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diff --git a/35512-h/35512-h.htm b/35512-h/35512-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..db449e0 --- /dev/null +++ b/35512-h/35512-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6494 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Daughter of the Vine, by Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton</title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + td {vertical-align: top;} + + hr.large {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.medium {width: 45%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + + div.centered {text-align:center;} /*work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 1 */ + div.centered table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; text-align:left;} /* work around for IE problem part 2 */ + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + .smallgap {margin-top: 1.5em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + .largerfont {font-size: 120%;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Daughter of the Vine, by Gertrude Franklin +Horn Atherton</h1> +<pre> +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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: A Daughter of the Vine</p> +<p>Author: Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton</p> +<p>Release Date: March 7, 2011 [eBook #35512]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DAUGHTER OF THE VINE***</p> +<p> </p> +<h4>E-text prepared by D Alexander<br /> + and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br /> + from page images generously made available by Internet Archive<br /> + (<a href="http://www.archive.org">http://www.archive.org</a>)</h4> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Note: + </td> + <td> + Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive. See + <a href="http://www.archive.org/details/daughterofvine00atheuoft"> + http://www.archive.org/details/daughterofvine00atheuoft</a> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>A DAUGHTER OF<br /> +THE VINE</h1> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h2>GERTRUDE ATHERTON</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Author of</i><br /> +<i>“Senator North,” “The Californians,” etc.</i></p> + +<p class="smallgap"> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 106px;"> +<img src="images/i001.jpg" width="106" height="100" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="smallgap"> </p> + +<h3>NEW YORK</h3> + +<h2>DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY</h2> + +<h3>1923</h3> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p class="center"><i>Copyright, 1899</i><br /> +By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY</p> + +<p class="smallgap"> </p> + +<p class="center">PRINTED IN U. S. A.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" width="45%" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="CONTENTS"> + +<tr> +<td align="center" colspan="2">BOOK I</td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><a href="#I">CHAPTER I</a></td> +<td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#II">CHAPTER II</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><a href="#III">CHAPTER III</a></td> +<td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#IV">CHAPTER IV</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><a href="#V">CHAPTER V</a></td> +<td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#VI">CHAPTER VI</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><a href="#VII">CHAPTER VII</a></td> +<td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><a href="#IX">CHAPTER IX</a></td> +<td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#X">CHAPTER X</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><a href="#XI">CHAPTER XI</a></td> +<td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#XII">CHAPTER XII</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><a href="#XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></td> +<td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><a href="#XV">CHAPTER XV</a></td> +<td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><a href="#XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></td> +<td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#XVIII">CHAPTER VIIII</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><a href="#XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a></td> +<td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#XX">CHAPTER XX</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="center" colspan="2"> </td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="center" colspan="2">BOOK II</td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="center" colspan="2"> </td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><a href="#Book2_I">CHAPTER I</a></td> +<td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#Book2_II">CHAPTER II</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><a href="#Book2_III">CHAPTER III</a></td> +<td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#Book2_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><a href="#Book2_V">CHAPTER V</a></td> +<td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#Book2_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="center" colspan="2"> </td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="center" colspan="2">BOOK III</td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="center" colspan="2"> </td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><a href="#Book3_I">CHAPTER I</a></td> +<td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#Book3_II">CHAPTER II</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><a href="#Book3_III">CHAPTER