ago?... Well, + just after that Red got bad on my hands. He wouldn't accept + charity, he said. And he wanted to beat it. He got wise to my + mother. He wouldn't give up trying to get money from the + government—back money owed him, he swore—and the idea + of being turned down at home seemed to obsess him. I talked and + cussed myself weak. No good! Red beat it soon after + that—beat it from Middleville on a freight train. And I + never heard a word from him.... Not a word...." + </p> + <p> + "Blair, can't you see it Red's way?" queried Lane, sadly. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I can," responded Blair, "but hell! he might have gotten + well. Doc Bronson said Red had a chance. I could have borrowed + enough money to get him out west. Red wouldn't take it." + </p> + <p> + "And he ran off—exposed himself to cold and + starvation—over-exertion and anger," added Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Exactly. Brought on that hemorrhage and croaked. All for + nothing!" + </p> + <p> + "No, Blair. All for a principle," observed Lane. "Red was fired + out of the hospital without a dollar. There was something + terribly wrong." + </p> + <p> + "Wrong?... God Almighty!" burst out Blair, with hard passion. + "Let me read you something in this same paper." With shaking + hands he unfolded it, searched until he found what he wanted, and + began to read: + </p> + <p> + "'If the <i>actual</i> needs of disabled veterans require the + expenditure of much money, then unquestionably a majority of the + taxpayers of the country will favor spending it. Despite the + insistent demand for economy in Washington that is arising from + every part of the country, no member of House or Senate will have + occasion to fear that he is running counter to popular opinion + when eventually he votes to take generous care of disabled + soldiers.'" + </p> + <p> + Blair's trembling voice ceased, and then twisting the newspaper + into a rope, he turned to Lane. "Dare, can you understand + that?... Red Payson was a bull-headed boy, not over bright. But + you and I have some intelligence, I hope. We can allow for the + immense confusion at Washington—the senselessness of red + tape—the callosity of politicians. But when we remember the + eloquent calls to us boys—the wonderfully worded appeals to + our patriotism, love of country and home—the painted + posters bearing the picture of a beautiful American girl—or + a young mother with a baby—remembering these deep, + passionate calls to the best in us, can you understand + <i>that</i> sort of talk now?" + </p> + <p> + "Blair, I think I can," replied Lane. "Then—before and + after the draft—the whole country was at a white heat of + all that the approach of war rouses. Fear, self-preservation, + love of country, hate of the Huns, inspired patriotism, and in + most everybody the will to fight and to sacrifice.... The war was + a long, hideous, soul-racking, nerve-destroying time. When it + ended, and the wild period of joy and relief had its run, then + all that pertained to the war sickened and wearied and disgusted + the majority of people. It's 'forget the war.' You and Payson and + I got home a year too late." + </p> + <p> + "Then—it's just—monstrous," said Blair, heavily. + </p> + <p> + "That's all, Blair. Just monstrous. But we can't beat our spirits + out against this wall. No one can understand us—how alone + we are. Let's forget <i>that</i>—this wall—this thing + called government. Shall we spend what time we have to live + always in a thunderous atmosphere of mind—hating, + pondering, bitter?" + </p> + <p> + "No. I'll make a compact with you," returned Blair, with flashing + eyes. "Never to speak again of <i>that</i>—so long as we + live!" + </p> + <p> + "Never to a living soul," rejoined Lane, with a ring in his + voice. + </p> + <p> + They shook hands much the same as when they had met half an hour + earlier. + </p> + <p> + "So!" exclaimed Blair, with a deep breath. "And now, Dare, tell + me how you made out with Helen. You cut me short over the + 'phone." + </p> + <p> + "Blair, that day coming into New York on the ship, you didn't put + it half strong enough," replied Lane. Then he told Blair about + the call he had made upon Helen, and what had transpired at her + studio. + </p> + <p> + Blair did not voice the scorn that his eyes expressed. And, in + fact, most of his talking was confined to asking questions. Lane + found it easy enough to unburden himself, though he did not + mention his calls on Mel Iden, or Colonel Pepper's disclosures. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I guess it's high time we were meandering up to the hall," + said Blair, consulting his watch. "I'm curious about this Prom. + Think we're in for a jolt. It's four years since I went to a + Prom. Now, both of us, Dare, have a sister who'll be there, + besides all our old friends.... And we're not dancing! But I want + to look on. They've got an out-of-town orchestra coming—a + jazz orchestra. There'll probably be a hot time in the old town + to-night." + </p> + <p> + "Lorna did not tell me," replied Lane, as they got up to go. "But + I suppose she'd rather I didn't know. We've clashed a good deal + lately." + </p> + <p> + "Dare, I hear lots of talk," said Blair. "Margaret is chummy with + me, and some of her friends are always out at the house. I hear + Dick Swann is rushing Lorna. Think he's doing it on the q-t." + </p> + <p> + "I know he is, Blair, but I can't catch them together," returned + Lane. "Lorna is working now. Swann got her the job." + </p> + <p> + "Looks bad to me," replied Blair, soberly. "Swann is cutting a + swath. I hear his old man is sore on him.... I'd take Lorna out + of that office quick." + </p> + <p> + "Maybe you would," declared Lane, grimly. "For all the influence + or power I have over Lorna I might as well not exist." + </p> + <p> + They walked silently along the street for a little while. Lane + had to accommodate his step to the slower movement of his + crippled friend. Blair's crutch tapped over the stone pavement + and clicked over the curbs. They crossed the railroad tracks and + turned off the main street to go down a couple of blocks. + </p> + <p> + "Shades of the past!" exclaimed Blair, as they reached a big + brick building, well-lighted in front by a sizzling electric + lamp. The night was rather warm and clouds of insects were + wheeling round the light. "The moths and the flame!" added Blair, + satirically. "Well, Dare, old bunkie, brace up and we'll go over + the top. This ought to be fun for us." + </p> + <p> + "I don't see it," replied Lane. "I'll be about as welcome as a + bull in a china shop." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, I didn't mean any one would throw fits over us," responded + Blair. "But we ought to get some fun out of the fact." + </p> + <p> + "What fact?" queried Lane, puzzled. + </p> + <p> + "Rather far-fetched, maybe. But I'll get a kick out of looking + on—watching these swell slackers with the girls <i>we</i> + fought for." + </p> + <p> + "Wonder why they didn't give the dance at the armory, where + they'd not have to climb stairs, and have more room?" queried + Lane, as they went in under the big light. + </p> + <p> + "Dare, you're far back in the past," said Blair, sardonically. + "The armory is on the ground floor—one big hall—open, + you know. The Assembly Hall is a regular maze for rooms and + stairways." + </p> + <p> + Blair labored up the stairway with Lane's help. At last they + reached the floor from which had blared the strains of jazz. Wide + doors were open, through which Lane caught the flash of many + colors. Blair produced his tickets at the door. There did not + appear to be any one to take them. + </p> + <p> + Lane experienced an indefinable thrill at the scene. The air + seemed to reek with a mixed perfume and cigarette smoke—to + resound with high-keyed youthful laughter, wild and sweet and + vacant above the strange, discordant music. Then the flashing, + changing, whirling colors of the dancers struck Lane as oriental, + erotic, bizarre—gorgeous golds and greens and reds striped + by the conventional black. Suddenly the blare ceased, and the + shrill, trilling laughter had dominance. The rapid circling of + forms came to a sudden stop, and the dancers streamed in all + directions over the floor. + </p> + <p> + "Dare, they've called time," said Blair. "Let's get inside the + ropes so we can see better." + </p> + <p> + The hall was not large, but it was long, and shaped like a letter + L with pillars running down the center. Countless threads of + many-colored strings of paper had been stretched from pillars to + walls, hanging down almost within reach of the dancers. Flags and + gay bunting helped in the riotous effect of decoration. The + black-faced orchestra held forth on a raised platform at the + point where the hall looked two ways. Recesses, alcoves and open + doors to other rooms, which the young couples were piling over + each other to reach, gave Lane some inkling of what Blair had + hinted. + </p> + <p> + "Now we're out in the limelight," announced Blair, as he halted. + "Let's stand here and run the gauntlet until the next + dance—then we can find seats." + </p> + <p> + Almost at once a stream of gay couples enveloped them in passing. + Bright, flashing, vivid faces and bare shoulders, arms and + breasts appeared above the short bodices of the girls. Few of + them were gowned in white. The colors seemed too garish for + anything but musical comedy. But the freshness, the vividness of + these girls seemed exhilarating. The murmur, the merriment + touched a forgotten chord in Lane's heart. For a moment it seemed + sweet to be there, once more in a gathering where pleasure was + the pursuit. It breathed of what seemed long ago, in a past that + was infinitely more precious to remember because he had no future + of hope or of ambition or dream. Something had happened to him + that now made the sensations of the moment stingingly + bitter-sweet. The freshness and fragrance, the color and + excitement, the beauty and gayety were not for him. Youth was + dead. He could never enter the lists with these young men, many + no younger than he, for the favor and smile of a girl. + Resignation had not been so difficult in the spiritual moment of + realization and resolve, but to be presented with one concrete + and stunning actuality after another, each with its mocking + might-have-been, had grown to be a terrible ordeal. + </p> + <p> + Lane looked for faces he knew. On each side of the pillar where + he and Blair stood the stream of color and gayety flowed. Helen + and Margaret Maynard went by on the far edge of that stream. + Across the hall he caught a glimpse of the flashing golden beauty + of Bessy Bell. Then near at hand he recognized Fanchon Smith, a + petite, smug-faced little brunette, with naked shoulders bulging + out of a piebald gown. She espied Lane and her face froze. Then + there were familiar faces near and far, to which Lane could not + attach names. + </p> + <p> + All at once he became aware that other of his senses besides + sight were being stimulated. He had been hearing without + distinguishing what he heard. And curiously he listened, still + with that strange knock of memory at his heart. Everybody was + talking, some low, some high, all in the spirit of the hour. And + in one moment he had heard that which killed the false + enchantment. + </p> + <p> + "Not a chance! ..." + </p> + <p> + "Hot dog—she's some Jane!" + </p> + <p> + "Now to the clinch—" + </p> + <p> + "What'll we do till the next spiel—" + </p> + <p> + "Have a shot?——" + </p> + <p> + "Boys, it's only the shank of the evening. Leave something peppy + for the finish." + </p> + <p> + "Mame, you look like a million dollars in that rag." + </p> + <p> + "She shakes a mean shimmy, believe me...." + </p> + <p> + "That egg! Not on your life!" + </p> + <p> + "Cut the next with Ned. We'll sneak down and take a ride in my + car...." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, spiffy!" + </p> + <p> + Lane's acutely strained attention was diverted by Blair's voice. + </p> + <p> + "Look who's with my sister Margie." + </p> + <p> + Lane turned to look through an open space in the dispersing + stream. Blair's sister was passing with Dick Swann. Elegantly and + fastidiously attired, the young millionaire appeared to be + attentive to his partner. Margaret stood out rather strikingly + from the other girls near her by reason of the simplicity and + modesty of her dress. She did not look so much bored as + discontented. Lane saw her eyes rove to and fro from the entrance + of the hall. When she espied Lane she nodded and spoke with a + smile and made an evident move toward him, but was restrained by + Swann. He led her past Lane and Blair without so much as glancing + in their direction. Lane heard Blair swear. + </p> + <p> + "Dare, if my mother throws Marg at that—slacker, I'll block + the deal if it's the last thing I ever do," he declared, + violently. + </p> + <p> + "And I'll help you," replied Lane, instantly. + </p> + <p> + "I know Margie hates him." + </p> + <p> + "Blair, your sister is in love with Holt Dalrymple." + </p> + <p> + "No! Not really? Thought that was only a boy-and-girl affair.... + Aha! the nigger music again! Let's find a seat, Dare." + </p> + <p> + Saxophone, trombone, piccolo, snare-drum and other barbaric + instruments opened with a brazen defiance of music, and a vibrant + assurance of quick, raw, strong sounds. Lane himself felt the + stirring effect upon his nerves. He had difficulty in keeping + still. From the lines of chairs along the walls and from doors + and alcoves rushed the gay-colored throng to leap, to close, to + step, to rock and sway, until the floor was full of a moving mass + of life. + </p> + <p> + The first half-dozen couples Lane studied all danced more or less + as Helen and Swann had, that day in Helen's studio. Then, by way + of a remarkable contrast, there passed two young people who + danced decently. Lane descried his sister Lorna in the throng, + and when she and her partner came round in the giddy circle, Lane + saw that she wiggled and toddled like the others. Lane, as she + passed him, caught a glance of her eyes, flashing, reproachful, + furious, directed at some one across her partner's shoulder. Lane + followed that glance and saw Swann. Apparently he did not notice + Lorna, and was absorbed in the dance with his own partner, Helen + Wrapp. This byplay further excited Lane's curiosity. On the + whole, it was an ungraceful, violent mob, almost totally lacking + in restraint, whirling, kicking, swaying, clasping, instinctively + physical, crude, vulgar and wild. Down the line of chairs from + his position, Lane saw the chaperones of the Prom, no doubt + mothers of some of these girls. Lane wondered at them with + sincere and persistent amaze. If they were respectable, and had + even a slight degree of intelligence, how could they look on at + this dance with complacence? Perhaps after all the young people + were not wholly to blame for an abnormal expression of + instinctive action. + </p> + <p> + That dance had its several encores and finally ended. + </p> + <p> + Margaret and Holt made their way up to Lane and Blair. The girl + was now radiant. It took no second glance for Lane to see how + matters stood with her at that moment. + </p> + <p> + "Say, beat it, you two," suddenly spoke up Blair. "There comes + Swann. He's looking for you. Chase yourselves, now, + Marg—Holt. Leave that slacker to <i>us</i>!" + </p> + <p> + Margaret gave a start, a gasp. She looked hard at her brother. + Blair wore a cool smile, underneath which there was sterner + hidden meaning. Then Margaret looked at Lane with slow, deep + blush, making her really beautiful. + </p> + <p> + "Margie, we're for you two, strong," said Lane, with a smile. "Go + hide from Swann." + </p> + <p> + "But I—I came with him," she faltered. + </p> + <p> + "Then let him find you—in other words, let him <i>get</i> + you.... 'All's fair in love and war.'" + </p> + <p> + Lane had his reward in the sweet amaze and confusion of her face, + as she turned away. Holt rushed her off amid the straggling + couples. + </p> + <p> + "Dare, you're a wiz," declared Blair. "Margie's strong for + Holt—I'm glad. If we could only put Swann out of the + running." + </p> + <p> + "It's a cinch," returned Lane, with sudden heat. + </p> + <p> + "Pard, you don't know my mother. If she has picked out Swann for + Margie—all I've got to say is—good night!" + </p> + <p> + "Even if we prove Swann——" + </p> + <p> + "No matter what we prove," interrupted Blair. "No matter what, so + long as he's out of jail. My mother is money mad. She'd sell + Margie to the devil himself for gold, position—the means to + queen it over these other mothers of girls." + </p> + <p> + "Blair, you're—you're a little off your nut, aren't you?" + </p> + <p> + "Not on your life. That talk four years ago might have been + irrational. But now—not on your life.... The world has come + to an end.... Oh, Lord, look who's coming! Lane, did you ever in + your life see such a peach as that?" + </p> + <p> + Bessy Bell had appeared, coming toward them with a callow youth + near her own age. Her dress was some soft, pale blue material + that was neither gaudy nor fantastical. But it was far from + modest. Lane had to echo Blair's eulogy of this young specimen of + the new America. She simply verified and stabilized the assertion + that physically the newer generations of girls were markedly more + beautiful than those of any generation before. + </p> + <p> + Bessy either forgot to introduce her escort or did not care to. + She nodded a dismissal to him, spoke sweetly to Blair, and then + took the empty chair next to Lane. + </p> + <p> + "You're having a rotten time," she said, leaning close to him. + She seemed all fragrance and airy grace and impelling life. + </p> + <p> + Lane had to smile. "How do you know?" + </p> + <p> + "I can tell by your face. Now aren't you?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, to be honest, Miss Bessy" + </p> + <p> + "For tripe's sake, don't be so formal," she interrupted. "Call me + Bessy." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, very well, Bessy. There's no use to lie to you. I'm not very + happy at what I see here." + </p> + <p> + "What's the matter with it—with us?" she queried, quickly. + "Everybody's doing it." + </p> + <p> + "That is no excuse. Besides, that's not so. Everybody is + not—not——" + </p> + <p> + "Well, not what?" + </p> + <p> + "Not doing it, whatever you meant by that," returned Lane, with a + laugh. + </p> + <p> + "Tell me straight out what <i>you</i> think of us," she shot at + Lane, with a purple flash of her eyes. + </p> + <p> + She irritated Lane. Stirred him somehow, yet she seemed + wholesome, full of quick response. She was daring, sophisticated, + provocative. Therefore Lane retorted in brief, blunt speech what + he thought of the majority of the girls present. + </p> + <p> + Bessy Bell did not look insulted. She did not blush. She did not + show shame. Her eyes darkened. Her rosy mouth lost something of + its soft curves. + </p> + <p> + "Daren Lane, we're not all rotten," she said. + </p> + <p> + "I did not say or imply you <i>all</i> were," he replied. + </p> + <p> + She gazed up at him thoughtfully, earnestly, with an unconscious + frank interest, curiosity, and reverence. + </p> + <p> + "You strike me funny," she mused. "I never met a soldier like + you." + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, how many soldiers have you met who have come back from + France?" + </p> + <p> + "Not many, only Blair and you, and Captain Thesel, though I + really didn't meet him. He came up to me at the armory and spoke + to me. And to-night he cut in on Roy's dance. Roy was sore." + </p> + <p> + "Three. Well, that's not many," replied Lane. "Not enough to get + a line on two million, is it?" + </p> + <p> + "Captain Thesel is just like all the other fellows.... But you're + not a bit like them." + </p> + <p> + "Is that a compliment or otherwise?" + </p> + <p> + "I'll say it's a compliment," she replied, with arch eyes on his. + </p> + <p> + "Thank you." + </p> + <p> + "Well, you don't deserve it.... You promised to make a date with + me. Why haven't you?" + </p> + <p> + "Why child, I—I don't know what to say," returned Lane, + utterly disconcerted. Yet he liked this amazing girl. "I suppose + I forgot. But I've been ill, for one reason." + </p> + <p> + "I'm sorry," she said, giving his arm a squeeze. "I heard you + were badly hurt. Won't you tell me about your—your hurts?" + </p> + <p> + "Some day, if opportunity affords. I can't here, that's certain." + </p> + <p> + "Opportunity! What do you want? Haven't I handed myself out on a + silver platter?" + </p> + <p> + Lane could find no ready retort for this query. He gazed at her, + marveling at the apparently measureless distance between her + exquisite physical beauty and the spiritual beauty that should + have been harmonious with it. Still he felt baffled by this young + girl. She seemed to resemble Lorna, yet was different in a way he + could not grasp. Lorna had coarsened in fibre. This girl was + fine, despite her coarse speech. She did not repel. + </p> + <p> + "Mr. Lane, will you dance with me?" she asked, almost wistfully. + She liked him, and was not ashamed of it. But she seemed + pondering over what to make of him—how far to go. + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, I dare not exert myself to that extent," he replied, + gently. "You forget I am a disabled soldier." + </p> + <p> + "Forget that? Not a chance," she flashed. "But I hoped you might + dance with me once—just a little." + </p> + <p> + "No. I might keel over." + </p> + <p> + She shivered and her eyes dilated. "You mean it as a joke. But + it's no joke.... I read about your comrade—that poor Red + Payson!" ... Then both devil of humor and woman of fire shone in + her glance. "Daren, if you <i>did</i> keel over—you'd die + in my arms—not on the floor!" + </p> + <p> + Then another partner came up to claim her. As the orchestra + blurted forth and Bessy leaned to the dancer's clasp she shouted + audaciously at Lane: "Don't forget that silver platter!" + </p> + <p> + Lane turned to Blair to find that worthy shaking his handsome + head. + </p> + <p> + "Did you hear what she said?" asked Lane, close to Blair's ear. + </p> + <p> + "Every word," replied Blair. "Some kid!... She's like the girl in + the motion-pictures. She comes along. She meets the fellow. She + looks at him—she says 'good day'—then <i>Wham</i>, + into his arms.... My God! ... Lane, is that kid good or bad?" + </p> + <p> + "Good!" exclaimed Lane, instantly. + </p> + <p> + "Bah!" + </p> + <p> + "Good—still," returned Lane. "But alas! She is brazen, + unconscious of it. But she's no fool, that kid. Lorna is an + absolute silly bull-headed fool. I wish Bessy Bell was my + sister—or I mean that Lorna was like her." + </p> + <p> + "Here comes Swann without Margie. Looks sore as a pup. + The——" + </p> + <p> + "Shut up, Blair. I want to listen to this jazz." + </p> + <p> + Lane shut his eyes during the next number and listened without + the disconcerting spectacle in his sight. He put all the + intensity of which he was capable into his attention. His + knowledge of music was not extensive, but on the other hand it + was enough to enable him to analyze this jazz. Neither music nor + ragtime, it seemed utterly barbarian in character. It appealed + only to primitive, physical, sensual instincts. It could not be + danced to sanely and gracefully. When he opened his eyes again, + to see once more the disorder of dancers in spirit and action, he + seemed to have his analysis absolutely verified. + </p> + <p> + These dances were short, the encores very brief, and the + intermissions long. Perhaps the dancers needed to get their + breath and rearrange their apparel. + </p> + <p> + After this number, Lane left Blair talking to friends, and made + his way across the hall to where he espied Lorna. She did not see + him. She looked ashamed, hurt, almost sullen. Her young friend, + Harry, was bending over talking earnestly. Lane caught the words: + "Lorna dear, that Swann's only stringing you—rushing you on + the sly. He won't dance with you <i>here</i>—not while he's + with that swell crowd." + </p> + <p> + "It's a lie," burst out Lorna. She was almost in tears. + </p> + <p> + Lane took her arm, making her start. + </p> + <p> + "Well, kids, you're having some time, aren't you," he said, + cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + "Sure—are," gulped Harry. + </p> + <p> + Lorna repressed her grief, but not her sullen resentment. + </p> + <p> + Lane pretended not to notice anything unusual, and after a few + casual remarks and queries he left them. Strolling from place to + place, mingling with the gay groups, in the more secluded alcoves + and recesses where couples appeared, oblivious to eyes, in the + check room where a sign read: "check your corsets," out in the + wide landing where the stairway came up, Lane passed, missing + little that might have been seen or heard. He did not mind that + two of the chaperones stared at him in supercilious curiosity, as + if speculating on a possible <i>faux pas</i> of his at this + dance. Both boys and girls he had met since his return to + Middleville, and some he had known before, encountered him face + to face, and cut him dead. He heard sarcastic remarks. He was an + outsider, a "dead one," a "has been" and a "lemon." But Margaret + was gracious to him, and Flossie Dickerson made no bones of her + regard. Dorothy, he was relieved and glad to see, was not + present. + </p> + <p> + Lane had no particular object in mind. He just wanted to rub + elbows with this throng of young people. This was the joy of life + he had imagined he had missed while in France. How much vain + longing! He had missed nothing. He had boundlessly gained. + </p> + <p> + Out on this floor a railing ran round the curve of the stairway. + Girls were sitting on it, smoking cigarettes, and kicking their + slipper-shod feet. Their partners were lounging close. Lane + passed by, and walking to a window in the shadow he stood there. + Presently one of the boys threw away his cigarette and said: + "Come on, Ironsides. I gotta dance. You're a rotten dancer, but I + love you." + </p> + <p> + They ran back into the hall. The young fellow who was left + indolently attempted to kiss his partner, who blew smoke in his + face. Then at a louder blast of jazz they bounced away. The next + moment a third couple appeared, probably from another door down + the hall. They did not observe Lane. The girl was slim, dainty, + gorgeously arrayed, and her keen, fair face bore traces of paint + wet by perspiration. Her companion was Captain Vane Thesel, in + citizen's garb, well-built, ruddy-faced, with tiny curled + moustache. + </p> + <p> + "Hurry, kid," he said, breathlessly, as he pulled at her. "We'll + run down and take a spin." + </p> + <p> + "Spiffy! But let's wait till after the next," she replied. "It's + Harold's and I came with him." + </p> + <p> + "Tell him it was up to him to find you." + </p> + <p> + "But he might get wise to a car ride." + </p> + <p> + "He'd do the same. Come on," returned Thesel, who all the time + was leading her down the stairway step by step. + </p> + <p> + They disappeared. From the open window Lane saw them go down the + street and get into a car and ride away. He glanced at his watch, + muttering. "This is a new stunt for dances. I just wonder." He + watched, broodingly and sombrely. It was not his sister, but it + might just as well have been. Two dances and a long intermission + ended before Lane saw the big auto return. He watched the couple + get out, and hurry up, to disappear at the entrance. Then Lane + changed his position, and stood directly at the head of the + stairway under the light. He had no interest in Captain Vane + Thesel. He just wanted to get a close look at the girl. + </p> + <p> + Presently he heard steps, heavy and light, and a man's deep + voice, a girl's low thrill of laughter. They turned the curve in + the stairway and did not see Lane until they had mounted to the + top. + </p> + <p> + With cool steady gaze Lane studied the girl. Her clear eyes met + his. If there was anything unmistakable in Lane's look at her, it + was not from any deception on his part. He tried to look into her + soul. Her smile—a strange indolent little smile, remnant of + excitement—faded from her face. She stared, and she put an + instinctive hand up to her somewhat dishevelled hair. Then she + passed on with her companion. + </p> + <p> + "Of all the nerve!" she exclaimed. "Who's that soldier boob?" + </p> + <p> + Lane could not catch the low reply. He lingered there a while + longer, and then returned to the hall, much surprised to find it + so dark he could scarcely distinguish the dancers. The lights had + been lowered. If the dance had been violent and strange before + this procedure, it was now a riot. In the semi-darkness the + dancers cut loose. The paper strings had been loosened and had + fallen down to become tangled with the flying feet and legs. + Confetti swarmed like dark snowdrops in the hot air. Lane + actually smelled the heat of bodies—a strangely stirring + and yet noxious sensation. A rushing, murmuring, shrill + sound—voices, laughter, cries, and the sliding of feet and + brushing of gowns—filled the hall—ominous to Lane's + over-sensitive faculties, swelling unnaturally, the expression of + unrestrained physical abandon. Lane walked along the edge of this + circling, wrestling melee, down to the corner where the orchestra + held forth. They seemed actuated by the same frenzy which + possessed the dancers. The piccolo player lay on his back on top + of the piano, piping his shrill notes at the ceiling. And Lane + made sure this player was drunk. On the moment then the jazz came + to an end with a crash. The lights flashed up. The dancers + clapped and stamped their pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Lane wound his way back to Blair. + </p> + <p> + "I've had enough, Blair," he said. "I'm all in. Let's go." + </p> + <p> + "Right-o," replied Blair, with evident relief. He reached a hand + to Lane to raise himself, an action he rarely resorted to, and + awkwardly got his crutch in place. They started out, with Lane + accommodating his pace to his crippled comrade. Thus it happened + that the two ran a gauntlet with watching young people on each + side, out to the open part of the hall. There directly in front + they encountered Captain Vane Thesel, with Helen Wrapp on his + arm. Her red hair, her green eyes, and carmined lips, the white + of her voluptuous neck and arms, united in a singular effect of + allurement that Lane felt with scorn and melancholy. + </p> + <p> + Helen nodded to Blair and Lane, and evidently dragged at her + escort's arm to hold him from passing on. + </p> + <p> + "Look who's here! Daren, old boy—and Blair," she called, + and she held the officer back. The malice in her green glance did + not escape Lane, as he bowed to her. She gloried in that + situation. Captain Thesel had to face them. + </p> + <p> + It was Blair's hand that stiffened Lane. They halted, erect, like + statues, with eyes that failed to see Thesel. He did not exist + for them. With a flush of annoyance he spoke, and breaking from + Helen, passed on. A sudden silence in the groups nearby gave + evidence that the incident had been observed. Then whispers rose. + </p> + <p> + "Boys, aren't you dancing?" asked Helen, with a mocking + sweetness. "Let me teach you the new steps." + </p> + <p> + "Thanks, Helen," replied Lane, in sudden weariness. "But I + couldn't go it." + </p> + <p> + "Why did you come? To blow us up again? Lose your nerve?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I lost it to-night—and something more." + </p> + <p> + "Blair, you shouldn't have left one of your legs in France," she + said, turning to Blair. She had always hated Blair, a fact + omnipresent now in her green eyes. + </p> + <p> + Blair had left courtesy and endurance in France, as was evinced + by the way he bent closer to Helen, to speak low, with terrible + passion. + </p> + <p> + "If I had it to do over again—I'd see <i>you</i> and + <i>your</i> kind—your dirt-cheap crowd of painted hussies + where you belong—in the clutch of the Huns!" + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + Miss Amanda Hill, teacher in the Middleville High School, sat + wearily at her desk. She was tired, as tired as she had ever been + on any day of the fifteen long years in which she had wrestled + with the problems of school life. Her hair was iron gray and she + bent a worn, sad, severe face over a mass of notes before her. + </p> + <p> + At that moment she was laboring under a perplexing question that + was not by any means a new one. Only this time it had presented + itself in a less insidious manner than usual, leaving no loophole + for charitable imagination. Presently she looked up and rapped on + her desk. + </p> + <p> + "These young ladies will remain after school is dismissed," she + said, in her authoritative voice: "Bessy Bell—Rose + Clymer—Gail Matthews—Helen Tremaine—Ruth + Winthrop.... Also any other girls who are honest enough to admit + knowledge of the notes found in Rose Clymer's desk." + </p> + <p> + The hush that fell over the schoolroom was broken by the gong in + the main hall, sounding throughout the building. Then followed + the noise of shutting books and closing desks, and the bustle and + shuffling of anticipated dismissal. + </p> + <p> + In a front seat sat a girl who did not arise with the others, and + as one by one several girls passed her desk with hurried step and + embarrassed snicker she looked at them with purple, blazing eyes. + </p> + <p> + Miss Hill attended to her usual task with the papers of the day's + lessons and the marking of the morrow's work before she glanced + up at the five girls she had detained. They sat in widely + separated sections of the room. Rose Clymer, pretty, fragile, + curly-haired, occupied the front seat of the end row. Her face + had no color and her small mouth was set in painful lines. Four + seats across from her Bessy Bell leaned on her desk, with defiant + calmness, and traces of scorn still in her expressive eyes. Gail + Matthews looked frightened and Helen Tremaine was crying. Ruth + Winthrop bent forward with her face buried in her arms. + </p> + <p> + "Girls," began Miss Hill, presently. "I know you regard me as a + cross old schoolteacher." + </p> + <p> + She had spoken impulsively, a rare thing with her, and occasioned + in this instance by the painful consciousness of how she was + judged, when she was really so kindly disposed toward the wayward + girls. + </p> + <p> + "Girls, I've tried to get into close touch with you, to + sympathize, to be lenient; but somehow, I've failed," she went + on. "Certainly I have failed to stop this note-writing. And + lately it has become—beyond me to understand. Now won't you + help me to get at the bottom of the matter? Helen, it was you who + told me these notes were in Rose's desk. Have you any knowledge + of more?" + </p> + <p> + "Ye—s—m," said Helen, raising her red face. + "I've—I've one—I—was afraid to g—give + up." + </p> + <p> + "Bring it to me." + </p> + <p> + Helen rose and came forward with an expressive little fist and + opening it laid a crumpled paper upon Miss Hill's desk. As Helen + returned to her seat she met Bessy Bell's fiery glance and it + seemed to wither her. + </p> + <p> + The teacher smoothed out the paper and began to read. "Good + Heavens!" she breathed, in amaze and pain. Then she turned to + Helen. "This verse is in your handwriting." + </p> + <p> + "Yes'm—but I—I only copied it," responded the + culprit. + </p> + <p> + "Who gave you the original?" + </p> + <p> + "Rose." + </p> + <p> + "Where did she get it?" + </p> + <p> + "I—I don't know—Miss Hill. Really and tru—truly + I don't," faltered Helen, beginning to cry again. + </p> + <p> + Gail and Ruth also disclaimed any knowledge of the verse, except + that it had been put into their hands by Rose. They had read it, + copied it, written notes about it and discussed it. + </p> + <p> + "You three girls may go home now," said Miss Hill, sadly. + </p> + <p> + The girls hastily filed out and passed the scornful Bessy Bell + with averted heads. + </p> + <p> + "Rose, can you explain the notes found in your possession?" asked + the teacher. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, Miss Hill. They were written to me by different boys and + girls," replied Rose. + </p> + <p> + "Why do you seem to have all these writings addressed to you?" + </p> + <p> + "I didn't get any more than any other girl. But I wasn't afraid + to keep mine." + </p> + <p> + "Do you know where these verses came from, before Helen had + them?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, Miss Hill." + </p> + <p> + "Then you know who wrote them?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "Who?" + </p> + <p> + "I won't tell," replied Rose, deliberately. She looked straight + into her teacher's eyes. + </p> + <p> + "You refuse when I've assured you I'll be lenient?" demanded Miss + Hill. + </p> + <p> + "I'm no tattletale." Rose's answer was sullen. + </p> + <p> + "Rose, I ask you again. A great deal depends on your answer. Will + you tell me?" + </p> + <p> + The girl's lip curled. Then she laughed in a way that made Miss + Hill think of her as older. But she kept silent. + </p> + <p> + "Rose, you're expelled until further notice." Miss Hill's voice + trembled with disappointment and anger. "You may go now." + </p> + <p> + Rose gathered up her books and went into the cloakroom. The door + in the outer hall opened and closed. + </p> + <p> + "Miss Hill, it wasn't fair!" exclaimed Bessy Bell, hotly. "It + wasn't fair. Rose is no worse than the other girls. She's not as + bad, for she isn't sly and deceitful. There were a dozen girls + who lied when they went out. Helen lied. Ruth lied. Gail lied. + But Rose told the truth so far as she went. And she wouldn't tell + all because she wanted to shield me." + </p> + <p> + "Why did she want to shield you?" + </p> + <p> + "Because I wrote the verses." + </p> + <p> + "You mean you copied them?" + </p> + <p> + "I composed them," Bessy replied coolly. Her blue eyes fearlessly + met Miss Hill's gaze. + </p> + <p> + "Bessy Bell!" ejaculated the teacher. + </p> + <p> + The girl stood before her desk and from the tip of her dainty + boot to the crown of her golden hair breathed forth a strange, + wilful and rebellious fire. + </p> + <p> + Miss Hill's lips framed to ask a certain question of Bessy, but + she refrained and substituted another. + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, how old are you?" + </p> + <p> + "Fifteen last April." + </p> + <p> + "Have you any intelligent idea of—do you know—Bessy, + <i>how</i> did you write those verses?" asked Miss Hill, in + bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + "I know a good deal and I've imagination," replied Bessy, + candidly. + </p> + <p> + "That's evident," returned the teacher. "How long has this + note-and verse-writing been going on?" + </p> + <p> + "For a year, at least, among us." + </p> + <p> + "Then you caught the habit from girls gone higher up?" + </p> + <p> + "Certainly." + </p> + <p> + Bessy's trenchant brevity was not lost upon Miss Hill. + </p> + <p> + "We've always gotten along—you and I," said Miss Hill, + feeling her way with this strange girl. + </p> + <p> + "It's because you're kind and square, and I like you." + </p> + <p> + Something told the teacher she had never been paid a higher + compliment. + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, how much will you tell me?" + </p> + <p> + "Miss Hill, I'm in for it and I'll tell you everything, if only + you won't punish Rose," replied the girl, impulsively. "Rose's my + best friend. Her father's a mean, drunken brute. I'm afraid of + what he'll do if he finds out. Rose has a hard time." + </p> + <p> + "You say Rose is no more guilty than the other girls?" + </p> + <p> + "Rose Clymer never had an idea of her own. She's just sweet and + willing. I hate deceitful girls. Every one of them wrote notes to + the boys—the same kind of notes—and some of them + tried to write poetry. Most of them had a copy of the piece I + wrote. They had great fun over it—getting the boys to guess + what girl wrote it. I've written a dozen pieces before this and + they've all had them." + </p> + <p> + "Well, that explains the verses.... Now I read in these notes + about meetings with the boys?" + </p> + <p> + "That refers to mornings before school, and after school, and + evenings when it's nice weather. And the literary society." + </p> + <p> + "You mean the Girl's Literary Guild, with rooms at the Atheneum?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes. But, Miss Hill, the literary part of it is bunk. We meet + there to dance. The boys bring the girls cigarettes. They smoke, + and sometimes the boys have something with them to drink." + </p> + <p> + "These—these girls—hardly in their teens—smoke + and drink?" gasped Miss Hill. + </p> + <p> + "I'll say they do," replied Bessy Bell. + </p> + <p> + "What—does the 'Bell-garter' mean?" went on the teacher, + presently. + </p> + <p> + "One of the boys stole my garter and fastened a little bell to + it. Now it's going the rounds. Every girl who could has worn it." + </p> + <p> + "What's the 'Old Bench'?" + </p> + <p> + "Down in the basement here at school there's a bench under the + stairway in the dark. The boys and girls have signals. One boy + will get permission to go out at a certain time, and a girl from + his room, or another room, will go out too. It's all arranged + beforehand. They meet down on the Old Bench." + </p> + <p> + "What for?" + </p> + <p> + "They meet to spoon." + </p> + <p> + "I find the names Hardy Mackay, Captain Thesel, Dick Swann among + these notes. What can these young society men be to my pupils?" + </p> + <p> + "Some of the jealous girls have been tattling to each other and + mentioning names." + </p> + <p> + "Bessy! Do you imply these girls who talk have had the—the + interest or attention of these young gentlemen named?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "In what way?" + </p> + <p> + "I mean they've had dates to meet in the park—and other + places. Then they go joy riding." + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, have you?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes—but only just lately." + </p> + <p> + "Thank you Bessy, for your—your frankness," replied Miss + Hill, drawing a long breath. "I'll have another talk with you, + after I see your mother. You may go now." + </p> + <p> + It was an indication of Miss Hill's mental perturbation that for + once she broke her methodical routine. For many years she had + carried a lunch-basket to and from school; for so many in fact + that now on Saturdays when she went to town without it she + carried her left hand forward in the same position that had grown + habitual to her while holding it. But this afternoon, as she went + out, she forgot the basket entirely. + </p> + <p> + "I'll go to Mrs. Bell," soliloquized the worried schoolteacher. + "But how to explain what I can't understand! Some people would + call this thing just natural depravity. But I love these girls. + As I think back, every year, in the early summer, I've always had + something of this sort of thing to puzzle over. But the last few + years it's grown worse. The war made a difference. And since the + war—how strange the girls are! They seem to feel more. + They're bolder. They break out oftener. They dress so immodestly. + Yet they're less deceitful. They have no shame. I can blind + myself no longer to that. And this last is damning proof + of—of wildness. Some of them have taken the fatal step! ... + Yet—yet I seem to feel somehow Bessy Bell isn't <i>bad</i>. + I wonder if my hope isn't responsible for that feeling. I'm + old-fashioned. This modern girl is beyond me. How clearly she + spoke! She's a wonderful, fearless, terrible girl. I never saw a + girl so alive. I can't—can't understand her." + </p> + <p> + In the swift swinging from one consideration of the perplexing + question to another Miss Hill's mind naturally reverted to her + errand, and to her possible reception. Mrs. Bell was a proud + woman. She had married against the wishes of her blue-blooded + family, so rumor had it, and her husband was now Chief of Police + in Middleville. Mrs. Bell had some money of her own and was + slowly recovering her old position in society. + </p> + <p> + It was not without misgivings that Miss Hill presented herself at + Mrs. Bell's door and gave her card to a servant. The teacher had + often made thankless and misunderstood calls upon the mothers of + her pupils. She was admitted and shown to a living room where a + woman of fair features and noble proportions greeted her. + </p> + <p> + "Bessy's teacher, I presume?" she queried, graciously, yet with + just that slight touch of hauteur which made Miss Hill feel her + position. + </p> + <p> + "I am Bessy's teacher," she replied, with dignity. "Can you spare + me a few minutes?" + </p> + <p> + "Assuredly. Please be seated. I've heard Bessy speak of you. By + the way, the child hasn't come home yet. How late she always is!" + </p> + <p> + Miss Hill realized, with a protest at the unfairness of the + situation, that to face this elegant lady, so smiling, so suave, + so worldly, so graciously superior, and to tell her some + unpleasant truths about her daughter, was a task by no means + easy, and one almost sure to prove futile. But Miss Hill never + shirked her duty, and after all, her motive was a hope to help + Bessy. + </p> + <p> + "Mrs. Bell, I've come on a matter of importance," began Miss + Hill. "But it is so delicate a one I don't know how to broach it. + I believe plain speaking best." + </p> + <p> + Here Miss Hill went into detail, sparing not to call a spade a + spade. But she held back the names of the young society gentlemen + mentioned in the notes. Miss Hill was not sure of her ground + there and her revelation was grave enough for any intelligent + mother. + </p> + <p> + "Really, Miss Hill, you amaze me!" exclaimed Mrs. Bell. "Bessie + has fallen into bad company. Oh, these public schools! I never + attended one, but I've heard what they are." + </p> + <p> + "The public schools are not to blame," replied Miss Hill, + bluntly. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bell gave her visitor a rather supercilious stare. + </p> + <p> + "May I ask you to explain?" + </p> + <p> + "I'm afraid I can't explain," replied Miss Hill, conscious of a + little heat. "I've proofs of the condition. But as I can't + understand it, how can I explain? I have my own peculiar ideas, + only, lately, I've begun to doubt them. A year or so ago I would + have said girls had their own way too much—too much time to + themselves—too much freedom. But now I seem to feel life + isn't like what it was a few years ago. Girls are bound to learn. + And they never learn at home, that's sure. The last thing a + mother will do is to tell her daughter what she <i>ought</i> to + know. There's always been a shadow between most mothers and + daughters. And in these days of jazz it has become a wall. + Perhaps that's why girls don't confide in their mothers.... Mrs. + Bell, I considered it my duty to acquaint you with the truth + about these verses and notes, and what they imply. Would you care + to read some of them?" + </p> + <p> + "Thank you, but they wouldn't interest me in the least," replied + Mrs. Bell, coldly. "I wouldn't insult Bessy or her girl friends. + I imagine it's all some risque suggestion overheard and made much + of or a few verses mischievously plagiarized. I'm no prude, Miss + Hill. I know enough not to be strict, which is apparently the + fault of the school system. As for my own daughter I understand + her perfectly and trust her implicitly. I know the blood in her. + And I shall remove her from public school and place her in a + private institution under a tutor, where she'll no longer be + exposed to contaminating influences.... I thank you for your + intention, which I'm sure is kind—and, will you please + excuse me? I must dress for my bridge party. Good afternoon, Miss + Hill." + </p> + <p> + The schoolteacher plodded homeward, her eyes downcast and sad. + The snub given her by the mother had not hurt her as had the + failure to help the daughter. + </p> + <p> + "I knew it—I knew it. I'll never try again. That woman's + mind is a wilderness where her girl is concerned. How brainless + these mothers are!... Yet if I'd ever had a girl—I + wonder—would I have been blind? One's own blood—that + must be the reason. Pride. Could I have believed of <i>my</i> + girl what I admitted of hers? Perhaps not till too late. That + would be so human. But, oh! the mystery—the sadness of + it—the fatality!" + </p> + <p> + Rose Clymer left the High School with the settled, indifferent + bitterness of one used to trouble. Every desire she followed, + turn what way she would, every impulse reaching to grasp some + girlish gleam of happiness, resulted in the inevitable rebuke. + And this time it had been disgrace. But Rose felt she did not + care if she could only deceive her father. No cheerful task was + it to face him. Shivering at the thought she resolved to elude + the punishment he was sure to inflict if he learned why she had + been expelled. + </p> + <p> + She had no twinge of conscience. She was used to slights and + unkindness, and did not now reflect upon the justice of her + dismissal. What little pleasure she got came from friendships + with boys, and these her father had forbidden her to have. In the + bitter web of her thought ran the threads that if she had pretty + clothes like Helen, and a rich mother like Bessy, and a father + who was not a drunkard, her lot in life would have been happy. + </p> + <p> + Rose lived with her stepfather in three dingy rooms in the mill + section of Middleville. She never left the wide avenues and lawns + and stately residences, which she had to pass on her way to and + from school, without contrasting them with the dirty alleys and + grimy walls and squalid quarters of the working-class. She had + grown up in that class, but in her mind there was always a faint + vague recollection of a time when her surroundings had been + bright and cheerful, where there had been a mother who had taught + her to love beautiful things. To-day she climbed the rickety + stairs to her home and pushed open the latchless door with a + revolt brooding in her mind. + </p> + <p> + A man in his shirt sleeves sat by the little window. + </p> + <p> + "Why father—home so early?" she asked. + </p> + <p> + "Yes lass, home early," he replied wearily. "I'm losing my place + again." + </p> + <p> + He had straggling gray hair, bleared eyes with an opaque, glazy + look and a bluish cast of countenance. His chin was buried in the + collar of his open shirt; his shoulders sagged, and he breathed + heavily. + </p> + <p> + One glance assured Rose her father was not very much under the + influence of drink. And fear left her. When even half-sober he + was kind. + </p> + <p> + "So you've lost your place?" she asked. + </p> + <p> + "Yes. Old Swann is layin' off." + </p> + <p> + This was an untruth, Rose knew, because the mills had never been + so full, and men never so in demand. Besides her father was an + expert at his trade and could always have work. + </p> + <p> + "I'm sorry," she said, slowly. "I've been thinking lately that + I'll give up school and go to work. In an office uptown or a + department store." + </p> + <p> + "Rose, that'd be good of you," he replied. "You could help along + a lot. I don't do my work so well no more. But your poor mother + won't rest in her grave. She was so proud of you, always + dreamin'." + </p> + <p> + The lamp Rose lighted showed comfortless rooms, with but few + articles of furniture. It was with the deft fingers of long + practice that the girl spread the faded table-cloth, laid the + dishes, ground the coffee, peeled the potatoes, and cut the + bread. Then presently she called her father to the meal. He ate + in silence, having relapsed once more into the dull gloom natural + to him. When he had finished he took up his hat and with slow + steps left the room. + </p> + <p> + "No more study for me," mused Rose, and she felt both glad and + sorry. "What will Bessy say? She won't like it. I wonder what old + Hill did to her. Let her off easy. I won't get to see Bessy so + much now. No more afternoons in the park. But I'll have the + evenings. Best of all, some nice clothes to wear. I might some + day have a lovely gown like that Miss Maynard wore the night of + the Prom." + </p> + <p> + Rose washed and dried the dishes, put them away, and cleaned up + the little kitchen in a way that spoke well for her. And she did + it cheerfully, for in the interest of this new idea of work she + forgot her trouble and discontent. Taking up the lamp she went to + her room. It contained a narrow bed, a bureau, a small wardrobe + and a rug. The walls held several pictures, and some touches of + color in the way of ribbons, bright posters, and an + orange-and-blue banner. A photograph of Bessy Bell stood on the + bureau and the girl's beauty seemed like a light in the dingy + room. + </p> + <p> + Rose looked in the mirror and smiled and tossed her curly head. + She studied the oval face framed in its mass of curls, the steady + gray-blue eyes, the soft, wistful, tenderly curved lips. "Yes, + I'm pretty," she said. "And I'm going to buy nice things to + wear." + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she heard a pattering on the roof. + </p> + <p> + "Rain! What do you know about that? I've got to stay in. If I + spoil that relic of a hat I'll never have the nerve to go ask for + a job." + </p> + <p> + She prepared for bed, and placing the lamp on the edge of the + bureau, she lay down to become absorbed in a paper-backed novel. + The mill-clock was striking ten when she finished. There was a + dreamy light in her eyes and a glow upon her face. + </p> + <p> + "How grand to be as beautiful as she was and turn out to be an + heiress with blue blood, and a lovely mother, and handsome lovers + dying for her!" + </p> + <p> + Then she flung the novel against the wall. + </p> + <p> + "It's only a book. It's not true." + </p> + <p> + Rose blew out the lamp and went to sleep. + </p> + <p> + During the night she dreamed that the principal of the High + School had called to see her father, and she awoke trembling. + </p> + <p> + The room was dark as pitch; the rain pattered on the roof; the + wind moaned softly under the eaves. A rat somewhere in the wall + made a creaking noise. Rose hated to awaken in the middle of the + night. She listened for her father's breathing, and failing to + hear it, knew he had not yet come home. Often she was left alone + until dawn. She tried bravely to go to sleep again but found it + impossible; she lay there listening, sensitive to every little + sound. The silence was almost more dreadful than the stealthy + unknown noises of the night. Vague shapes seemed to hover over + her bed. Somehow to-night she dreaded them more. She was sixteen + years old, yet there abided with her the terror of the child in + the dark. + </p> + <p> + She cried out in her heart—why was she alone? It was so + dark, so silent. Mother! Mother!... She would never—never + say her prayers again! + </p> + <p> + The brazen-tongued mill clock clanged the hour of two, when + shuffling uncertain footsteps sounded on the hollow stairs. Rose + raised her head to listen. With slow, weary, dragging steps her + father came in. Then she lay back on the pillow with a sigh of + relief. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + In the following week Rose learned that work was not to be had + for the asking. Her love of pretty things and a desire to be + independent of her father had occupied her mind to the exclusion + of a consideration of what might be demanded of a girl seeking a + position. She had no knowledge of stenography or bookkeeping; her + handwriting was poor. Moreover, references from former employers + were required and as she had never been employed, she was asked + for recommendations from the principal of her school. These, of + course, she could not supply. The stores of the better class had + nothing to offer her except to put her name on the waiting-list. + </p> + <p> + Finally Rose secured a place in a second-rate establishment on + Main Street. The work was hard; it necessitated long hours and + continual standing on her feet. Rose was not rugged enough to + accustom herself to the work all at once, and she was discharged. + This disheartened her, but she kept on trying to find other + employment. + </p> + <p> + One day in the shopping district, some one accosted her. She + looked up to see a young man, slim, elegant, with a curl of his + lips she remembered. He raised his hat. + </p> + <p> + "How do you do, Mr. Swann," she answered. + </p> + <p> + "Rose, are you on the way home?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "Let's go down this side street," he said, throwing away his + cigarette. "I've been looking for you." + </p> + <p> + They turned the corner. Rose felt strange to be walking alone + with him, but she was not embarrassed. He had danced with her + once. And she knew his friend Hardy Mackay. + </p> + <p> + "What're you crying about?" he said. + </p> + <p> + "I'm not." + </p> + <p> + "You have been then. What for?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, nothing." + </p> + <p> + "Come, tell me." + </p> + <p> + "I—I've been disappointed." + </p> + <p> + "What about?" He was persistent, and Rose felt that he must be + used to having his own way. + </p> + <p> + "It was about a job I didn't get," replied Rose, trying to laugh. + </p> + <p> + "So you're looking for a job. Heard you'd been fired by old Hill. + Gail told me. I had her out last night in my new car." + </p> + <p> + "I could go back to school. Miss Hill sent for me.... Was Bessy + with you and Gail?" + </p> + <p> + "No. Gail and I were alone. We had a dandy time.... Rose, will + you meet me some night and take a ride? It'll be fine and cool." + </p> + <p> + "Thank you, Mr. Swann. It's very kind of you to ask me." + </p> + <p> + "Well, will you go?" he queried, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + "No," she replied, simply. + </p> + <p> + "Why not?" + </p> + <p> + "I don't want to." + </p> + <p> + "Well, that's plain enough," he said, changing his tone. "Say, + Rose, you're in Clark's store, aren't you?" + </p> + <p> + "I was. But I lost the place." + </p> + <p> + "How's that?" + </p> + <p> + "I couldn't stand on my feet all day. I fainted. Then he fired + me." + </p> + <p> + "So you're hunting for another job?" inquired Swann, + thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "Sorry. It's too bad a sweet kid like you has to work. You're not + strong, Rose.... Well, I'll turn off at this corner. You won't + meet me to-night?" + </p> + <p> + "No, thanks." + </p> + <p> + Swann pulled a gold case from his pocket, and extracting a + cigarette, tilted it in his lips as he struck a match. His face + wore a careless smile Rose did not like. He was amiable, but he + seemed so sure, so satisfied, almost as if he believed she would + change her mind. + </p> + <p> + "Rose, you're turning me down cold, then?" + </p> + <p> + "Take it any way you like, Mr. Swann," she replied. "Good day." + </p> + <p> + Rose forgot him almost the instant her back was turned. He had + only annoyed her. And she had her stepfather to face, with news + of her discharge from the store. Her fears were verified; he + treated her brutally. Next day Rose went to work in a laundry. + </p> + <p> + And then, very soon it seemed, her school days, the merry times + with the boys, and Bessy—all were far back in the past. She + did not meet any one who knew her, nor hear from any one. They + had forgotten her. At night, after coming home from the laundry + and doing the housework, she was so tired that she was glad to + crawl into bed. + </p> + <p> + But one night a boy brought her a note. It was from Dick Swann. + He asked her to go to Mendleson's Hall to see the + moving-pictures. She could meet him uptown at the entrance. Rose + told the boy to tell Swann she would not come. + </p> + <p> + This invitation made her thoughtful. If Swann had been ashamed to + be seen with her he would not have invited her to go there. + Mendleson's was a nice place; all the nice people of Middleville + went there. Rose found herself thinking of the lights, the music, + the well-dressed crowd, and then the pictures. She loved + moving-pictures, especially those with swift horses and cowboys + and a girl who could ride. All at once a wave of the old + thrilling excitement rushed over her. Almost she regretted having + sent back a refusal. But she would not go with Swann. And it was + not because she knew what kind of a young man he was—what + he wanted. Rose refused from dislike, not scruples. + </p> + <p> + Then came a Saturday night which seemed a climax of her troubles. + She was told not to come back to work until further notice, and + that was as bad as being discharged. How could she tell her + stepfather? Of late he had been hard with her. She dared not tell + him. The money she earned was little enough, but during his + idleness it had served to keep them. + </p> + <p> + Rose had scarcely gone a block when she encountered Dick Swann. + He stopped her—turned to walk with her. It was a melancholy + gift of Rose's that she could tell when men were even in the + slightest under the influence of drink. Swann was not careless + now or indifferent. He seemed excited and gay. + </p> + <p> + "Rose, you're just the girl I'm looking for," he said. "I really + was going to your home. Got that job yet?" + </p> + <p> + "No," she replied. + </p> + <p> + "I've got one for you. It's at the Telephone Exchange. They need + an operator. My dad owns the telephone company. I've got a pull. + I'll get you the place. You can learn it easy. Nice + job—short hours—you sit down all the time—good + pay. What do you say, Rose?" + </p> + <p> + "I—I don't know—what to say," she faltered. "Thanks + for thinking of me." + </p> + <p> + "I've had you in mind for a month. Rose, you take this job. Take + it whether you've any use for me or not. I'm not rotten enough to + put this in your way just to make you under obligations to me." + </p> + <p> + "I'll think about it. I—I do need a place. My father's out + of work. And he's—he's not easy to get along with." + </p> + <p> + "I tell you what, Rose. You meet me to-night. We'll take a spin + in my car. It'll be fine down the river road. Then we can talk it + over. Will you?" + </p> + <p> + Rose looked at him, and thought how strange it was that she did + not like him any better, now when she ought to. + </p> + <p> + "Why have you tried to—to rush me?" she asked. + </p> + <p> + "I like you, Rose." + </p> + <p> + "But you don't want me to meet you—go with you, when + I—I can't feel as you do?" + </p> + <p> + "Sure, I want you to, Rose. Nobody ever likes me right off. Maybe + you will, after you know me. The job is yours. Don't make any + date with me for that. I say here's your chance to have a ride, + to win a friend. Take it or not. It's up to you. I won't say + another word." + </p> + <p> + Rose's hungry, lonely heart warmed toward Swann. He seemed like a + ray of light in the gloom. + </p> + <p> + "I'll meet you," she said. + </p> + <p> + They arranged the hour and then she went on her way home. + </p> + <p> + The big car sped through River Park. Rose shivered a little as + she peered into the darkness of the grove. Then the car shot + under the last electric light, out into the country, with the + level road white in the moonlight, and the river gleaming below. + There was a steady, even rush of wind. The car hummed and droned + and sang. And mingled with the dry scent of dust was the sweet + fragrance of new-mown hay. Far off a light twinkled or it might + have been a star. + </p> + <p> + Swann put his arm around Rose. She did not shrink—she did + not repulse him—she did not move. Something strange + happened in her mind or heart. It was that moment she fell. + </p> + <p> + And she fell wide-eyed, knowing what she was doing, not in a + fervor of excitement, without pleasure or passion, bitterly sure + that it was better to be with some one she could not like than to + be alone forever. The wrong to herself lay only in the fact that + she could not care. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + Toward the end of June, Lane's long vigil of watchfulness from + the vantage-point at Colonel Pepper's apartment resulted in a + confirmation of his worst fears. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon and evening of a warm, close day in early summer he + lay and crouched on the attic floor above the club-rooms from + three o'clock until one the next morning. From time to time he + had changed his position to rest. But at the expiration of that + protracted period of spying he was so exhausted from the physical + strain and mental shock that he was unable to go home. All the + rest of the night he lay upon Colonel Pepper's couch, wide awake, + consumed by pain and distress. About daylight he fell into a + sleep, fitful and full of nightmares, to be awakened around nine + o'clock by Pepper. The old gambler evinced considerable alarm + until Lane explained how he happened to be there; and then his + feeling changed to solicitude. + </p> + <p> + "Lane, you look awful," he said. + </p> + <p> + "If I look the way I feel it's no wonder you're shocked," + returned Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Ahuh! What'd you see?" queried the other, curiously. + </p> + <p> + "When?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, you numskull, while you were peepin' all that time." + </p> + <p> + Lane sombrely shook his head. "I couldn't tell—what I saw. + I want to forget.... Maybe in twenty-four hours I'll believe it + was a nightmare." + </p> + <p> + "Humph! Well, I'm here to tell you what <i>I've</i> seen wasn't + any nightmare," returned Pepper, with his shrewd gaze on Lane. + "But we needn't discuss that. If it made an old bum like me sick + what might not it do to a sensitive high-minded chap like you.... + The question is are you going to bust up that club." + </p> + <p> + "I am," declared Lane, grimly. + </p> + <p> + "Good! But how—when? What's the sense in lettin' them carry + on any longer?" + </p> + <p> + "I had to fight myself last night to keep from breaking in on + them.... But I want to catch this fellow Swann with my sister. + She wasn't there." + </p> + <p> + "Lane, don't wait for that," returned Pepper, nervously. "You + might never catch him.... And if you did...." + </p> + <p> + His little plump well-cared-for hand shook as he extended it. + </p> + <p> + "I don't know what I'll do.... I don't know," said Lane, darkly, + more to himself. + </p> + <p> + "Lane, this—this worry will knock you out." + </p> + <p> + "No matter. All I ask is to stand up—long enough—to + do what I want to do." + </p> + <p> + "Go home and get some breakfast—and take care of yourself," + replied Pepper, gruffly. "Damn me if I'm not sorry I gave Swann's + secret away." + </p> + <p> + "Oh no, you're not," said Lane, quickly. "But I'd have found it + out by this time." + </p> + <p> + Pepper paced up and down the faded carpet, his hands behind his + back, a plodding, burdened figure. + </p> + <p> + "Have you any—doubts left?" he asked, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + "Doubts!" echoed Lane, vaguely. + </p> + <p> + "Yes—doubts. You're like most of these mothers and + fathers.... You couldn't believe. You made excuses for the + smoke—saying there was no fire." + </p> + <p> + "No more doubts, alas!... My God! I <i>saw</i>," burst out Lane. + </p> + <p> + "All right. Buck up now. It's something to be sure.... You've + overdone your strength. You look...." + </p> + <p> + "Pepper, do me a favor," interposed Lane, as he made for the + door. "Get me an axe and leave it here in your rooms. In case I + want to break in on those fellows some + time—quick—I'll have it ready." + </p> + <p> + "Sure, I'll get you anything. And I want to be around when you + butt in on them." + </p> + <p> + "That's up to you. Good-bye now. I'll run in to-morrow if I'm up + to it." + </p> + <p> + Lane went home, his mind in a tumult. His mother had just + discovered that he had not slept in his bed, and was greatly + relieved to see him. Breakfast was waiting, and after partaking + of it Lane felt somewhat better. His mother appeared more than + usually sombre. Worry was killing her. + </p> + <p> + "Lorna did not sleep at home last night," she said, presently, as + if reluctantly forced to impart this information. + </p> + <p> + "Where was she?" he queried, blankly. + </p> + <p> + "She said she would stay with a friend." + </p> + <p> + "What friend?" + </p> + <p> + "Some girl. Oh, it's all right I suppose. She's stayed away + before with girl friends.... But what worried me...." + </p> + <p> + "Well," queried Lane, as she paused. + </p> + <p> + "Lorna was angry again last night. And she told me if you didn't + stop your nagging she'd go away from home and stay. Said she + could afford to pay her board." + </p> + <p> + "She told me that, too," replied Lane, slowly. "And—I'm + afraid she meant it." + </p> + <p> + "Leave her alone, Daren." + </p> + <p> + "Poor mother! I'm afraid I'm a—a worry to you as well as + Lorna," he said, gently, with a hand going to her worn cheek. She + said nothing, although her glance rested upon him with sad + affection. + </p> + <p> + Lane clambered wearily up to his little room. It had always been + a refuge. He leaned a moment against the wall, and felt in his + extremity like an animal in a trap. A thousand pricking, rushing + sensations seemed to be on the way to his head. That confusion, + that sensation as if his blood vessels would burst, yielded to + his will. He sat down on his bed. Only the physical pains and + weariness, and the heartsickness abided with him. These had been + nothing to daunt his spirit. But to-day was different. The dark, + vivid, terrible picture in his mind unrolled like a page. + Yesterday was different. To-day he seemed a changed man, + confronted by imperious demands. Time was driving onward fast. + </p> + <p> + As if impelled by a dark and sinister force, he slowly leaned + down to pull his bag from under the bed. He opened it, and drew + out his Colt's automatic gun. Though the June day was warm this + big worn metal weapon had a cold touch. He did not feel that he + wanted to handle it, but he did. It seemed heavy, a thing of + subtle, latent energy, with singular fascination for him. It + brought up a dark flowing tide of memory. Lane shut his eyes, and + saw the tide flow by with its conflict and horror. The feel of + his gun, and the recall of what it had meant to him in terrible + hours, drove away a wavering of will, and a still voice that + tried to pierce his consciousness. It fixed his sinister + intention. He threw the gun on the bed, and rising began to pace + the floor. + </p> + <p> + "If I told what I saw—no jury on earth would convict me," + he soliloquized. "But I'll kill him—and keep my mouth + shut." + </p> + <p> + Plan after plan he had pondered in mind—and talked over + with Blair—something to thwart Richard Swann—to give + Margaret the chance for happiness and love her heart + craved—to put out of Lorna's way the evil influence that + had threatened her. Now the solution came to him. Sooner or later + he would catch Swann with his sister in an automobile, or at the + club rooms, or at some other questionable place. He knew Lorna + was meeting Swann. He had tried to find them, all to no avail. + What he might have done heretofore was no longer significant; he + knew what he meant to do now. + </p> + <p> + But all at once Lane was confronted with remembrance of another + thing he had resolved upon—equally as strong as his + determination to save Lorna—and it was his intention to + persuade Mel Iden to marry him. + </p> + <p> + He loved his sister, but not as he loved Mel Iden. Whatever had + happened to Lorna or might happen, she would be equal to it. She + had the boldness, the cool, calculating selfishness of the + general run of modern girls. Her reactions were vastly different + front Mel Iden's. Lane had lost hope of saving Lorna's soul. He + meant only to remove a baneful power from her path, so that she + might lean to the boy who wanted to marry her. When in his + sinister intent he divined the passionate hate of the soldier for + the slacker he refused to listen to his conscience. The way out + in Lorna's case he had discovered. But what relation had this new + factor of his dilemma to Mel Iden? He could never marry her after + he had killed Swann. + </p> + <p> + Lane went to bed, and when he rested his spent body, he pondered + over every phase of the case. Reason and intelligence had their + say. He knew he had become morbid, sick, rancorous, base, + obsessed with this iniquity and his passion to stamp on it, as if + it were a venomous serpent. He would have liked to do some + magnificent and awful deed, that would show this little, narrow, + sordid world at home the truth, and burn forever on their + memories the spirit of a soldier. He had made a sacrifice that + few understood. He had no reward except a consciousness that grew + more luminous and glorious in its lonely light as time went on. + He had endured the uttermost agonies of hell, a thousand times + worse than death, and he had come home with love, with his faith + still true. To what had he returned? + </p> + <p> + No need for reason or intelligence to knock at the gates of his + passion! The war had left havoc. The physical, the sensual, the + violent, the simian—these instincts, engendering the Day of + the Beast, had come to dominate the people he had fought for. Why + not go out and deliberately kill a man, a libertine, a slacker? + He would still be acting on the same principle that imbued him + during the war. + </p> + <p> + His thoughts drifted to Mel Iden. Strange how he loved her! Why? + Because she was a lonely soul like himself—because she was + true to her womanhood—because she had fallen for the same + principle for which he had sacrificed all—because she had + been abandoned by family and friends—because she had become + beautiful, strange, mystic, tragic. Because despite the unnamed + child, the scarlet letter upon her breast, she seemed to him + infinitely purer than the girl who had jilted him. + </p> + <p> + Lane now surrendered to the enchantment of emotion embodied in + the very name of Mel Iden. He had long resisted a sweet, + melancholy current. He had driven Mel from his mind by bitter + reflection on the conduct of the people who had ostracized her. + Thought of her now, of what he meant to do, of the mounting love + he had so strangely come to feel for her, was his only source of + happiness. She would never know his secret love; he could never + tell her that. But it was something to hold to his heart, besides + that unquenchable faith in himself, in some unseen genius for + far-off good. + </p> + <p> + The next day Lane, having ascertained where Joshua Iden was + employed, betook himself that way just at the noon hour. Iden, + like so many other Middleville citizens, gained a livelihood by + working for the rich Swann. In his best days he had been a master + mechanic of the railroad shops; at sixty he was foreman of one of + the steel mills. + </p> + <p> + As it chanced, Iden had finished his noonday meal and was resting + in the shade, apart from other laborers there. Lane remembered + him, in spite of the fact that the three years had aged and bowed + him, and lined his face. + </p> + <p> + "Mr. Iden, do you remember me?" asked Lane. He caught the slight + averting of Iden's eyes from his uniform, and divined how the + father of Mel Iden hated soldiers. But nothing could daunt Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, Lane, I remember you," returned Iden. He returned Lane's + hand-clasp, but not cordially. + </p> + <p> + Lane had mapped out in his mind this little interview. Taking off + his hat, he carefully lowered himself until his back was propped + against the tree, and looked frankly at Iden. + </p> + <p> + "It's warm. And I tire so easily. The damned Huns cut me to + pieces.... Not much like I was when I used to call on Mel!" + </p> + <p> + Iden lowered his shadowed face. After a moment he said: "No, + you're changed, Lane.... I heard you were gassed, too." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, everything came my way, Mr. Iden.... And the finish isn't + far off." + </p> + <p> + Iden shifted his legs uneasily, then sat more erect, and for the + first time really looked at Lane. It was the glance of a man who + had strong aversion to the class Lane represented, but who was + fair-minded and just, and not without sympathy. + </p> + <p> + "That's too bad, Lane. You're a young man.... The war hit us all, + I guess," he said, and at the last, sighed heavily. + </p> + <p> + "It's been a long pull—Blair Maynard and I were the first + to enlist, and we left Middleville almost immediately," went on + Lane. + </p> + <p> + He desired to plant in Iden's mind the fact that he had left + Middleville long before the wild era of soldier-and-girl + attraction which had created such havoc. Acutely sensitive as + Lane was, he could not be sure of an alteration in Iden's + aloofness, yet there was some slight change. Then he talked + frankly about specific phases of the war. Finally, when he saw + that he had won interest and sympathy from Iden he abruptly + launched his purpose. + </p> + <p> + "Mr. Iden, I came to ask if you will give your consent to my + marrying Mel." + </p> + <p> + The older man shrank back as if he had been struck. He stared. + His lower jaw dropped. A dark flush reddened his cheek. + </p> + <p> + "What!... Lane, you must be drunk," he ejaculated, thickly. + </p> + <p> + "No. I never was more earnest in my life. I want to marry Mel + Iden." + </p> + <p> + "Why?" rasped out the father, hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + "I understand Mel," replied Lane, and swiftly he told his + convictions as to the meaning and cause of her sacrifice. "Mel is + good. She never was bad. These rotten people who see dishonor and + disgrace in her have no minds, no hearts. Mel is far above these + painted, bare-kneed girls who scorn her.... And I want to show + them what <i>I</i> think of her. I want to give her boy a + name—so he'll have a chance in the world. I'll not live + long. This is just a little thing I can do to make it easier for + Mel." + </p> + <p> + "Lane, you can't be the father of her child," burst out Iden. + </p> + <p> + "No. I wish I were. I was never anything to Mel but a friend. She + was only a girl—seventeen when I left home." + </p> + <p> + "So help me God!" muttered Iden, and he covered his face with his + hands. + </p> + <p> + "Say yes, Mr. Iden, and I'll go to Mel this afternoon." + </p> + <p> + "No, let me think.... Lane, if you're not drunk, you're crazy." + </p> + <p> + "Not at all. Why, Mr. Iden, I'm perfectly rational. Why, I'd + glory in making that splendid girl a little happier, if it's + possible." + </p> + <p> + "I drove my—my girl from her mother—her home," said + Iden, slowly. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, and it was a hard, cruel act," replied Lane, sharply. "You + were wrong. You—" + </p> + <p> + The mill whistle cut short Lane's further speech. When its shrill + clarion ended, Iden got up, and shook himself as if to + reestablish himself in the present. + </p> + <p> + "Lane, you come to my house to-night," he said. "I've got to go + back to work.... But I'll think—and we can talk it over. I + still live where you used to come as a boy.... How strange life + is!... Good day, Lane." + </p> + <p> + Lane felt more than satisfied with the result of that interview. + Joshua Iden would go home and tell Mel's mother, and that would + surely make the victory easier. She would be touched in her + mother's heart; she would understand Mel now, and divine Lane's + mission; and she would plead with her husband to consent, and to + bring Mel back home. Lane was counting on that. He must never + even hint such a hope, but nevertheless he had it, he believed in + it. Joshua Iden would have the scales torn from his eyes. He + would never have it said that a dying soldier, who owed neither + him nor his daughter anything, had shown more charity than he. + </p> + <p> + Therefore, Lane went early to the Iden homestead, a picturesque + cottage across the river from Riverside Park. The only change + Lane noted was a larger growth of trees and a fuller foliage. It + was warm twilight. The frogs had begun to trill, sweet and + melodious sound to Lane, striking melancholy chords of memory. + Joshua Iden was walking on his lawn, his coat off, his gray head + uncovered. Mrs. Iden sat on the low-roofed porch. Lane expected + to see a sad change in her, something the same as he had found in + his own mother. But he was hardly prepared for the frail, + white-haired woman unlike the image he carried in his mind. + </p> + <p> + "Daren Lane! You should have come to see me long ago," was her + greeting, and in her voice, so like Mel's, Lane recognized her. + Some fitting reply came to him, and presently the moment seemed + easier for all. She asked about his mother and Lorna, and then + about Blair Maynard. But she did not speak of his own health or + condition. And presently Lane thought it best to come to the + issue at hand. + </p> + <p> + "Mr. Iden, have you made up your mind to—to give me what I + want?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I have, Lane," replied Iden, simply. "You've made me see + what Mel's mother always believed, though she couldn't make it + clear to me.... I have much to forgive that girl. Yet, if you, + who owe her nothing—who have wasted your life in vain + sacrifice—if you can ask her to be your wife, I can ask her + to come back home." + </p> + <p> + That was a splendid, all-satisfying moment for Lane. By his own + grief he measured his reward. What had counted with Joshua Iden + had been his faith in Mel's innate goodness. Then Lane turned to + the mother. In the dusk he could see the working of her sad face. + </p> + <p> + "God bless you, my boy!" she said. "You feel with a woman's + heart. I thank you.... Joshua has already sent word for Mel to + come home. She will be back to-morrow.... You must come here to + see her. But, Daren, she will never marry you." + </p> + <p> + "She will," replied Lane. + </p> + <p> + "You do not know Mel. Even if you had only a day to live she + would not let you wrong yourself." + </p> + <p> + "But when she learns how much it means to me? The army ruined + Mel, as it ruined hundreds of thousands of other girls. She will + let one soldier make it up to her. She will let me go to my death + with less bitterness." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, my poor boy, I don't know—I can't tell," she replied, + brokenly. "By God's goodness you have brought about one miracle. + Who knows? You might change Mel. For you have brought something + great back from the war." + </p> + <p> + "Mrs. Iden, I will persuade her to marry me," said Lane. "And + then, Mr. Iden, we must see what is best for her and the + boy—in the future." + </p> + <p> + "Aye, son. One lesson learned makes other lessons easy. I will + take Mel and her mother far away from Middleville—where no + one ever heard of us." + </p> + <p> + "Good! You can all touch happiness again.... And now, if you and + Mrs. Iden will excuse me—I will go." + </p> + <p> + Lane bade the couple good night, and slowly, as might have a lame + man, he made his way through the gloaming, out to the road, and + down to the bridge, where as always he lingered to catch the + mystic whispers of the river waters, meant only for his ear. + Stronger to-night! He was closer to that nameless thing. The + shadows of dusk, the dark murmuring river, held an account with + him, sometime to be paid. How blessed to fall, to float down to + that merciful oblivion. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + Several days passed before Lane felt himself equal to the + momentous interview with Mel Iden. After his call upon Mel's + father and mother he was overcome by one of his sick, weak + spells, that happily had been infrequent of late. This one + confined him to his room. He had about fought and won it out, + when the old injury at the base of his spine reminded him that + misfortunes did not come singly. Quite unexpectedly, as he bent + over with less than his usual caution, the vertebra slipped out; + and Lane found his body twisted like a letter S. And the old pain + was no less terrible for its familiarity. + </p> + <p> + He got back to his bed and called his mother. She sent for Doctor + Bronson. He came at once, and though solicitous and kind he + lectured Lane for neglecting the osteopathic treatment he had + advised. And he sent his chauffeur for an osteopath. + </p> + <p> + "Lane," said the little physician, peering severely down upon + him, "I didn't think you'd last as long as this." + </p> + <p> + "I'm tough, Doctor—hard to kill," returned Lane, making a + wry face. "But I couldn't stand this pain long." + </p> + <p> + "It'll be easier presently. We can fix that spine. Some good + treatments to strengthen ligaments, and a brace to wear—we + can fix that.... Lane, you've wonderful vitality." + </p> + <p> + "A doctor in France told me that." + </p> + <p> + "Except for your mental condition, you're in better shape now + than when you came home." Doctor Bronson peered at Lane from + under his shaggy brows, walked to the window, looked out, and + returned, evidently deep in thought. + </p> + <p> + "Boy, what's on your mind?" he queried, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Lord! listen to him," sighed Lane. Then he laughed. "My dear + Doctor, I have nothing on my mind—absolutely nothing.... + This world is a beautiful place. Middleville is fine, clean, + progressive. People are kind—thoughtful—good. What + could I have on my mind?" + </p> + <p> + "You can't fool me. You think the opposite of what you say.... + Lane, your heart is breaking." + </p> + <p> + "No, Doctor. It broke long ago." + </p> + <p> + "You believe so, but it didn't. You can't give up.... Lane, I + want to tell you something. I'm a prohibitionist myself, and I + respect the law. But there are rare cases where whiskey will + effect a cure. I say that as a physician. And I am convinced now + that your case is one where whiskey might give you a fighting + chance." + </p> + <p> + "Doctor! What're you saying?" ejaculated Lane, wide-eyed with + incredulity. + </p> + <p> + Doctor Bronson enlarged upon and emphasized his statement. + </p> + <p> + "I might <i>live</i>!" whispered Lane. "My God!... But that is + ridiculous. I'm shot to pieces. I'm really tired of living. And I + certainly wouldn't become a drunkard to save my life." + </p> + <p> + At this juncture the osteopath entered, putting an end to that + intimate conversation. Doctor Bronson explained the case to his + colleague. And fifteen minutes later Lane's body was again + straight. Also he was wringing wet with cold sweat and quivering + in every muscle. + </p> + <p> + "Gentlemen—your cure is—worse than—the + disease," he panted. + </p> + <p> + Manifestly Doctor Branson's interest in Lane had advanced beyond + the professional. His tone was one of friendship when he said, + "Boy, it beats hell what you can stand. I don't know about you. + Stop your worry now. Isn't there something you <i>care</i> for?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes," replied Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Think of that, or it, or <i>her</i>, then to the exclusion of + all else. And give nature a chance." + </p> + <p> + "Doctor, I can't control my thoughts." + </p> + <p> + "A fellow like you can do anything," snapped Bronson. "There are + such men, now and then. Human nature is strange and manifold. All + great men do not have statues erected in their honor. Most of + them are unknown, unsung.... Lane, you could do anything—do + you hear me?—<i>anything</i>." + </p> + <p> + Lane felt surprise at the force and passion of the practical + little physician. But he was not greatly impressed. And he was + glad when the two men went away. He felt the insidious approach + of one of his states of depression—the black mood—the + hopeless despair—the hell on earth. This spell had not + visited him often of late, and now manifestly meant to make up + for that forbearance. Lane put forth his intelligence, his + courage, his spirit—all in vain. The onslaught of gloom and + anguish was irresistible. Then thought of Mel Iden sustained + him—held back this madness for the moment. + </p> + <p> + Every hour he lived made her dearer, yet farther away. It was the + unattainableness of her, the impossibility of a fruition of love + that slowly and surely removed her. On the other hand, the image + of her sweet face, of her form, of her beauty, of her + movements—every recall of these physical things enhanced + her charm, and his love. He had cherished a delusion that it was + Mel Iden's spirit alone, the wonderful soul of her, that had + stormed his heart and won it. But he found to his consternation + that however he revered her soul, it was the woman also who now + allured him. That moment of revelation to Lane was a catastrophe. + Was there no peace on earth for him? What had he done to be so + tortured? He had a secret he must hide from Mel Iden. He was + human, he was alone, he needed love, but this seemed madness. And + at the moment of full realization Doctor Bronson's strange words + of possibility returned to haunt and flay him. He might live! A + fierce thrill like a flame leaped from his heart, along his + veins. And a shudder, cold as ice, followed it. Love would kill + his resignation. Love would add to his despair. Mel Iden could + never love him. He did not want her love. And yet, to live on and + on, with such love as would swell and mount from his agony, with + the barrier between them growing more terrible every day, was + more than he cared to face. He would rather die. + </p> + <p> + And so, at length, Lane's black demon of despair overthrew even + his thoughts of Mel, and fettered him there, in darkness and + strife of soul. He was an atom under the grinding, monstrous + wheels of his morbid mood. + </p> + <p> + Sometime, after endless moments or hours of lying there, with + crushed breast, with locked thoughts hideous and forlorn, with + slow burn of pang and beat of heart, Lane heard a heavy thump on + the porch outside, on the hall inside, on the stairs. + Thump—thump, slow and heavy! It roused him. It drove away + the drowsy, thick and thunderous atmosphere of mind. It had a + familiar sound. Blair's crutch! + </p> + <p> + Presently there was a knock on the door of his room and Blair + entered. Blair, as always, bright of eye, smiling of lip, erect, + proud, self-sufficient, inscrutable and sure. Lane's black demon + stole away. Lane saw that Blair was whiter, thinner, frailer, a + little farther on that road from which there could be no turning. + </p> + <p> + "Hello, old scout," greeted Blair, as he sat down on the bed + beside Lane. "I need you more than any one—but it kills me + to see you." + </p> + <p> + "Same here, Blair," replied Lane, comprehendingly. + </p> + <p> + "Gosh! we oughtn't be so finicky about each other's looks," + exclaimed Blair, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + But neither Lane nor Blair made further reference to the subject. + </p> + <p> + Each from the other assimilated some force, from voice and look + and presence, something wanting in their contact with others. + These two had measured all emotions, spanned in little time the + extremes of life, plumbed the depths, and now saw each other on + the heights. In the presence of Blair, Lane felt an exaltation. + The more Blair seemed to fade away from life, the more luminous + and beautiful the light of his countenance. For Lane the crippled + and dying Blair was a deed of valor done, a wrong expiated for + the sake of others, a magnificent nobility in contrast to the + baseness and greed and cowardice of the self-preservation that + had doomed him. Lane had only to look at Blair to feel something + elevating in himself, to know beyond all doubt that the goodness, + the truth, the progress of man in nature, and of God in his soul, + must grow on forever. + </p> + <p> + Mel Iden had been in her home four days when Lane first saw her + there. + </p> + <p> + It was a day late in June when the rich, thick, amber light of + afternoon seemed to float in the air. Warm summer lay on the + land. The bees were humming in the rose vines over the porch. + Mrs. Iden, who evidently heard Lane's step, appeared in the path, + and nodding her gladness at sight of him, she pointed to the open + door. + </p> + <p> + Lane halted on the threshold. The golden light of the day seemed + to have entered the room and found Mel. It warmed the pallor of + her skin and the whiteness of her dress. When he had seen her + before she had worn something plain and dark. Could a white gown + and the golden glow of June effect such transformation? She came + slowly toward him and took his hand. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, I am home," was all she could say. + </p> + <p> + Long hours before Lane had braced himself for this ordeal. It was + himself he had feared, not Mel. He played the part he had created + for her imagination. Behind his composure, his grave, kind + earnestness, hid the subdued and scorned and unwelcome love that + had come to him. He held it down, surrounded, encompassed, + clamped, so that he dared look into her eyes, listen to her + voice, watch the sweet and tragic tremulousness of her lips. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, Mel, where you should be," replied Lane. + </p> + <p> + "It was you—your offer to marry me—that melted + father's heart." + </p> + <p> + "Mel, all he needed was to be made think," returned Lane. "And + that was how I made him do it." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Daren, I thank you, for mother's sake, for mine—I + can't tell you how much." + </p> + <p> + "Mel, please don't thank me," he answered. "You understand, and + that's enough. Now say you'll marry me, Mel." + </p> + <p> + Mel did not answer, but in the look of her eyes, dark, humid, + with mysterious depths below the veil, Lane saw the truth; he + felt it in the clasp of her hands, he divined it in all that so + subtly emanated from the womanliness of her. Mel had come to love + him. + </p> + <p> + And all that he had endured seemed to rise and envelop heart and + soul in a strange, cold stillness. + </p> + <p> + "Mel, will you marry me?" he repeated, almost dully. + </p> + <p> + Slowly Mel withdrew her hands. The query seemed to make her + mistress of herself. + </p> + <p> + "No, Daren, I cannot," she replied, and turned away to look out + of a window with unseeing eyes. "Let us talk of other things.... + My father says he will move away—taking me + and—and—all of us—as soon as he sells the + home." + </p> + <p> + "No, Mel, if you'll forgive me, we'll not talk of something + else," Lane informed her. "We can argue without quarreling. Come + over here and sit down." + </p> + <p> + She came slowly, as if impelled, and she stood before him. To + Lane it seemed as if she were both supplicating and inexorable. + </p> + <p> + "Do you remember the last time we sat together on this couch?" + she asked. + </p> + <p> + "No, Mel, I don't." + </p> + <p> + "It was four years ago—and more. I was sixteen. You tried + to kiss me and were angry because I wouldn't let you." + </p> + <p> + "Well, wasn't I rude!" he exclaimed, facetiously. Then he grew + serious. "Mel, do you remember it was Helen's lying that came + between you and me—as boy and girl friends?" + </p> + <p> + "I never knew. Helen Wrapp! What was it?" + </p> + <p> + "It's not worth recalling and would hurt you—now," he + replied. "But it served to draw me Helen's way. We were engaged + when she was seventeen.... Then came the war. And the other night + she laughed in my face because I was a wreck.... Mel, it's beyond + understanding how things work out. Helen has chosen the fleshpots + of Egypt. You have chosen a lonelier and higher path.... And here + I am in your little parlor asking you to marry me." + </p> + <p> + "No, no, no! Daren, don't, I beg of you—don't talk to me + this way," she besought him. + </p> + <p> + "Mel, it's a difference of opinion that makes arguments, wars and + other things," he said, with a cruelty in strange antithesis to + the pity and tenderness he likewise felt. He could hurt her. He + had power over her. What a pang shot through his heart! There + would be an irresistible delight in playing on the emotions of + this woman. He could no more help it than the shame that surged + over him at consciousness of his littleness. He already loved + her, she was all he had left to love, he would end in a day or a + week or a month by worshipping her. Through her he was going to + suffer. Peace would now never abide in his soul. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, you were never like this—as a boy," she said, in + wondering distress. + </p> + <p> + "Like what?" + </p> + <p> + "You're hard. You used to be so—so gentle and nice." + </p> + <p> + "Hard! I? Yes, Mel, perhaps I am—hard as war, hard as + modern life, hard as my old friends, my little + sister——" he broke off. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, do not mock me," she entreated. "I should not have said + hard. But you're strange to me—a something terrible flashes + from you. Yet it's only in glimpses.... Forgive me, Daren, I + didn't mean hard." + </p> + <p> + Lane drew her down upon the couch so that she faced him, and he + did not release her hand. + </p> + <p> + "Mel, I'm softer than a jelly-fish," he said. "I've no bone, no + fiber, no stamina, no substance. I'm more unstable than water. + I'm so soft I'm weak. I can't stand pain. I lie awake in the dead + hours of night and I cry like a baby, like a fool. I weep for + myself, for my mother, for Lorna, for <i>you</i>...." + </p> + <p> + "Hush!" She put a soft hand over his lips. + </p> + <p> + "Very well, I'll not be bitter," he went on, with mounting pulse, + with thrill and rush of inexplicable feeling, as if at last had + come the person who would not be deaf to his voice. "Mel, I'm + still the boy, your schoolmate, who used to pull the bow off your + braid.... I am that boy still in heart, with all the war upon my + head, with the years between then and now. I'm young and old.... + I've lived the whole gamut—the fresh call of war to youth, + glorious, but God! as false as stairs of sand—the change of + blood, hard, long, brutal, debasing labor of hands, of body, of + mind to learn to kill—to survive and kill—and go on + to kill.... I've seen the marching of thousands of + soldiers—the long strange tramp, tramp, tramp, the beat, + beat, beat, the roll of drums, the call of bugles, the boom of + cannon in the dark, the lightnings of hell flaring across the + midnight skies, the thunder and chaos and torture and death and + pestilence and decay—the hell of war. It is not sublime. + There is no glory. The sublimity is in man's acceptance of war, + not for hate or gain, but love. Love of country, home, + family—love of women—I fought for women—for + Helen, whom I imagined my ideal, breaking her heart over me on + the battlefield. Not that Helen failed <i>me</i>, but failed the + ideal for which I fought!... My little sister Lorna! I fought for + her, and I fought for a dream that existed only in my heart. + Lorna—Alas!... I fought for other women, all + women—and <i>you</i>, Mel Iden. And in you, in your + sacrifice and your strength to endure, I find something healing + to my sore heart. I find my ideal embodied in you. I find hope + and faith for the future embodied in you. I find—" + </p> + <p> + "Oh Daren, you shame me utterly," she protested, freeing her + hands in gesture of entreaty. "I am outcast." + </p> + <p> + "To a false and rotten society, yes—you are," he returned. + "But Mel, that society is a mass of maggots. It is such women as + you, such men as Blair, who carry the spirit onward.... So much + for that. I have spoken to try to show you where I hold you. I do + not call your—your trouble a blunder, or downfall, or + dishonor. I call it a misfortune because—because—" + </p> + <p> + "Because there was not love," she supplemented, as he halted at + fault. "Yes, that is where I wronged myself, my soul. I obeyed + nature and nature is strong, raw, inevitable. She seeks only her + end, which is concerned with the species. For nature the + individual perishes. Nature cannot be God. For God has created a + soul in woman. And through the ages woman has advanced to hold + her womanhood sacred. But ever the primitive lurks in the blood, + and the primitive is nature. Soul and nature are not compatible. + A woman's soul sanctions only love. That is the only progress + there ever was in life. Nature and war made me traitor to my + soul." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, yes, Mel, it's true—and cruel, what you say," + returned Lane. "All the more reason why you should do what I ask. + I am home after the war. All that was vain <i>is</i> vain. I + forget it when I can. I have—not a great while left. There + are a few things even I can do before that time. One of + them—the biggest to me—concerns you. You are in + trouble. You have a boy who can be spared much unhappiness in + life. If you were married—if the boy had my name—how + different the future! Perhaps there can be some measure of + happiness for you. For him there is every hope. You will leave + Middleville. You will go far away somewhere. You are young. You + have a good education. You can teach school, or help your parents + while the boy is growing up. Time is kind. You will forget.... + Marry me, Mel, for his sake." + </p> + <p> + She had both hands pressed to her breast as if to stay an + uncontrollable feeling. Her eyes, dilated and wide, expressed a + blending of emotions. + </p> + <p> + "No, no, no!" she cried. + </p> + <p> + Lane went on just the same with other words, in other vein, + reiterating the same importunity. It was a tragic game, in which + he divined he must lose. But the playing of it had inexplicably + bitter-sweet pain. He knew now that Mel loved him. No greater + proof needed he than the perception of her reaction to one word + on his lips—wife. She quivered to that like a tautly strung + lyre touched by a skilful hand. It fascinated her. But the + temptation to accept his offer for the sake of her boy's future + was counteracted by the very strength of her feeling for Lane. + She would not marry him, because she loved him. + </p> + <p> + Lane read this truth, and it wrung a deeper reverence from him. + And he saw, too, the one way in which he could break her spirit, + make her surrender, if he could stoop to it. If he could take her + in his arms, and hold her tight, and kiss her dumb and blind, and + make her understand his own love for her, his need of her, she + would accede with the wondrous generosity of a woman's heart. But + he could not do it. + </p> + <p> + In the end, out of sheer pity that overcame the strange delight + he had in torturing her, he desisted in his appeals and demands + and subtle arguments. The long strain left him spent. And with + the sudden let-down of his energy, the surrender to her stronger + will, he fell prey at once to the sadness that more and more was + encompassing him. He felt an old and broken man. + </p> + <p> + To this sudden change in Lane Mel responded with mute anxiety and + fear. The alteration of his spirit stunned her. As he bade her + good-bye she clung to him. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, forgive me," she implored. "You don't understand.... Oh, + it's hard." + </p> + <p> + "Never mind, Mel. I guess it was just one of my dreams. Don't + cry.... Good-bye." + </p> + <p> + "But you'll come again?" she entreated, almost wildly. + </p> + <p> + Lane shook his head. He did not trust himself to look at her + then. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, you can't mean that," she cried. "It's too late for me. + I—I—Oh! You.... To uplift me—then to cast me + down! Daren, come back." + </p> + <p> + In his heart he did not deny that cry of hers. He knew he would + come back, knew it with stinging shame, but he could not tell + her. It had all turned out so differently from what he had + dreamed. If he had not loved her he would not have felt defeat. + To have made her his wife would have been to protect her, to + possess her even after he was dead. + </p> + <p> + At the last she let him go. He felt her watching him, and he + carried her lingering clasp away with him, to burn and to thrill + and to haunt, and yet to comfort him in lonely hours. + </p> + <p> + But the next day the old spirit resurged anew, and unreconciled + to defeat, he turned to what was left him. Foolish and futile + hopes! To bank on the single grain of good in his wayward + sister's heart! To trust the might of his spirit—to beat + down the influence of an intolerant and depraved young + millionaire—verily he was mad. Yet he believed. And as a + final resort he held death in his hand. Richard Swann swaggered + by Lane that night in the billiard room of the Bradford Inn and + stared sneeringly at him. + </p> + <p> + "I've got a date," he gayly said to his sycophantic friends, in a + tone that would reach Lane's ears. + </p> + <p> + The summer night came when Lane drove a hired car out the river + road, keeping ever in sight a red light in front of him. He broke + the law and endangered his life by traveling with darkened lamps. + </p> + <p> + There was a crescent moon, clear and exquisitely delicate in the + darkening blue sky. The gleaming river shone winding away under + the dusky wooded hills. The white road stretched ahead, dimming + in the distance. A night for romance and love—for a maiden + at a stile and a lover who hung rapt and humble upon her + whispers! But that red eye before him held no romance. It leered + as the luxurious sedan swayed from side to side, a diabolical + thing with speed. + </p> + <p> + Lane was driving out the state highway, mile after mile. He + calculated that in less than ten minutes Swann had taken a girl + from a bustling corner of Middleville out into the open country. + In pleasant weather, when the roads were good, cars like Swann's + swerved off into the bypaths, into the edge of woods. In bad + weather they parked along the highway, darkened their lights and + pulled their blinds. For this, great factories turned out + automobiles. And there might have pealed out to a nation, and to + God, the dolorous cry of a hundred thousand ruined girls! But who + would hear? And on the lips of girls of the present there was + only the wild cry for excitement, for the nameless and unknown! + There was a girl in Swann's car and Lane believed it was his + sister. Night after night he had watched. Once he had actually + seen Lorna ride off with Swann. And to-night from a vantage point + under the maples, when he had a car ready to follow, he had made + sure he had seen them again. + </p> + <p> + The red eye squared off at right angles to the highway, and + disappeared. Lane came to a byroad, a lane lined with trees. He + stopped his car and got out. It did not appear that he would have + to walk far. And he was right, for presently a black object + loomed against the gray obscurity. It was an automobile, without + lights, in the shadow of trees. + </p> + <p> + Lane halted. He carried a flash-light in his left hand, his gun + in his right. For a moment he deliberated. This being abroad in + the dark on an errand fraught with peril for some one had a + familiar and deadly tang. He was at home in this atmosphere. Hell + itself had yawned at his feet many and many a time. He was a + different man here. He deliberated because it was wise to + forestall events. He did not want to kill Swann then, unless in + self-defense. He waited until that peculiarly quick and tight and + cold settling of his nerves told of brain control over heart. Yet + he was conscious of subdued hate, of a righteous and terrible + wrath held in abeyance for the sake of his sister's name. And he + regretted that he had imperiously demanded of himself this + assurance of Lorna's wantonness. + </p> + <p> + Then he stole forward, closer and closer. He heard a low voice of + dalliance, a titter, high-pitched and sweet—sweet and wild. + That was not Lorna's laugh. The car was not Swann's. + </p> + <p> + Lane swerved to the left, and in the gloom of trees, passed by + noiselessly. Soon he encountered another car—an open car + with shields up—as silent as if empty. But the very silence + of it was potent of life. It cried out to the night and to Lane. + But it was not the car he had followed. + </p> + <p> + Again he slipped by, stealthily, yet scornful of his caution. Who + cared? He might have shouted his mission to the heavens. Lane + passed on. All he caught from the second car was a faint + fragrance of smoke, wafted on the gentle summer breeze. + </p> + <p> + Another black object loomed up—a larger car—the sedan + Lane recognized. He did not bolt or hurry. His footsteps made no + sound. Crouching a little he slipped round the car to one side. + At the instant he reached for the handle of the door, a pang + shook him. Alas, that he should be compelled to spy on Lorna! His + little sister! He saw her as a curly-headed child, adoring him. + Perhaps it might not be Lorna after all. But it was for her sake + that he was doing this. The softer moment passed and the soldier + intervened. + </p> + <p> + With one swift turn and jerk he opened the door—then + flashed his light. A scream rent the air. In the glaring circle + of light Lane saw red hair—green eyes transfixed in + fear—white shoulders—white arms—white ringed + hands suddenly flung upward. Helen! The blood left his heart in a + rush. Swann blinked in the light, bewildered and startled. + </p> + <p> + "Swann, you'll have to excuse me," said Lane, coolly. "I thought + you had my sister with you. I've spotted her twice with you in + this car.... It may not interest you or your—your guest, + but I'll add that you're damned lucky not to have Lorna here + to-night." + </p> + <p> + Then he snapped off his flash-light, and slamming the car door, + he wheeled away. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + Lane left his room and went into the shady woods, where he + thought the July heat would be less unendurable, where the fever + in his blood might abate. But though it was cool and pleasant + there he experienced no relief. Wherever he went he carried the + burden of his pangs. And his grim giant of unrest trod in his + shadow. + </p> + <p> + He could not stay long in the woods. He betook himself to the + hills and meadows. Action was beneficial for him, though he soon + exhausted himself. He would have liked to fight out his battle + that day. Should he go on spending his days and nights in a + slowly increasing torment? The longer he fought the less chance + he had of victory. Victory! There could be none. What victory + could be won over a strange ineradicable susceptibility to the + sweetness, charm, mystery of a woman? He plodded the fragrant + fields with bent head, in despair. Loneliness hurt him as much as + anything. And a new pang, the fiercest and most insupportable, + had been added to his miseries. Jealousy! Thought of the father + of Mel Iden's child haunted him, flayed him, made him feel + himself ignoble and base. There was no help for that. And this + fiend of jealousy added fuel to his love. Only long passionate + iteration of his assurance of principle and generosity subdued + that frenzy and at length gave him composure. Perhaps this had + some semblance to victory. + </p> + <p> + Lane returned to town weaker in one way than when he had left, + yet stronger in another. Upon the outskirts of Middleville he + crossed the river road and sat down upon a stone wall. The + afternoon was far spent and the sun blazing red. Lane wiped his + moist face and fanned himself with his hat. Behind him the shade + of a wooded garden or park looked inviting. Back in the foliage + he espied the vine-covered roof of an old summer house. + </p> + <p> + A fresh young voice burst upon his meditations. "Hello, Daren + Lane." + </p> + <p> + Lane turned in surprise to behold a girl in white, standing in + the shade of trees beyond the wall. Somewhere he had seen that + beautiful golden head, the dark blue, almost purple eyes. + </p> + <p> + "Good afternoon. You startled me," said Lane. + </p> + <p> + "I called you twice." + </p> + <p> + "Indeed? I beg pardon. I didn't hear." + </p> + <p> + "Don't you remember me?" Her tone was one of pique and doubt. + </p> + <p> + Then he remembered her. "Oh, of course. Bessy Bell! You must + forgive me. I've been ill and upset lately. These bad spells of + mine magnify time. It seems long since the Junior Prom." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, you're ill," she returned, compassionately. "You do look + pale and—won't you come in? It's dusty and hot there. Come. + I'll take you where it's nice and cool." + </p> + <p> + "Thank you. I'll be glad to." + </p> + <p> + She led him to a green, fragrant nook, where a bench with + cushions stood half-hidden under heavy foliage. Lane caught a + glimpse of a winding flagged path, and in the distance a cottage + among the trees. + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, do you live here?" he asked. "It's pretty." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, this is my home. It's too damn far from town, I'll say. I'm + buried alive," she replied, passionately. + </p> + <p> + The bald speech struck Lane forcibly. All at once he remembered + Bessy Bell and his former interest. She was a type of the + heretofore inexplicable modern girl. Lane looked at her, seeing + her suddenly with a clearer vision. Bessy Bell had a physical + perfection, a loveliness that needed neither spirit nor + animation. But life had given this girl so much more than beauty. + A softness of light seemed to shine round her golden head; smiles + played in secret behind her red lips ready to break forth, and + there was a haunting hint of a dimple in her round cheek; on her + lay the sweetness of youth subtly dawning into womanhood; the + flashing eyes were keen with intellect, with fire, full of + promise and mystic charm; and her beautiful, supple body, so + plainly visible, seemed quivering with sheer, restless joy of + movement and feeling. A trace of artificial color on her face and + the indelicacy of her dress but slightly counteracted Lane's + first impression. + </p> + <p> + "You promised to call me up and make a date," she said, and sat + down close to him. + </p> + <p> + "Yes. I meant it too. But Bessy, I was ill, and then I forgot. + You didn't miss much." + </p> + <p> + "Hot dog! Hear the man. Daren, I'd throw the whole bunch down to + be with you," she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + At the end of that speech she paled slightly and her breath came + quickly. She looked bold, provocative, expectant, yet sincere. + Child or woman, she had to be taken seriously. Here indeed was + the mystery that had baffled Lane. He realized his opportunity, + like a flash all his former thought and conjecture about this + girl returned to him. + </p> + <p> + "You would. Well, I'm highly flattered. Why, may I ask?" + </p> + <p> + "Because I've fallen for you," she replied, leaning close to him. + "That's the main reason, I guess.... But another is, I want you + to tell me all about yourself—in the war, you know." + </p> + <p> + "I'd be glad to—if we get to be real friends," he said, + thoughtfully. "I don't understand you." + </p> + <p> + "And I'll say I don't just get you," she retorted. "What do you + want? Have you forgotten the silver platter?" + </p> + <p> + She turned away with a restless quivering. She had shown no + shyness. She was bold, intense, absolutely without fear; and + however stimulating or attractive the situation evidently was, it + was neither new nor novel to her. Some strange leaven worked deep + in her. Lane could put no other interpretation on her words and + actions than that she expected him to kiss her. + </p> + <p> + "Bessy Bell, look at me," said Lane, earnestly. "You've said a + mouthful, as the slang word goes. I'm sort of surprised, you + remember. Bessy, you're not a girl whose head is full of + excelsior. You've got brains. You can think.... Now, if you + really like me—and I believe you—try to understand + this. I've been away so long. All is changed. I don't know how to + take girls. I'm ill—and unhappy. But if I could be your + friend and could help you a little—please you—why + it'd be good for me." + </p> + <p> + "Daren, they tell me you're going to die," she returned, + breathlessly. Her glance was brooding, dark, pregnant with purple + fire. + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, don't believe all you hear. I'm not—not so far gone + yet." + </p> + <p> + "They say you're game, too." + </p> + <p> + "I hope so, Bessy." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, you make me think. You must believe me a pill. I wanted you + to—to fall for me hard.... That bunch of sapheads have + spoiled me, I'll say. Daren, I'm sick of them. All they want to + do is mush. I like tennis, riding, golf. I want to do things. But + it's too hot, or this, or that. Yet they'll break their necks to + carry a girl off to some roadhouse, and dance—dance till + you're melted. Then they stop along the river to go bathing. I've + been twice. You see, I have to sneak away, or lie to mother and + say I've gone to Gail's or somewhere." + </p> + <p> + "Bathing, at night?" queried Lane, curiously. + </p> + <p> + "Sure thing. It's spiffy, in the dark." + </p> + <p> + "Of course you took your bathing suits?" + </p> + <p> + "Hot dog! That would be telling." + </p> + <p> + Lane dropped his head and studied the dust at his feet. His heart + beat thick and heavy. Through this girl the truth was going to be + revealed to him. It seemed on the moment that he could not look + into her eyes. She scattered his wits. He tried to erase from his + mind every impression of her, so that he might begin anew to + understand her. And the very first, succeeding this erasure, was + a singular idea that she was the opposite of romantic. + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, can you understand that it is hard for a soldier to talk + of what has happened to him?" + </p> + <p> + "I'll say I can," she replied. + </p> + <p> + "You're sorry for me?" he went on, gently. + </p> + <p> + "Sorry!... Give me a chance to prove what I am, Daren Lane." + </p> + <p> + "Very well, then. I will. We'll make a fifty-fifty bargain. Do + you regard a promise sacred?" + </p> + <p> + "I think I do. Some of the girls quarrel with me because I get + sore, and swear they're not square, as I try to be. I hate a liar + and a quitter." + </p> + <p> + "Come then—shake hands on our bargain." + </p> + <p> + She seemed thrilled, excited. The clasp of her little hand showed + force of character. She looked wonderingly up at him. Her appeal + then was one of exquisite youth and beauty. Something of the + baffling suggestion of an amorous expectation and response left + her. This child would give what she received. + </p> + <p> + "First, then, it's for me to know a lot about you," went on Lane. + "Will you tell me?" + </p> + <p> + "Sure. I'd trust you with anything," she replied, impulsively. + </p> + <p> + "How long have you been going with boys?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, for two years, I guess. I had a passionate love affair when + I was thirteen," she replied, with the nonchalance and + sophistication of experience. + </p> + <p> + It was impossible for Lane to take this latter remark for + anything but the glib boldness of an erotic child. But he was not + making any assurances to himself that he was right. Bessy Bell + was fifteen years old, according to time. But she had the + physical development of eighteen, and a mental range beyond his + ken. The lawlessness unleashed by the war seemed embodied in this + girl. + </p> + <p> + "With an older boy?" queried Lane. + </p> + <p> + "No. He was a kid of my own age. I guess I outgrew Ted," she + replied, dreamily. "But he still tries to rush me." + </p> + <p> + "With whom do you go to the secret club-rooms—above White's + ice cream parlor?" asked Lane, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Bessy never flicked an eyelash. "Hot dog! So you're wise to that? + I thought it was a secret. I told Rose Clymer those fellows + weren't on the level. Who told you I was there? Your sister + Lorna?" + </p> + <p> + "No. No one told me. Never mind that. Who took you there? You + needn't be afraid to trust <i>me</i>. I'm going to entrust my + secrets to you by and bye." + </p> + <p> + "I went with Roy Vancey, the boy who was with me at Helen's the + day I met you." + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, how often have you been to those club-rooms?" + </p> + <p> + "Three times." + </p> + <p> + "Were you ever there alone without any girls?" + </p> + <p> + "No. I had my chance. Dick Swann tried his damnedest to get me to + go. But I've no use for him." + </p> + <p> + "Why?" + </p> + <p> + "I just don't like him, Daren," she replied, evasively. "I love + to have fun. But I haven't yet been so hard up I had to go out + with some one I didn't like." + </p> + <p> + "Has Swann had my sister Lorna at the club?" + </p> + <p> + Her replies had been prompt and frank. At this sudden query she + seemed checked. Lane read in Bessy Bell then more of the truth of + her than he had yet divined. Falsehood was naturally abhorrent to + her. To lie to her parents or teachers savored of fun, and was + part of the game. She did not want to lie to Lane, but in her + code she could not betray another girl, especially to that girl's + brother. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, I promised I'd tell you all about myself," she said. + </p> + <p> + "I shouldn't have asked you to give away one of your friends," he + returned. "Some other time I'll talk to you about Lorna. Tell you + what I know, and ask you to help me save her——" + </p> + <p> + "<i>Save</i> her! What do you mean, Daren?" she interrupted, with + surprise. + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, I've paid you the compliment of believing you have + intelligence. Hasn't it occurred to you that Lorna—or other + of her friends or yours—might be going straight to ruin?" + </p> + <p> + "Ruin! No, that hadn't occurred to me. I heard Doctor Wallace + make a crack like yours. Mother hauled me to church the Sunday + after you broke up Fanchon Smith's dance. Doctor Wallace didn't + impress me. These old people make me sick anyhow. They don't + understand.... But Daren, I think I get your drift. So snow some + more." + </p> + <p> + All in a moment, it seemed to Lane, this girl passed from + surprise to gravity, then to contempt, and finally to humor. She + was fascinating. + </p> + <p> + "To go back to the club," resumed Lane. "Bessy, what did you do + there?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, we toddled and shimmied. Cut up! Had an immense time, I'll + say." + </p> + <p> + "What do you mean by cut up?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, we just ran wild, you know. Fool stunts!... Once Roy was + sore because I kicked cigarettes out of Bob's mouth. But the boob + was tickled stiff when I kicked for <i>him</i>. Jealous! It's all + right with any one of the boys what you do for <i>him</i>. But if + you do the same for <i>another</i> boy—good night!" + </p> + <p> + Bessy had no divination of the fact that her words for Lane had a + clarifying significance. + </p> + <p> + "I suppose you played what we used to call kissing games?" + queried Lane. + </p> + <p> + A sweet, high trill of laughter escaped Bessy's red lips. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, you are funny. Those games are as dead as Caesar.... This + bunch of boys and girls paired off by themselves to spoon.... As + for myself, I don't mind spooning if I like the fellow—and + he hasn't been drinking. But otherwise I hate it. All the same I + got what was coming to me from some of the boys of the Strong Arm + Club." + </p> + <p> + "Why do they give it that name?" asked Lane, remembering Colonel + Pepper's remarks. + </p> + <p> + "Why, if a girl doesn't come across she gets the strong arm.... I + had to fight like the devil that last afternoon I went there." + </p> + <p> + "<i>Did</i> you fight, Bessy?" + </p> + <p> + "I'll say I did.... Roy Vancey is sore as a pup. He hasn't been + near me or called me up since." + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, will you promise to stay away from that place—and + not to go joy-riding with any of those boys—day or + night—if I meet you, and tell you all about my experience + in the war? I'll do my best to keep the time you spend with me + from being tedious." + </p> + <p> + "It's another bargain," she returned deliberately, "if you just + don't spend enough time with me to make me stuck on + you—then throw me down. On the level, now, Daren?" + </p> + <p> + "I'll meet you as often as you want. And I'll be your friend as + long as you prove to me I can be of any help, or pleasure, or + good to you." + </p> + <p> + "Hot dog, but you're taking some job, Daren. Won't it be just + spiffy? We'll meet here, afternoons, and evenings when mother's + out. She's nutty on bridge. She makes me promise I won't leave + the yard. So I'll not have to lie to meet you.... Daren, that day + at Helen's, the minute I saw you I knew you were going to have + something to do with my future." + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, a little while ago I made sure you had no romance in + you," replied Lane, with a smile. "Now as we've gotten serious, + let's think hard about the future. What do you want most? Do you + care for study, for books? Have you any gift for music? Do you + ever think of fitting yourself for useful work?... Or is your + mind full of this jazz stuff? Do you just want to go from day to + day, like a butterfly from flower to flower? Just this boy and + that one—not caring much which—all this frivolity you + hinted of, and worse, living this precious time of your youth all + for excitement? What is it you want most?" + </p> + <p> + She responded with a thoughtfulness that inspired Lane's hope for + her. This girl could be reached. She was like Lorna in many ways, + but different in mentality. Bessy watched the gyrations of her + shapely little foot. She could not keep still even in + abstraction. + </p> + <p> + "A girl <i>must</i> have a good time," she replied presently. + "I've done things I hated because I couldn't bear to be left out + of the fun.... But I like most to read and dream. Music makes me + strange inside, and to want to do great things. Only there + <i>are</i> no great things to do. I've never been nutty about a + career, like Helen is. And I always hated work.... I + guess—to tell on the level—what I want most is to be + loved." + </p> + <p> + With that she raised her eyes to Lane's. He tried to read her + mind, and realized that if he failed it was not because she was + not baring it. Dropping his own gaze, he pondered. The girl's + response to his earnestness was intensely thought-provoking. No + matter how immodestly she was dressed, or what she had confessed + to, or whether she had really expected and desired dalliance on + his part—here was the truth as to her hidden yearning. The + seething and terrible Renaissance of the modern girl seemed + remarkably exemplified in Bessy Bell, yet underneath it all hid + the fundamental instinct of all women of all ages. Bessy wanted + most to be loved. Was that the secret of her departure from the + old-fashioned canons of modesty and reserve? + </p> + <p> + "Bessy," went on Lane, presently. "I've heard my sister speak of + Rose Clymer. Is she a friend of yours, too?" + </p> + <p> + "You bet. And she's the square kid." + </p> + <p> + "Lorna told me she'd been expelled from school." + </p> + <p> + "Yes. She refused to tattle." + </p> + <p> + "Tattle what?" + </p> + <p> + "I wrote some verses which one of the girls copied. Miss Hill + found them and raised the roof. She kept us all in after school. + She let some of the girls off. But she expelled Rose and sent me + home. Then she called on mama. I don't know what she said, but + mama didn't let me go back. I've had a hateful old tutor for a + month. In the fall I'm going to private school." + </p> + <p> + "And Rose?" + </p> + <p> + "Rose went to work. She had a hard time. I never heard from her + for weeks. But she's a telephone operator at the Exchange now. + She called me up one day lately and told me. I hope to see her + soon." + </p> + <p> + "About those verses, Bessy. How did Miss Hill find out who wrote + them?" + </p> + <p> + "I told her. Then she sent me home." + </p> + <p> + "Have you any more verses you wrote?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, a lot of them. If you lend me your pencil, I'll write out + the verse that gave Miss Hill heart disease." + </p> + <p> + Bessy took up a book that had been lying on the seat, and tearing + out the fly-leaf, she began to write. Her slim, shapely hand + flew. It fascinated Lane. + </p> + <p> + "There!" she said, ending with a flourish and a smile. + </p> + <p> + But Lane, foreshadowing the import of the verse, took the page + with reluctance. Then he read it. Verses of this significance + were new to him. Relief came to Lane in the divination that Bessy + could not have had experience of what she had written. There was + worldliness in the verse, but innocence in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + "Well, Bessy, my heart isn't much stronger than Miss Hill's," he + said, finally. + </p> + <p> + Her merry laughter rang out. + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, what will you do for me?" + </p> + <p> + "Anything." + </p> + <p> + "Bring me every scrap of verse you have, every note you've got + from boys and girls." + </p> + <p> + "Shall I get them now?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, if it's safe. Of course, you've hidden them." + </p> + <p> + "Mama's out. I won't be a minute." + </p> + <p> + Away she flew under the trees, out through the rose bushes, a + white, graceful, flitting figure. She vanished. Presently she + came bounding into sight again and handed Lane a bundle of notes. + </p> + <p> + "Did you keep back any?" he asked, as he tried to find pockets + enough for the collection. + </p> + <p> + "Not one." + </p> + <p> + "I'll go home and read them all. Then I'll meet you here to-night + at eight o'clock." + </p> + <p> + "But—I've a date. I'll break it, though." + </p> + <p> + "With whom?" + </p> + <p> + "Gail and a couple of boys—kids." + </p> + <p> + "Does your mother know?" + </p> + <p> + "I'd tell her about Gail, but that's all. We go for ice + cream—then meet the boys and take a walk." + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, you're not going to do that sort of thing any more." + </p> + <p> + Lane bent over her, took her hands. She instinctively rebelled, + then slowly yielded. + </p> + <p> + "That's part of our bargain?" she asked. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, it certainly is." + </p> + <p> + "Then I won't ever again." + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, I trust you. Do you understand me?" + </p> + <p> + "I—I think so." + </p> + <p> + "Daren, will you care for me—if I'm—if I do as you + want me to?" + </p> + <p> + "I do now," he replied. "And I'll care a thousand times more when + you prove you're really above these things.... Bessy, I'll care + for you as a friend—as a brother—as a man who has + almost lost his faith and who sees in you some hope to keep his + spirit alive. I'm unhappy, Bessy. Perhaps you can help + me—make me a little happier.... Anyway, I trust you. + Good-bye now. To-night, at eight o'clock." + </p> + <p> + Lane went home to his room and earnestly gave himself up to the + perusal of the writings Bessy Bell had given him. He experienced + shocks of pain and wonder, between which he had to laugh. All the + fiendish wit of youthful ingenuity flashed forth from this verse. + There was a parody on Tennyson's "Break, Break, Break," featuring + Colonel Pepper's famous and deplorable habit. Miss Hill came in + for a great share of opprobrium. One verse, if it had ever come + under the eyes of the good schoolteacher, would have broken her + heart. + </p> + <p> + Lane read all Bessy's verses, and then the packet of notes + written by Bessy's girl friends. The truth was unbelievable. Yet + here were the proofs. Over Bessy and her friends Lane saw the dim + dark shape of a ghastly phantom, reaching out, enfolding, + clutching. He went downstairs to the kitchen and here he burned + the writings. + </p> + <p> + "It ought to be told," he muttered. "But who's going to tell it? + Who'd believe me? The truth would not be comprehended by the + mothers of Middleville.... And who's to blame?" + </p> + <p> + It would not do, Lane reflected, to place the blame wholly upon + blind fathers and mothers, though indeed they were culpable. And + in consideration of the subject, Lane excluded all except the + better class of Middleville. It was no difficult task to + understand lack of moral sense in children who were poor and + unfortunate, who had to work, and get what pleasures they had in + the streets. But how about the best families, where there were + luxurious homes, books, education, amusement, kindness, + love—all the supposed stimuli needed for the proper + guidance of changeful vagrant minds? These good influences had + failed. There was a greater moral abandonment than would ever be + known. + </p> + <p> + Before the war Bessy Bell would have presented the perfect type + of the beautiful, highly sensitive, delicately organized girl so + peculiarly and distinctively American. She would have ripened + before her time. Perhaps she would not have been greatly + different in feeling from the old-fashioned girl: only different + in that she had restraint, no deceit. + </p> + <p> + But after the war—now—what was Bessy Bell? What + actuated her? What was the secret spring of her abnormal + tendencies? Were they abnormal? Bessy was wild to abandon herself + to she knew not what. Some glint of intelligence, some force of + character as exceptional in her as it was wanting in Lorna, some + heritage of innate sacredness of person, had kept Bessy from the + abyss. She had absorbed in mind all the impurities of the day, + but had miraculously escaped them in body. If her parents could + have known Bessy as Lane now realized her they would have been + horrified. But Lane's horror was fading. Bessy was illuminating + the darkness of his mind. + </p> + <p> + To understand more clearly what the war had done to Bessy Bell, + and to the millions of American girls like her, it was necessary + for Lane to understand what the war had done to soldiers, to men, + and to the world. + </p> + <p> + Lane could grasp some infinitesimal truth of the sublime and + horrible change war had wrought in the souls of soldiers. That + change was too great for any mind but the omniscient to grasp in + its entirety. War had killed in some soldiers a belief in Christ: + in others it had created one. War had unleashed the old hidden + primitive instincts of manhood: likewise it had fired hearts to + hate of hate and love of love, to the supreme ideal consciousness + could conceive. War had brought out the monstrous in men and as + well the godlike. Some soldiers had become cowards; others, + heroes. There were thousands of soldiers who became lions to + fight, hyenas to snarl, beasts to debase, hogs to wallow. There + were equally as many who were forced to fight, who could not + kill, whose gentleness augmented under the brutal orders of their + officers. There were those who ran toward the front, heads up, + singing at the top of their lungs. There were those who slunk + back. Soldiers became cold, hard, materialistic, bitter, + rancorous: and qualities antithetic to these developed in their + comrades. + </p> + <p> + Lane exhausted his resources of memory and searched in his notes + for a clipping he had torn from a magazine. He reread it, in the + light of his crystallizing knowledge: + </p> + <div class="blockquot"> + <p> + "Had I not been afraid of the scorn of my brother officers and + the scoffs of my men, I would have fled to the rear," confesses + a Wisconsin officer, writing of a battle. + </p> + <p> + "I see war as a horrible, grasping octopus with hundreds of + poisonous, death-dealing tentacle that squeeze out the culture + and refinement of a man," writes a veteran. + </p> + <p> + A regimental sergeant-major: "I considered myself hardboiled, + and acted the part with everybody, including my wife. I scoffed + at religion as unworthy of a real man and a mark of the sissy + and weakling." Before going over the top for the first time he + tried to pray, but had even forgotten the Lord's Prayer. + </p> + <p> + "If I get out of this, I will never be unhappy again," + reflected one of the contestants under shell-fire in the + Argonne Forest. To-day he is "not afraid of dead men any more + and is not in the least afraid to die." + </p> + <p> + "I went into the army a conscientious objector, a radical, and + a recluse.... I came out of it with the knowledge of men and + the philosophy of beauty," says another. + </p> + <p> + "My moral fiber has been coarsened. The war has blunted my + sensitiveness to human suffering. In 1914 I wept tears of + distress over a rabbit which I had shot. I could go out now at + the command of my government in cold-blooded fashion and commit + all the barbarisms of twentieth-century legalized murder," + writes a Chicago man. + </p> + <p> + A Denver man entered the war, lost himself and God, and found + manhood. "I played poker in the box-car which carried me to the + front and read the Testament in the hospital train which took + me to the rear," he tells us. + </p> + <p> + "To disclose it all would take the genius and the understanding + of a god. I learned to talk from the side of my mouth and drink + and curse with the rest of our 'noble crusaders.' Authority + infuriated me and the first suspicion of an order made me + sullen and dangerous.... Each man in his crudeness and lewdness + nauseated me," writes a service man. + </p> + <p> + "When our boy came back," complains a mother, "we could hardly + recognize for our strong, impulsive, loving son whom we had + loaned to Uncle Sam this irritable, restless, nervous man with + defective hearing from shells exploding all about him, and + limbs aching and twitching from strain and exposure, and with + that inevitable companion of all returned oversea boys, the + coffin-nail, between his teeth." + </p> + <p> + "In the army I found that hard drinkers and fast livers and + profane-tongued men often proved to be the kindest-hearted, + squarest friends one could ever have," one mother reports. + </p> + </div> + <p> + So then the war brought to the souls of soldiers an extremity of + debasement and uplift, a transformation incomprehensible to the + mind of man. + </p> + <p> + Upon men outside the service the war pressed its materialism. The + spiritual progress of a thousand years seemed in a day to have + been destroyed. Self-preservation was the first law of nature. + And all the standards of life were abased. Following the terrible + fever of patriotism and sacrifice and fear came the inevitable + selfishness and greed and frenzy. The primitive in man stalked + forth. The world became a place of strife. + </p> + <p> + What then, reflected Lane, could have been the effect of war upon + women? The mothers of the race, of men! The creatures whom + emotions governed! The beings who had the sex of tigresses! "The + female of the species!" What had the war done to the generation + of its period—to Helen, to Mel Iden, to Lorna, to Bessy + Bell? Had it made them what men wanted? + </p> + <p> + At eight o'clock that night Lane kept his tryst with Bessy. The + serene, mellow light of the moon shone down upon the garden. The + shade appeared spotted with patches of moonlight; the summer + breeze rustled the leaves; the insects murmured their night song. + Romance and beauty still lived. No war could kill them. Bessy + came gliding under the trees, white and graceful like a nymph, + fearless, full of her dream, ripe to be made what a man would + make of her. + </p> + <p> + Lane talked to Bessy of the war. Words came like magic to his + lips. He told her of the thunder and fire and blood and heroism, + of fight and agony and death. He told her of himself—of his + service in the hours that tried his soul. Bessy passed from + fascinated intensity to rapture and terror. She clung to Lane. + She kissed him. She wept. + </p> + <p> + He told her how his ideal had been to fight for Helen, for Lorna, + for her, and all American girls. And then he talked about what he + had come home to—of the shock—the + realization—the disappointment and grief. He spoke of his + sister Lorna—how he had tried so hard to make her see, and + had failed. He importuned Bessy to help him as only a girl could. + And lastly, he brought the conversation back to her and told her + bluntly what he thought of the vile verses, how she dragged her + girlhood pride in the filth and made of herself a byword for + vicious boys. He told her the truth of what real men thought and + felt of women. Every man had a mother. No war, no unrest, no + style, no fad, no let-down of morals could change the truth. From + the dark ages women had climbed on the slow realization of + freedom, honor, chastity. As the future of nations depended upon + women, so did their salvation. Women could never again be + barbarians. All this modern license was a parody of love. It must + inevitably end in the degradation and unhappiness of those of the + generation who persisted on that downward path. Hard indeed it + would be to encounter the ridicule of girls and the indifference + of boys. But only through the intelligence and courage of one + could there ever be any hope for the many. + </p> + <p> + Lane sat there under the moonlit maples and talked until he was + hoarse. He could not rouse a sense of shame in Bessy, because + that had been atrophied, but as he closely watched her, he + realized that his victory would come through the emotion he was + able to arouse in her, and the ultimate appeal to the clear logic + of her mind. + </p> + <p> + When the time came for him to go she stood before him in the + clear moonlight. + </p> + <p> + "I've never been so excited, so scared and sick, so miserable and + thoughtful in all my life before," she said. "Daren, I know now + what a soldier is. What you've seen—what you've done. Oh! + it was grand! ... And you're going to be my—my friend.... + Daren, I thought it was great to be bad. I thought men liked a + girl to be bad. The girls nicknamed me Angel Bell, but not + because I was an angel, I'll tell the world.... Now I'm going to + try to be the girl you want me to be." + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + The time came when Daren had to make a painful choice. His sister + Lorna grew weary of his importunities and distrustful of his + espionage. One night she became violent and flatly told him she + would not stay in the house another day with him in it. Then she + ran out, slamming the door behind her. Lane remained awake all + night, in the hope that she would return. But she did not. And + then he knew he must make a choice. + </p> + <p> + He made it. Lorna must not be driven from her home. Lane divided + his money with his mother and packed his few effects. Mrs. Lane + was distracted over the situation. She tried to convince Lane + there was some kind of a law to keep a young girl home. She + pleaded and begged him to remain. She dwelt on his ill health. + But Lane was obdurate; and not the least of his hurts was the + last one—a divination that in spite of his mother's + distress there was a feeling of relief of which she was + unconscious. He assured her that he would come to see her often + during the afternoons and would care as best he could for his + health. Then he left, saying he would send an expressman for the + things he had packed. + </p> + <p> + Broodingly Lane plodded down the street. He had feared that + sooner or later he would be forced to leave home, and he had + shrunk from the ordeal. But now, that it was over, he felt a kind + of relief, and told himself that it was of no consequence what + happened to him. All that mattered was for him to achieve the few + tasks he had set himself. + </p> + <p> + Then he thought of Mel Iden. She had been driven from home and + would know what it meant to him. The longing to see her + increased. Every disappointment left him more in need of + sympathy. And now, it seemed, he would be ashamed to go to Mel + Iden or Blair Maynard. Such news could not long be kept from + them. Middleville was a beehive of gossips. Lane had a moment of + blank despair, a feeling of utter, sick, dazed wonder at life and + human nature. Then he lifted his head and went on. + </p> + <p> + Lane's first impulse was to ask Colonel Pepper if he could share + his lodgings, but upon reflection he decided otherwise. He + engaged a small room in a boarding house; his meals, which did + not seem of much importance, he could get anywhere. + </p> + <p> + This change of residence brought Lane downtown, and naturally + increased his activities. He did not husband his strength as + before, nor have the leisure for bad spells. Home had been a + place of rest. He could not rest in a drab little bare room he + now occupied. + </p> + <p> + He became a watcher, except during the stolen hours with Bessy + Bell. Then he tried to be a teacher. But he learned more than he + thought. He no longer concentrated his vigilance on his sister. + Having failed to force that issue, he bided his time, sensing + with melancholy portent the certainty that he would soon be + confronted with the stark and hateful actuality. Thus he wore + somewhat away from his grim resolve to kill Swann. That adventure + on the country road, when he had discovered Swann with Helen + instead of Lorna, had somehow been a boon. Nevertheless he spied + upon Lorna in the summer evenings when it was possible to follow + her, and he dogged Swann's winding and devious path as far as + possible. Apparently Swann had checked his irregularities as far + as Lorna was concerned. Still Lane trusted nothing. He became an + almost impassive destiny with the iron consequences in his hands. + </p> + <p> + Days passed. Every other afternoon and night he spent hours with + Bessy Bell, and found a mounting happiness in the change in her, + a deep and ever deeper insight into the causes that had developed + her. The balance of his waking hours, which were many, he passed + on the streets, in the ice cream parlors and confectionery dens, + at the motion-picture theatres. He went many and odd times to + Colonel Pepper's apartment, and took a peep into the club-rooms. + Some of these visits were fruitful, but he did not see whom he + expected to see there. At night he haunted the parks, watching + and listening. Often he hired a cheap car and drove it down the + river highway, where he would note the cars he passed or met. + Sometimes he would stop to get out and make one of his scouting + detours, or he would follow a car to some distant roadhouse, or + go to the outlying summer pavilions where popular dances were + given. More than once, late at night, he was an unseen and + unbidden guest at one of the gay bathing parties. Strange and + startling incidents seemed to gravitate toward Lane. He might + have been predestined for this accumulation of facts. How vain it + seethed for wild young men and women to think they hid their + tracks! Some trails could not be hidden. + </p> + <p> + Toward the end of that protracted period of surveillance, Lane + knew that he had become infamous in the eyes of most of that + younger set. He had been seen too often, alone, watching, with no + apparent excuse for his presence. And from here and there, + through Bessy and Colonel Pepper, and Blair, who faithfully + hunted him up, Lane learned of the unfavorable light in which he + was held. Society, in the persons of the younger matrons, took + exception to Lane's queer conduct and hinted of mental unbalance. + The young rakes and libertines avoided him, and there was not a + slacker among them who could meet his eye across cafe or billiard + room. + </p> + <p> + Yet despite the peculiar species of ignominy and disgrace that + Middleville gossips heaped upon Lane's head and the slow, steady + decline of his speaking acquaintance with the elite, there were + some who always greeted him and spoke if he gave them a chance. + Helen Wrapp never failed of a green flashing glance of mockery + and enticement. She smiled, she beckoned, she once called him to + her car and asked him to ride with her, to come to see her. + Margaret Maynard rose above dread of her mother and greeted Lane + graciously when occasion offered. Dorothy Dalrymple and Elinor + always evinced such unhesitating intention of friendship that + Lane grew to avoid meeting them. And twice, when he had come face + to face with Mel Iden, her look, her smile had been such that he + had plunged away somewhere, throbbing and thrilling, to grow + blind and sick and numb. It was the failure of his hopes, and the + suffering he endured, and the vain longings she inspired that + heightened his love. She wrote him after the last time they had + passed on the street—a note that stormed Lane's heart. He + did not answer. He divined that his increasing loneliness, and + the sure slow decline of his health, and the heartless + intolerance of the same class that had ostracized her were added + burdens to Mel Iden's faithful heart. He had seen it in her face, + read it in her note. And the time would come, sooner or later, + when he could go to her and make her marry him. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <p> + To be a mystery is overpoweringly sweet to any girl and Bessy + Bell was being that. Her sudden desire for solitude had worried + her mother, and her distant superiority had incited the vexation + of her friends. When they exerted themselves to win Bessy back to + her old self she looked dreamily beyond them and became more + aloof. Doctor Bronson, in reply to Mrs. Bell's appeal to him, + looked the young woman over, asked her a few questions, marveled + at the imperious artifice with which she evaded him, and throwing + up his hands said Bessy was beyond him. The dark fever, rising + from the school yards and the playgrounds and the streets, subtly + poisoning the blood of Bessy Bell, slowly lost its heat and power + for the time being. Bessy lived in the full secret expression of + her girlish adoration. She was worshipping a hero; she was + glorifying in her sacrifice; she was faithful to a man; she was + being a woman. At first she grew pale, tense, quiet, and seemed + to be going into a decline. Then that stage passed; and the + roseleaf flush returned to her cheeks, the purple fire deepened + in her eyes, the quivering life in all her supple young body. + Night after night loneliness had no fears for her. If she heard a + whistle on the avenue, the honk of a car—the familiar old + signals of the boys and girls, she smiled her disdain, and + curling comfortably in her great chair, bent her lovely head over + her books. + </p> + <p> + In the beginning her dreams were all of Daren Lane, of the + strangeness and glory of this soldier who spent so many secret + hours with her. And when the time came that she did not see him + so often her dreams were just as full. But gradually, as the days + went by, other figures than Lane's were limned upon her + fancy—vague figures of heroes, knights, soldiers. He still + dominated her romances, though less personally. She built around + him. Every day brought her new strange desires. + </p> + <p> + One evening in August when Bessy sat alone the telephone bell + rang sharply. She ran to take down the receiver. + </p> + <p> + "Hello, hello, that you, Bessy?" came the hurried call in a + girl's voice. + </p> + <p> + "Rose! Oh, how are you?" + </p> + <p> + "Fine. But say, Angel, I can't take time to talk. Something + doing. Are you alone?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, all alone, old girl." + </p> + <p> + "Listen, then, and get this.... I'm here, you know, telephone + girl at the Exchange. Just heard your father on the wire. Some + one has betrayed the secret of the club. There's a warrant out + for the arrest of the boys. For gambling. You know there's a + political vice drive on. Some time to-night they'll be raided.... + But early. Bess, are you getting this?" + </p> + <p> + "Sure. Hurry—hurry," replied Bessy, in excitement. + </p> + <p> + "I tried to get Dick on the wire, but couldn't. Same with two + more of the boys. But I did get wise to this. Gail and Lorna have + a date at the club to-night.... Never mind how I found out. Dick + has thrown me down for Gail. I'm sore as a pup. But I don't want + your father to pinch those girls.... Now, Bess, I'm tied here. + But you get a move on. Don't waste time. You can save them. You + must. Do something. If you can't find somebody, go straight to + the club. You know where the key for the outside entrance is + kept. Hurry and it'll be safe. Good-bye." + </p> + <p> + Bessy stood statue-like for a moment, her big eyes glowing, + changing, darkening with rapid thought, then she flew upstairs to + her room, snatched a veil and a soft hat, and putting these on as + she went, she flew out of the house without putting out the + lights or locking the door. + </p> + <p> + It was a dark windy night, slightly cool for August, and a fine + misty rain was blowing. Bessy's footsteps pattered softly as she + ran block after block, and she did not slacken her pace till she + reached the house where Daren Lane had his room. In answer to her + ring a woman appeared, who told her Mr. Lane was out. + </p> + <p> + This was a severe disappointment to Bessy, and left her an + alternative that required more than courage, but she did not + vacillate. She sped swiftly on in the dark, for the electric + lights were few and far between, until the black of the gloomy + building, where the boys had their club, loomed up. On the corner + Bessy saw a man standing with his back to a telegraph pole. This + occasioned her much concern; perhaps he might be watching the + building. But he had not seen her, of that she was certain. The + possibility that he might be a spy made her task all the harder. + </p> + <p> + Bessy returned the way she come, crossed at the next corner, + hurried round the block and up to the outside stairway that was + her objective point. + </p> + <p> + By feeling along the brick wall she brought up, with a sudden + bump, at the back of the stairway. Then she deliberated. If she + went around to the front so as to get access to the steps, she + might pass in range of the loiterer whom she mistrusted. That + risk she would not incur. Examining the wall that enclosed the + box-like stairway as best she could in the dark, she found it + rickety, full of holes and cracks, and she decided she would + climb it. A sheer perpendicular board wall, some twelve or + fifteen feet high, shrouded in pitchy darkness and apparently + within earshot of a police spy, did not daunt Bessy Bell. + Slipping her strong fingers in crevices and her slim toes in + cracks, she climbed up and up, till she got hold of the railing + post on the first platform. Here she had great difficulty to keep + from falling, but lifting and squirming her supple body, by a + desperate effort she got her knees on the platform, and then + pulled herself to safety. Once on the stairs she ran up the + remaining few steps to the landing, where she rested panting and + triumphant. + </p> + <p> + As she was about to go on she heard footsteps, which froze her. A + man was crossing the street. He came from the direction of the + corner where she had seen the supposed spy. Presently she saw him + stop under one of the trees to scratch a match, and in the round + glow of light she saw him puff at a cigar. Then he passed on with + uncertain steps, as of one slightly under the influence of drink. + </p> + <p> + Bessy's heart warmed to life and began to beat again. Then she + sought for the key. She had been told where it was, but did not + remember. Slipping her hand under the railing, close to the wall, + she felt a string, and, pulling at it suddenly, found the key in + her hand. She glided into the dim hall, feeling along the wall + for a door, until she found it. With trembling fingers she + inserted the key in the lock, and the door swung inward silently. + Bessy went in, leaving the key on the outside. + </p> + <p> + Dark as it had been without, it was light compared to the ebon + blackness within. Bessy felt ice form in the marrow of her bones. + The darkness was tangible; it seemed to envelop her in heavy + folds. The sudden natural impulse to fly out of the thick + creeping gloom, down the stairway to the light, strung her + muscles for instant action, but checked by the swiftly following + thought of her purpose, they relaxed, and she took not a backward + step. + </p> + <p> + "Rose did her part and I'll do mine," she cogitated. "I've got to + save them. But what to do—I may have to wait. I + know—in the big room—the closet behind the curtain! I + can find that even in this dark, and once in there I won't be + afraid." + </p> + <p> + Bessy, fired by this inspiration, groped along the wall through + the room to the large chamber, stumbled over chairs and a couch + and at last got her hands on the drapery. She readily found the + knob, turned it, opened the door and stepped in. + </p> + <p> + "I hope they won't be long," she thought. "I hope the girls come + first. I don't want to burst into a room full of boys. Won't + Daren be surprised when I tell him—maybe angry! But it's + bound to come out all right, and father will never know." + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + Early one August evening Lane went out to find a cool misty rain + blowing down from the hills. At the inn he encountered Colonel + Pepper, who wore a most woebegone and ludicrous expression. He + pounced at once upon Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, what do you think?" he wailed, miserably. + </p> + <p> + "I don't think. I know. You've gone and done it—pulled that + stunt of yours again," returned Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Yes—but oh, so much worse this time." + </p> + <p> + "Worse! How could it be worse, unless you mean some one punched + your head." + </p> + <p> + "No. That would have been nothing.... Daren, this—this time + I—it was a lady!" gasped Pepper. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, say now, Pepper—not really?" queried Lane, + incredulously. + </p> + <p> + "It was. And a lady I—I admire very much." + </p> + <p> + "Who?" + </p> + <p> + "Miss Amanda Hill." + </p> + <p> + "The schoolteacher? Nice little woman like that! Pepper, why + couldn't you pick on one of these Middleville gossips or society + dames?" + </p> + <p> + "Lord—I didn't know who she was—until after—and + I couldn't have helped it anyway," he replied, mopping his red + face. "When—I saw her—and she recognized me—I + nearly died.... It was at White's Confectionery Den. And I'm + afraid some people saw me." + </p> + <p> + "Well. You old duffer! And you say you admire this lady very + much?" + </p> + <p> + "Indeed I do. I call on her." + </p> + <p> + "Colonel, your name is Dennis," replied Lane, with merciless + humor. "It serves you right." + </p> + <p> + The little man evidently found relief in his confession and in + Lane's censure. + </p> + <p> + "I'm cured forever," he declared vehemently. "And say, Lane, I've + been looking for you. Have you been at my rooms lately—you + know—to take a peep?" + </p> + <p> + "I have not," replied Lane, turning sharply. A slight chill went + over him. "I thought that club stuff was off." + </p> + <p> + "Off—nothing," whispered Colonel Pepper, drawing Lane + aside. "Swann and his strong-arm gang just got foxy. They quit + for a while. Now they're rushing the girls in there—say + from four to five—and in the evenings a little while, not + too late. Oh, they're the slick bunch, picking out the ice cream + soda hour when everybody's downtown.... You run up to my rooms + right now. And I'll gamble——" + </p> + <p> + "I'll go," interrupted Lane, grimly. + </p> + <p> + Not fifteen minutes before he had seen his sister Lorna and a + chum, Gail Williams, go into White's place. Lane's pulse + quickened. As he started to go he ran into Blair Maynard who + grasped at him: "What's hurry, old scout?" + </p> + <p> + "Blair, I'm never in a hurry if you want me. But the fact is I've + got rather urgent business. How about to-morrow?" + </p> + <p> + "Sure. Meet you here. I just wanted to unload on you, Dare. Looks + as if my mother has hatched it up between Margie and our esteemed + countryman, Richard Swann." + </p> + <p> + It was not often that Lane cursed, but he did so now. + </p> + <p> + "But Blair, didn't you <i>tell</i> your mother what this fellow + is?" remonstrated Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I'll say I did," replied Blair, sardonically. "Cut no ice + whatever. She didn't believe. She didn't care for any proofs. All + rich young men had their irregularities!... Good God! Doesn't it + make you sick?" + </p> + <p> + "But how about Holt Dalrymple?" + </p> + <p> + "Holt's turned over a new leaf. He's working hard, and I think he + has taken a tumble to himself. Listen to this. He met Margie with + Dick Swann out at one of the lake dances—Watkins' Lake. And + he cut her dead. I'm sorry for Margie. She sure is rank poison + these days.... Well, speak of the devil!" + </p> + <p> + Holt Dalrymple collided with them at the entrance of the inn. The + haggard, sullen, heated look that had characterized him was gone. + He was sunburned, and his dark eyes were bright. He greeted his + friends warmly. They chatted for a moment. Then Lane grew + thoughtful, all the while gazing at Holt. + </p> + <p> + "What's the idea?" queried that worthy, presently. "Anything + wrong with me?" + </p> + <p> + "Boy, you're just great. Seeing you has done me good.... You ask + what's the idea. Holt, would you do me a favor?" + </p> + <p> + "Would I? Listen to the guy," returned young Dalrymple. "Daren, + I'd do any old thing for you." + </p> + <p> + "Do you happen to know Bessy Bell?" went on Lane. + </p> + <p> + Dalrymple quickened with surprise. "Yes, I know her. Some little + peach!... I almost ran into her down on West Street a few minutes + ago. She wore a white veil. She didn't see me, or recognize me. + But I sure knew her. She was almost running. I bet a million to + myself she had a date at the club." + </p> + <p> + "You lose, Holt," replied Lane, shortly. "Bessy Bell is one + Middleville kid who has come clean through this mess." + </p> + <p> + "Say Dare, I like to hear you talk," responded Blair, half in + jest and half in earnest. "But aren't you getting a trifle + unbalanced? That's how my mother apologizes for me." + </p> + <p> + "Cut the joshing, boys. Listen," returned Lane. "And don't ever + tell this to a soul. I interested myself in Bessy Bell. I've met + her more times than I can count. I wanted to see if it was + possible to turn one of these girls around. I failed on my sister + Lorna. But Bessy Bell is true blue. She had all this modern + tommyrot. She had everything else too. Brains, sweetness, common + sense, romance. All I tried to do was to make her forget the + tommyrot. And I think I did." + </p> + <p> + "Well, I'll be darned!" ejaculated Blair. "Dare, that was ripping + fine of you.... What'll you do next, I wonder." + </p> + <p> + "Come on with your favor," added Holt, with a keen bright smile. + </p> + <p> + "Would you be willing to see Bessy occasionally—and sort of + be nice to her—you know?" asked Lane, earnestly. "I can't + keep up my attention to her much longer. She might miss me. Take + it from me, Holt, back of all this modern stuff—deep in + Bessy, and in every girl who has not been debased—is the + simple and good desire to be liked." + </p> + <p> + "Daren, I'll do that little thing, believe me," returned Holt, + warmly. + </p> + <p> + Shaking hands with his friends, Lane left them, and went on his + way. White's place was full as a beehive. As he passed, Lane + found himself looking for Bessy Bell's golden head, though he + knew he would not see it. He wondered if Holt had really met her, + veiled and in a hurry. That had a strange look. But no shadow of + distrust of Bessy came to Lane. In a few moments he reached the + dark stairway leading to Colonel Pepper's apartment. Lane forgot + he was weak. But at the top, with his breast laboring, he + remembered well enough. He went into the Colonel's rooms and + through them without making a light. And when he reached the + place where he had spied upon the club he was wet with sweat and + shaking with excitement. Carefully, so as not to make noise, he + stole to the peep-hole and applied his eye. + </p> + <p> + He saw a gleam of light on shiny waxed floor, and then, moving to + get the limit of his narrow vision, he descried Swann, evidently + just arrived. With him was Gail Williams, a slip of a child not + over fifteen—looking up at him as if excited and pleased. + Next Lane espied his sister Lorna with a tall, well-built man. + Although his back was toward Lane, he could not mistake the + soldierly bearing of Captain Vane Thesel! Lorna looked perturbed + and sulky, and once, turning her face toward Swann, she seemed + resentful. Captain Thesel had his hand at her elbow and appeared + to be talking earnestly. + </p> + <p> + Lane left his post, taking care to make no noise. But once back + in the Colonel's rooms, he hurried. Feeling in the dark corner + where he had kept the axe ready for just such an emergency as + this, he grasped it and rushed out. Tiptoeing down the hall, he + found the narrow door, stole down the black stairway and entered + the main hall. Here he paused, suddenly checked in his hurry. + </p> + <p> + "This won't do," he thought, and shook his head. "Much as I'd + like to kill those two dogs I can't—I can't.... I'll smash + their faces, though—and if I ever catch...." + </p> + <p> + Breaking the thought off abruptly, he passed down the dim hallway + to the door of the club-rooms. He raised the axe and was about to + smash the lock when he espied a key in the keyhole. The door was + not locked. Lane set down the axe and noiselessly turned the knob + and peeped in. The first room was dark, but the door on the + opposite side was ajar, and through it Lane saw the larger + lighted room and the shiny floor. Moving figures crossed the + space. Removing the key, Lane slipped inside the room and locked + the door. Then he tip-toed to the opposite door. + </p> + <p> + Thesel and Lorna were now so close that Lane could hear them. + </p> + <p> + "But I thought I had a date with Dick," protested Lorna. Her face + was red and she stamped her foot. + </p> + <p> + "See here, kiddo. If you're as thick as that I'll have to put you + wise," answered Thesel, good-humoredly, as he tilted back his + cigarette to blow smoke at the ceiling. "Dick is through with + you." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, <i>is</i> he?" choked Lorna. + </p> + <p> + "Say, Cap, I heard a noise," suddenly called out Swann, rather + nervously. + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's silence. Lane, too, had heard a noise, but + could not be sure whether it was inside the building or not. + </p> + <p> + Swann hurried over to join Thesel. They looked blankly at each + other. The air might have been charged. Both girls showed alarm. + </p> + <p> + Then Lane, with his hand on the gun in his pocket, strode out to + confront them. + </p> + <p> + "Oh—h!" gasped Lorna, as if appalled at sight of her + brother's face. + </p> + <p> + "Fellows, I'll have to break up your little party," said Lane, + coolly. + </p> + <p> + Thesel turned ghastly white, while Swann grew livid with rage. He + seemed to expand. His hand went back to his right hip. + </p> + <p> + When Lane got within six feet of them, Swann drew a small + automatic pistol. But before he could raise it, Lane had leaped + into startling activity. With terrific swing he brought his gun + down on Swann's face. Then as swiftly he turned on Thesel. Swann + had hardly hit the floor, a sodden heap, when Thesel, with bloody + visage, reeled and fell like a log. Lane bent over them, ready to + beat either back. But both were unconscious. + </p> + <p> + "Daren—for God's sake—don't murder them!" whispered + Lorna, hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + Lane's humanity was in abeyance then, but his self-control did + not desert him. + </p> + <p> + "You girls must hurry out of here," he ordered. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Gail is fainting," cried Lorna. + </p> + <p> + The little Williams girl was indeed swaying and sinking down. + Lane grasped her and shook her. "Brace up. If you keel over now, + you'll be found out sure.... It's all right. You'll not be hurt. + There——" + </p> + <p> + A heavy thumping on the door by which Lane had entered and a loud + authoritative voice from the hall silenced him. + </p> + <p> + "Open up here! You're pinched!" + </p> + <p> + That voice Lane recognized as belonging to Chief of Police Bell. + For a moment, fraught with suspense, Lane was at a loss to know + what to do. + </p> + <p> + "Open up! We've got the place surrounded.... Open up, or we'll + smash the door in!" + </p> + <p> + Lane whispered to the girls: "Is there a place to hide you?" + </p> + <p> + The Williams girl was beyond answering, but Lorna, despite her + terror, had not lost her wits. + </p> + <p> + "Yes—there's a closet—hid by a curtain—here," + she whispered, pointing. + </p> + <p> + Lane half carried Gail. Lorna brushed aside a heavy curtain and + opened a door. Lane pushed both girls into the black void and + closed the door after them. + </p> + <p> + "Once more—open up!" bellowed the officer in the hall, + accompanying his demand with a thump on the door. Lane made sure + some one had found his axe. He did not care how much smashing the + policemen did. All that concerned Lane then was how to avert + discovery from the girls. It looked hopeless. Then, as there came + sudden splintering blows on the door, Lane espied Swann's + cigarettes and matches on the music box. Lane seldom smoked. But + while the officers were breaking in the door, Lane leisurely + lighted a cigarette; and when two of them came in he faced them + coolly. + </p> + <p> + The first was Chief Bell, a large handsome man, in blue uniform. + The second one was a patrolman. Neither carried a weapon in + sight. Bell swept the big room in one flashing blue + glance—took in Lane and the prone figures on the floor. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I'll be damned," he ejaculated. "What am I up against?" + </p> + <p> + "Hello, Chief," replied Lane, coolly. "Don't get fussed up now. + This is no murder case." + </p> + <p> + "Lane, what's this mean?" burst out Bell. + </p> + <p> + Lane was rather well acquainted with Chief Bell, and in a way + there was friendship between them. Bell, for one, had always been + sturdily loyal to the soldiers. + </p> + <p> + "Well, Chief, I was having a little friendly game with Mr. Swann + and Captain Thesel," drawled Lane. "We got into an argument. And + as both were such ferocious fighters I grew afraid they'd hurt me + bad—so I had to soak them." + </p> + <p> + "Don't kid me," spoke up Bell, derisively. "Little + game—hell! Where's the cards, chips, table?" + </p> + <p> + "Chief, I didn't say we played the game to-night." + </p> + <p> + "Lane, you're a liar," replied Bell, thoughtfully. "I'm sure of + that. But you've got me buffaloed." He knelt on the floor beside + the fallen men and examined each. Swann's shirt as well as face + was bloody. "For a crippled soldier you've got some punch left. + What'd you hit them with?" + </p> + <p> + "I'll tell you Chief. I fetched an axe with me to do the dirty + job, but I decided I should use a dangerous weapon only on men. + So I soaked them with a lollypop." + </p> + <p> + "Lane, are you really nutty?" demanded Bell, curiously. + </p> + <p> + "No more than you. I hit them with something hard, so it would + leave a mark." + </p> + <p> + "You left one, I'll say. Thesel will lose that eye—it's + gone now—and Swann is also disfigured for life. What a + damned shame!" + </p> + <p> + "Chief, are you sure it's any kind of a shame?" + </p> + <p> + Lane's query appeared to provoke thought. Bell replaced the + little automatic pistol he had picked up beside Swann, and rising + he looked at Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Swann was a slacker. Thesel was your Captain in the war. Have + these facts anything to do with your motive?" + </p> + <p> + "No, Chief," replied Lane, in sarcasm. "But when I got into + action I think the facts you mentioned sort of rejuvenated a + disabled soldier." + </p> + <p> + "Lane, you beat me," declared Bell, shaking his head. "Why, I had + you figured as a pretty good chap.... But you've done some queer + things in Middleville." + </p> + <p> + "Chief, if you're an honest officer you'll admit Middleville + needs some queer things done." + </p> + <p> + Bell gazed doubtfully at Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Smith, search the rooms," he ordered, addressing his patrolman. + </p> + <p> + "We were alone here," spoke up Lane. "And I advise you to hurry + those wounded veterans to a hospital in the rear." + </p> + <p> + Swann showed signs of recovering consciousness. Bell bent over + him a moment. Lane had only one hope—that the patrolman + would miss the door. But he brushed aside the curtain. Then he + grunted. + </p> + <p> + "See here, Chief—a door—and somebody's holding it + from the inside," he declared. + </p> + <p> + "Wait, Smith," ordered Bell, striding forward. But before he got + half-way across the room the door opened. A girl stepped out and + shut it back of her. Lane sustained a singular shock. That girl + was Bessy Bell. + </p> + <p> + "Hello, Dad—it's Bessy," she said, clearly. She was pale, + but did not seem frightened. + </p> + <p> + Chief Bell halted in the middle of a stride and staggered a + little as his foot came down. A low curse of utter amaze escaped + his lips. Suddenly he became tensely animated. + </p> + <p> + "How'd you come here?" he demanded, towering over her. + </p> + <p> + "I walked." + </p> + <p> + "What'd you come for?" + </p> + <p> + "To warn Daren Lane that you were going to raid these club-rooms + to-night." + </p> + <p> + "Who told you?" + </p> + <p> + "I won't tell. I got it over the 'phone." I ran over here. I knew + where the key was. I've been here + before—afternoons—dancing.... I let myself in.... But + when they—they came I got frightened and hid in the + closet." + </p> + <p> + Chief Bell seemed about to give way to passion, but he controlled + it. After that moment he changed subtly. + </p> + <p> + "Is Daren Lane your friend?" he demanded. + </p> + <p> + "Yes. The best and truest any girl ever had.... Dad, you know + mother told you I had changed lately. I have. And it's through + Daren." + </p> + <p> + "Where'd you see him?" + </p> + <p> + "He has been coming out to the house in the afternoons." + </p> + <p> + "Well, I'm damned," muttered the Chief, and wheeled away. Sight + of his gaping patrolman seemed to galvanize him into further + realization of the situation. "Smith, beat it out and draw the + other men round in front. Give me time enough to get Bessy out. + Send hurry call for ambulance.... And Smith, keep your mouth + shut. I'll make it all right. If Mrs. Bell hears of this my life + will be a hell on earth." + </p> + <p> + "Mum's the word, Chief. I'm a married man myself," he replied, + and hurried out. + </p> + <p> + Lane was watching Bessy. What a wonderful girl! Modern tendencies + might have corrupted the girls of the day, but for sheer nerve, + wit and courage they were immeasurably superior to those of + former generations. Bessy faced her father calmly, lied + magnificently, gazed down at the ghastly, bloody faces with + scarcely a shudder, and gave Lane a smile from her purple eyes, + as if to cheer him, to assure him she could save the situation. + It struck Lane that Chief Bell looked as if he might be following + a similar line of thought. + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, put on your hat," ordered Bell. "And here ... tuck that + veil around. There, now you beat it for home. Lane, go with her + to the stairs. Take a good look in the street. Bessy, go home the + back way. And Lane, you hurry back." + </p> + <p> + Lane followed Bessy out and caught up with her in the hall. She + clasped his arm. + </p> + <p> + "Some adventure, I'll say!" she burst out, in breathless whisper. + "It was great until I recognized your voice. Then all inside me + went flooey." + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, you're the finest little girl in the world," returned + Lane, stirred to emotion. + </p> + <p> + "Here, Daren, cut that. You didn't raise me on soft soap and + mush. If you get to praising me I'll fall so far I'll never + light.... Now, Dare, go back and fool Dad. You must save the + girls. It doesn't matter about me. He's my Dad." + </p> + <p> + "I'll do my best," replied Lane. + </p> + <p> + They reached the landing of the outside stairway. Peering down, + Lane did not see any one. + </p> + <p> + "I guess the coast is clear. Now, beat it, Bessy." + </p> + <p> + She lifted the white veil and raised her face. In the dim gray + light Lane saw it as never before. + </p> + <p> + "Kiss me, Daren," she whispered. + </p> + <p> + Lane had never kissed her. For an instant he was confused. + </p> + <p> + "Why—little girl!" he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + "Hurry!" she whispered, imperiously. + </p> + <p> + Some instinct beyond Lane's ken prompted him to do what she + asked. + </p> + <p> + "Good-bye, my little Princess," he whispered. "Don't ever forget + me." + </p> + <p> + "Never, Daren. Good-bye." She slipped down the stairway and in a + moment more vanished in the gray gloom of the misty night. + </p> + <p> + Only then did Lane understand what she, with her woman's + intuition, had divined—that they would never be together + again. The realization gave him a pang. Bessy was his only + victory. + </p> + <p> + Slowly Lane made his way back to the club-rooms. He had begun to + weaken under the strain and felt the approach of something akin + to collapse. When he reached the large room he found Swann half + conscious and Thesel showing signs of coming to. + </p> + <p> + "Lane, come here," said the Chief, drawing Lane away from the + writhing forms on the floor. "You're under arrest." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir. What's the charge?" + </p> + <p> + "Let's see. That's the puzzler," replied the Chief, scratching + his head. "Suppose we say gambling and fighting." + </p> + <p> + "Fine!" granted Lane, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + "When the ambulance comes you get out of sight until we pack + these fellows out. I'll leave the door open—so if there's + any reason you want to come back—why—" + </p> + <p> + Chief Bell half averted his face, seemingly not embarrassed, but + rather pondering in thought. "Thanks, Chief. You understand me + perfectly," responded Lane. "I'll appear at police headquarters + in half an hour." + </p> + <p> + The officer laughed, and returning to the injured men he knelt + beside them. Swann sat up moaning. Blood had blinded his sight. + He did not see Lane pass. Sounds of an ambulance bell had caught + Lane's quick ear. Finding the washroom, he went in and, locking + the door, leaned there to wait. In a very few moments the injured + Swann and Thesel had been carried out. Lane waited five minutes + after the sound of wheels had died away. Then he hurried out and + opened the door of the closet. + </p> + <p> + Lorna almost fell over him in her eagerness. If she had been + frightened, she had recovered. Gail staggered out, pale and sick + looking. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Daren, can you get us out?" whispered Lorna, breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + "Hurry, and don't talk," replied Lane. + </p> + <p> + He led them out into the hall and down to the stairway where he + had taken Bessy. As before, all appeared quiet below. + </p> + <p> + "I guess it's safe.... Girls, let this be a lesson to you." + </p> + <p> + "Never any more for mine," whimpered Gail. + </p> + <p> + But Lorna was of more tempered metal. + </p> + <p> + "Believe me, Daren, I'm glad you knocked the lamps out of those + swell boobs," she whispered, passionately. "Dick Swann used me + like dirt. The next guy like him who tries to get gay with me + will have some fall, I'll tell the world.... Me for Harry! + There's nothing in this q-t stuff.... And say, what do you know + about Bessy Bell? She came here to save us.... Hot dog, but she's + a peach!" + </p> + <p> + Lane admonished the girls to hurry and watched them until they + reached the street and turned the corner out of sight. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + The reaction from that night landed Lane in the hospital, where, + during long weeks when he did have a lucid interval, he saw that + his life was despaired of and felt that he was glad of it. + </p> + <p> + But he did not die. As before, the weak places in his lungs + healed over and he began to mend, and gradually his periods of + rationality increased until he wholly gained his mental poise. It + was, however, a long time before he was strong enough to leave + the hospital. + </p> + <p> + During the worst of his illness his mother came often to see him; + after he grew better she came but seldom. Blair and Colonel + Pepper were the only others who visited Lane. And as soon as his + memory returned and interest revived he learned much peculiarly + significant to him. + </p> + <p> + The secret of the club-rooms, so far as girls were concerned, + never became fully known to Middleville gossips. Strange and + contrary rumors were rife for a long time, but the real truth + never leaked out. There was never any warrant sworn for Lane's + arrest. What the general public had heard and believed was the + story concocted by Thesel and Swann, who claimed that Lane, over + a gambling table, had been seized by one of the frenzied fits + common to deranged soldiers, and had attacked them. Thesel lost + his left eye and Swann carried a hideous red scar from brow to + cheek. Neither the club-room scandal nor his disfigurement for + life in any wise prevented Mrs. Maynard from announcing the + engagement of her daughter Margaret to Richard Swann. The most + amazing news was to hear that Helen Wrapp had married a rich + young politician named Hartley, who was running for the office of + magistrate. According to Blair, Daren Lane had divided + Middleville into two dissenting factions, a large one who banned + him in disgrace, and a small one who lifted their voices in his + behalf. Of all the endless bits of news, little and big, the one + that broke happily on Lane's ears was the word of a nurse, who + told him that during his severe illness a girl had called on the + telephone every day to inquire for him. She never gave her name. + But Lane knew it was Mel and the mere thought of her made him + quiver. + </p> + <p> + By the time Lane was strong enough to leave the hospital an early + winter had set in. The hospital expenses had reduced his finances + so materially that he could not afford the lodgings he had + occupied before his illness. He realized fully that he should + leave Middleville for a dry warm climate, if he wanted to live a + while longer. But he was not greatly concerned about this. There + would be time enough to consider the future after he had + fulfilled the one hope and ambition he had left. + </p> + <p> + Rooms were at a premium. Lane was forced to apply in the sordid + quarter of Middleville, and the place he eventually found was a + small, bare hall bedroom, in a large, ramshackle old house, of + questionable repute. But beggars could not be choosers. There was + no heat in this room, and Lane decided that what time he spent in + it must be in bed. He would not give any one his address. + </p> + <p> + Once installed here, Lane waited only a few days to assure + himself that he was strong enough to carry out the plan upon + which he had set his heart. + </p> + <p> + Late that afternoon he went to the town hall and had a marriage + license made out for himself and Mel Iden. Upon returning, he + found that snow had begun to fall heavily. Already the streets + were white. Suddenly the thought of the nearness of Christmas + shocked him. How time sped by! + </p> + <p> + That night he dressed himself carefully, wearing the service + uniform he had so well preserved, and sallied forth to the most + fashionable restaurant in Middleville, where in the glare and + gayety he had his dinner. Lane recognized many of the dining, + dancing throng, but showed no sign of it. He became aware that + his presence had excited comment. How remote he seemed to feel + himself from that eating, drinking, dancing crowd! So far removed + that even the jazz music no longer affronted him. Rather + surprised he was to find he really enjoyed his dinner. From the + restaurant he engaged a taxi. + </p> + <p> + The bright lights, the falling snow, the mantle of white on + everything, with their promise of the holiday season, pleased + Lane with the memory of what great fun he used to have at + Christmas-time. + </p> + <p> + When he arrived at Mel's home the snow was falling thickly in + heavy flakes. Through the pall he caught a faint light, which + grew brighter as he plodded toward the cottage. He stamped on the + porch and flapped his arms to remove the generous covering of + snow that had adhered to him. And as he was about to knock, the + door opened, and Mel stood in the sudden brightness. + </p> + <p> + "Hello, Mel, how are you?—some snow, eh?" was his cheery + greeting, and he went in and shut the door behind him. + </p> + <p> + "Why, Daren—you—you—" + </p> + <p> + "I—what! Aren't you glad to see me?" + </p> + <p> + Lane had not prepared himself for anything. He knew he could win + now, and all he had allowed himself was gladness. But being face + to face with Mel made it different. It had been long since he + last saw her. That interval had been generous. To look at her now + no one could have guessed her story. Warmth and richness of color + had come back to her; and vividly they expressed her joy at sight + of him. + </p> + <p> + "Glad?—I've been living—on my hopes—that + you—" + </p> + <p> + Her faltering speech trailed off here, as Lane took one long + stride toward her. + </p> + <p> + Lane put a firm hand to each of her cheeks, and tilting a + suddenly rosy face, he kissed her full on the lips. Then he + turned away without looking at her and stepped to the little open + grate, where a small red fire glowed. Mel gasped there behind him + and then became perfectly still. + </p> + <p> + "Nice fire, Mel," he spoke out, naturally, as if nothing unusual + had happened. But the thin hands he extended to the warmth of the + coals trembled like aspen leaves in the wind. How silent she was! + It thrilled him. What strange sweet revel in the moment. + </p> + <p> + When he turned it seemed he saw her eyes, her lips, her whole + face luminous. The next instant she came out of her spell; and + Lane divined if he let her wholly recover, he would have a woman + to deal with. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, what's wrong with you?" she inquired. + </p> + <p> + "Why, Mel!" he ejaculated, in feigned reproach. + </p> + <p> + "You don't look irrational, but you act so," she said, studying + him more closely. The hand that had been pressed to her breast + dropped down. + </p> + <p> + "Had my last crazy spell two weeks ago," he replied. + </p> + <p> + "Until to-night." + </p> + <p> + "You mean my kissing you? Well, I refuse to apologize. You see I + was not prepared to find you so improved. Why, Mel, you're + changed. You're just—just lovely." + </p> + <p> + Again the rich color stained her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + "Thank you, Daren," she said. "I have changed. <i>You</i> did + it.... I've gotten well, and—almost happy.... But let's not + talk of myself. You—there's so much—" + </p> + <p> + "Mel, I don't want to talk about myself, either," he declared. + "When a man's got only a day or so longer—" + </p> + <p> + "Hush!—Or—Or—," she threatened, with a slight + distension of nostrils and a paling of cheek. + </p> + <p> + "Or what?" demanded Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Or I'll do to you what you did to me." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, you'd kiss me to shut my lips?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I would." + </p> + <p> + "Fine, Mel. Come on. But you'd have to keep steadily busy all + evening. For I've come to talk." Mel came closer to him, with a + catch in her breathing, a loving radiance in her eyes. "Daren, + you're strange—not like your old self. You're too + gay—too happy. Oh, I'd be glad if you were sincere. But you + have something on your mind." + </p> + <p> + Lane knew when to unmask a battery. + </p> + <p> + "No, it's in my pocket," he flashed, and with a quick motion he + tore out the marriage license and thrust it upon her. As her dark + eyes took in the meaning of the paper, and her expression + changed, Lane gazed down upon her with a commingling of emotions. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Daren—No—No!" she cried, in a wildness of amaze + and pain. + </p> + <p> + Then Lane clasped her close, with a force too sudden to be + gentle, and with his free hand he lifted her face. + </p> + <p> + "Look here. Look at me," he said sternly. "Every time you say no + or shake your head—I'll do this." + </p> + <p> + And he kissed her twice, as he had upon his entrance. + </p> + <p> + Mel raised her head and gazed up at him, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, + as if both appalled and enthralled. + </p> + <p> + "Daren. I—I don't understand you," she said, unsteadily. + "You frighten me. Let me go—please, Daren. This + is—so—so unlike you. You insult me." + </p> + <p> + "Mel, I can't see it that way," he replied. "I'm only asking you + to come out and marry me to-night." + </p> + <p> + That galvanized her, and she tried to slip from his embrace. + </p> + <p> + "I told you no—no—no," she cried desperately. + </p> + <p> + "That's three," said Lane, and he took them mercilessly. "You + will marry me," he said sternly. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Daren, I can't—I dare not.... Ah!—" + </p> + <p> + "You will go right now—marry me to-night." + </p> + <p> + "Please be kind, Daren.... I don't know how you—" + </p> + <p> + "Mel, where're your coat, and hat, and overshoes?" he questioned, + urgently. + </p> + <p> + "I told you—no!" she flashed, passionately. + </p> + <p> + Lane made good his threat, and this last onslaught left her spent + and white. + </p> + <p> + "You must like my kisses, Mel Iden," he said. + </p> + <p> + "I implore you—Daren" + </p> + <p> + "I implore you to marry me." + </p> + <p> + "Dear friend, listen to reason," she begged. "You don't love me. + You've just a chivalrous notion you can help me—and my + boy—by giving us your name. It's noble, Daren, thank you. + But—" + </p> + <p> + "Take care," warned Lane, bending low over her. "I can make good + my word all night." + </p> + <p> + "Boy, you've gone crazy," she whispered, sadly. + </p> + <p> + "Well, now you may be talking sense," he laughed. "But that's + neither here nor there.... Mel, I may die any day now!" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, my God!—don't say that," she cried, as if pierced by a + blade. + </p> + <p> + "Yes. Mel, make me happy just for that little while." + </p> + <p> + "Happy?" she whispered. + </p> + <p> + "Yes. I've failed here in every way. I've lost all. And this + thing would make the bitterness endurable." + </p> + <p> + "I'd die for you," she returned. "But marry + you!—Daren—dearest—it will make you the + laughing-stock of Middleville." + </p> + <p> + "Whatever it makes me, I shall be proud." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, I cannot, I dare not," she burst out. + </p> + <p> + "You seem to forget the penalty for these unflattering negatives + of yours," he returned, coolly, bending to her lips. + </p> + <p> + This time she did not writhe or quiver or breathe. Lane felt + surrender in her, and when he lifted his face from hers he was + sure. Despite the fact that he had inflexibly clamped his will to + one purpose, holding his emotion in abeyance, that brief instant + seemed to be the fullest of his life. + </p> + <p> + "Mel, put your arm round my neck," he commanded. + </p> + <p> + Mel obeyed. + </p> + <p> + "Now the other." + </p> + <p> + Again she complied. + </p> + <p> + "Lift your face—look at me." + </p> + <p> + She essayed to do this also, but failed. Her head sank on his + breast. He had won. Lane held her a moment closely. And then a + great and overwhelming pity and tenderness, his first emotions, + flooded his soul. He closed his eyes. Dimly, vaguely, they seemed + to create vision of long future time; and he divined that good + and happiness would come to Mel Iden some day through the pain he + had given her. + </p> + <p> + "Where did you say your things are?" he asked. "It's a bad + night." + </p> + <p> + "They're in—the hall," came in muffled tones from his + shoulder. "I'll get them." + </p> + <p> + But she made no effort to remove her arms from round his neck or + to lift her head from his breast. Lane had lost now that singular + exaltation of will, and power to hold down his emotions. Her + nearness stormed his heart. His test came then, when he denied + utterance to the love that answered hers. + </p> + <p> + "No—Mel—you stay here," he said, freeing himself. + "I'll get them." + </p> + <p> + Opening the hall door he saw the hat-rack where as a boy he had + hung his cap. It now held garments over which Lane fumbled. Mel + came into the hall. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, you'll not know which are mine," she said. + </p> + <p> + Lane watched her. How the shapely hands trembled. Her face shone + white against her dark furs. Lane helped her put on the + overshoes. + </p> + <p> + "Now—just a word to mother," she said. + </p> + <p> + Lane caught her hand and held it, following her to the end of the + hall, where she opened a door and peeped into the sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + "Mother, is dad home?" she asked. + </p> + <p> + "No—he's out, and such a bad night! Who's with you, Mel?" + </p> + <p> + "Daren Lane." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, is he up again? I'm glad. Bring him in.... Why, Mel, you've + your hat and coat on!" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, mother dear. We're going out for a while." + </p> + <p> + "On such a night! What for?" + </p> + <p> + "Daren and I are going to—to be married.... Good-bye. No + more till we come back." + </p> + <p> + As one in a dream, Lane led Mel out in the whirling white pall of + snow. It seemed to envelop them. It was mysterious and friendly, + and silent. + </p> + <p> + They crossed the bridge, and Lane again listened for the river + voices that always haunted here. Were they only murmurings of + swift waters? Beyond the bridge lay the railroad station. A few + dim lights shone through the white gloom. Lane found a taxi. + </p> + <p> + They were silent during the ride through the lonely streets. When + the taxi stopped at the address given the driver, Lane whispered + a word to Mel, jumped out and ran up the steps of a house and + rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + "Is Doctor McCullen at home?" he inquired of the maid who + answered the ring. He was informed the minister had just gone to + his room. + </p> + <p> + "Will you ask him to come down upon a matter of importance?" + </p> + <p> + The maid invited him inside. In a few moments a tall, + severe-looking man wearing a long dressing-coat entered the + parlor. + </p> + <p> + "Doctor McCullen, I regret disturbing you, but my business is + urgent. I want to be married at once. The lady is outside in a + car. May I bring her in?" + </p> + <p> + "Ah! I seem to remember you. Isn't your name Lane?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "Who is the woman you want to marry?" + </p> + <p> + "Miss Iden." + </p> + <p> + "Miss Iden! You mean Joshua Iden's daughter?" + </p> + <p> + "I do." + </p> + <p> + The minister showed a grave surprise. "Aren't you rather late in + making amends? No, I will not marry you until I investigate the + matter," he replied, coldly. + </p> + <p> + "You need not trouble yourself," replied Lane curtly, and went + out. + </p> + <p> + The instant opposition stimulated Lane, and he asked the driver, + "John, do you know where we can find a preacher?" "Yis, sor. Mr. + Peters of the Methodist Church lives round the corner," answered + the man. + </p> + <p> + "Drive on, then." + </p> + <p> + Lane got inside the taxi and slammed the door. "Mel, he refused + to marry us." + </p> + <p> + Mel was silent, but the pressure of her hand answered him. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, the car has stopped," said Mel, presently. + </p> + <p> + Lane got out, walked up the steps, and pulled the bell. He was + admitted. He had no better luck here. Lane felt that his lips + shut tight, and his face set. Mel said nothing and sat by him, + very quiet. The taxi rolled on and stopped again, and Lane had + audience with another minister. He was repulsed here also. + </p> + <p> + "We're trying a magistrate," said Lane, when the car stopped + again. + </p> + <p> + "But, Daren. This is where Gerald Hartley lives. Not him, Daren. + Surely you wouldn't go to him?" + </p> + <p> + "Why not?" inquired Lane. + </p> + <p> + "It hasn't been two months since he married Helen Wrapp. Hadn't + you heard?" + </p> + <p> + "I'd forgotten," said Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Besides, Daren, he—he once asked me to marry + him—before the war." + </p> + <p> + Lane hesitated. Yes, he now remembered that in the days before + the war the young lawyer had been Mel's persistent admirer. But a + reckless mood had begun to manifest itself in Lane during the + last hour, and it must have communicated its spirit to Mel, for + she made no further protest. The world was against them. They + were driving to the home of the man she had refused to marry, who + had eventually married a girl who had jilted Lane. In an ordinary + moment they would never have attempted such a thing. The mansion + before which the car stopped was well lighted; music and laughter + came faintly through the bright windows. + </p> + <p> + A maid opened the door to Lane and showed him into a + drawing-room. In a library beyond he saw women and men playing + cards, laughing and talking. Several old ladies were sitting + close together, whispering and nodding their heads. A young + fair-haired girl was playing the piano. Lane saw the maid advance + and speak to a sharp-featured man whom he recognized as Hartley. + Lane wanted to run out of the house. But he clenched his teeth + and swore he would go through with it. + </p> + <p> + "Mr. Hartley," began Lane, as the magistrate came through the + curtained doorway, "I hope you'll pardon my intrusion. My errand + is important. I've come to ask you to marry me to a lady who is + waiting outside." + </p> + <p> + When Hartley recognized his visitor he started back in + astonishment. Then he laughed and looked more closely at Lane. It + was a look that made Lane wince, for he understood it to relate + to his mental condition. + </p> + <p> + "Lane! Well, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "Going to get married! You + honor me. The regular fee, which in my official capacity I must + charge, is one dollar. If you can pay that I will marry you." + </p> + <p> + "I can pay," replied Lane, quietly, and his level steady gaze + disconcerted Hartley. + </p> + <p> + "Where's the woman?" + </p> + <p> + "She's outside in a taxi." + </p> + <p> + "Is she over eighteen?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + Lane expected the question as to who the woman was. It was + singular that the magistrate neglected to ask this, the first + query offered by every minister Lane has visited. + </p> + <p> + "Fetch her in," he said. + </p> + <p> + Lane went outside and hesitated at the car door, for he had an + intuitive flash which made him doubtful. But what if Hartley did + make a show of this marriage? The marriage itself was the vital + thing. Lane helped Mel out of the car and led her up the icy + steps. The maid again opened the door. + </p> + <p> + "Mr. Lane, walk right in," said Hartley. "Of course, it's natural + for the lady to be a little shy, but then if she wants to be + married at this hour she must not mind my family and guests. They + can be witnesses." + </p> + <p> + He spoke in a voice in which Lane's ears detected insincerity. + "Be seated, and wait until I get my book," he continued, and left + the room. + </p> + <p> + Hartley had hardly glanced at Mel, and her veil had hidden her + features. He had gone toward his study rubbing his hands in a + peculiar manner which Lane remembered and which recalled the man + as he had looked many a time in the Bradford billiard room when a + good joke was going the rounds. Lane saw him hurry from his study + with pleasant words of invitation to his guests, a mysterious air + about him, a light upon his face. The ladies and gentlemen rose + from their tables and advanced from the library to the door of + the drawing-room. A girl of striking figure seized Hartley's arm + and gesticulated almost wildly. It was Helen Wrapp. Her husband + laughed at her and waved a hand toward the drawing-room and his + guests. Turning swiftly with tigerish grace, she bent upon Lane + great green eyes whose strange expression he could not fathom. + What passionately curious eyes did she now fasten on his + prospective bride! + </p> + <p> + Lane gripped Mel's hand. He felt the horror of what might be + coming. What a blunder he had made! + </p> + <p> + "Will the lady kindly remove her veil?" Hartley's voice sounded + queer. His smile had vanished. + </p> + <p> + As Mel untied and thrust back the veil her fingers trembled. The + action disclosed a lovely face as white as snow. + </p> + <p> + "<i>Mel Iden</i>!" burst from the magistrate. For a moment there + was an intense silence. Then, "I'll not marry you," cried Hartley + vindictively. + </p> + <p> + "Why not? You said you would," demanded Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Not to save your worthless lives," Hartley returned, facing them + with a dark meaning in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Lane turned to Mel and led her from the house and down to the + curb without speaking once. + </p> + <p> + Once more they went out into the blinding snow-storm. Lane threw + back his head and breathed the cold air. What a relief to get out + of that stifling room! + </p> + <p> + "Mel, I'm afraid it's no use," he said, finally. + </p> + <p> + "We are finding what the world thinks of us," replied Mel. "Tell + the man to drive to 204 Locust Street." + </p> + <p> + Once more the driver headed his humming car into the white storm. + </p> + <p> + Once more Lane sat silent, with his heart raging. Once more Mel + peered out into the white turmoil of gloom. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, we're going to Dr. Wallace, my old minister. He'll marry + us," she said, presently. + </p> + <p> + "Why didn't I think of him?" + </p> + <p> + "I did," answered Mel, in a low voice. "I know he would marry us. + He baptized me; he has known and loved me all my life. I used to + sing in his choir and taught his Sunday School for years." + </p> + <p> + "Yet you let me go to those others. Why?" + </p> + <p> + "Because I shrank from going to him." + </p> + <p> + Once more the car lurched into the gutter, and this time they + both got out and mounted the high steps. Lane knocked. They + waited what appeared a long time before they heard some one + fumbling with the lock. Just then the bell in the church tower + nearby began chiming the midnight hour. The door opened, and + Doctor Wallace himself admitted them. + </p> + <p> + "Well! Who's this?... Why, if it's not Mel Iden! What a night to + be out in!" he exclaimed. He led them into a room, evidently his + study, where a cheerful wood fire blazed. There he took both her + hands and looked from her to Lane. "You look so white and + distressed. This late hour—this young man whom I know. What + has happened? Why do you come to me—the first time in so + many months?" + </p> + <p> + "To ask you to marry us," answered Mel. + </p> + <p> + "To <i>marry</i> you?... Is this the soldier who wronged you?" + </p> + <p> + "No. This is Daren Lane.... He wants to marry me to give my boy a + name.... Somehow he finally made me consent." + </p> + <p> + "Well, well, here is a story. Come, take off this snowy cloak and + get nearer the fire. Your hands are like ice." His voice was very + calm and kind. It soothed Lane's strained nerves. With what + eagerness did he scrutinize the old minister's face. He knew the + penetrating eye, the lofty brow and white hair, the serious lined + face, sad in a noble austerity. But the lips were kind with that + softness and sweetness which comes from gentle words and frequent + smiles. Lane's aroused antagonism vanished in the old man's + presence. + </p> + <p> + "Doctor Wallace," went on Mel. "We have been to several + ministers, and to Mr. Hartley, the magistrate. All refused to + marry us. So I came to my old friend. You've known me all my + life. Daren has at last convinced me—broke down my + resistance. So—I ask—will you marry us?" + </p> + <p> + Doctor Wallace was silent for many moments while he gazed into + the fire and stroked her hand. Suddenly a smile broke over his + fine face. + </p> + <p> + "You say you asked Hartley to marry you?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, we went to him. It was a reckless thing to do. I'm sorry." + </p> + <p> + "To say the least, it was original." The old minister seemed to + have difficulty in restraining a laugh. Then for a moment he + pondered. + </p> + <p> + "My friends, I am very old," he said at length, "but you have + taught me something. I will marry you." + </p> + <p> + It was a strange marriage. Behind Mel and Daren stood the + red-faced, grinning driver, his coarse long coat covered with + snow, and the simpering housemaid, respectful, yet glorifying in + her share in this midnight romance. The old minister with his + striking face and white hair, gravely turned the leaves of his + book. No bridegroom ever wore such a stern, haggard countenance. + The bride's face might have been a happier one, but it could not + have been more beautiful. + </p> + <p> + Doctor Wallace's voice was low and grave; it quavered here and + there in passages. Lane's was hardly audible. Mel's rang deep and + full. + </p> + <p> + The witnesses signed their names; husband and wife wrote theirs; + the minister filled out the license, and the ceremony was over. + </p> + <p> + Then Doctor Wallace took a hand of each. + </p> + <p> + "Mel and Daren," he said. "No human can read the secret ways of + God. But it seems there is divinity in you both. You have been + sacrificed to the war. You are builders, not destroyers. You are + Christians, not pagans. You have a vision limned against the + mystery of the future. Mammon seems now to rule. Civilization + rocks on its foundations. But the world will go on growing + better. Peace on earth, good will to men! That is the ultimate. + It was Christ's teaching.... You two give me greater faith.... Go + now and face the world with heads erect—whatever you do, + Mel—and however long you live, Daren. Who can tell what + will happen? But time proves all things, and the blindness of + people does not last forever.... You both belong to the Kingdom + of God." + </p> + <p> + But few words were spoken by Lane or Mel on the ride home. Mel + seemed lost in a trance. She had one hand slipped under Lane's + arm, the other clasped over it. As for Lane, he had overestimated + his strength. A deadly numbness attacked his nerves, and he had + almost lost the sense of touch. When they arrived at Mel's home + the snow-storm had abated somewhat, and the lighted windows of + the cottage shone brightly. + </p> + <p> + Lane helped Mel wade through the deep snow, or he pretended to + help her, for in reality he needed her support more than she + needed his. They entered the warm little parlor. Some one had + replenished the fire. The clock pointed to the hour of one. Lane + laid the marriage certificate on the open book Mel had been + reading. Mel threw off hat, coat, overshoes and gloves. Her hair + was wet with melted snow. + </p> + <p> + "Now, Daren Lane," she said softly. "Now that you have made me + your wife—!" + </p> + <p> + Up until then Lane had been master of the situation. He had + thought no farther than this moment. And now he weakened. Was + this beautiful woman, with head uplifted and eyes full of fire, + the Mel Iden of his school days? Now that he had made her his + wife—. + </p> + <p> + "Mel, there's no <i>now</i> for me," he replied, with a sad + finality. "From this moment, I'll live in the past. I have no + future.... Thank God, you let me do what I could. I'll try to + come again soon. But I must go now. I'm afraid—I overtaxed + my strength." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, you look so—so," she faltered. "Stay, Daren—and + let me nurse you.... We have a little spare room, warm, cozy. + I'll wait on you, Daren. Oh, it would mean so much to + me—now I am your wife." + </p> + <p> + The look of her, the tones of her voice, made him weak. Then he + thought of his cold, sordid lodgings, and he realized that one + more moment here alone with Mel Iden would make him a coward in + his own eyes. He thanked her, and told her how impossible it was + for him to stay, and bidding her good night he reeled out into + the white gloom. At the gate he was already tired; at the bridge + he needed rest. Once more, then, he heard the imagined voices of + the waters calling to him. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <p> + Seldom did Blair Maynard ever trust himself any more in the + presence of his mother's guests. Since Mrs. Maynard had announced + the engagement of his sister Margaret to Richard Swann, she had + changed remarkably. Blair did not love her any the better for the + change. All his life, as long as he could remember, he and + Margaret had hated pretension, and the littleness of living + beyond their means. But now, with this one <i>coup d'etat,</i> + his mother had regained her position as the leader of Middleville + society. Haughty, proud, forever absorbed in the material side of + everything, she moved in a self-created atmosphere Blair could + not abide. He went hungry many a time rather than sit at table + with guests such as Mrs. Maynard delighted to honor. + </p> + <p> + Blair and Margaret had become estranged, and Blair spent most of + his time alone, reading or dreaming, but mostly sleeping. He knew + he grew weaker every day and his weakness appeared to induce + slumber. + </p> + <p> + On New Year's day, after dinner, he fell asleep in a big chair, + across the hall from the drawing-room. And when he awoke the + drawing-room was full of people making New Year's calls. If there + was anything Blair hated it was to thump on his crutch past + curious, cold-eyed persons. So he remained where he was, hoping + not to be seen. But unfortunately for him, he had exceedingly + keen ears and exceedingly sensitive feelings. + </p> + <p> + Some of the guests he knew very well without having to see them. + The Swanns, and Fanchon Smith, with her brother and mother, + Gerald Hartley and his bride, Helen Wrapp, and a number of others + prominent as Middleville's elect were recognizable by their + voices. While he was sitting there, trying not to hear what he + could not help hearing, a number more arrived. + </p> + <p> + They talked. It gradually dawned on Blair that some gossip was + rife anent a midnight marriage between his friend Daren Lane and + Mel Iden. Blair was deeply shocked. Then his emotions, never + calm, grew poignant. He listened. What he heard spoken of Daren + and Mel made his blood boil. Sweet voices, low-pitched, + well-modulated, with the intonation of culture, made witty and + scarcely veiled remarks of a suggestiveness that gave rise to + laughter. Voices of men, bland, blase, deriding Daren Lane! Blair + listened, and slowly his passion mounted to a white heat. And + then it seemed, fate fully, in a lull of the conversation, some + one remarked graciously to Mrs. Maynard that it was a pity that + Blair had lost a leg in the war. + </p> + <p> + Blair thumped up on his crutch, and thumped across the hall to + confront this assembly. + </p> + <p> + "Ladies and gentlemen, pray pardon me," he said, in his + high-pitched tenor, cold now, and under perfect control. "I could + not help hearing your conversation. And I cannot help + illuminating your minds. It seems exceedingly strange to me that + people of intelligence should make the blunders they do. So + strange that in the future I intend to take such as you have made + as nothing but the plain cold fact of perversion of human nature! + Daren Lane is so far above your comprehension that it seems + useless to defend him. I have never done it before. He would not + thank me. But this once I will speak.... In our group of service + men—so few of whom came home—he was a hero. We all + loved him. And for soldiers at war that tribute is the greatest. + If there was a dirty job to be done, Daren Lane volunteered for + it. If there was a comrade to be helped, Daren Lane was the first + to see it. He never thought of himself. The dregs of war did not + engulf him as they did so many of us. He was true to his ideal. + He would have been advanced for honors many a time but for the + enmity of our captain. He won the <i>Croix de Guerre</i> by as + splendid a feat as I saw during the war.... Thank God, we had + some officers who treated us like men—who were men + themselves. But for the majority we common soldiers were merely + beasts of burden, dogs to drive. This captain of whom I speak was + a padded shape—shirker from the front line—a parader + of his uniform before women. And he is that to-day—a chaser + of women—girls—<i>girls</i> of fifteen.... Yet he has + the adulation of Middleville while Daren Lane is an outcast.... + My God, is there no justice? At home here Daren Lane has not done + one thing that was not right. Some of the gossip about him is as + false as hell. He has tried to do noble things. If he married Mel + Iden, as you say, it was in some exalted mood to help her, or to + give his name to her poor little nameless boy." + </p> + <p> + Blair paused a moment in a deliberate speech that toward the end + had grown breathless. The faces before him seemed swaying in a + mist. + </p> + <p> + "As for myself," he continued in passionate hurry, "I did not + <i>lose</i> my leg!... I <i>sacrificed</i> it. I <i>gave</i> my + career, my youth, my health, my body—and I will soon have + given my life—for my country and my people. I was proud to + do it. Never for a moment have I regretted it.... What I + lost—Ah! what I <i>lost</i> was respect for"—Blair + choked—"for the institution that had deluded me. What I + <i>lost</i> was not my leg but my faith in God, in my country, in + the gratitude of men left at home, in the honor of women." + </p> + <p> + Friday, the tenth of January, dawned cold, dark, dreary, and all + day a dull clouded sky promised rain or snow. From a bride's + point of view it was not a propitious day for a wedding. A half + hour before five o'clock a stream of carriages began to flow + toward St. Marks and promptly at five the door of the church shut + upon a large and fashionable assembly. + </p> + <p> + The swelling music of the wedding march pealed out. The bridal + party filed into the church. The organ peals hushed. The resonant + voice of a minister, with sing-song solemnity, began the marriage + service. + </p> + <p> + Margaret Maynard knew she stood there in the flesh, yet the + shimmering white satin, the flowing veil, covered some one who + was a stranger to her. + </p> + <p> + And this other, this strange being who dominated her movements, + stood passively and willingly by, while her despairing and truer + self saw the shame and truth. She was a lie. The guests, friends, + attendants, bridesmaids, the minister, the father, mother, + groom—all were lies. They expressed nothing of their true + feelings. + </p> + <p> + The unwelcomed curious, who had crowded into the back of the + church, were the sincerest, for in their eyes, covetousness was + openly unveiled. The guests and friends wore the conventional + shallow smiles of guests and friends. They whispered to one + another—a beautiful wedding—a gorgeous gown—a + perfect bride—a handsome groom; and exclaimed in their + hearts: How sad the father! How lofty, proud, exultant the + mother! How like her to move heaven and earth to make this + marriage! The attendants posed awkwardly, a personification of + the uselessness of their situation, and they pitied the bride + while they envied him for whose friendship they stood. The + bridesmaids graced their position and gloried in it, and serenely + smiled, and thought that to be launched in life in such dazzling + manner might be compensation for the loss of much. He of the + flowing robe, of the saintly expression, of the trained + earnestness, the minister who had power to unite these lives, saw + nothing behind that white veil, saw only his fashionable + audience, while his resonant voice rolled down the aisles of the + church: "Who gives this woman to be wedded to this man?" The + father answered and straightway the years rolled back to his + youth, to hope, to himself as he stood at the altar with love and + trust, and then again to the present, to the failure of health + and love and life, to the unalterable destiny accorded him, to + the one shame of an honest if unsuccessful life—the + countenancing of this marriage. The worldly mother had, for once, + a full and swelling heart. For her this was the crowning moment. + In one sense this fashionable crowd had been pitted against her + and she had won. What to her had been the pleading of a daughter, + the importunity of a father, the reasoning of a few old-fashioned + friends? The groom, who represented so much and so little in this + ceremony, had entered the church with head held high, had faced + his bride with gratified smile and the altar with serene + unconsciousness. + </p> + <p> + Margaret Maynard saw all this; saw even the bride, with her + splendidly regular loveliness; and then, out of heaven, it seemed + there thundered an awful command, rolling the dream away, + striking terror to her heart. + </p> + <p> + "If any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be + joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever + hold his peace!" + </p> + <p> + One long, silent, terrible moment! Would not an angel appear, + with flaming sword, to smite her dead? But the sing-song voice + went on, like flowing silk. + </p> + <p> + The last guest at Mrs. Maynard's reception had gone, reluctantly, + out into the snow, and the hostess sat in her drawing-room, amid + the ruins of flowers and palms. She was alone with her triumph. + Mr. Maynard and Mr. Swann were smoking in the library. Owing to + the storm and delicate health of the bride the wedding journey + had been postponed. + </p> + <p> + Margaret was left alone, at length, in the little blue-and-white + room which had known her as a child and maiden, where she now sat + as wife. For weeks past she had been emotionless. To-night, with + that trenchant command, unanswered except in her heart, a spasm + of pain had broken the serenity of her calm, and had left her + quivering. + </p> + <p> + "It is done," she whispered. + </p> + <p> + The endless stream of congratulations, meaningless and abhorrent + to her, the elaborate refreshments, the warm embraces of old + friends had greatly fatigued her. But she could not rest. She + paced the little room; she passed the beautiful white bridal + finery, so neatly folded by the bridesmaids, and she averted her + eyes. She seemed not to hate her mother, nor love her father; she + had no interest in her husband. She was slipping back again into + that creature apart from her real self. + </p> + <p> + The house became very quiet; the snow brushed softly against the + windows. + </p> + <p> + A step in the hall made Margaret pause like a listening deer; a + tap sounded lightly on her door; a voice awoke her at last to + life and to torture. + </p> + <p> + "Margaret, may I come in?" + </p> + <p> + It was Swann's voice, a little softer than usual, with a subtle + eagerness. + </p> + <p> + "No" answered Margaret, involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + "I beg your pardon. I'll wait." Swann's footsteps died away in + the direction of the library. + </p> + <p> + The spring of a panther was in Margaret's action as she began to + repace the room. All her blood quickened to the thought suggested + by her husband's soft voice. In the mirror she saw a crimsoned + face and shamed eyes from which she turned away. + </p> + <p> + All the pain and repression, the fight and bitter resignation and + trained indifference of the past months were as if they had never + been. This was her hour of real agony; now was the time to pay + the price. Pride, honor, love never smothered, reserve rooted in + the very core of a sensitive woman's heart, availed nothing. Once + again catching sight of her reflection in the mirror she stopped + before it, and crossing her hands on her heaving breast, she + regarded herself with scorn. She was false to her love, she was + false to herself, false to the man to whom she had sold herself. + "Oh! Why did I yield!" she cried. She was a coward; she belonged + to the luxurious class that would suffer anything rather than + lose position. Fallen had she as low as any of them; gold had + been the price of her soul. To keep her position she must marry + one man when she loved another. She cried out in her + wretchedness; she felt in her whole being a bitter humiliation; + she felt stir in her a terrible tumult. + </p> + <p> + Margaret wondered how many thousands of girls had been similarly + placed, and pitied them. She thought of the atmosphere in which + she lived, where it seemed to her every mother was possessed + singularly and entirely of one aim, to marry her daughter as soon + as possible to a man as rich as possible. Marrying well simply + meant marrying money. Only a few days before her mother had come + to her and said: "Mrs. Fisher called and she was telling me about + her daughter Alice. It seems Alice is growing very pretty and + very popular. She said she was afraid Alice had taken, a liking + to that Brandeth fellow, who's only a clerk. So Mrs. Fisher + intends taking Alice to the seashore this summer, to an exclusive + resort, of course, but one where there will be excitement and + plenty of young gentlemen." + </p> + <p> + At the remembrance Margaret gave a little contemptuous laugh. A + year ago she would not have divined the real purport of her + mother's words. How easy that was now! Mrs. Fisher had decided + that as Alice was eighteen it was time a suitable husband was + found for her. Poor Alice! Balls, parties, receptions there would + be, and trips to the seashore and all the other society + manoeuvers, made ostensibly to introduce Alice to the world; but + if the truth were told in cold blood all this was simply a + parading of the girl before a number of rich and marriageable + men. Poor Harry Brandeth! + </p> + <p> + She recalled many marriages of friends and acquaintances. With + strange intensity of purpose she brought each one to mind, and + thought separately and earnestly over her. What melancholy facts + this exercise revealed! She could not recall one girl who was + happy, perfectly happy, unless it was Jane Silvey who ran off + with and married a telegraph operator. Jane was still bright-eyed + and fresh, happy no doubt in her little house with her work and + her baby, even though her people passed her by as if she were a + stranger. Then Margaret remembered with a little shock there was + another friend, a bride who had been found on her wedding night + wandering in the fields. There had been some talk, quickly + hushed, of a drunken husband, but it had never definitely + transpired what had made her run out into the dark night. + Margaret recollected the time she had seen this girl's husband, + when he was drunk, beat his dog brutally. Then Margaret reflected + on the gossip she never wanted to hear, yet could not avoid + hearing, over her mother's tea-table; on the intimations and + implications. Many things she would not otherwise have thought of + again, but they now recurred and added their significance to her + awakening mind. She was not keen nor analytical; she possessed + only an ordinary intelligence; she could not trace her way + through a labyrinth of perplexing problems; still, suffering had + opened her eyes and she saw something terribly wrong in her + mother's world. + </p> + <p> + Once more she stopped pacing her room, for a step in the hall + arrested her, and made her stand quivering, as if under the lash. + </p> + <p> + "I won't!" she breathed intensely. Swiftly and lightly she sped + across her room, opened a door leading to the balcony and went + out, closing the door behind her softly. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Maynard sat before the library fire with a neglected cigar + between his fingers. The events of the day had stirred him + deeply. The cold shock he had felt when he touched his daughter's + cheek in the accustomed good-night kiss remained with him, still + chilled his lips. For an hour he sat there motionless, with his + eyes fixed on the dying fire, and in his mind hope, doubt and + remorse strangely mingled. Hope persuaded him that Margaret was + only a girl, still sentimental and unpoised. Unquestionably she + had made a good marriage. Her girlish notions about romance and + love must give way to sane acceptance of real human life. After + all money meant a great deal. She would come around to a sensible + view, and get that strange look out of her eyes, that strained + blighted look which hurt him. Then he writhed in his + self-contempt; doubt routed all his hope, and remorse made him + miserable. + </p> + <p> + A hurried step on the stairs aroused Mr. Maynard. Swann came + running into the library. He was white; his sharp featured face + wore a combination of expressions; alarm, incredulity, wonder + were all visible there, but the most striking was mortification. + </p> + <p> + "Mr. Maynard, Margaret has left her room. I can't find her + anywhere." + </p> + <p> + The father stared blankly at his son-in-law. + </p> + <p> + Swann repeated his statement. + </p> + <p> + "What!" All at once Mr. Maynard sank helplessly into his chair. + In that moment certainty made him an old broken man. + </p> + <p> + "She's gone!" said Swann, in a shaken voice. "She has run off + from me. I knew she would; I knew she'd do something. I've never + been able to kiss her—only last night we quarreled about + it. I tell you it's—" + </p> + <p> + "Pray do not get excited," interrupted Mr. Maynard, bracing up. + "I'm sure you exaggerate. Tell me what you know." + </p> + <p> + "I went to her room an hour, two hours ago, and knocked. She was + there but refused me admittance. She spoke sharply—as + if—as if she was afraid. I went and knocked again long + after. She didn't answer. I knocked again and again. Then I tried + her door. It was not locked. I opened it. She was not in the + room. I waited, but she didn't come. I—I am afraid + something is—wrong." + </p> + <p> + "She might be with her mother," faltered Mr. Maynard. + </p> + <p> + "No, I'm sure not," asserted Swann. "Not to-night of all nights. + Margaret has grown—somewhat cold toward her mother. Besides + Mrs. Maynard retired hours ago." + </p> + <p> + The father and the husband stole noiselessly up the stairs and + entered Margaret's room. The light was turned on full. The room + was somewhat disordered; bridal finery lay littered about; a rug + was crumpled; a wicker basket overturned. The father's instinct + was true. His first move was to open the door leading out upon + the balcony. In the thin snow drifted upon this porch were the + imprints of little feet. + </p> + <p> + Something gleamed pale blue in the light of the open door. Mr. + Maynard picked it up, and with a sigh that was a groan held it + out to Swann. It was a blue satin slipper. + </p> + <p> + "Heavens!" exclaimed Swann. "She's run out in the snow—she + might as well be barefooted." + </p> + <p> + "S-sh-h!" warned Mr. Maynard. Unhappy and excited as he was he + did not forget Mrs. Maynard. "Let us not alarm any one." + </p> + <p> + "There! See, her footsteps down the stairs," whispered Swann. "I + can see them clear to the ground." + </p> + <p> + "You stay here, Swann, so in case Mrs. Maynard or the servants + awake you can prevent alarm. We must think of that. I'll bring + her back." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Maynard descended the narrow stairway to the lower porch and + went out into the yard. The storm had ceased. A few inches of + snow had fallen and in places was deeper in drifts. The moon was + out and shone down on a white world. It was cold and quiet. When + Mr. Maynard had trailed the footsteps across his wide lawn and + saw them lead out into the street toward the park, he fell + against a tree, unable, for a moment, to command himself. Hope he + had none left, nor a doubt. On the other side of the park, hardly + a quarter of a mile away, was the river. Margaret had gone + straight toward it. + </p> + <p> + Outside in the middle of the street he found her other slipper. + She had not even stockings on now; he could tell by the + impressions of her feet in the snow. He remembered quite + mournfully how small Margaret's feet were, how perfectly shaped. + He hurried into the park, but was careful to obliterate every + vestige of her trail by walking in the soft snow directly over + her footprints. A hope that she might have fainted before she + could carry out her determination arose in him and gave him + strength. He kept on. Her trail led straight across the park, in + the short cut she had learned and run over hundreds of times when + a little girl. It was hastening her now to her death. + </p> + <p> + At first her footsteps were clear-cut, distinct and wide apart. + Soon they began to show evidences of weariness; the stride + shortened; the imprints dragged. Here a great crushing in a snow + drift showed where she had fallen. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Maynard's hope revived; he redoubled his efforts. She could + not be far. How she dragged along! Then with a leap of his heart, + and a sob of thankfulness he found her, with disheveled hair, and + face white as the snow where it rested, sad and still in the + moonlight. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <p> + Middleville was noted for its severe winters, but this year the + zero weather held off until late in January. Lane was peculiarly + susceptible to the cold and he found himself facing a discomfort + he knew he could not long endure. Every day he felt more and more + that he should go to a warm and dry climate; and yet he could not + determine to leave Middleville. Something held him. + </p> + <p> + The warmth of bright hotel lobbies and theatres and restaurants + uptown was no longer available for Lane. His money had dwindled + beyond the possibility of luxury, and besides he shrank now from + meeting any one who knew him. His life was empty, dreary and + comfortless. + </p> + <p> + One wintry afternoon Lane did not wander round as long as usual, + for the reason that his endurance was lessening. He returned + early to his new quarters, and in the dim hallway he passed a + slight pale girl who looked at him. She seemed familiar, but Lane + could not place her. Evidently she had a room in the building. + Lane hated the big barn-like house, and especially the bare cold + room where he had to seek rest. Of late he had not eaten any + dinner. He usually remained in bed as long as he could, and made + a midday meal answer all requirements. Appetite, like many other + things, was failing him. This day he sat upon his bed, in the + abstraction of the lonely and unhappy, until the cold forced him + to get under the covers. + </p> + <p> + His weary eyelids had just closed when he was awakened. The + confused sense of being torn from slumber gave way to a + perception of a voice in the room next to his. It was a man's + voice, rough with the huskiness Lane recognized as peculiar to + drunkards. And the reply to it seemed to be a low-toned appeal + from a woman. + </p> + <p> + "Playin' off sick, eh? You don't want to work. But you'll get me + some money, girl, d'ye hear?" + </p> + <p> + A door slammed, rattling the thin partition between the two + rooms, and heavy footsteps dragged in the hall and on the + stairway. + </p> + <p> + Sleep refused to come back to Lane. As he lay there he was + surprised at the many sounds he heard. The ramshackle old + structure, which he had supposed almost vacant, was busy with + life. Stealthy footfalls in the hallways passed and repassed; a + piano drummed somewhere; a man's loud voice rang out, and a + woman's laugh faint, hollow and far away, like the ghost of + laughter, returned in echo. The musical clinking of glasses, the + ring of a cash register, the rattling click of pool balls, came + up from below. + </p> + <p> + Presently Lane remembered the nature of the place. It was a house + of night. In daylight it was silent; its inmates were asleep. But + as the darkness unfolded a cloak over it, all the hidden springs + of its obscure humanity began to flow. Lying there with the + woman's appeal haunting him and all those sounds in his ears he + thought of their meaning. The drunkard with his lust for money; + his moaning victim; the discordant piano; the man with the vacant + laugh; the lost hope and youth in the woman's that echoed it; the + stealing, slipping feet of those who must tread softly—all + conveyed to Lane that he had awakened in another world, a world + which shunned sunlight. + </p> + <p> + Toward morning he dozed off into a fitful sleep which lasted + until ten o'clock when he arose and dressed. As he was about to + go out a knock on the door of the room next to his recalled the + incident of the night. He listened. Another knock followed, + somewhat louder, but no response came from within. + </p> + <p> + "Say, you in there," cried a voice Lane recognized as the + landlady's. She rattled the door-knob. + </p> + <p> + A girl's voice answered weakly: "Come in." + </p> + <p> + Lane heard the door open. + </p> + <p> + "I wants my room rent. I can't get a dollar out of your drunken + father. Will you pay? It's four weeks overdue." + </p> + <p> + "I have no money." + </p> + <p> + "Then get out an' leave me the room." The landlady spoke angrily. + </p> + <p> + "I'm ill. I can't get up." The answer was faint. + </p> + <p> + Lane opened his door quickly, and confronted the broad person of + the landlady. + </p> + <p> + "How much does the woman owe?" he asked, quietly. + </p> + <p> + "Ah-huh!" the exclamation was trenchant with meaning. "Twenty + dollars, if it's anything to you." + </p> + <p> + "I'll pay it. I think I heard the woman say she was ill." + </p> + <p> + "She says she is." + </p> + <p> + "May I be of any assistance?" + </p> + <p> + "Ask her." + </p> + <p> + Lane glanced into the little room, a counterpart of his. But it + was so dark he could see nothing distinctly. + </p> + <p> + "May I come in? Let me raise the blind. There, the sun is fine + this morning. Now, may I not—-" + </p> + <p> + He looked down at a curly head and a sweet pretty face that he + knew. + </p> + <p> + "I know you," he said, groping among past associations. + </p> + <p> + "I am Rose Clymer," she whispered, and a momentary color came + into her wan cheeks. + </p> + <p> + "Rose Clymer! Bessy Bell's friend!" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, Mr. Lane. I'm not so surprised as you. I recognized you + last night." + </p> + <p> + "Then it was you who passed me in the hall?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "Well! And you're ill? What is the matter? Ah! Last + night—it was your—your father—I heard?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes," she answered. "I've not been well since—for a long + time, and I gave out last night." + </p> + <p> + "Here I am talking when I might be of some use," said Lane, and + he hurried out of the room. The landlady had discreetly retired + to the other end of the hall. He thrust some money into her + hands. + </p> + <p> + "She seems pretty sick. Do all you can for her, be kind to her. + I'll pay. I'm going for a doctor." + </p> + <p> + He telephoned for Doctor Bronson. + </p> + <p> + An hour later Lane, coming upstairs from his meal, met the + physician at Rose's door. He looked strangely at Lane and shook + his head. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, how is it I find you here in this place?" + </p> + <p> + "Beggars can't be choosers," answered Lane, with his old frank + smile. + </p> + <p> + "Humph!" exclaimed the doctor, gruffly. + </p> + <p> + "How about the girl?" asked Lane. + </p> + <p> + "She's in bad shape," replied Bronson.... "Lane, are you aware of + her condition?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, she's ill—that's all I know," replied Lane, slowly. + "Rose didn't tell me what ailed her. I just found out she was + here." + </p> + <p> + Doctor Bronson looked at Lane. "Too bad you didn't find out + sooner. I'll call again to-day and see her.... And say, Daren, + you look all in yourself." + </p> + <p> + "Never mind me, Doctor. It's mighty good of you to look after + Rose. I know you've more patients than you can take care of. Rose + has nothing and her father's a poor devil. But I'll pay you." + </p> + <p> + "Never mind about money," rejoined Bronson, turning to go. + </p> + <p> + Lane could learn little from Rose. Questions seemed to make her + shrink, so Lane refrained from them and tried to cheer her. The + landlady had taken a sudden liking to Lane which evinced itself + in her change of attitude toward Rose, and she was communicative. + She informed Lane that the girl had been there about two months; + that her father had made her work till she dropped. Old Clymer + had often brought men to the hotel to drink and gamble, and to + the girl's credit she had avoided them. + </p> + <p> + For several days Doctor Bronson came twice daily to see Rose. He + made little comment upon her condition, except to state that she + had developed peritonitis, and he was not hopeful. Soon Rose took + a turn for the worse. The doctor came to Lane's room and told him + the girl would not have the strength to go through with her + ordeal. Lane was so shocked he could not speak. Dr. Bronson's + shoulders sagged a little, an unusual thing for him. "I'm sorry, + Daren," he said. "I know you wanted to help the poor girl out of + this. But too late. I can ease her pain, and that's all." + </p> + <p> + Strangely shaken and frightened Lane lay down in the dark. The + partition between his room and Rose's might as well have been + paper for all the sound it deadened. He could have escaped that, + but he wanted to be near her.... And he listened to Rose's moans + in the darkness. Lane shuddered there, helpless, suffering, + realizing. Then the foreboding silence became more dreadful than + any sound.... It was terrible for Lane. That strange cold knot in + his breast, that coil of panic, seemed to spring and tear, + quivering through all his body. What had he known of torture, of + sacrifice, of divine selflessness? He understood now how the + loved and guarded woman went down into the Valley of the Shadow + for the sake of a man. Likewise, he knew the infinite tragedy of + a ruined girl who lay in agony, gripped by relentless nature. + </p> + <p> + Lane was called into the hall by Mrs. O'Brien. She was weeping. + Bronson met him at the door. + </p> + <p> + "She's dying," he whispered. "You'd better come in. I've 'phoned + to Doctor Wallace." + </p> + <p> + Lane went in, almost blinded. The light seemed dim. Yet he saw + Rose with a luminous glow radiating from her white face. + </p> + <p> + "I feel—so light," she said, with a wan smile. + </p> + <p> + Lane sat by the bed, but he could not speak. The moments dragged. + He had a feeling of their slow but remorseless certainty. + </p> + <p> + Then there were soft steps outside—Mrs. O'Brien opened the + door—and Doctor Wallace entered the room. + </p> + <p> + "My child," he gravely began, bending over her. + </p> + <p> + Rose's big eyes with their strained questioning gaze sought his + face and Doctor Bronson's and Lane's. + </p> + <p> + "Rose—are you—in pain?" + </p> + <p> + "The burning's gone," she said. + </p> + <p> + "My child," began Doctor Wallace, again. "Your pain is almost + over. Will you not pray with me?" + </p> + <p> + "No. I never was two-faced," replied Rose, with a weary shake of + the tangled curls. "I won't show yellow now." + </p> + <p> + Lane turned away blindly. It was terrible to think of her dying + bitter, unrepentant. + </p> + <p> + "Oh! if I could hope!" murmured Rose. "To see my mother!" + </p> + <p> + Then there were shuffling steps outside and voices. The door was + opened by Mrs. O'Brien. Old Clymer crossed the threshold. He was + sober, haggard, grieved. He had been told. No one spoke as he + approached Rose's bedside. + </p> + <p> + "Lass—lass—" he began, brokenly. + </p> + <p> + Then he sought from the men confirmation of a fear borne by a + glance into Rose's white still face. And silence answered him. + </p> + <p> + "Lass, if you're goin'—tell me—who was to blame?" + </p> + <p> + "No one—but myself—father," she replied. + </p> + <p> + "Tell me, who was to blame?" demanded Clymer, harshly. + </p> + <p> + Her pale lips curled a little bitterly, and suddenly, as a change + seemed to come over her, they set that way. She looked up at Lane + with a different light in her eyes. Then she turned her face to + the wall. + </p> + <p> + Lane left the room, to pace up and down the hall outside. His + thoughts seemed deadlocked. By and bye, Doctor Bronson came out + with Doctor Wallace, who was evidently leaving. + </p> + <p> + "She is unconscious and dying," said Doctor Bronson to Lane, and + then bade the minister good-bye and returned to the room. + </p> + <p> + "How strangely bitter she was!" exclaimed Doctor Wallace to Lane. + "Yet she seemed such a frank honest girl. Her attitude was an + acknowledgment of sin. But she did not believe it herself. She + seemed to have a terrible resentment. Not against one man, or + many persons, but perhaps life itself! She was beyond me. A + modern girl—a pagan! But such a brave, loyal, generous + little soul. What a pity! I find my religion at fault because it + can accomplish nothing these days." + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <p> + Lane took Rose's death to heart as if she had been his sister or + sweetheart. The exhaustion and exposure he was subjected to + during these days dragged him farther down. + </p> + <p> + One bitter February day he took refuge in the railroad station. + The old negro porter who had known Lane since he was a boy + evidently read the truth of Lane's condition, for he contrived to + lead him back into a corner of the irregular room. It was an + obscure corner, rather hidden by a supporting pillar and the + projecting end of a news counter. This seat was directly over the + furnace in the cellar. Several pipes, too hot to touch, came up + through the floor. It was the warmest place Lane had found, and + he sat there for hours. He could see the people passing to and + fro through the station, arriving and leaving on trains, without + himself being seen. That afternoon was good for him, and he went + back next day. + </p> + <p> + But before he could get to the coveted seat he was accosted by + Blair Maynard. Lane winced under Blair's piercing gaze; and the + haggard face of his friend renewed Lane's deadened pangs. Lane + led Blair to the warm corner, and they sat down. It had been many + weeks since they had seen each other. Blair talked in one + uninterrupted flow for an hour, and so the life of the people + Lane had given up was once again open to him. It was like the + scoring of an old wound. Then Lane told what little there was to + tell about himself. And the things he omitted Blair divined. + After that they sat silent for a while. + </p> + <p> + "Of course you knew Mel's boy died," said Blair, presently. + </p> + <p> + "Oh—No!" exclaimed Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Hadn't you heard? I thought—of course you—.... Yes, + he died some time ago. Croup or flu, I forget." + </p> + <p> + "Dead!" whispered Lane, and he leaned forward to cover his face + with his hands. He had seemed so numb to feeling. But now a storm + shook him. + </p> + <p> + "Dare, it's better for him—and Mel too," said Blair, with a + hand going to his friend's shoulder. "That idea never occurred to + me until day before yesterday when I ran into Mel. She + looked—Oh, I can't tell you how. But I got that strange + impression." + </p> + <p> + "Did—did she ask about me?" queried Lane, hoarsely, as he + uncovered his face, and sat back. + </p> + <p> + "She certainly did," replied Blair, warmly. "And I lied like a + trooper. I didn't know where you were or how you were, but I + pretended you were O.K." + </p> + <p> + "And then—" asked Lane, breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + "She said, 'Tell Daren I must see him.' I promised and set out to + find you. I was pretty lucky to run into you.... And now, old + sport, let me get personal, will you?" + </p> + <p> + "Go as far as you like," replied Lane, in muffled voice. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I think Mel loves you," went on Blair, in hurried + softness. "I always thought so—even when we were kids. And + now I know it.... And Lord! Dare you just ought to see her now. + She's lovely. And she's your wife." + </p> + <p> + "What if she is—both lovely—and my wife?" queried + Lane, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + "If I were you I'd go to her. I'd sure let her take care of + me.... Dare, the way you're living is horrible. I have a home, + such as it is. My room is warm and clean, and I can stay in it. + But you—Dare, it hurts me to see you—as you + are——" + </p> + <p> + "No!" interrupted Lane, passionately. The temptation Blair + suggested was not to be borne. + </p> + <p> + Lane met Blair the next afternoon at the station, and again on + the next. That established a habit in which both found much + comfort and some happiness. Thereafter they met every day at the + same hour. Often for long they sat silent, each occupied with his + own thoughts. Occasionally Blair would bring a package which + contained food he had ransacked from the larder at home. Together + they would fall upon it like two schoolboys. But what Lane was + most grateful for was just Blair's presence. + </p> + <p> + It was distressing then, after these meetings had extended over a + period of two weeks, to be confronted one afternoon by a new + station agent who called Blair and Lane bums and ordered them out + of the place. + </p> + <p> + Blair raised his crutch to knock the man down. But Lane + intercepted it, and got his friend out of the station. It was + late afternoon with the sun going down over the hill across the + railroad yards. Blair stood a moment bare-headed, with the light + on his handsome haggard face. How frail he seemed—too frail + of body for the magnificent spirit so flashing in his eyes, so + scathing on his bitter lips. Lane bade him good-bye and turned + away, with a strange intimation that this was the last time he + would ever see Blair alive. + </p> + <p> + Wretched and desperate, Lane bought drink and took it to his room + with him. On that dark winter night he sat by the window of his + room. Insensible now to the cold, to the wind moaning outside, to + the snow whirling against the pane, he lived with phantoms. To + and fro, to and fro glided the wraith-forms, vanishing and + appearing. The soft rustling sound of the snow was the rustle of + their movements. Across the gleam of light, streaking coldly + through the pane, flickering fitfully on the wall, floated + shadows and faces. + </p> + <p> + He did not know when he succumbed to drowsy weakness. But he + awoke at daylight, lying on the floor, stiff with cold. Drink + helped him to drag through that day. Then something happened to + him, and time meant nothing. Night and day were the same. He did + not eat. When he lay back upon his bed he became irrational, yet + seemed to be conscious of it. When he sat up his senses slowly + righted. But he preferred the spells of aberration. Sometimes he + was possessed by hideous nightmares, out of which he awoke with + the terror of a child. Then he would have to sit up in the dark, + in a cold sweat, and wait, and wait, until he dared to lie back + again. + </p> + <p> + In the daytime delusions grew upon him. One was that he was + always hearing the strange voices of the river, and another that + he was being pursued by an old woman clad in a flowing black + mantle, with a hood on her head and a crooked staff in her hand. + The voices and apparition came to him, now in his waking hours; + they came suddenly without any prelude or warning. He explained + them as odd fancies resulting from strong drink; they grew on him + until his harsh laugh could not shake them off. He managed + occasionally to drag himself out of the house. In the streets he + felt this old black hag following him; but later she came to him + in the lonely silence of his room. He never noticed her unless he + glanced behind him, and he was powerless to resist that impulse. + At length the dreary old woman, who seemed to grow more gaunt and + ghostly every day, took the form in Lane's disordered fancy of + the misfortune that war had put upon him. + </p> + <p> + Lane dreamed once that it was a gray winter afternoon; dark + lowering clouds hung over the drab-colored hills, and a chill + north wind scurried over the bare meadows, sending the dead + leaves rustling over the heath and moaning through the leafless + oaks. What a sad day it was, he thought, as he faced the biting + wind: sad as was his life and a fitting one for the deed on which + he had determined! Long since he had left the city and was on the + country road. He ascended a steep hill. From its highest point he + looked back toward the city he was leaving forever. Faint it lay + in the distance, only a few of its white spires shining out dimly + from the purple haze. + </p> + <p> + What was that dark shadow? Far down the winding road he discerned + an object moving slowly up the hill. Closer he looked, and + trembled. An old woman with flowing black robes was laboriously + climbing the hill. Whirling, he placed his hand on his breast, + firmly grasped something there, and then strode onward. Soon he + glanced over his shoulder. Yes, there she came, hobbling over the + crest, her bent form and long crooked staff clearly silhouetted + against the gray background. She raised the long staff and + pointed it at him. + </p> + <p> + Now it seemed the day was waning; deep shadows lay in the + valleys, and night already enveloped the forest. Through rents in + the broken clouds a few pale stars twinkled fitfully. Soon dark + cloud curtains scurried across these spaces shutting out the + light. + </p> + <p> + He plunged into the forest. His footsteps made no sound on the + soft moss as he glided through wooded aisles and under giant + trees. Once well into the deep woods, he turned to look behind + him. He saw a shadow, blacker than the forest-gloom, stealthily + slipping from tree to tree. He looked no more. For hours he + traveled on and on, never stopping, never looking backward, never + listening, intent only on placing a great distance between him + and his pursuer. + </p> + <p> + He came upon a swamp where his feet sank in the soft earth, and + through all the night, with tireless strength and fateful + resolve, he toiled into this dreamy waste of woods and waters, + until at length a huge black rock loomed up in his way. He + ascended to its summit and looked beyond. + </p> + <p> + It seemed now that he had reached his destination. Wood spirits + and phantoms of night would mourn over him, but they would keep + his secret. He peered across a shining lake, and tried to pierce + the gloom. No living thing moved before his vision. Silver + rippling waves shimmered under that starlit sky; tall weird pines + waved gently in the night breeze; slender cedars, resembling + spectres, reared their heads toward the blue-black vault of + heaven. He listened intently. There was a faint rustling of the + few leaves left upon the oaks. The strange voices that had always + haunted him, the murmuring of river waters, or whispering of + maidens, or muttering of women were now clear. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly two white forms came gliding across the waters. The face + of one was that of a young girl. Golden hair clustered round the + face and over the fair brow. The lips smiled with mournful + sweetness. The other form seemed instinct with life. The face was + that of a living, breathing girl, soulful, passionate, her arms + outstretched, her eyes shining with a strange hopeful light. + </p> + <p> + Down, down, down he fell and sank through chill depths, falling + slowly, falling softly. The cool waters passed; he floated + through misty, shadowy space. An infinitude of silence enclosed + him. Then a dim and sullen roar of waters came to his ears, borne + faintly, then stronger, on a breeze that was not of earth. + Anguish and despair tinged that sodden wind. Weird and terrible + came a cry. Steaming, boiling, burning, rumbling chaos—a + fearful rushing sullen water! Then a flash of light like a + falling star sped out of the dark clouds. + </p> + <p> + Lane found himself sitting up in bed, wet and shaking. The room + was dark. Some one was pounding on the door. + </p> + <p> + "Hello, Lane, are you there?" called a man's deep voice. + </p> + <p> + "Yes. What's wanted?" answered Lane. + </p> + <p> + The door opened wide, impelled by a powerful arm. Light from the + hallway streamed in over the burly form of a man in a heavy coat. + He stood in the doorway evidently trying to see. + </p> + <p> + "Sick in bed, hey?" he queried, with gruff kind voice. + </p> + <p> + "I guess I am. Who're you?" + </p> + <p> + "I'm Joshua Iden and I've come to pack you out of here," he said. + </p> + <p> + "No!" protested Lane, faintly. + </p> + <p> + "Your wife is downstairs in a taxi waiting," went on his strange + visitor. + </p> + <p> + "My wife!" whispered Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Yes. Mel Iden, my daughter. You've forgotten maybe, but she + hasn't. She learned to-day from Doctor Bronson how ill you were. + And so she's come to take you home." + </p> + <p> + Mel Iden! The name seemed a part of the past. This was only + another dream, thought Lane, and slowly fell back upon his bed. + </p> + <p> + "Say, aren't you able to sit up?" queried this visitor Lane took + for the spectre of a dream. He advanced into the room. He grasped + Lane with firm hand. And then Lane realized this was no + nightmare. He began to shake. + </p> + <p> + "Sit up?" he echoed, vaguely. "Sure I can.... You're Mel's + father?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes," replied the other. "Come, get out of this.... Well, you + haven't much dressing to do. And that's good.... Steady there." + </p> + <p> + As he rose, Lane would have fallen but for a quick move of + Iden's. + </p> + <p> + "Only shoes and coat," said Lane, fumbling around. "They're + somewhere." + </p> + <p> + "Here you are.... Let me help.... There. Have you an overcoat?" + </p> + <p> + "No," replied Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Well, there's a robe in the taxi. Come on now. I'll come back + and pack your belongings." + </p> + <p> + He put an arm under Lane's and led him out into the hall and down + the dim stairway to the street. Under the yellow light Lane saw a + cab, toward which Iden urged him. Lane knew that he moved, but he + seemed not to have any feeling in his legs. The cabman put a hand + back to open the door. + </p> + <p> + "Mel, here he is," called out Iden, cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + Lane felt himself being pushed into the cab. His knees failed and + he sank forward, even as he saw Mel's face. + </p> + <p> + "Daren!" she cried, and caught him. + </p> + <p> + Then all went black. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI + </h2> + <p> + Lane's return to consciousness was an awakening into what seemed + as unreal and unbelievable as any of his morbid dreams. + </p> + <p> + But he knew that his mind was clear. It did not take him a moment + to realize from the feel of his body and the fact that he could + not lift his hand that he had been prostrate a long time. + </p> + <p> + The room he lay in was strange to him. It had a neatness and + cleanliness that spoke of a woman's care. It had two small + windows, one of which was open. Sunshine flooded in, and the + twitter of swallows and hum of bees filled the air outside. Lane + could scarcely believe his senses. A warm fragrance floated in. + Spring! What struck Lane then most singularly was the fact of the + silence. There were no city sounds. This was not the Iden home. + Presently he heard soft footfalls downstairs, and a low voice, as + of some one humming a tune. What then had happened? + </p> + <p> + As if in answer to his query there came from below a sound of + heavy footfalls on a porch, the opening and closing of a door, a + man's cheery voice, and then steps on the stairs. The door opened + and Doctor Bronson entered. + </p> + <p> + "Hello, Doc," said Lane, in a very faint voice. + </p> + <p> + "Well, you son of a gun!" ejaculated the doctor, in delight. Then + he called down the stairs. "Mel, come up here quick." + </p> + <p> + Then came a low cry and a flying patter of light feet. Mel ran + past the doctor into the room. To Lane she seemed to have grown + along with the enchantments his old memories had invoked. With + parted lips, eager-eyed, she flashed a look from Lane to Doctor + Bronson and back again. Then she fell upon her knees by the bed. + </p> + <p> + "Do you know me?" she asked, her voice tremulous. + </p> + <p> + "Sure. You're the wife—of a poor sick soldier—Daren + Lane." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Doctor, he has come to," cried Mel, in rapture. + </p> + <p> + "Fine. I've been expecting it every day," said Doctor Bronson, + rubbing his hands. "Now, Daren, you can listen all you want. But + don't try to talk. You've really been improving ever since we got + you out here to the country. For a while I was worried about your + mind. Lately, though, you showed signs of rationality. And now + all's O.K. In a few days we'll have you sitting up." + </p> + <p> + Doctor Bronson's prophecy was more than fulfilled. From the hour + of Lane's return to consciousness, he made rapid improvement. + Most of the time he slept and, upon awakening, he seemed to feel + stronger. Lane had been ill often during the last eighteen + months, but after this illness there was a difference, inasmuch + as he began to make surprising strides toward recovery. Doctor + Bronson was nonplussed, and elated. Mel seemed mute in her + gratitude. Lane could have told them the reason for his + improvement, but it was a secret he hid in his heart. + </p> + <p> + In less than a week he was up, walking round his little room, + peering out of the windows. + </p> + <p> + Mel had told Lane the circumstances attending his illness. It had + been late in February when she and her father had called for him + at his lodgings. He had collapsed in the cab. They took him to + the Iden home where he was severely ill during March. In April he + began to improve, although he did not come to his senses. One day + Mr. Iden brought Jacob Lane, an uncle of Lane's, to see him. + Lane's uncle had been at odds with the family for many years. + There had been a time when he had cared much for his nephew + Daren. The visit had evidently revived the old man's affection, + for the result was that Jacob Lane offered Daren the use of a + cottage and several acres of land on Sycamore River, just out of + town. Joshua Iden had seen to the overhauling of the cottage; and + as soon as the weather got warm, Doctor Bronson had consented to + Lane's removal to the country. And in a few days after his + arrival at the cottage, Lane recovered consciousness. + </p> + <p> + "Well, this beats me," said Lane, for the hundredth time. "Uncle + Jake letting us have this farm. I thought he hated us all." + </p> + <p> + "Daren, it was your going to war—and coming back—that + you were ill and fell to so sad a plight. I think if your uncle + had known, he'd have helped you." + </p> + <p> + "Mel, I couldn't ask anybody for help," said Lane. "Don't you + understand that?" + </p> + <p> + "You were a stubborn fellow," mused Mel. + </p> + <p> + "Me? Never. I'm the meekest of mortals.... Mel, I know every rock + along the river here. This is just above where at flood time the + Sycamore cuts across that rocky flat below, and makes a bad + rapid. There's a creek above and a big woods. I used to fish and + hunt there a good deal." + </p> + <p> + Two weeks passed by and Daren felt himself slowly but surely + getting stronger. Every morning when he came down to breakfast he + felt a little better, had a little more color in his pale cheeks. + At first he could not eat, but as the days went by he regained an + appetite which, to Mel's delight, manifestly grew stronger. No + woman could have been brighter and merrier. She laughed at the + expression on his face when he saw her hands red from hot + dish-water, and she would not allow him to help her. The boast + she had made to him of her housekeeping abilities had not been an + idle one. She prepared the meals and kept the cottage tidy, and + went about other duties in a manner that showed she was + thoroughly conversant with them. + </p> + <p> + The way in which she had absolutely put aside the past, her witty + sallies and her innocent humor, her habit of singing while at + work, the depth of her earnest conversation; in all, the sweet + wholesome strength and beauty of her nature had a remarkable + effect on Lane. He began to live again. It was simply impossible + to be morbid in her presence. While he was with her he escaped + from himself. + </p> + <p> + The day came when he felt strong enough to take a walk. He + labored up the hillside toward a wood. Thereafter he went every + day and walked farther every time. + </p> + <p> + With his returning strength there crept into his mind the dawning + of a hope that he might get well. At first he denied it, denied + even the conviction that he wished to live. But not long. The + hope grew, and soon he found himself deliberately trying to build + up his health. Every day he put a greater test upon himself, and + as summer drew on he felt his strength gradually increasing. + Against Doctor Bronson's advice, he got an axe and set to work on + the wood pile, very cautiously at first. + </p> + <p> + Every day he wielded the axe until from sheer exhaustion he could + not lift it. Then he would sit on a log and pant and scorn his + weakness. What a poor man it was who could not chop wood for ten + minutes without getting out of breath! This pile of logs became + to him a serious and meaning obstacle. Every morning he went at + it doggedly. His back grew lame, his arms sore, his hands raw and + blistered. But he did not give up. + </p> + <p> + Mel seemed happy to see him so occupied, and was loath to call + him even when it was necessary. After lunch it was his habit to + walk in the woods. Unmindful of weather, every day he climbed the + hill, plunged into the woods, and tramped until late in the + afternoon. Returning, he usually slept until Mel called him to + dinner. Afterward they spent the evening in the little library. + The past seemed buried. Lane's curiosity as to family and friends + had not reawakened. + </p> + <p> + Mel possessed a rich contralto voice which had been carefully + cultivated. Every evening in the twilight, with only the + flickering of the wood fire in the room, she would sit at the + piano and sing. Lane would close his eyes and let the mellow + voice charm his every sense. It called up his highest feelings; + it lingered in his soul, thrilled along his heart and played on + the chords of love and hope. It dispelled the heavy gloom that so + often pressed down upon him; it vanquished the depression that + was the forerunner of his old terrible black mood. + </p> + <p> + It came about that Lane spent most of his time outdoors, in the + fields, along the river, on the wooded hills. The morbid brooding + lost its hold on his mind, and in its place came memories, + dreams, imaginations. He walked those hills with phantoms of the + past and phantoms of his fancy. + </p> + <p> + The birds sang, the leaves fluttered, the wind rustled through + the branches. White clouds sailed across the blue sky, a crow + cawed from a hilltop, a hawk screeched from above, the roar of + the river rapids came faintly upward. And Lane saw eyes gazing + dreamily downward, thoughtful at a word, looking into life, + trying to pierce the veil. It was all so beautiful—so + terrible. + </p> + <p> + The peeping of frogs roused in Lane sensations thrilling and + strange. The quick sharp notes were suggestive of cool nights, of + flooded streams and marshy places. How often Lane wandered in the + dusk along the shore to listen to this chorus! + </p> + <p> + At that hour twilight stole down; the dark hills rose to the pale + blue sky; there was a fair star and a wisp of purple cloud; and + the shadowy waters gleamed. Breaking into the trill of the frogs + came the song of a lonely whippoorwill. + </p> + <p> + Lane felt a better spirit resurging. He felt the silence, the + beauty, the mystery, the eternal that was there. All that was + small and frail was passing from him. There came a regurgitation + of physical strength—a change of blood. + </p> + <p> + The following morning while Lane was laboring over his wood pile, + he thought he heard voices in the front yard, and presently Mel + came around the walk accompanied by Doctor Wallace and Doctor + Bronson. + </p> + <p> + "Well, Lane, glad to see you," said Doctor Bronson, in his hearty + tones. "Doctor Wallace and I are on our way to the Grange and + thought we'd stop off a minute." + </p> + <p> + "How are you, Mr. Lane? I see you're taking work seriously," put + in Doctor Wallace, in his kindly way. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, I'm coming round all right," replied Lane. + </p> + <p> + He stood there with his shirt sleeves rolled up, his face bronzed + a little and now warm and moist from the exercise, with something + proven about him, with a suggestion of a new force which made him + different. + </p> + <p> + There was an unmistakable kindliness in the regard of both men + and a scarcely veiled fear Lane was quick to read. Both men were + afraid they would not find him as they had hoped to. + </p> + <p> + "Mel, you've chosen a charming location for a home," observed + Doctor Wallace. + </p> + <p> + When Mel was showing her old teacher and friend the garden and + flowerbeds the practical Doctor Bronson asked Lane: "Did you chop + all that wood?" + </p> + <p> + The doctor pointed to three long piles of wood, composed of short + pieces regularly stacked one upon another. + </p> + <p> + "I did." + </p> + <p> + "How long did it take you?" + </p> + <p> + "I've been weeks at it. That's a long time, but you know, Doctor, + I was in pretty poor condition. I had to go slow." + </p> + <p> + "Well, you've done wonders. I want to tell you that. I hardly + knew you. You're still thin, but you're gaining. I won't say now + what I think. Be careful of sudden or violent exertion. That's + all. You've done more than doctors can do." + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII + </h2> + <p> + "Mel, come here," called Lane from the back porch, "who the deuce + are those people coming down the hill?" + </p> + <p> + Mel shaded her eyes from the glare of the bright morning sun. + "The lady is Miss Hill, my old schoolteacher. I'd know her as far + as I could see her. Look how she carries her left arm. This is + Saturday, for she has neither a lunch basket nor a prayer book in + that outstretched hand. If you see Miss Hill without either you + can be certain it's Saturday. As to the gentleman—Daren, + can it possibly be Colonel Pepper?" + </p> + <p> + "That's the Colonel, sure as you're alive," declared Lane, with + alacrity. "They must be coming here. Where else could they be + making for? But Mel, for them to be together! Why, the Colonel's + an old sport, and she—Mel—you know Miss Hill!" + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Mel acquainted Daren with the circumstances of a + romance between Miss Hill and the gallant Colonel. + </p> + <p> + "Well—of all things!" gasped Lane, and straightway became + speechless. + </p> + <p> + "You're right, Daren; they are coming in. Isn't that nice of + them? Now, don't you dare show I told you anything. Miss Hill is + so easily embarrassed. She's the most sensitive woman I ever + knew." + </p> + <p> + Lane recovered in time to go through the cottage to the front + porch and to hear Miss Hill greet Mel affectionately, and + announce with the tone of a society woman that she had + encountered Colonel Pepper on the way and had brought him along. + Lane had met the little schoolteacher, but did not remember her + as she appeared now, for she was no longer plain, and there was + life and color in her face. And as for embarrassment, not a trace + of it was evident in her bearing. According to Mel, the mere + sight of man, much less of one of such repute as Colonel Pepper, + would once have been sufficient to reduce Miss Hill to a + trembling shadow. + </p> + <p> + But the Colonel! None of his courage manifested an appearance + now. To Lane's hearty welcome he mumbled some incoherent reply + and mopped his moist red face. He was wonderfully and gorgeously + arrayed in a new suit of light check, patent leather shoes, a tie + almost as bright as his complexion, and he had a carnation in his + buttonhole. This last proof of the Colonel's mental condition was + such an overwhelming shock to Lane that all he could do for a + moment was stare. The Colonel saw the stare and it rendered him + helpless. + </p> + <p> + Miss Hill came to the rescue with pleasant chat and most + interesting news to the exiles. She had intended coming out to + the cottage for ever so long, but the weather and one thing or + another falling on a Saturday, had prevented until to-day. How + pretty the little home! Did not the Colonel agree with her that + it was so sweet, so cosy, and picturesquely situated? Did they + have chickens? What pleasure to have chickens, and flowers, too! + Of course they had heard about Mr. Harry White and the widow, + about the dissension in Doctor Wallace's church. And Margaret + Maynard was far from well, and Helen Wrapp had gone back home to + her mother, and Bessy Bell had grown into a tall ravishingly + beautiful girl and had distracted her mother by refusing a + millionaire, and seemed very much in love with young Dalrymple. + </p> + <p> + "And I've the worst class of girls I ever had," went on Miss + Hill. "The one I had last year was a class of angels compared to + what I have now. I reproved one girl whose mother wrote me that + as long as Middleville had preachers like Doctor Wallace and + teachers like myself there wasn't much chance of a girl being + good. So I'm going to give up teaching." + </p> + <p> + The little schoolmistress straightened up in her chair and looked + severe. Colonel Pepper shifted uneasily, bent his glance for the + hundredth time on his shiny shoes and once more had recourse to + his huge handkerchief and heated brow. + </p> + <p> + "Well, Colonel, it seems good to see you once more," put in Lane. + "Tell me about yourself. How do you pass the time?" + </p> + <p> + "Same old story, Daren, same old way, a game of billiards now and + then, and a little game of cards. But I'm more lonely than I used + to be." + </p> + <p> + "Why, you never were lonely!" exclaimed Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes indeed I was, always," protested the Colonel. + </p> + <p> + "A little game of cards," mused Lane. "How well I remember! You + used to have some pretty big games, too." + </p> + <p> + "Er—yes—you see—once in a while, very seldom, + just for fun," he replied. + </p> + <p> + "How about your old weakness? Hope you've conquered that," went + on Lane, mercilessly. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel was thrown into utter confusion. And when Miss Hill + turned terrible eyes upon him, poor Pepper looked as if he wanted + to sink through the porch. + </p> + <p> + Lane took pity on him and carried him off to the garden and the + river bank, where he became himself again. + </p> + <p> + They talked for a while, but neither mentioned the subject that + had once drawn them together. For both of them a different life + had begun. + </p> + <p> + A little while afterward Mel and Lane watched the bright figure + and the slight dark one go up the hillside cityward. + </p> + <p> + "What do you know about that!" ejaculated Lane for the tenth + time. + </p> + <p> + "Hush!" said Mel, and she touched his lips with a soft exquisite + gesture. + </p> + <p> + At three o'clock one June afternoon Mel and Daren were lounging + on a mossy bank that lined the shady side of a clear + rapid-running brook. A canoe was pulled up on the grass below + them. With an expression of utter content, Lane was leaning over + the brook absorbed in the contemplation of a piece of thread + which was tied to a crooked stick he held in his hand. He had + gone back to his boyhood days. Just then the greatest happiness + on earth was the outwitting of bright-sided minnows and golden + flecked sunfish. Mel sat nearby with her lap full of flowers + which she had gathered in the long grass and was now arranging. + She was dressed in blue; a sunbonnet slipped back from her head; + her glossy hair waved in the breeze. She looked as fresh as a + violet. + </p> + <p> + "Well, Daren, we have spent four delightful, happy hours. How + time flies! But it's growing late and we must go," said Mel. + </p> + <p> + "Wait a minute or two," replied Lane. "I'll catch this fellow. + See him bite! He's cunning. He's taken my bait time and again, + but I'll get him. There! See him run with the line. It's a big + sunfish!" + </p> + <p> + "How do you know? You haven't seen him." + </p> + <p> + "I can tell by the way he bites. Ha! I've got him now," cried + Lane, giving a quick jerk. There was a splash and he pulled out a + squirming eel. + </p> + <p> + "Ugh! The nasty thing!" cried Mel, jumping up. Lane had flung the + eel back on the bank and it just missed falling into Mel's lap. + She screamed, and then when safely out of the way she laughed at + the disgust in his face. + </p> + <p> + "So it was a big sunfish? My! What a disillusion! So much for a + man's boastful knowledge." + </p> + <p> + "Well, if it isn't a slimy old eel. There! be off with you; go + back into the water," said Lane, as he shook the eel free from + the hook. + </p> + <p> + "Come, we must be starting." + </p> + <p> + He pushed the canoe into the brook, helped Mel to a seat in the + bow and shoved off. In some places the stream was only a few feet + wide, but there was enough room and water for the light craft and + it went skimming along. The brook turned through the woods and + twisted through the meadows, sometimes lying cool and dark in the + shade and again shining in the sunlight. Often Lane would have to + duck his head to get under the alders and willows. Here in an + overshadowed bend of the stream a heron rose lumbering from his + weedy retreat and winged his slow flight away out of sight; a + water wagtail, that cunning sentinel of the brooks, gave a + startled <i>tweet! tweet!</i> and went flitting like a gray + streak of light round the bend. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, please don't be so energetic," said Mel, nervously. + </p> + <p> + "I'm strong as a horse now. I'm—hello! What's that?" + </p> + <p> + "I didn't hear anything." + </p> + <p> + "I imagined I heard a laugh or shout." + </p> + <p> + The stream was widening now as it neared its mouth. Lane was + sending the canoe along swiftly with vigorous strokes. It passed + under a water-gate, round a quick turn in the stream, where a + bridge spanned it, and before Lane had a suspicion of anything + unusual he was right upon a merry picnic party. There were young + men and girls resting on the banks and several sitting on the + bridge. Automobiles were parked back on the bank. + </p> + <p> + Lane swore under his breath. He recognized Margaret, Dick Swann + and several other old-time acquaintances and friends of Mel's. + </p> + <p> + "Who is it?" asked Mel. Her back was turned. She did not look + round, though she heard voices. + </p> + <p> + "It doesn't matter," said Lane, calmly. + </p> + <p> + He would have given the world to spare Mel the ordeal before her, + but that was impossible. He put more power into his stroke and + the canoe shot ahead. + </p> + <p> + It passed under the bridge, not twenty feet from Margaret Swann. + There was a strange, eager, wondering look in Margaret's clear + eyes as she recognized Mel. Then she seemed to be swallowed up by + the green willows. + </p> + <p> + "That was damned annoying," muttered Lane to himself. He could + have met them all face to face without being affected, but he + realized how painful this meeting must be to Mel. These were + Mel's old friends. He had caught Margaret's glance. Old memories + came surging back. His gaze returned to Mel. Her face was grave + and sad; her eyes had darkened, and there was a shadow in them. + His glance sought the green-lined channel ahead. The canoe cut + the placid water, turned the last bend, and glided into the swift + river. Soon Lane saw the little cottage shining white in the + light of the setting sun. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon, as Lane was returning from the woods, he met a car + coming out of the grassy road that led down to his cottage. As he + was about to step aside, a gay voice hailed him. He waited. The + car came on. It contained Holt Dalrymple and Bessy Bell. + </p> + <p> + "Say, don't you dodge us," called Holt. + </p> + <p> + "Daren Lane!" screamed Bessy. + </p> + <p> + Then the car halted, and with two strides Lane found himself face + to face with the young friends he had not seen for months. Holt + appeared a man now. And Bessy—no longer with bobbed + hair—older, taller, changed incalculably, struck him as + having fulfilled her girlish promise of character and beauty. + "Well, it's good to see you youngsters", said Lane, as he shook + hands with them. + </p> + <p> + Holt seemed trying to hide emotion. But Bessy, after that first + scream, sat staring at Lane with a growing comprehending light in + her purple eyes. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she burst out. "Daren—you're <i>well!</i>.... Oh, + how glad I am! Holt, just look at him." + </p> + <p> + "I'm looking, Bess. And if he's really Daren Lane, I'll eat him," + responded Holt. + </p> + <p> + "This is all I needed to make to-day the happiest day of my + life," said Bessy, with serious sweetness. + </p> + <p> + "This? Do you mean meeting me? I'm greatly flattered, Bessy," + said Lane, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + Then both a blush and a glow made her radiant. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, I'm sixteen to-day. Holt and I are—we're engaged I + told mother, and expected a row. She was really pleased.... And + then seeing you well again. Why, Daren, you've actually got + color. Then Holt has been given a splendid business + opportunity.... And—Oh! it's all too good to be true." + </p> + <p> + "Well, of all things!" cried Lane, when he had a chance to speak. + "You two engaged! I—I could never tell you how glad I am." + Lane felt that he could have hugged them both. "I congratulate + you with all my heart. Now Holt—Bessy, make a go of it. + You're the luckiest kids in the world." + </p> + <p> + "Daren, we've both had our fling and we've both been hurt," said + Bessy, seriously. "And you bet <i>we</i> know how lucky we + are—and what we owe Daren Lane for our happiness to-day." + </p> + <p> + "Bessy, that means a great deal to me," replied Lane, earnestly. + "I know you'll be happy. You have everything to live for. Just be + true to yourself." + </p> + <p> + So the moment of feeling passed. + </p> + <p> + "We went down to your place," said Holt, "and stayed a while + waiting for you." + </p> + <p> + "Daren, I think Mel is lovely. May I not come often to see you + both?" added Bessy. + </p> + <p> + "You know how pleased we'll be.... Bessy, do you ever see my + sister Lorna?" asked Lane, hesitantly. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I see her now and then. Only the other day I met her in a + store. Daren, she's getting some sense. She has a better position + now. And she said she was not going with any fellow but Harry." + </p> + <p> + "And my mother?" Lane went on. + </p> + <p> + "She is quite well, Lorna said. And they are getting along well + now. Lorna hinted that a relative—an uncle, I think, was + helping them." + </p> + <p> + Lane was silent a moment, too stirred to trust his voice. + Presently he said: "Bessy, your birthday has brought happiness to + some one besides yourself." + </p> + <p> + He bade them good-bye and strode on down the hill toward the + cottage. How strangely meetings changed the future! Holt's pride + of possession in Bessy brought poignantly back to Lane his own + hidden love for Mel. And Bessy's rapture of amaze at his + improvement in health put Lane face to face with a possibility he + had dreamed of but had never believed in—that he might + live. + </p> + <p> + That night was for Lane a sleepless one. He seemed to have + traveled in a dreamy circle, and was now returning to memories + and pangs from which he had long been free. + </p> + <p> + Next morning, without any hint to Mel of his intentions, he left + the cottage and made his way into town. Almost he felt as he had + upon his return from France. He dropped in to see his mother and + was happy to find her condition of mind and health improved. She + was overjoyed to see Lane. Her surprise was pitiful. She told him + she was sure that he had recovered. + </p> + <p> + It was this matter of his physical condition that had brought + Lane into Middleville. For many months he had resigned himself to + death. And now he could not deny even his morbid fancy that he + felt stronger than at any time since he left France. He had + worked hard to try to get well, but he had never, in his heart, + believed that possible. + </p> + <p> + Lane called upon Doctor Bronson and asked to be thoroughly + examined. The doctor manifestly found the examination a task of + mounting gratification. At length he concluded. + </p> + <p> + "Daren, I told you over a year ago I didn't know of anything that + could save your life," he said. "I didn't. But something + <i>has</i> saved your life. You are thirty pounds heavier and + gaining fast. That hole in your back is healed. Your lungs are + nearly normal. You have only to be careful of a very violent + physical strain. That weak place in your back seems gone.... + You're going to <i>live</i>, my boy.... There has been some magic + at work. I'm very happy about it. How little doctors know!" + </p> + <p> + Dazed and stunned by this intelligence, Lane left the doctor's + residence and turned through town on his way homeward. As he + plodded on, he began to realize the marvelous truth. What would + Blair say? He hurried to a telephone exchange to acquaint his + friend with the strange thing that had happened. But Blair had + been taken to a sanitarium in the mountains. Lane hurried out of + town into the country, down the river road, to the cottage, there + to burst in upon Mel. + </p> + <p> + "Daren!" she cried, in alarm. "What's happened?" + </p> + <p> + She rose unsteadily, her eyes dilating. + </p> + <p> + "Doctor Bronson said—I was—well," panted Lane. + </p> + <p> + "Oh!... Daren, is <i>that</i> it?" she replied, with a wonderful + light coming to her face. "I've known that for weeks." + </p> + <p> + "After all—I'm not going—to die!... My God!" + </p> + <p> + Lane rushed out and strode along the river, and followed the + creek into the woods. Once hidden in the leafy recesses he + abandoned himself to a frenzy of rapture. What he had given up + had come back to him. Life! And he lay on his back with his + senses magnified to an intense degree. + </p> + <p> + The day was late in June, and a rich, thick amber light floated + through the glades of the forest. Majestic white clouds sailed in + the deep blue sky. The sun shone hot down into the glades. Under + the pines and maples there was a cool sweet shade. Wild flowers + bloomed. A fragrance of the woods came on the gentle breeze. The + leaves rustled. The melancholy song of a hermit thrush pierced + the stillness. A crow cawed from a high oak. The murmur of + shallow water running over rocks came faintly to Lane's ears. + </p> + <p> + Lane surrendered utterly to the sheer primitive exultation of + life. The supreme ecstasy of that hour could never have been + experienced but for the long hopeless months which had preceded + it. For a long time he lay there in a transport of the senses, + without thinking. As soon as thought regained dominance over his + feelings there came a subtle change in his reaction to this + situation. + </p> + <p> + He had forgotten much. He had lived in a dream. He had + unconsciously grown well. He had been strangely, unbelievably + happy. Why? Mel Iden had nursed him, loved him, inspired him back + to health. Her very presence near him, even unseen, had been a + profound happiness. He made the astonishing discovery that for + months he had thought of little else besides his wife. He had + lived a lonely life, in his room, and in the open, but all of it + had been dominated by his dreams and fancies and emotions about + her. He had roused from his last illness with the past apparently + dead. There was no future. So he lived in the moment, the hour. + While he lay awake in the silence of night, or toiled over his + wood pile, or wandered by the brook under the trees, his dreamy + thoughts centered about her. And now the truth burst upon him. + His love for her had been stronger than his ruined health and + blasted life, stronger than misfortune, stronger than death. It + had made him well. He had not now to face death, but life. And + the revelation brought on shuddering dread. + </p> + <p> + Lane lingered in the woods until late afternoon. Then he felt + forced to return to the cottage. The look of the whole world + seemed changed. All was actual, vivid, striking. Mel's loveliness + burst upon him as new and strange and terrible as the fact of his + recovery. He had hidden his secret from her. He had been like a + brother, kind, thoughtful, gay at times, always helpful. But he + had remained aloof. He had basked in the sunshine of her + presence, dreamily reveling in the consciousness of what she was + to him. That hour had passed forever. + </p> + <p> + He saw her now as his wife, a girl still, one who had been + cruelly wronged by life, who had turned her back upon the past + and who lived for him alone. She had beauty and brains, a + wonderful voice, and personality that might have fitted her for + any career or station in life. She thought only of him. She had + found content in ministering to him. She was noble and good. + </p> + <p> + In the light of these truths coming to him, Lane took stock of + his love for Mel. It had come to be too mighty a thing to + understand in a moment. He lived with it in the darkness of + midnight and in the loneliness of the hills. He had never loved + Helen. Always he had loved Mel Iden—all his life. Clear as + a crystal he saw the truth. The war with its ruin for both of + them had only augmented the powers to love. Lane's year of agony + in Middleville had been the mere cradling of a mounting and + passionate love. He must face it now, no longer in dreamy lulled + unconsciousness, but in all its insidious and complex meaning. + The spiritual side of it had not changed. This girl with the + bloom of woman's loveliness upon her, with her grace and + sweetness and fire, with the love that comes only once in life, + belonged to him, was his wife. She did not try to hide anything. + She was unconscious of appeal. Her wistfulness came from her + lonely soul. + </p> + <p> + The longer Lane dwelt on this matter of his love for Mel the + deeper he found it, the more inexplicable and alluring. And when + at last it stood out appallingly, master of him, so beautiful and + strange and bitter, he realized that between him and Mel was an + insurmountable and indestructible barrier. + </p> + <p> + Then came storm and strife of soul. Night and day the conflict + went on. Outwardly he did not show much sign of his trouble, + though he often caught Mel's dark eyes upon him, sadly + conjecturing. He worked in the garden; he fished the creek, and + rowed miles on the river; he wandered in the woods. And the only + change that seemed to rise out of his tumult was increasing love + for this girl with whom his fate had been linked. + </p> + <p> + So once more Lane became a sufferer, burdened by pangs, a + wanderer along the naked and lonely shore of grief. His passion + and his ideal were at odds. Unless he changed his nature, his + reverence for womanhood, he could never realize the happiness + that might become his. All that he had sacrificed had indeed been + in vain. But he had been true to himself. His pity for Mel was + supreme. It was only by the most desperate self-control that he + could resist taking her in his arms, confessing his love, + swearing with lying lips he had forgotten the wrong done her and + asking her to face the future as his loving wife. The thought was + maddening. It needed no pity for Mel to strengthen it. He needed + love. He needed to fulfill his life. + </p> + <p> + But Lane did not yield, though he knew that if he continued to + live with Mel, in time the sweetness and enchantment of her would + be too great for him. This he confessed. + </p> + <p> + More and more he had to fight his jealousy and the treacherous + imagination that would create for him scenes of torment. He + cursed himself as base and ignoble. Yet the truth was always + there. If Mel had only loved the father of her child—if she + had only loved blindly and passionately as a woman—it would + have been different. But her sacrifice had not been one of love. + It had been one of war. It had the nobility of woman's sacrifice + to the race. But as an individual she had perished. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII + </h2> + <p> + Summer waned. The long hot days dragged by. The fading rushes + along the river drooped wearily over their dry beds. The + yellowing leaves of the trees hung dejected; they were mute + petitioners for cool breezes and rain. The grasshoppers chirped + monotonously, the locusts screeched shrilly, both being products + of the long hot summer, and survivors of the heat, inclined to + voice their exultation far into the fall season. + </p> + <p> + September yielded them full sway, and burned away day by day, + week by week, dusty and scorching, without even a promise of + rain. October, however, dawned, misty and dark; the clouds crept + up reluctantly at first and then, as if to make amends for + neglect, trooped black and threatening toward the zenith. Storm + followed storm, and at evening, after the violent crashing + thunder and vivid lightning and driving torrents of rain had + ceased, a soft, steady downpour persisted all night and all the + next day. + </p> + <p> + The drought was broken. A rainy fall season was prophesied. The + old danger of the river rising in flood was feared. + </p> + <p> + After the sear and lifeless color of the fields and forests, what + a welcome relief to Daren Lane were the freshened green, the + dawning red, the tinging gold! The forest on the hill was soft + and warm, and but for the gleams of autumn, would have showed + some of the tenderness of spring. Down in the lowlands a sea of + color waved under a blue, smoky, melancholy haze. + </p> + <p> + Lane climbed high that Sunday afternoon and penetrated deep into + the woods. + </p> + <p> + There was rest here. The forest was rich, warm with the scent of + pine, of arbor vitae. There was the haunting promise of more + brilliant hues. Thoughts swept through Lane's mind. The great + striving world was out of sight. Here in the gold-flecked shade, + under the murmuring pines and pattering poplars, there was a + world full of joy, wise in its teaching, significant of the glory + that was fading but which would come again. + </p> + <p> + Lane loved the low hills, the deep, colorful woods in autumn. + There he lost himself. He learned. Silence and solitude taught + him. From there he had vision of the horde of men righting down + the false impossible trails of the world. He felt the sweetness, + the frailty, the dependence, the glory and the doom of women + battling with life. He realized the hopeless traits of human + nature. Like dead scales his egotism dropped from him. He divined + the weaving of chances, the unknown and unnamed, the pondering + fates in store. The dominance of pain over all—the wraith + of the past—the importunity of a future never to be + gained—the insistence of nature, ever-pressing closer its + ruthless claims—all these which became intelligible to + Lane, could not keep life from looming sweet, hopeful, wonderful, + worthy man's best fight. + </p> + <p> + And sometimes the old haunting voices whispered to him out of the + river shadows—deeper, different, strangely more + unintelligible than ever before, calling more to his soul. + </p> + <p> + Next morning Lane got up at the usual hour and went outdoors, but + returned almost immediately. + </p> + <p> + "The river is rising fast. Listen. Hear that roar. There's a + regular old Niagara just below." + </p> + <p> + "I imagined that roar was the wind." + </p> + <p> + "The water has come up three feet since daylight. I guess I'll go + down now and pull in some driftwood." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Daren! Don't be so adventurous. When the river is high + there's a dangerous rapid below." + </p> + <p> + "You're right about that. But I won't take any risks. I can + easily manage the boat, and I'll be careful." + </p> + <p> + The following three days it rained incessantly. Outside, on the + gravel walks, there was a ceaseless drip, drip, drip. + </p> + <p> + Friday evening the rain ceased, the murky clouds cleared away and + for a few moments a rainbow mingled its changing hues with the + ruddy glow of the setting sun. The next day dawned bright and + dear. + </p> + <p> + Lane was indeed grateful for a change. Mel had been unaccountably + depressed during those gloomy days. And it worried him that this + morning she did not appear her usual self. + </p> + <p> + "Mel, are you well?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I am perfectly well," she replied. "I couldn't sleep much + last night on account of that roar." + </p> + <p> + "Don't wonder. This flood will be the greatest ever known in + Middleville." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, and that makes more suffering for the poor." + </p> + <p> + "There are already many homeless. It's fortunate our cottage is + situated on this high bank. Just look! I declare, jostling logs + and whirling drifts! There's a pen of some kind with an object + upon it." + </p> + <p> + "It's a pig. Oh! poor piggy!" said Mel, compassionately. + </p> + <p> + A hundred yards out in the rushing yellow current a small house + or shed drifted swiftly down stream. Upon it stood a pig. The + animal seemed to be stolidly contemplating the turbid flood as if + unaware of its danger. + </p> + <p> + Here the river was half a mile wide, and full of trees, stumps, + fences, bridges, sheds—all kinds of drifts. Just below the + cottage the river narrowed between two rocky cliffs and roared + madly over reefs and rocks which at a low stage of water + furnished a playground for children. But now that space was + terrible to look upon and the dull roar, with a hollow boom at + intervals, was dreadful to hear. + </p> + <p> + "Daren—I—I've kept something from you," said Mel, + nervously. "I should have told you yesterday." + </p> + <p> + "What?" interrupted Lane, sharply. + </p> + <p> + "It's this. It's about poor Blair.... He—he's dead!" + </p> + <p> + Lane stared at her white face as if it were that of a ghost. + </p> + <p> + "Blair! You should have told me. I must go to see him." + </p> + <p> + It was not a long ride from the terminus of the car line to where + the Maynards lived, yet measured by Lane's growing distress of + mind it seemed a never-ending journey. + </p> + <p> + He breathed a deep breath of relief when he got off the car, and + when the Maynard homestead loomed up dark and silent, he hung + back slightly. A maid admitted Lane, and informed him that Mr. + Maynard was ill and Mrs. Maynard would not see any one. Margaret + was not at home. The maid led Lane across the hall into the + drawing-room and left him alone. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the room stood a long black cloth-covered box. + Lane stepped forward. Upon the dark background, in striking + contrast, lay a white, stern face, marble-like in its stone-cold + rigidity. Blair, his comrade! + </p> + <p> + The moment Lane saw the face, his strange fear and old gloomy + bitterness returned. Something shot through him which trembled in + his soul. To him the story of Blair's sacrifice was there to read + in his quiet face, and with it was an expression he had never + seen, a faint wonder of relief, which suggested peace. + </p> + <p> + How strange to look upon Blair and find him no longer responsive! + Something splendid, loyal, generous, loving had passed away. Gone + was the vital spark that had quickened and glowed to noble + thoughts; gone was the strength that had been weakness; gone the + quick, nervous, high-strung spirit; gone the love that had no + recompense. The drawn face told of physical suffering. Hard Blair + had found the world, bitter the reward of the soldier, wretched + the unholy worship of money and luxury, vain and hollow mockery + the home of his boyhood. + </p> + <p> + Lane went down the path and out of the gate. He had faint + perceptions of the dark trees along the road. He came to a little + pine grove. It was very quiet. There was a hum of insects, and + the familiar, sad, ever-present swishing of the wind through the + trees. He listened to its soft moan, and it eased the intensity + of his feelings. This emotion was new to him. Death, however, had + touched him more than once. Well he remembered his stunned + faculties, the unintelligible mystery, the awe and the grief + consequent on the death of his first soldier comrade in France. + But this was different; it was a strange disturbance of his + heart. Oppression began to weight him down, and a nameless fear. + </p> + <p> + He had to cross the river on his way home to the cottage. In the + middle of the bridge he halted to watch the sliding flood go over + the dam, to see the yellow turgid threshing of waves below. The + mystic voices that had always assailed his ears were now roaring. + They had a message for him. It was death. Had he not just looked + upon the tragic face of his comrade? Out over the tumbling waters + Lane's strained gaze swept, up and down, to and fro, while the + agony in his heart reached its height. The tumult of the flood + resembled his soul. He spent an hour there, then turned slowly + homeward. + </p> + <p> + He stopped at the cottage gate. It was now almost dark. The + evening star, lonely and radiant, peeped over the black hill. + With some strange working at his heart, with some strange + presence felt, Lane gazed at the brilliant star. How often had he + watched it! Out there in the gloom somewhere, perhaps near at + hand, had lurked the grim enemy waiting for Blair, that now might + be waiting for him. He trembled. The old morbidness knocked at + his heart. He shivered again and fought against something + intangible. The old conviction thrust itself upon him. He had + been marked by fate, life, war, death! He knew it; he had only + forgotten. + </p> + <p> + "Daren! Daren!" + </p> + <p> + Mel's voice broke the spell. Lane made a savage gesture, as if he + were in the act of striking. Thought of Mel recalled the + stingingly sweet and bitter fact of his love, and of life that + called so imperiously. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV + </h2> + <p> + "If Amanda would only marry me!" sighed Colonel A Pepper, as he + stacked the few dishes on the cupboard shelf and surveyed his + untidy little kitchen with disparaging eyes. + </p> + <p> + The once-contented Colonel was being consumed by two great + fires—remorse and love. For more years than he could + remember he had been a victim of a deplorable habit. Then two + soft eyes shone into his life, and in their light he saw things + differently, and he tried to redeem himself. + </p> + <p> + Even good fortune, in the shape of some half-forgotten meadow + property suddenly becoming valuable, had not revived his once + genial spirits. Remorse was with him because Miss Hill refused to + marry him till he overcame the habit which had earned him + undesirable fame. + </p> + <p> + So day by day poor Colonel Pepper grew sicker of his lonely + rooms, his lonely life, and of himself. + </p> + <p> + "If Amanda only would," he murmured for the thousandth time, and + taking his hat he went out. The sunshine was bright, but did not + give him the old pleasure. He walked and walked, taking no + interest in anything. Presently he found himself on the outskirts + of Middleville within sound of the muffled roar of the flooded + river, and he wandered in its direction. At sight of the old + wooden bridge he remembered he had read that it was expected to + give way to the pressure of the rushing water. On the levee, + which protected the low-lying country above the city, were crowds + of people watching the river. + </p> + <p> + "Ye've no rivers loike thot in Garminy," observed a half-drunken + Irishman. He and several more of his kind evidently were teasing + a little German. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Pepper had not stood there long before he heard a number + of witticisms from these red-faced men. + </p> + <p> + After the manner of his kind the German had stolidly swallowed + the remarks about his big head, and its shock of stubby hair, and + his checked buff trousers; but at reference to his native country + his little blue eyes snapped, and he made a remark that this + river was extremely like one in Germany. + </p> + <p> + At this the characteristic contrary spirit of the Irishman burst + forth. + </p> + <p> + "Dutchy, I'd loike ye to know ye're exaggeratin'," he said. + "Garminy ain't big enough for a river the loike o' this. An' I'll + leave it to me intilligint-lookin' fri'nd here." + </p> + <p> + Colonel Pepper, thus appealed to, blushed, looked embarrassed, + coughed, and then replied that he thought Germany was quite large + enough for such a river. + </p> + <p> + "Did ye study gographie?" questioned the Irishman with fine + scorn. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Pepper retired within himself. + </p> + <p> + The unsteady and excitable fellow had been crowded to the rear by + his comrades, who evidently wished to lessen, in some degree, the + possibilities of a fight. + </p> + <p> + "Phwat's in thim rivers ye're spoutin' about?" asked one. + </p> + <p> + "Vater, ov course." + </p> + <p> + "Me wooden-shoed fri'nd, ye mane beer—beer." + </p> + <p> + "You insolt me, you red-headed——" + </p> + <p> + "Was that Dutchman addressin' of me?" demanded the half-drunken + Irishman, trying to push by his friends. + </p> + <p> + "It'd be a foiner river if it wasn't yaller," said a peacemaker, + holding his comrade. + </p> + <p> + In the slight scuffle which ensued one of the men unintentionally + jostled the German. His pipe fell to the ground. He bent to + recover it. + </p> + <p> + Through Colonel Pepper's whole being shot the lightning of his + strange impulse, a tingling tremor ran over him; a thousand + giants lifted and swung his arm. He fought to check it, but in + vain. With his blood bursting, with his strength expending itself + in one irresistible effort, with his soul expanding in fiendish, + unholy glee he brought his powerful hand down upon the bending + German. + </p> + <p> + There was a great shout of laughter. + </p> + <p> + The German fell forward at length and knocked a man off the levee + wall. Then the laughter changed to excited shouts. + </p> + <p> + The wall was steep but not perfectly perpendicular. Several men + made frantic grabs at the sliding figure; they failed, however, + to catch it. Then the man turned over and rolled into the river + with a great splash. Cries of horror followed his disappearance + in the muddy water, and when, an instant later, his head bobbed + up yells filled the air. + </p> + <p> + No one had time to help him. He tried ineffectually to reach the + levee; then the current whirled him away. The crowd caught a + glimpse of a white despairing face, which rose on the crest of a + muddy wave, and then was lost. + </p> + <p> + In the excitement of the moment the Colonel hurried from the + spot. Horror possessed him; he felt no less than a murderer. + Again he walked and walked. Retribution had overtaken him. The + accursed habit that had disgraced him for twenty years had + wrought its punishment. Plunged into despair he plodded along the + streets, till at length, out of his stupefaction, came the + question—what would Amanda say? + </p> + <p> + With that an overwhelming truth awakened him. He was free. He + might have killed a man, but he certainly had killed his habit. + He felt the thing dead within him. Wildly he gazed around to see + where he was, and thought it a deed of fate that he had + unconsciously traveled toward the home of his love. For there + before his eyes was Amanda's cottage with the red geranium in her + window. He ran to the window and tapped mysteriously and peered + within. Then he ran to the door and knocked. It opened with a + vigorous swing. + </p> + <p> + "Mr. Pepper, what do you mean—tapping on my window in such + clandestine manner, and in broad daylight, too?" demanded Miss + Hill with a stern voice none of her scholars had ever heard. + </p> + <p> + "Amanda, dear, I am a murderer!" cried Pepper, in tones of + unmistakable joy. "I am a murderer, but I'll never do <i>it</i> + again." + </p> + <p> + "Laws!" exclaimed Miss Hill + </p> + <p> + He pushed her aside and closed the door, and got possession of + her hands, all the time pouring out incoherent speech, in which + only <i>it</i> was distinguishable. + </p> + <p> + "Man alive! Are you crazy?" asked Miss Hill, getting away from + him into a corner. But it happened to be a corner with a couch, + and when her trembling legs touched it she sat down. + </p> + <p> + "Never, never again will I do it!" cried the Colonel, with a + grand gesture. + </p> + <p> + "Can you talk sense?" faltered the schoolmistress. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Pepper flung himself down beside her, and with many + breathless stops and repetitions and eloquent glances and + applications of his bandana to his heated face, he finally got + his tragic story told. + </p> + <p> + "Is that all?" inquired Miss Hill, with a touch of sarcasm. "Why, + you're not a murderer, even if the man drowns, which isn't at all + likely. You've only fallen again." + </p> + <p> + "Fallen. But I never fell so terribly. This was the worst." + </p> + <p> + "Stuff! Where's the chivalry you tried to make me think you were + full of? Didn't you humiliate me, a poor helpless woman? Wasn't + that worse? Didn't you humiliate me before a crowd of people in a + candy-store? Could anything be more monstrous? You did <i>it</i>, + you remember?" + </p> + <p> + "Amanda! Never! Never!" gasped the Colonel. + </p> + <p> + "You did, and I let you think I believed your lies." + </p> + <p> + "Amanda! I'll never do it again, never to any one, so long as I + live. It's dead, same as the card tricks. Forgive me, Amanda, and + marry me. I'm so fond of you, and I'm so lonely, and those meadow + lots of mine, they'll make me rich. Amanda, would you marry me? + Would you love an old duffer like me? Would you like a nice + little home, and an occasional silk dress, and no more teaching, + and some one to love you—always? Would you, Amanda, would + you?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I would," replied Amanda. + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + <a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV + </h2> + <p> + Lane was returning from a restless wandering in the woods. As he + neared the flooded river he thought he heard a shout for help. He + hurried down to the bank, and looked around him, but saw no + living thing. Then he was brought up sharply by a cry, the + unmistakable scream of a human being in distress. It seemed to + come from behind a boathouse. Running as far round the building + as the water would permit he peered up and down the river in both + directions. + </p> + <p> + At first he saw only the half-submerged float, the sunken hull of + a launch, the fast-running river, and across the wide expanse of + muddy water the outline of the levee. Suddenly he spied out in + the river a piece of driftwood to which a man was clinging. + </p> + <p> + "Help! Help!" came faintly over the water. + </p> + <p> + Lane glanced quickly about him. Several boats were pulled up on + the shore, one of which evidently had been used by a boatman + collecting driftwood that morning, for it contained oars and a + long pike-pole. The boat was long, wide of beam, and flat of + bottom, with a sharp bow and a blunt stern, a craft such as + experienced rivermen used for heavy work. Without a moment's + hesitation Lane shoved it into the water and sprang aboard. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, short though the time had been, the log with its human + freight had disappeared beyond the open space in the willows. + </p> + <p> + Although Lane pulled a powerful stroke, when he got out of the + slack water into the current, so swift was it that the boat + sheered abruptly and went down stream with a sweep. Marking the + piece of driftwood and aided by the swiftly running stream Lane + soon overhauled it. + </p> + <p> + The log which the man appeared to be clutching was a square piece + of timber, probably a beam of a bridge, for it was long and full + of spikes. When near enough Lane saw that the fellow was not + holding on but was helpless and fast on the spikes. His head and + arms were above water. + </p> + <p> + Lane steered the boat alongside and shouted to the man. As he + made no outcry or movement, Lane, after shipping the oars, + reached over and grasped his collar. Steadying himself, so as not + to overturn the boat, Lane pulled him half-way over the gunwale, + and then with a second effort, he dragged him into the boat. + </p> + <p> + The man evidently had fainted after his last outcry. His body + slipped off the seat and flopped to the bottom of the boat where + it lay with the white face fully exposed to the glare of the sun. + A broad scar, now doubly sinister in the pallid face, disfigured + the brow. + </p> + <p> + Lane recoiled from the well-remembered features of Richard Swann. + </p> + <p> + "God Almighty!" he cried. And his caustic laughter rolled out + over the whirling waters. The boat, now disengaged from the + driftwood, floated swiftly down the river. + </p> + <p> + Lane stared in bewilderment at Swann's pale features. His + amazement at being brought so strangely face to face with this + man made him deaf to the increasing roar of the waters and blind + to the greater momentum of the boat. + </p> + <p> + A heavy thump, a grating sound and splintering of wood, followed + by a lurch of the boat and a splashing of cold water in his face + brought Lane back to a realization of the situation. + </p> + <p> + He looked up from the white face of the unconscious man. The boat + had turned round. He saw a huge stone that poked its ugly nose + above the water. He turned his face down stream. A sea of + irregular waves, twisting currents, dark, dangerous rocks and + patches of swirling foam met his gaze. + </p> + <p> + When Lane stood up, with a boatman's instinct, to see the water + far ahead, the spectacle thrilled him. A yellow flood, in + changeful yet consistent action, rolled and whirled down the wide + incline between the stony banks, and lost itself a mile below in + a smoky veil of mist. Visions of past scenes whipped in and out + his mind, and he saw an ocean careening and frothing under a + golden moon; a tide sweeping down, curdled with sand, a grim + stream of silt, rushing on with the sullen sweep of doom and the + wildfire of the prairie, leaping, cavorting, reaching out, + turning and shooting, irresistibly borne under the lash of the + wind. He saw in the current a live thing freeing itself in + terror. + </p> + <p> + A roar, like the blending of a thousand storms among the pines, + filled his ears and muffled his sense of hearing and appalled + him. He sat down with his cheeks blanching, his skin tightening, + his heart sinking, for in that roar he heard death. Escape was + impossible. The end he had always expected was now at hand. But + he was not to meet it alone. The man who had ruined his sister + and so many others must go to render his accounting, and in this + justice of fate Lane felt a wretched gratification. + </p> + <p> + The boat glanced with a hard grind on a rock and shot down a long + yellow incline; a great curling wave whirled back on Lane; a + heavy shock sent him flying from his seat; a gurgling demoniacal + roar deafened his ears and a cold eager flood engulfed him. He + was drawn under, as the whirlpool sucks a feather; he was tossed + up, as the wind throws a straw. The boat bobbed upright near him. + He grasped the gunwale and held on. + </p> + <p> + It bounced on the buffeting waves and rode the long swells like a + cork; it careened on the brink of falls and glided over them; it + thumped on hidden stones and floating logs; it sped by + black-nosed rocks; it drifted through fogs of yellow mist; it ran + on piles of driftwood; it trembled with the shock of beating + waves and twisted with the swirling current. + </p> + <p> + Still Lane held on with a vise-like clutch. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he seemed to feel some mighty propelling force under + him; he rose high with the stern of the boat. Then the bow + pitched down into a yawning hole. A long instant he and the boat + slid down a glancing fall—then thunderous + roar—furious contending wrestle—cold, yellow, flying + spray—icy, immersing, enveloping blackness! + </p> + <p> + A giant tore his hands from the boat. He whirled round and round + as he sank. A languid softness stole over him. He saw the smile + of his mother, the schoolmate of his boyhood, the old attic where + he played on rainy days, and the spotted cows in the pasture and + the running brook. He saw himself a tall young man, favorite of + all, winning his way in life that was bright. + </p> + <p> + Then terrible blows of his heart hammered at his ribs, throbs of + mighty pain burst his brain; great constrictions of his throat + choked him. He began fighting the encompassing waters with + frenzied strength. Up and up he fought his way to see at last the + light, to gasp at the air. But the flood sucked at him, a weight + pulled at his feet. As he went down again something hard struck + him. With the last instinctive desperate love of life in his + action he flung out his hand and grasped the saving thing. It was + the boat. He hooked his elbow over the gunwale. Then darkness + filmed over his eyes and he seemed to feel himself whirling round + and round, round and round. A long time, seemingly, he whirled, + while the darkness before his eyes gave way to smoky light, his + dead ears awoke to confused blur of sound. But the weight on his + numb legs did not lessen. + </p> + <p> + All at once the boat grated on a rock, and his knees struck. He + lay there holding on while life and sense seemed to return. + Something black and awful retreated. Then the rush and roar of + the rapids was again about him. He saw that he had drifted into a + back eddy behind the ledge of rock, and had whirled slowly round + and round with a miscellaneous collection of driftwood. + </p> + <p> + Lane steadied himself on the slippery ledge and got to his feet. + The boat was half full of water, out of which Swarm's ghastly + face protruded. By dint of great effort Lane pulled it sideways + on the ledge, and turned most of the water out. + </p> + <p> + Swann lay limp and sodden. But for his eyes he would have + appeared dead, and they shone with a conscious light of terror, + of passionate appeal and hope, the look with which a man prayed + for his life. Presently his lips moved imperceptibly. "Save me! + for God's sake, save me!" + </p> + <p> + Shuddering emotion that had the shock of electricity shook Lane. + In his ears again rang the sullen, hollow, reverberating boom of + the flood. Here was the man who had done most to harm him, + begging to be saved. Swann, poor wretch, was afraid to die; he + feared the unknown; he had a terror of that seething turmoil of + waters; he could not face the end of that cold ride. Why? + </p> + <p> + "Fool!" Lane cried, glaring wildly about him. Was it another + dream? Unreality swayed him again. He heard the roar, he saw the + splitting white-crested waves, the clouds of yellow vapor. He + beat his numb legs and shook himself like a savage dog. Then he + made a discovery—in some way he could not account for, the + oars had remained in the boat. They had been loose in their + oar-locks. + </p> + <p> + Questions formed in Lane's mind, questions that seemed put by a + dawning significance. Why had he heard the cry for help? Why had + he found the boat? Why had the drowning man proved to be one of + two men on earth he hated, one of the two men whom he wanted to + kill? Why had he drifted into the rapids? Why had he come safely + through a vortex of death? Why had Swann's lips formed that + prayer? Why had the oars remained in the boat? + </p> + <p> + Far below over the choppy sea of waves he saw a bridge. It was + his old familiar resting place. Through the white enveloping glow + he seemed to see himself standing on that bridge. Then came to + him a strange revelation. Yesterday he had stood on that bridge, + after seeing Blair for the last time. He had stood there while he + lived through an hour of the keenest anguish that had come to + him; and in that agony he had watched the plunging river. He had + watched it with eyes that could never forget. His mind, + exquisitely alive, with the sensibility of a plexus of racked and + broken nerves, had taken up every line, every channel and stone + and rapid of that flood, and had engraved them in ineffaceable + characters. With the unintelligible vagary of thought, while his + breast seemed crushed, his heart broken, he had imagined himself + adrift on that surging river, and he had planned his escape + through the rapids. + </p> + <p> + As Lane stood on the ledge, knee-deep in the water, with the + certainty that he had a perfect photograph of the field of + tumbling waters below in his mind's eye, a strange voice seemed + to whisper in his ear. + </p> + <p> + <i>"This is your great trial!"