III</a></td> +<td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#Book3_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><a href="#Book3_V">CHAPTER V</a></td> +<td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#Book3_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><a href="#Book3_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></td> +<td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><a href="#Book3_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="center" colspan="2"> </td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#A_FRAGMENT">A FRAGMENT</a></td></tr> + +</table></div> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> +<h1><a name="A_Daughter_of_the_Vine" id="A_Daughter_of_the_Vine"></a>A Daughter of the Vine</h1> + +<h2>BOOK I</h2> + +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> + +<p>Two horses were laboriously pulling a carriage through the dense +thickets and over the sandhills which in the early Sixties still made an +ugly breach between San Francisco and its Presidio. The difficulties of +the course were not abridged by the temper of the night, which was torn +with wind and muffled in black. During the rare moments when the flying +clouds above opened raggedly to discharge a shaft of silver a broad and +dreary expanse leapt into form. Hills of sand, bare and shifting, huge +boulders, tangles of scrub oak and chaparral, were the distorted +features of the landscape between the high far-away peaks of the city +and the military posts on the water’s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>edge. On the other side of the +bay cliffs and mountains jutted, a mere suggestion of outline. The ocean +beyond the Golden Gate roared over the bar. The wind whistled and +shrilled through the rigging of the craft on the bay; occasionally it +lifted a loose drift and whirled it about the carriage, creating a +little cyclone with two angry eyes, and wrenching loud curses from the +man on the box.</p> + +<p>“It’s an unusually bad night, Thorpe, really,” said one of the two +occupants of the carriage. “Of course the winters here are more or less +stormy, but we have many fine days, I assure you; and they’re better +than the summer with its fogs and trade winds—I am speaking of San +Francisco,” he added hastily, with newly acquired Californian pride. “Of +course it is usually fine in the country at any time. I believe there +are sixteen different climates in California.”</p> + +<p>“As any one of them might be better than England’s, it is not for me to +complain,” said the other, good-naturedly. “But I feel sorry for the +horses and the man. I don’t think we should have missed much if we had +cut this ball.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p><p>“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Life would be suicidal in this +God-forsaken country if it were not for the hospitality of the San +Franciscans. Some months ago two officers whose names I won’t mention +met in a lonely spot on the coast near Benicia Fort, on the other side +of the bay, with the deliberate intention of shooting one another to +death. They were discovered in time, and have since been transferred +East. It is better for us on account of San Francisco—Whew! how this +confounded thing does jolt!—and the Randolph parties are always the +gayest of the season. Mr. Randolph is an Englishman with the +uncalculating hospitality of the Californian. He has made a pot of money +and entertains lavishly. Every pretty girl in San Francisco is a belle, +but Nina Randolph is the belle <i>par excellence</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Is she a great beauty?” asked Thorpe, indifferently. He was wondering +if the driver had lost his way. The wheels were zigzagging through +drifts so deep that the sand shot against the panes.</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t know that she is beautiful at all. Miss Hathaway is that, +and Mrs. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>McLane, and two of the ‘three Macs’. But she has it all her +own way. It’s charm, I suppose, and then—well, she’s an only child and +will come in for a fortune—a right big one if this place grows as +people predict. She’s a deuced lucky girl, is Miss Nina Randolph, and it +will be a deuced lucky fellow that gets her. Only no one does. She’s +twenty-three and heart-whole.”</p> + +<p>“Are you in love with her?”</p> + +<p>“I’m in love with her and Guadalupe Hathaway and the ‘three Macs’ and +Mrs. McLane. I never met so many attractive women in one place.”</p> + +<p>“Would it be Mrs. Hunt McLane—a Creole? I met her once in Paris—got to +know her very well.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t say. She’ll make things hum for you. There’s something else I +wanted to say. I thought I’d wait and see if you discovered it yourself, +but I believe I won’t. It’s this: there’s something queer about the +Randolphs in spite of the fact that they’re more to the front than any +people in San Francisco. I never leave that house that I don’t carry +away a vague impression that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>there’s something behind the scenes I +don’t know anything about. I’ve never spoken of it to anyone else; it +would be rather disloyal, after all the kindness they’ve shown me; but +I’m too curious to know how they will impress you. I’ve only been here +six months, and only know what everybody else knows about them—”</p> + +<p>“Do you know, Hastings,” said the Englishman abruptly, “I think +something is wrong outside. I don’t believe anyone is guiding those +horses.”</p> + +<p>Hastings lowered the window beside him and thrust out his head.</p> + +<p>“Hi, there, Tim!” he shouted. “What are you about?”</p> + +<p>There was no reply.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” he cried, thinking the wind might have miscarried his voice.</p> + +<p>Again there was no reply; but the horses, gratefully construing the +final syllable to their own needs, came to a full stop.</p> + +<p>Hastings opened the door and sprang on to the hub of the wheel, +expostulating angrily. He returned in a moment to his companion.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p><p>“Here’s the devil to pay,” he cried. “Tim’s down against the dashboard +as drunk as a lord. There’s nothing to do but put him inside and drive, +myself. I’d chuck him into a drift if I were not under certain +obligations of a similar sort. Will you come outside with me, or stay in +with him?”</p> + +<p>“Why not go back to the Presidio?”</p> + +<p>“We are about half-way between, and may as well go on.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go outside, by all means.”</p> + +<p>He stepped out. The two men dragged the coachman off the box and huddled +him inside.</p> + +<p>“We’re off the road,” said Hastings, “but I think I can find my way. +I’ll cut across to the Mission road, and then we’ll be on level ground, +at least.”</p> + +<p>They mounted the box. Hastings gathered the reins and Thorpe lit a +cigar. The horses, well ordered brutes of the livery stable, did their +weary best to respond to the peremptory order to speed.</p> + +<p>“We’ll be two hours late,” the young officer grumbled, as they +floundered out of the sandhills and entered the Mission Valley.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p><p>“Damn the idiot. Why couldn’t he have waited till we got there?”</p> + +<p>They were now somewhat sheltered from the wind, and as the road was +level, although rutty, made fair progress.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t mean to treat you to a nasty adventure the very night of your +arrival,” continued Hastings apologetically.</p> + +<p>“Oh, one rather looks for adventures in California. If I hadn’t so much +sand in my eyes I’d be rather entertained than otherwise. I only hope +our faces are not dirty.”</p> + +<p>“They probably are. Still, if we are not held up, I suppose we can +afford to overlook the minor ills.”</p> + +<p>“Held up?”</p> + +<p>“Stopped by road-agents, garroters, highway robbers—whatever you like +to call ’em. I’ve never been held up myself; as a rule I go in the +ambulance at night, but it’s no uncommon experience. I’ve got a revolver +in my overcoat pocket—on this side. Reach over and get it, and keep it +cocked. I <i>couldn’t</i> throw up my hands. I’d feel as if the whole United +States army were disgraced.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe abstracted the pistol, but although <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>the long lonely road was +favourable to crime, no road-agents appeared, and Hastings drove into +the outskirts of the town with audibly expressed relief.</p> + +<p>“We’re not far now,” he added. “South Park is the place we’re bound for; +and, by the way, Mr. Randolph projected and owns most of it.”</p> + +<p>A quarter of an hour later he drove into an oval enclosure trimmed with +tall dark houses, so sombre in appearance that to the old Californian +they must now, in their desertion and decay, seem to have been grimly +prescient of their destiny.</p> + +<p>As the carriage drew up before a brilliantly lighted house the door +opened, and a man-servant ran down the steps.</p> + +<p>“Keep quiet,” whispered Hastings.</p> + +<p>The man opened the door of the carriage, waited a moment, then put his +head inside. He drew it back with a violent oath.</p> + +<p>“It’s a damned insult!” he cried furiously.</p> + +<p>“Why, Cochrane!” exclaimed Hastings, “what on earth is the matter with +you?”</p> + +<p>“Captain Hastings!” stammered the man. “Oh I—I—beg pardon. I +thought—Oh, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>of course, I see. Tim had taken a drop too much. A most +deplorable habit. Can I help you down, sir?”</p> + +<p>“No, thanks.”</p> + +<p>He sprang lightly to the sidewalk, followed with less agility by the +Englishman, who still held the cocked pistol.</p> + +<p>“I forgot about this thing,” said Thorpe. “Here—take it. I suppose we +don’t enter the houses of peaceable citizens, even in California, +carrying loaded firearms?”</p> + +<p>Cochrane led the horses into the little park which prinked the centre of +the enclosure, and the young men ascended the steps.</p> + +<p>“I’d give a good deal to know what set him off like that,” said +Hastings. “Hitherto he’s been the one thoroughly impassive creature I’ve +met in California; has a face about as expressionless as a sentinel on +duty.”</p> + +<p>He pushed open the door and they entered a large hall lavishly decorated +with flowers and flags. Many people were dancing in a room at the right, +others were strolling about the hall or seated on the stair. These made +way rather ungraciously for the late comers, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>who went hurriedly up to +the dressing-room and regarded themselves in the mirror.</p> + +<p>“We’re not dirty, after all,” said the Englishman in a tone of profound +relief. He was a tall thin man of thirty or less with a dark face lean +enough to show hard ungraceful lines of chin and jaw. The mouth would +have been sensual had it been less determined, the grey eyes cold had +they been less responsive to humour. Mrs. McLane had told him once that +he was the type of man for whom civilization had done most: that an +educated will and humour, combined with high breeding, had saved him +from slavery to the primal impulses. His voice was harsh in tone but +well modulated. He held himself very erectly but without +self-consciousness.