</i> + </p> + <p> + Without further hesitation he shoved the boat off the ledge. + </p> + <p> + Round and round the back eddy he floated. At the outlet on the + down-stream side, where the gleaming line of foam marked the + escape of water into the on-rushing current, he whirled his boat, + stern ahead. Down he shot with a plunge and then up with a rise. + Racing on over the uneven swells he felt the hissing spray, and + the malignant tips of the waves that broke their fury on the boat + and expended it in a shower of stinging drops. The wind cut his + face. He rode a sea of foam, then turgid rolling mounds of water + that heaved him up and up, and down long planes that laughed with + hollow boom, then into channels of smooth current, where the + torrent wreathed the black stones in yellowish white. + </p> + <p> + Lane saw the golden sun, the blue sky, the fleecy clouds, the red + and purple of the colored hills; and felt his chest expand with + the mounting glory of great effort. The muscles of his back and + arms, strengthened by the long toil with his heavy axe, rippled + and swelled and burned, and stretched like rubber cords, and + strung tight like steel bands. The boat was a toy. + </p> + <p> + He rodes the waves, and threaded a labyrinth of ugly stones, and + shot an unobstructed channel, and evaded a menacing drift. The + current carried him irresistibly onward. When his keen eye caught + danger ahead he sunk the oars deep and pulled back. A powerful + stroke made the boat pause, another turned her bow to the right + or left, then the swift water hitting her obliquely sheered her + in the safe direction. So Lane kept afloat through the spray that + smelled fresh and dank, through the crash and surge and roar and + boom, through the boiling caldron. + </p> + <p> + The descent quickened. On! On! he was borne with increasing + velocity. The yellow demons rose in fury. Boo—oom! + Boo—oom! The old river god voiced his remorseless roar. The + shrill screaming shriek of splitting water on sharp stones cut + into the boom. On! On! Into the yellow mist that might have been + smoke from hell streaked the boat, out upon a curving billow, + then down! down! upon an upheaving curl of frothy water. The + river, like a huge yellow mound, hurled its mass at Lane. All was + fog and steam and whistling spray and rumble. + </p> + <p> + At length the boat swept out into the open with a long plunge + over the last bit of roughened water. Here the current set in a + curve to the left, running off the rocky embankment into the + natural channel of the river. The dam was now only a couple of + hundred yards distant. The water was smooth and the drift had + settled to a slow, ponderous, sliding movement. + </p> + <p> + Lane pulled powerfully against the current and toward the + right-hand shore. That was closest. Besides, he remembered a long + sluice at the end of the dam where the water ran down as on a + mill-race. If he could row into that! + </p> + <p> + In front of Lane, extending some distance, was a broad unbroken + expanse of water leading to the dam. A tremendous roar issued + from that fall. The muddy spray and mist rose high. To drift over + there would be fatal. Logs and pieces of debris were kept rolling + there for hours before some vagary of current caught them and + released them. + </p> + <p> + Lane calculated the distance with cunning eye. He had been an + expert boatman all his boyhood days. By the expenditure of his + last bit of reserve strength he could make the sluice. And he + redoubled his efforts to such an extent that the boat scarcely + went down stream at all, yet edged closer to the right hand + shore. Lane saw a crowd of people on the bridge below the dam. + They were waving encouragement. He saw men run down the steep + river bank below the mill; and he knew they were going to be + ready to assist him if he were fortunate enough to ride down the + sluice into the shallow backwater on that side. + </p> + <p> + Rowing now with the most powerful of strokes, Lane kept the bow + of the boat upstream and a little to the right. Thus he gained + more toward the shore. But he must time the moment when it would + be necessary to turn sharply. + </p> + <p> + "I can—make—it," muttered Lane. He felt no + excitement. The thing had been given him to do. His strokes were + swift, but there was no hurry. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he felt a strange catching of breath in his lungs. He + coughed. Blood, warm and salt, welled up from his throat. Then + his bitter, strangled cry went out over the waters. At last he + understood the voices of the river. + </p> + <p> + Lane quickened his strokes. He swung the bow in. He pointed it + shoreward. Straight for the opening of the sluice! His last + strokes were prodigious. The boat swung the right way and shot + into the channel. Lane dropped his oars. He saw men below wading + knee-deep in the water. The boat rode the incline, down to the + long swell and curled yellow billows below, where it was checked + with violent shock. Lane felt himself propelled as if into + darkness. + </p> + <p> + When Lane opened his eyes he recognized as through a veil the + little parlor of the Idens. All about him seemed dim and far + away. Faces and voices were there, indistinguishable. A dark + cloud settled over his eyes. He dreamed but could not understand + the dreams. The black veil came and went. + </p> + <p> + What was the meaning of the numbness of his body? The immense + weight upon his breast! Then it seemed he saw better, though he + could not move. Sunlight streamed in at the window. Outside were + maple leaves, gold and red and purple, swaying gently. Then a + great roaring sound seemed to engulf him. The rapids? The voice + of the river. + </p> + <p> + Then Mel was there kneeling beside him. All save her face grew + vague. + </p> + <p> + "Swann?" he whispered. + </p> + <p> + "You saved his life," said Mel. + </p> + <p> + "Ah!" And straightway he forgot. + "Mel—what's—wrong—with me?" + </p> + <p> + Mel's face was like white marble and her hands on his trembled + violently. She could not answer. But he knew. There seemed to be + a growing shadow in the room. Her eyes held a terrible darkness. + </p> + <p> + "Mel, I—never told—you," he whispered. "I married + you—because I loved you.... But I was—jealous.... I + hated.... I couldn't forgive. I couldn't understand.... Now I + know. There's a law no woman—can transgress. Soul and love + are the same—in a woman. They must be inviolable.... If I + could have lived—I'd have surrendered to you. For I loved + you—beyond words to tell. It was love that made me well.... + But we could not have been happy. Never, with that spectre + between us.... And, so—it must be—always.... In spite + of war—and wealth—in spite of men—women must + rise...." + </p> + <p> + His voice failed, and again the strange rush and roar enveloped + him. But it seemed internal, dimmer and farther away. Mel's face + was fading. She spoke. And her words were sweet, without meaning. + Then the fading grayness merged into night. + </p> + <p> + THE END + </p> + <div class="ads"> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <h4> + <i>There's More to Follow!</i> + </h4> + <br /> + <blockquote> + <p> + More stories of the sort you like; more, probably, by the + author of this one; more than 500 titles all told by writers + of world-wide reputation, in the Authors' Alphabetical List + which you will find on the <i>reverse</i> <i>side</i> of the + wrapper of this book. Look it over before you lay it aside. + There are books here you are sure to want—some, + possibly, that you have <i>always</i> wanted. + </p> + <p> + It is a <i>selected</i> list; every book in it has achieved a + certain measure of <i>success</i>. + </p> + <p> + The Grosset & Dunlap list is not only the greatest Index + of Good Fiction available, it represents in addition a + generally accepted Standard of Value. It will pay you to + </p> + <p> + <i>Look on the Other Side of the Wrapper</i>! + </p> + <p> + <i>In case the wrapper is lost write to the publishers for a + complete catalog</i> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 13em;">ZANE GREY'S NOVELS</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">May be had wherever books are + sold. Ask for Grosset &</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Dunlap's list.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">TO THE LAST MAN</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE MYSTERIOUS RIDER</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE MAN OF THE FOREST</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE DESERT OF WHEAT</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE U.P. TRAIL</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">WILDFIRE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE BORDER LEGION</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE RAINBOW TRAIL</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE HERITAGE OF THE + DESERT</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">RIDERS OF THE PURPLE + SAGE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE LIGHT OF WESTERN + STARS</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE LAST OF THE + PLAINSMEN</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE LONE STAR RANGER</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">DESERT GOLD</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">BETTY ZANE</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 11.5em;">LAST OF THE GREAT + SCOUTS</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">The life story of "Buffalo + Bill" by his sister Helen</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Cody Wetmore, with Foreword and + conclusion by Zane</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Grey.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">ZANE GREY'S BOOKS FOR + BOYS</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE YOUNG LION HUNTER</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE YOUNG FORESTER</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE YOUNG PITCHER</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE SHORT STOP</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND + OTHER BASEBALL STORIES</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 8em;">GROSSET & DUNLAP, + PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 13em;">B.M. BOWER'S NOVELS</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">May be had wherever books are + sold. Ask for Grosset</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">and Dunlap's list.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE EAGLE'S WING</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE PAROWAN BONANZA</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE VOICE AT JOHNNYWATER</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">CASEY RYAN</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">CHIP OF THE FLYING U</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">COW-COUNTRY</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">FLYING U RANCH</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">FLYING U'S LAST STAND, + THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">GOOD INDIAN</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">GRINGOS, THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">HAPPY FAMILY, THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX, + THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">LONG SHADOW, THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">LONESOME TRAIL, THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">LOOKOUT MAN, THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">LURE OF THE DIM TRAILS, + THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">PHANTOM HERD, THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">QUIRT, THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">RANGE DWELLERS, THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">RIM O' THE WORLD</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">SKYRIDER</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">STARR OF THE DESERT</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THUNDER BIRD, THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">TRAIL OF THE WHITE MULE, + THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">UPHILL CLIMB, THE</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 8.5em;">GROSSET & DUNLAP, + PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 9.5em;">GEORGE W. OGDEN'S WESTERN + NOVELS</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;"><b>May be had wherever books + are sold. Ask for Grosset &</b></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;"><b>Dunlap's list.</b></span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE BARON OF DIAMOND + TAIL</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Elk Mountain Cattle Co. had + not paid a dividend in</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">years; so Edgar Barrett, fresh + from the navy, was sent</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">West to see what was wrong at + the ranch. The tale of</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">this tenderfoot outwitting the + buckaroos at their own</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">play will sweep you into the + action of this salient</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">western novel.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE BONDBOY</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Joe Newbolt, bound out by force + of family conditions</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">to work for a number of years, + is accused of murder</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">and circumstances are against + him. His mouth is</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">sealed; he cannot, as a + gentleman, utter the words</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">that would clear him. A + dramatic, romantic tale of</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">intense interest.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">CLAIM NUMBER ONE</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Dr. Warren Slavens drew claim + number one, which</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">entitled him to first choice of + rich lands on an</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Indian reservation in Wyoming. + It meant a fortune; but</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">before he established his + ownership he had a hard</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">battle with crooks and + politicians.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE DUKE OF CHIMNEY + BUTTE</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">When Jerry Lambert, "the Duke," + attempts to safeguard</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">the cattle ranch of Vesta + Philbrook from thieving</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">neighbors, his work is + appallingly handicapped because</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">of Grace Kerr, one of the chief + agitators, and a</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">deadly enemy of Vesta's. A + stirring tale of brave</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">deeds, gun-play and a love that + shines above all.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE FLOCKMASTER OF POISON + CREEK</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">John Mackenzie trod the trail + from Jasper to the great</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">sheep country where fortunes + were being made by the</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">flock-masters. Shepherding was + not a peaceful pursuit</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">in those bygone days. Adventure + met him at every</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">turn—there is a girl of + course—men fight their best</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">fights for a woman—it is + an epic of the sheeplands.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE LAND OF LAST CHANCE</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Jim Timberlake and Capt. David + Scott waited with</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">restless thousands on the + Oklahoma line for the signal</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">to dash across the border. How + the city of Victory</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">arose overnight on the plains, + how people savagely</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">defended their claims against + the "sooners;" how good</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">men and bad played politics, + makes a strong story of</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">growth and American + initiative.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">TRAIL'S END</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ascalon was the end of the + trail for thirsty cowboys</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">who gave vent to their pent-up + feelings without</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">restraint. Calvin Morgan was + not concerned with its</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">wickedness until Seth + Craddock's malevolence directed</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">itself against him. He did not + emerge from the</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">maelstrom until he had + obliterated every vestige of</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">lawlessness, and assured + himself of the safety of a</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">certain dark-eyed girl.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <b><i>Ask for Complete free list of G.& D. Popular + Copyrighted Fiction</i></b> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>GROSSET & DUNLAP, + PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK</b></span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 12em;">EMERSON HOUGH'S NOVELS</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">May be had wherever books are + sold. Ask for Grosset</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">and Dunlap's list</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE COVERED WAGON</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">NORTH OF 36</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE WAY OF A MAN</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE STORY OF THE OUTLAW</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE SAGEBRUSHER</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE GIRL AT THE HALFWAY + HOUSE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE WAY OUT</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE MAN NEXT DOOR</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE MAGNIFICENT + ADVENTURE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE BROKEN GATE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE STORY OF THE COWBOY</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE WAY TO THE WEST</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">54-40 OR FIGHT</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">HEART'S DESIRE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE PURCHASE PRICE</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 10.5em;">GROSSET & DUNLAP, + PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 12em;">PETER B. KYNE'S NOVELS</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">May be had wherever books are + sold. Ask for Grosset &</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Dunlap's list.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE PRIDE OF PALOMAR</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">When two strong men clash and + the under-dog has Irish</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">blood in his + veins—there's a tale that Kyne can tell!</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">And "the girl" is also very + much in evidence.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">KINDRED OF THE DUST</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Donald McKay, son of Hector + McKay, millionaire lumber</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">king, falls in love with "Nan + of the Sawdust Pile," a</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">charming girl who has been + ostracized by her</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">townsfolk.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE VALLEY OF THE GIANTS</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">The fight of the Cardigans, + father and son, to hold</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">the Valley of the Giants + against treachery. The reader</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">finishes with a sense of having + lived with big men and</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">women in a big country.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">CAPPY RICKS</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">The story of old Cappy Ricks + and of Matt Peasley, the</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">boy he tried to break because + he knew the acid test</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">was good for his soul.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">WEBSTER: MAN'S MAN</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">In a little Jim Crow Republic + in Central America, a</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">man and a woman, hailing from + the "States," met up</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">with a revolution and for a + while adventures and</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">excitement came so thick and + fast that their love</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">affair had to wait for a lull + in the game.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">CAPTAIN SCRAGGS</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">This sea yarn recounts the + adventures of three</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">rapscallion sea-faring + men—a Captain Scraggs, owner</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">of the green vegetable + freighter Maggie, Gibney the</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">mate and McGuffney the + engineer.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE LONG CHANCE</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">A story fresh from the heart of + the West, of San</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Pasqual, a sun-baked desert + town, of Harley P.</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hennage, the best gambler, the + best and worst man of</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">San Pasqual and of lovely + Donna.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 8em;">GROSSET & DUNLAP, + PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 12em;">JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD'S</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 12.5em;">STORIES OF ADVENTURE</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">May be had wherever books are + sold. Ask for Grosset &</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Dunlap's list.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE COUNTRY BEYOND</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE FLAMING FOREST</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE RIVER'S END</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE GOLDEN SNARE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">NOMADS OF THE NORTH</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">KAZAN</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">BAREE, SON OF KAZAN</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN + PLUM</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE DANGER TRAIL</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE HUNTED WOMAN</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE GRIZZLY KING</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">ISOBEL</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE WOLF HUNTERS</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE GOLD HUNTERS</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">HE COURAGE OF MARGE + O'DOONE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <i>Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular + Copyrighted Fiction</i> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 8em;">GROSSET & DUNLAP, + PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 11.5em;">BOOTH TARKINGTON'S + NOVELS</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;"><b>May be had wherever books + are sold. Ask for Grosset &</b></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;"><b>Dunlap's list.</b></span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by + Arthur William Brown.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">No one but the creator of + Penrod could have portrayed</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">the immortal young people of + this story. Its humor is</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">irresistible and reminiscent of + the time when the</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">reader was Seventeen.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon + Grant.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">This is a picture of a boy's + heart, full of the</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">lovable, humorous, tragic + things which are locked</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">secrets to most older folks. It + is a finished,</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">exquisite work.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by + Worth Brehm.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen," + this book contains some</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">remarkable phases of real + boyhood and some of the best</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">stories of juvenile + prankishness that have ever been</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">written.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by + C.E. Chambers.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, + imaginative youth, who</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">revolts against his father's + plans for him to be a</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">servitor of big business. The + love of a fine girl</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">turns Bibb's life from failure + to success.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. + Frontispiece.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">A story of love and + politics,—more especially a</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">picture of A country editor's + life in Indiana, but the</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">charm of the book lies in the + love interest.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">THE FLIRT. Illustrated by + Clarence F. Underwood.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">The "Flirt," the younger of two + sisters, breaks one</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">girl's engagement, drives one + man to suicide, causes</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">the murder of another, leads + another to lose his</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">fortune, and in the end marries + a stupid and</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">unpromising suitor, leaving the + really worthy one to</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">marry her sister.</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <b><i>Ask for Complete free lilt of G. & D. Popular + Copyrighted Fiction</i></b> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 8em;">GROSSET & DUNLAP, + PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 11.5em;">NOVELS OF FRONTIER + LIFE</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 12em;">WILLIAM MAC LEOD RAINE</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;"><b>May be had wherever books + are sold. Ask for Grosset</b></span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;"><b>and Dunlap's + list.</b></span> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">BIG-TOWN ROUND-UP, THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">BRAND BLOTTERS</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">BUCKY O'CONNOR</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">CROOKED TRAILS AND + STRAIGHT</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">DAUGHTER OF THE DONS, A</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">GUNSIGHT PASS</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">HIGHGRADER, THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">MAN FOUR-SQUARE, A</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">MAN-SIZE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">MAVERICKS</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">OH, YOU TEX!</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">PIRATE OF PANAMA, THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">RIDGWAY OF MONTANA</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">SHERIFF'S SON, THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">STEVE YEAGER</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">TANGLED TRAILS</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">TEXAS RANGER, A</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">VISION SPLENDID, THE</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">WYOMING</span> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">YUKON TRAIL, THE</span> + <br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="margin-left: 8em;">GROSSET & DUNLAP, + PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK</span> + <br /> + </p> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Day of the Beast, by Zane Grey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAY OF THE BEAST *** + +***** This file should be named 15673-h.htm or 15673-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/6/7/15673/ + +Produced by Alicia Williams, Sankar Viswanathan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + + </body> +</html> + diff --git a/15673.txt b/15673.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b8c472 --- /dev/null +++ b/15673.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11709 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Day of the Beast, by Zane Grey + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Day of the Beast + +Author: Zane Grey + +Release Date: April 21, 2005 [EBook #15673] +[Last updated: May 30, 2011] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAY OF THE BEAST *** + + + + +Produced by Alicia Williams, Sankar Viswanathan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + + + + + + THE DAY OF THE BEAST + + BY + + ZANE GREY + + AUTHOR OF TO THE LAST MAN, + THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT, + THE MYSTERIOUS RIDER, ETC. + + NEW YORK + GROSSET & DUNLAP + PUBLISHERS + + Made in the United States of America + + + THE DAY OF THE BEAST + + 1922 + By Zane Grey + Printed in the U.S.A. + + + + + + + THE DAY OF THE BEAST + + + + + DEDICATION + + + Herein is embodied my tribute to the American + men who gave themselves to the service in the great + war, and my sleepless and eternal gratitude for + what they did for me. + + ZANE GREY. + + + + + +THE DAY OF THE BEAST + + + + +CHAPTER I + +His native land! Home! + + +The ship glided slowly up the Narrows; and from its deck Daren Lane +saw the noble black outline of the Statue of Liberty limned against +the clear gold of sunset. A familiar old pang in his breast--longing +and homesickness and agony, together with the physical burn of gassed +lungs--seemed to swell into a profound overwhelming emotion. + +"My own--my native land!" he whispered, striving to wipe the dimness +from his eyes. Was it only two years or twenty since he had left his +country to go to war? A sense of strangeness dawned upon him. His +home-coming, so ceaselessly dreamed of by night and longed for by day, +was not going to be what his hopes had created. But at that moment his +joy was too great to harbor strange misgivings. How impossible for any +one to understand his feelings then, except perhaps the comrades who +had survived the same ordeal! + +The vessel glided on. A fresh cool spring breeze with a scent of land +fanned Lane's hot brow. It bore tidings from home. Almost he thought +he smelled the blossoms in the orchard, and the damp newly plowed +earth, and the smoke from the wood fire his mother used to bake over. +A hundred clamoring thoughts strove for dominance over his mind--to +enter and flash by and fade. His sight, however, except for the blur +that returned again and again, held fast to the entrancing and +thrilling scene--the broad glimmering sun-track of gold in the +rippling channel, leading his eye to the grand bulk of America's +symbol of freedom, and to the stately expanse of the Hudson River, +dotted by moving ferry-boats and tugs, and to the magnificent broken +sky-line of New York City, with its huge dark structures looming and +its thousands of windows reflecting the fire of the sun. + +It was indeed a profound and stirring moment for Daren Lane, but not +quite full, not all-satisfying. The great city seemed to frown. The +low line of hills in the west shone dull gray and cold. Where were the +screaming siren whistles, the gay streaming flags, the boats crowded +with waving people, that should have welcomed disabled soldiers who +had fought for their country? Lane hoped he had long passed by +bitterness, but yet something rankled in the unhealed wound of his +heart. + +Some one put a hand in close clasp upon his arm. Then Lane heard the +scrape of a crutch on the deck, and knew who stood beside him. + +"Well, Dare, old boy, does it look good to you?" asked a husky voice. + +"Yes, Blair, but somehow not just what I expected," replied Lane, +turning to his comrade. + +"Uhuh, I get you." + +Blair Maynard stood erect with the aid of a crutch. There was even a +hint of pride in the poise of his uncovered head. And for once Lane +saw the thin white face softening and glowing. Maynard's big brown +eyes were full of tears. + +"Guess I left my nerve as well as my leg over there," he said. + +"Blair, it's so good to get back that we're off color," returned Lane. +"On the level, I could scream like a madman." + +"I'd like to weep," replied the other, with a half laugh. + +"Where's Red? He oughtn't miss this." + +"Poor devil! He sneaked off from me somewhere," rejoined Maynard. +"Red's in pretty bad shape again. The voyage has been hard on him. I +hope he'll be well enough to get his discharge when we land. I'll take +him home to Middleville." + +"Middleville!" echoed Lane, musingly. "Home!... Blair, does it hit +you--kind of queer? Do you long, yet dread to get home?" + +Maynard had no reply for that query, but his look was expressive. + +"I've not heard from Helen for over a year," went on Lane, more as if +speaking to himself. + +"My God, Dare!" exclaimed his companion, with sudden fire. "Are you +still thinking of her?" + +"We--we are engaged," returned Lane, slowly. "At least we _were_. But +I've had no word that she----" + +"Dare, your childlike faith is due for a jar," interrupted his +comrade, with bitter scorn. "Come down to earth. You're a crippled +soldier--coming home--and damn lucky at that." + +"Blair, what do you know--that I do not know? For long I've suspected +you're wise to--to things at home. You know I haven't heard much in +all these long months. My mother wrote but seldom. Lorna, my kid +sister, forgot me, I guess.... Helen always was a poor correspondent. +Dal answered my letters, but she never _told_ me anything about home. +When we first got to France I heard often from Margie Henderson and +Mel Iden--crazy kind of letters--love-sick over soldiers.... But +nothing for a long time now." + +"At first they wrote! Ha! Ha!" burst out Maynard. "Sure, they wrote +love-sick letters. They sent socks and cigarettes and candy and books. +And they all wanted us to hurry back to marry them.... Then--when the +months had gone by and the novelty had worn off--when we went against +the hell of real war--sick or worn out, sleepless and miserable, +crippled or half demented with terror and dread and longing for +home--then, by God, they quit!" + +"Oh, no, Blair--not all of them," remonstrated Lane, unsteadily. + +"Well, old man, I'm sore, and you're about the only guy I can let out +on," explained Maynard, heavily. "One thing I'm glad of--we'll face it +together. Daren, we were kids together--do you remember?--playing on +the commons--straddling the old water-gates over the brooks--stealing +cider from the country presses--barefoot boys going to school +together. We played Post-Office with the girls and Indians with the +boys. We made puppy love to Dal and Mel and Helen and Margie--all of +them.... Then, somehow the happy thoughtless years of youth passed.... +It seems strange and sudden now--but the war came. We enlisted. We +had the same ideal--you and I.--We went to France--and you know what +we did there together.... Now we're on this ship--getting into port of +the good old U.S.--good as bad as she is!--going home together. Thank +God for that. I want to be buried in Woodlawn.... Home! Home?... We +feel its meaning. But, Dare, we'll have no home--no place.... We are +old--we are through--we have served--we are done.... What we dreamed +of as glory will be cold ashes to our lips, bitter as gall.... You +always were a dreamer, an idealist, a believer in God, truth, hope and +womanhood. In spite of the war these somehow survive in you.... But +Dare, old friend, steel yourself now against disappointment and +disillusion." + +Used as Lane was to his comrade's outbursts, this one struck +singularly home to Lane's heart and made him mute. The chill of his +earlier misgiving returned, augmented by a strange uneasiness, a +premonition of the unknown and dreadful future. But he threw it off. +Faith would not die in Lane. It could not die utterly because of what +he felt in himself. Yet--what was in store for him? Why was his hope +so unquenchable? There could be no _resurgam_ for Daren Lane. +Resignation should have brought him peace--peace--when every nerve in +his shell-shocked body racked him--when he could not subdue a mounting +hope that all would be well at home--when he quivered at thought of +mother, sister, sweetheart! + +The ship glided on under the shadow of America's emblem--a bronze +woman of noble proportions, holding out a light to ships that came in +the night--a welcome to all the world. Daren Lane held to his maimed +comrade while they stood bare-headed and erect for that moment when +the ship passed the statue. Lane knew what Blair felt. But nothing of +what that feeling was could ever be spoken. The deck of the ship was +now crowded with passengers, yet they were seemingly dead to anything +more than a safe arrival at their destination. They were not crippled +American soldiers. Except these two there were none in service +uniforms. There across the windy space of water loomed the many-eyed +buildings, suggestive of the great city. A low roar of traffic came on +the breeze. Passengers and crew of the liner were glad to dock before +dark. They took no notice of the rigid, erect soldiers. Lane, arm in +arm with Blair, face to the front, stood absorbed in his sense of a +nameless sublimity for them while passing the Statue of Liberty. The +spirit of the first man who ever breathed of freedom for the human +race burned as a white flame in the heart of Lane and his comrade. But +it was not so much that spirit which held them erect, aloof, proud. It +was a supreme consciousness of immeasurable sacrifice for an ideal +that existed only in the breasts of men and women kindred to them--an +unutterable and never-to-be-spoken glory of the duty done for others, +but that they owed themselves. They had sustained immense loss of +health and happiness; the future seemed like the gray, cold, gloomy +expanse of the river; and there could never be any reward except this +white fire of their souls. Nameless! But it was the increasing purpose +that ran through the ages. + +The ship docked at dark. Lane left Blair at the rail, gloomily gazing +down at the confusion and bustle on the wharf, and went below to +search for their comrade, Red Payson. He found him in his stateroom, +half crouched on the berth, apparently oblivious to the important +moment. It required a little effort to rouse Payson. He was a slight +boy, not over twenty-two, sallow-faced and freckled, with hair that +gave him the only name his comrades knew him by. Lane packed the boy's +few possessions and talked vehemently all the time. Red braced up, +ready to go, but he had little to say and that with the weary +nonchalance habitual with him. Lane helped him up on deck, and the +exertion, slight as it was, brought home to Lane that he needed help +himself. They found Maynard waiting. + +"Well, here we are--the Three Musketeers," said Lane, in a voice he +tried to make cheerful. + +"Where's the band?" inquired Maynard, sardonically. + +"Gay old New York--and me broke!" exclaimed Red Payson, as if to +himself. + +Then the three stood by the rail, at the gangplank, waiting for the +hurried stream of passengers to disembark. Down on the wharf under the +glaring white lights, swarmed a crowd from which rose a babel of +voices. A whistle blew sharply at intervals. The whirr and honk of +taxicabs, and the jangle of trolley cars, sounded beyond the wide dark +portal of the dock-house. The murky water below splashed between ship +and pier. Deep voices rang out, and merry laughs, and shrill glad +cries of welcome. The bright light shone down upon a motley, +dark-garbed mass, moving slowly. The spirit of the occasion was +manifest. + +When the three disabled soldiers, the last passengers to disembark, +slowly and laboriously descended to the wharf, no one offered to help +them, no one waited with a smile and hand-clasp of welcome. No one saw +them, except a burly policeman, who evidently had charge of the +traffic at the door. He poked his club into the ribs of the +one-legged, slowly shuffling Maynard and said with cheerful gruffness: +"Step lively, Buddy, step lively!" + +Lane, with his two comrades, spent three days at a barracks-hospital +for soldiers in Bedford Park. It was a long flimsy structure, bare +except for rows of cots along each wall, and stoves at middle, and +each end. The place was overcrowded with disabled service men, all +worse off than Lane and his comrades. Lane felt that he really was +keeping a sicker man than himself from what attention the hospital +afforded. So he was glad, at the end of the third day, to find they +could be discharged from the army. + +This enforced stay, when he knew he was on his way home, had seemed +almost unbearable to Lane. He felt that he had the strength to get +home, and that was about all. He began to expectorate blood--no +unusual thing for him--but this time to such extent that he feared the +return of hemorrhage. The nights seemed sleepless, burning, black +voids; and the days were hideous with noise and distraction. He wanted +to think about the fact that he was home--an astounding and +unbelievable thing. Once he went down to the city and walked on +Broadway and Fifth Avenue, taxing his endurance to the limit. But he +had become used to pain and exhaustion. So long as he could keep up he +did not mind. + +That day three powerful impressions were forced upon Lane, never to be +effaced. First he found that the change in him was vast and +incalculable and vague. He could divine but not understand. Secondly, +the men of the service, disabled or not, were old stories to New +Yorkers. Lane saw soldiers begging from pedestrians. He muttered to +himself: "By God, I'll starve to death before I ever do that!" He +could not detect any aloofness on the part of passers-by. They were +just inattentive. Lane remembered with sudden shock how differently +soldiers had been regarded two or three years ago. He had read lengthy +newspaper accounts of the wild and magnificent welcome accorded to the +first soldiers to return to New York. How strange the contrast! But +that was long ago--past history--buried under the immense and hurried +and inscrutable changes of a nation. Lane divined that, as he felt the +mighty resistless throb of the great city. His third and strongest +impression concerned the women he met and passed on the streets. Their +lips and cheeks were rouged. Their dresses were cut too low at the +neck. But even this fashion was not nearly so striking as the short +skirts, cut off at the knees, and in many cases above. At first this +roused a strange amaze in Lane. "What's the idea, I wonder?" he mused. +But in the end it disgusted him. He reflected that for two swift years +he had been out of the track of events, away from centers of +population. Paris itself had held no attraction for him. Dreamer and +brooder, he had failed to see the material things. But this third +impression troubled him more than the other two and stirred thoughts +he tried to dispel. Returning to the barracks he learned that he and +his friends would be free on the morrow; and long into the night he +rejoiced in the knowledge. Free! The grinding, incomprehensible +Juggernaut and himself were at the parting of the ways. Before he went +to sleep he remembered a forgotten prayer his mother had taught him. +His ordeal was over. What had happened did not matter. The Hell was +past and he must bury memory. Whether or not he had a month or a year +to live it must be lived without memories of his ordeal. + +Next day, at the railroad station, even at the moment of departure, +Lane and Blair Maynard had their problem with Red Payson. He did not +want to go to Blair's home. + +"But hell, Red, you haven't any home--any place to go," blurted out +Maynard. + +So they argued with him, and implored him, and reasoned with him. +Since his discharge from the hospital in France Payson had always been +cool, weary, abstracted, difficult to reach. And here at the last he +grew strangely aloof and stubborn. Every word that bore relation to +his own welfare seemed only to alienate him the more. Lane sensed +this. + +"See here, Red," he said, "hasn't it occurred to you that Blair and I +need you?" + +"Need me? What!" he exclaimed, with perceptible change of tone, though +it was incredulous. + +"Sure," interposed Blair. + +"Red--listen," continued Lane, speaking low and with difficulty. +"Blair and I have been through the--the whole show together.... And +we've been in the hospitals with you for months.... We've all +got--sort of to rely on each other.... Let's stick it out to the end. +I guess--you know--we may not have a long time...." + +Lane's voice trailed off. Then the stony face of the listener changed +for a fleeting second. + +"Boys, I'll go over with you," he said. + +And then the maimed Blair, awkward with his crutch and bag, insisted +on helping Lane get Red aboard the train. Red could just about walk. +Sombrely they clambered up the steps into the Pullman. + +Middleville was a prosperous and thriving inland town of twenty +thousand inhabitants, identical with many towns of about the same size +in the middle and eastern United States. + +Lane had been born there and had lived there all his life, seldom +having been away up to the advent of the war. So that the memories of +home and town and place, which he carried away from America with him, +had never had any chance, up to the time of his departure, to change +from the vivid, exaggerated image of boyhood. Since he had left +Middleville he had seen great cities, palaces, castles, edifices, he +had crossed great rivers, he had traveled thousands of miles, he had +looked down some of the famous thoroughfares of the world. + +Was this then the reason that Middleville, upon his arrival, seemed +so strange, sordid, shrunken, so vastly changed? He stared, even while +he helped Payson off the train--stared at the little brick station at +once so familiar and yet so strange, that had held a place of dignity +in the picture of his memory. The moment was one of shock. + +Then he was distracted from his pondering by tearful and joyful cries, +and deeper voices of men. He looked up to recognize Blair's mother, +father, sister; and men and women whose faces appeared familiar, but +whose names he could not recall. His acute faculty of perception took +quick note of a change in Blair's mother. Lane turned his gaze away. +The agony of joy and sorrow--the light of her face--was more than Lane +could stand. He looked at the sister Margaret--a tall, fair girl. She +had paint on her cheeks. She did not see Lane. Her strained gaze held +a beautiful and piercing intentness. Then her eyes opened wide, her +hand went to cover her mouth, and she cried out: "Oh Blair!--poor boy! +Brother!" + +Only Lane heard her. The others were crying out themselves as Blair's +gray-haired mother received him into her arms. She seemed a proud +woman, broken and unsteady. Red Payson's grip on Lane's arm told what +that scene meant to him. How pitiful the vain effort of Blair's people +to hide their horror! Presently mother and sister and women relatives +fell aside to let the soldier boy meet his father. This was something +that rang the bells in Lane's heart. Men were different, and Blair +faced his father differently. The wild boy had come home--the +scapegoat of many Middleville escapades had returned--the +ne'er-do-well sought his father's house. He had come home to die. It +was there in Blair's white face--the dreadful truth. He wore a ribbon +on his breast and he leaned on a crutch. For the instant, as father +and son faced each other, there was something in Blair's poise, his +look of an eagle, that carried home a poignant sense of his greatness. +Lane thrilled with it and a lump constricted his throat. Then with +Blair's ringing "Dad!" and the father's deep and broken: "My son! My +son!" the two embraced. + +In a stifling moment more it seemed, attention turned on Red Payson, +who stood nearest. Blair's folk were eager, kind, soft-spoken and warm +in their welcome. + +Then it came Lane's turn, and what they said or did he scarcely knew, +until Margaret kissed him. "Oh, Dare! I'm _so_ glad to see you home." +Tears were standing in her clear blue eyes. "You're changed, +but--not--not so much as Blair." + +Lane responded as best he could, and presently he found himself +standing at the curb, watching the car move away. + +"Come out to-morrow," called back Blair. + +The Maynard's car was carrying his comrades away. His first feeling +was one of gladness--the next of relief. He could be alone now--alone +to find out what had happened to him, and to this strange Middleville. +An old negro wearing a blue uniform accosted Lane, shook hands with +him, asked him if he had any baggage. "Yas sir, I sho knowed you, +Mistah Dare Lane. But you looks powerful bad." + +Lane crossed the station platform, and the railroad yard and tracks, +to make a short cut in the direction of his home. He shrank from +meeting any one. He had not sent word just when he would arrive, +though he had written his mother from New York that it would be soon, +He was glad that no one belonging to him had been at the station. He +wanted to see his mother in his home. Walking fast exhausted him, and +he had to rest. How dead his legs felt! In fact he felt queer all +over. The old burn and gnaw in his breast had expanded to a heavy, +full, suffocating sensation. Yet his blood seemed to race. Suddenly an +overwhelming emotion of rapture flooded over him. Home at last! He did +not think of any one. He was walking across the railroad yards where +as a boy he had been wont to steal rides on freight trains. Soon he +reached the bridge. In the gathering twilight he halted to clutch at +the railing and look out across where the waters met--where Sycamore +Creek flowed into Middleville River. The roar of water falling over +the dam came melodiously and stirringly to his ears. And as he looked +again he was assailed by that strange sense of littleness, of +shrunkenness, which had struck him so forcibly at the station. He +listened to the murmur of running water. Then, while the sweetness of +joy pervaded him, there seemed to rise from below or across the river +or from somewhere the same strange misgiving, a keener dread, a chill +that was not in the air, a fatal portent of the future. Why should +this come to mock him at such a sacred and beautiful moment? + +Passers-by stared at Lane, and some of them whispered, and one +hesitated, as if impelled to speak. Wheeling away Lane crossed the +bridge, turned up River Street, soon turned off again into a darker +street, and reaching High School Park he sat down to rest again. He +was almost spent. The park was quiet and lonely. The bare trees showed +their skeleton outlines against the cold sky. It was March and the air +was raw and chilly. This park that had once been a wonderful place now +appeared so small. Everything he saw was familiar yet grotesque in the +way it had become dwarfed. Across the street from where he sat lights +shone in the windows of a house. He knew the place. Who lived there? +One of the girls--he had forgotten which. From somewhere the +discordance of a Victrola jarred on Lane's sensitive ears. + +Lifting his bag he proceeded on his way, halting every little while to +catch his breath. When he turned a corner into a side street, +recognizing every tree and gate and house, there came a gathering and +swelling of his emotions and he began to weaken and shake. He was +afraid he could not make it half way up the street. But he kept on. +The torture now was more a mingled rapture and grief than the physical +protest of his racked body. At last he saw the modest little +house--and then he stood at the gate, quivering. Home! A light in the +window of his old room! A terrible and tremendous storm of feeling +forced him to lean on the gate. How many endless hours had the +pictured memory of that house haunted him? There was the beloved room +where he had lived and slept and read, and cherished over his books +and over his compositions a secret hope and ambition to make of +himself an author. How strange to remember that! But it was true. His +day labor at Manton's office, for all the years since he had graduated +from High School, had been only a means to an end. No one had dreamed +of his dream. Then the war had come and now his hope, if not his +faith, was dead. Never before had the realization been so galling, so +bitter. Endlessly and eternally he must be concerned with himself. He +had driven that habit of thought away a million times, but it would +return. All he had prayed for was to get home--only to reach home +alive--to see his mother, and his sister Lorna--and Helen--and +then.... But he was here now and all that prayer was falsehood. Just +to get home was not enough.. He had been cheated of career, love, +happiness. + +It required extreme effort to cross the little yard, to mount the +porch. In a moment more he would see his mother. He heard her within, +somewhere at the back of the house. Wherefore he tip-toed round to the +kitchen door. Here he paused, quaking. A cold sweat broke out all over +him. Why was this return so dreadful? He pressed a shaking hand over +his heart. How surely he knew he could not deceive his mother! The +moment she saw him, after the first flash of joy, she would see the +wreck of the boy she had let go to war. Lane choked over his emotion, +but he could not spare her. Opening the door he entered. + +There she stood at the stove and she looked up at the sound he made. +Yes! but stranger than all other changes was the change in her. She +was not the mother of his boyhood. Nor was the change alone age or +grief or wasted cheek. The moment tore cruelly at Lane's heart. She +did not recognize him swiftly. But when she did.... + +"Oh God!... Daren! My boy!" she whispered. + +"Mother!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +His mother divined what he knew. And her embrace was so close, almost +fierce in its tenderness, her voice so broken, that Lane could only +hide his face over her, and shut his eyes, and shudder in an ecstasy. +God alone had omniscience to tell what his soul needed, but something +of it was embodied in home and mother. + +That first acute moment past, he released her, and she clung to his +hands, her face upturned, her eyes full of pain and joy, and woman's +searching power, while she broke into almost incoherent speech; and he +responded in feeling, though he caught little of the content of her +words, and scarcely knew what he was saying. + +Then he reeled a little and the kitchen dimmed in his sight. Sinking +into a chair and leaning on the table he fought his weakness. He came +close to fainting. But he held on to his sense, aware of his mother +fluttering over him. Gradually the spell passed. + +"Mother--maybe I'm starved," he said, smiling at her. + +That practical speech released the strain and inspired his mother to +action. She began to bustle round the kitchen, talking all the while. +Lane watched her and listened, and spoke occasionally. Once he asked +about his sister Lorna, but his mother either did not hear or chose +not to reply. All she said was music to his ears, yet not quite what +his heart longed for. He began to distrust this strange longing. There +was something wrong with his mind. His faculties seemed too sensitive. +Every word his mother uttered was news, surprising, unusual, as if it +emanated from a home-world that had changed. And presently she dropped +into complaint at the hard times and the cost of everything. + +"Mother," he interrupted, "I didn't blow my money. I've saved nearly a +year's pay. It's yours." + +"But, Daren, you'll need money," she protested. + +"Not much. And maybe--I'll be strong enough to go to work--presently," +he said, hopefully. "Do you think Manton will take me back--half days +at first?" + +"I have my doubts, Daren," she replied, soberly. "Hattie Wilson has +your old job. And I hear they're pleased with her. Few of the boys got +their places back." + +"Hattie Wilson!" exclaimed Lane. "Why, she was a kid in the eighth +grade when I left home." + +"Yes, my son. But that was nearly three years ago. And the children +have sprung up like weeds. Wild weeds!" + +"Well! That tousle-headed Wilson kid!" mused Lane. An uneasy +conviction of having been forgotten dawned upon Lane. He remembered +Blair Maynard's bitter prophecy, which he had been unable to accept. + +"Anyway, Daren, are you able to work?" asked his mother. + +"Sure," he replied, lying cheerfully, with a smile on his face. "Not +hard work, just yet, but I can do something." + +His mother did not share his enthusiasm. She went on preparing the +supper. + +"How do you manage to get along?" inquired Lane. + +"Lord only knows," she replied, sombrely. "It has been very hard. When +you left home I had only the interest on your father's life insurance. +I sold the farm--" + +"Oh, no!" exclaimed Lane, with a rush of boyhood memories. + +"I had to," she went on. "I made that money help out for a long time. +Then I--I mortgaged this place.... Things cost so terribly. And Lorna +had to have so much more.... But she's just left school and gone to +work. That helps." + +"Lorna left school!" ejaculated Lane, incredulously. "Why, mother, she +was only a child. Thirteen years old when I left! She'll miss her +education. I'll send her back." + +"Well, son, I doubt if you can make Lorna do anything she doesn't want +to do," returned his mother. "She wanted to quit school--to earn +money. Whatever she was when you left home she's grown up now. You'll +not know her." + +"Know Lorna! Why, mother dear, I carried Lorna's picture all through +the war." + +"You won't know her," returned Mrs. Lane, positively. "My boy, these +years so short to you have been ages here at home. You will find your +sister--different from the little girl you left. You'll find all the +girls you knew changed--changed. I have given up trying to understand +what's come over the world." + +"How--about Helen?" inquired Lane, with strange reluctance and +shyness. + +"Helen who?" asked his mother. + +"Helen Wrapp, of course," replied Lane, quickly in his surprise. "The +girl I was engaged to when I left." + +"Oh!--I had forgotten," she sighed. + +"Hasn't Helen been here to see you?" + +"Let me see--well, now you tax me--I think she did come once--right +after you left." + +"Do you--ever see her?" he asked, with slow heave of breast. + +"Yes, now and then, as she rides by in an automobile. But she never +sees me.... Daren, I don't know what your--your--that engagement means +to you, but I must tell you--Helen Wrapp doesn't conduct herself as if +she were engaged. Still, I don't know what's in the heads of girls +to-day. I can only compare the present with the past." + +Lane did not inquire further and his mother did not offer more +comment. At the moment he heard a motor car out in front of the house, +a girl's shrill voice in laughter, the slamming of a car-door--then +light, quick footsteps on the porch. Lane could look from where he sat +to the front door--only a few yards down the short hall. The door +opened. A girl entered. + +"That's Lorna," said Lane's mother. He grew aware that she bent a +curious gaze upon his face. + +Lane rose to his feet with his heart pounding, and a strange sense of +expectancy. His little sister! Never during the endless months of +drudgery, strife and conflict, and agony, had he forgotten Lorna. Not +duty, nor patriotism, had forced him to enlist in the army before the +draft. It had been an ideal which he imagined he shared with the +millions of American boys who entered the service. Too deep ever to be +spoken of! The barbarous and simian Hun, with his black record against +Belgian, and French women, should never set foot on American soil. + +In the lamplight Lane saw this sister throw coat and hat on the +banister, come down the hall and enter the kitchen. She seemed tall, +but her short skirt counteracted that effect. Her bobbed hair, curly +and rebellious, of a rich brown-red color, framed a pretty face Lane +surely remembered. But yet not the same! He had carried away memory of +a child's face and this was a woman's. It was bright, piquant, with +darkly glancing eyes, and vivid cheeks, and carmine lips. + +"Oh, _hot dog_! if it isn't Dare!" she squealed, and with radiant look +she ran into his arms. + +The moment, or moments, of that meeting between brother and sister +passed, leaving Lane conscious of hearty welcome and a sense of +unreality. He could not at once adjust his mental faculties to an +incomprehensible difference affecting everything. + +They sat down to supper, and Lane, sick, dazed, weak, found eating his +first meal at home as different as everything else from what he had +expected. There had been no lack of warmth or love in Lorna's welcome, +but he suffered disappointment. Again for the hundredth time he put +it aside and blamed his morbid condition. Nothing must inhibit his +gladness. + +Lorna gave Lane no chance to question her. She was eager, voluble, +curious, and most disconcertingly oblivious of a possible +sensitiveness in Lane. + +"Dare, you look like a dead one," she said. "Did you get shot, +bayoneted, gassed, shell-shocked and all the rest? Did you go over the +top? Did you kill any Germans? Gee! did you get to ride in a +war-plane? Come across, now, and tell me." + +"I guess about--everything happened to me--except going west," +returned Lane. "But I don't want to talk about that. I'm too glad to +be home." + +"What's that on your breast?" she queried, suddenly, pointing at the +_Croix de Guerre_ he wore. + +"That? Lorna, that's my medal." + +"Gee! Let me see." She got up and came round to peer down closely, to +finger the decoration. "French! I never saw one before.... Daren, +haven't you an American medal too?" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"My dear sister, that's hard to say. Because I didn't deserve it, most +likely." + +She leaned back to gaze more thoughtfully at him. + +"What did you get this for?" + +"It's a long story. Some day I'll tell you." + +"Are you proud of it?" + +For answer he only smiled at her. + +"It's so long since the war I've forgotten so many things," she said, +wonderingly. Then she smiled sweetly. "Dare, I'm proud of you." + +That was a moment in which his former emotion seemed to stir for her. +Evidently she had lost track of something once memorable. She was +groping back for childish impressions. It was the only indication of +softness he had felt in her. How impossible to believe Lorna was only +fifteen! He could form no permanent conception of her. But in that +moment he sensed something akin to a sister's sympathy, some vague and +indefinable thought in her, too big for her to grasp. He never felt it +again. The serious sweet mood vanished. + +"Hot dog! I've a brother with the _Croix de Guerre_. I'll swell up +over that. I'll crow over some of these Janes." + +Thus she talked on while eating her supper. And Lane tried to eat +while he watched her. Presently he moved his chair near to the stove. +Lorna did not wait upon her mother. It was the mother who did the +waiting, as silently she moved from table to stove. + +Lorna's waist was cut so low that it showed the swell of her breast. +The red color of her cheeks, high up near her temples, was not +altogether the rosy line of health and youth. Her eyebrows were only +faint, thin, curved lines, oriental in effect. She appeared to be +unusually well-developed in body for so young a girl. And the air of +sophistication, of experience that seemed a part of her manner +completely mystified Lane. If it had not been for the slangy speech, +and the false color in her face, he would have been amused at what he +might have termed his little sister's posing as a woman of the world. +But in the light of these he grew doubtful of his impression. Lastly, +he saw that she wore her stockings rolled below her knees and that the +edge of her short skirt permitted several inches of her bare legs to +be seen. And at that he did not know what to think. He was stunned. + +"Daren, you served a while under Captain Thesel in the war," she said. + +"Yes, I guess I did," replied Lane, with sombre memory resurging. + +"Do you know he lives here?" + +"I knew him here in Middleville several years before the war." + +"He's danced with me at the Armory. Some swell dancer! He and Dick +Swann and Hardy MacLean sometimes drop in at the Armory on Saturday +nights. Captain Thesel is chasing Mrs. Clemhorn now. They're always +together.... Daren, did he ever have it in for you?" + +"He never liked me. We never got along here in Middleville. And +naturally in the service when he was a captain and I only a +private--we didn't get along any better." + +"Well, I've heard Captain Thesel was to blame for--for what was said +about you last summer when he came home." + +"And what was that, Lorna?" queried Lane, curiously puzzled at her, +and darkly conscious of the ill omen that had preceded him home. + +"You'll not hear it from me," declared Lorna, spiritedly. "But that +_Croix de Guerre_ doesn't agree with it, I'll tell the world." + +A little frown puckered her smooth brow and there was a gleam in her +eye. + +"Seems to me I heard some of the kids talking last summer," she mused, +ponderingly. "Vane Thesel was stuck on Mel Iden and Dot Dalrymple both +before the war. Dot handed him a lemon. He's still trying to rush Dot, +and the gossip is he'd go after Mel even now on the sly, if she'd +stand for it." + +"Why on the sly?" inquired Lane. "Before I left home Mel Iden was +about the prettiest and most popular girl in Middleville. Her people +were poor, and ordinary, perhaps, but she was the equal of any one." + +"Thesel couldn't rush Mel now and get away with it, unless on the +q-t," replied Lorna. "Haven't you heard about Mel?" + +"No, you see the fact is, my few correspondents rather neglected to +send me news," said Lane. + +The significance of this was lost upon his sister. She giggled. "Hot +dog! You've got some kicks coming, I'll say!" + +"Is that so," returned Lane, with irritation. "A few more or less +won't matter.... Lorna, do you know Helen Wrapp?" + +"That red-headed dame!" burst out Lorna, with heat. "I should smile I +do. She's one who doesn't shake a shimmy on tea, believe me." + +Lane was somewhat at a loss to understand his sister's intimation, but +as it was vulgarly inimical, and seemed to hold some subtle personal +scorn or jealousy, he shrank from questioning her. This talk with his +sister was the most unreal happening he had ever experienced. He could +not adjust himself to its verity. + +"Helen Wrapp is nutty about Dick Swann," went on Lorna. "She drives +down to the office after----" + +"Lorna, do you know Helen and I are engaged?" interrupted Lane. + +"Hot dog!" was that young lady's exposition of utter amaze. She stared +at her brother. + +"We were engaged," continued Lane. "She wore my ring. When I enlisted +she wanted me to marry her before I left. But I wouldn't do that." + +Lorna promptly recovered from her amaze. "Well, it's a damn lucky +thing you didn't take her up on that marriage stuff." + +There was a glint of dark youthful passion in Lorna's face. Lane felt +rise in him a desire to bid her sharply to omit slang and profanity +from the conversation. But the desire faded before his bewilderment. +All had suffered change. What had he come home to? There was no clear +answer. But whatever it was, he felt it to be enormous and staggering. +And he meant to find out. Weary as was his mind, it grasped peculiar +significances and deep portents. + +"Lorna, where do you work?" he began, shifting his interest. + +"At Swann's," she replied. + +"In the office--at the foundry?" he asked. + +"No. Mr. Swann's at the head of the leather works." + +"What do you do?" + +"I type letters," she answered, and rose to make him a little bow that +held the movement and the suggestion of a dancer. + +"You've learned stenography?" he asked, in surprise. + +"I'm learning shorthand," replied Lorna. "You see I had only a few +weeks in business school before Dick got me the job." + +"Dick Swann? Do you work for him?" + +"No. For the superintendent, Mr. Fryer. But I go to Dick's office to +do letters for him some of the time." + +She appeared frank and nonchalant, evidently a little proud of her +important position. She posed before Lane and pirouetted with fancy +little steps. + +"Say, Dare, won't you teach me a new dance--right from Paris?" she +interposed. "Something that will put the shimmy and toddle out of +biz?" + +"Lorna, I don't know what the shimmy and toddle are. I've only heard +of them." + +"Buried alive, I'll say," she retorted. + +Lane bit his tongue to keep back a hot reprimand. He looked at his +mother, who was clearing off the supper table. She looked sad. The +light had left her worn face. Lane did not feel sure of his ground +here. So he controlled his feelings and directed his interest toward +more news. + +"Of course Dick Swann was in the service?" he asked. + +"No. He didn't go," replied Lorna. + +The information struck Lane singularly. Dick Swann had always been a +prominent figure in the Middleville battery, in those seemingly long +past years since before the war. + +"Why didn't Dick go into the service? Why didn't the draft get him?" + +"He had poor eyesight, and his father needed him at the iron works." + +"Poor eyesight!" ejaculated Lane. "He was the best shot in the +battery--the best hunter among the boys. Well, that's funny." + +"Daren, there are people who called Dick Swann a slacker," returned +Lorna, as if forced to give this information. "But I never saw that it +hurt him. He's rich now. His uncle left him a million, and his father +will leave him another. And I'll say it's the money people want these +days." + +The materialism so pregnant in Lorna's half bitter reply checked +Lane's further questioning. He edged closer to the stove, feeling a +little cold. A shadow drifted across the warmth and glow of his mind. +At home now he was to be confronted with a monstrous and insupportable +truth--the craven cowardice of the man who had been eligible to +service in army or navy, and who had evaded it. In camp and trench and +dug-out he had heard of the army of slackers. And of all the vile and +stark profanity which the war gave birth to on the lips of miserable +and maimed soldiers, that flung on the slackers was the worst. + +"I've got a date to go to the movies," said Lorna, and she bounced out +of the kitchen into the hall singing: + + "Oh by heck + You never saw a wreck + Like the wreck she made of me." + +She went upstairs, while Lane sat there trying to adapt himself to a +new and unintelligible environment. His mother began washing the +dishes. Lane felt her gaze upon his face, and he struggled against all +the weaknesses that beset him. + +"Mother, doesn't Lorna help you with the house work?" he asked. + +"She used to. But not any more." + +"Do you let her go out at night to the movies--dances, and all that?" + +Mrs. Lane made a gesture of helplessness. "Lorna goes out all the +time. She's never here. She stays out until midnight--one +o'clock--later. She's popular with the boys. I couldn't stop her even +if I wanted to. Girls can't be stopped these days. I do all I can for +her--make her dresses--slave for her--hoping she'll find a good +husband. But the young men are not marrying." + +"Good Heavens, are you already looking for a husband for Lorna?" broke +out Lane. + +"You don't understand, Dare. You've been away so long. Wait till +you've seen what girls--are nowadays. Then you'll not wonder that I'd +like to see Lorna settled." + +"Mother, you're right," he said, gravely. "I've been away so--long. +But I'm back home now. I'll soon get on to things. And I'll help you. +I'll take Lorna in hand. I'll relieve you of a whole lot." + +"You were always a good boy, Daren, to me and Lorna," murmured Mrs. +Lane, almost in tears. "It's cheered me to get you home, yet.... Oh, +if you were well and strong!" + +"Never mind, mother. I'll get better," he replied, rising to take up +his bag. "I guess now I'd better go to bed. I'm just about all in.... +Wonder how Blair and Red are." + +His mother followed him up the narrow stairway, talking, trying to +pretend she did not see his dragging steps, his clutch on the +banisters. + +"Your room's just as you left it," she said, opening the door. Then on +the threshold she kissed him. "My son, I thank God you have come home +alive. You give me hope in--in spite of all.... If you need me, call. +Good night." + +Lane was alone in the little room that had lived in waking and +dreaming thought. Except to appear strangely smaller, it had not +changed. His bed and desk--the old bureau--the few pictures--the +bookcase he had built himself--these were identical with images in his +memory. + +A sweet and wonderful emotion of peace pervaded his soul--fulfilment +at last of the soldier's endless longing for home, bed, quiet, rest. + +"If I have to die--I can do it _now_ without hate of all around me," +he whispered, in the passion of his spirit. + +But as he sat upon his bed, trying with shaking and clumsy hands to +undress himself, that exalted mood flashed by. Some of the dearest +memories of his life were associated with this little room. Here he +had dreamed; here he had read and studied; here he had fought out some +of the poignant battles of youth. So much of life seemed behind him. +At last he got undressed, and extinguishing the light, he crawled into +bed. + +The darkness was welcome, and the quiet was exquisitely soothing. He +lay there, staring into the blackness, feeling his body sink slowly as +if weighted. How cool and soft the touch of sheets! Then, the river of +throbbing fire that was his blood, seemed to move again. And the dull +ache, deep in the bones, possessed his nerves. In his breast there +began a vibrating, as if thousands of tiny bubbles were being pricked +to bursting in his lungs. And the itch to cough came back to his +throat. And all his flesh seemed in contention with a slowly ebbing +force. Sleep might come perhaps after pain had lulled. His heart beat +unsteadily and weakly, sometimes with a strange little flutter. How +many weary interminable hours had he endured! But to-night he was too +far spent, too far gone for long wakefulness. He drifted away and sank +as if into black oblivion where there sounded the dreadful roll of +drums, and images moved under gray clouds, and men were running like +phantoms. He awoke from nightmares, wet with cold sweat, and lay +staring again at the blackness, once more alive to recurrent pain. +Pain that was an old, old story, yet ever acute and insistent and +merciless. + +The night wore on, hour by hour. The courthouse clock rang out one +single deep mellow clang. One o'clock! Lane thrilled to the sound. It +brought back the school days, the vacation days, the Indian summer +days when the hills were golden and the purple haze hung over the +land--the days that were to be no more for Daren Lane. + +In the distance somewhere a motor-car hummed, and came closer, louder +down the street, to slow its sound with sliding creak and jar outside +in front of the house. Lane heard laughter and voices of a party of +young people. Footsteps, heavy and light, came up the walk, and on to +the porch. Lorna was returning rather late from the motion-picture, +thought Lane, and he raised his head from the pillow, to lean toward +the open window, listening. + +"Come across, kiddo," said a boy's voice, husky and low. + +Lane heard a kiss--then another. + +"Cheese it, you boob!" + +"Gee, your gettin' snippy. Say, will you ride out to Flesher's +to-morrow night?" + +"Nothing doing, I've got a date. Good night." + +The hall door below opened and shut. Footsteps thumped off the porch +and out to the street. Lane heard the giggle of girls, the snap of a +car-door, the creaking of wheels, and then a low hum, dying away. + +Lorna came slowly up stairs to enter her room, moving quietly. And +Lane lay on his bed, wide-eyed, staring into the blackness. "My little +sister," he whispered to himself. And the words that had meant so much +seemed a mockery. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Lane saw the casement of his window grow gray with the glimmering +light of dawn. After that he slept several hours. When he awoke it was +nine o'clock. The long night with its morbid dreams and thoughts had +passed, and in the sunshine of day he saw things differently. + +To move, to get up was not an easy task. It took stern will, and all +the strength of muscle he had left, and when he finally achieved it +there was a clammy dew of pain upon his face. With slow guarded +movements he began to dress himself. Any sudden or violent action +might burst the delicate gassed spots in his lungs or throw out of +place one of the lower vertebrae of his spine. The former meant death, +and the latter bent his body like a letter S and caused such +excruciating agony that it was worse than death. These were his two +ever-present perils. The other aches and pains he could endure. + +He shaved and put on clean things, and his best coat, and surveyed +himself in the little mirror. He saw a thin face, white as marble, but +he was not ashamed of it. His story was there to read, if any one had +kind enough eyes to see. What would Helen think of him--and Margaret +Maynard--and Dal--and Mel Iden? Bitter curiosity seemed his strongest +feeling concerning his fiancee. He would hold her as engaged to him +until she informed him she was not. As for the others, thought of +them quickened his interest, especially in Mel. What had happened to +her. + +It was going to be wonderful to meet them--and to meet everybody he +had once known. Wonderful because he would see what the war had done +to them and they would see what it had done to him. A peculiar +significance lay between his sister and Helen--all these girls, and +the fact of his having gone to war. + +"They may not think of it, but _I know_," he muttered to himself. And +he sat down upon his bed to plan how best to meet them, and others. He +did not know what he was going to encounter, but he fortified himself +against calamity. Strange portent of this had crossed the sea to haunt +him. As soon as he was sure of what had happened in Middleville, of +the attitude people would have toward a crippled soldier, and of what +he could do with the month or year that might be left him to live, +then he would know his own mind. All he sensed now was that there had +been some monstrous inexplicable alteration in hope, love, life. His +ordeal of physical strife, loneliness, longing was now over, for he +was back home. But he divined that his greater ordeal lay before him, +here in this little house, and out there in Middleville. All the +subtlety, intelligence, and bitter vision developed by the war +sharpened here to confront him with terrible possibilities. Had his +countrymen, his people, his friends, his sweetheart, all failed him? +Was there justice in Blair Maynard's scorn? Lane's faith cried out in +revolt. He augmented all possible catastrophe, and then could not +believe that he had sacrificed himself in vain. He knew himself. In +him was embodied all the potentiality for hope of the future. And it +was with the front and stride of a soldier, facing the mystery, the +ingratitude, the ignorance and hell of war, that he left his room and +went down stairs to meet the evils in store. + +His mother was not in the kitchen. The door stood open. He heard her +outside talking to a neighbor woman, over the fence. + +"--Daren looks dreadful," his mother was saying in low voice. "He +could hardly walk.... It breaks my heart. I'm glad to have him +along--but to see him waste away, day by day, like Mary Dean's boy--" +she broke off. + +"Too bad! It's a pity," replied the neighbor. "Sad--now it comes home +to us. My son Ted came in last night and said he'd talked with a boy +who'd seen young Maynard and the strange soldier who was with him. +They must be worse off than Daren--Blair Maynard with only one leg +and--" + +"Mother, where are you? I'm hungry," called Lane, interrupting that +conversation. + +She came hurriedly in, at once fearful he might have heard, and +solicitous for his welfare. + +"Daren, you look better in daylight--not so white," she said. "You sit +down now, and let me get your breakfast." + +Lane managed to eat a little this morning, which fact delighted his +mother. + +"I'm going to see Dr. Bronson," said Lane, presently. "Then I'll go to +Manton's, and round town a little. And if I don't tire out I'll call +on Helen. Of course Lorna has gone to work?" + +"Oh yes, she leaves at half after eight." + +"Mother, I was awake last night when she got home," went on Lane, +seriously. "It was one o'clock. She came in a car. I heard girls +tittering. And some boy came up on the porch with Lorna and kissed +her. Well, that might not mean much--but something about their talk, +the way it was done--makes me pretty sick. Did you know this sort of +thing was going on?" + +"Yes. And I've talked with mothers who have girls Lorna's age. They've +all run wild the last year or so. Dances and rides! Last summer I was +worried half to death. But we mothers don't think the girls are really +_bad_. They're just crazy for fun, excitement, boys. Times and +pleasures have changed. The girls say the mothers don't understand. +Maybe we don't. I try to be patient. I trust Lorna. I can't see +through it all." + +"Don't worry, mother," said Lane, patting her hand. "I'll see through +it for you. And if Lorna is--well, running too much--wild as you +said--I'll stop her." + +His mother shook her head. + +"One thing we mothers all agree on. These girls, of this generation, +say fourteen to sixteen, _can't_ be stopped." + +"Then that is a serious matter. It must be a peculiarity of the day. +Maybe the war left this condition." + +"The war changed all things, my son," replied his mother, sadly. + +Lane walked thoughtfully down the street toward Doctor Bronson's +office. As long as he walked slowly he managed not to give any hint of +his weakness. The sun was shining with steely brightness and the March +wind was living up to its fame. He longed for summer and hot days in +quiet woods or fields where daisies bloomed. Would he live to see the +Indian summer days, the smoky haze, the purple asters? + +Lane was admitted at once into the office of Doctor Bronson, a little, +gray, slight man with shrewd, kind eyes and a thoughtful brow. For +years he had been a friend as well as physician to the Lanes, and he +had always liked Daren. His surprise was great and his welcome warm. +But a moment later he gazed at Lane with piercing eyes. + +"Look here, boy, did you go to the bad over there?" he demanded. + +"How do you mean, Doctor?" + +"Did you let down--debase yourself morally?" + +"No. But I went to the bad physically and spiritually." + +"I see that. I don't like the color of your face.... Well, well, +Daren. It was hell, wasn't it? Did you kill a couple of Huns for me?" + +Questions like this latter one always alienated Lane in some +unaccountable way. It must have been revealed in his face. + +"Never mind, Daren. I see that you _did_.... I'm glad you're back +alive. Now what can I do for you?" + +"I've been discharged from three hospitals in the last two months--not +because I was well, but because I was in better shape than some other +poor devil. Those doctors in the service grew hard--they had to be +hard--but they saw the worst, the agony of the war. I always felt +sorry for them. They never seemed to eat or sleep or rest. They had no +time to save a man. It was cut him up or tie him up--then on to the +next.... Now, Doc, I want you to look me over and--well--tell me what +to expect." + +"All right," replied Doctor Bronson, gruffly. + +"And I want you to promise not to tell mother or any one. Will you?" + +"Yes, I promise. Now come in here and get off some of your clothes." + +"Doctor, it's pretty tough on me to get in and out of my clothes." + +"I'll help you. Now tell me what the Germans did to you." + +Lane laughed grimly. "Doctor, do you remember I was in your Sunday +School class?" + +"Yes, I remember that. What's it got to do with Germans?" + +"Nothing. It struck me funny, that's all.... Well, to get it over. I +was injured several times at the training camp." + +"Anything serious?" + +"No, I guess not. Anyway I forgot about _them._ Doctor, I was shot +four times, once clear through. I'll show you. Got a bad bayonet jab +that doesn't seem to heal well. Then I had a dose of both +gases--chlorine and mustard--and both all but killed me. Last I've a +weak place in my spine. There's a vertebra that slips out of place +occasionally. The least movement may do it. I _can't_ guard against +it. The last time it slipped out I was washing my teeth. I'm in +mortal dread of this. For it twists me out of shape and hurts +horribly. I'm afraid it'll give me paralysis." + +"Humph! It would. But it can be fixed.... So that's all they did to +you?" + +Underneath the dry humor of the little doctor, Lane thought he +detected something akin to anger. + +"Yes, that's all they did to my body," replied Lane. + +Doctor Bronson, during a careful and thorough examination of Lane's +heart, lungs, blood pressure, and abdominal region, did not speak +once. But when he turned him over, to see and feel the hole in Lane's +back, he exclaimed: "My God, boy, what made this--a shell? I can put +my fist in it." + +"That's the bayonet jab." + +Doctor Bronson cursed in a most undignified and unprofessional manner. +Then without further comment he went on and completed the examination. + +"That'll do," he said, and lent a hand while Lane put on his clothes. +It was then he noticed Lane's medal. + +"Ha! The _Croix de Guerre!_... Daren, I was a friend of your +father's. I _know_ how that medal would have made him feel. Tell me +what you did to get it?" + +"Nothing much," replied Lane, stirred. "It was in the Argonne, when we +took to open fighting. In fact I got most of my hurts there.... I +carried a badly wounded French officer back off the field. He was a +heavy man. That's where I injured my spine. I had to run with him. And +worse luck, he was dead when I got him back. But I didn't know that." + +"So the French decorated you, hey?" asked the doctor, leaning back +with hands on hips, and keenly eyeing Lane. + +"Yes." + +"Why did not the American Army give you equal honor?" + +"Well, for one thing it was never reported. And besides, it wasn't +anything any other fellow wouldn't do." + +Doctor Bronson dropped his head and paced to and fro. Then the +door-bell rang in the reception room. + +"Daren Lane," began the doctor, suddenly stopping before Lane, "I'd +hesitate to ask most men if they wanted the truth. To many men I'd +lie. But I know a few words from me can't faze you." + +"No, Doctor, one way or another it is all the same to me." + +"Well, boy, I can fix up that vertebra so it won't slip out again.... +But, if there's anything in the world to save your life, I don't know +what it is." + +"Thank you, Doctor. It's--something to know--what to expect," returned +Lane, with a smile. + +"You might live a year--and you might not.... You might improve. God +only knows. Miracles _do_ happen. Anyway, come back to see me." + +Lane shook hands with him and went out, passing another patient in the +reception room. Then as Lane opened the door and stepped out upon the +porch he almost collided with a girl who evidently had been about to +come in. + +"I beg your----" he began, and stopped. He knew this girl, but the +strained tragic shadow of her eyes was strikingly unfamiliar. The +transparent white skin let the blue tracery of veins show. On the +instant her lips trembled and parted. + +"Oh, Daren--don't you know me?" she asked. + +"Mel Iden!" he burst out. "Know you? I should smile I do. But it--it +was so sudden. And you're older--different somehow. Mel, you're +sweeter--why you're beautiful." + +He clasped her hands and held on to them, until he felt her rather +nervously trying to withdraw them. + +"Oh, Daren, I'm glad to see you home--alive--whole," she said, almost +in a whisper. "Are you--well?" + +"No, Mel. I'm in pretty bad shape," he replied. "Lucky to get home +alive--to see you all." + +"I'm sorry. You're so white. You're wonderfully changed, Daren." + +"So are you. But I'll say I'm happy it's not painted face and plucked +eyebrows.... Mel, what's happened to you?" + +She suddenly espied the decoration on his coat. The blood rose and +stained her clear cheek. With a gesture of exquisite grace and +sensibility that thrilled Lane she touched the medal. "Oh! The _Croix +de Guerre_.... Daren, you were a hero." + +"No, Mel, just a soldier." + +She looked up into his face with eyes that fascinated Lane, so +beautiful were they--the blue of corn-flowers--and lighted then with +strange rapt glow. + +"Just a soldier!" she murmured. But Lane heard in that all the +sweetness and understanding possible for any woman's heart. She amazed +him--held him spellbound. Here was the sympathy--and something +else--a nameless need--for which he yearned. The moment was fraught +with incomprehensible forces. Lane's sore heart responded to her rapt +look, to the sudden strange passion of her pale face. Swiftly he +divined that Mel Iden gloried in the presence of a maimed and proven +soldier. + +"Mel, I'll come to see you," he said, breaking the spell. "Do you +still live out on the Hill road? I remember the four big white oaks." + +"No, Daren, I've left home," she said, with slow change, as if his +words recalled something she had forgotten. All the radiance vanished, +leaving her singularly white. + +"Left home! What for?" he asked, bluntly. + +"Father turned me out," she replied, with face averted. The soft +roundness of her throat swelled. Lane saw her full breast heave under +her coat. + +"What're you saying, Mel Iden?" he demanded, as quickly as he could +find his voice. + +Then she turned bravely to meet his gaze, and Lane had never seen as +sad eyes as looked into his. + +"Daren, haven't you heard--about me?" she asked, with tremulous lips. + +"No. What's wrong?" + +"I--I can't let you call on me." + +"Why not? Are you married--jealous husband?" + +"No, I'm not married--but I--I have a baby," she whispered. + +"Mel!" gasped Lane. "A war baby?" + +"Yes." + +Lane was so shocked he could not collect his scattered wits, let alone +think of the right thing to say, if there were any right thing. "Mel, +this is a--a terrible surprise. Oh, I'm sorry.... How the war played +hell with all of us! But for you--Mel Iden--I can't believe it." + +"Daren, so terribly true," she said. "Don't I look it?" + +"Mel, you look--oh--heartbroken." + +"Yes, I am broken-hearted," she replied, and drooped her head. + +"Forgive me, Mel. I hardly know what I'm saying.... But listen--I'm +coming to see you." + +"No," she said. + +That trenchant word was thought-provoking. A glimmer of understanding +began to dawn in Lane. Already an immense pity had flooded his soul, +and a profound sense of the mystery and tragedy of Mel Iden. She had +always been unusual, aloof, proud, unattainable, a girl with a heart +of golden fire. And now she had a nameless child and was an outcast +from her father's house. The fact, the fatality of it, stunned Lane. + +"Daren, I must go in to see Dr. Bronson," she said. "I'm glad you're +home. I'm proud of you. I'm happy for your mother and Lorna. You must +watch Lorna--try to restrain her. She's going wrong. All the young +girls are going wrong. Oh, it's a more dreadful time _now_ than before +or during the war. The let-down has been terrible.... Good-bye, +Daren." + +In other days Manton's building on Main Street had appeared a +pretentious one to Lane's untraveled eyes. It was an old three-story +red-brick-front edifice, squatted between higher and more modern +structures. When he climbed the dirty dark stairway up to the second +floor a throng of memories returned with the sensations of creaky +steps, musty smell, and dim light. When he pushed open a door on which +MANTON & CO. showed in black letters he caught his breath. Long--long +past! Was it possible that he had been penned up for three years in +this stifling place? + +Manton carried on various lines of business, and for Middleville, he +was held to be something of a merchant and broker. Lane was wholly +familiar with the halls, the several lettered doors, the large +unpartitioned office at the back of the building. Here his slow +progress was intercepted by a slip of a girl who asked him what he +wanted. Before answering, Lane took stock of the girl. She might have +been all of fifteen--no older. She had curly bobbed hair, and a face +that would have been comely but for the powder and rouge. She was +chewing gum, and she ogled Lane. + +"I want to see Mr. Manton," Lane said. + +"What name, please." + +"Daren Lane." + +She tripped off toward the door leading to Manton's private offices, +and Lane's gaze, curiously following her, found her costume to be +startling even to his expectant eyes. Then she disappeared. Lane's +gaze sought the corner and desk that once upon a time had been his. A +blond young lady, also with bobbed hair, was operating a typewriter at +his desk. She glanced up, and espying Lane, she suddenly stopped her +work. She recognized him. But, if she were Hattie Wilson, it was +certain that Lane did not recognize her. Then the office girl +returned. + +"Step this way, please. Mr. Smith will see you." + +How singularly it struck Lane that not once in three years had he +thought of Smith. But when he saw him, the intervening months were as +nothing. Lean, spare, pallid, with baggy eyes, and the nose of a +drinker, Smith had not changed. + +"How do, Lane. So you're back? Welcome to our city," he said, +extending a nerveless hand that felt to Lane like a dead fish. + +"Hello, Mr. Smith. Yes, I'm back," returned Lane, taking the chair +Smith indicated. And then he met the inevitable questions as best he +could in order not to appear curt or uncivil. + +"I'd like to see Mr. Manton to ask for my old job," interposed Lane, +presently. + +"He's busy now, Lane, but maybe he'll see you. I'll find out." + +Smith got up and went out. Lane sat there with a vague sense of +absurdity in the situation. The click of a typewriter sounded from +behind him. He wanted to hurry out. He wanted to think of other +things, and twice he drove away memory of the girl he had just left at +Doctor Bronson's office. Presently Smith returned, slipping along in +his shiny black suit, flat-footed and slightly bowed, with his set +dull expression. + +"Lane, Mr. Manton asks you to please excuse him. He's extremely busy," +said Smith. "I told him that you wanted your old job back. And he +instructed me to tell you he had been put to the trouble of breaking +in a girl to take your place. She now does the work you used to +have--very satisfactorily, Mr. Manton thinks, and at less pay. So, of +course, a change is impossible." + +"I see," returned Lane, slowly, as he rose to go. "I had an idea that +might be the case. I'm finding things--a little different." + +"No doubt, Lane. You fellows who went away left us to make the best of +it." + +"Yes, Smith, we fellows 'went away,'" replied Lane, with satire, "and +I'm finding out the fact wasn't greatly appreciated. Good day." + +On the way out the little office girl opened the door for him and +ogled him again, and stood a moment on the threshold. Ponderingly, +Lane made his way down to the street. A rush of cool spring air seemed +to refresh him, and with it came a realization that he never would +have been able to stay cooped up in Manton's place. Even if his +services had been greatly desired he could not have given them for +long. He could not have stood that place. This was a new phase of his +mental condition. Work almost anywhere in Middleville would be like +that in Manton's. Could he stand work at all, not only in a physical +sense, but in application of mind? He began to worry about that. + +Some one hailed Lane, and he turned to recognize an old +acquaintance--Matt Jones. They walked along the street together, +meeting other men who knew Lane, some of whom greeted him heartily. +Then, during an ensuing hour, he went into familiar stores and the +post-office, the hotel and finally the Bradford Inn, meeting many +people whom he had known well. The sum of all their greetings left him +in cold amaze. At length Lane grasped the subtle import--that people +were tired of any one or anything which reminded them of the war. He +tried to drive that thought from lodgment in his mind. But it stuck. +And slowly he gathered the forces of his spirit to make good the +resolve with which he had faced this day--to withstand an appalling +truth. + +At the inn he sat before an open fire and pondered between brief +conversations of men who accosted him. On the one hand it was +extremely trying, and on the other a fascinating and grim study--to +meet people, and find that he could read their minds. Had the war +given him some magic sixth sense, some clairvoyant power, some gift of +vision? He could not tell yet what had come to him, but there was +something. + +Business men, halting to chat with Lane a few moments, helped along +his readjustment to the truth of the strange present. Almost all kinds +of business were booming. Most people had money to spend. And there +was a multitude, made rich by the war, who were throwing money to the +four winds. Prices of every commodity were at their highest peak, and +supply could not equal demand. An orgy of spending was in full swing, +and all men in business, especially the profiteers, were making the +most of the unprecedented opportunity. + +After he had rested, Lane boarded a street car and rode out to the +suburbs of Middleville where the Maynards lived. Although they had +lost their money they still lived in the substantial mansion that was +all which was left them of prosperous days. House and grounds now +appeared sadly run down. + +A maid answered Lane's ring, and let him in. Lane found himself rather +nervously expecting to see Mrs. Maynard. The old house brought back to +him the fact that he had never liked her. But he wanted to see +Margaret. It turned out, however, that mother and daughter were out. + +"Come up, old top," called Blair's voice from the hall above. + +So Lane went up to Blair's room, which he remembered almost as well as +his own, though now it was in disorder. Blair was in his shirt +sleeves. He looked both gay and spent. Red Payson was in bed, and his +face bore the hectic flush of fever. + +"Aw, he's only had too much to eat," declared Blair, in answer to +Lane's solicitation. + +"How's that, Red?" asked Lane, sitting down on the bed beside Payson. + +"It's nothing, Dare.... I'm just all in," replied Red, with a weary +smile. + +"I telephoned Doc Bronson to come out," said Blair, "and look us over. +That made Red as sore as a pup. Isn't he the limit? By thunder, you +can't do anything for some people." + +Blair's tone and words of apparent vexation were at variance with the +kindness of his eyes as they rested upon his sick comrade. + +"I just came from Bronson's," observed Lane. "He's been our doctor for +as long as I can remember." + +Both Lane's comrades searched his face with questioning eyes, and +while Lane returned that gaze there was a little constrained silence. + +"Bronson examined me--and said I'd live to be eighty," added Lane, +with dry humor. + +"You're a liar!" burst out Blair. + +On Red Payson's worn face a faint smile appeared. "Carry on, Dare." + +Then Blair fell to questioning Lane as to all the news he had heard, +and people he had met. + +"So Manton turned you down cold," said Blair, ponderingly. + +"I didn't get to see him," replied Lane. "He sent out word that my old +job was held by a girl who did my work better and at less pay." + +The blood leaped to Blair's white cheek. + +"What'd you say?" he queried. + +"Nothing much. I just trailed out.... But the truth is, Blair--I +couldn't have stood that place--not for a day." + +"I get you," rejoined Blair. "That isn't the point, though. I always +wondered if we'd find our old jobs open to us. Of course, I couldn't +fill mine now. It was an outside job--lots of walking." + +So the conversation see-sawed back and forth, with Red Payson +listening in languid interest. + +"Have you seen any of the girls?" asked Blair. + +"I met Mel Iden," replied Lane. + +"You did? What did she--" + +"Mel told me what explained some of your hints." + +"Ahuh! Poor Mel! How'd she look?" + +"Greatly changed," replied Lane, thoughtfully. "How do you remember +Mel?" + +"Well, she was pretty--soulful face--wonderful smile--that sort of +thing." + +"She's beautiful now, and sad." + +"I shouldn't wonder. And she told you right out about the baby?" + +"No. That came out when she said I couldn't call on her, and I wanted +to know why." + +"But you'll go anyhow?" + +"Yes." + +"So will I," returned Blair, with spirit. "Dare, I've known for over a +year about Mel's disgrace. You used to like her, and I hated to tell +you. If it had been Helen I'd have told you in a minute. But Mel.... +Well, I suppose we must expect queer things. I got a jolt this +morning. I was pumping my sister Margie about everybody, and, of +course, Mel's name came up. You remember Margie and Mel were as thick +as two peas in a pod. Looks like Mel's fall has hurt Margie. But I +don't just _get_ Margie yet. She might be another fellow's sister--for +all the strangeness of her." + +"I hardly knew _my_ kid sister," responded Lane. + +"Ahuh! The plot thickens.... Well, I couldn't get much out of Marg. +She used to babble everything. But what little she told me made up +in--in shock for what it lacked in volume." + +"Tell me," said Lane, as his friend paused. + +"Nothing doing." ... And turning to the sick boy on the bed, he +remarked, "Red, you needn't let this--this gab of ours bother you. +This is home talk between a couple of boobs who're burying their +illusions in the grave. You didn't leave a sister or a lot of old +schoolgirl sweethearts behind to----" + +"What the hell do you know about whom I left behind?" retorted Red, +with a swift blaze of strange passion. + +"Oh, say, Red--I--I beg your pardon, I was only kidding," responded +Blair, in surprise and contrition. "You never told me a word about +yourself." + +For answer Red Payson rolled over wearily and turned his back. + +"Blair, I'll beat it, and let Red go to sleep," said Lane, taking up +his hat. "Red, good-bye this time. I hope you'll be better soon." + +"I'm--sorry, Lane," came in muffled tones from Payson. + +"Cut that out, boy. You've nothing to be sorry for. Forget it and +cheer up." + +Blair hobbled downstairs after Lane. "Don't go just yet, Dare." + +They found seats in the parlor that appeared to be the same shabby +genteel place where Lane had used to call upon Blair's sister. + +"What ails Red?" queried Lane, bluntly. + +"Lord only knows. He's a queer duck. Once in a while he lets out a +crack like that. There's a lot to Red." + +"Blair, his heart is broken," said Lane, tragically. + +"Well!" exclaimed Blair, with quick almost haughty uplift of head. He +seemed to resent Lane's surprise and intimation. It was a rebuke that +made Lane shrink. + +"I never thought of Red's being hurt--you know--or as having lost.... +Oh, he just seemed like so many other boys ruined in health. I----" + +"All right. Cut the sentiment," interrupted Blair. "The fact is Red is +more of a problem than we had any idea he'd be.... And Dare, listen to +this--I'm ashamed to have to tell you. Mother raised old Harry with me +this morning for fetching Red home. She couldn't see it my way. She +said there were hospitals for sick soldiers who hadn't homes. I lost +my temper and I said: 'The hell of it, mother, is that there's nothing +of the kind.' ... She said we couldn't keep him here. I tried to coax +her.... Margie helped, but nothing doing." + +Blair had spoken hurriedly with again a stain of red in his white +cheek, and a break in his voice. + +"That's--tough," replied Lane, haltingly. He could choke back speech, +but not the something in his voice he would rather not have heard. +"I'll tell you what. As soon as Red is well enough we'll move him over +to my house. I'm sure mother will let him share my room. There's only +Lorna--and I'll pay Red's board.... You have quite a family--" + +"Hell, Dare--don't apologize to me for my mother," burst out Blair, +bitterly. + +"Blair, I believe you realize what we are up against--and I don't," +rejoined Lane, with level gaze upon his friend. + +"Dare, can't you see we're up against worse than the Argonne?--worse, +because back here at home--that beautiful, glorious +thought--idea--spirit we had is gone. Dead!" + +"No, I can't see," returned Lane, stubbornly. + +"Well, I guess that's one reason we all loved you, Dare--you couldn't +see.... But I'll bet you my crutch Helen makes you see. Her father +made a pile out of the war. She's a war-rich snob now. And going the +pace!" + +"Blair, she may make me see her faithlessness--and perhaps some +strange unrest--some change that's seemed to come over everything. But +she can't prove to me the death of anything outside of herself. She +can't prove that any more than Mel Iden's confession proved her a +wanton. It didn't. Not to me. Why, when Mel put her hand on my +breast--on this medal--and looked at me--I had such a thrill as I +never had before in all my life. Never!... Blair, it's _not_ dead. +That beautiful thing you mentioned--that spirit--that fire which +burned so gloriously--it is _not_ dead." + +"Not in you--old pard," replied Blair, unsteadily. "I'm always ashamed +before your faith. And, by God, I'll say you're my only anchor." + +"Blair, let's play the game out to the end," said Lane. + +"I get you, Dare.... For Margie, for Lorna, for Mel--even if they +have--" + +"Yes," answered Lane, as Blair faltered. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +As Lane sped out Elm Street in a taxicab he remembered that his last +ride in such a conveyance had been with Helen when he took her home +from a party. She was then about seventeen years old. And that night +she had coaxed him to marry her before he left to go to war. Had her +feminine instinct been infallibly right? Would marrying her have saved +her from what Blair had so forcibly suggested? + +Elm Street was a newly developed part of Middleville, high on one of +its hills, and manifestly a restricted section. Lane had found the +number of Helen's home in the telephone book. When the chauffeur +stopped before a new and imposing pile of red brick, Lane understood +an acquaintance's reference to the war rich. It was a mansion, but +somehow not a home. It flaunted something indefinable. + +Lane instructed the driver to wait a few moments, and, if he did not +come out, to go back to town and return in about an hour. The house +stood rather far from the street, and as Lane mounted the terrace he +observed four motor cars parked in the driveway. Also his sensitive +ears caught the sound of a phonograph. + +A maid answered his ring. Lane asked for both Mrs. Wrapp and Helen. +They were at home, the maid informed him, and ushered Lane into a gray +and silver reception room. Lane had no card, but gave his name. As he +gazed around the room he tried to fit the delicate decorative scheme +to Mrs. Wrapp. He smiled at the idea. But he remembered that she had +always liked him in spite of the fact that she did not favor his +attention to Helen. Like many mothers of girls, she wanted a rich +marriage for her daughter. Manifestly now she had money. But had +happiness come with prosperity? + +Then Mrs. Wrapp came down. Rising, he turned to see a large woman, +elaborately gowned. She had a heavy, rather good-natured face on which +was a smile of greeting. + +"Daren Lane!" she exclaimed, with fervor, and to his surprise, she +kissed him. There was no doubt of her pleasure. Lane's thin armor +melted. He had not anticipated such welcome. "Oh, I'm glad to see you, +soldier boy. But you're a man now. Daren, you're white and thin. +Handsomer, though!... Sit down and talk to me a little." + +Her kindness made his task easy. + +"I've called to pay my respects to you--and to see Helen," he said. + +"Of course. But talk to me first," she returned, with a smile. "You'll +find me better company than that crowd upstairs. Tell me about +yourself.... Oh, I know soldiers hate to talk about themselves and the +war. Never mind the war. Are you well? Did you get hurt? You look +so--so frail, Daren." + +There was something simple and motherly about her, that became her, +and warmed Lane's cold heart. He remembered that she had always +preferred boys to girls, and regretted she had not been the mother of +boys. So Lane talked to her, glad to find that the most ordinary news +of the service and his comrades interested her very much. The instant +she espied his _Croix de Guerre_ he seemed lifted higher in her +estimation. Yet she had the delicacy not to question him about that. +In fact, after ten minutes with her, Lane had to reproach himself for +the hostility with which he had come. At length she rose with evident +reluctance. + +"You want to see Helen. Shall I send her down here or will you go up +to her studio?" + +"I think I'd like to go up," replied Lane. + +"If I were you, I would," advised Mrs. Wrapp. "I'd like your +opinion--of, well, what you'll see. Since you left home, Daren, we've +been turned topsy-turvy. I'm old-fashioned. I can't get used to these +goings-on. These young people 'get my goat,' as Helen expresses it." + +"I'm hopelessly behind the times, I've seen that already," rejoined +Lane. + +"Daren, I respect you for it. There was a time when I objected to your +courting Helen. But I couldn't see into the future. I'm sorry now she +broke her engagement to you." + +"I--thank you, Mrs. Wrapp," said Lane, with agitation. "But of course +Helen was right. She was too young.... And even if she had been--been +true to me--I would have freed her upon my return." + +"Indeed. And why, Daren?" + +"Because I'll never be well again," he replied sadly. + +"Boy, don't say that!" she appealed, with a hand going to his +shoulder. + +In the poignancy of the moment Lane lost his reserve and told her the +truth of his condition, even going so far as to place her hand so she +felt the great bayonet hole in his back. Her silence then was more +expressive than any speech. She had the look of a woman in whom +conscience was a reality. And Lane divined that she felt she and her +daughter, and all other women of this distraught land, owed him and +his comrades a debt which could never be paid. For once she expressed +dignity and sweetness and genuine sorrow. + +"You shock me, Daren. But words are useless. I hope and pray you're +wrong. But right or wrong--you're a real American--like our splendid +forefathers. Thank God _that_ spirit still survives. It is our only +hope." + +Lane crossed to the window and looked out, slowly conscious of +resurging self-control. It was well that he had met Mrs. Wrapp first, +for she gave him what he needed. His bleeding vanity, his pride +trampled in the dirt, his betrayed faith, his unquenchable spirit of +hope for some far-future good--these were not secrets he could hide +from every one. + +"Daren," said Mrs. Wrapp, as he again turned to her, "if I were in my +daughter's place I'd beg you to take me back. And if you would, I'd +never leave your side for an hour until you were well or--or gone.... +But girls now are possessed of some infernal frenzy.... God only knows +how _far_ they go, but I'm one mother who is no fool. I see little +sign of real love in Helen or any of her friends.... And the men who +lounge around after her! Walk upstairs--back to the end of the long +hall--open the door and go in. You'll find Helen and some of her +associates. You'll find the men, young, sleek, soft, well-fed--without +any of the scars or ravages of war. They didn't go to war!... They +_live_ for their bodies. And I hate these slackers. So does Helen's +father. And for three years our house has been a rendezvous for them. +We've prospered, but _that_ has been bitter fruit." + +Strong elemental passions Lane had seen and felt in people during the +short twenty-four hours since his return home. All of them had stung +and astounded him, flung into his face the hard brutal facts of the +materialism of the present. Surely it was an abnormal condition. And +yet from the last quarter where he might have expected to find uplift, +and the crystallizing of his attitude toward the world, and the +sharpening of his intelligence--from the hard, grim mother of the girl +who had jilted him, these had come. It was in keeping with all the +other mystery. + +"On second thought, I'll go up with you," continued Mrs. Wrapp, as he +moved in the direction she had indicated. "Come." + +The wide hall, the winding stairway with its soft carpet, the narrower +hallway above--these made a long journey for Lane. But at the end, +when Mrs. Wrapp stopped with hand on the farthest door, Lane felt knit +like cold steel. + +The discordant music and the soft shuffling of feet ceased. Laughter +and murmur of voices began. + +"Come, Daren," whispered Mrs. Wrapp, as if thrilled. Certainly her +eyes gleamed. Then quickly she threw the door open wide and called +out: + +"Helen, here's Daren Lane home from the war, wearing the _Croix de +Guerre_." + +Mrs. Wrapp pushed Lane forward, and stood there a moment in the sudden +silence, then stepping back, she went out and closed the door. + +Lane saw a large well-lighted room, with colorful bizarre decorations +and a bare shiny floor. The first person his glance encountered was a +young girl, strikingly beautiful, facing him with red lips parted. She +had violet eyes that seemed to have a startled expression as they met +Lane's. Next Lane saw a slim young man standing close to this girl, in +the act of withdrawing his arm from around her waist. Apparently with +his free hand he had either been lowering a smoking cigarette from her +lips or had been raising it there. This hand, too, dropped down. Lane +did not recognize the fellow's smooth, smug face, with its tiny curled +mustache and its heated swollen lines. + +"Look who's here," shouted a gay, vibrant voice. "If it isn't old Dare +Lane!" + +That voice drew Lane's fixed gaze, and he saw a group in the far +corner of the room. One man was standing, another was sitting beside a +lounge, upon which lay a young woman amid a pile of pillows. She rose +lazily, and as she slid off the lounge Lane saw her skirt come down +and cover her bare knees. Her red hair, bobbed and curly, marked her +for recognition. It was Helen. But Lane doubted if he would have at +once recognized any other feature. The handsome insolence of her face +was belied by a singularly eager and curious expression. Her eyes, +almost green in line, swept Lane up and down, and came back to his +face, while she extended her hands in greeting. + +"Helen, how are you?" said Lane, with a cool intent mastery of +himself, bowing over her hands. "Surprised to see me?" + +"Well, I'll say so! Daren, you've changed," she replied, and the +latter part of her speech flashed swiftly. + +"Rather," he said, laconically. "What would you expect? So have you +changed." + +There came a moment's pause. Helen was not embarrassed or agitated, +but something about Lane or the situation apparently made her slow or +stiff. + +"Daren, you--of course you remember Hardy Mackay and Dick Swann," she +said. + +Lane turned to greet one-time schoolmates and rivals of his. Mackay +was tall, homely, with a face that lacked force, light blue eyes and +thick sandy hair, brushed high. Swann was slight, elegant, faultlessly +groomed and he had a dark, sallow face, heavy lips, heavy eyelids, +eyes rather prominent and of a wine-dark hue. To Lane he did not have +a clean, virile look. + +In their greetings Lane sensed some indefinable quality of surprise or +suspense. Swann rather awkwardly put out his hand, but Lane ignored +it. The blood stained Swann's sallow face and he drew himself up. + +"And Daren, here are other friends of mine," said Helen, and she +turned him round. "Bessy, this is Daren Lane.... Miss Bessy Bell." As +Lane acknowledged the introduction he felt that he was looking at the +prettiest girl he had ever seen--the girl whose violet eyes had met +his when he entered the room. + +"Mr. Daren Lane, I'm very happy to meet some one from 'over there,'" +she said, with the ease and self-possession of a woman of the world. +But when she smiled a beautiful, wonderful light seemed to shine from +eyes and face and lips--a smile of youth. + +Helen introduced her companion as Roy Vancey. Then she led Lane to the +far corner, to another couple, manifestly disturbed from their rather +close and familiar position in a window seat. These also were +strangers to Lane. They did not get up, and they were not interested. +In fact, Lane was quick to catch an impression from all, possibly +excepting Miss Bell, that the courtesy of drawing rooms, such as he +had been familiar with as a young man, was wanting in this atmosphere. +Lane wondered if it was antagonism toward him. Helen drew Lane back +toward her other friends, to the lounge where she seated herself. If +the situation had disturbed her equilibrium in the least, the moment +had passed. She did not care what Lane thought of her guests or what +they thought of him. But she seemed curious about him. Bessy Bell came +and sat beside her, watching Lane. + +"Daren, do you dance?" queried Helen. "You used to be good. But +dancing is not the same. It's all fox-trot, toddle, shimmy nowadays." + +"I'm afraid my dancing days are over," replied Lane. + +"How so? I see you came back with two legs and arms." + +"Yes. But I was shot twice through one leg--it's about all I can do to +walk now." + +Following his easy laugh, a little silence ensued. Helen's green eyes +seemed to narrow and concentrate on Lane. Dick Swann inhaled a deep +draught of his cigarette, then let the smoke curl up from his lips to +enter his nostrils. Mackay rather uneasily shifted his feet. And Bessy +Bell gazed with wonderful violet eyes at Lane. + +"Oh! You were _shot_!" she whispered. + +"Yes," replied Lane, and looked directly at her, prompted by her +singular tone. A glance was enough to show Lane that this very young +girl was an entirely new type to him. She seemed to vibrate with +intensity. All the graceful lines of her body seemed strangely +instinct with pulsing life. She was bottled lightning. In a flash Lane +sensed what made her different from the fifteen-year-olds he +remembered before the war. It was what made his sister Lorna +different. He felt it in Helen's scrutiny of him, in the speculation +of her eyes. Then Bessy Bell leaned toward Lane, and softly, +reverently touched the medal upon his breast. + +"The _Croix de Guerre_," she said, in awe. "That's the French badge of +honor.... It means you must have done something great.... You must +have--_killed_ Germans!" + +Bessy sank back upon the lounge, clasping her hands, and her eyes +appeared to darken, to turn purple with quickening thought and +emotion. Her exclamation brought the third girl of the party over to +the lounge. She was all eyes. Her apathy had vanished. She did not +see the sulky young fellow who had followed her. + +Lane could have laughed aloud. He read the shallow souls of these +older girls. They could not help their instincts and he had learned +that it was instinctive with women to become emotional over soldiers. +Bessy Bell was a child. Hero-worship shone from her speaking eyes. +Whatever other young men might be to her, no one of them could compare +with a soldier. + +The situation had its pathos, its tragedy, and its gratification for +Lane. He saw clearly, and felt with the acuteness of a woman. Helen +had jilted him for such young men as these. So in the feeling of the +moment it cost him nothing to thrill and fascinate these girls with +the story of how he had been shot through the leg. It pleased him to +see Helen's green eyes dilate, to see Bessy Bell shudder. Presently +Lane turned to speak to the supercilious Swann. + +"I didn't have the luck to run across you in France!" he queried. + +"No. I didn't go," replied Swann. + +"How was that? Didn't the draft get you?" + +"Yes. But my eyes were bad. And my father needed me at the works. We +had a big army contract in steel." + +"Oh, I see," returned Lane, with a subtle alteration of manner he +could not, did not want to control. But it was unmistakable in its +detachment. Next his gaze on Mackay did not require the accompaniment +of a query. + +"I was under weight. They wouldn't accept me," he explained. + +Bessy Bell looked at Mackay disdainfully. "Why didn't you drink a +bucketful of water--same as Billy Means did? He got in." + +Helen laughed gayly. "What! Mac drink water? He'd be ill.... Come, +let's dance. Dick put on that new one. Daren, you can watch us dance." + +Swann did as he was bidden, and as a loud, violent discordance blared +out of the machine he threw away his cigarette, and turned to Helen. +She seemed to leap at him. She had a pantherish grace. Swann drew her +closely to him, with his arm all the way round her, while her arm +encircled his neck. They began a fast swaying walk, in which Swann +appeared to be forcing the girl over backwards. They swayed, and +turned, and glided; they made strange abrupt movements in accordance +with the jerky tune; they halted at the end of a walk to make little +steps forward and back; then they began to bounce and sway together in +a motion that Lane instantly recognized as a toddle. Lane remembered +the one-step, the fox-trot and other new dances of an earlier day, +when the craze for new dancing had become general, but this sort of +gyration was vastly something else. It disgusted Lane. He felt the +blood surge to his face. He watched Helen Wrapp in the arms of Swann, +and he realized, whatever had been the state of his heart on his +return home, he did not love her now. Even if the war had not +disrupted his mind in an unaccountable way, even if he had loved Helen +Wrapp right up to that moment, such singular abandonment to a +distorted strange music, to the close and unmistakably sensual embrace +of a man--that spectacle would have killed his love. + +Lane turned his gaze away. The young fellow Vancey was pulling at +Bessy Bell, and she shook his hand off. "No, Roy, I don't want to +dance." Lane heard above the jarring, stringing notes. Mackay was +smoking, and looked on as if bored. In a moment more the Victrola +rasped out its last note. + +Helen's face was flushed and moist. Her bosom heaved. Her gown hung +closely to her lissom and rather full form. A singular expression of +excitement, of titillation, almost wild, a softer expression almost +dreamy, died out of her face. Lane saw Swann lead Helen up to a small +table beside the Victrola. Here stood a large pitcher of lemonade, and +a number of glasses. Swann filled a glass half full, from the pitcher, +and then, deliberately pulling a silver flask from his hip pocket he +poured some of its dark red contents into the glass. Helen took it +from him, and turned to Lane with a half-mocking glance. + +"Daren, I remember you never drank," she said. "Maybe the war made a +man of you!... Will you have a sip of lemonade with a shot in it?" + +"No, thank you," replied Lane. + +"Didn't you drink over there?" she queried. + +"Only when I had to," he rejoined, shortly. + +All of the four dancers partook of a drink of lemonade, strengthened +by something from Swann's flask. Lane was quick to observe that when +it was pressed upon Bessy Bell she refused to take it: "I hate booze," +she said, with a grimace. His further impression of Bessy Bell, then, +was that she had just fallen in with this older crowd, and +sophisticated though she was, had not yet been corrupted. The +divination of this heightened his interest. + +"Well, Daren, you old prune, what'd you think of the toddle?" asked +Helen, as she took a cigarette offered by Swann and tipped it between +her red lips. + +"Is that what you danced?" + +"I'll say so. And Dick and I are considered pretty spiffy." + +"I don't think much of it, Helen," replied Lane, deliberately. "If you +care to--to do that sort of thing I'd imagine you'd rather do it +alone." + +"Oh Lord, you talk like mother," she exclaimed. + +"Lane, you're out of date," said Swann, with a little sneer. + +Lane took a long, steady glance at Swann, but did not reply. + +"Daren, everybody has been dancing jazz. It's the rage. The old dances +were slow. The new ones have pep and snap." + +"So I see. They have more than that," returned Lane. "But pray, never +mind me. I'm out of date. Go ahead and dance.... If you'd rather, I'll +leave and call on you some other time." + +"No, you stay," she replied. "I'll chase this bunch pretty soon." + +"Well, you won't chase me. I'll go," spoke up Swann, sullenly, with a +fling of his cigarette. + +"You needn't hurt yourself," returned Helen, sarcastically. + +"So long, people," said Swann to the others. But it was perfectly +obvious that he did not include Lane. It was also obvious, at least to +Lane, that Swann showed something of intolerance and mastery in the +dark, sullen glance he bestowed upon Helen. She followed him across +the room and out into the hall, from whence her guarded voice sounded +unintelligibly. But Lane's keen ear, despite the starting of the +Victrola, caught Swann's equally low, yet clearer reply. "You can't +kid me. I'm on. You'll vamp Lane if he lets you. Go to it!" + +As Helen came back into the room Mackay ran for her, and locking her +in the same embrace--even a tighter one than Swann's--he fell into the +strange steps that had so shocked Lane. Moreover, he was manifestly a +skilful dancer, and showed the thin, lithe, supple body of one trained +down by this or some other violent exercise. + +Lane did not watch the dancers this time. Again Bessy Bell refused to +get up from the lounge. The youth was insistent. He pawed at her. And +manifestly she did not like that, for her face flamed, and she +snapped: "Stop it--you bonehead! Can't you see I want to sit here by +Mr. Lane?" + +The youth slouched away fuming to himself. + +Whereupon Lane got up, and seated himself beside Bessy so that he need +not shout to be heard. + +"That was nice of you, Miss Bell--but rather hard on the youngster," +said Lane. + +"He makes me sick. All he wants to do is lolly-gag.... Besides, after +what you said to Helen about the jazz I wouldn't dance in front of you +on a bet." + +She was forceful, frank, naive. She was impressed by his nearness; but +Lane saw that it was the fact of his being a soldier with a record, +not his mere physical propinquity that affected her. She seemed both +bold and shy. But she did not show any modesty. Her short skirt came +above her bare knees, and she did not try to hide them from Lane's +sight. At fifteen, like his sister Lorna, this girl had the +development of a young woman. She breathed health, and something +elusive that Lane could not catch. If it had not been for her apparent +lack of shame, and her rouged lips and cheeks, and her plucked +eyebrows, she would have been exceedingly alluring. But no beauty, +however striking, could under these circumstances, stir Lane's heart. +He was fascinated, puzzled, intensely curious. + +"Why wouldn't you dance jazz in front of me?" he inquired, with a +smile. + +"Well, for one thing I'm not stuck on it, and for another I'll say you +said a mouthful." + +"Is that all?" he asked, as if disappointed. + +"No. I'd respect what you said--because of where you've been and what +you've done." + +It was a reply that surprised Lane. + +"I'm out of date, you know." + +She put a finger on the medal on his breast and said: "You could never +be out of date." + +The music and the sliding shuffle ceased. + +"Now beat it," said Helen. "I want to talk to Daren." She gayly shoved +the young people ahead of her in a mass, and called to Bessy: "Here, +you kid vamp, lay off Daren." + +Bessy leaned to whisper in his ear: "Make a date with me, quick!" + +"Surely, I'll hunt you up. Good-bye." + +She was the only one who made any pretension of saying good-bye to +Lane. They all crowded out before Helen, with Mackay in the rear. From +the hall Lane heard him say to Helen: "Dick'll sure go to the mat with +you for this." + +Presently Helen returned to shut the door behind her; and her walk +toward Lane had a suggestion of the oriental dancer. For Lane her face +was a study. This seemed a woman beyond his comprehension. She was the +Helen Wrapp he had known and loved, plus an age of change, a +measureless experience. With that swaying, sinuous, pantherish grace, +with her green eyes narrowed and gleaming, half mocking, half serious, +she glided up to him, close, closer until she pressed against him, and +her face was uplifted under his. Then she waited with her eyes gazing +into his. Slumberous green depths, slowly lighting, they seemed to +Lane. Her presence thus, her brazen challenge, affected him +powerfully, but he had no thrill. + +"Aren't you going to kiss me?" she asked. + +"Helen, why didn't you write me you had broken our engagement?" he +counter-queried. + +The question disconcerted her somewhat. Drawing back from close +contact with him she took hold of his sleeves, and assumed a naive air +of groping in memory. She used her eyes in a way that Lane could not +associate with the past he knew. She was a flirt--not above trying her +arts on the man she had jilted. + +"Why, didn't I write you? Of course I did." + +"Well, if you did I never got the letter. And if you were on the level +you'd admit you never wrote." + +"How'd you find out then?" she inquired curiously. + +"I never knew for sure until your mother verified it." + +"Are you curious to know why I did break it off?" + +"Not in the least." + +This reply shot the fire into her face, yet she still persisted in the +expression of her sentimental motive. She began to finger the medal on +his breast. + +"So, Mr. Soldier Hero, you didn't care?" + +"No--not after I had been here ten minutes," he replied, bluntly. + +She whirled from him, swiftly, her body instinct with passion, her +expression one of surprise and fury. + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"Nothing I care to explain, except I discovered my love for you was +dead--perhaps had been dead for a long time." + +"But you never discovered it until you _saw_ me--here--with +Swann--dancing, drinking, smoking?" + +"No. To be honest, the shock of that enlightened me." + +"Daren Lane, I'm just what _you_ men have made me," she burst out, +passionately. + +"You are mistaken. I beg to be excluded from any complicity in the--in +whatever you've been made," he said, bitterly. "I have been true to +you in deed and in thought all this time." + +"You must be a queer soldier!" she exclaimed, incredulously. + +"I figure there were a couple of million soldiers like me, queer or +not," he retorted. + +She gazed at him with something akin to hate in her eyes. Then +putting her hands to her full hips she began that swaying, dancing +walk to and fro before the window. She was deeply hurt. Lane had meant +to get under her skin with a few just words of scorn, and he had +imagined his insinuation as to the change in her had hurt her +feelings. Suddenly he divined it was not that at all--he had only +wounded her vanity. + +"Helen, let's not talk of the past," he said. "It's over. Even if you +had been true to me, and I loved you still--I would have been +compelled to break our engagement." + +"You would! And why?" + +"I am a physical wreck--and a mental one, too, I fear.... Helen, I've +come home to die." + +"Daren!" she cried, poignantly. + +Then he told her in brief, brutal words of the wounds and ravages war +had dealt him, and what Doctor Bronson's verdict had been. Lane felt +shame in being so little as to want to shock and hurt her, if that +were possible. + +"Oh, I'm sorry," she burst out. "Your mother--your sister.... Oh, that +damned horrible war! _What_ has it not done to us?... Daren, you +looked white and weak, but I never thought you were--going to die.... +How dreadful!" + +Something of her girlishness returned to her in this moment of +sincerity. The past was not wholly dead. Memories lingered. She looked +at Lane, wide-eyed, in distress, caught between strange long-forgotten +emotions. + +"Helen, it's not dreadful to have to die," replied Lane. "_That_ is +not the dreadful part in coming home." + +"What _is_ dreadful, then?" she asked, very low. + +Lane felt a great heave of his breast--the irrepressible reaction of a +profound and terrible emotion, always held in abeyance until now. And +a fierce pang, that was physical as well as emotional, tore through +him. His throat constricted and ached to a familiar sensation--the +welling up of blood from his lungs. The handkerchief he put to his +lips came away stained red. Helen saw it, and with dilated eyes, moved +instinctively as if to touch him, hold him in her pity. + +"Never mind, Helen," he said, huskily. "That's nothing.... Well, I was +about to tell you what is so dreadful--for me.... It's to reach home +grateful to God I was spared to get home--resigned to the ruin of my +life--content to die for whom I fought--my mother, my sister, _you_, +and all our women (for I fought for nothing else)--and find my mother +aged and bewildered and sad, my sister a painted little hussy--and +_you_--a strange creature I despise.... And all, everybody, everything +changed--changed in some horrible way which proves my sacrifice in +vain.... It is not death that is dreadful, but the uselessness, the +hopelessness of the ideal I cherished." + +Helen fell on the couch, and burying her face in the pillows she began +to sob. Lane looked down at her, at her glistening auburn hair, and +slender, white, ringed hand clutching the cushions, at her lissom +shaking form, at the shapely legs in the rolled-down silk +stockings--and he felt a melancholy happiness in the proof that he had +reached her shallow heart, and in the fact that this was the moment of +loss. + +"Good-bye--Helen," he said. + +"Daren--don't--go," she begged. + +But he had to go, for other reasons beside the one that this was the +end of all intimate relation between him and Helen. He had overtaxed +his strength, and the burning pang in his breast was one he must heed. +On the hall stairway a dizzy spell came over him. He held on to the +banister until the weakness passed. Fortunately there was no one to +observe him. Somehow the sumptuous spacious hall seemed drearily +empty. Was this a home for that twenty-year-old girl upstairs? Lane +opened the door and went out. He was relieved to find the taxi +waiting. To the driver he gave the address of his home and said: "Go +slow and don't give me a jar!" + +But Lane reached home, and got into the house, where he sat at the +table with his mother and Lorna, making a pretense of eating, and went +upstairs and into his bed without any recurrence of the symptoms that +had alarmed him. In the darkness of his room he gradually relaxed to +rest. And rest was the only medicine for him. It had put off hour by +hour and day by day the inevitable. + +"If it comes--all right--I'm ready," he whispered to himself. "But in +spite of all I've been through--and have come home to--I don't _want_ +to die." + +There was no use in trying to sleep. But in this hour he did not want +oblivion. He wanted endless time to think. And slowly, with infinite +care and infallible memory, he went over every detail of what he had +seen and heard since his arrival home. In the headlong stream of +consciousness of the past hours he met with circumstances that he +lingered over, and tried to understand, to no avail. Yet when all lay +clearly before his mental gaze he felt a sad and tremendous +fascination in the spectacle. + +For many weeks he had lived on the fancy of getting home, of being +honored and loved, of being given some little meed of praise and +gratitude in the short while he had to live. Alas! this fancy had been +a dream of his egotism. His old world was gone. There was nothing +left. The day of the soldier had passed--until some future need of him +stirred the emotions of a selfish people. This new world moved on +unmindful, through its travail and incalculable change, to unknown +ends. He, Daren Lane, had been left alone on the vast and naked shores +of Lethe. + +Lane made not one passionate protest at the injustice of his fate. +Labor, agony, war had taught him wisdom and vision. He began to +realize that no greater change could there be than this of his mind, +his soul. But in the darkness there an irresistible grief assailed +him. He wept as never before in all his life. And he tasted the bitter +salt of his own tears. He wept for his mother, aged and bowed by +trouble, bewildered, ready to give up the struggle--his little sister +now forced into erotic girlhood, blind, wilful, bold, on the wrong +path, doomed beyond his power or any earthly power--the men he had +met, warped by the war, materialistic, lost in the maze of +self-preservation and self-aggrandizement, dead to chivalry and the +honor of women--Mel Iden, strangest and saddest of mysteries--a girl +who had been noble, aloof, proud, with a heart of golden fire, now +disgraced, ruined, the mother of a war-baby, and yet, strangest of +all, not vile, not bad, not lost, but groping like he was down those +vast and naked shores of life. He wept for the hard-faced Mrs. Wrapp, +whose ideal had been wealth and who had found prosperity bitter ashes +at her lips, yet who preserved in this modern maelstrom some sense of +its falseness, its baseness. He wept for Helen, playmate of the years +never to return, sweetheart of his youth, betrayer of his manhood, the +young woman of the present, blase, unsexed, seeking, provocative, all +perhaps, as she had said, that men had made her--a travesty on +splendid girlhood. He wept for her friends, embodying in them all of +their class--for little Bessy Bell, with her exquisite golden beauty, +her wonderful smile that was a light of joy--a child of fifteen with +character and mind, not yet sullied, not yet wholly victim to the +unstable spirit of the day. + +And traveling in this army that seemed to march before Lane's eyes +were the slackers, like Mackay and Swann, representative of that horde +of cowards who in one way or another had avoided the service--the +young men who put comfort, ease, safety, pleasure before all else--who +had no ideal of womanhood--who could not have protected women--who +would not fight to save women from the apish Huns--who remained behind +to fall in the wreck of the war's degeneration, and to dance, to +drink, to smoke, to ride the women to their debasement. + +And for the first and the last time Lane wept for himself, pitifully +as a child lost and helpless, as a strong man facing irreparable loss, +as a boy who had dreamed beautiful dreams, who had loved and given +and trusted, who had suffered insupportable agonies of body and soul, +who had fought like a lion for what he represented to himself, who had +killed and killed--and whose reward was change, indifference, betrayal +and death. + +That dark hour passed. Lane lay spent in the blackness of his room. +His heart had broken. But his spirit was as unquenchable as the fire +of the sun. If he had a year, a month, a week, a day longer to live he +could never live it untrue to himself. Life had marked him to be a +sufferer, a victim. But nothing could kill his soul. And his soul was +his faith--something he understood as faith in God or nature or +life--in the reason for his being--in his vision of the future. + +How then to spend this last remnant of his life! No one would guess +what passed through his lonely soul. No one would care. But out of the +suffering that now seemed to give him spirit and wisdom and charity +there dawned a longing to help, to save. He would return good for +evil. All had failed him, but he would fail no one. + +Then he had a strange intense desire to understand the present. Only a +day home--and what colossal enigma! The war had been chaos. Was this +its aftermath? Had people been rocked on their foundations? What were +they doing--how living--how changing? He would see, and be grateful +for a little time to prove his faith. He knew he would find the same +thing in others that existed in himself. + +He would help his mother, and cheer her, and try to revive something +of hope in her. He would bend a keen and patient eye upon Lorna, and +take the place of her father, and be kind, loving, yet blunt to her, +and show her the inevitable end of this dancing, dallying road. +Perhaps he could influence Helen. He would see the little +soldier-worshipping Bessy Bell, and if by talking hours and hours, by +telling the whole of his awful experience of war, he could take up +some of the time so fraught with peril for her, he would welcome the +ordeal of memory. And Mel Iden--how thought of her seemed tinged with +strange regret! Once she and he had been dear friends, and because of +a falsehood told by Helen that friendship had not been what it might +have been. Suppose Mel, instead of Helen, had loved him and been +engaged to him! Would he have been jilted and would Mel have been +lost? No! It was a subtle thing--that answer of his spirit. It did not +agree with Mel Iden's frank confession. + +It might be difficult, he reflected, to approach Mel. But he would +find a way. He would rest a few days--then find where she lived and go +to see her. Could he help her? And he had an infinite exaltation in +his power to help any one who had suffered. Lane recalled Mel's pale +sweet face, the shadowed eyes, the sad tremulous lips. And this image +of her seemed the most lasting of the impressions of the day. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The arbiters of social fate in Middleville assembled at Mrs. Maynard's +on a Monday afternoon, presumably to partake of tea. Seldom, however, +did they meet without adding zest to the occasion by a pricking down +of names. + +Mrs. Wrapp was the leading spirit of this self-appointed tribunal--a +circumstance of expanding, resentment to Mrs. Maynard, who had once +held the reins with aristocratic hands. Mrs. Kingsley, the third +member of the great triangle, claimed an ancestor on the Mayflower, +which was in her estimation a guerdon of blue blood. Her elaborate and +exclusive entertainments could never be rivalled by those of Mrs. +Wrapp. She was a widow with one child, the daughter Elinor, a girl of +nineteen. + +Mrs. Maynard was tall, pale, and worldly. Traces of lost beauty +flashed in her rare smiles. When Frank Maynard had failed in business +she had shrouded her soul in bitterness; and she saw the slow cruel +years whiten his head and bend his shoulders with the cold eye of a +woman who had no forgiveness for failure. After Mr. Maynard's reverse, +all that kept the pair together were the son Blair, and the sweet, +fair-haired, delicate Margaret, a girl of eighteen, whom the father +loved, and for whom the mother had large ambitions. They still +managed, in ways mysterious to the curious, to keep their fine +residence in the River Park suburb of Middleville. + +On this April afternoon the tea was neglected in the cups, and there +was nothing of the usual mild gossip. The discussion involved Daren +Lane, and when two of those social arbiters settled back in their +chairs the open sesame of Middleville's select affairs had been denied +to him. + +"Why did he do it?" asked Mrs. Kingsley. + +"He must have been under the influence of liquor," replied Mrs. +Maynard, who had her own reasons for being relieved at the disgrace of +Daren Lane. + +"No, Jane, you're wrong," spoke up Mrs. Wrapp, who, whatever else she +might be, was blunt and fair-minded. "Lane wasn't drunk. He never +drank before the war. I knew him well. He and Helen had a puppy-love +affair--they were engaged before Lane went to war. Well, the day after +his return he called on us. And if I never liked him before I liked +him then. He's come back to die! He was ill for two weeks--and then he +crawled out of bed again. I met him down town one day. He really +looked better, and told me with a sad smile that he had 'his ups and +downs'.... No, Lane wasn't drunk at Fanchon Smith's dance the other +night. I was there, and I was with Mrs. Smith when Lane came up to us. +If ever I saw a cool, smooth, handsome devil it was Lane.... Well, he +said what he said. I thought Mrs. Smith would faint. It is my idea +Lane had a deep motive back of his remark about Fanchon's dress and +her dancing. The fact is Lane was _sick_ at what he saw--sick and +angry. And he wanted Fanchon's mother and me to know what he +thought." + +"It was an insult," declared Mrs. Maynard, vehemently. + +"It made Mrs. Smith ill," added Mrs. Kingsley. "She told me Fanchon +tormented the life out of her, trying to learn what Lane said. Mrs. +Smith would not tell. But Fanchon came to me and _I_ told her. Such a +perfectly furious girl! She'll not wear _that_ dress or dance _that_ +dance very soon again. The story is all over town." + +"Friends, there are two sides to every question," interposed the +forceful Mrs. Wrapp. "If Lane cared to be popular he would have used +more tact. But I don't think his remark was an insult. It was pretty +raw, I admit. But the dress was indecent and the dance was rotten. +Helen told me Fanchon was half shot. So how could she be insulted?" + +Mrs. Maynard and Mrs. Kingsley, as usual, received Mrs. Wrapp's +caustic and rather crude opinions with as good grace as they could +muster. Plain it was that they felt themselves a shade removed from +this younger and newer member of society. But they could not show +direct antagonism to her influence any more than they could understand +the common sense and justice of her arguments. + +"No one will ever invite him again," declared Mrs. Maynard. + +"He's done in Middleville," echoed Mrs. Kingsley. And that perhaps was +a gauntlet thrown. + +"Rot!" exclaimed Mrs. Wrapp, with more force than elegance. "I'll +invite Daren Lane to my house.... You women don't get the point. +Daren Lane is a soldier come home to die. He gave himself. And he +returns to find all--all this sickening--oh, what shall I call it? +What does he care whether or not we invite him? Can't you see that?" + +"There's a good deal in what you say," returned Mrs. Kingsley, +influenced by the stronger spirit. "Maybe Lane hated the new styles. I +don't blame him much. There's something wrong with our young people. +The girls are crazy. The boys are wild. Few of them are marrying--or +even getting engaged. They'll do _anything_. The times are different. +And we mothers don't know our daughters." + +"Well, I know _mine_" returned Mrs. Maynard, loftily. "What you say +may be true generally, but there are exceptions. My daughter has been +too well brought up." + +"Yes, Margie is well-bred," retorted Mrs. Wrapp. "We'll admit she +hasn't gone to extremes, as most of our girls have. But I want to +observe to you that she has been a wall-flower for a year." + +"It certainly _is_ a problem," sighed Mrs. Kingsley. "I feel +helpless--out of it. Elinor does precisely what she wants to do. She +wears outlandish clothes. She smokes and--I'm afraid drinks. And +dances--_dreadfully._ Just like the other girls--no better, no worse. +But with all that I think she's good. I feel the same as Jane feels +about that. In spite of this--this modern stuff I believe all the +girls are fundamentally the same as ten years ago." + +"Well, that's where you mothers get in wrong," declared Mrs. Wrapp +with her vigorous bluntness. "It's your pride. Just because they're +_your_ daughters they are above reproach.... What have you to say +about the war babies in town? Did you ever hear of _that_ ten years +ago? You bet you didn't. These girls are a speedy set. Some of them +are just wild for the sake of wildness. Most of them _have_ to stand +for things, or be left out altogether." + +"What in the world can we do?" queried Mrs. Maynard, divided between +distress and chagrin. + +"The good Lord only knows," responded Mrs. Wrapp, herein losing her +assurance. "Marriage would save most of them. But Helen doesn't want +to marry. She wants to paint pictures and be free." + +"Perhaps marriage is a solution," rejoined Mrs. Maynard thoughtfully. + +"Whom on earth can we marry them to?" asked Mrs. Kingsley. "Most of +the older men, the bachelors who're eligible haven't any use for these +girls except to _play_ with them. True, these young boys only think of +little but dances, car-rides, and sneaking off alone to spoon--they +get engaged to this girl and that one. But nothing comes of it." + +"You're wrong. Never in my time have I seen girls find lovers and +husbands as easily as now," declared Mrs. Wrapp. "Nor get rid of them +so quickly.... Jane, you can marry Margaret. She's pretty and sweet +even if you have spoiled her. The years are slipping by. Margaret +ought to marry. She's not strong enough to work. Marriage for her +would make things so much easier for you." + +With that parting dig Mrs. Wrapp rose to go. Whereupon she and Mrs. +Kingsley, with gracious words of invitation and farewell, took +themselves off leaving Mrs. Maynard contending with an outraged +spirit. Certain terse remarks of the crude and practical Mrs. Wrapp +had forced to her mind a question that of late had assumed cardinal +importance, and now had been brought to an issue by a proposal for +Margaret's hand. Her daughter was a great expense, really more than +could longer be borne in these times of enormous prices and shrunken +income. A husband had been found for Margaret, and the matter could be +adjusted easily enough, if the girl did not meet it with the +incomprehensible obstinacy peculiar to her of late. + +Mrs. Maynard found the fair object of her hopes seated in the middle +of her room with the bright contents of numerous boxes and drawers +strewn in glittering heaps around her. + +"Margaret, what on earth are you doing there?" she demanded. + +"I'm looking for a little picture Holt Dalrymple gave me when we went +to school together," responded Margaret. + +"Aren't you ever going to grow up? You'll be hunting for your dolls +next." + +"I will if I like," said the daughter, in a tone that did not manifest +a seraphic mood. + +"Don't you feel well?" inquired the mother, solicitously. Margaret was +frail and subject to headaches that made her violent. + +"Oh, I'm well enough." + +"My dear," rejoined Mrs. Maynard, changing the topic. "I'm sorry to +tell you Daren Lane has lost his standing in Middleville." + +The hum and the honk of a motor-car sounded in the street. + +"Poor Daren! What's he done?... Any old day he'll care!" + +Mrs. Maynard was looking out of the window. "Here comes a crowd of +girls.... Helen Wrapp has a new suit. Well, I'll go down. And after +they leave I want a serious talk with you." + +"Not if I see you first!" muttered Margaret, under her breath, as her +mother walked out. + +Presently, following gay talk and laughter down stairs, a bevy of +Margaret's friends entered her boudoir. + +"Hello, old socks!" was Helen's greeting. "You look punk." + +"Marg, where's the doll? Your mother tipped us off," was Elinor's +greeting. + +"Where's the eats?" was Flossie Dickerson's greeting. She was a +bright-eyed girl, with freckles on her smiling face, and the +expression of a daring, vivacious and happy spirit--and acknowledged +to be the best dancer and most popular girl in Middleville. Her dress, +while not to be compared with her friends' costumes in costliness, yet +was extreme in the prevailing style. + +"Glad to see you, old dear," was dark-eyed, dark-haired Dorothy +Dalrymple's greeting. Her rich color bore no hint of the artificial. +She sank down on her knees beside Margaret. + +The other girls draped themselves comfortably round the room; and +Flossie with a 'Yum Yum' began to dig into a box of candy on +Margaret's couch. They all talked at once. "Hear the latest, Marg?" + +"Look at Helen's spiffy suit!" + +"Oh, money, money, what it will buy!" + +"Money'll never buy _me_, I'll say." + +"Marg, who's been fermentin' round lately? Girls, get wise to the +flowers." + +"Hot dog! See Marg blush! That comes from being so pale. What are +rouge and lip-stick and powder for but to hide truth from our +masculine pursuers?" + +"Floss, you haven't blushed for a million years." + +It was Dorothy Dalrymple who silenced the idle badinage. + +"Marg, you rummaging in the past?" she cried. + +"Yes, and I love it," replied Margaret. "I haven't looked over this +stuff for years. Just to remember the things I did!... Here, Dal, is a +picture you once drew of our old teacher, Miss Hill." + +Dorothy, whom the girls nicknamed "Dal," gazed at the drawing with +amaze and regret. + +"She was a terror," continued Margaret. "But Dal, you never had any +reason to draw such a horrible picture of her. You were her pet." + +"I wasn't," declared Dorothy. + +"Maybe you never knew Miss Hill adored you, Dal," interposed Elinor. +"She was always holding you up as a paragon. Not in your lessons--for +you were a bonehead--but for deportment you were the class!" + +"Dal, you were too good for this earth _then_, let alone these days," +said Margaret. + +"Miss Hill," mused Elinor, gazing at the caricature. "That's not a +bad drawing. I remember Miss Hill never had any use for me. Small +wonder. She was an honest-to-God teacher. I think she wanted us to be +good.... Wonder how she got along with the kids that came after us." + +"I saw Amanda Hill the other day," spoke up Flossie. "She looked worn +out. She was nice to me. I'll bet my shirt she'd like to have us back, +bad as we were.... These kids of to-day! My Gawd! they're the limit. +They paralyze _me_. I thought I was pretty fast. But compared to these +youngsters I'm tied to a post. My kid sister Joyce--Rose Clymer--Bessy +Bell!... Some kids, believe me. And take it from me, girls, these +dimple-kneed chickens are vamping the older boys." + +"They're all stuck on Bessy," said Helen. + +Margaret squealed in delight. "Girls, look here. Valentines! Did you +ever?... Look at them.... And what's this?... 'Wonders of +Nature--composition by Margaret Maynard.' Heavens! Did I write that? +And what's this sear and yellow document?" + +A slivery peal of laughter burst from Margaret. + +"Dal, here's one of your masterpieces, composed when you were +thirteen, and mooney over Daren Lane." + +"I? Never! I didn't write it," denied Dorothy, with color in her dark +cheeks. + +"Yes you did. It's signed--'Yours forever Dot Dalrymple.' ... Besides +I remember now Daren gave it to me. Said he wanted to prove he could +have other girls if he couldn't have me." + +"How chivalrous!" exclaimed Dorothy, joining in the laugh. + +"Ah! here's what I've been hunting," declared Margaret, waving aloft a +small picture. "It's a photograph of Holt, taken five years ago. Only +the other evening he swore I hadn't kept it--dared me to produce it. +He'll want it now--for some other girl. But nix, it's mine.... Dal, +isn't he a handsome boy here?" + +With sisterly impartiality Dorothy declared she could not in the +wildest flight of her imagination see her brother as handsome. + +"Holt used to be good-looking," said she. "But he outgrew it. That +South Carolina training camp and the flu changed his looks as well as +his disposition." + +"Holt _is_ changed," mused Margaret, gazing down at the picture, and +the glow faded from her face. + +"Dare Lane is handsome, even if he is a wreck," said Elinor, with +sudden enthusiasm. "Friday night when he beat it from Fanchon's party +he sure looked splendid." + +Elinor was a staunch admirer of Lane's and she was the inveterate +torment of her girl friends. She gave Helen a sly glance. Helen's +green eyes narrowed and gleamed. + +"Yes, Dare's handsomer than ever," she said. "And to give the devil +his due he's _finer_ than ever. Too damn fine for this crowd!... But +what's the use--" she broke off. + +"Yes, poor Dare Lane!" sighed Elinor. "Dare deserves much from all of +us, not to mention _you_. He has made me think. Thank Heaven, I found +I hadn't forgotten how." + +"El, no one would notice it," returned Helen, sarcastically. + +"It's easy to see where you get off," retorted Elinor. + +Then a silence ensued, strange in view of the late banter and quick +sallies; a silence breathing of restraint. The color died wholly from +Margaret's face, and a subtle, indefinable, almost imperceptible +change came over Dorothy. + +"You bet Dare is handsome," spoke up Flossie, as if to break the +embarrassment. "He's so _white_ since he came home. His eyes are so +dark and flashing. Then the way he holds his head--the look of him.... +No wonder these damned slackers seem cheap compared to him.... I'd +fall for Dare Lane in a minute, even if he is half dead." + +The restraint passed, and when Floss Dickerson came out with eulogy +for any man his status was settled for good and all. Margaret plunged +once more into her treasures of early schooldays. Floss and Elinor +made merry over some verses Margaret had handed up with a blush. Helen +apparently lapsed into a brooding abstraction. And presently Dorothy +excused herself, and kissing Margaret good-bye, left for home. + +The instant she had gone Margaret's gay and reminiscent mood underwent +a change. + +"Girls, I want to know what Daren Lane did or said on Friday night at +Fanchon's," spoke up Margaret. "You know mother dragged me home. Said +I was tired. But I wasn't. It was only because I'm a wall-flower.... +So I missed what happened. But I've heard talk enough to make me crazy +to know about this scandal. Kit Benson was here and she hinted things. +I met Bessy Bell. She asked me if I knew. She's wild about Daren. That +yellow-legged broiler! He doesn't even know her.... My brother Blair +would not tell me anything. He's strong for Daren. But mother told me +Daren had lost his standing in Middleville. She always hated Daren. +Afraid I'd fall in love with him. The idea! I liked him, and I like +him better now--poor fellow!... And last, when El mentioned Daren, did +you see Dal's face? I never saw Dal look like that." + +"Neither did I," replied Elinor. + +"Well, I have," spoke up Helen, with all of her mother's bluntness. +"Dal always was love-sick over Daren, when she was a mere kid. She +never got over it and never will." + +"Still water runs deep," sapiently remarked Elinor. "There's a good +deal in Dal. She's fine as silk. Of course we all remember how jealous +she was of other girls when Daren went with her. But I think now it's +because she's sorry for Daren. So am I. He was such a fool. Fanchon +swears no nice girl in Middleville will ever dance that new camel-walk +dance in public again." + +"What did Daren say?" demanded Margaret, with eyes lighting. + +"I was standing with Helen, and Fanchon when Daren came up. He +looked--I don't know how--just wonderful. We all knew something was +doing. Daren bowed to Fanchon and said to her in a perfectly clear +voice that everybody heard: 'I'd like to try your camel-walk. I'm out +of practice and not strong, but I can go once around, I'm sure. Will +you?'" + +'You're on, Dare,' replied Fanchon. + +Then he asked. 'Do you like it?' + +'I'll say so, Dare--crazy about it.' + +'Of course you know why it's danced--and how it's interpreted by +men,' said Daren. + +'What do you mean?' asked Fanchon, growing red and flustered. + +"Then Daren said: 'I'll tell your mother. If she lets you dance with +that understanding--all right.' He bent over Mrs. Smith and said +something. Mrs. Wrapp heard it. And so did Mrs. Mackay, who looked +pretty sick. Mrs. Smith nearly _fainted_!... but she recovered enough +to order Daren to leave." + +"Do you know what Daren said?" demanded Margaret, in a frenzy of +excitement. + +"No. None of the girls know. We can only imagine. That makes it worse. +If Fanchon knows she won't tell. But it is gossip all over town. We'll +hear it soon. All the girls in town are imagining. It's spread like +wildfire. And what _do_ you think, Margie? In church--on +Sunday--Doctor Wallace spoke of it. He mentioned no names. But he said +that as the indecent dress and obscene dance of the young women could +no longer be influenced by the home or the church it was well that one +young man had the daring to fling the truth into the faces of their +mothers." + +"Oh, it was rotten of Daren," replied Margaret, with tears in her +eyes. She was ashamed, indignant, incredulous. "For him to do a thing +like that! He's always been the very prince of gentlemen. What on +earth possessed him? Heaven knows the dances are vile, but that +doesn't excuse Daren Lane. What do I care what Doctor Wallace said? +Never in a thousand years will Mrs. Smith or mother or any one forgive +him. Fanchon Smith is a little snob. I always hated her. She's +spiteful and catty. She's a flirt all the way. She would dance any old +thing. But that's not the point. Daren's disgraced himself. It was +rotten--of him. And--I'll never--forgive--him, either." + +"Don't cry, Margie," said Elinor. "It always makes your eyes red and +gives you a headache. Poor Daren made a blunder. But some of us will +stick to him. Don't take it so badly." + +"Margie, it was rotten of Daren, one way you look at it--our way," +added Flossie. "But you have to hand it to him for that stunt." + +Helen Wrapp preserved her sombre mood, silent and brooding. + +"Margie," went on Elinor, "there's a lot back of this. If Dare Lane +could do that there must be some reason for it. Maybe we all needed a +jolt. Well, we've got it. Let's stand by Daren. I will. Helen will. +Floss will. You will. And surely Dal will." + +"If you ask _me_ I'll say Dare Lane ought to hand something to the +men!" burst out Floss Dickerson, with fire in her eyes. + +"You said a mouthful, kiddo," responded Helen, with her narrow +contracted gaze upon Margaret. "Daren gave me the once over--and then +the icepick!" + +"Wonder what he gave poor Mel--when he heard about her," murmured +Elinor, thoughtfully. + +"Mel Iden ought to be roasted," retorted Helen. "She was always so +darned superior. And all the time...." + +"Helen, don't you say a word against Mel Iden," burst out Margaret, +hotly. "She was my dearest friend. She was lovely. Her ruin was a +horrible shock. But it wasn't because she was bad.... Mel had some +fanatical notion about soldiers giving all--going away to be +slaughtered. She said to me, 'A woman's body is so little to give,'" + +"Yes, I know Mel was cracked," replied Helen. "But she needn't have +been a damn fool. She didn't need to have had that baby!" + +"Helen, your idea of sin is to be found out," said Elinor, with +satire. + +Again Floss Dickerson dropped her trenchant personality into the +breach. + +"Aw, come off!" she ejaculated. "Let somebody roast the men once, will +you? I'm the little Jane that _knows_, believe me. All this talk about +the girls going to hell makes me sick. We may be going--and going in +limousines--but it's the men who're stepping on the gas." + +"Floss, I love to hear you elocute," drawled Helen. "Go to it! For +God's sake, roast the men." + +"You always have to horn in," retorted Floss. "Let me get this off my +chest, will you?... We girls are getting talked about. There's no use +denying it. Any but a blind girl could see it. And it's because we do +what the men want. Every girl wants to go out--to be attractive--to +have fellows. But the price is getting high. They say in Middleville +that I'm rushed more than any other girl. Well, if I am I know what it +costs.... If I didn't 'pet'--if I didn't mush, if I didn't park my +corsets at dances--if I didn't drink and smoke, and wiggle like a +jelly-fish, I'd be a dead one--an egg, and don't you overlook that. If +any one says I _want_ to do these things he's a fool. But I do love to +have good times, and little by little I've been drawn on and on.... +I've had my troubles staving off these fellows. Most of them get half +drunk. Some of the girls do, too. I never went that far. I always kept +my head. I never went the limit. But you can bet your sweet life it +wasn't their fault I didn't fall for them.... I'll say I've had to +walk home from more than one auto ride. There's something in the gag, +'I know she's a good girl because I met her walking home from an auto +ride.' That's one thing I intend to cut out this summer--the auto +rides. Nothing doing for little Flossie!" + +"Oh, can't we talk of something else!" complained Margaret, wearily, +with her hands pressing against her temples. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Mrs. Maynard slowly went upstairs and along the hall to her daughter's +room. Margaret sat listlessly by a window. The girls had gone. + +"You were going for a long walk," said Mrs. Maynard. + +"I'm tired," replied Margaret. There was a shadow in her eyes. + +The mother had never understood her daughter. And of late a subtle +change in Margaret had made her more of a puzzle. + +"Margaret, I want to talk seriously with you," she began. + +"Well?" + +"Didn't I tell you I wanted you to break off your--your friendship +with Holt Dalrymple?" + +"Yes," replied Margaret, with a flush. "I did not--want to." + +"Well, the thing which concerns you now is--he can't be regarded as a +possibility for you." + +"Possibility?" echoed Margaret. + +"Just that, exactly. I'm not sure of your thoughts on the matter, but +it's time I knew them. Holt is a ne'er-do-well. He's gone to the bad, +like so many of these army boys. No nice girl will ever associate with +him again." + +"Then I'm not nice, for I will," declared Margaret, spiritedly. + +"You will persist in your friendship for him in the face of my +objection?" + +"Certainly I will if I have any say about it. But I know Holt. I--I +guess he has taken to drink--and carrying on. So you needn't worry +much about our friendship." + +Mrs. Maynard hesitated. She had become accustomed to Margaret's little +bursts of fury and she expected one here. But none came; Margaret +appeared unnaturally calm; she sat still with her face turned to the +window. Mrs. Maynard was a little afraid of this cold, quiet girl. + +"Margaret, you can't help seeing now that your mother's judgment was +right. Holt Dalrymple once may have been very interesting and +attractive for a friend, but as a prospective husband he was +impossible. The worst I hear of him is that he drinks and gambles. I +know you liked him and I don't want to be unjust. But he has kept +other and better young men away from you." + +Margaret's hand clenched and her face sank against the window-pane. + +"We need say no more about him," went on Mrs. Maynard. "Margaret, +you've been brought up in luxury. If your father happened to die +now--he's far from well--we'd be left penniless. We've lived up every +dollar.... We have our poor crippled Blair to care for. You know you +must marry well. I've brought you up with that end in view. And it's +imperative you marry soon." + +"Why must a girl marry?" murmured Margaret, wistfulness in her voice. +"I'd rather go to work." "Margaret, you are a Maynard," replied her +mother, haughtily. "Pray spare me any of this new woman talk about +liberty--equal rights--careers and all that. Life hasn't changed for +the conservative families of blood.... Try to understand, Margaret, +that you must marry and marry well. You're nobody without money. In +society there are hundreds of girls like you, though few so +attractive. That's all the more reason you should take the best chance +you have, before it's lost. If you don't marry people will say you +can't. They'll say you're fading, growing old, even if you grow +prettier every day of your life, and in the end they'll make you a +miserable old maid. Then you'll be glad to marry anybody. If you marry +now you can help your father, who needs help badly enough. You can +help poor Blair.... You can be a leader in society; you can have a +house here, a cottage at the seashore and one in the mountains; +everything a girl's heart yearns for--servants, horses, autos, gowns, +diamonds----" + +"Everything except love," interrupted Margaret, bitterly. + +Mrs. Maynard actually flushed, but she kept her temper. + +"It's desirable that you love your husband. Any sensible woman can +learn to care for a man. Love, as you dream about it is merely a--a +dream. If women waited for that they would never get married." + +"Which would be preferable to living without love." + +"But Margaret, what would become of the world? If there were fewer +marriages--Heaven knows they're few enough nowadays--there would be +fewer families--and in the end fewer children--less and less----" + +"They'd be better children," said Margaret, calmly. + +"Eventually the race would die out." + +"And that'd be a good thing--if the people can't love each other." + +"How silly--exasperating!" ejaculated Mrs. Maynard. "You don't mean +such nonsense. What any girl wants is a home of her own, a man to fuss +over. I didn't marry for love, as you dream it. My husband attended to +his business and I've looked after his household. You've had every +advantage. I flatter myself our marriage has been a success." + +Margaret's eyes gleamed like pointed flames. + +"I differ with you. Your married life hasn't been successful any more +than it's been happy. You never cared for father. You haven't been +kind to him since his failure." + +Mrs. Maynard waved her hand imperiously in angry amaze. + +"I won't stop. I'm not a baby or a doll," went on Margaret, +passionately. "If I'm old enough to marry I'm old enough to talk. I +can think, can't I? You never told me anything, but I could see. Ever +since I can remember you and father have had one continual wrangle +about money--bills--expenses. Perhaps I'd have been better off without +all the advantages and luxury. It's because of these things you want +to throw me at some man. I'd far rather go to work the same as Blaid +did, instead of college." + +"Whatever on earth has come over you?" gasped Mrs. Maynard, +bewildered by the revolt of this once meek daughter. + +"Maybe I'm learning a little sense. Maybe I got some of it from Daren +Lane," flashed back Margaret. + +"Mother, whatever I've learned lately has been learned away from home. +You've no more idea what's going on in the world to-day than if you +were actually dead. I never was bright like Mel Iden, but I'm no fool. +I see and hear and I read. Girls aren't pieces of furniture to be +handed out to some rich men. Girls are waking up. They can do things. +They can be independent. And being independent doesn't mean a girl's +not going to marry. For she can wait--wait for the right man--for +love.... You say I dream. Well, why didn't you wake me up long +ago--with the truth? I had my dreams about love and marriage. And I've +learned that love and marriage are vastly different from what most +mothers make them out to be, or let a girl think." + +"Margaret, I'll not have you talk in this strange way. You owe me +respect if not obedience," said Mrs. Maynard, her voice trembling. + +"Oh, well, I won't say any more," replied Margaret, "But can't you +spare me? Couldn't we live within our means?" + +"After all these years--to skimp along! I couldn't endure it." + +"Whom have you in mind for me to--to marry?" asked the girl, coldly +curious. + +"Mr. Swann has asked your hand in marriage for his son Richard. He +wants Richard to settle down. Richard is wild, like all these young +men. And I have--well, I encouraged the plan." + +"_Mother!_" cried Margaret, springing up. + +"Margaret, you will see" + +"I despise Dick Swann." + +"Why?" asked her mother. + +"I just do. I never liked him in school. He used to do such mean +things. He's selfish. He let Holt and Daren suffer for his tricks." + +"Margaret, you talk like a child." + +"Listen, mother." She threw her arms round Mrs. Maynard and kissed her +and spoke pleadingly. "Oh, don't make me hate myself. It seems I've +grown so much older in the last year or so--and lately since this +marriage talk came up. I've thought of things as never before because +I've--I've learned about them. I see so differently. I can't--can't +love Dick Swann. I can't bear to have him touch me. He's rude. He +takes liberties.... He's too free with his hands! Why, it'd be wrong +to marry him. What difference can a marriage service make in a girl's +feelings.... Mother, let me say no." + +"Lord spare me from bringing up another girl!" exclaimed Mrs. Maynard. +"Margaret, I can't make you marry Richard Swann. I'm simply trying to +tell you what any sensible girl would see she had to do. You think it +over--both sides of the question--before you absolutely decide." + +Mrs. Maynard was glad to end the discussion and to get away. In +Margaret's appeal she heard a yielding, a final obedience to her wish. +And she thought she had better let well enough alone. The look in +Margaret's clear blue eyes made her shrink; it would haunt her. But +she felt no remorse. Any mother would have done the same. There was +always the danger of that old love affair; there was new danger in +these strange wild fancies of modern girls; there was never any +telling what Margaret might do. But once married she would be safe and +her position assured. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Daren Lane left Riverside Park, and walked in the meadows until he +came to a boulder under a huge chestnut tree. Here he sat down. He +could not walk far these days. Many a time in the Indian summers long +past he had gathered chestnuts there with Dal, with Mel Iden, with +Helen. He would never do it again. + +The April day had been warm and fresh with the opening of a late +spring. The sun was now gold--rimming the low hills in the west; the +sky was pale blue; the spring flowers whitened the meadow. Twilight +began to deepen; the evening star twinkled out of the sky; the hush of +the gloaming hour stole over the land. + +"Four weeks home--and nothing done. So little time left!" he muttered. + +Two weeks of that period he had been unable to leave his bed. The rest +of the time he had dragged himself around, trying to live up to his +resolve, to get at the meaning of the present, to turn his sister +Lorna from the path of dalliance. And he had failed in all. + +His sister presented the problem that most distressed Lane. She had +her good qualities, and through them could be reached. But she was +thoughtless, vacillating, and wilful. She had made him promises only +to break them. Lane had caught her in falsehoods. And upon being +called to account she had told him that if he didn't like it he could +"lump" it. Of late she had grown away from what affection she had +shown at first. She could not bear interference with her pleasures, +and seemed uncontrollable. Lane felt baffled. This thing was a +Juggernaut impossible to stop. + +Lane had scraped acquaintance with Harry Hale, one of Lorna's +admirers, a boy of eighteen, who lived with his widowed mother on the +edge of the town. He appeared to be an industrious, intelligent, quiet +fellow, not much given to the prevailing habits of the young people. +In his humble worship of Lorna he was like a dog. Lorna went to the +motion pictures with him occasionally, when she had no other +opportunity for excitement. Lane gathered that Lorna really liked this +boy, and when with him seemed more natural, more what a +fifteen-year-old girl used to be. And somehow it was upon this boy +that Lane placed a forlorn hope. + +No more automobiles honked in front of the home to call Lorna out. She +met her friends away from the house, and returning at night she walked +the last few blocks. It was this fact that awoke Lane's serious +suspicions. + +Another problem lay upon Lane's heart; if not so distressing as +Lorna's, still one that added to his sorrow and his perplexity. He had +gone once to call on Mel Iden. Mel Iden was all soul. Whatever had +been the facts of her downfall--and reflection on that hurt Lane so +strangely he could not bear it--it had not been on her part a matter +of sex. She was far above wantonness. + +Through long hours in the dark of night, when Lane's pain kept him +sleepless, he had pondered over the mystery of Mel Iden until it +cleared. She typified the mother of the race. In all periods of the +progress of the race, war had brought out this instinct in women--to +give themselves for the future. It was a provision of nature, +inscrutable and terrible. How immeasurable the distance between Mel +Iden and those women who practised birth control! As the war had +brought out hideous greed and baseness, so had it propelled forward +and upward the noblest attributes of life. Mel Iden was a builder, not +a destroyer. She had been sexless and selfless. Unconsciously during +the fever and emotion of the training of American men for service +abroad, and the poignancy of their departure, to fight, and perhaps +never return, Mel Iden had answered to this mysterious instinct of +nature. Then, with the emotion past, and face to face with staggering +consequences, she had reacted to conscious instincts. She had proved +the purity of her surrender. She was all mother. And Lane began to see +her moving in a crystal, beautiful light. + +For what seemed a long time Lane remained motionless there in the +silence of the meadow. Then at length he arose and retraced his slow +steps back to town. Darkness overtook him on the bridge that spanned +Middleville River. He leaned over the railing and peered down into the +shadows. A soft murmur of rushing water came up. How like strange +distant voices calling him to go back or go on, or warning him, or +giving mystic portent of something that would happen to him there! A +cold chill crept over him and he seemed enveloped in a sombre menace +of the future. But he shook it off. He had many battles to fight, not +the least of which was with morbid imagination. + +When he reached the center of town he entered the lobby of the +Bradford Inn. He hoped to meet Blair Maynard there. A company of +well-dressed youths and men filled the place, most of whom appeared to +be making a merry uproar. + +Lane observed two men who evidently were the focus of attention. One +was a stranger, very likely a traveling man, and at the moment he +presented a picture of mingled consternation and anger. He was +brushing off his clothes while glaring at a little, stout, red-faced +man who appeared about to be stricken by apoplexy. This latter was a +Colonel Pepper, whose acquaintance Lane had recently made. He was fond +of cards and sport, and appeared to be a favorite with the young men +about town. Moreover he had made himself particularly agreeable to +Lane, in fact to the extent of Lane's embarrassment. At this moment +the stranger lost his consternation wholly in wrath, and made a +threatening movement toward Pepper. Lane stepped between them just in +time to save Pepper a blow. + +"I know what he's done. I apologize for him," said Lane, to the +stranger. "He's made a good many people victims of the same indignity. +It's a weakness--a disease. He can't help himself. Pray overlook it." + +The stranger appeared impressed with Lane's presence, probably with +his uniform, and slowly shook himself and fell back, to glower at +Pepper, and curse under his breath, still uncertain of himself. + +Lane grasped Colonel Pepper and led him out of the lobby. + +"Pepper, you're going to get in an awful mess with that stunt of +yours," he declared, severely. "If you can't help it you ought at +least pick on your friends, or the town people--not strangers." + +"Have--a--drink," sputtered Pepper, with his hand at his hip. + +"No, thanks." + +"Have--a--cigar." + +Lane laughed. He had been informed that Colonel Pepper's failing +always took this form of remorse, and certainly he would have tried it +upon his latest victim had not Lane interfered. + +"Colonel, you're hopeless," said Lane, as they walked out. "I hope +somebody will always be around to protect you. I'd carry a body +guard.... Say, have you seen Blair Maynard or Holt Dalrymple +to-night?" + +"Not Blair, but Holt was here early with the boys," replied Pepper. +"They've gone to the club rooms to have a little game. I'm going to +sit in. Lately I had to put up a holler. If the boys quit cards how'm +I to make a living?" + +"Had Holt been drinking?" + +"Not to-night. But he's been hitting the bottle pretty hard of late." + +Suddenly Lane buttonholed the little man and peered down earnestly at +him. "Pepper, I've been trying to straighten Holt up. He's going to +the bad. But he's a good kid. It's only the company.... The fact +is--this's strictly confidential, mind you--Holt's sister begged me to +try to stop his drinking and gambling. I think I can do it, too, with +a little help. Now, Pepper, I'm asking you to help me." + +"Ahuh! Well, let's go in the writing room, where we can talk," said +the other, and he took hold of Lane's arm. When they were seated in a +secluded corner he lighted a cigar, and faced Lane with shrewd, kindly +eyes. "Son, I like you and Blair as well as I hate these slackers +Swann and Mackay, and their crowd. I could tell you a heap, and maybe +help you, though I think young Holt is not a bad egg.... Is his sister +the dark one who steps so straight and holds herself so well?" + +"Yes, that sounds like Dorothy," replied Lane. + +"She's about the only one I know who doesn't paint her face and I +never saw her at--well, never mind where. But the fact I mean makes +her stand out in this Middleville crowd like a light in the dark.... +Lane, have you got on yet to the speed of the young people of this old +burg?" + +"I'm getting on, to my sorrow," said Lane. + +"Ahuh! You mean you're getting wise to your kid sister?" + +"Yes, I'm sorry to say. What do you know, Pepper?" + +"Now, son, wait. I'm coming to that, maybe. But I want to know some +things first. Is it true--what I hear about your health, bad shape, +you know--all cut up in the war? Worse than young Maynard?" + +Pepper's hand was close on Lane's. He had forgotten his cigar. His +eyes were earnest. + +"True?" laughed Lane, grimly. "Yes, it's true.... I won't last long, +Pepper, according to Doctor Bronson. That's why I want to make hay +while the sun shines." + +"Ahuh!" Pepper cleared his throat. "Forgive this, boy.... Is it also +true you were engaged to marry that Helen Wrapp--and she threw you +down, while you were over there?" + +"Yes, that's perfectly true," replied Lane, soberly. + +"God, I guess maybe the soldier wasn't up against it!" ejaculated +Pepper, with a gesture of mingled awe and wonder and scorn. + +"What was the soldier up against, Pepper?" queried Lane. "Frankly, I +don't know." + +"Lane, the government jollied and forced the boys into the army," +replied Pepper. "The country went wild with patriotism. The soldiers +were heroes. The women threw themselves away on anything inside a +uniform. Make the world safe for democracy--down the Hun--save France +and England--ideals, freedom, God's country, and all that! Well, the +first few soldiers to return from France got a grand reception, were +made heroes of. They were lucky to get back while the sentiment was +hot. But that didn't last.... Now, a year and more after the war, +where does the soldier get off? Lane, there're over six hundred +thousand of you disabled veterans, and for all I can read and find out +the government has done next to nothing. New York is full of begging +soldiers--on the streets. Think of it! And the poor devils are dying +everywhere. My God! think of what's in the mind of one crippled +soldier, let alone over half a million. I just have a dim idea of what +I'd felt. You must know, or you will know, Lane, for you seem a +thoughtful, lofty sort of chap. Just the kind to make a good soldier, +because you had ideals and nerve!... Well, a selfish and weak +administration could hardly be expected to keep extravagant promises +to patriots. But that the American public, as a body, should now be +sick of the sight of a crippled soldier--and that his sweetheart +should turn him down!--this is the hideous blot, the ineradicable +shame, the stinking truth, the damned mystery!" + +When Pepper ended his speech, which grew more vehement toward the +close, Lane could only stare at him in amaze. + +"See here, Lane," added the other hastily, "pardon me for blowing up. +I just couldn't help it. I took a shine to you--and to see you like +this--brings back the resentment I've had all along. I'm blunt, but +it's just as well for you to be put wise quick. You'll find friends, +like me, who will stand by you, if you let them. But you'll also find +that most of this rotten world has gone back on you...." + +Then Pepper made a sharp, passionate gesture that broke his cigar +against the arm of his chair, and he cursed low and deep. Presently he +addressed Lane again. "Whatever comes of any disclosures I +make--whatever you _do_--you'll not give me away?" + +"Certainly not. You can trust me, Pepper," returned Lane. + +"Son, I'm a wise old guy. There's not much that goes on in Middleville +I don't get on to. And I'll make your hair curl. But I'll confine +myself to what comes closest home to you. I _get_ you, Lane. You're +game. You're through. You have come back from war to find a hell of a +mess. Your own sister--your sweetheart--your friend's brother and +your soldier pard's sister--on the primrose path! And you with your +last breath trying to turn them back! I'll say it's a damn fine stunt. +I'm an old gambler, Lane. I've lived in many towns and mixed in tough +crowds of crooked men and rotten women. But I'm here to confess that +this after-the-war stuff of Middleville's better class has knocked out +about all the faith I had left in human nature.... Then you came along +to teach me a lesson." + +"Well, Pepper, that's strong talk," returned Lane. "But cut it, and +hurry to--to what comes home to me. What's the matter with these +Middleville girls?" + +"Lane, any intelligent man, who _knows_ things, and who can think for +himself, will tell you this--that to judge from the dress, dance, +talk, conduct of these young girls--most of them have _apparently_ +gone wrong." + +"You include our nice girls--from what we used to call Middleville's +best families?" + +"I don't only include them. I throw the emphasis on them. The girls +you know best." + +Lane straightened up, to look at his companion. Pepper certainly was +not drunk. + +"Do you know--anything about Lorna?" + +"Nothing specifically to prove anything. She's in the thick of this +thing in Middleville. Only a few nights ago I saw her at a roadhouse, +out on the State Road, with a crowd of youngsters. They were having a +high old time, I'll say. They danced jazz, and I saw Lorna drink +lemonade into which liquor had been poured from a hip-pocket flask." + +Lane put his head on his hands, as if to rest it, or still the +throbbing there. + +"Who took Lorna to this place?" he asked, presently, breathing +heavily. + +"I don't know. But it was Dick Swann who poured the drink out of the +flask. Between you and me, Lane, that young millionaire is going a +pace hereabouts. Listen," he went on, lowering his voice, and glancing +round to see there was no one to overhear him, "there's a gambling +club in Middleville. I go there. My rooms are in the same building. +I've made a peep-hole through the attic floor next to my room. Do I +see more things than cards and bottles? Do I! If the fathers of +Middleville could see what I've seen they'd go out to the asylum.... +I'm not supposed to know it's more than a place to gamble. And nobody +knows I know. Dick Swann and Hardy Mackay are at the head of this +club. Swann is the genius and the support of it. He's rich, and a high +roller if I ever saw one.... Among themselves these young gentlemen +call it the Strong Arm Club. Study over that, Lane. Do you _get_ it? I +know you do, and that saves me talking until I see red." + +"Pepper, have you seen my sister--there?" queried Lane, tensely. + +"Yes." + +"With whom?" + +"I'll not say, Lane. There's no need for that. I'll give you a key to +my rooms, and you can go there--in the afternoons--and paste yourself +to my peep-hole, and watch.... Honest to God, I believe it means +bloodshed. But I can't help that. Something must be done. I'm not +much good, but I can see that." + +Colonel Pepper wiped his moist face. He was now quite pale and his +hands shook. + +"I never had a wife, or a sweetheart," he went on. "But once I had a +little sister. Thank Heaven she didn't live her girlhood in times like +these." + +Lane again bowed his head on his hands, and wrestled with the might of +reality. + +"I'm going to take you to these club-rooms to-night," went on Pepper. +"It'll cause a hell of a row. But once you get in, there'll be no help +for them. Swann and his chums will have to stand for it." + +"Did you ever take an outsider in?" asked Lane. + +"Several times. Traveling men I met here. Good fellows that liked a +game of cards. Swann made no kick at that. He's keen to gamble. And +when he's drinking the sky's the limit." + +"Wouldn't it be wiser just to show me these rooms, and let me watch +from your place--until I find my sister there?" queried Lane. + +"I don't know," replied Pepper, thoughtfully. "I think if I were you +I'd butt in to-night with me. You can drag young Dalrymple home before +he gets drunk." + +"Pepper, I'll break up this--this club," declared Lane. + +"I'll say you will. And I'm for you strong. If it was only the booze +and cards I'd not have squealed. That's my living. But by God, I can't +stand for the--the other stuff any longer!... Come on now. And I'll +put you on to a slick stunt that'll take your breath away." + +He led the way out of the hotel, in his excitement walking rather +fast. + +"Go slow, Pepper," said Lane. "We're not going over the top." + +Pepper gave him a quick, comprehending look. + +"Good Lord, Lane, you're not as--as bad as all that!" + +Lane nodded. Then at slower pace they went out and down the bright +Main Street for two blocks, and then to the right on West Street, +which was quite comparable to the other thoroughfare as a business +district. At the end of the street the buildings were the oldest in +Middleville, and entirely familiar to Lane. + +"Give White's the once over," said Pepper, indicating a brightly +lighted store across the street. "That place is new to you, isn't it?" + +"Yes, I don't remember White, or that there was a confectionery den +along here." + +"Den is right. It's some den, believe me.... White's a newcomer--a +young sport, thick with Swann. For all I know Swann is backing him. +Anyway he has a swell joint and a good trade. People kick about his +high prices. Ice cream, candy, soda, soft drinks, and all that rot. +But if he knows who you are you can get a shot. It'll strike you funny +later to see he waits on the customers himself. But when you get wise +it'll not be so funny. He's got a tea parlor upstairs--and they say +it's some swell place, with a rest room or ladies' dressing room back. +Now from this back room the girls can get into the club-rooms of the +boys, and go out on the other side of the block. In one way and out +the other--at night. Not necessary in the afternoon.... Come on now, +well go round the block." + +A short walk round the block brought them into a shaded, wide street +with one of Middleville's parks on the left. A row of luxuriant elm +trees helped the effect of gloom. The nearest electric light was +across on the far corner, with trees obscuring it to some extent. At +the corner where Pepper halted there was an outside stairway running +up the old-fashioned building. The ground floor shops bore the signs +of a florist and a milliner; above was a photograph gallery; and the +two upper stories were apparently unoccupied. To the left of the two +stores another stairway led up into the center of the building. Pepper +led Lane up this stairway, a long, dark climb of three stories that +taxed Lane's endurance. + +"Sure is a junk heap, this old block," observed Pepper, as he fumbled +in the dim light with his keys. At length he opened a door, turned on +a light and led Lane into his apartment. "I have three rooms here, and +the back one opens into a kind of areaway from which I get into an +abandoned storeroom, or I guess it's an attic. To-morrow afternoon +about three you meet me here and I'll take you in there and let you +have a look through the peep-hole I made. It's no use to-night, +because there'll be only boys at the club, and I'm going to take you +right in." + +He switched off the light, drew Lane out and locked the door. "I'm the +only person who lives on this floor. There're three holes to this +burrow and one of them is at the end of this hall. The exit where the +girls slip out is on the floor below, through a hallway to that +outside stairs. Oh, I'll say it's a Coney Island maze, this building! +But just what these young rakes want.... Come on, and be careful. +It'll be dark and the stairs are steep." + +At the end of the short hall Pepper opened a door, and led Lane down +steep steps in thick darkness, to another hall, dimly lighted by a +window opening upon the street. + +"You'll have to make a bluff at playing poker, unless my butting in +with you causes a row," said Pepper, as he walked along. Presently he +came to a door upon which he knocked several times. But before it was +opened footsteps and voices sounded down the hall in the opposite +direction from which Pepper had escorted Lane. + +"Guess they're just coming. Hard luck," said Pepper. "'Fraid you'll +not get in now." + +Lane counted five dark forms against the background of dim light. He +saw the red glow of a cigarette. Then the door upon which Pepper had +knocked opened to let out a flare. Pepper gave Lane a shove across the +threshold and followed him. Lane did not recognize the young man who +had opened the door. The room was large, with old walls and high +ceiling, a round table with chairs and a sideboard. It had no windows. +The door on the other side was closed. + +"Pepper, who's this you're ringin' in on me?" demanded the young +fellow. + +"A pard of mine. Now don't be peeved, Sammy," replied Pepper. "If +there's any kick I'll take the blame." + +Then the five young men glided swiftly into the room. The last one was +Dick Swann. In the act of closing the door behind him, he saw Lane, and +started violently back. His face turned white. His action, his look +silenced the talk. + +"Lane! What do you want?" he jerked out. + +Lane eyed him without replying. He thought he read more in Swann's face +and voice than any of the amazed onlookers. + +"Dick, I fetched Lane up for a little game," put in Pepper, with +composure. + +Swann jerked as violently out of his stiffened posture as he had frozen +into it. His face changed--showed comprehension--relief--then flamed +with anger. + +"Pepper, it's a damn high-handed imposition for you to bring strangers +here," he burst out. + +"Well, I'm sorry you take it that way," replied Pepper, with deprecatory +spreading of his hands. He was quite cool and his little eyes held a +singular gleam. "You never kicked before when I brought a stranger." + +Swann fiercely threw down his cigarette. + +"Hell! I told you never to bring any Middleville man in here." + +"Ahuh! I forgot. You'll have to excuse me," returned Pepper, not with +any particular regret. + +"What's the matter with my money?" queried Lane, ironically, at last +removing his steady gaze from Swann to the others. Mackay was there, and +Holt Dalrymple, the boy in whom Lane had lately interested himself. Holt +resembled his sister in his dark rich coloring, but his face wore a +shade of sullen depression. The other two young men Lane had seen in +Middleville, but they were unknown to him. + +"Pepper, you beat it with your new pard," snarled Swarm. "And you'll not +get in here again, take that from me." + +The mandate nettled Pepper, who evidently felt more deeply over this +situation than had appeared on the surface. + +"Sure, I'll beat it," returned he, resentfully. "But see here, Swann. Be +careful how you shoot off your dirty mouth. It's not beyond me to hand a +little tip to my friend Chief of Police Bell." + +"You damned squealer!" shouted Swann. "Go ahead--do your worst. You'll +find I pull a stroke.... Now get out of here." + +With a violent action he shoved the little man out into the hall. Then +turning to Lane he pointed with shaking hand to the door. + +"Lane, you couldn't be a guest of mine." + +"Swann, I certainly wouldn't be," retorted Lane, in tones that rang. +"Pepper didn't tell me you were the proprietor of this--this joint." + +"Get out of here or I'll throw you out!" yelled Swann, now beside +himself with rage. And he made a threatening move toward Lane. + +"Don't lay a hand on me," replied Lane. "I don't want my uniform +soiled." + +With that Lane turned to Dalrymple, and said quietly: "Holt, I came here +to find you, not to play cards. That was a stall. Come away with me. You +were not cut out for a card sharp or a booze fighter. +What's got into you that you can gamble and drink with _slackers_?" + +Dalrymple jammed his hat on and stepped toward the door. "Dare, you +said a lot. I'll beat it with you--and I'll never come back." + +"You bet your sweet life you won't," shouted Swann. + +"Hold on there, Dalrymple," interposed Mackay, stepping out. "Come +across with that eighty-six bucks you owe me." + +"I--I haven't got it, Mackay," rejoined the boy, flushing deeply. + +Lane ripped open his coat and jerked out his pocket-book and tore +bills out of it. "There, Hardy Mackay," he said, with deliberate +scorn, throwing the money on the table. "There are your eighty-six +dollars--_earned_ in France.... I should think it'd burn your +fingers." + +He drew Holt out into the hall, where Pepper waited. Some one slammed +the door and began to curse. + +"That ends that," said Colonel Pepper, as the three moved down the dim +hall. + +"It ends us, Pepper, but you couldn't stop those guys with a crowbar," +retorted Dalrymple. + +Lane linked arms with the boy and changed the conversation while they +walked back to the inn. Here Colonel Pepper left them, and Lane talked +to Holt for an hour. The more he questioned Holt the better he liked +him, and yet the more surprised was he at the sordid fact of the boy's +inclination toward loose living. There was something perhaps that Holt +would not confess. His health had been impaired in the service, but not +seriously. He was getting stronger all the time. His old job was waiting +for him. His mother and sister had enough to live on, but if he had been +working he could have helped them in a way to afford him great +satisfaction. + +"Holt, listen," finally said Lane, with more earnestness. "We're +friends--all boys of the service are friends. We might even become +great pards, if we had time." + +"What's time got to do with it?" queried the younger man. "I'm sure +I'd like it--and know it'd help me." + +"I'm shot to pieces, Holt.... I won't last long...." + +"Aw, Lane, don't say that!" + +"It's true. And if I'm to help you at all it must be now.... You +haven't told me everything, boy--now have you?" + +Holt dropped his head. + +"I'll say--I haven't," he replied, haltingly. "Lane--the trouble +is--I'm clean gone on Margie Maynard. But her mother hates the sight +of me. She won't stand for me." + +"Oho! So that's it?" ejaculated Lane, a light breaking in upon him. +"Well, I'll be darned. It _is_ serious, Holt.... Does Margie love +you?" + +"Sure she does. We've always cared. Don't you remember how Margie and +I and Dal and you used to go to school together? And come home +together? And play on Saturdays?... Ever since then!... But lately +Margie and I are--we got--pretty badly mixed up." + +"Yes, I remember those days," replied Lane, dreamily, and suddenly he +recalled Dal's dark eyes, somehow haunting. He had to make an effort +to get back to the issue at hand. + +"If Margie loves you--why it's all right. Go back to work and marry +her." + +"Lane, it can't be all right. Mrs. Maynard has handed me the mitt," +replied Holt, bitterly. "And Margie hasn't the courage to run off with +me.... Her mother is throwing Margie at Swann--because he's rich." + +"Oh Lord, no--Holt--you can't mean _it_!" exclaimed Lane, aghast. + +"I'll say I do mean it. I _know_ it," returned Holt, moodily. "So I +let go--fell into the dumps--didn't care a d---- what became of me." + +Lane was genuinely shocked. What a tangle he had fallen upon! Once +again there seemed to confront him a colossal Juggernaut, a moving, +crushing, intangible thing, beyond his power to cope with. + +"Now, what can I do?" queried Holt, in sudden hope his friend might +see a way out. + +Despairingly, Lane racked his brain for some word of advice or +assurance, if not of solution. But he found none. Then his spirit +mounted, and with it passion. + +"Holt, don't be a miserable coward," he began, in fierce scorn. +"You're a soldier, man, and you've got your life to _live_!... The sun +will rise--the days will be long and pleasant--you can work--_do_ +something. You can fish the streams in summer and climb the hills in +autumn. You can enjoy. Bah! don't tell me one shallow girl means the +world. If Margie hasn't courage enough to run off and marry you--_let +her go!_ But you can never tell. Maybe Margie will stick to you. I'll +help you. Margie and I have always been friends and I'll try to +influence her. Then think of your mother and sister. Work for _them_. +Forget yourself--your little, miserable, selfish desires.... My God, +boy, but it's a strange life the war's left us to face. I _hate_ it. +So do you hate it. Swann and Mackay giving nothing and getting all!... +So it looks.... But it's false--false. God did not intend men to live +solely for their bodies. A balance _must_ be struck. They have _got_ +to pay. Their time will come.... As for you, the harder this job is +the fiercer you should be. I've got to die, Holt. But if I could live +I'd show these slackers, these fickle wild girls, what they're +doing.... You can do it, Holt. It's the greatest part any man could be +called upon to play. It will prove the difference between you and +them...." + +Holt Dalrymple crushed Lane's hand in both his own. On his face was a +glow--his dark eyes flashed: "Lane--that'll be about all," he burst +out with a kind of breathlessness. Then his head high, he stalked out. + +The next day was bad. Lane suffered from both over-exertion and +intensity of emotion. He remained at home all day, in bed most of the +time. At supper time he went downstairs to find Lorna pirouetting in a +new dress, more abbreviated at top and bottom than any costume he had +seen her wear. The effect struck him at an inopportune time. He told +her flatly that she looked like a French grisette of the music halls, +and ought to be ashamed to be seen in such attire. + +"Daren, I don't think you're a good judge of clothes these days," she +observed, complacently. "The boys will say I look spiffy in this." + +So many times Lorna's trenchant remarks silenced Lane. She hit the +nail on the head. Practical, logical, inevitable were some of her +speeches. She knew what men wanted. That was the pith of her meaning. +What else mattered? + +"But Lorna, suppose you don't look nice?" he questioned. + +"I _do_ look nice," she retorted. + +"You don't look anything of the kind." + +"What's nice? It's only a word. It doesn't mean much in my young +life." + +"Where are you going to-night?" he asked, sitting down to the table. + +"To the armory--basketball game--and dance afterward." + +"With whom?" + +"With Harry. I suppose that pleases you, big brother?" + +"Yes, it does. I like him. I wish he'd take you out oftener." + +"_Take_ me! Hot dog! He'd kill himself to take me all the time. But +Harry's slow. He bores me. Then he hasn't got a car." + +"Lorna, you may as well know now that I'm going to stop your car +rides," said Lane, losing his patience. + +"You are _not_," she retorted, and in the glint of the eyes meeting +his, Lane saw his defeat. His patience was exhausted, his fear almost +verified. He did not mince words. With his mother standing +open-mouthed and shocked, Lane gave his sister to understand what he +thought of automobile rides, and that as far as she was concerned they +had to be stopped. If she would not stop them out of respect to her +mother and to him, then he would resort to other measures. Lorna +bounced up in a fury, and in the sharp quarrel that followed, Lane +realized he was dealing with flint full of fire. Lorna left without +finishing her supper. + +"Daren, that's not the way," said his mother, shaking her head. + +"What is the way, mother?" he asked, throwing up his hands. + +"I don't know, unless it's to see her way," responded the mother. +"Sometimes I feel so--so old-fashioned and ignorant before Lorna. +Maybe she is right. How can we tell? What makes all the young girls +like that?" + +What indeed, wondered Lane! The question had been hammering at his +mind for over a month. He went back to bed, weary and dejected, +suffering spasms of pain, like blades, through his lungs, and grateful +for the darkness. Almost he wished it was all over--this ordeal. How +puny his efforts! Relentlessly life marched on. At midnight he was +still fighting his pangs, still unconquered. In the night his dark +room was not empty. There were faces, shadows, moving images and +pictures, scenes of the war limned against the blackness. At last he +rested, grew as free from pain as he ever grew, and slept. In the +morning it was another day, and the past was as if it were not. + +May the first dawned ideally springlike, warm, fresh, fragrant, with +birds singing, sky a clear blue, and trees budding green and white. + +Lane yielded to an impulse that had grown stronger of late. His steps +drew him to the little drab house where Mel Iden lived with her aunt. +On the way, which led past a hedge, Lane gathered a bunch of violets. + +"'In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of +love,'" he mused. "It's good, even for _me_, to be alive this +morning.... These violets, the birds, the fresh smells, the bursting +green! Oh, well, regrets are idle. But just to think--I had to go +through all I've known--right down to this moment--to realize how +stingingly sweet life is...." + +Mel answered his knock, and sight of her face seemed to lift his heart +with an unwonted throb. Had he unconsciously needed that? The thought +made his greeting, and the tender of the violets, awkward for him. + +"Violets! Oh, and spring! Daren, it was good of you to gather them for +me. I remember.... But I told you not to come again." + +"Yes, I know you did," he replied. "But I've disobeyed you. I wanted +to see you, Mel.... I didn't know how badly until I got here." + +"You should not want to see me at all. People will talk." + +"So you care what people say of you?" he questioned, feigning +surprise. + +"Of me? No. I was thinking of you." + +"You fear the poison tongues for me? Well, they cannot harm me. I'm +beyond tongues or minds like those." + +She regarded him earnestly, with serious gravity and slowly dawning +apprehension; then, turning to arrange the violets in a tiny vase, she +shook her head. + +"Daren, you're beyond me, too. I feel a--a change in you. Have you had +another sick spell?" + +"Only for a day off and on. I'm really pretty well to-day. But I have +changed. I feel that, yet I don't know how." + +Lane could talk to her. She stirred him, drew him out of himself. He +felt a strange desire for her sympathy, and a keen curiosity +concerning her opinions. + +"I thought maybe you'd been ill again or perhaps upset by the +consequences of your--your action at Fanchon Smith's party." + +"Who told you of that?" he asked in surprise. + +"Dal. She was here yesterday. She will come in spite of me." + +"So will I," interposed Lane. + +She shook her head. "No, it's different for a man.... I've missed the +girls. No one but Dal ever comes. I thought Margie would be true to +me--no matter what had befallen.... Dal comes, and oh, Daren, she is +good. She helps me so.... She told me what you did at Fanchon's +party." + +"She did! Well, what's your verdict?" he queried, grimly. "That break +queered me in Middleville." + +"I agree with what Doctor Wallace said to his congregation," returned +Mel. + +As Lane met the blue fire of her eyes he experienced another +singularly deep and profound thrill, as if the very depths of him had +been stirred. He seemed to have suddenly discovered Mel Iden. + +"Doctor Wallace did back me up," said Lane, with a smile. "But no one +else did." + +"Don't be so sure of that. Harsh conditions require harsh measures. +Dal said you killed the camel-walk dance in Middleville." + +"It surely was a disgusting sight," returned Lane, with a grimace. +"Mel, I just saw red that night." + +"Daren," she asked wistfully, following her own train of thought, "do +you know that most of the girls consider me an outcast? Fanchon rides +past me with her head up in the air. Helen Wrapp cuts me. Margie looks +to see if her mother is watching when she bows to me. Isn't it +strange, Daren, how things turn out? Maybe my old friends are right. +But I don't _feel_ that I am what they think I am.... I would do what +I did--over and over." + +Her eyes darkened under his gaze, and a slow crimson tide stained her +white face. + +"I understand you, Mel," he said, swiftly. "You must forgive me that I +didn't understand at once.... And I think you are infinitely better, +finer, purer than these selfsame girls who scorn you." + +"Daren! You--understand?" she faltered. + +And just as swiftly he told her the revelation that thinking had +brought to him. + +When he had finished she looked at him for a long while. "Yes, Daren," +she finally said, "you understand, and you have made me understand. I +always felt"--and her hand went to her heart--"but my mind did not +grasp.... Oh, Daren, how I thank you!" and she held her hands out to +him. + +Lane grasped the outstretched hands, and loosed the leaping thought +her words and action created. + +"Mel, let me give your boy a father--a name." + +No blow could have made her shrink so palpably. It passed--that shame. +Her lips parted, and other emotions claimed her. + +"Daren--you would--marry me?" she gasped. + +"I am asking you to be my wife for your child's sake," he replied. + +Her head bowed. She sank against him, trembling. Her hands clung +tightly to his. Lane divined something of her agitation from the feel +of her slender form. And then again that deep and profound thrill ran +over him. It was followed by an instinct to wrap her in his arms, to +hold her, to share her trouble and to protect her. + +Strong reserve force suddenly came to Mel. She drew away from Lane, +still quivering, but composed. + +"Daren, all my life I'll thank you and bless you for that offer," she +said, very low. "But, of course it is impossible." + +She disengaged her hands, and, turning away, looked out of the window. +Lane rather weakly sat down. What had come over him? His blood seemed +bursting in his veins. Then he gazed round the dingy little parlor and +at this girl of twenty, whose beauty did not harmonize with her +surroundings. Fair-haired, white-faced, violet-eyed, she emanated +tragedy. He watched her profile, clear cut as a cameo, fine brow, +straight nose, sensitive lips, strong chin. She was biting those +tremulous lips. And when she turned again to him they were red. The +short-bowed upper lip, full and sweet, the lower, with its sensitive +droop at the corner, eloquent of sorrow--all at once Lane realized he +wanted to kiss that mouth more than he had ever wanted anything. The +moment was sudden and terrible, for it meant love--love such as he had +never known. + +"Daren," she said, turning, "tell me how you got the _Croix de +Guerre_." + +By the look of her and the hand that moved toward his breast, Lane +felt his power over her. He began his story and it was as if he heard +some one else talking. When he had finished, she asked, "The French +Army honored you, why not the American?" + +"It was never reported." + +"How strange! Who was your officer?" + +"You'll laugh when you hear," he replied, without hint of laugh +himself. "Heavens, how things come about! My officer was from +Middleville." + +"Daren! Who?" she asked, quickly, her eyes darkening with thought. + +"Captain Vane Thesel." + +How singular to Lane the fact she did not laugh! She only stared. Then +it seemed part of her warmth and glow, her subtle response to his +emotion, slowly receded. He felt what he could not see. + +"Oh! He. Vane Thesel," she said, without wonder or surprise or +displeasure, or any expression Lane anticipated. + +Her strange detachment stirred a hideous thought--could Thesel have +been.... But Lane killed the culmination of that thought. Not, +however, before dark, fiery jealousy touched him with fangs new to his +endurance. + +To drive it away, Lane launched into more narrative of the war. And as +he talked he gradually forgot himself. It might be hateful to rake up +the burning threads of memory for the curious and the soulless, but to +tell Mel Iden it was a keen, strange delight. He watched the changes +of her expression. He learned to bring out the horror, sadness, glory +that abided in her heart. And at last he cut himself off abruptly: +"But I must save something for another day." + +That broke the spell. + +"No, you must never come back." + +He picked up his hat and his stick. + +"Mel, would you shut the door in my face?" + +"No, Daren--but I'll not open it," she replied resolutely. + +"Why?" + +"You must not come." + +"For my sake--or yours?" + +"Both our sakes." + +He backed out on the little porch, and looked at her as she stood +there. Beyond him, indeed, were his emotions then. Sad as she seemed, +he wanted to make her suffer more--an inexplicable and shameful +desire. + +"Mel, you and I are alike," he said. + +"Oh, no, Daren; you are noble and I am...." + +"Mel, in my dreams I see myself standing--plodding along the dark +shores of a river--that river of tears which runs down the vast naked +stretch of our inner lives.... I see you now, on the opposite shore. +Let us reach our hands across--for the baby's sake." + +"Daren, it is a beautiful thought, but it--it can't be," she +whispered. + +"Then let me come to see you when I need--when I'm down," he begged. + +"No." + +"Mel, what harm can it do--just to let me come?" + +"No--don't ask me. Daren, I am no stone." + +"You'll be sorry when I'm out there in--Woodlawn.... That won't be +long." + +That broke her courage and her restraint. + +"Come, then," she whispered, in tears. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Lane's intentions and his spirit were too great for his endurance. It +was some time before he got downtown again. And upon entering the inn +he was told some one had just called him on the telephone. + +"Hello, this is Lane," he answered. "Who called me?" + +"It's Blair," came the reply. "How are you, old top?" + +"Not so well. I've been down and out." + +"Sorry. Suppose that's why you haven't called me up for so long?" + +"Well, Buddy, I can't lay it all to that.... And how're you?" + +The answer did not come. So Lane repeated his query. + +"Well, I'm still hobbling round on one leg," replied Blair. + +"That's good. Tell me about Reddie." + +Again the reply was long in coming.... + +"Haven't you heard--about Red?" + +"No." + +"Haven't seen the newspapers lately?" + +"I never read the papers, Blair." + +"Right-o. But I had to.... Buck up, now, Dare!" + +"All right. Shoot it quick," returned Lane, feeling his breast +contract and his skin tighten with a chill. + +"Red Payson has gone west." + +"Blair! You don't mean--dead?" exclaimed Lane. + +"Yes, Reddie's gone--and I guess it's just as well, poor devil!" + +"How? When?" + +"Two days ago, according to papers.... He died in Washington, D.C. +Fell down in the vestibule of one of the government offices--where he +was waiting.... fell with another hemorrhage--and died right there--on +the floor--quick." + +"My--God!" gasped Lane. + +"Yes, it's tough. You see, Dare, I couldn't keep Reddie here. Heaven +knows I tried, but he wouldn't stay.... I'm afraid he heard my mother +complaining. Say, Dare, suppose I have somebody drive me in town to +see you." + +"I'd like that, Blair." + +"You're on. And say, I've another idea. To-night's the Junior Prom--did +you know that?" + +"No, I didn't." + +"Well, it is. Suppose we go up? My sister can get me cards.... I tell +you, Dare, I'd like to see what's going on in that bunch. I've heard a +lot and seen some things." + +"Did you hear how I mussed up Fanchon Smith's party?" + +"You bet I did. That's one reason I want to see some of this dancing. +Will you go?" + +"Yes, I can stand it if you can." + +"All right, Buddy, I'll meet you at the inn--eight o'clock." + +Lane slowly made his way to a secluded corner of the lobby, where he +sat down. Red Payson dead! Lane felt that he should not have been +surprised or shocked. But he was both. The strange, cold sensation +gradually wore away and with it the slight trembling of his limbs. A +mournful procession of thoughts and images returned to his mind and he +sat and brooded. + +At the hour of his appointment with his friend, Lane went to the front +of the lobby. Blair was on time. He hobbled in, erect and martial of +bearing despite the crutch, and his dark citizen's suit emphasized the +whiteness of his face. Being home had softened Blair a little. Yet the +pride and tragic bitterness were there. But when Blair espied Lane a +warmth burned out of the havoc in his face. Lane's conscience gave him +a twinge. It dawned upon him that neither his spells of illness, nor +his distress over his sister Lorna, nor his obsession to see and +understand what the young people were doing could hold him wholly +excusable for having neglected his comrade. + +Their hand-clasp was close, almost fierce, and neither spoke at once. +But they looked intently into each other's faces. Emotion stormed +Lane's heart. He realized that Blair loved him and that he loved +Blair--and that between them was a measureless bond, a something only +separation could make tangible. But little of what they felt came out +in their greetings. + +"Dare, why the devil don't you can that uniform," demanded Blair, +cheerfully. "People might recognize you've been 'over there.'" + +"Well, Blair, I expected you'd have a cork leg by this time," said +Lane. + +"Nothing doing," returned the other. "I want to be perpetually +reminded that I was in the war. This 'forget the war' propaganda we +see and hear all over acts kind of queer on a soldier.... Let's find a +bench away from these people." + +After they were comfortably seated Blair went on: "Do you know, Dare, +I don't miss my leg so much when I'm crutching around. But when I try +to sit down or get up! By heck, sometimes I forget it's gone. And +sometimes I want to scratch my lost foot. Isn't that hell?" + +"I'll say so, Buddy," returned Lane, with a laugh. + +"Read this," said Blair, taking a paper from his pocket, and +indicating a column. + +Whereupon Lane read a brief Associated Press dispatch from Washington, +D.C., stating that one Payson, disabled soldier of twenty-five, +suffering with tuberculosis caused by gassed lungs, had come to +Washington to make in person a protest and appeal that had been +unanswered in letters. He wanted money from the government to enable +him to travel west to a dry climate, where doctors assured him he +might get well. He made his statement to several clerks and officials, +and waited all day in the vestibule of the department. Suddenly he was +seized with a hemorrhage, and, falling on the floor, died before aid +could be summoned. + +Without a word Lane handed the paper back to his friend. + +"Red was a queer duck," said Blair, rather hoarsely. "You remember +when I 'phoned you last over two weeks ago?... Well, just after that +Red got bad on my hands. He wouldn't accept charity, he said. And he +wanted to beat it. He got wise to my mother. He wouldn't give up +trying to get money from the government--back money owed him, he +swore--and the idea of being turned down at home seemed to obsess him. +I talked and cussed myself weak. No good! Red beat it soon after +that--beat it from Middleville on a freight train. And I never heard a +word from him.... Not a word...." + +"Blair, can't you see it Red's way?" queried Lane, sadly. + +"Yes, I can," responded Blair, "but hell! he might have gotten well. +Doc Bronson said Red had a chance. I could have borrowed enough money +to get him out west. Red wouldn't take it." + +"And he ran off--exposed himself to cold and starvation--over-exertion +and anger," added Lane. + +"Exactly. Brought on that hemorrhage and croaked. All for nothing!" + +"No, Blair. All for a principle," observed Lane. "Red was fired out of +the hospital without a dollar. There was something terribly wrong." + +"Wrong?... God Almighty!" burst out Blair, with hard passion. "Let me +read you something in this same paper." With shaking hands he unfolded +it, searched until he found what he wanted, and began to read: + +"'If the _actual_ needs of disabled veterans require the expenditure +of much money, then unquestionably a majority of the taxpayers of the +country will favor spending it. Despite the insistent demand for +economy in Washington that is arising from every part of the country, +no member of House or Senate will have occasion to fear that he is +running counter to popular opinion when eventually he votes to take +generous care of disabled soldiers.'" + +Blair's trembling voice ceased, and then twisting the newspaper into a +rope, he turned to Lane. "Dare, can you understand that?... Red Payson +was a bull-headed boy, not over bright. But you and I have some +intelligence, I hope. We can allow for the immense confusion at +Washington--the senselessness of red tape--the callosity of +politicians. But when we remember the eloquent calls to us boys--the +wonderfully worded appeals to our patriotism, love of country and +home--the painted posters bearing the picture of a beautiful American +girl--or a young mother with a baby--remembering these deep, +passionate calls to the best in us, can you understand _that_ sort of +talk now?" + +"Blair, I think I can," replied Lane. "Then--before and after the +draft--the whole country was at a white heat of all that the approach +of war rouses. Fear, self-preservation, love of country, hate of the +Huns, inspired patriotism, and in most everybody the will to fight and +to sacrifice.... The war was a long, hideous, soul-racking, +nerve-destroying time. When it ended, and the wild period of joy and +relief had its run, then all that pertained to the war sickened and +wearied and disgusted the majority of people. It's 'forget the war.' +You and Payson and I got home a year too late." + +"Then--it's just--monstrous," said Blair, heavily. + +"That's all, Blair. Just monstrous. But we can't beat our spirits out +against this wall. No one can understand us--how alone we are. Let's +forget _that_--this wall--this thing called government. Shall we spend +what time we have to live always in a thunderous atmosphere of +mind--hating, pondering, bitter?" + +"No. I'll make a compact with you," returned Blair, with flashing +eyes. "Never to speak again of _that_--so long as we live!" + +"Never to a living soul," rejoined Lane, with a ring in his voice. + +They shook hands much the same as when they had met half an hour +earlier. + +"So!" exclaimed Blair, with a deep breath. "And now, Dare, tell me how +you made out with Helen. You cut me short over the 'phone." + +"Blair, that day coming into New York on the ship, you didn't put it +half strong enough," replied Lane. Then he told Blair about the call +he had made upon Helen, and what had transpired at her studio. + +Blair did not voice the scorn that his eyes expressed. And, in fact, +most of his talking was confined to asking questions. Lane found it +easy enough to unburden himself, though he did not mention his calls +on Mel Iden, or Colonel Pepper's disclosures. + +"Well, I guess it's high time we were meandering up to the hall," said +Blair, consulting his watch. "I'm curious about this Prom. Think we're +in for a jolt. It's four years since I went to a Prom. Now, both of +us, Dare, have a sister who'll be there, besides all our old +friends.... And we're not dancing! But I want to look on. They've got +an out-of-town orchestra coming--a jazz orchestra. There'll probably +be a hot time in the old town to-night." + +"Lorna did not tell me," replied Lane, as they got up to go. "But I +suppose she'd rather I didn't know. We've clashed a good deal lately." + +"Dare, I hear lots of talk," said Blair. "Margaret is chummy with me, +and some of her friends are always out at the house. I hear Dick Swann +is rushing Lorna. Think he's doing it on the q-t." + +"I know he is, Blair, but I can't catch them together," returned Lane. +"Lorna is working now. Swann got her the job." + +"Looks bad to me," replied Blair, soberly. "Swann is cutting a swath. +I hear his old man is sore on him.... I'd take Lorna out of that +office quick." + +"Maybe you would," declared Lane, grimly. "For all the influence or +power I have over Lorna I might as well not exist." + +They walked silently along the street for a little while. Lane had to +accommodate his step to the slower movement of his crippled friend. +Blair's crutch tapped over the stone pavement and clicked over the +curbs. They crossed the railroad tracks and turned off the main street +to go down a couple of blocks. + +"Shades of the past!" exclaimed Blair, as they reached a big brick +building, well-lighted in front by a sizzling electric lamp. The night +was rather warm and clouds of insects were wheeling round the light. +"The moths and the flame!" added Blair, satirically. "Well, Dare, old +bunkie, brace up and we'll go over the top. This ought to be fun for +us." + +"I don't see it," replied Lane. "I'll be about as welcome as a bull in +a china shop." + +"Oh, I didn't mean any one would throw fits over us," responded Blair. +"But we ought to get some fun out of the fact." + +"What fact?" queried Lane, puzzled. + +"Rather far-fetched, maybe. But I'll get a kick out of looking +on--watching these swell slackers with the girls _we_ fought for." + +"Wonder why they didn't give the dance at the armory, where they'd not +have to climb stairs, and have more room?" queried Lane, as they went +in under the big light. + +"Dare, you're far back in the past," said Blair, sardonically. "The +armory is on the ground floor--one big hall--open, you know. The +Assembly Hall is a regular maze for rooms and stairways." + +Blair labored up the stairway with Lane's help. At last they reached +the floor from which had blared the strains of jazz. Wide doors were +open, through which Lane caught the flash of many colors. Blair +produced his tickets at the door. There did not appear to be any one +to take them. + +Lane experienced an indefinable thrill at the scene. The air seemed to +reek with a mixed perfume and cigarette smoke--to resound with +high-keyed youthful laughter, wild and sweet and vacant above the +strange, discordant music. Then the flashing, changing, whirling +colors of the dancers struck Lane as oriental, erotic, +bizarre--gorgeous golds and greens and reds striped by the +conventional black. Suddenly the blare ceased, and the shrill, +trilling laughter had dominance. The rapid circling of forms came to a +sudden stop, and the dancers streamed in all directions over the +floor. + +"Dare, they've called time," said Blair. "Let's get inside the ropes +so we can see better." + +The hall was not large, but it was long, and shaped like a letter L +with pillars running down the center. Countless threads of +many-colored strings of paper had been stretched from pillars to +walls, hanging down almost within reach of the dancers. Flags and gay +bunting helped in the riotous effect of decoration. The black-faced +orchestra held forth on a raised platform at the point where the hall +looked two ways. Recesses, alcoves and open doors to other rooms, +which the young couples were piling over each other to reach, gave +Lane some inkling of what Blair had hinted. + +"Now we're out in the limelight," announced Blair, as he halted. +"Let's stand here and run the gauntlet until the next dance--then we +can find seats." + +Almost at once a stream of gay couples enveloped them in passing. +Bright, flashing, vivid faces and bare shoulders, arms and breasts +appeared above the short bodices of the girls. Few of them were gowned +in white. The colors seemed too garish for anything but musical +comedy. But the freshness, the vividness of these girls seemed +exhilarating. The murmur, the merriment touched a forgotten chord in +Lane's heart. For a moment it seemed sweet to be there, once more in a +gathering where pleasure was the pursuit. It breathed of what seemed +long ago, in a past that was infinitely more precious to remember +because he had no future of hope or of ambition or dream. Something +had happened to him that now made the sensations of the moment +stingingly bitter-sweet. The freshness and fragrance, the color and +excitement, the beauty and gayety were not for him. Youth was dead. He +could never enter the lists with these young men, many no younger than +he, for the favor and smile of a girl. Resignation had not been so +difficult in the spiritual moment of realization and resolve, but to +be presented with one concrete and stunning actuality after another, +each with its mocking might-have-been, had grown to be a terrible +ordeal. + +Lane looked for faces he knew. On each side of the pillar where he and +Blair stood the stream of color and gayety flowed. Helen and Margaret +Maynard went by on the far edge of that stream. Across the hall he +caught a glimpse of the flashing golden beauty of Bessy Bell. Then +near at hand he recognized Fanchon Smith, a petite, smug-faced little +brunette, with naked shoulders bulging out of a piebald gown. She +espied Lane and her face froze. Then there were familiar faces near +and far, to which Lane could not attach names. + +All at once he became aware that other of his senses besides sight +were being stimulated. He had been hearing without distinguishing what +he heard. And curiously he listened, still with that strange knock of +memory at his heart. Everybody was talking, some low, some high, all +in the spirit of the hour. And in one moment he had heard that which +killed the false enchantment. + +"Not a chance!..." + +"Hot dog--she's some Jane!" + +"Now to the clinch--" + +"What'll we do till the next spiel--" + +"Have a shot?----" + +"Boys, it's only the shank of the evening. Leave something peppy for +the finish." + +"Mame, you look like a million dollars in that rag." + +"She shakes a mean shimmy, believe me...." + +"That egg! Not on your life!" + +"Cut the next with Ned. We'll sneak down and take a ride in my +car...." + +"Oh, spiffy!" + +Lane's acutely strained attention was diverted by Blair's voice. + +"Look who's with my sister Margie." + +Lane turned to look through an open space in the dispersing stream. +Blair's sister was passing with Dick Swann. Elegantly and fastidiously +attired, the young millionaire appeared to be attentive to his +partner. Margaret stood out rather strikingly from the other girls +near her by reason of the simplicity and modesty of her dress. She did +not look so much bored as discontented. Lane saw her eyes rove to and +fro from the entrance of the hall. When she espied Lane she nodded and +spoke with a smile and made an evident move toward him, but was +restrained by Swann. He led her past Lane and Blair without so much as +glancing in their direction. Lane heard Blair swear. + +"Dare, if my mother throws Marg at that--slacker, I'll block the deal +if it's the last thing I ever do," he declared, violently. + +"And I'll help you," replied Lane, instantly. + +"I know Margie hates him." + +"Blair, your sister is in love with Holt Dalrymple." + +"No! Not really? Thought that was only a boy-and-girl affair.... Aha! +the nigger music again! Let's find a seat, Dare." + +Saxophone, trombone, piccolo, snare-drum and other barbaric +instruments opened with a brazen defiance of music, and a vibrant +assurance of quick, raw, strong sounds. Lane himself felt the stirring +effect upon his nerves. He had difficulty in keeping still. From the +lines of chairs along the walls and from doors and alcoves rushed the +gay-colored throng to leap, to close, to step, to rock and sway, until +the floor was full of a moving mass of life. + +The first half-dozen couples Lane studied all danced more or less as +Helen and Swann had, that day in Helen's studio. Then, by way of a +remarkable contrast, there passed two young people who danced +decently. Lane descried his sister Lorna in the throng, and when she +and her partner came round in the giddy circle, Lane saw that she +wiggled and toddled like the others. Lane, as she passed him, caught a +glance of her eyes, flashing, reproachful, furious, directed at some +one across her partner's shoulder. Lane followed that glance and saw +Swann. Apparently he did not notice Lorna, and was absorbed in the +dance with his own partner, Helen Wrapp. This byplay further excited +Lane's curiosity. On the whole, it was an ungraceful, violent mob, +almost totally lacking in restraint, whirling, kicking, swaying, +clasping, instinctively physical, crude, vulgar and wild. Down the +line of chairs from his position, Lane saw the chaperones of the Prom, +no doubt mothers of some of these girls. Lane wondered at them with +sincere and persistent amaze. If they were respectable, and had even +a slight degree of intelligence, how could they look on at this dance +with complacence? Perhaps after all the young people were not wholly +to blame for an abnormal expression of instinctive action. + +That dance had its several encores and finally ended. + +Margaret and Holt made their way up to Lane and Blair. The girl was +now radiant. It took no second glance for Lane to see how matters +stood with her at that moment. + +"Say, beat it, you two," suddenly spoke up Blair. "There comes Swann. +He's looking for you. Chase yourselves, now, Marg--Holt. Leave that +slacker to _us_!" + +Margaret gave a start, a gasp. She looked hard at her brother. Blair +wore a cool smile, underneath which there was sterner hidden meaning. +Then Margaret looked at Lane with slow, deep blush, making her really +beautiful. + +"Margie, we're for you two, strong," said Lane, with a smile. "Go hide +from Swann." + +"But I--I came with him," she faltered. + +"Then let him find you--in other words, let him _get_ you.... 'All's +fair in love and war.'" + +Lane had his reward in the sweet amaze and confusion of her face, as +she turned away. Holt rushed her off amid the straggling couples. + +"Dare, you're a wiz," declared Blair. "Margie's strong for Holt--I'm +glad. If we could only put Swann out of the running." + +"It's a cinch," returned Lane, with sudden heat. + +"Pard, you don't know my mother. If she has picked out Swann for +Margie--all I've got to say is--good night!" + +"Even if we prove Swann----" + +"No matter what we prove," interrupted Blair. "No matter what, so long +as he's out of jail. My mother is money mad. She'd sell Margie to the +devil himself for gold, position--the means to queen it over these +other mothers of girls." + +"Blair, you're--you're a little off your nut, aren't you?" + +"Not on your life. That talk four years ago might have been +irrational. But now--not on your life.... The world has come to an +end.... Oh, Lord, look who's coming! Lane, did you ever in your life +see such a peach as that?" + +Bessy Bell had appeared, coming toward them with a callow youth near +her own age. Her dress was some soft, pale blue material that was +neither gaudy nor fantastical. But it was far from modest. Lane had to +echo Blair's eulogy of this young specimen of the new America. She +simply verified and stabilized the assertion that physically the newer +generations of girls were markedly more beautiful than those of any +generation before. + +Bessy either forgot to introduce her escort or did not care to. She +nodded a dismissal to him, spoke sweetly to Blair, and then took the +empty chair next to Lane. + +"You're having a rotten time," she said, leaning close to him. She +seemed all fragrance and airy grace and impelling life. + +Lane had to smile. "How do you know?" + +"I can tell by your face. Now aren't you?" + +"Well, to be honest, Miss Bessy" + +"For tripe's sake, don't be so formal," she interrupted. "Call me +Bessy." + +"Oh, very well, Bessy. There's no use to lie to you. I'm not very +happy at what I see here." + +"What's the matter with it--with us?" she queried, quickly. +"Everybody's doing it." + +"That is no excuse. Besides, that's not so. Everybody is not--not----" + +"Well, not what?" + +"Not doing it, whatever you meant by that," returned Lane, with a +laugh. + +"Tell me straight out what _you_ think of us," she shot at Lane, with +a purple flash of her eyes. + +She irritated Lane. Stirred him somehow, yet she seemed wholesome, +full of quick response. She was daring, sophisticated, provocative. +Therefore Lane retorted in brief, blunt speech what he thought of the +majority of the girls present. + +Bessy Bell did not look insulted. She did not blush. She did not show +shame. Her eyes darkened. Her rosy mouth lost something of its soft +curves. + +"Daren Lane, we're not all rotten," she said. + +"I did not say or imply you _all_ were," he replied. + +She gazed up at him thoughtfully, earnestly, with an unconscious frank +interest, curiosity, and reverence. + +"You strike me funny," she mused. "I never met a soldier like you." + +"Bessy, how many soldiers have you met who have come back from +France?" + +"Not many, only Blair and you, and Captain Thesel, though I really +didn't meet him. He came up to me at the armory and spoke to me. And +to-night he cut in on Roy's dance. Roy was sore." + +"Three. Well, that's not many," replied Lane. "Not enough to get a +line on two million, is it?" + +"Captain Thesel is just like all the other fellows.... But you're not +a bit like them." + +"Is that a compliment or otherwise?" + +"I'll say it's a compliment," she replied, with arch eyes on his. + +"Thank you." + +"Well, you don't deserve it.... You promised to make a date with me. +Why haven't you?" + +"Why child, I--I don't know what to say," returned Lane, utterly +disconcerted. Yet he liked this amazing girl. "I suppose I forgot. But +I've been ill, for one reason." + +"I'm sorry," she said, giving his arm a squeeze. "I heard you were +badly hurt. Won't you tell me about your--your hurts?" + +"Some day, if opportunity affords. I can't here, that's certain." + +"Opportunity! What do you want? Haven't I handed myself out on a +silver platter?" + +Lane could find no ready retort for this query. He gazed at her, +marveling at the apparently measureless distance between her exquisite +physical beauty and the spiritual beauty that should have been +harmonious with it. Still he felt baffled by this young girl. She +seemed to resemble Lorna, yet was different in a way he could not +grasp. Lorna had coarsened in fibre. This girl was fine, despite her +coarse speech. She did not repel. + +"Mr. Lane, will you dance with me?" she asked, almost wistfully. She +liked him, and was not ashamed of it. But she seemed pondering over +what to make of him--how far to go. + +"Bessy, I dare not exert myself to that extent," he replied, gently. +"You forget I am a disabled soldier." + +"Forget that? Not a chance," she flashed. "But I hoped you might dance +with me once--just a little." + +"No. I might keel over." + +She shivered and her eyes dilated. "You mean it as a joke. But it's no +joke.... I read about your comrade--that poor Red Payson!" ... Then +both devil of humor and woman of fire shone in her glance. "Daren, if +you _did_ keel over--you'd die in my arms--not on the floor!" + +Then another partner came up to claim her. As the orchestra blurted +forth and Bessy leaned to the dancer's clasp she shouted audaciously +at Lane: "Don't forget that silver platter!" + +Lane turned to Blair to find that worthy shaking his handsome head. + +"Did you hear what she said?" asked Lane, close to Blair's ear. + +"Every word," replied Blair. "Some kid!... She's like the girl in the +motion-pictures. She comes along. She meets the fellow. She looks at +him--she says 'good day'--then _Wham_, into his arms.... My God!... +Lane, is that kid good or bad?" + +"Good!" exclaimed Lane, instantly. + +"Bah!" + +"Good--still," returned Lane. "But alas! She is brazen, unconscious of +it. But she's no fool, that kid. Lorna is an absolute silly +bull-headed fool. I wish Bessy Bell was my sister--or I mean that +Lorna was like her." + +"Here comes Swann without Margie. Looks sore as a pup. The----" + +"Shut up, Blair. I want to listen to this jazz." + +Lane shut his eyes during the next number and listened without the +disconcerting spectacle in his sight. He put all the intensity of +which he was capable into his attention. His knowledge of music was +not extensive, but on the other hand it was enough to enable him to +analyze this jazz. Neither music nor ragtime, it seemed utterly +barbarian in character. It appealed only to primitive, physical, +sensual instincts. It could not be danced to sanely and gracefully. +When he opened his eyes again, to see once more the disorder of +dancers in spirit and action, he seemed to have his analysis +absolutely verified. + +These dances were short, the encores very brief, and the intermissions +long. Perhaps the dancers needed to get their breath and rearrange +their apparel. + +After this number, Lane left Blair talking to friends, and made his +way across the hall to where he espied Lorna. She did not see him. She +looked ashamed, hurt, almost sullen. Her young friend, Harry, was +bending over talking earnestly. Lane caught the words: "Lorna dear, +that Swann's only stringing you--rushing you on the sly. He won't +dance with you _here_--not while he's with that swell crowd." + +"It's a lie," burst out Lorna. She was almost in tears. + +Lane took her arm, making her start. + +"Well, kids, you're having some time, aren't you," he said, +cheerfully. + +"Sure--are," gulped Harry. + +Lorna repressed her grief, but not her sullen resentment. + +Lane pretended not to notice anything unusual, and after a few casual +remarks and queries he left them. Strolling from place to place, +mingling with the gay groups, in the more secluded alcoves and +recesses where couples appeared, oblivious to eyes, in the check room +where a sign read: "check your corsets," out in the wide landing where +the stairway came up, Lane passed, missing little that might have been +seen or heard. He did not mind that two of the chaperones stared at +him in supercilious curiosity, as if speculating on a possible _faux +pas_ of his at this dance. Both boys and girls he had met since his +return to Middleville, and some he had known before, encountered him +face to face, and cut him dead. He heard sarcastic remarks. He was an +outsider, a "dead one," a "has been" and a "lemon." But Margaret was +gracious to him, and Flossie Dickerson made no bones of her regard. +Dorothy, he was relieved and glad to see, was not present. + +Lane had no particular object in mind. He just wanted to rub elbows +with this throng of young people. This was the joy of life he had +imagined he had missed while in France. How much vain longing! He had +missed nothing. He had boundlessly gained. + +Out on this floor a railing ran round the curve of the stairway. Girls +were sitting on it, smoking cigarettes, and kicking their slipper-shod +feet. Their partners were lounging close. Lane passed by, and walking +to a window in the shadow he stood there. Presently one of the boys +threw away his cigarette and said: "Come on, Ironsides. I gotta dance. +You're a rotten dancer, but I love you." + +They ran back into the hall. The young fellow who was left indolently +attempted to kiss his partner, who blew smoke in his face. Then at a +louder blast of jazz they bounced away. The next moment a third couple +appeared, probably from another door down the hall. They did not +observe Lane. The girl was slim, dainty, gorgeously arrayed, and her +keen, fair face bore traces of paint wet by perspiration. Her +companion was Captain Vane Thesel, in citizen's garb, well-built, +ruddy-faced, with tiny curled moustache. + +"Hurry, kid," he said, breathlessly, as he pulled at her. "We'll run +down and take a spin." + +"Spiffy! But let's wait till after the next," she replied. "It's +Harold's and I came with him." + +"Tell him it was up to him to find you." + +"But he might get wise to a car ride." + +"He'd do the same. Come on," returned Thesel, who all the time was +leading her down the stairway step by step. + +They disappeared. From the open window Lane saw them go down the +street and get into a car and ride away. He glanced at his watch, +muttering. "This is a new stunt for dances. I just wonder." He +watched, broodingly and sombrely. It was not his sister, but it might +just as well have been. Two dances and a long intermission ended +before Lane saw the big auto return. He watched the couple get out, +and hurry up, to disappear at the entrance. Then Lane changed his +position, and stood directly at the head of the stairway under the +light. He had no interest in Captain Vane Thesel. He just wanted to +get a close look at the girl. + +Presently he heard steps, heavy and light, and a man's deep voice, a +girl's low thrill of laughter. They turned the curve in the stairway +and did not see Lane until they had mounted to the top. + +With cool steady gaze Lane studied the girl. Her clear eyes met his. +If there was anything unmistakable in Lane's look at her, it was not +from any deception on his part. He tried to look into her soul. Her +smile--a strange indolent little smile, remnant of excitement--faded +from her face. She stared, and she put an instinctive hand up to her +somewhat dishevelled hair. Then she passed on with her companion. + +"Of all the nerve!" she exclaimed. "Who's that soldier boob?" + +Lane could not catch the low reply. He lingered there a while longer, +and then returned to the hall, much surprised to find it so dark he +could scarcely distinguish the dancers. The lights had been lowered. +If the dance had been violent and strange before this procedure, it +was now a riot. In the semi-darkness the dancers cut loose. The paper +strings had been loosened and had fallen down to become tangled with +the flying feet and legs. Confetti swarmed like dark snowdrops in the +hot air. Lane actually smelled the heat of bodies--a strangely +stirring and yet noxious sensation. A rushing, murmuring, shrill +sound--voices, laughter, cries, and the sliding of feet and brushing +of gowns--filled the hall--ominous to Lane's over-sensitive faculties, +swelling unnaturally, the expression of unrestrained physical abandon. +Lane walked along the edge of this circling, wrestling melee, down to +the corner where the orchestra held forth. They seemed actuated by the +same frenzy which possessed the dancers. The piccolo player lay on his +back on top of the piano, piping his shrill notes at the ceiling. And +Lane made sure this player was drunk. On the moment then the jazz came +to an end with a crash. The lights flashed up. The dancers clapped and +stamped their pleasure. + +Lane wound his way back to Blair. + +"I've had enough, Blair," he said. "I'm all in. Let's go." + +"Right-o," replied Blair, with evident relief. He reached a hand to +Lane to raise himself, an action he rarely resorted to, and awkwardly +got his crutch in place. They started out, with Lane accommodating his +pace to his crippled comrade. Thus it happened that the two ran a +gauntlet with watching young people on each side, out to the open part +of the hall. There directly in front they encountered Captain Vane +Thesel, with Helen Wrapp on his arm. Her red hair, her green eyes, and +carmined lips, the white of her voluptuous neck and arms, united in a +singular effect of allurement that Lane felt with scorn and +melancholy. + +Helen nodded to Blair and Lane, and evidently dragged at her escort's +arm to hold him from passing on. + +"Look who's here! Daren, old boy--and Blair," she called, and she +held the officer back. The malice in her green glance did not escape +Lane, as he bowed to her. She gloried in that situation. Captain +Thesel had to face them. + +It was Blair's hand that stiffened Lane. They halted, erect, like +statues, with eyes that failed to see Thesel. He did not exist for +them. With a flush of annoyance he spoke, and breaking from Helen, +passed on. A sudden silence in the groups nearby gave evidence that +the incident had been observed. Then whispers rose. + +"Boys, aren't you dancing?" asked Helen, with a mocking sweetness. +"Let me teach you the new steps." + +"Thanks, Helen," replied Lane, in sudden weariness. "But I couldn't go +it." + +"Why did you come? To blow us up again? Lose your nerve?" + +"Yes, I lost it to-night--and something more." + +"Blair, you shouldn't have left one of your legs in France," she said, +turning to Blair. She had always hated Blair, a fact omnipresent now +in her green eyes. + +Blair had left courtesy and endurance in France, as was evinced by the +way he bent closer to Helen, to speak low, with terrible passion. + +"If I had it to do over again--I'd see _you_ and _your_ kind--your +dirt-cheap crowd of painted hussies where you belong--in the clutch of +the Huns!" + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +Miss Amanda Hill, teacher in the Middleville High School, sat wearily +at her desk. She was tired, as tired as she had ever been on any day +of the fifteen long years in which she had wrestled with the problems +of school life. Her hair was iron gray and she bent a worn, sad, +severe face over a mass of notes before her. + +At that moment she was laboring under a perplexing question that was +not by any means a new one. Only this time it had presented itself in +a less insidious manner than usual, leaving no loophole for charitable +imagination. Presently she looked up and rapped on her desk. + +"These young ladies will remain after school is dismissed," she said, +in her authoritative voice: "Bessy Bell--Rose Clymer--Gail +Matthews--Helen Tremaine--Ruth Winthrop.... Also any other girls who +are honest enough to admit knowledge of the notes found in Rose +Clymer's desk." + +The hush that fell over the schoolroom was broken by the gong in the +main hall, sounding throughout the building. Then followed the noise +of shutting books and closing desks, and the bustle and shuffling of +anticipated dismissal. + +In a front seat sat a girl who did not arise with the others, and as +one by one several girls passed her desk with hurried step and +embarrassed snicker she looked at them with purple, blazing eyes. + +Miss Hill attended to her usual task with the papers of the day's +lessons and the marking of the morrow's work before she glanced up at +the five girls she had detained. They sat in widely separated sections +of the room. Rose Clymer, pretty, fragile, curly-haired, occupied the +front seat of the end row. Her face had no color and her small mouth +was set in painful lines. Four seats across from her Bessy Bell leaned +on her desk, with defiant calmness, and traces of scorn still in her +expressive eyes. Gail Matthews looked frightened and Helen Tremaine +was crying. Ruth Winthrop bent forward with her face buried in her +arms. + +"Girls," began Miss Hill, presently. "I know you regard me as a cross +old schoolteacher." + +She had spoken impulsively, a rare thing with her, and occasioned in +this instance by the painful consciousness of how she was judged, when +she was really so kindly disposed toward the wayward girls. + +"Girls, I've tried to get into close touch with you, to sympathize, to +be lenient; but somehow, I've failed," she went on. "Certainly I have +failed to stop this note-writing. And lately it has become--beyond me +to understand. Now won't you help me to get at the bottom of the +matter? Helen, it was you who told me these notes were in Rose's desk. +Have you any knowledge of more?" + +"Ye--s--m," said Helen, raising her red face. "I've--I've one--I--was +afraid to g--give up." + +"Bring it to me." + +Helen rose and came forward with an expressive little fist and opening +it laid a crumpled paper upon Miss Hill's desk. As Helen returned to +her seat she met Bessy Bell's fiery glance and it seemed to wither +her. + +The teacher smoothed out the paper and began to read. "Good Heavens!" +she breathed, in amaze and pain. Then she turned to Helen. "This verse +is in your handwriting." + +"Yes'm--but I--I only copied it," responded the culprit. + +"Who gave you the original?" + +"Rose." + +"Where did she get it?" + +"I--I don't know--Miss Hill. Really and tru--truly I don't," faltered +Helen, beginning to cry again. + +Gail and Ruth also disclaimed any knowledge of the verse, except that +it had been put into their hands by Rose. They had read it, copied it, +written notes about it and discussed it. + +"You three girls may go home now," said Miss Hill, sadly. + +The girls hastily filed out and passed the scornful Bessy Bell with +averted heads. + +"Rose, can you explain the notes found in your possession?" asked the +teacher. + +"Yes, Miss Hill. They were written to me by different boys and girls," +replied Rose. + +"Why do you seem to have all these writings addressed to you?" + +"I didn't get any more than any other girl. But I wasn't afraid to +keep mine." + +"Do you know where these verses came from, before Helen had them?" + +"Yes, Miss Hill." + +"Then you know who wrote them?" + +"Yes." + +"Who?" + +"I won't tell," replied Rose, deliberately. She looked straight into +her teacher's eyes. + +"You refuse when I've assured you I'll be lenient?" demanded Miss +Hill. + +"I'm no tattletale." Rose's answer was sullen. + +"Rose, I ask you again. A great deal depends on your answer. Will you +tell me?" + +The girl's lip curled. Then she laughed in a way that made Miss Hill +think of her as older. But she kept silent. + +"Rose, you're expelled until further notice." Miss Hill's voice +trembled with disappointment and anger. "You may go now." + +Rose gathered up her books and went into the cloakroom. The door in +the outer hall opened and closed. + +"Miss Hill, it wasn't fair!" exclaimed Bessy Bell, hotly. "It wasn't +fair. Rose is no worse than the other girls. She's not as bad, for she +isn't sly and deceitful. There were a dozen girls who lied when they +went out. Helen lied. Ruth lied. Gail lied. But Rose told the truth so +far as she went. And she wouldn't tell all because she wanted to +shield me." + +"Why did she want to shield you?" + +"Because I wrote the verses." + +"You mean you copied them?" + +"I composed them," Bessy replied coolly. Her blue eyes fearlessly met +Miss Hill's gaze. + +"Bessy Bell!" ejaculated the teacher. + +The girl stood before her desk and from the tip of her dainty boot to +the crown of her golden hair breathed forth a strange, wilful and +rebellious fire. + +Miss Hill's lips framed to ask a certain question of Bessy, but she +refrained and substituted another. + +"Bessy, how old are you?" + +"Fifteen last April." + +"Have you any intelligent idea of--do you know--Bessy, _how_ did you +write those verses?" asked Miss Hill, in bewilderment. + +"I know a good deal and I've imagination," replied Bessy, candidly. + +"That's evident," returned the teacher. "How long has this note-and +verse-writing been going on?" + +"For a year, at least, among us." + +"Then you caught the habit from girls gone higher up?" + +"Certainly." + +Bessy's trenchant brevity was not lost upon Miss Hill. + +"We've always gotten along--you and I," said Miss Hill, feeling her +way with this strange girl. + +"It's because you're kind and square, and I like you." + +Something told the teacher she had never been paid a higher +compliment. + +"Bessy, how much will you tell me?" + +"Miss Hill, I'm in for it and I'll tell you everything, if only you +won't punish Rose," replied the girl, impulsively. "Rose's my best +friend. Her father's a mean, drunken brute. I'm afraid of what he'll +do if he finds out. Rose has a hard time." + +"You say Rose is no more guilty than the other girls?" + +"Rose Clymer never had an idea of her own. She's just sweet and +willing. I hate deceitful girls. Every one of them wrote notes to the +boys--the same kind of notes--and some of them tried to write poetry. +Most of them had a copy of the piece I wrote. They had great fun over +it--getting the boys to guess what girl wrote it. I've written a dozen +pieces before this and they've all had them." + +"Well, that explains the verses.... Now I read in these notes about +meetings with the boys?" + +"That refers to mornings before school, and after school, and evenings +when it's nice weather. And the literary society." + +"You mean the Girl's Literary Guild, with rooms at the Atheneum?" + +"Yes. But, Miss Hill, the literary part of it is bunk. We meet there +to dance. The boys bring the girls cigarettes. They smoke, and +sometimes the boys have something with them to drink." + +"These--these girls--hardly in their teens--smoke and drink?" gasped +Miss Hill. + +"I'll say they do," replied Bessy Bell. + +"What--does the 'Bell-garter' mean?" went on the teacher, presently. + +"One of the boys stole my garter and fastened a little bell to it. Now +it's going the rounds. Every girl who could has worn it." + +"What's the 'Old Bench'?" + +"Down in the basement here at school there's a bench under the +stairway in the dark. The boys and girls have signals. One boy will +get permission to go out at a certain time, and a girl from his room, +or another room, will go out too. It's all arranged beforehand. They +meet down on the Old Bench." + +"What for?" + +"They meet to spoon." + +"I find the names Hardy Mackay, Captain Thesel, Dick Swann among these +notes. What can these young society men be to my pupils?" + +"Some of the jealous girls have been tattling to each other and +mentioning names." + +"Bessy! Do you imply these girls who talk have had the--the interest +or attention of these young gentlemen named?" + +"Yes." + +"In what way?" + +"I mean they've had dates to meet in the park--and other places. Then +they go joy riding." + +"Bessy, have you?" + +"Yes--but only just lately." + +"Thank you Bessy, for your--your frankness," replied Miss Hill, +drawing a long breath. "I'll have another talk with you, after I see +your mother. You may go now." + +It was an indication of Miss Hill's mental perturbation that for once +she broke her methodical routine. For many years she had carried a +lunch-basket to and from school; for so many in fact that now on +Saturdays when she went to town without it she carried her left hand +forward in the same position that had grown habitual to her while +holding it. But this afternoon, as she went out, she forgot the basket +entirely. + +"I'll go to Mrs. Bell," soliloquized the worried schoolteacher. "But +how to explain what I can't understand! Some people would call this +thing just natural depravity. But I love these girls. As I think back, +every year, in the early summer, I've always had something of this +sort of thing to puzzle over. But the last few years it's grown worse. +The war made a difference. And since the war--how strange the girls +are! They seem to feel more. They're bolder. They break out oftener. +They dress so immodestly. Yet they're less deceitful. They have no +shame. I can blind myself no longer to that. And this last is damning +proof of--of wildness. Some of them have taken the fatal step!... +Yet--yet I seem to feel somehow Bessy Bell isn't _bad_. I wonder if +my hope isn't responsible for that feeling. I'm old-fashioned. This +modern girl is beyond me. How clearly she spoke! She's a wonderful, +fearless, terrible girl. I never saw a girl so alive. I can't--can't +understand her." + +In the swift swinging from one consideration of the perplexing +question to another Miss Hill's mind naturally reverted to her errand, +and to her possible reception. Mrs. Bell was a proud woman. She had +married against the wishes of her blue-blooded family, so rumor had +it, and her husband was now Chief of Police in Middleville. Mrs. Bell +had some money of her own and was slowly recovering her old position +in society. + +It was not without misgivings that Miss Hill presented herself at Mrs. +Bell's door and gave her card to a servant. The teacher had often made +thankless and misunderstood calls upon the mothers of her pupils. She +was admitted and shown to a living room where a woman of fair features +and noble proportions greeted her. + +"Bessy's teacher, I presume?" she queried, graciously, yet with just +that slight touch of hauteur which made Miss Hill feel her position. + +"I am Bessy's teacher," she replied, with dignity. "Can you spare me a +few minutes?" + +"Assuredly. Please be seated. I've heard Bessy speak of you. By the +way, the child hasn't come home yet. How late she always is!" + +Miss Hill realized, with a protest at the unfairness of the situation, +that to face this elegant lady, so smiling, so suave, so worldly, so +graciously superior, and to tell her some unpleasant truths about her +daughter, was a task by no means easy, and one almost sure to prove +futile. But Miss Hill never shirked her duty, and after all, her +motive was a hope to help Bessy. + +"Mrs. Bell, I've come on a matter of importance," began Miss Hill. +"But it is so delicate a one I don't know how to broach it. I believe +plain speaking best." + +Here Miss Hill went into detail, sparing not to call a spade a spade. +But she held back the names of the young society gentlemen mentioned +in the notes. Miss Hill was not sure of her ground there and her +revelation was grave enough for any intelligent mother. + +"Really, Miss Hill, you amaze me!" exclaimed Mrs. Bell. "Bessie has +fallen into bad company. Oh, these public schools! I never attended +one, but I've heard what they are." + +"The public schools are not to blame," replied Miss Hill, bluntly. + +Mrs. Bell gave her visitor a rather supercilious stare. + +"May I ask you to explain?" + +"I'm afraid I can't explain," replied Miss Hill, conscious of a little +heat. "I've proofs of the condition. But as I can't understand it, how +can I explain? I have my own peculiar ideas, only, lately, I've begun +to doubt them. A year or so ago I would have said girls had their own +way too much--too much time to themselves--too much freedom. But now I +seem to feel life isn't like what it was a few years ago. Girls are +bound to learn. And they never learn at home, that's sure. The last +thing a mother will do is to tell her daughter what she _ought_ to +know. There's always been a shadow between most mothers and daughters. +And in these days of jazz it has become a wall. Perhaps that's why +girls don't confide in their mothers.... Mrs. Bell, I considered it my +duty to acquaint you with the truth about these verses and notes, and +what they imply. Would you care to read some of them?" + +"Thank you, but they wouldn't interest me in the least," replied Mrs. +Bell, coldly. "I wouldn't insult Bessy or her girl friends. I imagine +it's all some risque suggestion overheard and made much of or a few +verses mischievously plagiarized. I'm no prude, Miss Hill. I know +enough not to be strict, which is apparently the fault of the school +system. As for my own daughter I understand her perfectly and trust +her implicitly. I know the blood in her. And I shall remove her from +public school and place her in a private institution under a tutor, +where she'll no longer be exposed to contaminating influences.... I +thank you for your intention, which I'm sure is kind--and, will you +please excuse me? I must dress for my bridge party. Good afternoon, +Miss Hill." + +The schoolteacher plodded homeward, her eyes downcast and sad. The +snub given her by the mother had not hurt her as had the failure to +help the daughter. + +"I knew it--I knew it. I'll never try again. That woman's mind is a +wilderness where her girl is concerned. How brainless these mothers +are!... Yet if I'd ever had a girl--I wonder--would I have been blind? +One's own blood--that must be the reason. Pride. Could I have believed +of _my_ girl what I admitted of hers? Perhaps not till too late. That +would be so human. But, oh! the mystery--the sadness of it--the +fatality!" + +Rose Clymer left the High School with the settled, indifferent +bitterness of one used to trouble. Every desire she followed, turn +what way she would, every impulse reaching to grasp some girlish gleam +of happiness, resulted in the inevitable rebuke. And this time it had +been disgrace. But Rose felt she did not care if she could only +deceive her father. No cheerful task was it to face him. Shivering at +the thought she resolved to elude the punishment he was sure to +inflict if he learned why she had been expelled. + +She had no twinge of conscience. She was used to slights and +unkindness, and did not now reflect upon the justice of her dismissal. +What little pleasure she got came from friendships with boys, and +these her father had forbidden her to have. In the bitter web of her +thought ran the threads that if she had pretty clothes like Helen, and +a rich mother like Bessy, and a father who was not a drunkard, her lot +in life would have been happy. + +Rose lived with her stepfather in three dingy rooms in the mill +section of Middleville. She never left the wide avenues and lawns and +stately residences, which she had to pass on her way to and from +school, without contrasting them with the dirty alleys and grimy walls +and squalid quarters of the working-class. She had grown up in that +class, but in her mind there was always a faint vague recollection of +a time when her surroundings had been bright and cheerful, where there +had been a mother who had taught her to love beautiful things. To-day +she climbed the rickety stairs to her home and pushed open the +latchless door with a revolt brooding in her mind. + +A man in his shirt sleeves sat by the little window. + +"Why father--home so early?" she asked. + +"Yes lass, home early," he replied wearily. "I'm losing my place +again." + +He had straggling gray hair, bleared eyes with an opaque, glazy look +and a bluish cast of countenance. His chin was buried in the collar of +his open shirt; his shoulders sagged, and he breathed heavily. + +One glance assured Rose her father was not very much under the +influence of drink. And fear left her. When even half-sober he was +kind. + +"So you've lost your place?" she asked. + +"Yes. Old Swann is layin' off." + +This was an untruth, Rose knew, because the mills had never been so +full, and men never so in demand. Besides her father was an expert at +his trade and could always have work. + +"I'm sorry," she said, slowly. "I've been thinking lately that I'll +give up school and go to work. In an office uptown or a department +store." + +"Rose, that'd be good of you," he replied. "You could help along a +lot. I don't do my work so well no more. But your poor mother won't +rest in her grave. She was so proud of you, always dreamin'." + +The lamp Rose lighted showed comfortless rooms, with but few articles +of furniture. It was with the deft fingers of long practice that the +girl spread the faded table-cloth, laid the dishes, ground the coffee, +peeled the potatoes, and cut the bread. Then presently she called her +father to the meal. He ate in silence, having relapsed once more into +the dull gloom natural to him. When he had finished he took up his hat +and with slow steps left the room. + +"No more study for me," mused Rose, and she felt both glad and sorry. +"What will Bessy say? She won't like it. I wonder what old Hill did to +her. Let her off easy. I won't get to see Bessy so much now. No more +afternoons in the park. But I'll have the evenings. Best of all, some +nice clothes to wear. I might some day have a lovely gown like that +Miss Maynard wore the night of the Prom." + +Rose washed and dried the dishes, put them away, and cleaned up the +little kitchen in a way that spoke well for her. And she did it +cheerfully, for in the interest of this new idea of work she forgot +her trouble and discontent. Taking up the lamp she went to her room. +It contained a narrow bed, a bureau, a small wardrobe and a rug. The +walls held several pictures, and some touches of color in the way of +ribbons, bright posters, and an orange-and-blue banner. A photograph +of Bessy Bell stood on the bureau and the girl's beauty seemed like a +light in the dingy room. + +Rose looked in the mirror and smiled and tossed her curly head. She +studied the oval face framed in its mass of curls, the steady +gray-blue eyes, the soft, wistful, tenderly curved lips. "Yes, I'm +pretty," she said. "And I'm going to buy nice things to wear." + +Suddenly she heard a pattering on the roof. + +"Rain! What do you know about that? I've got to stay in. If I spoil +that relic of a hat I'll never have the nerve to go ask for a job." + +She prepared for bed, and placing the lamp on the edge of the bureau, +she lay down to become absorbed in a paper-backed novel. The +mill-clock was striking ten when she finished. There was a dreamy +light in her eyes and a glow upon her face. + +"How grand to be as beautiful as she was and turn out to be an heiress +with blue blood, and a lovely mother, and handsome lovers dying for +her!" + +Then she flung the novel against the wall. + +"It's only a book. It's not true." + +Rose blew out the lamp and went to sleep. + +During the night she dreamed that the principal of the High School had +called to see her father, and she awoke trembling. + +The room was dark as pitch; the rain pattered on the roof; the wind +moaned softly under the eaves. A rat somewhere in the wall made a +creaking noise. Rose hated to awaken in the middle of the night. She +listened for her father's breathing, and failing to hear it, knew he +had not yet come home. Often she was left alone until dawn. She tried +bravely to go to sleep again but found it impossible; she lay there +listening, sensitive to every little sound. The silence was almost +more dreadful than the stealthy unknown noises of the night. Vague +shapes seemed to hover over her bed. Somehow to-night she dreaded them +more. She was sixteen years old, yet there abided with her the terror +of the child in the dark. + +She cried out in her heart--why was she alone? It was so dark, so +silent. Mother! Mother!... She would never--never say her prayers +again! + +The brazen-tongued mill clock clanged the hour of two, when shuffling +uncertain footsteps sounded on the hollow stairs. Rose raised her head +to listen. With slow, weary, dragging steps her father came in. Then +she lay back on the pillow with a sigh of relief. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +In the following week Rose learned that work was not to be had for the +asking. Her love of pretty things and a desire to be independent of +her father had occupied her mind to the exclusion of a consideration +of what might be demanded of a girl seeking a position. She had no +knowledge of stenography or bookkeeping; her handwriting was poor. +Moreover, references from former employers were required and as she +had never been employed, she was asked for recommendations from the +principal of her school. These, of course, she could not supply. The +stores of the better class had nothing to offer her except to put her +name on the waiting-list. + +Finally Rose secured a place in a second-rate establishment on Main +Street. The work was hard; it necessitated long hours and continual +standing on her feet. Rose was not rugged enough to accustom herself +to the work all at once, and she was discharged. This disheartened +her, but she kept on trying to find other employment. + +One day in the shopping district, some one accosted her. She looked up +to see a young man, slim, elegant, with a curl of his lips she +remembered. He raised his hat. + +"How do you do, Mr. Swann," she answered. + +"Rose, are you on the way home?" + +"Yes." + +"Let's go down this side street," he said, throwing away his +cigarette. "I've been looking for you." + +They turned the corner. Rose felt strange to be walking alone with +him, but she was not embarrassed. He had danced with her once. And she +knew his friend Hardy Mackay. + +"What're you crying about?" he said. + +"I'm not." + +"You have been then. What for?" + +"Oh, nothing." + +"Come, tell me." + +"I--I've been disappointed." + +"What about?" He was persistent, and Rose felt that he must be used to +having his own way. + +"It was about a job I didn't get," replied Rose, trying to laugh. + +"So you're looking for a job. Heard you'd been fired by old Hill. Gail +told me. I had her out last night in my new car." + +"I could go back to school. Miss Hill sent for me.... Was Bessy with +you and Gail?" + +"No. Gail and I were alone. We had a dandy time.... Rose, will you +meet me some night and take a ride? It'll be fine and cool." + +"Thank you, Mr. Swann. It's very kind of you to ask me." + +"Well, will you go?" he queried, impatiently. + +"No," she replied, simply. + +"Why not?" + +"I don't want to." + +"Well, that's plain enough," he said, changing his tone. "Say, Rose, +you're in Clark's store, aren't you?" + +"I was. But I lost the place." + +"How's that?" + +"I couldn't stand on my feet all day. I fainted. Then he fired me." + +"So you're hunting for another job?" inquired Swann, thoughtfully. + +"Yes." + +"Sorry. It's too bad a sweet kid like you has to work. You're not +strong, Rose.... Well, I'll turn off at this corner. You won't meet me +to-night?" + +"No, thanks." + +Swann pulled a gold case from his pocket, and extracting a cigarette, +tilted it in his lips as he struck a match. His face wore a careless +smile Rose did not like. He was amiable, but he seemed so sure, so +satisfied, almost as if he believed she would change her mind. + +"Rose, you're turning me down cold, then?" + +"Take it any way you like, Mr. Swann," she replied. "Good day." + +Rose forgot him almost the instant her back was turned. He had only +annoyed her. And she had her stepfather to face, with news of her +discharge from the store. Her fears were verified; he treated her +brutally. Next day Rose went to work in a laundry. + +And then, very soon it seemed, her school days, the merry times with +the boys, and Bessy--all were far back in the past. She did not meet +any one who knew her, nor hear from any one. They had forgotten her. +At night, after coming home from the laundry and doing the housework, +she was so tired that she was glad to crawl into bed. + +But one night a boy brought her a note. It was from Dick Swann. He +asked her to go to Mendleson's Hall to see the moving-pictures. She +could meet him uptown at the entrance. Rose told the boy to tell Swann +she would not come. + +This invitation made her thoughtful. If Swann had been ashamed to be +seen with her he would not have invited her to go there. Mendleson's +was a nice place; all the nice people of Middleville went there. Rose +found herself thinking of the lights, the music, the well-dressed +crowd, and then the pictures. She loved moving-pictures, especially +those with swift horses and cowboys and a girl who could ride. All at +once a wave of the old thrilling excitement rushed over her. Almost +she regretted having sent back a refusal. But she would not go with +Swann. And it was not because she knew what kind of a young man he +was--what he wanted. Rose refused from dislike, not scruples. + +Then came a Saturday night which seemed a climax of her troubles. She +was told not to come back to work until further notice, and that was +as bad as being discharged. How could she tell her stepfather? Of late +he had been hard with her. She dared not tell him. The money she +earned was little enough, but during his idleness it had served to +keep them. + +Rose had scarcely gone a block when she encountered Dick Swann. He +stopped her--turned to walk with her. It was a melancholy gift of +Rose's that she could tell when men were even in the slightest under +the influence of drink. Swann was not careless now or indifferent. He +seemed excited and gay. + +"Rose, you're just the girl I'm looking for," he said. "I really was +going to your home. Got that job yet?" + +"No," she replied. + +"I've got one for you. It's at the Telephone Exchange. They need an +operator. My dad owns the telephone company. I've got a pull. I'll get +you the place. You can learn it easy. Nice job--short hours--you sit +down all the time--good pay. What do you say, Rose?" + +"I--I don't know--what to say," she faltered. "Thanks for thinking of +me." + +"I've had you in mind for a month. Rose, you take this job. Take it +whether you've any use for me or not. I'm not rotten enough to put +this in your way just to make you under obligations to me." + +"I'll think about it. I--I do need a place. My father's out of work. +And he's--he's not easy to get along with." + +"I tell you what, Rose. You meet me to-night. We'll take a spin in my +car. It'll be fine down the river road. Then we can talk it over. Will +you?" + +Rose looked at him, and thought how strange it was that she did not +like him any better, now when she ought to. + +"Why have you tried to--to rush me?" she asked. + +"I like you, Rose." + +"But you don't want me to meet you--go with you, when I--I can't feel +as you do?" + +"Sure, I want you to, Rose. Nobody ever likes me right off. Maybe you +will, after you know me. The job is yours. Don't make any date with me +for that. I say here's your chance to have a ride, to win a friend. +Take it or not. It's up to you. I won't say another word." + +Rose's hungry, lonely heart warmed toward Swann. He seemed like a ray +of light in the gloom. + +"I'll meet you," she said. + +They arranged the hour and then she went on her way home. + +The big car sped through River Park. Rose shivered a little as she +peered into the darkness of the grove. Then the car shot under the +last electric light, out into the country, with the level road white +in the moonlight, and the river gleaming below. There was a steady, +even rush of wind. The car hummed and droned and sang. And mingled +with the dry scent of dust was the sweet fragrance of new-mown hay. +Far off a light twinkled or it might have been a star. + +Swann put his arm around Rose. She did not shrink--she did not repulse +him--she did not move. Something strange happened in her mind or +heart. It was that moment she fell. + +And she fell wide-eyed, knowing what she was doing, not in a fervor of +excitement, without pleasure or passion, bitterly sure that it was +better to be with some one she could not like than to be alone +forever. The wrong to herself lay only in the fact that she could not +care. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Toward the end of June, Lane's long vigil of watchfulness from the +vantage-point at Colonel Pepper's apartment resulted in a confirmation +of his worst fears. + +One afternoon and evening of a warm, close day in early summer he lay +and crouched on the attic floor above the club-rooms from three +o'clock until one the next morning. From time to time he had changed +his position to rest. But at the expiration of that protracted period +of spying he was so exhausted from the physical strain and mental +shock that he was unable to go home. All the rest of the night he lay +upon Colonel Pepper's couch, wide awake, consumed by pain and +distress. About daylight he fell into a sleep, fitful and full of +nightmares, to be awakened around nine o'clock by Pepper. The old +gambler evinced considerable alarm until Lane explained how he +happened to be there; and then his feeling changed to solicitude. + +"Lane, you look awful," he said. + +"If I look the way I feel it's no wonder you're shocked," returned +Lane. + +"Ahuh! What'd you see?" queried the other, curiously. + +"When?" + +"Why, you numskull, while you were peepin' all that time." + +Lane sombrely shook his head. "I couldn't tell--what I saw. I want to +forget.... Maybe in twenty-four hours I'll believe it was a +nightmare." + +"Humph! Well, I'm here to tell you what _I've_ seen wasn't any +nightmare," returned Pepper, with his shrewd gaze on Lane. "But we +needn't discuss that. If it made an old bum like me sick what might +not it do to a sensitive high-minded chap like you.... The question is +are you going to bust up that club." + +"I am," declared Lane, grimly. + +"Good! But how--when? What's the sense in lettin' them carry on any +longer?" + +"I had to fight myself last night to keep from breaking in on them.... +But I want to catch this fellow Swann with my sister. She wasn't +there." + +"Lane, don't wait for that," returned Pepper, nervously. "You might +never catch him.... And if you did...." + +His little plump well-cared-for hand shook as he extended it. + +"I don't know what I'll do.... I don't know," said Lane, darkly, more +to himself. + +"Lane, this--this worry will knock you out." + +"No matter. All I ask is to stand up--long enough--to do what I want +to do." + +"Go home and get some breakfast--and take care of yourself," replied +Pepper, gruffly. "Damn me if I'm not sorry I gave Swann's secret +away." + +"Oh no, you're not," said Lane, quickly. "But I'd have found it out by +this time." + +Pepper paced up and down the faded carpet, his hands behind his back, +a plodding, burdened figure. + +"Have you any--doubts left?" he asked, suddenly. + +"Doubts!" echoed Lane, vaguely. + +"Yes--doubts. You're like most of these mothers and fathers.... You +couldn't believe. You made excuses for the smoke--saying there was no +fire." + +"No more doubts, alas!... My God! I _saw_," burst out Lane. + +"All right. Buck up now. It's something to be sure.... You've overdone +your strength. You look...." + +"Pepper, do me a favor," interposed Lane, as he made for the door. +"Get me an axe and leave it here in your rooms. In case I want to +break in on those fellows some time--quick--I'll have it ready." + +"Sure, I'll get you anything. And I want to be around when you butt in +on them." + +"That's up to you. Good-bye now. I'll run in to-morrow if I'm up to +it." + +Lane went home, his mind in a tumult. His mother had just discovered +that he had not slept in his bed, and was greatly relieved to see him. +Breakfast was waiting, and after partaking of it Lane felt somewhat +better. His mother appeared more than usually sombre. Worry was +killing her. + +"Lorna did not sleep at home last night," she said, presently, as if +reluctantly forced to impart this information. + +"Where was she?" he queried, blankly. + +"She said she would stay with a friend." + +"What friend?" + +"Some girl. Oh, it's all right I suppose. She's stayed away before +with girl friends.... But what worried me...." + +"Well," queried Lane, as she paused. + +"Lorna was angry again last night. And she told me if you didn't stop +your nagging she'd go away from home and stay. Said she could afford +to pay her board." + +"She told me that, too," replied Lane, slowly. "And--I'm afraid she +meant it." + +"Leave her alone, Daren." + +"Poor mother! I'm afraid I'm a--a worry to you as well as Lorna," he +said, gently, with a hand going to her worn cheek. She said nothing, +although her glance rested upon him with sad affection. + +Lane clambered wearily up to his little room. It had always been a +refuge. He leaned a moment against the wall, and felt in his extremity +like an animal in a trap. A thousand pricking, rushing sensations +seemed to be on the way to his head. That confusion, that sensation as +if his blood vessels would burst, yielded to his will. He sat down on +his bed. Only the physical pains and weariness, and the heartsickness +abided with him. These had been nothing to daunt his spirit. But +to-day was different. The dark, vivid, terrible picture in his mind +unrolled like a page. Yesterday was different. To-day he seemed a +changed man, confronted by imperious demands. Time was driving onward +fast. + +As if impelled by a dark and sinister force, he slowly leaned down to +pull his bag from under the bed. He opened it, and drew out his Colt's +automatic gun. Though the June day was warm this big worn metal weapon +had a cold touch. He did not feel that he wanted to handle it, but he +did. It seemed heavy, a thing of subtle, latent energy, with singular +fascination for him. It brought up a dark flowing tide of memory. Lane +shut his eyes, and saw the tide flow by with its conflict and horror. +The feel of his gun, and the recall of what it had meant to him in +terrible hours, drove away a wavering of will, and a still voice that +tried to pierce his consciousness. It fixed his sinister intention. He +threw the gun on the bed, and rising began to pace the floor. + +"If I told what I saw--no jury on earth would convict me," he +soliloquized. "But I'll kill him--and keep my mouth shut." + +Plan after plan he had pondered in mind--and talked over with +Blair--something to thwart Richard Swann--to give Margaret the chance +for happiness and love her heart craved--to put out of Lorna's way the +evil influence that had threatened her. Now the solution came to him. +Sooner or later he would catch Swann with his sister in an automobile, +or at the club rooms, or at some other questionable place. He knew +Lorna was meeting Swann. He had tried to find them, all to no avail. +What he might have done heretofore was no longer significant; he knew +what he meant to do now. + +But all at once Lane was confronted with remembrance of another thing +he had resolved upon--equally as strong as his determination to save +Lorna--and it was his intention to persuade Mel Iden to marry him. + +He loved his sister, but not as he loved Mel Iden. Whatever had +happened to Lorna or might happen, she would be equal to it. She had +the boldness, the cool, calculating selfishness of the general run of +modern girls. Her reactions were vastly different front Mel Iden's. +Lane had lost hope of saving Lorna's soul. He meant only to remove a +baneful power from her path, so that she might lean to the boy who +wanted to marry her. When in his sinister intent he divined the +passionate hate of the soldier for the slacker he refused to listen to +his conscience. The way out in Lorna's case he had discovered. But +what relation had this new factor of his dilemma to Mel Iden? He could +never marry her after he had killed Swann. + +Lane went to bed, and when he rested his spent body, he pondered over +every phase of the case. Reason and intelligence had their say. He +knew he had become morbid, sick, rancorous, base, obsessed with this +iniquity and his passion to stamp on it, as if it were a venomous +serpent. He would have liked to do some magnificent and awful deed, +that would show this little, narrow, sordid world at home the truth, +and burn forever on their memories the spirit of a soldier. He had +made a sacrifice that few understood. He had no reward except a +consciousness that grew more luminous and glorious in its lonely light +as time went on. He had endured the uttermost agonies of hell, a +thousand times worse than death, and he had come home with love, with +his faith still true. To what had he returned? + +No need for reason or intelligence to knock at the gates of his +passion! The war had left havoc. The physical, the sensual, the +violent, the simian--these instincts, engendering the Day of the +Beast, had come to dominate the people he had fought for. Why not go +out and deliberately kill a man, a libertine, a slacker? He would +still be acting on the same principle that imbued him during the war. + +His thoughts drifted to Mel Iden. Strange how he loved her! Why? +Because she was a lonely soul like himself--because she was true to +her womanhood--because she had fallen for the same principle for which +he had sacrificed all--because she had been abandoned by family and +friends--because she had become beautiful, strange, mystic, tragic. +Because despite the unnamed child, the scarlet letter upon her breast, +she seemed to him infinitely purer than the girl who had jilted him. + +Lane now surrendered to the enchantment of emotion embodied in the +very name of Mel Iden. He had long resisted a sweet, melancholy +current. He had driven Mel from his mind by bitter reflection on the +conduct of the people who had ostracized her. Thought of her now, of +what he meant to do, of the mounting love he had so strangely come to +feel for her, was his only source of happiness. She would never know +his secret love; he could never tell her that. But it was something to +hold to his heart, besides that unquenchable faith in himself, in some +unseen genius for far-off good. + +The next day Lane, having ascertained where Joshua Iden was employed, +betook himself that way just at the noon hour. Iden, like so many +other Middleville citizens, gained a livelihood by working for the +rich Swann. In his best days he had been a master mechanic of the +railroad shops; at sixty he was foreman of one of the steel mills. + +As it chanced, Iden had finished his noonday meal and was resting in +the shade, apart from other laborers there. Lane remembered him, in +spite of the fact that the three years had aged and bowed him, and +lined his face. + +"Mr. Iden, do you remember me?" asked Lane. He caught the slight +averting of Iden's eyes from his uniform, and divined how the father +of Mel Iden hated soldiers. But nothing could daunt Lane. + +"Yes, Lane, I remember you," returned Iden. He returned Lane's +hand-clasp, but not cordially. + +Lane had mapped out in his mind this little interview. Taking off his +hat, he carefully lowered himself until his back was propped against +the tree, and looked frankly at Iden. + +"It's warm. And I tire so easily. The damned Huns cut me to pieces.... +Not much like I was when I used to call on Mel!" + +Iden lowered his shadowed face. After a moment he said: "No, you're +changed, Lane.... I heard you were gassed, too." + +"Oh, everything came my way, Mr. Iden.... And the finish isn't far +off." + +Iden shifted his legs uneasily, then sat more erect, and for the first +time really looked at Lane. It was the glance of a man who had strong +aversion to the class Lane represented, but who was fair-minded and +just, and not without sympathy. + +"That's too bad, Lane. You're a young man.... The war hit us all, I +guess," he said, and at the last, sighed heavily. + +"It's been a long pull--Blair Maynard and I were the first to enlist, +and we left Middleville almost immediately," went on Lane. + +He desired to plant in Iden's mind the fact that he had left +Middleville long before the wild era of soldier-and-girl attraction +which had created such havoc. Acutely sensitive as Lane was, he could +not be sure of an alteration in Iden's aloofness, yet there was some +slight change. Then he talked frankly about specific phases of the +war. Finally, when he saw that he had won interest and sympathy from +Iden he abruptly launched his purpose. + +"Mr. Iden, I came to ask if you will give your consent to my marrying +Mel." + +The older man shrank back as if he had been struck. He stared. His +lower jaw dropped. A dark flush reddened his cheek. + +"What!... Lane, you must be drunk," he ejaculated, thickly. + +"No. I never was more earnest in my life. I want to marry Mel Iden." + +"Why?" rasped out the father, hoarsely. + +"I understand Mel," replied Lane, and swiftly he told his convictions +as to the meaning and cause of her sacrifice. "Mel is good. She never +was bad. These rotten people who see dishonor and disgrace in her have +no minds, no hearts. Mel is far above these painted, bare-kneed girls +who scorn her.... And I want to show them what _I_ think of her. I +want to give her boy a name--so he'll have a chance in the world. I'll +not live long. This is just a little thing I can do to make it easier +for Mel." + +"Lane, you can't be the father of her child," burst out Iden. + +"No. I wish I were. I was never anything to Mel but a friend. She was +only a girl--seventeen when I left home." + +"So help me God!" muttered Iden, and he covered his face with his +hands. + +"Say yes, Mr. Iden, and I'll go to Mel this afternoon." + +"No, let me think.... Lane, if you're not drunk, you're crazy." + +"Not at all. Why, Mr. Iden, I'm perfectly rational. Why, I'd glory in +making that splendid girl a little happier, if it's possible." + +"I drove my--my girl from her mother--her home," said Iden, slowly. + +"Yes, and it was a hard, cruel act," replied Lane, sharply. "You were +wrong. You--" + +The mill whistle cut short Lane's further speech. When its shrill +clarion ended, Iden got up, and shook himself as if to reestablish +himself in the present. + +"Lane, you come to my house to-night," he said. "I've got to go back +to work.... But I'll think--and we can talk it over. I still live +where you used to come as a boy.... How strange life is!... Good day, +Lane." + +Lane felt more than satisfied with the result of that interview. +Joshua Iden would go home and tell Mel's mother, and that would surely +make the victory easier. She would be touched in her mother's heart; +she would understand Mel now, and divine Lane's mission; and she +would plead with her husband to consent, and to bring Mel back home. +Lane was counting on that. He must never even hint such a hope, but +nevertheless he had it, he believed in it. Joshua Iden would have the +scales torn from his eyes. He would never have it said that a dying +soldier, who owed neither him nor his daughter anything, had shown +more charity than he. + +Therefore, Lane went early to the Iden homestead, a picturesque +cottage across the river from Riverside Park. The only change Lane +noted was a larger growth of trees and a fuller foliage. It was warm +twilight. The frogs had begun to trill, sweet and melodious sound to +Lane, striking melancholy chords of memory. Joshua Iden was walking on +his lawn, his coat off, his gray head uncovered. Mrs. Iden sat on the +low-roofed porch. Lane expected to see a sad change in her, something +the same as he had found in his own mother. But he was hardly prepared +for the frail, white-haired woman unlike the image he carried in his +mind. + +"Daren Lane! You should have come to see me long ago," was her +greeting, and in her voice, so like Mel's, Lane recognized her. Some +fitting reply came to him, and presently the moment seemed easier for +all. She asked about his mother and Lorna, and then about Blair +Maynard. But she did not speak of his own health or condition. And +presently Lane thought it best to come to the issue at hand. + +"Mr. Iden, have you made up your mind to--to give me what I want?" + +"Yes, I have, Lane," replied Iden, simply. "You've made me see what +Mel's mother always believed, though she couldn't make it clear to +me.... I have much to forgive that girl. Yet, if you, who owe her +nothing--who have wasted your life in vain sacrifice--if you can ask +her to be your wife, I can ask her to come back home." + +That was a splendid, all-satisfying moment for Lane. By his own grief +he measured his reward. What had counted with Joshua Iden had been his +faith in Mel's innate goodness. Then Lane turned to the mother. In the +dusk he could see the working of her sad face. + +"God bless you, my boy!" she said. "You feel with a woman's heart. I +thank you.... Joshua has already sent word for Mel to come home. She +will be back to-morrow.... You must come here to see her. But, Daren, +she will never marry you." + +"She will," replied Lane. + +"You do not know Mel. Even if you had only a day to live she would not +let you wrong yourself." + +"But when she learns how much it means to me? The army ruined Mel, as +it ruined hundreds of thousands of other girls. She will let one +soldier make it up to her. She will let me go to my death with less +bitterness." + +"Oh, my poor boy, I don't know--I can't tell," she replied, brokenly. +"By God's goodness you have brought about one miracle. Who knows? You +might change Mel. For you have brought something great back from the +war." + +"Mrs. Iden, I will persuade her to marry me," said Lane. "And then, +Mr. Iden, we must see what is best for her and the boy--in the +future." + +"Aye, son. One lesson learned makes other lessons easy. I will take +Mel and her mother far away from Middleville--where no one ever heard +of us." + +"Good! You can all touch happiness again.... And now, if you and Mrs. +Iden will excuse me--I will go." + +Lane bade the couple good night, and slowly, as might have a lame man, +he made his way through the gloaming, out to the road, and down to the +bridge, where as always he lingered to catch the mystic whispers of +the river waters, meant only for his ear. Stronger to-night! He was +closer to that nameless thing. The shadows of dusk, the dark murmuring +river, held an account with him, sometime to be paid. How blessed to +fall, to float down to that merciful oblivion. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Several days passed before Lane felt himself equal to the momentous +interview with Mel Iden. After his call upon Mel's father and mother +he was overcome by one of his sick, weak spells, that happily had been +infrequent of late. This one confined him to his room. He had about +fought and won it out, when the old injury at the base of his spine +reminded him that misfortunes did not come singly. Quite unexpectedly, +as he bent over with less than his usual caution, the vertebra slipped +out; and Lane found his body twisted like a letter S. And the old pain +was no less terrible for its familiarity. + +He got back to his bed and called his mother. She sent for Doctor +Bronson. He came at once, and though solicitous and kind he lectured +Lane for neglecting the osteopathic treatment he had advised. And he +sent his chauffeur for an osteopath. + +"Lane," said the little physician, peering severely down upon him, "I +didn't think you'd last as long as this." + +"I'm tough, Doctor--hard to kill," returned Lane, making a wry face. +"But I couldn't stand this pain long." + +"It'll be easier presently. We can fix that spine. Some good +treatments to strengthen ligaments, and a brace to wear--we can fix +that.... Lane, you've wonderful vitality." + +"A doctor in France told me that." + +"Except for your mental condition, you're in better shape now than +when you came home." Doctor Bronson peered at Lane from under his +shaggy brows, walked to the window, looked out, and returned, +evidently deep in thought. + +"Boy, what's on your mind?" he queried, suddenly. + +"Oh, Lord! listen to him," sighed Lane. Then he laughed. "My dear +Doctor, I have nothing on my mind--absolutely nothing.... This world +is a beautiful place. Middleville is fine, clean, progressive. People +are kind--thoughtful--good. What could I have on my mind?" + +"You can't fool me. You think the opposite of what you say.... Lane, +your heart is breaking." + +"No, Doctor. It broke long ago." + +"You believe so, but it didn't. You can't give up.... Lane, I want to +tell you something. I'm a prohibitionist myself, and I respect the +law. But there are rare cases where whiskey will effect a cure. I say +that as a physician. And I am convinced now that your case is one +where whiskey might give you a fighting chance." + +"Doctor! What're you saying?" ejaculated Lane, wide-eyed with +incredulity. + +Doctor Bronson enlarged upon and emphasized his statement. + +"I might _live_!" whispered Lane. "My God!... But that is ridiculous. +I'm shot to pieces. I'm really tired of living. And I certainly +wouldn't become a drunkard to save my life." + +At this juncture the osteopath entered, putting an end to that +intimate conversation. Doctor Bronson explained the case to his +colleague. And fifteen minutes later Lane's body was again straight. +Also he was wringing wet with cold sweat and quivering in every +muscle. + +"Gentlemen--your cure is--worse than--the disease," he panted. + +Manifestly Doctor Branson's interest in Lane had advanced beyond the +professional. His tone was one of friendship when he said, "Boy, it +beats hell what you can stand. I don't know about you. Stop your worry +now. Isn't there something you _care_ for?" + +"Yes," replied Lane. + +"Think of that, or it, or _her_, then to the exclusion of all else. +And give nature a chance." + +"Doctor, I can't control my thoughts." + +"A fellow like you can do anything," snapped Bronson. "There are such +men, now and then. Human nature is strange and manifold. All great men +do not have statues erected in their honor. Most of them are unknown, +unsung.... Lane, you could do anything--do you hear me?--_anything_." + +Lane felt surprise at the force and passion of the practical little +physician. But he was not greatly impressed. And he was glad when the +two men went away. He felt the insidious approach of one of his states +of depression--the black mood--the hopeless despair--the hell on +earth. This spell had not visited him often of late, and now +manifestly meant to make up for that forbearance. Lane put forth his +intelligence, his courage, his spirit--all in vain. The onslaught of +gloom and anguish was irresistible. Then thought of Mel Iden +sustained him--held back this madness for the moment. + +Every hour he lived made her dearer, yet farther away. It was the +unattainableness of her, the impossibility of a fruition of love that +slowly and surely removed her. On the other hand, the image of her +sweet face, of her form, of her beauty, of her movements--every recall +of these physical things enhanced her charm, and his love. He had +cherished a delusion that it was Mel Iden's spirit alone, the +wonderful soul of her, that had stormed his heart and won it. But he +found to his consternation that however he revered her soul, it was +the woman also who now allured him. That moment of revelation to Lane +was a catastrophe. Was there no peace on earth for him? What had he +done to be so tortured? He had a secret he must hide from Mel Iden. He +was human, he was alone, he needed love, but this seemed madness. And +at the moment of full realization Doctor Bronson's strange words of +possibility returned to haunt and flay him. He might live! A fierce +thrill like a flame leaped from his heart, along his veins. And a +shudder, cold as ice, followed it. Love would kill his resignation. +Love would add to his despair. Mel Iden could never love him. He did +not want her love. And yet, to live on and on, with such love as would +swell and mount from his agony, with the barrier between them growing +more terrible every day, was more than he cared to face. He would +rather die. + +And so, at length, Lane's black demon of despair overthrew even his +thoughts of Mel, and fettered him there, in darkness and strife of +soul. He was an atom under the grinding, monstrous wheels of his +morbid mood. + +Sometime, after endless moments or hours of lying there, with crushed +breast, with locked thoughts hideous and forlorn, with slow burn of +pang and beat of heart, Lane heard a heavy thump on the porch outside, +on the hall inside, on the stairs. Thump--thump, slow and heavy! It +roused him. It drove away the drowsy, thick and thunderous atmosphere +of mind. It had a familiar sound. Blair's crutch! + +Presently there was a knock on the door of his room and Blair entered. +Blair, as always, bright of eye, smiling of lip, erect, proud, +self-sufficient, inscrutable and sure. Lane's black demon stole away. +Lane saw that Blair was whiter, thinner, frailer, a little farther on +that road from which there could be no turning. + +"Hello, old scout," greeted Blair, as he sat down on the bed beside +Lane. "I need you more than any one--but it kills me to see you." + +"Same here, Blair," replied Lane, comprehendingly. + +"Gosh! we oughtn't be so finicky about each other's looks," exclaimed +Blair, with a smile. + +But neither Lane nor Blair made further reference to the subject. + +Each from the other assimilated some force, from voice and look and +presence, something wanting in their contact with others. These two +had measured all emotions, spanned in little time the extremes of +life, plumbed the depths, and now saw each other on the heights. In +the presence of Blair, Lane felt an exaltation. The more Blair seemed +to fade away from life, the more luminous and beautiful the light of +his countenance. For Lane the crippled and dying Blair was a deed of +valor done, a wrong expiated for the sake of others, a magnificent +nobility in contrast to the baseness and greed and cowardice of the +self-preservation that had doomed him. Lane had only to look at Blair +to feel something elevating in himself, to know beyond all doubt that +the goodness, the truth, the progress of man in nature, and of God in +his soul, must grow on forever. + +Mel Iden had been in her home four days when Lane first saw her there. + +It was a day late in June when the rich, thick, amber light of +afternoon seemed to float in the air. Warm summer lay on the land. The +bees were humming in the rose vines over the porch. Mrs. Iden, who +evidently heard Lane's step, appeared in the path, and nodding her +gladness at sight of him, she pointed to the open door. + +Lane halted on the threshold. The golden light of the day seemed to +have entered the room and found Mel. It warmed the pallor of her skin +and the whiteness of her dress. When he had seen her before she had +worn something plain and dark. Could a white gown and the golden glow +of June effect such transformation? She came slowly toward him and +took his hand. + +"Daren, I am home," was all she could say. + +Long hours before Lane had braced himself for this ordeal. It was +himself he had feared, not Mel. He played the part he had created for +her imagination. Behind his composure, his grave, kind earnestness, +hid the subdued and scorned and unwelcome love that had come to him. +He held it down, surrounded, encompassed, clamped, so that he dared +look into her eyes, listen to her voice, watch the sweet and tragic +tremulousness of her lips. + +"Yes, Mel, where you should be," replied Lane. + +"It was you--your offer to marry me--that melted father's heart." + +"Mel, all he needed was to be made think," returned Lane. "And that +was how I made him do it." + +"Oh, Daren, I thank you, for mother's sake, for mine--I can't tell you +how much." + +"Mel, please don't thank me," he answered. "You understand, and that's +enough. Now say you'll marry me, Mel." + +Mel did not answer, but in the look of her eyes, dark, humid, with +mysterious depths below the veil, Lane saw the truth; he felt it in +the clasp of her hands, he divined it in all that so subtly emanated +from the womanliness of her. Mel had come to love him. + +And all that he had endured seemed to rise and envelop heart and soul +in a strange, cold stillness. + +"Mel, will you marry me?" he repeated, almost dully. + +Slowly Mel withdrew her hands. The query seemed to make her mistress +of herself. + +"No, Daren, I cannot," she replied, and turned away to look out of a +window with unseeing eyes. "Let us talk of other things.... My father +says he will move away--taking me and--and--all of us--as soon as he +sells the home." + +"No, Mel, if you'll forgive me, we'll not talk of something else," +Lane informed her. "We can argue without quarreling. Come over here +and sit down." + +She came slowly, as if impelled, and she stood before him. To Lane it +seemed as if she were both supplicating and inexorable. + +"Do you remember the last time we sat together on this couch?" she +asked. + +"No, Mel, I don't." + +"It was four years ago--and more. I was sixteen. You tried to kiss me +and were angry because I wouldn't let you." + +"Well, wasn't I rude!" he exclaimed, facetiously. Then he grew +serious. "Mel, do you remember it was Helen's lying that came between +you and me--as boy and girl friends?" + +"I never knew. Helen Wrapp! What was it?" + +"It's not worth recalling and would hurt you--now," he replied. "But +it served to draw me Helen's way. We were engaged when she was +seventeen.... Then came the war. And the other night she laughed in my +face because I was a wreck.... Mel, it's beyond understanding how +things work out. Helen has chosen the fleshpots of Egypt. You have +chosen a lonelier and higher path.... And here I am in your little +parlor asking you to marry me." + +"No, no, no! Daren, don't, I beg of you--don't talk to me this way," +she besought him. + +"Mel, it's a difference of opinion that makes arguments, wars and +other things," he said, with a cruelty in strange antithesis to the +pity and tenderness he likewise felt. He could hurt her. He had power +over her. What a pang shot through his heart! There would be an +irresistible delight in playing on the emotions of this woman. He +could no more help it than the shame that surged over him at +consciousness of his littleness. He already loved her, she was all he +had left to love, he would end in a day or a week or a month by +worshipping her. Through her he was going to suffer. Peace would now +never abide in his soul. + +"Daren, you were never like this--as a boy," she said, in wondering +distress. + +"Like what?" + +"You're hard. You used to be so--so gentle and nice." + +"Hard! I? Yes, Mel, perhaps I am--hard as war, hard as modern life, +hard as my old friends, my little sister----" he broke off. + +"Daren, do not mock me," she entreated. "I should not have said hard. +But you're strange to me--a something terrible flashes from you. Yet +it's only in glimpses.... Forgive me, Daren, I didn't mean hard." + +Lane drew her down upon the couch so that she faced him, and he did +not release her hand. + +"Mel, I'm softer than a jelly-fish," he said. "I've no bone, no fiber, +no stamina, no substance. I'm more unstable than water. I'm so soft +I'm weak. I can't stand pain. I lie awake in the dead hours of night +and I cry like a baby, like a fool. I weep for myself, for my mother, +for Lorna, for _you_...." + +"Hush!" She put a soft hand over his lips. + +"Very well, I'll not be bitter," he went on, with mounting pulse, +with thrill and rush of inexplicable feeling, as if at last had come +the person who would not be deaf to his voice. "Mel, I'm still the +boy, your schoolmate, who used to pull the bow off your braid.... I am +that boy still in heart, with all the war upon my head, with the years +between then and now. I'm young and old.... I've lived the whole +gamut--the fresh call of war to youth, glorious, but God! as false as +stairs of sand--the change of blood, hard, long, brutal, debasing +labor of hands, of body, of mind to learn to kill--to survive and +kill--and go on to kill.... I've seen the marching of thousands of +soldiers--the long strange tramp, tramp, tramp, the beat, beat, beat, +the roll of drums, the call of bugles, the boom of cannon in the dark, +the lightnings of hell flaring across the midnight skies, the thunder +and chaos and torture and death and pestilence and decay--the hell of +war. It is not sublime. There is no glory. The sublimity is in man's +acceptance of war, not for hate or gain, but love. Love of country, +home, family--love of women--I fought for women--for Helen, whom I +imagined my ideal, breaking her heart over me on the battlefield. Not +that Helen failed _me_, but failed the ideal for which I fought!... My +little sister Lorna! I fought for her, and I fought for a dream that +existed only in my heart. Lorna--Alas!... I fought for other women, +all women--and _you_, Mel Iden. And in you, in your sacrifice and your +strength to endure, I find something healing to my sore heart. I find +my ideal embodied in you. I find hope and faith for the future +embodied in you. I find--" + +"Oh Daren, you shame me utterly," she protested, freeing her hands in +gesture of entreaty. "I am outcast." + +"To a false and rotten society, yes--you are," he returned. "But Mel, +that society is a mass of maggots. It is such women as you, such men +as Blair, who carry the spirit onward.... So much for that. I have +spoken to try to show you where I hold you. I do not call your--your +trouble a blunder, or downfall, or dishonor. I call it a misfortune +because--because--" + +"Because there was not love," she supplemented, as he halted at fault. +"Yes, that is where I wronged myself, my soul. I obeyed nature and +nature is strong, raw, inevitable. She seeks only her end, which is +concerned with the species. For nature the individual perishes. Nature +cannot be God. For God has created a soul in woman. And through the +ages woman has advanced to hold her womanhood sacred. But ever the +primitive lurks in the blood, and the primitive is nature. Soul and +nature are not compatible. A woman's soul sanctions only love. That is +the only progress there ever was in life. Nature and war made me +traitor to my soul." + +"Yes, yes, Mel, it's true--and cruel, what you say," returned Lane. +"All the more reason why you should do what I ask. I am home after the +war. All that was vain _is_ vain. I forget it when I can. I have--not +a great while left. There are a few things even I can do before that +time. One of them--the biggest to me--concerns you. You are in +trouble. You have a boy who can be spared much unhappiness in life. +If you were married--if the boy had my name--how different the +future! Perhaps there can be some measure of happiness for you. For +him there is every hope. You will leave Middleville. You will go far +away somewhere. You are young. You have a good education. You can +teach school, or help your parents while the boy is growing up. Time +is kind. You will forget.... Marry me, Mel, for his sake." + +She had both hands pressed to her breast as if to stay an +uncontrollable feeling. Her eyes, dilated and wide, expressed a +blending of emotions. + +"No, no, no!" she cried. + +Lane went on just the same with other words, in other vein, +reiterating the same importunity. It was a tragic game, in which he +divined he must lose. But the playing of it had inexplicably +bitter-sweet pain. He knew now that Mel loved him. No greater proof +needed he than the perception of her reaction to one word on his +lips--wife. She quivered to that like a tautly strung lyre touched by +a skilful hand. It fascinated her. But the temptation to accept his +offer for the sake of her boy's future was counteracted by the very +strength of her feeling for Lane. She would not marry him, because she +loved him. + +Lane read this truth, and it wrung a deeper reverence from him. And he +saw, too, the one way in which he could break her spirit, make her +surrender, if he could stoop to it. If he could take her in his arms, +and hold her tight, and kiss her dumb and blind, and make her +understand his own love for her, his need of her, she would accede +with the wondrous generosity of a woman's heart. But he could not do +it. + +In the end, out of sheer pity that overcame the strange delight he had +in torturing her, he desisted in his appeals and demands and subtle +arguments. The long strain left him spent. And with the sudden +let-down of his energy, the surrender to her stronger will, he fell +prey at once to the sadness that more and more was encompassing him. +He felt an old and broken man. + +To this sudden change in Lane Mel responded with mute anxiety and +fear. The alteration of his spirit stunned her. As he bade her +good-bye she clung to him. + +"Daren, forgive me," she implored. "You don't understand.... Oh, it's +hard." + +"Never mind, Mel. I guess it was just one of my dreams. Don't cry.... +Good-bye." + +"But you'll come again?" she entreated, almost wildly. + +Lane shook his head. He did not trust himself to look at her then. + +"Daren, you can't mean that," she cried. "It's too late for me. +I--I--Oh! You.... To uplift me--then to cast me down! Daren, come +back." + +In his heart he did not deny that cry of hers. He knew he would come +back, knew it with stinging shame, but he could not tell her. It had +all turned out so differently from what he had dreamed. If he had not +loved her he would not have felt defeat. To have made her his wife +would have been to protect her, to possess her even after he was +dead. + +At the last she let him go. He felt her watching him, and he carried +her lingering clasp away with him, to burn and to thrill and to haunt, +and yet to comfort him in lonely hours. + +But the next day the old spirit resurged anew, and unreconciled to +defeat, he turned to what was left him. Foolish and futile hopes! To +bank on the single grain of good in his wayward sister's heart! To +trust the might of his spirit--to beat down the influence of an +intolerant and depraved young millionaire--verily he was mad. Yet he +believed. And as a final resort he held death in his hand. Richard +Swann swaggered by Lane that night in the billiard room of the +Bradford Inn and stared sneeringly at him. + +"I've got a date," he gayly said to his sycophantic friends, in a tone +that would reach Lane's ears. + +The summer night came when Lane drove a hired car out the river road, +keeping ever in sight a red light in front of him. He broke the law +and endangered his life by traveling with darkened lamps. + +There was a crescent moon, clear and exquisitely delicate in the +darkening blue sky. The gleaming river shone winding away under the +dusky wooded hills. The white road stretched ahead, dimming in the +distance. A night for romance and love--for a maiden at a stile and a +lover who hung rapt and humble upon her whispers! But that red eye +before him held no romance. It leered as the luxurious sedan swayed +from side to side, a diabolical thing with speed. + +Lane was driving out the state highway, mile after mile. He calculated +that in less than ten minutes Swann had taken a girl from a bustling +corner of Middleville out into the open country. In pleasant weather, +when the roads were good, cars like Swann's swerved off into the +bypaths, into the edge of woods. In bad weather they parked along the +highway, darkened their lights and pulled their blinds. For this, +great factories turned out automobiles. And there might have pealed +out to a nation, and to God, the dolorous cry of a hundred thousand +ruined girls! But who would hear? And on the lips of girls of the +present there was only the wild cry for excitement, for the nameless +and unknown! There was a girl in Swann's car and Lane believed it was +his sister. Night after night he had watched. Once he had actually +seen Lorna ride off with Swann. And to-night from a vantage point +under the maples, when he had a car ready to follow, he had made sure +he had seen them again. + +The red eye squared off at right angles to the highway, and +disappeared. Lane came to a byroad, a lane lined with trees. He +stopped his car and got out. It did not appear that he would have to +walk far. And he was right, for presently a black object loomed +against the gray obscurity. It was an automobile, without lights, in +the shadow of trees. + +Lane halted. He carried a flash-light in his left hand, his gun in his +right. For a moment he deliberated. This being abroad in the dark on +an errand fraught with peril for some one had a familiar and deadly +tang. He was at home in this atmosphere. Hell itself had yawned at +his feet many and many a time. He was a different man here. He +deliberated because it was wise to forestall events. He did not want +to kill Swann then, unless in self-defense. He waited until that +peculiarly quick and tight and cold settling of his nerves told of +brain control over heart. Yet he was conscious of subdued hate, of a +righteous and terrible wrath held in abeyance for the sake of his +sister's name. And he regretted that he had imperiously demanded of +himself this assurance of Lorna's wantonness. + +Then he stole forward, closer and closer. He heard a low voice of +dalliance, a titter, high-pitched and sweet--sweet and wild. That was +not Lorna's laugh. The car was not Swann's. + +Lane swerved to the left, and in the gloom of trees, passed by +noiselessly. Soon he encountered another car--an open car with shields +up--as silent as if empty. But the very silence of it was potent of +life. It cried out to the night and to Lane. But it was not the car he +had followed. + +Again he slipped by, stealthily, yet scornful of his caution. Who +cared? He might have shouted his mission to the heavens. Lane passed +on. All he caught from the second car was a faint fragrance of smoke, +wafted on the gentle summer breeze. + +Another black object loomed up--a larger car--the sedan Lane +recognized. He did not bolt or hurry. His footsteps made no sound. +Crouching a little he slipped round the car to one side. At the +instant he reached for the handle of the door, a pang shook him. Alas, +that he should be compelled to spy on Lorna! His little sister! He +saw her as a curly-headed child, adoring him. Perhaps it might not be +Lorna after all. But it was for her sake that he was doing this. The +softer moment passed and the soldier intervened. + +With one swift turn and jerk he opened the door--then flashed his +light. A scream rent the air. In the glaring circle of light Lane saw +red hair--green eyes transfixed in fear--white shoulders--white +arms--white ringed hands suddenly flung upward. Helen! The blood left +his heart in a rush. Swann blinked in the light, bewildered and +startled. + +"Swann, you'll have to excuse me," said Lane, coolly. "I thought you +had my sister with you. I've spotted her twice with you in this +car.... It may not interest you or your--your guest, but I'll add that +you're damned lucky not to have Lorna here to-night." + +Then he snapped off his flash-light, and slamming the car door, he +wheeled away. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Lane left his room and went into the shady woods, where he thought the +July heat would be less unendurable, where the fever in his blood +might abate. But though it was cool and pleasant there he experienced +no relief. Wherever he went he carried the burden of his pangs. And +his grim giant of unrest trod in his shadow. + +He could not stay long in the woods. He betook himself to the hills +and meadows. Action was beneficial for him, though he soon exhausted +himself. He would have liked to fight out his battle that day. Should +he go on spending his days and nights in a slowly increasing torment? +The longer he fought the less chance he had of victory. Victory! There +could be none. What victory could be won over a strange ineradicable +susceptibility to the sweetness, charm, mystery of a woman? He plodded +the fragrant fields with bent head, in despair. Loneliness hurt him as +much as anything. And a new pang, the fiercest and most insupportable, +had been added to his miseries. Jealousy! Thought of the father of Mel +Iden's child haunted him, flayed him, made him feel himself ignoble +and base. There was no help for that. And this fiend of jealousy added +fuel to his love. Only long passionate iteration of his assurance of +principle and generosity subdued that frenzy and at length gave him +composure. Perhaps this had some semblance to victory. + +Lane returned to town weaker in one way than when he had left, yet +stronger in another. Upon the outskirts of Middleville he crossed the +river road and sat down upon a stone wall. The afternoon was far spent +and the sun blazing red. Lane wiped his moist face and fanned himself +with his hat. Behind him the shade of a wooded garden or park looked +inviting. Back in the foliage he espied the vine-covered roof of an +old summer house. + +A fresh young voice burst upon his meditations. "Hello, Daren Lane." + +Lane turned in surprise to behold a girl in white, standing in the +shade of trees beyond the wall. Somewhere he had seen that beautiful +golden head, the dark blue, almost purple eyes. + +"Good afternoon. You startled me," said Lane. + +"I called you twice." + +"Indeed? I beg pardon. I didn't hear." + +"Don't you remember me?" Her tone was one of pique and doubt. + +Then he remembered her. "Oh, of course. Bessy Bell! You must forgive +me. I've been ill and upset lately. These bad spells of mine magnify +time. It seems long since the Junior Prom." + +"Oh, you're ill," she returned, compassionately. "You do look pale +and--won't you come in? It's dusty and hot there. Come. I'll take you +where it's nice and cool." + +"Thank you. I'll be glad to." + +She led him to a green, fragrant nook, where a bench with cushions +stood half-hidden under heavy foliage. Lane caught a glimpse of a +winding flagged path, and in the distance a cottage among the trees. + +"Bessy, do you live here?" he asked. "It's pretty." + +"Yes, this is my home. It's too damn far from town, I'll say. I'm +buried alive," she replied, passionately. + +The bald speech struck Lane forcibly. All at once he remembered Bessy +Bell and his former interest. She was a type of the heretofore +inexplicable modern girl. Lane looked at her, seeing her suddenly with +a clearer vision. Bessy Bell had a physical perfection, a loveliness +that needed neither spirit nor animation. But life had given this girl +so much more than beauty. A softness of light seemed to shine round +her golden head; smiles played in secret behind her red lips ready to +break forth, and there was a haunting hint of a dimple in her round +cheek; on her lay the sweetness of youth subtly dawning into +womanhood; the flashing eyes were keen with intellect, with fire, full +of promise and mystic charm; and her beautiful, supple body, so +plainly visible, seemed quivering with sheer, restless joy of movement +and feeling. A trace of artificial color on her face and the +indelicacy of her dress but slightly counteracted Lane's first +impression. + +"You promised to call me up and make a date," she said, and sat down +close to him. + +"Yes. I meant it too. But Bessy, I was ill, and then I forgot. You +didn't miss much." + +"Hot dog! Hear the man. Daren, I'd throw the whole bunch down to be +with you," she exclaimed. + +At the end of that speech she paled slightly and her breath came +quickly. She looked bold, provocative, expectant, yet sincere. Child +or woman, she had to be taken seriously. Here indeed was the mystery +that had baffled Lane. He realized his opportunity, like a flash all +his former thought and conjecture about this girl returned to him. + +"You would. Well, I'm highly flattered. Why, may I ask?" + +"Because I've fallen for you," she replied, leaning close to him. +"That's the main reason, I guess.... But another is, I want you to +tell me all about yourself--in the war, you know." + +"I'd be glad to--if we get to be real friends," he said, thoughtfully. +"I don't understand you." + +"And I'll say I don't just get you," she retorted. "What do you want? +Have you forgotten the silver platter?" + +She turned away with a restless quivering. She had shown no shyness. +She was bold, intense, absolutely without fear; and however +stimulating or attractive the situation evidently was, it was neither +new nor novel to her. Some strange leaven worked deep in her. Lane +could put no other interpretation on her words and actions than that +she expected him to kiss her. + +"Bessy Bell, look at me," said Lane, earnestly. "You've said a +mouthful, as the slang word goes. I'm sort of surprised, you remember. +Bessy, you're not a girl whose head is full of excelsior. You've got +brains. You can think.... Now, if you really like me--and I believe +you--try to understand this. I've been away so long. All is changed. I +don't know how to take girls. I'm ill--and unhappy. But if I could be +your friend and could help you a little--please you--why it'd be good +for me." + +"Daren, they tell me you're going to die," she returned, breathlessly. +Her glance was brooding, dark, pregnant with purple fire. + +"Bessy, don't believe all you hear. I'm not--not so far gone yet." + +"They say you're game, too." + +"I hope so, Bessy." + +"Oh, you make me think. You must believe me a pill. I wanted you +to--to fall for me hard.... That bunch of sapheads have spoiled me, +I'll say. Daren, I'm sick of them. All they want to do is mush. I like +tennis, riding, golf. I want to do things. But it's too hot, or this, +or that. Yet they'll break their necks to carry a girl off to some +roadhouse, and dance--dance till you're melted. Then they stop along +the river to go bathing. I've been twice. You see, I have to sneak +away, or lie to mother and say I've gone to Gail's or somewhere." + +"Bathing, at night?" queried Lane, curiously. + +"Sure thing. It's spiffy, in the dark." + +"Of course you took your bathing suits?" + +"Hot dog! That would be telling." + +Lane dropped his head and studied the dust at his feet. His heart beat +thick and heavy. Through this girl the truth was going to be revealed +to him. It seemed on the moment that he could not look into her eyes. +She scattered his wits. He tried to erase from his mind every +impression of her, so that he might begin anew to understand her. And +the very first, succeeding this erasure, was a singular idea that she +was the opposite of romantic. + +"Bessy, can you understand that it is hard for a soldier to talk of +what has happened to him?" + +"I'll say I can," she replied. + +"You're sorry for me?" he went on, gently. + +"Sorry!... Give me a chance to prove what I am, Daren Lane." + +"Very well, then. I will. We'll make a fifty-fifty bargain. Do you +regard a promise sacred?" + +"I think I do. Some of the girls quarrel with me because I get sore, +and swear they're not square, as I try to be. I hate a liar and a +quitter." + +"Come then--shake hands on our bargain." + +She seemed thrilled, excited. The clasp of her little hand showed +force of character. She looked wonderingly up at him. Her appeal then +was one of exquisite youth and beauty. Something of the baffling +suggestion of an amorous expectation and response left her. This child +would give what she received. + +"First, then, it's for me to know a lot about you," went on Lane. +"Will you tell me?" + +"Sure. I'd trust you with anything," she replied, impulsively. + +"How long have you been going with boys?" + +"Oh, for two years, I guess. I had a passionate love affair when I was +thirteen," she replied, with the nonchalance and sophistication of +experience. + +It was impossible for Lane to take this latter remark for anything but +the glib boldness of an erotic child. But he was not making any +assurances to himself that he was right. Bessy Bell was fifteen years +old, according to time. But she had the physical development of +eighteen, and a mental range beyond his ken. The lawlessness unleashed +by the war seemed embodied in this girl. + +"With an older boy?" queried Lane. + +"No. He was a kid of my own age. I guess I outgrew Ted," she replied, +dreamily. "But he still tries to rush me." + +"With whom do you go to the secret club-rooms--above White's ice cream +parlor?" asked Lane, abruptly. + +Bessy never flicked an eyelash. "Hot dog! So you're wise to that? I +thought it was a secret. I told Rose Clymer those fellows weren't on +the level. Who told you I was there? Your sister Lorna?" + +"No. No one told me. Never mind that. Who took you there? You needn't +be afraid to trust _me_. I'm going to entrust my secrets to you by and +bye." + +"I went with Roy Vancey, the boy who was with me at Helen's the day I +met you." + +"Bessy, how often have you been to those club-rooms?" + +"Three times." + +"Were you ever there alone without any girls?" + +"No. I had my chance. Dick Swann tried his damnedest to get me to go. +But I've no use for him." + +"Why?" + +"I just don't like him, Daren," she replied, evasively. "I love to +have fun. But I haven't yet been so hard up I had to go out with some +one I didn't like." + +"Has Swann had my sister Lorna at the club?" + +Her replies had been prompt and frank. At this sudden query she seemed +checked. Lane read in Bessy Bell then more of the truth of her than he +had yet divined. Falsehood was naturally abhorrent to her. To lie to +her parents or teachers savored of fun, and was part of the game. She +did not want to lie to Lane, but in her code she could not betray +another girl, especially to that girl's brother. + +"Daren, I promised I'd tell you all about myself," she said. + +"I shouldn't have asked you to give away one of your friends," he +returned. "Some other time I'll talk to you about Lorna. Tell you what +I know, and ask you to help me save her----" + +"_Save_ her! What do you mean, Daren?" she interrupted, with surprise. + +"Bessy, I've paid you the compliment of believing you have +intelligence. Hasn't it occurred to you that Lorna--or other of her +friends or yours--might be going straight to ruin?" + +"Ruin! No, that hadn't occurred to me. I heard Doctor Wallace make a +crack like yours. Mother hauled me to church the Sunday after you +broke up Fanchon Smith's dance. Doctor Wallace didn't impress me. +These old people make me sick anyhow. They don't understand.... But +Daren, I think I get your drift. So snow some more." + +All in a moment, it seemed to Lane, this girl passed from surprise to +gravity, then to contempt, and finally to humor. She was fascinating. + +"To go back to the club," resumed Lane. "Bessy, what did you do +there?" + +"Oh, we toddled and shimmied. Cut up! Had an immense time, I'll say." + +"What do you mean by cut up?" + +"Why, we just ran wild, you know. Fool stunts!... Once Roy was sore +because I kicked cigarettes out of Bob's mouth. But the boob was +tickled stiff when I kicked for _him_. Jealous! It's all right with +any one of the boys what you do for _him_. But if you do the same for +_another_ boy--good night!" + +Bessy had no divination of the fact that her words for Lane had a +clarifying significance. + +"I suppose you played what we used to call kissing games?" queried +Lane. + +A sweet, high trill of laughter escaped Bessy's red lips. + +"Daren, you are funny. Those games are as dead as Caesar.... This +bunch of boys and girls paired off by themselves to spoon.... As for +myself, I don't mind spooning if I like the fellow--and he hasn't been +drinking. But otherwise I hate it. All the same I got what was coming +to me from some of the boys of the Strong Arm Club." + +"Why do they give it that name?" asked Lane, remembering Colonel +Pepper's remarks. + +"Why, if a girl doesn't come across she gets the strong arm.... I had +to fight like the devil that last afternoon I went there." + +"_Did_ you fight, Bessy?" + +"I'll say I did.... Roy Vancey is sore as a pup. He hasn't been near +me or called me up since." + +"Bessy, will you promise to stay away from that place--and not to go +joy-riding with any of those boys--day or night--if I meet you, and +tell you all about my experience in the war? I'll do my best to keep +the time you spend with me from being tedious." + +"It's another bargain," she returned deliberately, "if you just don't +spend enough time with me to make me stuck on you--then throw me down. +On the level, now, Daren?" + +"I'll meet you as often as you want. And I'll be your friend as long +as you prove to me I can be of any help, or pleasure, or good to you." + +"Hot dog, but you're taking some job, Daren. Won't it be just spiffy? +We'll meet here, afternoons, and evenings when mother's out. She's +nutty on bridge. She makes me promise I won't leave the yard. So I'll +not have to lie to meet you.... Daren, that day at Helen's, the minute +I saw you I knew you were going to have something to do with my +future." + +"Bessy, a little while ago I made sure you had no romance in you," +replied Lane, with a smile. "Now as we've gotten serious, let's think +hard about the future. What do you want most? Do you care for study, +for books? Have you any gift for music? Do you ever think of fitting +yourself for useful work?... Or is your mind full of this jazz stuff? +Do you just want to go from day to day, like a butterfly from flower +to flower? Just this boy and that one--not caring much which--all this +frivolity you hinted of, and worse, living this precious time of your +youth all for excitement? What is it you want most?" + +She responded with a thoughtfulness that inspired Lane's hope for her. +This girl could be reached. She was like Lorna in many ways, but +different in mentality. Bessy watched the gyrations of her shapely +little foot. She could not keep still even in abstraction. + +"A girl _must_ have a good time," she replied presently. "I've done +things I hated because I couldn't bear to be left out of the fun.... +But I like most to read and dream. Music makes me strange inside, and +to want to do great things. Only there _are_ no great things to do. +I've never been nutty about a career, like Helen is. And I always +hated work.... I guess--to tell on the level--what I want most is to +be loved." + +With that she raised her eyes to Lane's. He tried to read her mind, +and realized that if he failed it was not because she was not baring +it. Dropping his own gaze, he pondered. The girl's response to his +earnestness was intensely thought-provoking. No matter how immodestly +she was dressed, or what she had confessed to, or whether she had +really expected and desired dalliance on his part--here was the +truth as to her hidden yearning. The seething and terrible Renaissance +of the modern girl seemed remarkably exemplified in Bessy Bell, yet +underneath it all hid the fundamental instinct of all women of all +ages. Bessy wanted most to be loved. Was that the secret of her +departure from the old-fashioned canons of modesty and reserve? + +"Bessy," went on Lane, presently. "I've heard my sister speak of Rose +Clymer. Is she a friend of yours, too?" + +"You bet. And she's the square kid." + +"Lorna told me she'd been expelled from school." + +"Yes. She refused to tattle." + +"Tattle what?" + +"I wrote some verses which one of the girls copied. Miss Hill found +them and raised the roof. She kept us all in after school. She let +some of the girls off. But she expelled Rose and sent me home. Then +she called on mama. I don't know what she said, but mama didn't let me +go back. I've had a hateful old tutor for a month. In the fall I'm +going to private school." + +"And Rose?" + +"Rose went to work. She had a hard time. I never heard from her for +weeks. But she's a telephone operator at the Exchange now. She called +me up one day lately and told me. I hope to see her soon." + +"About those verses, Bessy. How did Miss Hill find out who wrote +them?" + +"I told her. Then she sent me home." + +"Have you any more verses you wrote?" + +"Yes, a lot of them. If you lend me your pencil, I'll write out the +verse that gave Miss Hill heart disease." + +Bessy took up a book that had been lying on the seat, and tearing out +the fly-leaf, she began to write. Her slim, shapely hand flew. It +fascinated Lane. + +"There!" she said, ending with a flourish and a smile. + +But Lane, foreshadowing the import of the verse, took the page with +reluctance. Then he read it. Verses of this significance were new to +him. Relief came to Lane in the divination that Bessy could not have +had experience of what she had written. There was worldliness in the +verse, but innocence in her eyes. + +"Well, Bessy, my heart isn't much stronger than Miss Hill's," he said, +finally. + +Her merry laughter rang out. + +"Bessy, what will you do for me?" + +"Anything." + +"Bring me every scrap of verse you have, every note you've got from +boys and girls." + +"Shall I get them now?" + +"Yes, if it's safe. Of course, you've hidden them." + +"Mama's out. I won't be a minute." + +Away she flew under the trees, out through the rose bushes, a white, +graceful, flitting figure. She vanished. Presently she came bounding +into sight again and handed Lane a bundle of notes. + +"Did you keep back any?" he asked, as he tried to find pockets enough +for the collection. + +"Not one." + +"I'll go home and read them all. Then I'll meet you here to-night at +eight o'clock." + +"But--I've a date. I'll break it, though." + +"With whom?" + +"Gail and a couple of boys--kids." + +"Does your mother know?" + +"I'd tell her about Gail, but that's all. We go for ice cream--then +meet the boys and take a walk." + +"Bessy, you're not going to do that sort of thing any more." + +Lane bent over her, took her hands. She instinctively rebelled, then +slowly yielded. + +"That's part of our bargain?" she asked. + +"Yes, it certainly is." + +"Then I won't ever again." + +"Bessy, I trust you. Do you understand me?" + +"I--I think so." + +"Daren, will you care for me--if I'm--if I do as you want me to?" + +"I do now," he replied. "And I'll care a thousand times more when you +prove you're really above these things.... Bessy, I'll care for you as +a friend--as a brother--as a man who has almost lost his faith and who +sees in you some hope to keep his spirit alive. I'm unhappy, Bessy. +Perhaps you can help me--make me a little happier.... Anyway, I trust +you. Good-bye now. To-night, at eight o'clock." + +Lane went home to his room and earnestly gave himself up to the +perusal of the writings Bessy Bell had given him. He experienced +shocks of pain and wonder, between which he had to laugh. All the +fiendish wit of youthful ingenuity flashed forth from this verse. +There was a parody on Tennyson's "Break, Break, Break," featuring +Colonel Pepper's famous and deplorable habit. Miss Hill came in for a +great share of opprobrium. One verse, if it had ever come under the +eyes of the good schoolteacher, would have broken her heart. + +Lane read all Bessy's verses, and then the packet of notes written by +Bessy's girl friends. The truth was unbelievable. Yet here were the +proofs. Over Bessy and her friends Lane saw the dim dark shape of a +ghastly phantom, reaching out, enfolding, clutching. He went +downstairs to the kitchen and here he burned the writings. + +"It ought to be told," he muttered. "But who's going to tell it? Who'd +believe me? The truth would not be comprehended by the mothers of +Middleville.... And who's to blame?" + +It would not do, Lane reflected, to place the blame wholly upon blind +fathers and mothers, though indeed they were culpable. And in +consideration of the subject, Lane excluded all except the better +class of Middleville. It was no difficult task to understand lack of +moral sense in children who were poor and unfortunate, who had to +work, and get what pleasures they had in the streets. But how about +the best families, where there were luxurious homes, books, education, +amusement, kindness, love--all the supposed stimuli needed for the +proper guidance of changeful vagrant minds? These good influences had +failed. There was a greater moral abandonment than would ever be +known. + +Before the war Bessy Bell would have presented the perfect type of the +beautiful, highly sensitive, delicately organized girl so peculiarly +and distinctively American. She would have ripened before her time. +Perhaps she would not have been greatly different in feeling from the +old-fashioned girl: only different in that she had restraint, no +deceit. + +But after the war--now--what was Bessy Bell? What actuated her? What +was the secret spring of her abnormal tendencies? Were they abnormal? +Bessy was wild to abandon herself to she knew not what. Some glint of +intelligence, some force of character as exceptional in her as it was +wanting in Lorna, some heritage of innate sacredness of person, had +kept Bessy from the abyss. She had absorbed in mind all the impurities +of the day, but had miraculously escaped them in body. If her parents +could have known Bessy as Lane now realized her they would have been +horrified. But Lane's horror was fading. Bessy was illuminating the +darkness of his mind. + +To understand more clearly what the war had done to Bessy Bell, and to +the millions of American girls like her, it was necessary for Lane to +understand what the war had done to soldiers, to men, and to the +world. + +Lane could grasp some infinitesimal truth of the sublime and horrible +change war had wrought in the souls of soldiers. That change was too +great for any mind but the omniscient to grasp in its entirety. War +had killed in some soldiers a belief in Christ: in others it had +created one. War had unleashed the old hidden primitive instincts of +manhood: likewise it had fired hearts to hate of hate and love of +love, to the supreme ideal consciousness could conceive. War had +brought out the monstrous in men and as well the godlike. Some +soldiers had become cowards; others, heroes. There were thousands of +soldiers who became lions to fight, hyenas to snarl, beasts to debase, +hogs to wallow. There were equally as many who were forced to fight, +who could not kill, whose gentleness augmented under the brutal orders +of their officers. There were those who ran toward the front, heads +up, singing at the top of their lungs. There were those who slunk +back. Soldiers became cold, hard, materialistic, bitter, rancorous: +and qualities antithetic to these developed in their comrades. + +Lane exhausted his resources of memory and searched in his notes for a +clipping he had torn from a magazine. He reread it, in the light of +his crystallizing knowledge: + + "Had I not been afraid of the scorn of my brother + officers and the scoffs of my men, I would have fled + to the rear," confesses a Wisconsin officer, writing + of a battle. + + "I see war as a horrible, grasping octopus with + hundreds of poisonous, death-dealing tentacle that + squeeze out the culture and refinement of a man," + writes a veteran. + + A regimental sergeant-major: "I considered myself + hardboiled, and acted the part with everybody, + including my wife. I scoffed at religion as unworthy + of a real man and a mark of the sissy and weakling." + Before going over the top for the first time he tried + to pray, but had even forgotten the Lord's Prayer. + + "If I get out of this, I will never be unhappy again," + reflected one of the contestants under shell-fire in + the Argonne Forest. To-day he is "not afraid of dead + men any more and is not in the least afraid to die." + + "I went into the army a conscientious objector, a + radical, and a recluse.... I came out of it with the + knowledge of men and the philosophy of beauty," says + another. + + "My moral fiber has been coarsened. The war has + blunted my sensitiveness to human suffering. In 1914 I + wept tears of distress over a rabbit which I had shot. + I could go out now at the command of my government in + cold-blooded fashion and commit all the barbarisms of + twentieth-century legalized murder," writes a Chicago + man. + + A Denver man entered the war, lost himself and God, + and found manhood. "I played poker in the box-car + which carried me to the front and read the Testament + in the hospital train which took me to the rear," he + tells us. + + "To disclose it all would take the genius and the + understanding of a god. I learned to talk from the + side of my mouth and drink and curse with the rest of + our 'noble crusaders.' Authority infuriated me and the + first suspicion of an order made me sullen and + dangerous.... Each man in his crudeness and lewdness + nauseated me," writes a service man. + + "When our boy came back," complains a mother, "we could hardly + recognize for our strong, impulsive, loving son whom we had + loaned to Uncle Sam this irritable, restless, nervous man + with defective hearing from shells exploding all about him, and + limbs aching and twitching from strain and exposure, and with + that inevitable companion of all returned oversea boys, the + coffin-nail, between his teeth." + + "In the army I found that hard drinkers and fast + livers and profane-tongued men often proved to be the + kindest-hearted, squarest friends one could ever + have," one mother reports. + +So then the war brought to the souls of soldiers an extremity of +debasement and uplift, a transformation incomprehensible to the mind +of man. + +Upon men outside the service the war pressed its materialism. The +spiritual progress of a thousand years seemed in a day to have been +destroyed. Self-preservation was the first law of nature. And all the +standards of life were abased. Following the terrible fever of +patriotism and sacrifice and fear came the inevitable selfishness and +greed and frenzy. The primitive in man stalked forth. The world became +a place of strife. + +What then, reflected Lane, could have been the effect of war upon +women? The mothers of the race, of men! The creatures whom emotions +governed! The beings who had the sex of tigresses! "The female of the +species!" What had the war done to the generation of its period--to +Helen, to Mel Iden, to Lorna, to Bessy Bell? Had it made them what men +wanted? + +At eight o'clock that night Lane kept his tryst with Bessy. The +serene, mellow light of the moon shone down upon the garden. The shade +appeared spotted with patches of moonlight; the summer breeze rustled +the leaves; the insects murmured their night song. Romance and beauty +still lived. No war could kill them. Bessy came gliding under the +trees, white and graceful like a nymph, fearless, full of her dream, +ripe to be made what a man would make of her. + +Lane talked to Bessy of the war. Words came like magic to his lips. He +told her of the thunder and fire and blood and heroism, of fight and +agony and death. He told her of himself--of his service in the hours +that tried his soul. Bessy passed from fascinated intensity to rapture +and terror. She clung to Lane. She kissed him. She wept. + +He told her how his ideal had been to fight for Helen, for Lorna, for +her, and all American girls. And then he talked about what he had come +home to--of the shock--the realization--the disappointment and grief. +He spoke of his sister Lorna--how he had tried so hard to make her +see, and had failed. He importuned Bessy to help him as only a girl +could. And lastly, he brought the conversation back to her and told +her bluntly what he thought of the vile verses, how she dragged her +girlhood pride in the filth and made of herself a byword for vicious +boys. He told her the truth of what real men thought and felt of +women. Every man had a mother. No war, no unrest, no style, no fad, no +let-down of morals could change the truth. From the dark ages women +had climbed on the slow realization of freedom, honor, chastity. As +the future of nations depended upon women, so did their salvation. +Women could never again be barbarians. All this modern license was a +parody of love. It must inevitably end in the degradation and +unhappiness of those of the generation who persisted on that downward +path. Hard indeed it would be to encounter the ridicule of girls and +the indifference of boys. But only through the intelligence and +courage of one could there ever be any hope for the many. + +Lane sat there under the moonlit maples and talked until he was +hoarse. He could not rouse a sense of shame in Bessy, because that had +been atrophied, but as he closely watched her, he realized that his +victory would come through the emotion he was able to arouse in her, +and the ultimate appeal to the clear logic of her mind. + +When the time came for him to go she stood before him in the clear +moonlight. + +"I've never been so excited, so scared and sick, so miserable and +thoughtful in all my life before," she said. "Daren, I know now what a +soldier is. What you've seen--what you've done. Oh! it was grand!... +And you're going to be my--my friend.... Daren, I thought it was great +to be bad. I thought men liked a girl to be bad. The girls nicknamed +me Angel Bell, but not because I was an angel, I'll tell the world.... +Now I'm going to try to be the girl you want me to be." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +The time came when Daren had to make a painful choice. His sister +Lorna grew weary of his importunities and distrustful of his +espionage. One night she became violent and flatly told him she would +not stay in the house another day with him in it. Then she ran out, +slamming the door behind her. Lane remained awake all night, in the +hope that she would return. But she did not. And then he knew he must +make a choice. + +He made it. Lorna must not be driven from her home. Lane divided his +money with his mother and packed his few effects. Mrs. Lane was +distracted over the situation. She tried to convince Lane there was +some kind of a law to keep a young girl home. She pleaded and begged +him to remain. She dwelt on his ill health. But Lane was obdurate; and +not the least of his hurts was the last one--a divination that in +spite of his mother's distress there was a feeling of relief of which +she was unconscious. He assured her that he would come to see her +often during the afternoons and would care as best he could for his +health. Then he left, saying he would send an expressman for the +things he had packed. + +Broodingly Lane plodded down the street. He had feared that sooner or +later he would be forced to leave home, and he had shrunk from the +ordeal. But now, that it was over, he felt a kind of relief, and told +himself that it was of no consequence what happened to him. All that +mattered was for him to achieve the few tasks he had set himself. + +Then he thought of Mel Iden. She had been driven from home and would +know what it meant to him. The longing to see her increased. Every +disappointment left him more in need of sympathy. And now, it seemed, +he would be ashamed to go to Mel Iden or Blair Maynard. Such news +could not long be kept from them. Middleville was a beehive of +gossips. Lane had a moment of blank despair, a feeling of utter, sick, +dazed wonder at life and human nature. Then he lifted his head and +went on. + +Lane's first impulse was to ask Colonel Pepper if he could share his +lodgings, but upon reflection he decided otherwise. He engaged a small +room in a boarding house; his meals, which did not seem of much +importance, he could get anywhere. + +This change of residence brought Lane downtown, and naturally +increased his activities. He did not husband his strength as before, +nor have the leisure for bad spells. Home had been a place of rest. He +could not rest in a drab little bare room he now occupied. + +He became a watcher, except during the stolen hours with Bessy Bell. +Then he tried to be a teacher. But he learned more than he thought. He +no longer concentrated his vigilance on his sister. Having failed to +force that issue, he bided his time, sensing with melancholy portent +the certainty that he would soon be confronted with the stark and +hateful actuality. Thus he wore somewhat away from his grim resolve +to kill Swann. That adventure on the country road, when he had +discovered Swann with Helen instead of Lorna, had somehow been a boon. +Nevertheless he spied upon Lorna in the summer evenings when it was +possible to follow her, and he dogged Swann's winding and devious path +as far as possible. Apparently Swann had checked his irregularities as +far as Lorna was concerned. Still Lane trusted nothing. He became an +almost impassive destiny with the iron consequences in his hands. + +Days passed. Every other afternoon and night he spent hours with Bessy +Bell, and found a mounting happiness in the change in her, a deep and +ever deeper insight into the causes that had developed her. The +balance of his waking hours, which were many, he passed on the +streets, in the ice cream parlors and confectionery dens, at the +motion-picture theatres. He went many and odd times to Colonel +Pepper's apartment, and took a peep into the club-rooms. Some of these +visits were fruitful, but he did not see whom he expected to see +there. At night he haunted the parks, watching and listening. Often he +hired a cheap car and drove it down the river highway, where he would +note the cars he passed or met. Sometimes he would stop to get out and +make one of his scouting detours, or he would follow a car to some +distant roadhouse, or go to the outlying summer pavilions where +popular dances were given. More than once, late at night, he was an +unseen and unbidden guest at one of the gay bathing parties. Strange +and startling incidents seemed to gravitate toward Lane. He might have +been predestined for this accumulation of facts. How vain it seethed +for wild young men and women to think they hid their tracks! Some +trails could not be hidden. + +Toward the end of that protracted period of surveillance, Lane knew +that he had become infamous in the eyes of most of that younger set. +He had been seen too often, alone, watching, with no apparent excuse +for his presence. And from here and there, through Bessy and Colonel +Pepper, and Blair, who faithfully hunted him up, Lane learned of the +unfavorable light in which he was held. Society, in the persons of the +younger matrons, took exception to Lane's queer conduct and hinted of +mental unbalance. The young rakes and libertines avoided him, and +there was not a slacker among them who could meet his eye across cafe +or billiard room. + +Yet despite the peculiar species of ignominy and disgrace that +Middleville gossips heaped upon Lane's head and the slow, steady +decline of his speaking acquaintance with the elite, there were some +who always greeted him and spoke if he gave them a chance. Helen Wrapp +never failed of a green flashing glance of mockery and enticement. She +smiled, she beckoned, she once called him to her car and asked him to +ride with her, to come to see her. Margaret Maynard rose above dread +of her mother and greeted Lane graciously when occasion offered. +Dorothy Dalrymple and Elinor always evinced such unhesitating +intention of friendship that Lane grew to avoid meeting them. And +twice, when he had come face to face with Mel Iden, her look, her +smile had been such that he had plunged away somewhere, throbbing and +thrilling, to grow blind and sick and numb. It was the failure of his +hopes, and the suffering he endured, and the vain longings she +inspired that heightened his love. She wrote him after the last time +they had passed on the street--a note that stormed Lane's heart. He +did not answer. He divined that his increasing loneliness, and the +sure slow decline of his health, and the heartless intolerance of the +same class that had ostracized her were added burdens to Mel Iden's +faithful heart. He had seen it in her face, read it in her note. And +the time would come, sooner or later, when he could go to her and make +her marry him. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +To be a mystery is overpoweringly sweet to any girl and Bessy Bell was +being that. Her sudden desire for solitude had worried her mother, and +her distant superiority had incited the vexation of her friends. When +they exerted themselves to win Bessy back to her old self she looked +dreamily beyond them and became more aloof. Doctor Bronson, in reply to +Mrs. Bell's appeal to him, looked the young woman over, asked her a few +questions, marveled at the imperious artifice with which she evaded +him, and throwing up his hands said Bessy was beyond him. + +The dark fever, rising from the school yards and the playgrounds and +the streets, subtly poisoning the blood of Bessy Bell, slowly lost its +heat and power for the time being. Bessy lived in the full secret +expression of her girlish adoration. She was worshipping a hero; she +was glorifying in her sacrifice; she was faithful to a man; she was +being a woman. At first she grew pale, tense, quiet, and seemed to be +going into a decline. Then that stage passed; and the roseleaf flush +returned to her cheeks, the purple fire deepened in her eyes, the +quivering life in all her supple young body. + +Night after night loneliness had no fears for her. If she heard a +whistle on the avenue, the honk of a car--the familiar old signals of +the boys and girls, she smiled her disdain, and curling comfortably +in her great chair, bent her lovely head over her books. + +In the beginning her dreams were all of Daren Lane, of the strangeness +and glory of this soldier who spent so many secret hours with her. And +when the time came that she did not see him so often her dreams were +just as full. But gradually, as the days went by, other figures than +Lane's were limned upon her fancy--vague figures of heroes, knights, +soldiers. He still dominated her romances, though less personally. She +built around him. Every day brought her new strange desires. + +One evening in August when Bessy sat alone the telephone bell rang +sharply. She ran to take down the receiver. + +"Hello, hello, that you, Bessy?" came the hurried call in a girl's +voice. + +"Rose! Oh, how are you?" + +"Fine. But say, Angel, I can't take time to talk. Something doing. Are +you alone?" + +"Yes, all alone, old girl." + +"Listen, then, and get this.... I'm here, you know, telephone girl at +the Exchange. Just heard your father on the wire. Some one has +betrayed the secret of the club. There's a warrant out for the arrest +of the boys. For gambling. You know there's a political vice drive on. +Some time to-night they'll be raided.... But early. Bess, are you +getting this?" + +"Sure. Hurry--hurry," replied Bessy, in excitement. + +"I tried to get Dick on the wire, but couldn't. Same with two more of +the boys. But I did get wise to this. Gail and Lorna have a date at +the club to-night.... Never mind how I found out. Dick has thrown me +down for Gail. I'm sore as a pup. But I don't want your father to +pinch those girls.... Now, Bess, I'm tied here. But you get a move on. +Don't waste time. You can save them. You must. Do something. If you +can't find somebody, go straight to the club. You know where the key +for the outside entrance is kept. Hurry and it'll be safe. Good-bye." + +Bessy stood statue-like for a moment, her big eyes glowing, changing, +darkening with rapid thought, then she flew upstairs to her room, +snatched a veil and a soft hat, and putting these on as she went, she +flew out of the house without putting out the lights or locking the +door. + +It was a dark windy night, slightly cool for August, and a fine misty +rain was blowing. Bessy's footsteps pattered softly as she ran block +after block, and she did not slacken her pace till she reached the +house where Daren Lane had his room. In answer to her ring a woman +appeared, who told her Mr. Lane was out. + +This was a severe disappointment to Bessy, and left her an alternative +that required more than courage, but she did not vacillate. She sped +swiftly on in the dark, for the electric lights were few and far +between, until the black of the gloomy building, where the boys had +their club, loomed up. On the corner Bessy saw a man standing with his +back to a telegraph pole. This occasioned her much concern; perhaps he +might be watching the building. But he had not seen her, of that she +was certain. The possibility that he might be a spy made her task all +the harder. + +Bessy returned the way she come, crossed at the next corner, hurried +round the block and up to the outside stairway that was her objective +point. + +By feeling along the brick wall she brought up, with a sudden bump, at +the back of the stairway. Then she deliberated. If she went around to +the front so as to get access to the steps, she might pass in range of +the loiterer whom she mistrusted. That risk she would not incur. +Examining the wall that enclosed the box-like stairway as best she +could in the dark, she found it rickety, full of holes and cracks, and +she decided she would climb it. A sheer perpendicular board wall, some +twelve or fifteen feet high, shrouded in pitchy darkness and +apparently within earshot of a police spy, did not daunt Bessy Bell. +Slipping her strong fingers in crevices and her slim toes in cracks, +she climbed up and up, till she got hold of the railing post on the +first platform. Here she had great difficulty to keep from falling, +but lifting and squirming her supple body, by a desperate effort she +got her knees on the platform, and then pulled herself to safety. Once +on the stairs she ran up the remaining few steps to the landing, where +she rested panting and triumphant. + +As she was about to go on she heard footsteps, which froze her. A man +was crossing the street. He came from the direction of the corner +where she had seen the supposed spy. Presently she saw him stop under +one of the trees to scratch a match, and in the round glow of light +she saw him puff at a cigar. Then he passed on with uncertain steps, +as of one slightly under the influence of drink. + +Bessy's heart warmed to life and began to beat again. Then she sought +for the key. She had been told where it was, but did not remember. +Slipping her hand under the railing, close to the wall, she felt a +string, and, pulling at it suddenly, found the key in her hand. She +glided into the dim hall, feeling along the wall for a door, until she +found it. With trembling fingers she inserted the key in the lock, and +the door swung inward silently. Bessy went in, leaving the key on the +outside. + +Dark as it had been without, it was light compared to the ebon +blackness within. Bessy felt ice form in the marrow of her bones. The +darkness was tangible; it seemed to envelop her in heavy folds. The +sudden natural impulse to fly out of the thick creeping gloom, down +the stairway to the light, strung her muscles for instant action, but +checked by the swiftly following thought of her purpose, they relaxed, +and she took not a backward step. + +"Rose did her part and I'll do mine," she cogitated. "I've got to save +them. But what to do--I may have to wait. I know--in the big room--the +closet behind the curtain! I can find that even in this dark, and once +in there I won't be afraid." + +Bessy, fired by this inspiration, groped along the wall through the +room to the large chamber, stumbled over chairs and a couch and at +last got her hands on the drapery. She readily found the knob, turned +it, opened the door and stepped in. + +"I hope they won't be long," she thought. "I hope the girls come +first. I don't want to burst into a room full of boys. Won't Daren be +surprised when I tell him--maybe angry! But it's bound to come out all +right, and father will never know." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +Early one August evening Lane went out to find a cool misty rain +blowing down from the hills. At the inn he encountered Colonel Pepper, +who wore a most woebegone and ludicrous expression. He pounced at once +upon Lane. + +"Daren, what do you think?" he wailed, miserably. + +"I don't think. I know. You've gone and done it--pulled that stunt of +yours again," returned Lane. + +"Yes--but oh, so much worse this time." + +"Worse! How could it be worse, unless you mean some one punched your +head." + +"No. That would have been nothing.... Daren, this--this time I--it was +a lady!" gasped Pepper. + +"Oh, say now, Pepper--not really?" queried Lane, incredulously. + +"It was. And a lady I--I admire very much." + +"Who?" + +"Miss Amanda Hill." + +"The schoolteacher? Nice little woman like that! Pepper, why couldn't +you pick on one of these Middleville gossips or society dames?" + +"Lord--I didn't know who she was--until after--and I couldn't have +helped it anyway," he replied, mopping his red face. "When--I saw +her--and she recognized me--I nearly died.... It was at White's +Confectionery Den. And I'm afraid some people saw me." + +"Well. You old duffer! And you say you admire this lady very much?" + +"Indeed I do. I call on her." + +"Colonel, your name is Dennis," replied Lane, with merciless humor. +"It serves you right." + +The little man evidently found relief in his confession and in Lane's +censure. + +"I'm cured forever," he declared vehemently. "And say, Lane, I've been +looking for you. Have you been at my rooms lately--you know--to take a +peep?" + +"I have not," replied Lane, turning sharply. A slight chill went over +him. "I thought that club stuff was off." + +"Off--nothing," whispered Colonel Pepper, drawing Lane aside. "Swann +and his strong-arm gang just got foxy. They quit for a while. Now +they're rushing the girls in there--say from four to five--and in the +evenings a little while, not too late. Oh, they're the slick bunch, +picking out the ice cream soda hour when everybody's downtown.... You +run up to my rooms right now. And I'll gamble----" + +"I'll go," interrupted Lane, grimly. + +Not fifteen minutes before he had seen his sister Lorna and a chum, +Gail Williams, go into White's place. Lane's pulse quickened. As he +started to go he ran into Blair Maynard who grasped at him: "What's +hurry, old scout?" + +"Blair, I'm never in a hurry if you want me. But the fact is I've got +rather urgent business. How about to-morrow?" + +"Sure. Meet you here. I just wanted to unload on you, Dare. Looks as +if my mother has hatched it up between Margie and our esteemed +countryman, Richard Swann." + +It was not often that Lane cursed, but he did so now. + +"But Blair, didn't you _tell_ your mother what this fellow is?" +remonstrated Lane. + +"Well, I'll say I did," replied Blair, sardonically. "Cut no ice +whatever. She didn't believe. She didn't care for any proofs. All rich +young men had their irregularities!... Good God! Doesn't it make you +sick?" + +"But how about Holt Dalrymple?" + +"Holt's turned over a new leaf. He's working hard, and I think he has +taken a tumble to himself. Listen to this. He met Margie with Dick +Swann out at one of the lake dances--Watkins' Lake. And he cut her +dead. I'm sorry for Margie. She sure is rank poison these days.... +Well, speak of the devil!" + +Holt Dalrymple collided with them at the entrance of the inn. The +haggard, sullen, heated look that had characterized him was gone. He +was sunburned, and his dark eyes were bright. He greeted his friends +warmly. They chatted for a moment. Then Lane grew thoughtful, all the +while gazing at Holt. + +"What's the idea?" queried that worthy, presently. "Anything wrong +with me?" + +"Boy, you're just great. Seeing you has done me good.... You ask +what's the idea. Holt, would you do me a favor?" + +"Would I? Listen to the guy," returned young Dalrymple. "Daren, I'd do +any old thing for you." + +"Do you happen to know Bessy Bell?" went on Lane. + +Dalrymple quickened with surprise. "Yes, I know her. Some little +peach!... I almost ran into her down on West Street a few minutes ago. +She wore a white veil. She didn't see me, or recognize me. But I sure +knew her. She was almost running. I bet a million to myself she had a +date at the club." + +"You lose, Holt," replied Lane, shortly. "Bessy Bell is one +Middleville kid who has come clean through this mess." + +"Say Dare, I like to hear you talk," responded Blair, half in jest and +half in earnest. "But aren't you getting a trifle unbalanced? That's +how my mother apologizes for me." + +"Cut the joshing, boys. Listen," returned Lane. "And don't ever tell +this to a soul. I interested myself in Bessy Bell. I've met her more +times than I can count. I wanted to see if it was possible to turn one +of these girls around. I failed on my sister Lorna. But Bessy Bell is +true blue. She had all this modern tommyrot. She had everything else +too. Brains, sweetness, common sense, romance. All I tried to do was +to make her forget the tommyrot. And I think I did." + +"Well, I'll be darned!" ejaculated Blair. "Dare, that was ripping fine +of you.... What'll you do next, I wonder." + +"Come on with your favor," added Holt, with a keen bright smile. + +"Would you be willing to see Bessy occasionally--and sort of be nice +to her--you know?" asked Lane, earnestly. "I can't keep up my +attention to her much longer. She might miss me. Take it from me, +Holt, back of all this modern stuff--deep in Bessy, and in every girl +who has not been debased--is the simple and good desire to be liked." + +"Daren, I'll do that little thing, believe me," returned Holt, warmly. + +Shaking hands with his friends, Lane left them, and went on his way. +White's place was full as a beehive. As he passed, Lane found himself +looking for Bessy Bell's golden head, though he knew he would not see +it. He wondered if Holt had really met her, veiled and in a hurry. +That had a strange look. But no shadow of distrust of Bessy came to +Lane. In a few moments he reached the dark stairway leading to Colonel +Pepper's apartment. Lane forgot he was weak. But at the top, with his +breast laboring, he remembered well enough. He went into the Colonel's +rooms and through them without making a light. And when he reached the +place where he had spied upon the club he was wet with sweat and +shaking with excitement. Carefully, so as not to make noise, he stole +to the peep-hole and applied his eye. + +He saw a gleam of light on shiny waxed floor, and then, moving to get +the limit of his narrow vision, he descried Swann, evidently just +arrived. With him was Gail Williams, a slip of a child not over +fifteen--looking up at him as if excited and pleased. Next Lane +espied his sister Lorna with a tall, well-built man. Although his back +was toward Lane, he could not mistake the soldierly bearing of Captain +Vane Thesel! Lorna looked perturbed and sulky, and once, turning her +face toward Swann, she seemed resentful. Captain Thesel had his hand +at her elbow and appeared to be talking earnestly. + +Lane left his post, taking care to make no noise. But once back in the +Colonel's rooms, he hurried. Feeling in the dark corner where he had +kept the axe ready for just such an emergency as this, he grasped it +and rushed out. Tiptoeing down the hall, he found the narrow door, +stole down the black stairway and entered the main hall. Here he +paused, suddenly checked in his hurry. + +"This won't do," he thought, and shook his head. "Much as I'd like to +kill those two dogs I can't--I can't.... I'll smash their faces, +though--and if I ever catch...." + +Breaking the thought off abruptly, he passed down the dim hallway to +the door of the club-rooms. He raised the axe and was about to smash +the lock when he espied a key in the keyhole. The door was not locked. +Lane set down the axe and noiselessly turned the knob and peeped in. +The first room was dark, but the door on the opposite side was ajar, +and through it Lane saw the larger lighted room and the shiny floor. +Moving figures crossed the space. Removing the key, Lane slipped +inside the room and locked the door. Then he tip-toed to the opposite +door. + +Thesel and Lorna were now so close that Lane could hear them. + +"But I thought I had a date with Dick," protested Lorna. Her face was +red and she stamped her foot. + +"See here, kiddo. If you're as thick as that I'll have to put you +wise," answered Thesel, good-humoredly, as he tilted back his +cigarette to blow smoke at the ceiling. "Dick is through with you." + +"Oh, _is_ he?" choked Lorna. + +"Say, Cap, I heard a noise," suddenly called out Swann, rather +nervously. + +There was a moment's silence. Lane, too, had heard a noise, but could +not be sure whether it was inside the building or not. + +Swann hurried over to join Thesel. They looked blankly at each other. +The air might have been charged. Both girls showed alarm. + +Then Lane, with his hand on the gun in his pocket, strode out to +confront them. + +"Oh--h!" gasped Lorna, as if appalled at sight of her brother's face. + +"Fellows, I'll have to break up your little party," said Lane, coolly. + +Thesel turned ghastly white, while Swann grew livid with rage. He +seemed to expand. His hand went back to his right hip. + +When Lane got within six feet of them, Swann drew a small automatic +pistol. But before he could raise it, Lane had leaped into startling +activity. With terrific swing he brought his gun down on Swann's face. +Then as swiftly he turned on Thesel. Swann had hardly hit the floor, a +sodden heap, when Thesel, with bloody visage, reeled and fell like a +log. Lane bent over them, ready to beat either back. But both were +unconscious. + +"Daren--for God's sake--don't murder them!" whispered Lorna, hoarsely. + +Lane's humanity was in abeyance then, but his self-control did not +desert him. + +"You girls must hurry out of here," he ordered. + +"Oh, Gail is fainting," cried Lorna. + +The little Williams girl was indeed swaying and sinking down. Lane +grasped her and shook her. "Brace up. If you keel over now, you'll be +found out sure.... It's all right. You'll not be hurt. There----" + +A heavy thumping on the door by which Lane had entered and a loud +authoritative voice from the hall silenced him. + +"Open up here! You're pinched!" + +That voice Lane recognized as belonging to Chief of Police Bell. For a +moment, fraught with suspense, Lane was at a loss to know what to do. + +"Open up! We've got the place surrounded.... Open up, or we'll smash +the door in!" + +Lane whispered to the girls: "Is there a place to hide you?" + +The Williams girl was beyond answering, but Lorna, despite her terror, +had not lost her wits. + +"Yes--there's a closet--hid by a curtain--here," she whispered, +pointing. + +Lane half carried Gail. Lorna brushed aside a heavy curtain and opened +a door. Lane pushed both girls into the black void and closed the door +after them. + +"Once more--open up!" bellowed the officer in the hall, accompanying +his demand with a thump on the door. Lane made sure some one had found +his axe. He did not care how much smashing the policemen did. All that +concerned Lane then was how to avert discovery from the girls. It +looked hopeless. Then, as there came sudden splintering blows on the +door, Lane espied Swann's cigarettes and matches on the music box. +Lane seldom smoked. But while the officers were breaking in the door, +Lane leisurely lighted a cigarette; and when two of them came in he +faced them coolly. + +The first was Chief Bell, a large handsome man, in blue uniform. The +second one was a patrolman. Neither carried a weapon in sight. Bell +swept the big room in one flashing blue glance--took in Lane and the +prone figures on the floor. + +"Well, I'll be damned," he ejaculated. "What am I up against?" + +"Hello, Chief," replied Lane, coolly. "Don't get fussed up now. This +is no murder case." + +"Lane, what's this mean?" burst out Bell. + +Lane was rather well acquainted with Chief Bell, and in a way there +was friendship between them. Bell, for one, had always been sturdily +loyal to the soldiers. + +"Well, Chief, I was having a little friendly game with Mr. Swann and +Captain Thesel," drawled Lane. "We got into an argument. And as both +were such ferocious fighters I grew afraid they'd hurt me bad--so I +had to soak them." + +"Don't kid me," spoke up Bell, derisively. "Little game--hell! Where's +the cards, chips, table?" + +"Chief, I didn't say we played the game to-night." + +"Lane, you're a liar," replied Bell, thoughtfully. "I'm sure of that. +But you've got me buffaloed." He knelt on the floor beside the fallen +men and examined each. Swann's shirt as well as face was bloody. "For +a crippled soldier you've got some punch left. What'd you hit them +with?" + +"I'll tell you Chief. I fetched an axe with me to do the dirty job, +but I decided I should use a dangerous weapon only on men. So I soaked +them with a lollypop." + +"Lane, are you really nutty?" demanded Bell, curiously. + +"No more than you. I hit them with something hard, so it would leave a +mark." + +"You left one, I'll say. Thesel will lose that eye--it's gone now--and +Swann is also disfigured for life. What a damned shame!" + +"Chief, are you sure it's any kind of a shame?" + +Lane's query appeared to provoke thought. Bell replaced the little +automatic pistol he had picked up beside Swann, and rising he looked +at Lane. + +"Swann was a slacker. Thesel was your Captain in the war. Have these +facts anything to do with your motive?" + +"No, Chief," replied Lane, in sarcasm. "But when I got into action I +think the facts you mentioned sort of rejuvenated a disabled soldier." + +"Lane, you beat me," declared Bell, shaking his head. "Why, I had you +figured as a pretty good chap.... But you've done some queer things in +Middleville." + +"Chief, if you're an honest officer you'll admit Middleville needs +some queer things done." + +Bell gazed doubtfully at Lane. + +"Smith, search the rooms," he ordered, addressing his patrolman. + +"We were alone here," spoke up Lane. "And I advise you to hurry those +wounded veterans to a hospital in the rear." + +Swann showed signs of recovering consciousness. Bell bent over him a +moment. Lane had only one hope--that the patrolman would miss the +door. But he brushed aside the curtain. Then he grunted. + +"See here, Chief--a door--and somebody's holding it from the inside," +he declared. + +"Wait, Smith," ordered Bell, striding forward. But before he got +half-way across the room the door opened. A girl stepped out and shut +it back of her. Lane sustained a singular shock. That girl was Bessy +Bell. + +"Hello, Dad--it's Bessy," she said, clearly. She was pale, but did not +seem frightened. + +Chief Bell halted in the middle of a stride and staggered a little as +his foot came down. A low curse of utter amaze escaped his lips. +Suddenly he became tensely animated. + +"How'd you come here?" he demanded, towering over her. + +"I walked." + +"What'd you come for?" + +"To warn Daren Lane that you were going to raid these club-rooms +to-night." + +"Who told you?" + +"I won't tell. I got it over the 'phone. I ran over here. I knew +where the key was. I've been here before--afternoons--dancing.... I +let myself in.... But when they--they came I got frightened and hid in +the closet." + +Chief Bell seemed about to give way to passion, but he controlled it. +After that moment he changed subtly. + +"Is Daren Lane your friend?" he demanded. + +"Yes. The best and truest any girl ever had.... Dad, you know mother +told you I had changed lately. I have. And it's through Daren." + +"Where'd you see him?" + +"He has been coming out to the house in the afternoons." + +"Well, I'm damned," muttered the Chief, and wheeled away. Sight of his +gaping patrolman seemed to galvanize him into further realization of +the situation. "Smith, beat it out and draw the other men round in +front. Give me time enough to get Bessy out. Send hurry call for +ambulance.... And Smith, keep your mouth shut. I'll make it all right. +If Mrs. Bell hears of this my life will be a hell on earth." + +"Mum's the word, Chief. I'm a married man myself," he replied, and +hurried out. + +Lane was watching Bessy. What a wonderful girl! Modern tendencies +might have corrupted the girls of the day, but for sheer nerve, wit +and courage they were immeasurably superior to those of former +generations. Bessy faced her father calmly, lied magnificently, gazed +down at the ghastly, bloody faces with scarcely a shudder, and gave +Lane a smile from her purple eyes, as if to cheer him, to assure him +she could save the situation. It struck Lane that Chief Bell looked as +if he might be following a similar line of thought. + +"Bessy, put on your hat," ordered Bell. "And here ... tuck that veil +around. There, now you beat it for home. Lane, go with her to the +stairs. Take a good look in the street. Bessy, go home the back way. +And Lane, you hurry back." + +Lane followed Bessy out and caught up with her in the hall. She +clasped his arm. + +"Some adventure, I'll say!" she burst out, in breathless whisper. "It +was great until I recognized your voice. Then all inside me went +flooey." + +"Bessy, you're the finest little girl in the world," returned Lane, +stirred to emotion. + +"Here, Daren, cut that. You didn't raise me on soft soap and mush. If +you get to praising me I'll fall so far I'll never light.... Now, +Dare, go back and fool Dad. You must save the girls. It doesn't matter +about me. He's my Dad." + +"I'll do my best," replied Lane. + +They reached the landing of the outside stairway. Peering down, Lane +did not see any one. + +"I guess the coast is clear. Now, beat it, Bessy." + +She lifted the white veil and raised her face. In the dim gray light +Lane saw it as never before. + +"Kiss me, Daren," she whispered. + +Lane had never kissed her. For an instant he was confused. + +"Why--little girl!" he exclaimed. + +"Hurry!" she whispered, imperiously. + +Some instinct beyond Lane's ken prompted him to do what she asked. + +"Good-bye, my little Princess," he whispered. "Don't ever forget me." + +"Never, Daren. Good-bye." She slipped down the stairway and in a +moment more vanished in the gray gloom of the misty night. + +Only then did Lane understand what she, with her woman's intuition, +had divined--that they would never be together again. The realization +gave him a pang. Bessy was his only victory. + +Slowly Lane made his way back to the club-rooms. He had begun to +weaken under the strain and felt the approach of something akin to +collapse. When he reached the large room he found Swann half conscious +and Thesel showing signs of coming to. + +"Lane, come here," said the Chief, drawing Lane away from the writhing +forms on the floor. "You're under arrest." + +"Yes, sir. What's the charge?" + +"Let's see. That's the puzzler," replied the Chief, scratching his +head. "Suppose we say gambling and fighting." + +"Fine!" granted Lane, with a smile. + +"When the ambulance comes you get out of sight until we pack these +fellows out. I'll leave the door open--so if there's any reason you +want to come back--why--" + +Chief Bell half averted his face, seemingly not embarrassed, but +rather pondering in thought. "Thanks, Chief. You understand me +perfectly," responded Lane. "I'll appear at police headquarters in +half an hour." + +The officer laughed, and returning to the injured men he knelt beside +them. Swann sat up moaning. Blood had blinded his sight. He did not +see Lane pass. Sounds of an ambulance bell had caught Lane's quick +ear. Finding the washroom, he went in and, locking the door, leaned +there to wait. In a very few moments the injured Swann and Thesel had +been carried out. Lane waited five minutes after the sound of wheels +had died away. Then he hurried out and opened the door of the closet. + +Lorna almost fell over him in her eagerness. If she had been +frightened, she had recovered. Gail staggered out, pale and sick +looking. + +"Oh, Daren, can you get us out?" whispered Lorna, breathlessly. + +"Hurry, and don't talk," replied Lane. + +He led them out into the hall and down to the stairway where he had +taken Bessy. As before, all appeared quiet below. + +"I guess it's safe.... Girls, let this be a lesson to you." + +"Never any more for mine," whimpered Gail. + +But Lorna was of more tempered metal. + +"Believe me, Daren, I'm glad you knocked the lamps out of those swell +boobs," she whispered, passionately. "Dick Swann used me like dirt. +The next guy like him who tries to get gay with me will have some +fall, I'll tell the world.... Me for Harry! There's nothing in this +q-t stuff.... And say, what do you know about Bessy Bell? She came +here to save us.... Hot dog, but she's a peach!" + +Lane admonished the girls to hurry and watched them until they reached +the street and turned the corner out of sight. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +The reaction from that night landed Lane in the hospital, where, +during long weeks when he did have a lucid interval, he saw that his +life was despaired of and felt that he was glad of it. + +But he did not die. As before, the weak places in his lungs healed +over and he began to mend, and gradually his periods of rationality +increased until he wholly gained his mental poise. It was, however, a +long time before he was strong enough to leave the hospital. + +During the worst of his illness his mother came often to see him; +after he grew better she came but seldom. Blair and Colonel Pepper +were the only others who visited Lane. And as soon as his memory +returned and interest revived he learned much peculiarly significant +to him. + +The secret of the club-rooms, so far as girls were concerned, never +became fully known to Middleville gossips. Strange and contrary rumors +were rife for a long time, but the real truth never leaked out. There +was never any warrant sworn for Lane's arrest. What the general public +had heard and believed was the story concocted by Thesel and Swann, +who claimed that Lane, over a gambling table, had been seized by one +of the frenzied fits common to deranged soldiers, and had attacked +them. Thesel lost his left eye and Swann carried a hideous red scar +from brow to cheek. Neither the club-room scandal nor his +disfigurement for life in any wise prevented Mrs. Maynard from +announcing the engagement of her daughter Margaret to Richard Swann. +The most amazing news was to hear that Helen Wrapp had married a rich +young politician named Hartley, who was running for the office of +magistrate. According to Blair, Daren Lane had divided Middleville +into two dissenting factions, a large one who banned him in disgrace, +and a small one who lifted their voices in his behalf. Of all the +endless bits of news, little and big, the one that broke happily on +Lane's ears was the word of a nurse, who told him that during his +severe illness a girl had called on the telephone every day to inquire +for him. She never gave her name. But Lane knew it was Mel and the +mere thought of her made him quiver. + +By the time Lane was strong enough to leave the hospital an early +winter had set in. The hospital expenses had reduced his finances so +materially that he could not afford the lodgings he had occupied +before his illness. He realized fully that he should leave Middleville +for a dry warm climate, if he wanted to live a while longer. But he +was not greatly concerned about this. There would be time enough to +consider the future after he had fulfilled the one hope and ambition +he had left. + +Rooms were at a premium. Lane was forced to apply in the sordid +quarter of Middleville, and the place he eventually found was a small, +bare hall bedroom, in a large, ramshackle old house, of questionable +repute. But beggars could not be choosers. There was no heat in this +room, and Lane decided that what time he spent in it must be in bed. +He would not give any one his address. + +Once installed here, Lane waited only a few days to assure himself +that he was strong enough to carry out the plan upon which he had set +his heart. + +Late that afternoon he went to the town hall and had a marriage +license made out for himself and Mel Iden. Upon returning, he found +that snow had begun to fall heavily. Already the streets were white. +Suddenly the thought of the nearness of Christmas shocked him. How +time sped by! + +That night he dressed himself carefully, wearing the service uniform +he had so well preserved, and sallied forth to the most fashionable +restaurant in Middleville, where in the glare and gayety he had his +dinner. Lane recognized many of the dining, dancing throng, but showed +no sign of it. He became aware that his presence had excited comment. +How remote he seemed to feel himself from that eating, drinking, +dancing crowd! So far removed that even the jazz music no longer +affronted him. Rather surprised he was to find he really enjoyed his +dinner. From the restaurant he engaged a taxi. + +The bright lights, the falling snow, the mantle of white on +everything, with their promise of the holiday season, pleased Lane +with the memory of what great fun he used to have at Christmas-time. + +When he arrived at Mel's home the snow was falling thickly in heavy +flakes. Through the pall he caught a faint light, which grew brighter +as he plodded toward the cottage. He stamped on the porch and flapped +his arms to remove the generous covering of snow that had adhered to +him. And as he was about to knock, the door opened, and Mel stood in +the sudden brightness. + +"Hello, Mel, how are you?--some snow, eh?" was his cheery greeting, +and he went in and shut the door behind him. + +"Why, Daren--you--you--" + +"I--what! Aren't you glad to see me?" + +Lane had not prepared himself for anything. He knew he could win now, +and all he had allowed himself was gladness. But being face to face +with Mel made it different. It had been long since he last saw her. +That interval had been generous. To look at her now no one could have +guessed her story. Warmth and richness of color had come back to her; +and vividly they expressed her joy at sight of him. + +"Glad?--I've been living--on my hopes--that you--" + +Her faltering speech trailed off here, as Lane took one long stride +toward her. + +Lane put a firm hand to each of her cheeks, and tilting a suddenly +rosy face, he kissed her full on the lips. Then he turned away without +looking at her and stepped to the little open grate, where a small red +fire glowed. Mel gasped there behind him and then became perfectly +still. + +"Nice fire, Mel," he spoke out, naturally, as if nothing unusual had +happened. But the thin hands he extended to the warmth of the coals +trembled like aspen leaves in the wind. How silent she was! It +thrilled him. What strange sweet revel in the moment. + +When he turned it seemed he saw her eyes, her lips, her whole face +luminous. The next instant she came out of her spell; and Lane divined +if he let her wholly recover, he would have a woman to deal with. + +"Daren, what's wrong with you?" she inquired. + +"Why, Mel!" he ejaculated, in feigned reproach. + +"You don't look irrational, but you act so," she said, studying him +more closely. The hand that had been pressed to her breast dropped +down. + +"Had my last crazy spell two weeks ago," he replied. + +"Until to-night." + +"You mean my kissing you? Well, I refuse to apologize. You see I was +not prepared to find you so improved. Why, Mel, you're changed. You're +just--just lovely." + +Again the rich color stained her cheeks. + +"Thank you, Daren," she said. "I have changed. _You_ did it.... I've +gotten well, and--almost happy.... But let's not talk of myself. +You--there's so much--" + +"Mel, I don't want to talk about myself, either," he declared. "When a +man's got only a day or so longer--" + +"Hush!--Or--Or--," she threatened, with a slight distension of +nostrils and a paling of cheek. + +"Or what?" demanded Lane. + +"Or I'll do to you what you did to me." + +"Oh, you'd kiss me to shut my lips?" + +"Yes, I would." + +"Fine, Mel. Come on. But you'd have to keep steadily busy all evening. +For I've come to talk." Mel came closer to him, with a catch in her +breathing, a loving radiance in her eyes. "Daren, you're strange--not +like your old self. You're too gay--too happy. Oh, I'd be glad if you +were sincere. But you have something on your mind." + +Lane knew when to unmask a battery. + +"No, it's in my pocket," he flashed, and with a quick motion he tore +out the marriage license and thrust it upon her. As her dark eyes took +in the meaning of the paper, and her expression changed, Lane gazed +down upon her with a commingling of emotions. + +"Oh, Daren--No--No!" she cried, in a wildness of amaze and pain. + +Then Lane clasped her close, with a force too sudden to be gentle, and +with his free hand he lifted her face. + +"Look here. Look at me," he said sternly. "Every time you say no or +shake your head--I'll do this." + +And he kissed her twice, as he had upon his entrance. + +Mel raised her head and gazed up at him, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, as +if both appalled and enthralled. + +"Daren. I--I don't understand you," she said, unsteadily. "You +frighten me. Let me go--please, Daren. This is--so--so unlike you. You +insult me." + +"Mel, I can't see it that way," he replied. "I'm only asking you to +come out and marry me to-night." + +That galvanized her, and she tried to slip from his embrace. + +"I told you no--no--no," she cried desperately. + +"That's three," said Lane, and he took them mercilessly. "You will +marry me," he said sternly. + +"Oh, Daren, I can't--I dare not.... Ah!--" + +"You will go right now--marry me to-night." + +"Please be kind, Daren.... I don't know how you--" + +"Mel, where're your coat, and hat, and overshoes?" he questioned, +urgently. + +"I told you--no!" she flashed, passionately. + +Lane made good his threat, and this last onslaught left her spent and +white. + +"You must like my kisses, Mel Iden," he said. + +"I implore you--Daren" + +"I implore you to marry me." + +"Dear friend, listen to reason," she begged. "You don't love me. +You've just a chivalrous notion you can help me--and my boy--by giving +us your name. It's noble, Daren, thank you. But--" + +"Take care," warned Lane, bending low over her. "I can make good my +word all night." + +"Boy, you've gone crazy," she whispered, sadly. + +"Well, now you may be talking sense," he laughed. "But that's neither +here nor there.... Mel, I may die any day now!" + +"Oh, my God!--don't say that," she cried, as if pierced by a blade. + +"Yes. Mel, make me happy just for that little while." + +"Happy?" she whispered. + +"Yes. I've failed here in every way. I've lost all. And this thing +would make the bitterness endurable." + +"I'd die for you," she returned. "But marry you!--Daren--dearest--it +will make you the laughing-stock of Middleville." + +"Whatever it makes me, I shall be proud." + +"Oh, I cannot, I dare not," she burst out. + +"You seem to forget the penalty for these unflattering negatives of +yours," he returned, coolly, bending to her lips. + +This time she did not writhe or quiver or breathe. Lane felt surrender +in her, and when he lifted his face from hers he was sure. Despite the +fact that he had inflexibly clamped his will to one purpose, holding +his emotion in abeyance, that brief instant seemed to be the fullest +of his life. + +"Mel, put your arm round my neck," he commanded. + +Mel obeyed. + +"Now the other." + +Again she complied. + +"Lift your face--look at me." + +She essayed to do this also, but failed. Her head sank on his breast. +He had won. Lane held her a moment closely. And then a great and +overwhelming pity and tenderness, his first emotions, flooded his +soul. He closed his eyes. Dimly, vaguely, they seemed to create vision +of long future time; and he divined that good and happiness would come +to Mel Iden some day through the pain he had given her. + +"Where did you say your things are?" he asked. "It's a bad night." + +"They're in--the hall," came in muffled tones from his shoulder. "I'll +get them." + +But she made no effort to remove her arms from round his neck or to +lift her head from his breast. Lane had lost now that singular +exaltation of will, and power to hold down his emotions. Her nearness +stormed his heart. His test came then, when he denied utterance to the +love that answered hers. + +"No--Mel--you stay here," he said, freeing himself. "I'll get them." + +Opening the hall door he saw the hat-rack where as a boy he had hung +his cap. It now held garments over which Lane fumbled. Mel came into +the hall. + +"Daren, you'll not know which are mine," she said. + +Lane watched her. How the shapely hands trembled. Her face shone white +against her dark furs. Lane helped her put on the overshoes. + +"Now--just a word to mother," she said. + +Lane caught her hand and held it, following her to the end of the +hall, where she opened a door and peeped into the sitting-room. + +"Mother, is dad home?" she asked. + +"No--he's out, and such a bad night! Who's with you, Mel?" + +"Daren Lane." + +"Oh, is he up again? I'm glad. Bring him in.... Why, Mel, you've your +hat and coat on!" + +"Yes, mother dear. We're going out for a while." + +"On such a night! What for?" + +"Daren and I are going to--to be married.... Good-bye. No more till we +come back." + +As one in a dream, Lane led Mel out in the whirling white pall of +snow. It seemed to envelop them. It was mysterious and friendly, and +silent. + +They crossed the bridge, and Lane again listened for the river voices +that always haunted here. Were they only murmurings of swift waters? +Beyond the bridge lay the railroad station. A few dim lights shone +through the white gloom. Lane found a taxi. + +They were silent during the ride through the lonely streets. When the +taxi stopped at the address given the driver, Lane whispered a word to +Mel, jumped out and ran up the steps of a house and rang the bell. + +"Is Doctor McCullen at home?" he inquired of the maid who answered the +ring. He was informed the minister had just gone to his room. + +"Will you ask him to come down upon a matter of importance?" + +The maid invited him inside. In a few moments a tall, severe-looking +man wearing a long dressing-coat entered the parlor. + +"Doctor McCullen, I regret disturbing you, but my business is urgent. +I want to be married at once. The lady is outside in a car. May I +bring her in?" + +"Ah! I seem to remember you. Isn't your name Lane?" + +"Yes." + +"Who is the woman you want to marry?" + +"Miss Iden." + +"Miss Iden! You mean Joshua Iden's daughter?" + +"I do." + +The minister showed a grave surprise. "Aren't you rather late in +making amends? No, I will not marry you until I investigate the +matter," he replied, coldly. + +"You need not trouble yourself," replied Lane curtly, and went out. + +The instant opposition stimulated Lane, and he asked the driver, +"John, do you know where we can find a preacher?" "Yis, sor. Mr. +Peters of the Methodist Church lives round the corner," answered the +man. + +"Drive on, then." + +Lane got inside the taxi and slammed the door. "Mel, he refused to +marry us." + +Mel was silent, but the pressure of her hand answered him. + +"Daren, the car has stopped," said Mel, presently. + +Lane got out, walked up the steps, and pulled the bell. He was +admitted. He had no better luck here. Lane felt that his lips shut +tight, and his face set. Mel said nothing and sat by him, very quiet. +The taxi rolled on and stopped again, and Lane had audience with +another minister. He was repulsed here also. + +"We're trying a magistrate," said Lane, when the car stopped again. + +"But, Daren. This is where Gerald Hartley lives. Not him, Daren. +Surely you wouldn't go to him?" + +"Why not?" inquired Lane. + +"It hasn't been two months since he married Helen Wrapp. Hadn't you +heard?" + +"I'd forgotten," said Lane. + +"Besides, Daren, he--he once asked me to marry him--before the war." + +Lane hesitated. Yes, he now remembered that in the days before the war +the young lawyer had been Mel's persistent admirer. But a reckless +mood had begun to manifest itself in Lane during the last hour, and it +must have communicated its spirit to Mel, for she made no further +protest. The world was against them. They were driving to the home of +the man she had refused to marry, who had eventually married a girl +who had jilted Lane. In an ordinary moment they would never have +attempted such a thing. The mansion before which the car stopped was +well lighted; music and laughter came faintly through the bright +windows. + +A maid opened the door to Lane and showed him into a drawing-room. In +a library beyond he saw women and men playing cards, laughing and +talking. Several old ladies were sitting close together, whispering +and nodding their heads. A young fair-haired girl was playing the +piano. Lane saw the maid advance and speak to a sharp-featured man +whom he recognized as Hartley. Lane wanted to run out of the house. +But he clenched his teeth and swore he would go through with it. + +"Mr. Hartley," began Lane, as the magistrate came through the +curtained doorway, "I hope you'll pardon my intrusion. My errand is +important. I've come to ask you to marry me to a lady who is waiting +outside." + +When Hartley recognized his visitor he started back in astonishment. +Then he laughed and looked more closely at Lane. It was a look that +made Lane wince, for he understood it to relate to his mental +condition. + +"Lane! Well, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "Going to get married! You honor +me. The regular fee, which in my official capacity I must charge, is +one dollar. If you can pay that I will marry you." + +"I can pay," replied Lane, quietly, and his level steady gaze +disconcerted Hartley. + +"Where's the woman?" + +"She's outside in a taxi." + +"Is she over eighteen?" + +"Yes." + +Lane expected the question as to who the woman was. It was singular +that the magistrate neglected to ask this, the first query offered by +every minister Lane has visited. + +"Fetch her in," he said. + +Lane went outside and hesitated at the car door, for he had an +intuitive flash which made him doubtful. But what if Hartley did make +a show of this marriage? The marriage itself was the vital thing. Lane +helped Mel out of the car and led her up the icy steps. The maid again +opened the door. + +"Mr. Lane, walk right in," said Hartley. "Of course, it's natural for +the lady to be a little shy, but then if she wants to be married at +this hour she must not mind my family and guests. They can be +witnesses." + +He spoke in a voice in which Lane's ears detected insincerity. "Be +seated, and wait until I get my book," he continued, and left the +room. + +Hartley had hardly glanced at Mel, and her veil had hidden her +features. He had gone toward his study rubbing his hands in a peculiar +manner which Lane remembered and which recalled the man as he had +looked many a time in the Bradford billiard room when a good joke was +going the rounds. Lane saw him hurry from his study with pleasant +words of invitation to his guests, a mysterious air about him, a light +upon his face. The ladies and gentlemen rose from their tables and +advanced from the library to the door of the drawing-room. A girl of +striking figure seized Hartley's arm and gesticulated almost wildly. +It was Helen Wrapp. Her husband laughed at her and waved a hand +toward the drawing-room and his guests. Turning swiftly with tigerish +grace, she bent upon Lane great green eyes whose strange expression he +could not fathom. What passionately curious eyes did she now fasten on +his prospective bride! + +Lane gripped Mel's hand. He felt the horror of what might be coming. +What a blunder he had made! + +"Will the lady kindly remove her veil?" Hartley's voice sounded queer. +His smile had vanished. + +As Mel untied and thrust back the veil her fingers trembled. The +action disclosed a lovely face as white as snow. + +"_Mel Iden_!" burst from the magistrate. For a moment there was an +intense silence. Then, "I'll not marry you," cried Hartley +vindictively. + +"Why not? You said you would," demanded Lane. + +"Not to save your worthless lives," Hartley returned, facing them with +a dark meaning in his eyes. + +Lane turned to Mel and led her from the house and down to the curb +without speaking once. + +Once more they went out into the blinding snow-storm. Lane threw back +his head and breathed the cold air. What a relief to get out of that +stifling room! + +"Mel, I'm afraid it's no use," he said, finally. + +"We are finding what the world thinks of us," replied Mel. "Tell the +man to drive to 204 Locust Street." + +Once more the driver headed his humming car into the white storm. + +Once more Lane sat silent, with his heart raging. Once more Mel +peered out into the white turmoil of gloom. + +"Daren, we're going to Dr. Wallace, my old minister. He'll marry us," +she said, presently. + +"Why didn't I think of him?" + +"I did," answered Mel, in a low voice. "I know he would marry us. He +baptized me; he has known and loved me all my life. I used to sing in +his choir and taught his Sunday School for years." + +"Yet you let me go to those others. Why?" + +"Because I shrank from going to him." + +Once more the car lurched into the gutter, and this time they both got +out and mounted the high steps. Lane knocked. They waited what +appeared a long time before they heard some one fumbling with the +lock. Just then the bell in the church tower nearby began chiming the +midnight hour. The door opened, and Doctor Wallace himself admitted +them. + +"Well! Who's this?... Why, if it's not Mel Iden! What a night to be +out in!" he exclaimed. He led them into a room, evidently his study, +where a cheerful wood fire blazed. There he took both her hands and +looked from her to Lane. "You look so white and distressed. This late +hour--this young man whom I know. What has happened? Why do you come +to me--the first time in so many months?" + +"To ask you to marry us," answered Mel. + +"To _marry_ you?... Is this the soldier who wronged you?" + +"No. This is Daren Lane.... He wants to marry me to give my boy +a name.... Somehow he finally made me consent." + +"Well, well, here is a story. Come, take off this snowy cloak and get +nearer the fire. Your hands are like ice." His voice was very calm and +kind. It soothed Lane's strained nerves. With what eagerness did he +scrutinize the old minister's face. He knew the penetrating eye, the +lofty brow and white hair, the serious lined face, sad in a noble +austerity. But the lips were kind with that softness and sweetness +which comes from gentle words and frequent smiles. Lane's aroused +antagonism vanished in the old man's presence. + +"Doctor Wallace," went on Mel. "We have been to several ministers, and +to Mr. Hartley, the magistrate. All refused to marry us. So I came to +my old friend. You've known me all my life. Daren has at last +convinced me--broke down my resistance. So--I ask--will you marry us?" + +Doctor Wallace was silent for many moments while he gazed into the +fire and stroked her hand. Suddenly a smile broke over his fine face. + +"You say you asked Hartley to marry you?" + +"Yes, we went to him. It was a reckless thing to do. I'm sorry." + +"To say the least, it was original." The old minister seemed to have +difficulty in restraining a laugh. Then for a moment he pondered. + +"My friends, I am very old," he said at length, "but you have taught +me something. I will marry you." + +It was a strange marriage. Behind Mel and Daren stood the red-faced, +grinning driver, his coarse long coat covered with snow, and the +simpering housemaid, respectful, yet glorifying in her share in this +midnight romance. The old minister with his striking face and white +hair, gravely turned the leaves of his book. No bridegroom ever wore +such a stern, haggard countenance. The bride's face might have been a +happier one, but it could not have been more beautiful. + +Doctor Wallace's voice was low and grave; it quavered here and there +in passages. Lane's was hardly audible. Mel's rang deep and full. + +The witnesses signed their names; husband and wife wrote theirs; the +minister filled out the license, and the ceremony was over. + +Then Doctor Wallace took a hand of each. + +"Mel and Daren," he said. "No human can read the secret ways of God. +But it seems there is divinity in you both. You have been sacrificed +to the war. You are builders, not destroyers. You are Christians, not +pagans. You have a vision limned against the mystery of the future. +Mammon seems now to rule. Civilization rocks on its foundations. But +the world will go on growing better. Peace on earth, good will to men! +That is the ultimate. It was Christ's teaching.... You two give me +greater faith.... Go now and face the world with heads erect--whatever +you do, Mel--and however long you live, Daren. Who can tell what will +happen? But time proves all things, and the blindness of people does +not last forever.... You both belong to the Kingdom of God." + +But few words were spoken by Lane or Mel on the ride home. Mel seemed +lost in a trance. She had one hand slipped under Lane's arm, the other +clasped over it. As for Lane, he had overestimated his strength. A +deadly numbness attacked his nerves, and he had almost lost the sense +of touch. When they arrived at Mel's home the snow-storm had abated +somewhat, and the lighted windows of the cottage shone brightly. + +Lane helped Mel wade through the deep snow, or he pretended to help +her, for in reality he needed her support more than she needed his. +They entered the warm little parlor. Some one had replenished the +fire. The clock pointed to the hour of one. Lane laid the marriage +certificate on the open book Mel had been reading. Mel threw off hat, +coat, overshoes and gloves. Her hair was wet with melted snow. + +"Now, Daren Lane," she said softly. "Now that you have made me your +wife--!" + +Up until then Lane had been master of the situation. He had thought no +farther than this moment. And now he weakened. Was this beautiful +woman, with head uplifted and eyes full of fire, the Mel Iden of his +school days? Now that he had made her his wife--. + +"Mel, there's no _now_ for me," he replied, with a sad finality. "From +this moment, I'll live in the past. I have no future.... Thank God, +you let me do what I could. I'll try to come again soon. But I must go +now. I'm afraid--I overtaxed my strength." + +"Oh, you look so--so," she faltered. "Stay, Daren--and let me nurse +you.... We have a little spare room, warm, cozy. I'll wait on you, +Daren. Oh, it would mean so much to me--now I am your wife." + +The look of her, the tones of her voice, made him weak. Then he +thought of his cold, sordid lodgings, and he realized that one more +moment here alone with Mel Iden would make him a coward in his own +eyes. He thanked her, and told her how impossible it was for him to +stay, and bidding her good night he reeled out into the white gloom. +At the gate he was already tired; at the bridge he needed rest. Once +more, then, he heard the imagined voices of the waters calling to +him. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +Seldom did Blair Maynard ever trust himself any more in the presence +of his mother's guests. Since Mrs. Maynard had announced the +engagement of his sister Margaret to Richard Swann, she had changed +remarkably. Blair did not love her any the better for the change. All +his life, as long as he could remember, he and Margaret had hated +pretension, and the littleness of living beyond their means. But now, +with this one _coup d'etat,_ his mother had regained her position as +the leader of Middleville society. Haughty, proud, forever absorbed in +the material side of everything, she moved in a self-created +atmosphere Blair could not abide. He went hungry many a time rather +than sit at table with guests such as Mrs. Maynard delighted to honor. + +Blair and Margaret had become estranged, and Blair spent most of his +time alone, reading or dreaming, but mostly sleeping. He knew he grew +weaker every day and his weakness appeared to induce slumber. + +On New Year's day, after dinner, he fell asleep in a big chair, across +the hall from the drawing-room. And when he awoke the drawing-room was +full of people making New Year's calls. If there was anything Blair +hated it was to thump on his crutch past curious, cold-eyed persons. +So he remained where he was, hoping not to be seen. But unfortunately +for him, he had exceedingly keen ears and exceedingly sensitive +feelings. + +Some of the guests he knew very well without having to see them. The +Swanns, and Fanchon Smith, with her brother and mother, Gerald Hartley +and his bride, Helen Wrapp, and a number of others prominent as +Middleville's elect were recognizable by their voices. While he was +sitting there, trying not to hear what he could not help hearing, a +number more arrived. + +They talked. It gradually dawned on Blair that some gossip was rife +anent a midnight marriage between his friend Daren Lane and Mel Iden. +Blair was deeply shocked. Then his emotions, never calm, grew +poignant. He listened. What he heard spoken of Daren and Mel made his +blood boil. Sweet voices, low-pitched, well-modulated, with the +intonation of culture, made witty and scarcely veiled remarks of a +suggestiveness that gave rise to laughter. Voices of men, bland, +blase, deriding Daren Lane! Blair listened, and slowly his passion +mounted to a white heat. And then it seemed, fate fully, in a lull of +the conversation, some one remarked graciously to Mrs. Maynard that it +was a pity that Blair had lost a leg in the war. + +Blair thumped up on his crutch, and thumped across the hall to +confront this assembly. + +"Ladies and gentlemen, pray pardon me," he said, in his high-pitched +tenor, cold now, and under perfect control. "I could not help hearing +your conversation. And I cannot help illuminating your minds. It seems +exceedingly strange to me that people of intelligence should make the +blunders they do. So strange that in the future I intend to take such +as you have made as nothing but the plain cold fact of perversion of +human nature! Daren Lane is so far above your comprehension that it +seems useless to defend him. I have never done it before. He would not +thank me. But this once I will speak.... In our group of service +men--so few of whom came home--he was a hero. We all loved him. And +for soldiers at war that tribute is the greatest. If there was a dirty +job to be done, Daren Lane volunteered for it. If there was a comrade +to be helped, Daren Lane was the first to see it. He never thought of +himself. The dregs of war did not engulf him as they did so many of +us. He was true to his ideal. He would have been advanced for honors +many a time but for the enmity of our captain. He won the _Croix de +Guerre_ by as splendid a feat as I saw during the war.... Thank God, +we had some officers who treated us like men--who were men themselves. +But for the majority we common soldiers were merely beasts of burden, +dogs to drive. This captain of whom I speak was a padded +shape--shirker from the front line--a parader of his uniform before +women. And he is that to-day--a chaser of women--girls--_girls_ of +fifteen.... Yet he has the adulation of Middleville while Daren Lane +is an outcast.... My God, is there no justice? At home here Daren Lane +has not done one thing that was not right. Some of the gossip about +him is as false as hell. He has tried to do noble things. If he +married Mel Iden, as you say, it was in some exalted mood to help her, +or to give his name to her poor little nameless boy." + +Blair paused a moment in a deliberate speech that toward the end had +grown breathless. The faces before him seemed swaying in a mist. + +"As for myself," he continued in passionate hurry, "I did not _lose_ +my leg!... I _sacrificed_ it. I _gave_ my career, my youth, my +health, my body--and I will soon have given my life--for my country +and my people. I was proud to do it. Never for a moment have I +regretted it.... What I lost--Ah! what I _lost_ was respect +for"--Blair choked--"for the institution that had deluded me. What I +_lost_ was not my leg but my faith in God, in my country, in the +gratitude of men left at home, in the honor of women." + +Friday, the tenth of January, dawned cold, dark, dreary, and all day a +dull clouded sky promised rain or snow. From a bride's point of view +it was not a propitious day for a wedding. A half hour before five +o'clock a stream of carriages began to flow toward St. Marks and +promptly at five the door of the church shut upon a large and +fashionable assembly. + +The swelling music of the wedding march pealed out. The bridal party +filed into the church. The organ peals hushed. The resonant voice of a +minister, with sing-song solemnity, began the marriage service. + +Margaret Maynard knew she stood there in the flesh, yet the shimmering +white satin, the flowing veil, covered some one who was a stranger to +her. + +And this other, this strange being who dominated her movements, stood +passively and willingly by, while her despairing and truer self saw +the shame and truth. She was a lie. The guests, friends, attendants, +bridesmaids, the minister, the father, mother, groom--all were lies. +They expressed nothing of their true feelings. + +The unwelcomed curious, who had crowded into the back of the church, +were the sincerest, for in their eyes, covetousness was openly +unveiled. The guests and friends wore the conventional shallow smiles +of guests and friends. They whispered to one another--a beautiful +wedding--a gorgeous gown--a perfect bride--a handsome groom; and +exclaimed in their hearts: How sad the father! How lofty, proud, +exultant the mother! How like her to move heaven and earth to make +this marriage! The attendants posed awkwardly, a personification of +the uselessness of their situation, and they pitied the bride while +they envied him for whose friendship they stood. The bridesmaids +graced their position and gloried in it, and serenely smiled, and +thought that to be launched in life in such dazzling manner might be +compensation for the loss of much. He of the flowing robe, of the +saintly expression, of the trained earnestness, the minister who had +power to unite these lives, saw nothing behind that white veil, saw +only his fashionable audience, while his resonant voice rolled down +the aisles of the church: "Who gives this woman to be wedded to this +man?" The father answered and straightway the years rolled back to his +youth, to hope, to himself as he stood at the altar with love and +trust, and then again to the present, to the failure of health and +love and life, to the unalterable destiny accorded him, to the one +shame of an honest if unsuccessful life--the countenancing of this +marriage. The worldly mother had, for once, a full and swelling +heart. For her this was the crowning moment. In one sense this +fashionable crowd had been pitted against her and she had won. What to +her had been the pleading of a daughter, the importunity of a father, +the reasoning of a few old-fashioned friends? The groom, who +represented so much and so little in this ceremony, had entered the +church with head held high, had faced his bride with gratified smile +and the altar with serene unconsciousness. + +Margaret Maynard saw all this; saw even the bride, with her splendidly +regular loveliness; and then, out of heaven, it seemed there thundered +an awful command, rolling the dream away, striking terror to her +heart. + +"If any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined +together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his +peace!" + +One long, silent, terrible moment! Would not an angel appear, with +flaming sword, to smite her dead? But the sing-song voice went on, +like flowing silk. + +The last guest at Mrs. Maynard's reception had gone, reluctantly, out +into the snow, and the hostess sat in her drawing-room, amid the ruins +of flowers and palms. She was alone with her triumph. Mr. Maynard and +Mr. Swann were smoking in the library. Owing to the storm and delicate +health of the bride the wedding journey had been postponed. + +Margaret was left alone, at length, in the little blue-and-white room +which had known her as a child and maiden, where she now sat as wife. +For weeks past she had been emotionless. To-night, with that +trenchant command, unanswered except in her heart, a spasm of pain had +broken the serenity of her calm, and had left her quivering. + +"It is done," she whispered. + +The endless stream of congratulations, meaningless and abhorrent to +her, the elaborate refreshments, the warm embraces of old friends had +greatly fatigued her. But she could not rest. She paced the little +room; she passed the beautiful white bridal finery, so neatly folded +by the bridesmaids, and she averted her eyes. She seemed not to hate +her mother, nor love her father; she had no interest in her husband. +She was slipping back again into that creature apart from her real +self. + +The house became very quiet; the snow brushed softly against the +windows. + +A step in the hall made Margaret pause like a listening deer; a tap +sounded lightly on her door; a voice awoke her at last to life and to +torture. + +"Margaret, may I come in?" + +It was Swann's voice, a little softer than usual, with a subtle +eagerness. + +"No" answered Margaret, involuntarily. + +"I beg your pardon. I'll wait." Swann's footsteps died away in the +direction of the library. + +The spring of a panther was in Margaret's action as she began to +repace the room. All her blood quickened to the thought suggested by +her husband's soft voice. In the mirror she saw a crimsoned face and +shamed eyes from which she turned away. + +All the pain and repression, the fight and bitter resignation and +trained indifference of the past months were as if they had never +been. This was her hour of real agony; now was the time to pay the +price. Pride, honor, love never smothered, reserve rooted in the very +core of a sensitive woman's heart, availed nothing. Once again +catching sight of her reflection in the mirror she stopped before it, +and crossing her hands on her heaving breast, she regarded herself +with scorn. She was false to her love, she was false to herself, false +to the man to whom she had sold herself. "Oh! Why did I yield!" she +cried. She was a coward; she belonged to the luxurious class that +would suffer anything rather than lose position. Fallen had she as low +as any of them; gold had been the price of her soul. To keep her +position she must marry one man when she loved another. She cried out +in her wretchedness; she felt in her whole being a bitter humiliation; +she felt stir in her a terrible tumult. + +Margaret wondered how many thousands of girls had been similarly +placed, and pitied them. She thought of the atmosphere in which she +lived, where it seemed to her every mother was possessed singularly +and entirely of one aim, to marry her daughter as soon as possible to +a man as rich as possible. Marrying well simply meant marrying money. +Only a few days before her mother had come to her and said: "Mrs. +Fisher called and she was telling me about her daughter Alice. It +seems Alice is growing very pretty and very popular. She said she was +afraid Alice had taken, a liking to that Brandeth fellow, who's only a +clerk. So Mrs. Fisher intends taking Alice to the seashore this +summer, to an exclusive resort, of course, but one where there will be +excitement and plenty of young gentlemen." + +At the remembrance Margaret gave a little contemptuous laugh. A year +ago she would not have divined the real purport of her mother's words. +How easy that was now! Mrs. Fisher had decided that as Alice was +eighteen it was time a suitable husband was found for her. Poor Alice! +Balls, parties, receptions there would be, and trips to the seashore +and all the other society manoeuvers, made ostensibly to introduce +Alice to the world; but if the truth were told in cold blood all this +was simply a parading of the girl before a number of rich and +marriageable men. Poor Harry Brandeth! + +She recalled many marriages of friends and acquaintances. With strange +intensity of purpose she brought each one to mind, and thought +separately and earnestly over her. What melancholy facts this exercise +revealed! She could not recall one girl who was happy, perfectly +happy, unless it was Jane Silvey who ran off with and married a +telegraph operator. Jane was still bright-eyed and fresh, happy no +doubt in her little house with her work and her baby, even though her +people passed her by as if she were a stranger. Then Margaret +remembered with a little shock there was another friend, a bride who +had been found on her wedding night wandering in the fields. There had +been some talk, quickly hushed, of a drunken husband, but it had never +definitely transpired what had made her run out into the dark night. +Margaret recollected the time she had seen this girl's husband, when +he was drunk, beat his dog brutally. Then Margaret reflected on the +gossip she never wanted to hear, yet could not avoid hearing, over her +mother's tea-table; on the intimations and implications. Many things +she would not otherwise have thought of again, but they now recurred +and added their significance to her awakening mind. She was not keen +nor analytical; she possessed only an ordinary intelligence; she could +not trace her way through a labyrinth of perplexing problems; still, +suffering had opened her eyes and she saw something terribly wrong in +her mother's world. + +Once more she stopped pacing her room, for a step in the hall arrested +her, and made her stand quivering, as if under the lash. + +"I won't!" she breathed intensely. Swiftly and lightly she sped across +her room, opened a door leading to the balcony and went out, closing +the door behind her softly. + +Mr. Maynard sat before the library fire with a neglected cigar between +his fingers. The events of the day had stirred him deeply. The cold +shock he had felt when he touched his daughter's cheek in the +accustomed good-night kiss remained with him, still chilled his lips. +For an hour he sat there motionless, with his eyes fixed on the dying +fire, and in his mind hope, doubt and remorse strangely mingled. Hope +persuaded him that Margaret was only a girl, still sentimental and +unpoised. Unquestionably she had made a good marriage. Her girlish +notions about romance and love must give way to sane acceptance of +real human life. After all money meant a great deal. She would come +around to a sensible view, and get that strange look out of her eyes, +that strained blighted look which hurt him. Then he writhed in his +self-contempt; doubt routed all his hope, and remorse made him +miserable. + +A hurried step on the stairs aroused Mr. Maynard. Swann came running +into the library. He was white; his sharp featured face wore a +combination of expressions; alarm, incredulity, wonder were all +visible there, but the most striking was mortification. + +"Mr. Maynard, Margaret has left her room. I can't find her anywhere." + +The father stared blankly at his son-in-law. + +Swann repeated his statement. + +"What!" All at once Mr. Maynard sank helplessly into his chair. In +that moment certainty made him an old broken man. + +"She's gone!" said Swann, in a shaken voice. "She has run off from me. +I knew she would; I knew she'd do something. I've never been able to +kiss her--only last night we quarreled about it. I tell you it's--" + +"Pray do not get excited," interrupted Mr. Maynard, bracing up. "I'm +sure you exaggerate. Tell me what you know." + +"I went to her room an hour, two hours ago, and knocked. She was there +but refused me admittance. She spoke sharply--as if--as if she was +afraid. I went and knocked again long after. She didn't answer. I +knocked again and again. Then I tried her door. It was not locked. I +opened it. She was not in the room. I waited, but she didn't come. +I--I am afraid something is--wrong." + +"She might be with her mother," faltered Mr. Maynard. + +"No, I'm sure not," asserted Swann. "Not to-night of all nights. +Margaret has grown--somewhat cold toward her mother. Besides Mrs. +Maynard retired hours ago." + +The father and the husband stole noiselessly up the stairs and entered +Margaret's room. The light was turned on full. The room was somewhat +disordered; bridal finery lay littered about; a rug was crumpled; a +wicker basket overturned. The father's instinct was true. His first +move was to open the door leading out upon the balcony. In the thin +snow drifted upon this porch were the imprints of little feet. + +Something gleamed pale blue in the light of the open door. Mr. Maynard +picked it up, and with a sigh that was a groan held it out to Swann. +It was a blue satin slipper. + +"Heavens!" exclaimed Swann. "She's run out in the snow--she might as +well be barefooted." + +"S-sh-h!" warned Mr. Maynard. Unhappy and excited as he was he did not +forget Mrs. Maynard. "Let us not alarm any one." + +"There! See, her footsteps down the stairs," whispered Swann. "I can +see them clear to the ground." + +"You stay here, Swann, so in case Mrs. Maynard or the servants awake +you can prevent alarm. We must think of that. I'll bring her back." + +Mr. Maynard descended the narrow stairway to the lower porch and went +out into the yard. The storm had ceased. A few inches of snow had +fallen and in places was deeper in drifts. The moon was out and shone +down on a white world. It was cold and quiet. When Mr. Maynard had +trailed the footsteps across his wide lawn and saw them lead out into +the street toward the park, he fell against a tree, unable, for a +moment, to command himself. Hope he had none left, nor a doubt. On the +other side of the park, hardly a quarter of a mile away, was the +river. Margaret had gone straight toward it. + +Outside in the middle of the street he found her other slipper. She +had not even stockings on now; he could tell by the impressions of her +feet in the snow. He remembered quite mournfully how small Margaret's +feet were, how perfectly shaped. He hurried into the park, but was +careful to obliterate every vestige of her trail by walking in the +soft snow directly over her footprints. A hope that she might have +fainted before she could carry out her determination arose in him and +gave him strength. He kept on. Her trail led straight across the park, +in the short cut she had learned and run over hundreds of times when a +little girl. It was hastening her now to her death. + +At first her footsteps were clear-cut, distinct and wide apart. Soon +they began to show evidences of weariness; the stride shortened; the +imprints dragged. Here a great crushing in a snow drift showed where +she had fallen. + +Mr. Maynard's hope revived; he redoubled his efforts. She could not be +far. How she dragged along! Then with a leap of his heart, and a sob +of thankfulness he found her, with disheveled hair, and face white as +the snow where it rested, sad and still in the moonlight. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +Middleville was noted for its severe winters, but this year the zero +weather held off until late in January. Lane was peculiarly +susceptible to the cold and he found himself facing a discomfort he +knew he could not long endure. Every day he felt more and more that he +should go to a warm and dry climate; and yet he could not determine to +leave Middleville. Something held him. + +The warmth of bright hotel lobbies and theatres and restaurants uptown +was no longer available for Lane. His money had dwindled beyond the +possibility of luxury, and besides he shrank now from meeting any one +who knew him. His life was empty, dreary and comfortless. + +One wintry afternoon Lane did not wander round as long as usual, for +the reason that his endurance was lessening. He returned early to his +new quarters, and in the dim hallway he passed a slight pale girl who +looked at him. She seemed familiar, but Lane could not place her. +Evidently she had a room in the building. Lane hated the big barn-like +house, and especially the bare cold room where he had to seek rest. Of +late he had not eaten any dinner. He usually remained in bed as long +as he could, and made a midday meal answer all requirements. Appetite, +like many other things, was failing him. This day he sat upon his bed, +in the abstraction of the lonely and unhappy, until the cold forced +him to get under the covers. + +His weary eyelids had just closed when he was awakened. The confused +sense of being torn from slumber gave way to a perception of a voice +in the room next to his. It was a man's voice, rough with the +huskiness Lane recognized as peculiar to drunkards. And the reply to +it seemed to be a low-toned appeal from a woman. + +"Playin' off sick, eh? You don't want to work. But you'll get me some +money, girl, d'ye hear?" + +A door slammed, rattling the thin partition between the two rooms, and +heavy footsteps dragged in the hall and on the stairway. + +Sleep refused to come back to Lane. As he lay there he was surprised +at the many sounds he heard. The ramshackle old structure, which he +had supposed almost vacant, was busy with life. Stealthy footfalls in +the hallways passed and repassed; a piano drummed somewhere; a man's +loud voice rang out, and a woman's laugh faint, hollow and far away, +like the ghost of laughter, returned in echo. The musical clinking of +glasses, the ring of a cash register, the rattling click of pool +balls, came up from below. + +Presently Lane remembered the nature of the place. It was a house of +night. In daylight it was silent; its inmates were asleep. But as the +darkness unfolded a cloak over it, all the hidden springs of its +obscure humanity began to flow. Lying there with the woman's appeal +haunting him and all those sounds in his ears he thought of their +meaning. The drunkard with his lust for money; his moaning victim; the +discordant piano; the man with the vacant laugh; the lost hope and +youth in the woman's that echoed it; the stealing, slipping feet of +those who must tread softly--all conveyed to Lane that he had awakened +in another world, a world which shunned sunlight. + +Toward morning he dozed off into a fitful sleep which lasted until ten +o'clock when he arose and dressed. As he was about to go out a knock +on the door of the room next to his recalled the incident of the +night. He listened. Another knock followed, somewhat louder, but no +response came from within. + +"Say, you in there," cried a voice Lane recognized as the landlady's. +She rattled the door-knob. + +A girl's voice answered weakly: "Come in." + +Lane heard the door open. + +"I wants my room rent. I can't get a dollar out of your drunken +father. Will you pay? It's four weeks overdue." + +"I have no money." + +"Then get out an' leave me the room." The landlady spoke angrily. + +"I'm ill. I can't get up." The answer was faint. + +Lane opened his door quickly, and confronted the broad person of the +landlady. + +"How much does the woman owe?" he asked, quietly. + +"Ah-huh!" the exclamation was trenchant with meaning. "Twenty dollars, +if it's anything to you." + +"I'll pay it. I think I heard the woman say she was ill." + +"She says she is." + +"May I be of any assistance?" + +"Ask her." + +Lane glanced into the little room, a counterpart of his. But it was so +dark he could see nothing distinctly. + +"May I come in? Let me raise the blind. There, the sun is fine this +morning. Now, may I not---" + +He looked down at a curly head and a sweet pretty face that he knew. + +"I know you," he said, groping among past associations. + +"I am Rose Clymer," she whispered, and a momentary color came into her +wan cheeks. + +"Rose Clymer! Bessy Bell's friend!" + +"Yes, Mr. Lane. I'm not so surprised as you. I recognized you last +night." + +"Then it was you who passed me in the hall?" + +"Yes." + +"Well! And you're ill? What is the matter? Ah! Last night--it was +your--your father--I heard?" + +"Yes," she answered. "I've not been well since--for a long time, and I +gave out last night." + +"Here I am talking when I might be of some use," said Lane, and he +hurried out of the room. The landlady had discreetly retired to the +other end of the hall. He thrust some money into her hands. + +"She seems pretty sick. Do all you can for her, be kind to her. I'll +pay. I'm going for a doctor." + +He telephoned for Doctor Bronson. + +An hour later Lane, coming upstairs from his meal, met the physician +at Rose's door. He looked strangely at Lane and shook his head. + +"Daren, how is it I find you here in this place?" + +"Beggars can't be choosers," answered Lane, with his old frank smile. + +"Humph!" exclaimed the doctor, gruffly. + +"How about the girl?" asked Lane. + +"She's in bad shape," replied Bronson.... "Lane, are you aware of her +condition?" + +"Why, she's ill--that's all I know," replied Lane, slowly. "Rose +didn't tell me what ailed her. I just found out she was here." + +Doctor Bronson looked at Lane. "Too bad you didn't find out sooner. +I'll call again to-day and see her.... And say, Daren, you look all in +yourself." + +"Never mind me, Doctor. It's mighty good of you to look after Rose. I +know you've more patients than you can take care of. Rose has nothing +and her father's a poor devil. But I'll pay you." + +"Never mind about money," rejoined Bronson, turning to go. + +Lane could learn little from Rose. Questions seemed to make her +shrink, so Lane refrained from them and tried to cheer her. The +landlady had taken a sudden liking to Lane which evinced itself in her +change of attitude toward Rose, and she was communicative. She +informed Lane that the girl had been there about two months; that her +father had made her work till she dropped. Old Clymer had often +brought men to the hotel to drink and gamble, and to the girl's credit +she had avoided them. + +For several days Doctor Bronson came twice daily to see Rose. He made +little comment upon her condition, except to state that she had +developed peritonitis, and he was not hopeful. Soon Rose took a turn +for the worse. The doctor came to Lane's room and told him the girl +would not have the strength to go through with her ordeal. Lane was so +shocked he could not speak. Dr. Bronson's shoulders sagged a little, +an unusual thing for him. "I'm sorry, Daren," he said. "I know you +wanted to help the poor girl out of this. But too late. I can ease her +pain, and that's all." + +Strangely shaken and frightened Lane lay down in the dark. The +partition between his room and Rose's might as well have been paper +for all the sound it deadened. He could have escaped that, but he +wanted to be near her.... And he listened to Rose's moans in the +darkness. Lane shuddered there, helpless, suffering, realizing. Then +the foreboding silence became more dreadful than any sound.... It was +terrible for Lane. That strange cold knot in his breast, that coil of +panic, seemed to spring and tear, quivering through all his body. What +had he known of torture, of sacrifice, of divine selflessness? He +understood now how the loved and guarded woman went down into the +Valley of the Shadow for the sake of a man. Likewise, he knew the +infinite tragedy of a ruined girl who lay in agony, gripped by +relentless nature. + +Lane was called into the hall by Mrs. O'Brien. She was weeping. +Bronson met him at the door. + +"She's dying," he whispered. "You'd better come in. I've 'phoned to +Doctor Wallace." + +Lane went in, almost blinded. The light seemed dim. Yet he saw Rose +with a luminous glow radiating from her white face. + +"I feel--so light," she said, with a wan smile. + +Lane sat by the bed, but he could not speak. The moments dragged. He +had a feeling of their slow but remorseless certainty. + +Then there were soft steps outside--Mrs. O'Brien opened the door--and +Doctor Wallace entered the room. + +"My child," he gravely began, bending over her. + +Rose's big eyes with their strained questioning gaze sought his face +and Doctor Bronson's and Lane's. + +"Rose--are you--in pain?" + +"The burning's gone," she said. + +"My child," began Doctor Wallace, again. "Your pain is almost over. +Will you not pray with me?" + +"No. I never was two-faced," replied Rose, with a weary shake of the +tangled curls. "I won't show yellow now." + +Lane turned away blindly. It was terrible to think of her dying +bitter, unrepentant. + +"Oh! if I could hope!" murmured Rose. "To see my mother!" + +Then there were shuffling steps outside and voices. The door was +opened by Mrs. O'Brien. Old Clymer crossed the threshold. He was +sober, haggard, grieved. He had been told. No one spoke as he +approached Rose's bedside. + +"Lass--lass--" he began, brokenly. + +Then he sought from the men confirmation of a fear borne by a glance +into Rose's white still face. And silence answered him. + +"Lass, if you're goin'--tell me--who was to blame?" + +"No one--but myself--father," she replied. + +"Tell me, who was to blame?" demanded Clymer, harshly. + +Her pale lips curled a little bitterly, and suddenly, as a change +seemed to come over her, they set that way. She looked up at Lane with +a different light in her eyes. Then she turned her face to the wall. + +Lane left the room, to pace up and down the hall outside. His thoughts +seemed deadlocked. By and bye, Doctor Bronson came out with Doctor +Wallace, who was evidently leaving. + +"She is unconscious and dying," said Doctor Bronson to Lane, and then +bade the minister good-bye and returned to the room. + +"How strangely bitter she was!" exclaimed Doctor Wallace to Lane. "Yet +she seemed such a frank honest girl. Her attitude was an +acknowledgment of sin. But she did not believe it herself. She seemed +to have a terrible resentment. Not against one man, or many persons, +but perhaps life itself! She was beyond me. A modern girl--a pagan! +But such a brave, loyal, generous little soul. What a pity! I find my +religion at fault because it can accomplish nothing these days." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +Lane took Rose's death to heart as if she had been his sister or +sweetheart. The exhaustion and exposure he was subjected to during +these days dragged him farther down. + +One bitter February day he took refuge in the railroad station. The +old negro porter who had known Lane since he was a boy evidently read +the truth of Lane's condition, for he contrived to lead him back into +a corner of the irregular room. It was an obscure corner, rather +hidden by a supporting pillar and the projecting end of a news +counter. This seat was directly over the furnace in the cellar. +Several pipes, too hot to touch, came up through the floor. It was the +warmest place Lane had found, and he sat there for hours. He could see +the people passing to and fro through the station, arriving and +leaving on trains, without himself being seen. That afternoon was good +for him, and he went back next day. + +But before he could get to the coveted seat he was accosted by Blair +Maynard. Lane winced under Blair's piercing gaze; and the haggard face +of his friend renewed Lane's deadened pangs. Lane led Blair to the +warm corner, and they sat down. It had been many weeks since they had +seen each other. Blair talked in one uninterrupted flow for an hour, +and so the life of the people Lane had given up was once again open to +him. It was like the scoring of an old wound. Then Lane told what +little there was to tell about himself. And the things he omitted +Blair divined. After that they sat silent for a while. + +"Of course you knew Mel's boy died," said Blair, presently. + +"Oh--No!" exclaimed Lane. + +"Hadn't you heard? I thought--of course you--.... Yes, he died some +time ago. Croup or flu, I forget." + +"Dead!" whispered Lane, and he leaned forward to cover his face with +his hands. He had seemed so numb to feeling. But now a storm shook +him. + +"Dare, it's better for him--and Mel too," said Blair, with a hand +going to his friend's shoulder. "That idea never occurred to me until +day before yesterday when I ran into Mel. She looked--Oh, I can't tell +you how. But I got that strange impression." + +"Did--did she ask about me?" queried Lane, hoarsely, as he uncovered +his face, and sat back. + +"She certainly did," replied Blair, warmly. "And I lied like a +trooper. I didn't know where you were or how you were, but I pretended +you were O.K." + +"And then--" asked Lane, breathlessly. + +"She said, 'Tell Daren I must see him.' I promised and set out to find +you. I was pretty lucky to run into you.... And now, old sport, let me +get personal, will you?" + +"Go as far as you like," replied Lane, in muffled voice. + +"Well, I think Mel loves you," went on Blair, in hurried softness. "I +always thought so--even when we were kids. And now I know it.... And +Lord! Dare you just ought to see her now. She's lovely. And she's +your wife." + +"What if she is--both lovely--and my wife?" queried Lane, bitterly. + +"If I were you I'd go to her. I'd sure let her take care of me.... +Dare, the way you're living is horrible. I have a home, such as it is. +My room is warm and clean, and I can stay in it. But you--Dare, it +hurts me to see you--as you are----" + +"No!" interrupted Lane, passionately. The temptation Blair suggested +was not to be borne. + +Lane met Blair the next afternoon at the station, and again on the +next. That established a habit in which both found much comfort and +some happiness. Thereafter they met every day at the same hour. Often +for long they sat silent, each occupied with his own thoughts. +Occasionally Blair would bring a package which contained food he had +ransacked from the larder at home. Together they would fall upon it +like two schoolboys. But what Lane was most grateful for was just +Blair's presence. + +It was distressing then, after these meetings had extended over a +period of two weeks, to be confronted one afternoon by a new station +agent who called Blair and Lane bums and ordered them out of the +place. + +Blair raised his crutch to knock the man down. But Lane intercepted +it, and got his friend out of the station. It was late afternoon with +the sun going down over the hill across the railroad yards. Blair +stood a moment bare-headed, with the light on his handsome haggard +face. How frail he seemed--too frail of body for the magnificent +spirit so flashing in his eyes, so scathing on his bitter lips. Lane +bade him good-bye and turned away, with a strange intimation that this +was the last time he would ever see Blair alive. + +Wretched and desperate, Lane bought drink and took it to his room with +him. On that dark winter night he sat by the window of his room. +Insensible now to the cold, to the wind moaning outside, to the snow +whirling against the pane, he lived with phantoms. To and fro, to and +fro glided the wraith-forms, vanishing and appearing. The soft +rustling sound of the snow was the rustle of their movements. Across +the gleam of light, streaking coldly through the pane, flickering +fitfully on the wall, floated shadows and faces. + +He did not know when he succumbed to drowsy weakness. But he awoke at +daylight, lying on the floor, stiff with cold. Drink helped him to +drag through that day. Then something happened to him, and time meant +nothing. Night and day were the same. He did not eat. When he lay back +upon his bed he became irrational, yet seemed to be conscious of it. +When he sat up his senses slowly righted. But he preferred the spells +of aberration. Sometimes he was possessed by hideous nightmares, out +of which he awoke with the terror of a child. Then he would have to +sit up in the dark, in a cold sweat, and wait, and wait, until he +dared to lie back again. + +In the daytime delusions grew upon him. One was that he was always +hearing the strange voices of the river, and another that he was +being pursued by an old woman clad in a flowing black mantle, with a +hood on her head and a crooked staff in her hand. The voices and +apparition came to him, now in his waking hours; they came suddenly +without any prelude or warning. He explained them as odd fancies +resulting from strong drink; they grew on him until his harsh laugh +could not shake them off. He managed occasionally to drag himself out +of the house. In the streets he felt this old black hag following him; +but later she came to him in the lonely silence of his room. He never +noticed her unless he glanced behind him, and he was powerless to +resist that impulse. At length the dreary old woman, who seemed to +grow more gaunt and ghostly every day, took the form in Lane's +disordered fancy of the misfortune that war had put upon him. + +Lane dreamed once that it was a gray winter afternoon; dark lowering +clouds hung over the drab-colored hills, and a chill north wind +scurried over the bare meadows, sending the dead leaves rustling over +the heath and moaning through the leafless oaks. What a sad day it +was, he thought, as he faced the biting wind: sad as was his life and +a fitting one for the deed on which he had determined! Long since he +had left the city and was on the country road. He ascended a steep +hill. From its highest point he looked back toward the city he was +leaving forever. Faint it lay in the distance, only a few of its white +spires shining out dimly from the purple haze. + +What was that dark shadow? Far down the winding road he discerned an +object moving slowly up the hill. Closer he looked, and trembled. An +old woman with flowing black robes was laboriously climbing the hill. +Whirling, he placed his hand on his breast, firmly grasped something +there, and then strode onward. Soon he glanced over his shoulder. Yes, +there she came, hobbling over the crest, her bent form and long +crooked staff clearly silhouetted against the gray background. She +raised the long staff and pointed it at him. + +Now it seemed the day was waning; deep shadows lay in the valleys, and +night already enveloped the forest. Through rents in the broken clouds +a few pale stars twinkled fitfully. Soon dark cloud curtains scurried +across these spaces shutting out the light. + +He plunged into the forest. His footsteps made no sound on the soft +moss as he glided through wooded aisles and under giant trees. Once +well into the deep woods, he turned to look behind him. He saw a +shadow, blacker than the forest-gloom, stealthily slipping from tree +to tree. He looked no more. For hours he traveled on and on, never +stopping, never looking backward, never listening, intent only on +placing a great distance between him and his pursuer. + +He came upon a swamp where his feet sank in the soft earth, and +through all the night, with tireless strength and fateful resolve, he +toiled into this dreamy waste of woods and waters, until at length a +huge black rock loomed up in his way. He ascended to its summit and +looked beyond. + +It seemed now that he had reached his destination. Wood spirits and +phantoms of night would mourn over him, but they would keep his +secret. He peered across a shining lake, and tried to pierce the +gloom. No living thing moved before his vision. Silver rippling waves +shimmered under that starlit sky; tall weird pines waved gently in the +night breeze; slender cedars, resembling spectres, reared their heads +toward the blue-black vault of heaven. He listened intently. There was +a faint rustling of the few leaves left upon the oaks. The strange +voices that had always haunted him, the murmuring of river waters, or +whispering of maidens, or muttering of women were now clear. + +Suddenly two white forms came gliding across the waters. The face of +one was that of a young girl. Golden hair clustered round the face and +over the fair brow. The lips smiled with mournful sweetness. The other +form seemed instinct with life. The face was that of a living, +breathing girl, soulful, passionate, her arms outstretched, her eyes +shining with a strange hopeful light. + +Down, down, down he fell and sank through chill depths, falling +slowly, falling softly. The cool waters passed; he floated through +misty, shadowy space. An infinitude of silence enclosed him. Then a +dim and sullen roar of waters came to his ears, borne faintly, then +stronger, on a breeze that was not of earth. Anguish and despair +tinged that sodden wind. Weird and terrible came a cry. Steaming, +boiling, burning, rumbling chaos--a fearful rushing sullen water! Then +a flash of light like a falling star sped out of the dark clouds. + +Lane found himself sitting up in bed, wet and shaking. The room was +dark. Some one was pounding on the door. + +"Hello, Lane, are you there?" called a man's deep voice. + +"Yes. What's wanted?" answered Lane. + +The door opened wide, impelled by a powerful arm. Light from the +hallway streamed in over the burly form of a man in a heavy coat. He +stood in the doorway evidently trying to see. + +"Sick in bed, hey?" he queried, with gruff kind voice. + +"I guess I am. Who're you?" + +"I'm Joshua Iden and I've come to pack you out of here," he said. + +"No!" protested Lane, faintly. + +"Your wife is downstairs in a taxi waiting," went on his strange +visitor. + +"My wife!" whispered Lane. + +"Yes. Mel Iden, my daughter. You've forgotten maybe, but she hasn't. +She learned to-day from Doctor Bronson how ill you were. And so she's +come to take you home." + +Mel Iden! The name seemed a part of the past. This was only another +dream, thought Lane, and slowly fell back upon his bed. + +"Say, aren't you able to sit up?" queried this visitor Lane took for +the spectre of a dream. He advanced into the room. He grasped Lane +with firm hand. And then Lane realized this was no nightmare. He began +to shake. + +"Sit up?" he echoed, vaguely. "Sure I can.... You're Mel's father?" + +"Yes," replied the other. "Come, get out of this.... Well, you haven't +much dressing to do. And that's good.... Steady there." + +As he rose, Lane would have fallen but for a quick move of Iden's. + +"Only shoes and coat," said Lane, fumbling around. "They're +somewhere." + +"Here you are.... Let me help.... There. Have you an overcoat?" + +"No," replied Lane. + +"Well, there's a robe in the taxi. Come on now. I'll come back and +pack your belongings." + +He put an arm under Lane's and led him out into the hall and down the +dim stairway to the street. Under the yellow light Lane saw a cab, +toward which Iden urged him. Lane knew that he moved, but he seemed +not to have any feeling in his legs. The cabman put a hand back to +open the door. + +"Mel, here he is," called out Iden, cheerfully. + +Lane felt himself being pushed into the cab. His knees failed and he +sank forward, even as he saw Mel's face. + +"Daren!" she cried, and caught him. + +Then all went black. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +Lane's return to consciousness was an awakening into what seemed as +unreal and unbelievable as any of his morbid dreams. + +But he knew that his mind was clear. It did not take him a moment to +realize from the feel of his body and the fact that he could not lift +his hand that he had been prostrate a long time. + +The room he lay in was strange to him. It had a neatness and +cleanliness that spoke of a woman's care. It had two small windows, +one of which was open. Sunshine flooded in, and the twitter of +swallows and hum of bees filled the air outside. Lane could scarcely +believe his senses. A warm fragrance floated in. Spring! What struck +Lane then most singularly was the fact of the silence. There were no +city sounds. This was not the Iden home. Presently he heard soft +footfalls downstairs, and a low voice, as of some one humming a tune. +What then had happened? + +As if in answer to his query there came from below a sound of heavy +footfalls on a porch, the opening and closing of a door, a man's +cheery voice, and then steps on the stairs. The door opened and Doctor +Bronson entered. + +"Hello, Doc," said Lane, in a very faint voice. + +"Well, you son of a gun!" ejaculated the doctor, in delight. Then he +called down the stairs. "Mel, come up here quick." + +Then came a low cry and a flying patter of light feet. Mel ran past +the doctor into the room. To Lane she seemed to have grown along with +the enchantments his old memories had invoked. With parted lips, +eager-eyed, she flashed a look from Lane to Doctor Bronson and back +again. Then she fell upon her knees by the bed. + +"Do you know me?" she asked, her voice tremulous. + +"Sure. You're the wife--of a poor sick soldier--Daren Lane." + +"Oh, Doctor, he has come to," cried Mel, in rapture. + +"Fine. I've been expecting it every day," said Doctor Bronson, rubbing +his hands. "Now, Daren, you can listen all you want. But don't try to +talk. You've really been improving ever since we got you out here to +the country. For a while I was worried about your mind. Lately, +though, you showed signs of rationality. And now all's O.K. In a few +days we'll have you sitting up." + +Doctor Bronson's prophecy was more than fulfilled. From the hour of +Lane's return to consciousness, he made rapid improvement. Most of the +time he slept and, upon awakening, he seemed to feel stronger. Lane +had been ill often during the last eighteen months, but after this +illness there was a difference, inasmuch as he began to make +surprising strides toward recovery. Doctor Bronson was nonplussed, and +elated. Mel seemed mute in her gratitude. Lane could have told them +the reason for his improvement, but it was a secret he hid in his +heart. + +In less than a week he was up, walking round his little room, peering +out of the windows. + +Mel had told Lane the circumstances attending his illness. It had been +late in February when she and her father had called for him at his +lodgings. He had collapsed in the cab. They took him to the Iden home +where he was severely ill during March. In April he began to improve, +although he did not come to his senses. One day Mr. Iden brought Jacob +Lane, an uncle of Lane's, to see him. Lane's uncle had been at odds +with the family for many years. There had been a time when he had +cared much for his nephew Daren. The visit had evidently revived the +old man's affection, for the result was that Jacob Lane offered Daren +the use of a cottage and several acres of land on Sycamore River, just +out of town. Joshua Iden had seen to the overhauling of the cottage; +and as soon as the weather got warm, Doctor Bronson had consented to +Lane's removal to the country. And in a few days after his arrival at +the cottage, Lane recovered consciousness. + +"Well, this beats me," said Lane, for the hundredth time. "Uncle Jake +letting us have this farm. I thought he hated us all." + +"Daren, it was your going to war--and coming back--that you were ill +and fell to so sad a plight. I think if your uncle had known, he'd +have helped you." + +"Mel, I couldn't ask anybody for help," said Lane. "Don't you +understand that?" + +"You were a stubborn fellow," mused Mel. + +"Me? Never. I'm the meekest of mortals.... Mel, I know every rock +along the river here. This is just above where at flood time the +Sycamore cuts across that rocky flat below, and makes a bad rapid. +There's a creek above and a big woods. I used to fish and hunt there a +good deal." + +Two weeks passed by and Daren felt himself slowly but surely getting +stronger. Every morning when he came down to breakfast he felt a +little better, had a little more color in his pale cheeks. At first he +could not eat, but as the days went by he regained an appetite which, +to Mel's delight, manifestly grew stronger. No woman could have been +brighter and merrier. She laughed at the expression on his face when +he saw her hands red from hot dish-water, and she would not allow him +to help her. The boast she had made to him of her housekeeping +abilities had not been an idle one. She prepared the meals and kept +the cottage tidy, and went about other duties in a manner that showed +she was thoroughly conversant with them. + +The way in which she had absolutely put aside the past, her witty +sallies and her innocent humor, her habit of singing while at work, +the depth of her earnest conversation; in all, the sweet wholesome +strength and beauty of her nature had a remarkable effect on Lane. He +began to live again. It was simply impossible to be morbid in her +presence. While he was with her he escaped from himself. + +The day came when he felt strong enough to take a walk. He labored up +the hillside toward a wood. Thereafter he went every day and walked +farther every time. + +With his returning strength there crept into his mind the dawning of a +hope that he might get well. At first he denied it, denied even the +conviction that he wished to live. But not long. The hope grew, and +soon he found himself deliberately trying to build up his health. +Every day he put a greater test upon himself, and as summer drew on he +felt his strength gradually increasing. Against Doctor Bronson's +advice, he got an axe and set to work on the wood pile, very +cautiously at first. + +Every day he wielded the axe until from sheer exhaustion he could not +lift it. Then he would sit on a log and pant and scorn his weakness. +What a poor man it was who could not chop wood for ten minutes without +getting out of breath! This pile of logs became to him a serious and +meaning obstacle. Every morning he went at it doggedly. His back grew +lame, his arms sore, his hands raw and blistered. But he did not give +up. + +Mel seemed happy to see him so occupied, and was loath to call him +even when it was necessary. After lunch it was his habit to walk in +the woods. Unmindful of weather, every day he climbed the hill, +plunged into the woods, and tramped until late in the afternoon. +Returning, he usually slept until Mel called him to dinner. Afterward +they spent the evening in the little library. The past seemed buried. +Lane's curiosity as to family and friends had not reawakened. + +Mel possessed a rich contralto voice which had been carefully +cultivated. Every evening in the twilight, with only the flickering of +the wood fire in the room, she would sit at the piano and sing. Lane +would close his eyes and let the mellow voice charm his every sense. +It called up his highest feelings; it lingered in his soul, thrilled +along his heart and played on the chords of love and hope. It +dispelled the heavy gloom that so often pressed down upon him; it +vanquished the depression that was the forerunner of his old terrible +black mood. + +It came about that Lane spent most of his time outdoors, in the +fields, along the river, on the wooded hills. The morbid brooding lost +its hold on his mind, and in its place came memories, dreams, +imaginations. He walked those hills with phantoms of the past and +phantoms of his fancy. + +The birds sang, the leaves fluttered, the wind rustled through the +branches. White clouds sailed across the blue sky, a crow cawed from a +hilltop, a hawk screeched from above, the roar of the river rapids +came faintly upward. And Lane saw eyes gazing dreamily downward, +thoughtful at a word, looking into life, trying to pierce the veil. It +was all so beautiful--so terrible. + +The peeping of frogs roused in Lane sensations thrilling and strange. +The quick sharp notes were suggestive of cool nights, of flooded +streams and marshy places. How often Lane wandered in the dusk along +the shore to listen to this chorus! + +At that hour twilight stole down; the dark hills rose to the pale blue +sky; there was a fair star and a wisp of purple cloud; and the shadowy +waters gleamed. Breaking into the trill of the frogs came the song of +a lonely whippoorwill. + +Lane felt a better spirit resurging. He felt the silence, the beauty, +the mystery, the eternal that was there. All that was small and frail +was passing from him. There came a regurgitation of physical +strength--a change of blood. + +The following morning while Lane was laboring over his wood pile, he +thought he heard voices in the front yard, and presently Mel came +around the walk accompanied by Doctor Wallace and Doctor Bronson. + +"Well, Lane, glad to see you," said Doctor Bronson, in his hearty +tones. "Doctor Wallace and I are on our way to the Grange and thought +we'd stop off a minute." + +"How are you, Mr. Lane? I see you're taking work seriously," put in +Doctor Wallace, in his kindly way. + +"Oh, I'm coming round all right," replied Lane. + +He stood there with his shirt sleeves rolled up, his face bronzed a +little and now warm and moist from the exercise, with something proven +about him, with a suggestion of a new force which made him different. + +There was an unmistakable kindliness in the regard of both men and a +scarcely veiled fear Lane was quick to read. Both men were afraid they +would not find him as they had hoped to. + +"Mel, you've chosen a charming location for a home," observed Doctor +Wallace. + +When Mel was showing her old teacher and friend the garden and +flowerbeds the practical Doctor Bronson asked Lane: "Did you chop all +that wood?" + +The doctor pointed to three long piles of wood, composed of short +pieces regularly stacked one upon another. + +"I did." + +"How long did it take you?" + +"I've been weeks at it. That's a long time, but you know, Doctor, I +was in pretty poor condition. I had to go slow." + +"Well, you've done wonders. I want to tell you that. I hardly knew +you. You're still thin, but you're gaining. I won't say now what I +think. Be careful of sudden or violent exertion. That's all. You've +done more than doctors can do." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +"Mel, come here," called Lane from the back porch, "who the deuce are +those people coming down the hill?" + +Mel shaded her eyes from the glare of the bright morning sun. "The +lady is Miss Hill, my old schoolteacher. I'd know her as far as I +could see her. Look how she carries her left arm. This is Saturday, +for she has neither a lunch basket nor a prayer book in that +outstretched hand. If you see Miss Hill without either you can be +certain it's Saturday. As to the gentleman--Daren, can it possibly be +Colonel Pepper?" + +"That's the Colonel, sure as you're alive," declared Lane, with +alacrity. "They must be coming here. Where else could they be making +for? But Mel, for them to be together! Why, the Colonel's an old +sport, and she--Mel--you know Miss Hill!" + +Whereupon Mel acquainted Daren with the circumstances of a romance +between Miss Hill and the gallant Colonel. + +"Well--of all things!" gasped Lane, and straightway became speechless. + +"You're right, Daren; they are coming in. Isn't that nice of them? +Now, don't you dare show I told you anything. Miss Hill is so easily +embarrassed. She's the most sensitive woman I ever knew." + +Lane recovered in time to go through the cottage to the front porch +and to hear Miss Hill greet Mel affectionately, and announce with the +tone of a society woman that she had encountered Colonel Pepper on the +way and had brought him along. Lane had met the little schoolteacher, +but did not remember her as she appeared now, for she was no longer +plain, and there was life and color in her face. And as for +embarrassment, not a trace of it was evident in her bearing. According +to Mel, the mere sight of man, much less of one of such repute as +Colonel Pepper, would once have been sufficient to reduce Miss Hill to +a trembling shadow. + +But the Colonel! None of his courage manifested an appearance now. To +Lane's hearty welcome he mumbled some incoherent reply and mopped his +moist red face. He was wonderfully and gorgeously arrayed in a new +suit of light check, patent leather shoes, a tie almost as bright as +his complexion, and he had a carnation in his buttonhole. This last +proof of the Colonel's mental condition was such an overwhelming shock +to Lane that all he could do for a moment was stare. The Colonel saw +the stare and it rendered him helpless. + +Miss Hill came to the rescue with pleasant chat and most interesting +news to the exiles. She had intended coming out to the cottage for +ever so long, but the weather and one thing or another falling on a +Saturday, had prevented until to-day. How pretty the little home! Did +not the Colonel agree with her that it was so sweet, so cosy, and +picturesquely situated? Did they have chickens? What pleasure to have +chickens, and flowers, too! Of course they had heard about Mr. Harry +White and the widow, about the dissension in Doctor Wallace's church. +And Margaret Maynard was far from well, and Helen Wrapp had gone back +home to her mother, and Bessy Bell had grown into a tall ravishingly +beautiful girl and had distracted her mother by refusing a +millionaire, and seemed very much in love with young Dalrymple. + +"And I've the worst class of girls I ever had," went on Miss Hill. +"The one I had last year was a class of angels compared to what I have +now. I reproved one girl whose mother wrote me that as long as +Middleville had preachers like Doctor Wallace and teachers like myself +there wasn't much chance of a girl being good. So I'm going to give up +teaching." + +The little schoolmistress straightened up in her chair and looked +severe. Colonel Pepper shifted uneasily, bent his glance for the +hundredth time on his shiny shoes and once more had recourse to his +huge handkerchief and heated brow. + +"Well, Colonel, it seems good to see you once more," put in Lane. +"Tell me about yourself. How do you pass the time?" + +"Same old story, Daren, same old way, a game of billiards now and +then, and a little game of cards. But I'm more lonely than I used to +be." + +"Why, you never were lonely!" exclaimed Lane. + +"Oh, yes indeed I was, always," protested the Colonel. + +"A little game of cards," mused Lane. "How well I remember! You used +to have some pretty big games, too." + +"Er--yes--you see--once in a while, very seldom, just for fun," he +replied. + +"How about your old weakness? Hope you've conquered that," went on +Lane, mercilessly. + +The Colonel was thrown into utter confusion. And when Miss Hill turned +terrible eyes upon him, poor Pepper looked as if he wanted to sink +through the porch. + +Lane took pity on him and carried him off to the garden and the river +bank, where he became himself again. + +They talked for a while, but neither mentioned the subject that had +once drawn them together. For both of them a different life had begun. + +A little while afterward Mel and Lane watched the bright figure and +the slight dark one go up the hillside cityward. + +"What do you know about that!" ejaculated Lane for the tenth time. + +"Hush!" said Mel, and she touched his lips with a soft exquisite +gesture. + +At three o'clock one June afternoon Mel and Daren were lounging on a +mossy bank that lined the shady side of a clear rapid-running brook. A +canoe was pulled up on the grass below them. With an expression of +utter content, Lane was leaning over the brook absorbed in the +contemplation of a piece of thread which was tied to a crooked stick +he held in his hand. He had gone back to his boyhood days. Just then +the greatest happiness on earth was the outwitting of bright-sided +minnows and golden flecked sunfish. Mel sat nearby with her lap full +of flowers which she had gathered in the long grass and was now +arranging. She was dressed in blue; a sunbonnet slipped back from her +head; her glossy hair waved in the breeze. She looked as fresh as a +violet. + +"Well, Daren, we have spent four delightful, happy hours. How time +flies! But it's growing late and we must go," said Mel. + +"Wait a minute or two," replied Lane. "I'll catch this fellow. See him +bite! He's cunning. He's taken my bait time and again, but I'll get +him. There! See him run with the line. It's a big sunfish!" + +"How do you know? You haven't seen him." + +"I can tell by the way he bites. Ha! I've got him now," cried Lane, +giving a quick jerk. There was a splash and he pulled out a squirming +eel. + +"Ugh! The nasty thing!" cried Mel, jumping up. Lane had flung the eel +back on the bank and it just missed falling into Mel's lap. She +screamed, and then when safely out of the way she laughed at the +disgust in his face. + +"So it was a big sunfish? My! What a disillusion! So much for a man's +boastful knowledge." + +"Well, if it isn't a slimy old eel. There! be off with you; go back +into the water," said Lane, as he shook the eel free from the hook. + +"Come, we must be starting." + +He pushed the canoe into the brook, helped Mel to a seat in the bow +and shoved off. In some places the stream was only a few feet wide, +but there was enough room and water for the light craft and it went +skimming along. The brook turned through the woods and twisted through +the meadows, sometimes lying cool and dark in the shade and again +shining in the sunlight. Often Lane would have to duck his head to +get under the alders and willows. Here in an overshadowed bend of the +stream a heron rose lumbering from his weedy retreat and winged his +slow flight away out of sight; a water wagtail, that cunning sentinel +of the brooks, gave a startled _tweet! tweet!_ and went flitting like +a gray streak of light round the bend. + +"Daren, please don't be so energetic," said Mel, nervously. + +"I'm strong as a horse now. I'm--hello! What's that?" + +"I didn't hear anything." + +"I imagined I heard a laugh or shout." + +The stream was widening now as it neared its mouth. Lane was sending +the canoe along swiftly with vigorous strokes. It passed under a +water-gate, round a quick turn in the stream, where a bridge spanned +it, and before Lane had a suspicion of anything unusual he was right +upon a merry picnic party. There were young men and girls resting on +the banks and several sitting on the bridge. Automobiles were parked +back on the bank. + +Lane swore under his breath. He recognized Margaret, Dick Swann and +several other old-time acquaintances and friends of Mel's. + +"Who is it?" asked Mel. Her back was turned. She did not look round, +though she heard voices. + +"It doesn't matter," said Lane, calmly. + +He would have given the world to spare Mel the ordeal before her, but +that was impossible. He put more power into his stroke and the canoe +shot ahead. + +It passed under the bridge, not twenty feet from Margaret Swann. There +was a strange, eager, wondering look in Margaret's clear eyes as she +recognized Mel. Then she seemed to be swallowed up by the green +willows. + +"That was damned annoying," muttered Lane to himself. He could have +met them all face to face without being affected, but he realized how +painful this meeting must be to Mel. These were Mel's old friends. He +had caught Margaret's glance. Old memories came surging back. His gaze +returned to Mel. Her face was grave and sad; her eyes had darkened, +and there was a shadow in them. His glance sought the green-lined +channel ahead. The canoe cut the placid water, turned the last bend, +and glided into the swift river. Soon Lane saw the little cottage +shining white in the light of the setting sun. + +One afternoon, as Lane was returning from the woods, he met a car +coming out of the grassy road that led down to his cottage. As he was +about to step aside, a gay voice hailed him. He waited. The car came +on. It contained Holt Dalrymple and Bessy Bell. + +"Say, don't you dodge us," called Holt. + +"Daren Lane!" screamed Bessy. + +Then the car halted, and with two strides Lane found himself face to +face with the young friends he had not seen for months. Holt appeared +a man now. And Bessy--no longer with bobbed hair--older, taller, +changed incalculably, struck him as having fulfilled her girlish +promise of character and beauty. "Well, it's good to see you +youngsters", said Lane, as he shook hands with them. + +Holt seemed trying to hide emotion. But Bessy, after that first +scream, sat staring at Lane with a growing comprehending light in her +purple eyes. + +Suddenly she burst out. "Daren--you're _well_!... Oh, how glad I am! +Holt, just look at him." + +"I'm looking, Bess. And if he's really Daren Lane, I'll eat him," +responded Holt. + +"This is all I needed to make to-day the happiest day of my life," +said Bessy, with serious sweetness. + +"This? Do you mean meeting me? I'm greatly flattered, Bessy," said +Lane, with a smile. + +Then both a blush and a glow made her radiant. + +"Daren, I'm sixteen to-day. Holt and I are--we're engaged I told +mother, and expected a row. She was really pleased.... And then seeing +you well again. Why, Daren, you've actually got color. Then Holt has +been given a splendid business opportunity.... And--Oh! it's all too +good to be true." + +"Well, of all things!" cried Lane, when he had a chance to speak. "You +two engaged! I--I could never tell you how glad I am." Lane felt that +he could have hugged them both. "I congratulate you with all my heart. +Now Holt--Bessy, make a go of it. You're the luckiest kids in the +world." + +"Daren, we've both had our fling and we've both been hurt," said +Bessy, seriously. "And you bet _we_ know how lucky we are--and what +we owe Daren Lane for our happiness to-day." + +"Bessy, that means a great deal to me," replied Lane, earnestly. "I +know you'll be happy. You have everything to live for. Just be true +to yourself." + +So the moment of feeling passed. + +"We went down to your place," said Holt, "and stayed a while waiting +for you." + +"Daren, I think Mel is lovely. May I not come often to see you both?" +added Bessy. + +"You know how pleased we'll be.... Bessy, do you ever see my sister +Lorna?" asked Lane, hesitantly. + +"Yes, I see her now and then. Only the other day I met her in a store. +Daren, she's getting some sense. She has a better position now. And +she said she was not going with any fellow but Harry." + +"And my mother?" Lane went on. + +"She is quite well, Lorna said. And they are getting along well now. +Lorna hinted that a relative--an uncle, I think, was helping them." + +Lane was silent a moment, too stirred to trust his voice. Presently he +said: "Bessy, your birthday has brought happiness to some one besides +yourself." + +He bade them good-bye and strode on down the hill toward the cottage. +How strangely meetings changed the future! Holt's pride of possession +in Bessy brought poignantly back to Lane his own hidden love for Mel. +And Bessy's rapture of amaze at his improvement in health put Lane +face to face with a possibility he had dreamed of but had never +believed in--that he might live. + +That night was for Lane a sleepless one. He seemed to have traveled in +a dreamy circle, and was now returning to memories and pangs from +which he had long been free. + +Next morning, without any hint to Mel of his intentions, he left the +cottage and made his way into town. Almost he felt as he had upon his +return from France. He dropped in to see his mother and was happy to +find her condition of mind and health improved. She was overjoyed to +see Lane. Her surprise was pitiful. She told him she was sure that he +had recovered. + +It was this matter of his physical condition that had brought Lane +into Middleville. For many months he had resigned himself to death. +And now he could not deny even his morbid fancy that he felt stronger +than at any time since he left France. He had worked hard to try to +get well, but he had never, in his heart, believed that possible. + +Lane called upon Doctor Bronson and asked to be thoroughly examined. +The doctor manifestly found the examination a task of mounting +gratification. At length he concluded. + +"Daren, I told you over a year ago I didn't know of anything that +could save your life," he said. "I didn't. But something _has_ saved +your life. You are thirty pounds heavier and gaining fast. That hole +in your back is healed. Your lungs are nearly normal. You have only to +be careful of a very violent physical strain. That weak place in your +back seems gone.... You're going to _live_, my boy.... There has been +some magic at work. I'm very happy about it. How little doctors know!" + +Dazed and stunned by this intelligence, Lane left the doctor's +residence and turned through town on his way homeward. As he plodded +on, he began to realize the marvelous truth. What would Blair say? He +hurried to a telephone exchange to acquaint his friend with the +strange thing that had happened. But Blair had been taken to a +sanitarium in the mountains. Lane hurried out of town into the +country, down the river road, to the cottage, there to burst in upon +Mel. + +"Daren!" she cried, in alarm. "What's happened?" + +She rose unsteadily, her eyes dilating. + +"Doctor Bronson said--I was--well," panted Lane. + +"Oh!... Daren, is _that_ it?" she replied, with a wonderful light +coming to her face. "I've known that for weeks." + +"After all--I'm not going--to die!... My God!" + +Lane rushed out and strode along the river, and followed the creek +into the woods. Once hidden in the leafy recesses he abandoned himself +to a frenzy of rapture. What he had given up had come back to him. +Life! And he lay on his back with his senses magnified to an intense +degree. + +The day was late in June, and a rich, thick amber light floated +through the glades of the forest. Majestic white clouds sailed in the +deep blue sky. The sun shone hot down into the glades. Under the pines +and maples there was a cool sweet shade. Wild flowers bloomed. A +fragrance of the woods came on the gentle breeze. The leaves rustled. +The melancholy song of a hermit thrush pierced the stillness. A crow +cawed from a high oak. The murmur of shallow water running over rocks +came faintly to Lane's ears. + +Lane surrendered utterly to the sheer primitive exultation of life. +The supreme ecstasy of that hour could never have been experienced but +for the long hopeless months which had preceded it. For a long time he +lay there in a transport of the senses, without thinking. As soon as +thought regained dominance over his feelings there came a subtle +change in his reaction to this situation. + +He had forgotten much. He had lived in a dream. He had unconsciously +grown well. He had been strangely, unbelievably happy. Why? Mel Iden +had nursed him, loved him, inspired him back to health. Her very +presence near him, even unseen, had been a profound happiness. He made +the astonishing discovery that for months he had thought of little +else besides his wife. He had lived a lonely life, in his room, and in +the open, but all of it had been dominated by his dreams and fancies +and emotions about her. He had roused from his last illness with the +past apparently dead. There was no future. So he lived in the moment, +the hour. While he lay awake in the silence of night, or toiled over +his wood pile, or wandered by the brook under the trees, his dreamy +thoughts centered about her. And now the truth burst upon him. His +love for her had been stronger than his ruined health and blasted +life, stronger than misfortune, stronger than death. It had made him +well. He had not now to face death, but life. And the revelation +brought on shuddering dread. + +Lane lingered in the woods until late afternoon. Then he felt forced +to return to the cottage. The look of the whole world seemed changed. +All was actual, vivid, striking. Mel's loveliness burst upon him as +new and strange and terrible as the fact of his recovery. He had +hidden his secret from her. He had been like a brother, kind, +thoughtful, gay at times, always helpful. But he had remained aloof. +He had basked in the sunshine of her presence, dreamily reveling in +the consciousness of what she was to him. That hour had passed +forever. + +He saw her now as his wife, a girl still, one who had been cruelly +wronged by life, who had turned her back upon the past and who lived +for him alone. She had beauty and brains, a wonderful voice, and +personality that might have fitted her for any career or station in +life. She thought only of him. She had found content in ministering to +him. She was noble and good. + +In the light of these truths coming to him, Lane took stock of his +love for Mel. It had come to be too mighty a thing to understand in a +moment. He lived with it in the darkness of midnight and in the +loneliness of the hills. He had never loved Helen. Always he had loved +Mel Iden--all his life. Clear as a crystal he saw the truth. The war +with its ruin for both of them had only augmented the powers to love. +Lane's year of agony in Middleville had been the mere cradling of a +mounting and passionate love. He must face it now, no longer in dreamy +lulled unconsciousness, but in all its insidious and complex meaning. +The spiritual side of it had not changed. This girl with the bloom of +woman's loveliness upon her, with her grace and sweetness and fire, +with the love that comes only once in life, belonged to him, was his +wife. She did not try to hide anything. She was unconscious of appeal. +Her wistfulness came from her lonely soul. + +The longer Lane dwelt on this matter of his love for Mel the deeper he +found it, the more inexplicable and alluring. And when at last it +stood out appallingly, master of him, so beautiful and strange and +bitter, he realized that between him and Mel was an insurmountable and +indestructible barrier. + +Then came storm and strife of soul. Night and day the conflict went +on. Outwardly he did not show much sign of his trouble, though he +often caught Mel's dark eyes upon him, sadly conjecturing. He worked +in the garden; he fished the creek, and rowed miles on the river; he +wandered in the woods. And the only change that seemed to rise out of +his tumult was increasing love for this girl with whom his fate had +been linked. + +So once more Lane became a sufferer, burdened by pangs, a wanderer +along the naked and lonely shore of grief. His passion and his ideal +were at odds. Unless he changed his nature, his reverence for +womanhood, he could never realize the happiness that might become his. +All that he had sacrificed had indeed been in vain. But he had been +true to himself. His pity for Mel was supreme. It was only by the most +desperate self-control that he could resist taking her in his arms, +confessing his love, swearing with lying lips he had forgotten the +wrong done her and asking her to face the future as his loving wife. +The thought was maddening. It needed no pity for Mel to strengthen it. +He needed love. He needed to fulfill his life. + +But Lane did not yield, though he knew that if he continued to live +with Mel, in time the sweetness and enchantment of her would be too +great for him. This he confessed. + +More and more he had to fight his jealousy and the treacherous +imagination that would create for him scenes of torment. He cursed +himself as base and ignoble. Yet the truth was always there. If Mel +had only loved the father of her child--if she had only loved blindly +and passionately as a woman--it would have been different. But her +sacrifice had not been one of love. It had been one of war. It had the +nobility of woman's sacrifice to the race. But as an individual she +had perished. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +Summer waned. The long hot days dragged by. The fading rushes along +the river drooped wearily over their dry beds. The yellowing leaves of +the trees hung dejected; they were mute petitioners for cool breezes +and rain. The grasshoppers chirped monotonously, the locusts screeched +shrilly, both being products of the long hot summer, and survivors of +the heat, inclined to voice their exultation far into the fall season. + +September yielded them full sway, and burned away day by day, week by +week, dusty and scorching, without even a promise of rain. October, +however, dawned, misty and dark; the clouds crept up reluctantly at +first and then, as if to make amends for neglect, trooped black and +threatening toward the zenith. Storm followed storm, and at evening, +after the violent crashing thunder and vivid lightning and driving +torrents of rain had ceased, a soft, steady downpour persisted all +night and all the next day. + +The drought was broken. A rainy fall season was prophesied. The old +danger of the river rising in flood was feared. + +After the sear and lifeless color of the fields and forests, what a +welcome relief to Daren Lane were the freshened green, the dawning +red, the tinging gold! The forest on the hill was soft and warm, and +but for the gleams of autumn, would have showed some of the +tenderness of spring. Down in the lowlands a sea of color waved under +a blue, smoky, melancholy haze. + +Lane climbed high that Sunday afternoon and penetrated deep into the +woods. + +There was rest here. The forest was rich, warm with the scent of pine, +of arbor vitae. There was the haunting promise of more brilliant hues. +Thoughts swept through Lane's mind. The great striving world was out +of sight. Here in the gold-flecked shade, under the murmuring pines +and pattering poplars, there was a world full of joy, wise in its +teaching, significant of the glory that was fading but which would +come again. + +Lane loved the low hills, the deep, colorful woods in autumn. There he +lost himself. He learned. Silence and solitude taught him. From there +he had vision of the horde of men righting down the false impossible +trails of the world. He felt the sweetness, the frailty, the +dependence, the glory and the doom of women battling with life. He +realized the hopeless traits of human nature. Like dead scales his +egotism dropped from him. He divined the weaving of chances, the +unknown and unnamed, the pondering fates in store. The dominance of +pain over all--the wraith of the past--the importunity of a future +never to be gained--the insistence of nature, ever-pressing closer its +ruthless claims--all these which became intelligible to Lane, could +not keep life from looming sweet, hopeful, wonderful, worthy man's +best fight. + +And sometimes the old haunting voices whispered to him out of the +river shadows--deeper, different, strangely more unintelligible than +ever before, calling more to his soul. + +Next morning Lane got up at the usual hour and went outdoors, but +returned almost immediately. + +"The river is rising fast. Listen. Hear that roar. There's a regular +old Niagara just below." + +"I imagined that roar was the wind." + +"The water has come up three feet since daylight. I guess I'll go down +now and pull in some driftwood." + +"Oh, Daren! Don't be so adventurous. When the river is high there's a +dangerous rapid below." + +"You're right about that. But I won't take any risks. I can easily +manage the boat, and I'll be careful." + +The following three days it rained incessantly. Outside, on the gravel +walks, there was a ceaseless drip, drip, drip. + +Friday evening the rain ceased, the murky clouds cleared away and for +a few moments a rainbow mingled its changing hues with the ruddy glow +of the setting sun. The next day dawned bright and dear. + +Lane was indeed grateful for a change. Mel had been unaccountably +depressed during those gloomy days. And it worried him that this +morning she did not appear her usual self. + +"Mel, are you well?" he asked. + +"Yes, I am perfectly well," she replied. "I couldn't sleep much last +night on account of that roar." + +"Don't wonder. This flood will be the greatest ever known in +Middleville." + +"Yes, and that makes more suffering for the poor." + +"There are already many homeless. It's fortunate our cottage is +situated on this high bank. Just look! I declare, jostling logs and +whirling drifts! There's a pen of some kind with an object upon it." + +"It's a pig. Oh! poor piggy!" said Mel, compassionately. + +A hundred yards out in the rushing yellow current a small house or +shed drifted swiftly down stream. Upon it stood a pig. The animal +seemed to be stolidly contemplating the turbid flood as if unaware of +its danger. + +Here the river was half a mile wide, and full of trees, stumps, +fences, bridges, sheds--all kinds of drifts. Just below the cottage +the river narrowed between two rocky cliffs and roared madly over +reefs and rocks which at a low stage of water furnished a playground +for children. But now that space was terrible to look upon and the +dull roar, with a hollow boom at intervals, was dreadful to hear. + +"Daren--I--I've kept something from you," said Mel, nervously. "I +should have told you yesterday." + +"What?" interrupted Lane, sharply. + +"It's this. It's about poor Blair.... He--he's dead!" + +Lane stared at her white face as if it were that of a ghost. + +"Blair! You should have told me. I must go to see him." + +It was not a long ride from the terminus of the car line to where the +Maynards lived, yet measured by Lane's growing distress of mind it +seemed a never-ending journey. + +He breathed a deep breath of relief when he got off the car, and when +the Maynard homestead loomed up dark and silent, he hung back +slightly. A maid admitted Lane, and informed him that Mr. Maynard was +ill and Mrs. Maynard would not see any one. Margaret was not at home. +The maid led Lane across the hall into the drawing-room and left him +alone. + +In the middle of the room stood a long black cloth-covered box. Lane +stepped forward. Upon the dark background, in striking contrast, lay a +white, stern face, marble-like in its stone-cold rigidity. Blair, his +comrade! + +The moment Lane saw the face, his strange fear and old gloomy +bitterness returned. Something shot through him which trembled in his +soul. To him the story of Blair's sacrifice was there to read in his +quiet face, and with it was an expression he had never seen, a faint +wonder of relief, which suggested peace. + +How strange to look upon Blair and find him no longer responsive! +Something splendid, loyal, generous, loving had passed away. Gone was +the vital spark that had quickened and glowed to noble thoughts; gone +was the strength that had been weakness; gone the quick, nervous, +high-strung spirit; gone the love that had no recompense. The drawn +face told of physical suffering. Hard Blair had found the world, +bitter the reward of the soldier, wretched the unholy worship of +money and luxury, vain and hollow mockery the home of his boyhood. + +Lane went down the path and out of the gate. He had faint perceptions +of the dark trees along the road. He came to a little pine grove. It +was very quiet. There was a hum of insects, and the familiar, sad, +ever-present swishing of the wind through the trees. He listened to +its soft moan, and it eased the intensity of his feelings. This +emotion was new to him. Death, however, had touched him more than +once. Well he remembered his stunned faculties, the unintelligible +mystery, the awe and the grief consequent on the death of his first +soldier comrade in France. But this was different; it was a strange +disturbance of his heart. Oppression began to weight him down, and a +nameless fear. + +He had to cross the river on his way home to the cottage. In the +middle of the bridge he halted to watch the sliding flood go over the +dam, to see the yellow turgid threshing of waves below. The mystic +voices that had always assailed his ears were now roaring. They had a +message for him. It was death. Had he not just looked upon the tragic +face of his comrade? Out over the tumbling waters Lane's strained gaze +swept, up and down, to and fro, while the agony in his heart reached +its height. The tumult of the flood resembled his soul. He spent an +hour there, then turned slowly homeward. + +He stopped at the cottage gate. It was now almost dark. The evening +star, lonely and radiant, peeped over the black hill. With some +strange working at his heart, with some strange presence felt, Lane +gazed at the brilliant star. How often had he watched it! Out there in +the gloom somewhere, perhaps near at hand, had lurked the grim enemy +waiting for Blair, that now might be waiting for him. He trembled. The +old morbidness knocked at his heart. He shivered again and fought +against something intangible. The old conviction thrust itself upon +him. He had been marked by fate, life, war, death! He knew it; he had +only forgotten. + +"Daren! Daren!" + +Mel's voice broke the spell. Lane made a savage gesture, as if he were +in the act of striking. Thought of Mel recalled the stingingly sweet +and bitter fact of his love, and of life that called so imperiously. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +"If Amanda would only marry me!" sighed Colonel A Pepper, as he +stacked the few dishes on the cupboard shelf and surveyed his untidy +little kitchen with disparaging eyes. + +The once-contented Colonel was being consumed by two great +fires--remorse and love. For more years than he could remember he had +been a victim of a deplorable habit. Then two soft eyes shone into his +life, and in their light he saw things differently, and he tried to +redeem himself. + +Even good fortune, in the shape of some half-forgotten meadow property +suddenly becoming valuable, had not revived his once genial spirits. +Remorse was with him because Miss Hill refused to marry him till he +overcame the habit which had earned him undesirable fame. + +So day by day poor Colonel Pepper grew sicker of his lonely rooms, his +lonely life, and of himself. + +"If Amanda only would," he murmured for the thousandth time, and +taking his hat he went out. The sunshine was bright, but did not give +him the old pleasure. He walked and walked, taking no interest in +anything. Presently he found himself on the outskirts of Middleville +within sound of the muffled roar of the flooded river, and he wandered +in its direction. At sight of the old wooden bridge he remembered he +had read that it was expected to give way to the pressure of the +rushing water. On the levee, which protected the low-lying country +above the city, were crowds of people watching the river. + +"Ye've no rivers loike thot in Garminy," observed a half-drunken +Irishman. He and several more of his kind evidently were teasing a +little German. + +Colonel Pepper had not stood there long before he heard a number of +witticisms from these red-faced men. + +After the manner of his kind the German had stolidly swallowed the +remarks about his big head, and its shock of stubby hair, and his +checked buff trousers; but at reference to his native country his +little blue eyes snapped, and he made a remark that this river was +extremely like one in Germany. + +At this the characteristic contrary spirit of the Irishman burst +forth. + +"Dutchy, I'd loike ye to know ye're exaggeratin'," he said. "Garminy +ain't big enough for a river the loike o' this. An' I'll leave it to +me intilligint-lookin' fri'nd here." + +Colonel Pepper, thus appealed to, blushed, looked embarrassed, +coughed, and then replied that he thought Germany was quite large +enough for such a river. + +"Did ye study gographie?" questioned the Irishman with fine scorn. + +Colonel Pepper retired within himself. + +The unsteady and excitable fellow had been crowded to the rear by his +comrades, who evidently wished to lessen, in some degree, the +possibilities of a fight. + +"Phwat's in thim rivers ye're spoutin' about?" asked one. + +"Vater, ov course." + +"Me wooden-shoed fri'nd, ye mane beer--beer." + +"You insolt me, you red-headed----" + +"Was that Dutchman addressin' of me?" demanded the half-drunken +Irishman, trying to push by his friends. + +"It'd be a foiner river if it wasn't yaller," said a peacemaker, +holding his comrade. + +In the slight scuffle which ensued one of the men unintentionally +jostled the German. His pipe fell to the ground. He bent to recover +it. + +Through Colonel Pepper's whole being shot the lightning of his strange +impulse, a tingling tremor ran over him; a thousand giants lifted and +swung his arm. He fought to check it, but in vain. With his blood +bursting, with his strength expending itself in one irresistible +effort, with his soul expanding in fiendish, unholy glee he brought +his powerful hand down upon the bending German. + +There was a great shout of laughter. + +The German fell forward at length and knocked a man off the levee +wall. Then the laughter changed to excited shouts. + +The wall was steep but not perfectly perpendicular. Several men made +frantic grabs at the sliding figure; they failed, however, to catch +it. Then the man turned over and rolled into the river with a great +splash. Cries of horror followed his disappearance in the muddy water, +and when, an instant later, his head bobbed up yells filled the air. + +No one had time to help him. He tried ineffectually to reach the +levee; then the current whirled him away. The crowd caught a glimpse +of a white despairing face, which rose on the crest of a muddy wave, +and then was lost. + +In the excitement of the moment the Colonel hurried from the spot. +Horror possessed him; he felt no less than a murderer. Again he walked +and walked. Retribution had overtaken him. The accursed habit that had +disgraced him for twenty years had wrought its punishment. Plunged +into despair he plodded along the streets, till at length, out of his +stupefaction, came the question--what would Amanda say? + +With that an overwhelming truth awakened him. He was free. He might +have killed a man, but he certainly had killed his habit. He felt the +thing dead within him. Wildly he gazed around to see where he was, and +thought it a deed of fate that he had unconsciously traveled toward +the home of his love. For there before his eyes was Amanda's cottage +with the red geranium in her window. He ran to the window and tapped +mysteriously and peered within. Then he ran to the door and knocked. +It opened with a vigorous swing. + +"Mr. Pepper, what do you mean--tapping on my window in such +clandestine manner, and in broad daylight, too?" demanded Miss Hill +with a stern voice none of her scholars had ever heard. + +"Amanda, dear, I am a murderer!" cried Pepper, in tones of +unmistakable joy. "I am a murderer, but I'll never do _it_ again." + +"Laws!" exclaimed Miss Hill + +He pushed her aside and closed the door, and got possession of her +hands, all the time pouring out incoherent speech, in which only _it_ +was distinguishable. + +"Man alive! Are you crazy?" asked Miss Hill, getting away from him +into a corner. But it happened to be a corner with a couch, and when +her trembling legs touched it she sat down. + +"Never, never again will I do it!" cried the Colonel, with a grand +gesture. + +"Can you talk sense?" faltered the schoolmistress. + +Colonel Pepper flung himself down beside her, and with many breathless +stops and repetitions and eloquent glances and applications of his +bandana to his heated face, he finally got his tragic story told. + +"Is that all?" inquired Miss Hill, with a touch of sarcasm. "Why, +you're not a murderer, even if the man drowns, which isn't at all +likely. You've only fallen again." + +"Fallen. But I never fell so terribly. This was the worst." + +"Stuff! Where's the chivalry you tried to make me think you were full +of? Didn't you humiliate me, a poor helpless woman? Wasn't that worse? +Didn't you humiliate me before a crowd of people in a candy-store? +Could anything be more monstrous? You did _it_, you remember?" + +"Amanda! Never! Never!" gasped the Colonel. + +"You did, and I let you think I believed your lies." + +"Amanda! I'll never do it again, never to any one, so long as I live. +It's dead, same as the card tricks. Forgive me, Amanda, and marry me. +I'm so fond of you, and I'm so lonely, and those meadow lots of mine, +they'll make me rich. Amanda, would you marry me? Would you love an +old duffer like me? Would you like a nice little home, and an +occasional silk dress, and no more teaching, and some one to love +you--always? Would you, Amanda, would you?" + +"Yes, I would," replied Amanda. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +Lane was returning from a restless wandering in the woods. As he +neared the flooded river he thought he heard a shout for help. He +hurried down to the bank, and looked around him, but saw no living +thing. Then he was brought up sharply by a cry, the unmistakable +scream of a human being in distress. It seemed to come from behind a +boathouse. Running as far round the building as the water would permit +he peered up and down the river in both directions. + +At first he saw only the half-submerged float, the sunken hull of a +launch, the fast-running river, and across the wide expanse of muddy +water the outline of the levee. Suddenly he spied out in the river a +piece of driftwood to which a man was clinging. + +"Help! Help!" came faintly over the water. + +Lane glanced quickly about him. Several boats were pulled up on the +shore, one of which evidently had been used by a boatman collecting +driftwood that morning, for it contained oars and a long pike-pole. +The boat was long, wide of beam, and flat of bottom, with a sharp bow +and a blunt stern, a craft such as experienced rivermen used for heavy +work. Without a moment's hesitation Lane shoved it into the water and +sprang aboard. + +Meanwhile, short though the time had been, the log with its human +freight had disappeared beyond the open space in the willows. + +Although Lane pulled a powerful stroke, when he got out of the slack +water into the current, so swift was it that the boat sheered abruptly +and went down stream with a sweep. Marking the piece of driftwood and +aided by the swiftly running stream Lane soon overhauled it. + +The log which the man appeared to be clutching was a square piece of +timber, probably a beam of a bridge, for it was long and full of +spikes. When near enough Lane saw that the fellow was not holding on +but was helpless and fast on the spikes. His head and arms were above +water. + +Lane steered the boat alongside and shouted to the man. As he made no +outcry or movement, Lane, after shipping the oars, reached over and +grasped his collar. Steadying himself, so as not to overturn the boat, +Lane pulled him half-way over the gunwale, and then with a second +effort, he dragged him into the boat. + +The man evidently had fainted after his last outcry. His body slipped +off the seat and flopped to the bottom of the boat where it lay with +the white face fully exposed to the glare of the sun. A broad scar, +now doubly sinister in the pallid face, disfigured the brow. + +Lane recoiled from the well-remembered features of Richard Swann. + +"God Almighty!" he cried. And his caustic laughter rolled out over the +whirling waters. The boat, now disengaged from the driftwood, floated +swiftly down the river. + +Lane stared in bewilderment at Swann's pale features. His amazement at +being brought so strangely face to face with this man made him deaf +to the increasing roar of the waters and blind to the greater momentum +of the boat. + +A heavy thump, a grating sound and splintering of wood, followed by a +lurch of the boat and a splashing of cold water in his face brought +Lane back to a realization of the situation. + +He looked up from the white face of the unconscious man. The boat had +turned round. He saw a huge stone that poked its ugly nose above the +water. He turned his face down stream. A sea of irregular waves, +twisting currents, dark, dangerous rocks and patches of swirling foam +met his gaze. + +When Lane stood up, with a boatman's instinct, to see the water far +ahead, the spectacle thrilled him. A yellow flood, in changeful yet +consistent action, rolled and whirled down the wide incline between +the stony banks, and lost itself a mile below in a smoky veil of mist. +Visions of past scenes whipped in and out his mind, and he saw an +ocean careening and frothing under a golden moon; a tide sweeping +down, curdled with sand, a grim stream of silt, rushing on with the +sullen sweep of doom and the wildfire of the prairie, leaping, +cavorting, reaching out, turning and shooting, irresistibly borne +under the lash of the wind. He saw in the current a live thing freeing +itself in terror. + +A roar, like the blending of a thousand storms among the pines, filled +his ears and muffled his sense of hearing and appalled him. He sat +down with his cheeks blanching, his skin tightening, his heart +sinking, for in that roar he heard death. Escape was impossible. The +end he had always expected was now at hand. But he was not to meet it +alone. The man who had ruined his sister and so many others must go to +render his accounting, and in this justice of fate Lane felt a +wretched gratification. + +The boat glanced with a hard grind on a rock and shot down a long +yellow incline; a great curling wave whirled back on Lane; a heavy +shock sent him flying from his seat; a gurgling demoniacal roar +deafened his ears and a cold eager flood engulfed him. He was drawn +under, as the whirlpool sucks a feather; he was tossed up, as the wind +throws a straw. The boat bobbed upright near him. He grasped the +gunwale and held on. + +It bounced on the buffeting waves and rode the long swells like a +cork; it careened on the brink of falls and glided over them; it +thumped on hidden stones and floating logs; it sped by black-nosed +rocks; it drifted through fogs of yellow mist; it ran on piles of +driftwood; it trembled with the shock of beating waves and twisted +with the swirling current. + +Still Lane held on with a vise-like clutch. + +Suddenly he seemed to feel some mighty propelling force under him; he +rose high with the stern of the boat. Then the bow pitched down into a +yawning hole. A long instant he and the boat slid down a glancing +fall--then thunderous roar--furious contending wrestle--cold, yellow, +flying spray--icy, immersing, enveloping blackness! + +A giant tore his hands from the boat. He whirled round and round as he +sank. A languid softness stole over him. He saw the smile of his +mother, the schoolmate of his boyhood, the old attic where he played +on rainy days, and the spotted cows in the pasture and the running +brook. He saw himself a tall young man, favorite of all, winning his +way in life that was bright. + +Then terrible blows of his heart hammered at his ribs, throbs of +mighty pain burst his brain; great constrictions of his throat choked +him. He began fighting the encompassing waters with frenzied strength. +Up and up he fought his way to see at last the light, to gasp at the +air. But the flood sucked at him, a weight pulled at his feet. As he +went down again something hard struck him. With the last instinctive +desperate love of life in his action he flung out his hand and grasped +the saving thing. It was the boat. He hooked his elbow over the +gunwale. Then darkness filmed over his eyes and he seemed to feel +himself whirling round and round, round and round. A long time, +seemingly, he whirled, while the darkness before his eyes gave way to +smoky light, his dead ears awoke to confused blur of sound. But the +weight on his numb legs did not lessen. + +All at once the boat grated on a rock, and his knees struck. He lay +there holding on while life and sense seemed to return. Something +black and awful retreated. Then the rush and roar of the rapids was +again about him. He saw that he had drifted into a back eddy behind +the ledge of rock, and had whirled slowly round and round with a +miscellaneous collection of driftwood. + +Lane steadied himself on the slippery ledge and got to his feet. The +boat was half full of water, out of which Swarm's ghastly face +protruded. By dint of great effort Lane pulled it sideways on the +ledge, and turned most of the water out. + +Swann lay limp and sodden. But for his eyes he would have appeared +dead, and they shone with a conscious light of terror, of passionate +appeal and hope, the look with which a man prayed for his life. +Presently his lips moved imperceptibly. "Save me! for God's sake, save +me!" + +Shuddering emotion that had the shock of electricity shook Lane. In +his ears again rang the sullen, hollow, reverberating boom of the +flood. Here was the man who had done most to harm him, begging to be +saved. Swann, poor wretch, was afraid to die; he feared the unknown; +he had a terror of that seething turmoil of waters; he could not face +the end of that cold ride. Why? + +"Fool!" Lane cried, glaring wildly about him. Was it another dream? +Unreality swayed him again. He heard the roar, he saw the splitting +white-crested waves, the clouds of yellow vapor. He beat his numb legs +and shook himself like a savage dog. Then he made a discovery--in some +way he could not account for, the oars had remained in the boat. They +had been loose in their oar-locks. + +Questions formed in Lane's mind, questions that seemed put by a +dawning significance. Why had he heard the cry for help? Why had he +found the boat? Why had the drowning man proved to be one of two men +on earth he hated, one of the two men whom he wanted to kill? Why had +he drifted into the rapids? Why had he come safely through a vortex of +death? Why had Swann's lips formed that prayer? Why had the oars +remained in the boat? + +Far below over the choppy sea of waves he saw a bridge. It was his old +familiar resting place. Through the white enveloping glow he seemed to +see himself standing on that bridge. Then came to him a strange +revelation. Yesterday he had stood on that bridge, after seeing Blair +for the last time. He had stood there while he lived through an hour +of the keenest anguish that had come to him; and in that agony he had +watched the plunging river. He had watched it with eyes that could +never forget. His mind, exquisitely alive, with the sensibility of a +plexus of racked and broken nerves, had taken up every line, every +channel and stone and rapid of that flood, and had engraved them in +ineffaceable characters. With the unintelligible vagary of thought, +while his breast seemed crushed, his heart broken, he had imagined +himself adrift on that surging river, and he had planned his escape +through the rapids. + +As Lane stood on the ledge, knee-deep in the water, with the certainty +that he had a perfect photograph of the field of tumbling waters below +in his mind's eye, a strange voice seemed to whisper in his ear. + +_"This is your great trial!"_ + +Without further hesitation he shoved the boat off the ledge. + +Round and round the back eddy he floated. At the outlet on the +down-stream side, where the gleaming line of foam marked the escape of +water into the on-rushing current, he whirled his boat, stern ahead. +Down he shot with a plunge and then up with a rise. Racing on over +the uneven swells he felt the hissing spray, and the malignant tips of +the waves that broke their fury on the boat and expended it in a +shower of stinging drops. The wind cut his face. He rode a sea of +foam, then turgid rolling mounds of water that heaved him up and up, +and down long planes that laughed with hollow boom, then into channels +of smooth current, where the torrent wreathed the black stones in +yellowish white. + +Lane saw the golden sun, the blue sky, the fleecy clouds, the red and +purple of the colored hills; and felt his chest expand with the +mounting glory of great effort. The muscles of his back and arms, +strengthened by the long toil with his heavy axe, rippled and swelled +and burned, and stretched like rubber cords, and strung tight like +steel bands. The boat was a toy. + +He rodes the waves, and threaded a labyrinth of ugly stones, and shot +an unobstructed channel, and evaded a menacing drift. The current +carried him irresistibly onward. When his keen eye caught danger ahead +he sunk the oars deep and pulled back. A powerful stroke made the boat +pause, another turned her bow to the right or left, then the swift +water hitting her obliquely sheered her in the safe direction. So Lane +kept afloat through the spray that smelled fresh and dank, through the +crash and surge and roar and boom, through the boiling caldron. + +The descent quickened. On! On! he was borne with increasing velocity. +The yellow demons rose in fury. Boo--oom! Boo--oom! The old river god +voiced his remorseless roar. The shrill screaming shriek of splitting +water on sharp stones cut into the boom. On! On! Into the yellow mist +that might have been smoke from hell streaked the boat, out upon a +curving billow, then down! down! upon an upheaving curl of frothy +water. The river, like a huge yellow mound, hurled its mass at Lane. +All was fog and steam and whistling spray and rumble. + +At length the boat swept out into the open with a long plunge over the +last bit of roughened water. Here the current set in a curve to the +left, running off the rocky embankment into the natural channel of the +river. The dam was now only a couple of hundred yards distant. The +water was smooth and the drift had settled to a slow, ponderous, +sliding movement. + +Lane pulled powerfully against the current and toward the right-hand +shore. That was closest. Besides, he remembered a long sluice at the +end of the dam where the water ran down as on a mill-race. If he could +row into that! + +In front of Lane, extending some distance, was a broad unbroken +expanse of water leading to the dam. A tremendous roar issued from +that fall. The muddy spray and mist rose high. To drift over there +would be fatal. Logs and pieces of debris were kept rolling there for +hours before some vagary of current caught them and released them. + +Lane calculated the distance with cunning eye. He had been an expert +boatman all his boyhood days. By the expenditure of his last bit of +reserve strength he could make the sluice. And he redoubled his +efforts to such an extent that the boat scarcely went down stream at +all, yet edged closer to the right hand shore. Lane saw a crowd of +people on the bridge below the dam. They were waving encouragement. He +saw men run down the steep river bank below the mill; and he knew they +were going to be ready to assist him if he were fortunate enough to +ride down the sluice into the shallow backwater on that side. + +Rowing now with the most powerful of strokes, Lane kept the bow of the +boat upstream and a little to the right. Thus he gained more toward +the shore. But he must time the moment when it would be necessary to +turn sharply. + +"I can--make--it," muttered Lane. He felt no excitement. The thing had +been given him to do. His strokes were swift, but there was no hurry. + +Suddenly he felt a strange catching of breath in his lungs. He +coughed. Blood, warm and salt, welled up from his throat. Then his +bitter, strangled cry went out over the waters. At last he understood +the voices of the river. + +Lane quickened his strokes. He swung the bow in. He pointed it +shoreward. Straight for the opening of the sluice! His last strokes +were prodigious. The boat swung the right way and shot into the +channel. Lane dropped his oars. He saw men below wading knee-deep in +the water. The boat rode the incline, down to the long swell and +curled yellow billows below, where it was checked with violent shock. +Lane felt himself propelled as if into darkness. + +When Lane opened his eyes he recognized as through a veil the little +parlor of the Idens. All about him seemed dim and far away. Faces and +voices were there, indistinguishable. A dark cloud settled over his +eyes. He dreamed but could not understand the dreams. The black veil +came and went. + +What was the meaning of the numbness of his body? The immense weight +upon his breast! Then it seemed he saw better, though he could not +move. Sunlight streamed in at the window. Outside were maple leaves, +gold and red and purple, swaying gently. Then a great roaring sound +seemed to engulf him. The rapids? The voice of the river. + +Then Mel was there kneeling beside him. All save her face grew vague. + +"Swann?" he whispered. + +"You saved his life," said Mel. + +"Ah!" And straightway he forgot. "Mel--what's--wrong--with me?" + +Mel's face was like white marble and her hands on his trembled +violently. She could not answer. But he knew. There seemed to be a +growing shadow in the room. Her eyes held a terrible darkness. + +"Mel, I--never told--you," he whispered. "I married you--because I +loved you.... But I was--jealous.... I hated.... I couldn't forgive. +I couldn't understand.... Now I know. There's a law no woman--can +transgress. Soul and love are the same--in a woman. They must be +inviolable.... If I could have lived--I'd have surrendered to you. For +I loved you--beyond words to tell. It was love that made me well.... +But we could not have been happy. Never, with that spectre between +us.... And, so--it must be--always.... In spite of war--and wealth--in +spite of men--women must rise...." + +His voice failed, and again the strange rush and roar enveloped him. +But it seemed internal, dimmer and farther away. Mel's face was +fading. She spoke. And her words were sweet, without meaning. Then the +fading grayness merged into night. + + +THE END + + + + + + +_There's More to Follow!_ + + More stories of the sort you like; more, probably, by + the author of this one; more than 500 titles all told + by writers of world-wide reputation, in the Authors' + Alphabetical List which you will find on the _reverse + side_ of the wrapper of this book. Look it over before + you lay it aside. There are books here you are sure to + want--some, possibly, that you have _always_ wanted. + + It is a _selected_ list; every book in it has achieved + a certain measure of _success_. + + The Grosset & Dunlap list is not only the greatest + Index of Good Fiction available, it represents in + addition a generally accepted Standard of Value. It + will pay you to + +_Look on the Other Side of the Wrapper_! + + _In case the wrapper is lost write to the publishers + for a complete catalog_ + + + + ZANE GREY'S NOVELS + + May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & + Dunlap's list. + + TO THE LAST MAN + THE MYSTERIOUS RIDER + THE MAN OF THE FOREST + THE DESERT OF WHEAT + THE U.P. TRAIL + WILDFIRE + THE BORDER LEGION + THE RAINBOW TRAIL + THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT + RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE + THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS + THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN + THE LONE STAR RANGER + DESERT GOLD + BETTY ZANE + + LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS + + The life story of "Buffalo Bill" by his sister Helen + Cody Wetmore, with Foreword and conclusion by Zane + Grey. + + + ZANE GREY'S BOOKS FOR BOYS + KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE + THE YOUNG LION HUNTER + THE YOUNG FORESTER + THE YOUNG PITCHER + THE SHORT STOP + THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER BASEBALL STORIES + + + GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK + + + + + + B.M. BOWER'S NOVELS + + May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset + and Dunlap's list. + + THE EAGLE'S WING + THE PAROWAN BONANZA + THE VOICE AT JOHNNYWATER + CASEY RYAN + CHIP OF THE FLYING U + COW-COUNTRY + FLYING U RANCH + FLYING U'S LAST STAND, THE + GOOD INDIAN + GRINGOS, THE + HAPPY FAMILY, THE + HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT + HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX, THE + LONG SHADOW, THE + LONESOME TRAIL, THE + LOOKOUT MAN, THE + LURE OF THE DIM TRAILS, THE + PHANTOM HERD, THE + QUIRT, THE + RANGE DWELLERS, THE + RIM O' THE WORLD + SKYRIDER + STARR OF THE DESERT + THUNDER BIRD, THE + TRAIL OF THE WHITE MULE, THE + UPHILL CLIMB, THE + + GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK + + + + + + GEORGE W. OGDEN'S WESTERN NOVELS + + May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & + Dunlap's list. + + THE BARON OF DIAMOND TAIL + + The Elk Mountain Cattle Co. had not paid a dividend in + years; so Edgar Barrett, fresh from the navy, was sent + West to see what was wrong at the ranch. The tale of + this tenderfoot outwitting the buckaroos at their own + play will sweep you into the action of this salient + western novel. + + THE BONDBOY + + Joe Newbolt, bound out by force of family conditions + to work for a number of years, is accused of murder + and circumstances are against him. His mouth is + sealed; he cannot, as a gentleman, utter the words + that would clear him. A dramatic, romantic tale of + intense interest. + + CLAIM NUMBER ONE + + Dr. Warren Slavens drew claim number one, which + entitled him to first choice of rich lands on an + Indian reservation in Wyoming. It meant a fortune; but + before he established his ownership he had a hard + battle with crooks and politicians. + + THE DUKE OF CHIMNEY BUTTE + + When Jerry Lambert, "the Duke," attempts to safeguard + the cattle ranch of Vesta Philbrook from thieving + neighbors, his work is appallingly handicapped because + of Grace Kerr, one of the chief agitators, and a + deadly enemy of Vesta's. A stirring tale of brave + deeds, gun-play and a love that shines above all. + + THE FLOCKMASTER OF POISON CREEK + + John Mackenzie trod the trail from Jasper to the great + sheep country where fortunes were being made by the + flock-masters. Shepherding was not a peaceful pursuit + in those bygone days. Adventure met him at every + turn--there is a girl of course--men fight their best + fights for a woman--it is an epic of the sheeplands. + + THE LAND OF LAST CHANCE + + Jim Timberlake and Capt. David Scott waited with + restless thousands on the Oklahoma line for the signal + to dash across the border. How the city of Victory + arose overnight on the plains, how people savagely + defended their claims against the "sooners;" how good + men and bad played politics, makes a strong story of + growth and American initiative. + + TRAIL'S END + + Ascalon was the end of the trail for thirsty cowboys + who gave vent to their pent-up feelings without + restraint. Calvin Morgan was not concerned with its + wickedness until Seth Craddock's malevolence directed + itself against him. He did not emerge from the + maelstrom until he had obliterated every vestige of + lawlessness, and assured himself of the safety of a + certain dark-eyed girl. + +_Ask for Complete free list of G.&D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_ + + GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK + + + + + + EMERSON HOUGH'S NOVELS + + May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset + and Dunlap's list + + THE COVERED WAGON + NORTH OF 36 + THE WAY OF A MAN + THE STORY OF THE OUTLAW + THE SAGEBRUSHER + THE GIRL AT THE HALFWAY HOUSE + THE WAY OUT + THE MAN NEXT DOOR + THE MAGNIFICENT ADVENTURE + THE BROKEN GATE + THE STORY OF THE COWBOY + THE WAY TO THE WEST + 54-40 OR FIGHT + HEART'S DESIRE + THE MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE + THE PURCHASE PRICE + + + GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK + + + + + + PETER B. KYNE'S NOVELS + + May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & + Dunlap's list. + + + THE PRIDE OF PALOMAR + + When two strong men clash and the under-dog has Irish + blood in his veins--there's a tale that Kyne can tell! + And "the girl" is also very much in evidence. + + + KINDRED OF THE DUST + + Donald McKay, son of Hector McKay, millionaire lumber + king, falls in love with "Nan of the Sawdust Pile," a + charming girl who has been ostracized by her + townsfolk. + + + THE VALLEY OF THE GIANTS + + The fight of the Cardigans, father and son, to hold + the Valley of the Giants against treachery. The reader + finishes with a sense of having lived with big men and + women in a big country. + + + CAPPY RICKS + + The story of old Cappy Ricks and of Matt Peasley, the + boy he tried to break because he knew the acid test + was good for his soul. + + + WEBSTER: MAN'S MAN + + In a little Jim Crow Republic in Central America, a + man and a woman, hailing from the "States," met up + with a revolution and for a while adventures and + excitement came so thick and fast that their love + affair had to wait for a lull in the game. + + + CAPTAIN SCRAGGS + + This sea yarn recounts the adventures of three + rapscallion sea-faring men--a Captain Scraggs, owner + of the green vegetable freighter Maggie, Gibney the + mate and McGuffney the engineer. + + + THE LONG CHANCE + + A story fresh from the heart of the West, of San + Pasqual, a sun-baked desert town, of Harley P. + Hennage, the best gambler, the best and worst man of + San Pasqual and of lovely Donna. + + + GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK + + + + + + JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD'S + + STORIES OF ADVENTURE + + May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & + Dunlap's list. + + + THE COUNTRY BEYOND + THE FLAMING FOREST + THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN + THE RIVER'S END + THE GOLDEN SNARE + NOMADS OF THE NORTH + KAZAN + BAREE, SON OF KAZAN + THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM + THE DANGER TRAIL + THE HUNTED WOMAN + THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH + THE GRIZZLY KING + ISOBEL + THE WOLF HUNTERS + THE GOLD HUNTERS + HE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE + BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY + +_Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_ + + GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK + + + + + + BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS + + May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & + Dunlap's list. + + SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown. + + No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed + the immortal young people of this story. Its humor is + irresistible and reminiscent of the time when the + reader was Seventeen. + + PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant. + + This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the + lovable, humorous, tragic things which are locked + secrets to most older folks. It is a finished, + exquisite work. + + PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm. + + Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen," this book contains some + remarkable phases of real boyhood and some of the best + stories of juvenile prankishness that have ever been + written. + + THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C.E. Chambers. + + Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who + revolts against his father's plans for him to be a + servitor of big business. The love of a fine girl + turns Bibb's life from failure to success. + + THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece. + + A story of love and politics,--more especially a + picture of A country editor's life in Indiana, but the + charm of the book lies in the love interest. + + THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. + + The "Flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one + girl's engagement, drives one man to suicide, causes + the murder of another, leads another to lose his + fortune, and in the end marries a stupid and + unpromising suitor, leaving the really worthy one to + marry her sister. + +_Ask for Complete free lilt of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_ + + GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK + + + + + + NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE + + WILLIAM MAC LEOD RAINE + + May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset + and Dunlap's list. + + BIG-TOWN ROUND-UP, THE + BRAND BLOTTERS + BUCKY O'CONNOR + CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT + DAUGHTER OF THE DONS, A + GUNSIGHT PASS + HIGHGRADER, THE + MAN FOUR-SQUARE, A + MAN-SIZE + MAVERICKS + OH, YOU TEX! + PIRATE OF PANAMA, THE + RIDGWAY OF MONTANA + SHERIFF'S SON, THE + STEVE YEAGER + TANGLED TRAILS + TEXAS RANGER, A + VISION SPLENDID, THE + WYOMING + YUKON TRAIL, THE + + + GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Day of the Beast, by Zane Grey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAY OF THE BEAST *** + +***** This file should be named 15673.txt or 15673.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/6/7/15673/ + +Produced by Alicia Williams, Sankar Viswanathan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/15673.zip b/15673.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e7e11be --- /dev/null +++ b/15673.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..eed0968 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #15673 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15673) |