</p> + +<p>Hastings’ legs were his pride, and there were those who averred that +they were the pride of the Presidio. His face was fair and round, his +eyes were as talkative as his tongue. A past master of the noble art of +flirting, no one took him more seriously than he took himself. He spoke +with the soft rich brogue of the South; to-day it is hardened by years +of command, and his legs are larger, but he is a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>doughty general, eager +as ever for the hot high pulse of battle.</p> + +<p>“Come on, Dud,” he said, “time is getting short.”</p> + +<p>As they walked down the stair a man who was crossing the hall looked up, +smiled charmingly, then paused, awaiting them. He was a small man of +dignified presence with a head and face nobly modelled. His skin was +faded and worn, it was cut with three or four deep lines, and his hair +was turning grey, but his black eyes were brilliant.</p> + +<p>“Don’t turn us out, Mr. Randolph,” cried Hastings. “It was not +indifference that made us late; it was an ill-timed combination of Tim +and rum. This is the English friend you were kind enough to say I could +bring,” he added as he reached the hall. “Did I tell you his +name?—Thorpe, Dudley Thorpe, of Hampshire. That may interest you. You +English are almost as sectional as we are.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Randolph had already grasped Thorpe’s hand warmly and was bidding +him welcome. “My home was further north—Yorkshire,” he said. “Come into +the parlour and meet my wife and daughter.” As they pushed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>their way +through the crowd he “sized up” the stranger with the rapid scrutiny of +that period. “You must make yourself at home in my house,” he said +abruptly. “There are few English here and I am more glad than I can +express to meet you.”</p> + +<p>“Ah—thanks!” Thorpe was somewhat taken aback, then remembered that he +was in the newest section of the new world. And he had heard of the +hospitality of the Californian.</p> + +<p>They had entered a large room, canvassed for the evening and denuded of +all furniture except the long rows of chairs against the walls. The +musicians were resting. Men were fanning girls flushed and panting after +the arduous labours of the waltz of that day. At one end of the room +were some twenty or thirty older women.</p> + +<p>Thorpe looked about him curiously. The women were refined and elegant, +many of them with beauty or its approximate; three or four were Spanish, +black-eyed, magnetic with coquetry and grace. The men, even the younger +men, had a certain alertness of expression, a cool watchful glance; and +they <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>were all gentlemen. This fact impressed Thorpe at once, and as +they walked down the long room something he said betrayed his thoughts.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mr. Randolph, quickly. “They are all from the upper walks of +life—men who thought there would be a better chance for them in the new +community than in even the older American ones. And they keep together +because, naturally, they are the law-abiding class and responsible for +the future of the country. That also accounts for what you find in their +faces. This sort of life develops character very quickly. There is +another element in California. You will see it—Ah! here is my wife.”</p> + +<p>A tall raw-boned woman with weak blue eyes and abundant softly piled +hair had arisen from the group of matrons and was advancing toward them. +She was handsomely dressed in black velvet, her neck covered with point +lace confined under the loose chin by a collar of diamonds.</p> + +<p>She looked cold and listless, but spoke pleasantly to the young men.</p> + +<p>“We are glad to welcome an Englishman,” <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>she said to Thorpe; and to +Hastings: “You are not usually so late, and I have heard a round dozen +inquiring for you.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe, as he exchanged commonplaces with her, reflected that no woman +had ever attracted him less. As he looked into the face he saw that it +was cold, evil, and would have appeared coarse but for the hair and +quiet elegance of attire. Despite her careful articulation, he detected +the broad o and a of the Yorkshire people. The woman was playing the +part of a gentlewoman and playing it fairly well. When the thin lips +moved apart in an infrequent smile they displayed sharp scattered teeth. +The jaw was aggressive. The hands in their well-adjusted gloves were +large even for her unusual height. As Thorpe remarked that he was +prepared to admire and enjoy California, one side of her upper lip +lifted in an ugly sneer.</p> + +<p>“Probably,” she replied coldly. “Most people catch it. It’s like the +measles. I wish Jim Randolph liked it less.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe, for the first time, experienced a desire to meet Nina Randolph.</p> + +<p>Hastings disengaged him. “Come,” he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>said, “I’ll introduce you to Miss +Randolph and one or two others, and then you can look out for yourself. +I want to dance. Mrs. McLane is not here. There are the ‘three Macs,’” +indicating a trio surrounded by a group of men,—“Miss McDermott, +classic and cold; Miss McAllister, languid and slight; Miss McCullum, +stocky and matter-of-fact. But it will take you a week to straighten +them out. Here—look—what do you think of this?”</p> + +<p>Thorpe directed his glance over the shoulders of a knot of men who +surrounded a tall Spanish-looking girl with large haughty blue eyes and +brown hair untidily arranged. She wore an old black silk frock with +muslin bertha. Her face interested Thorpe at once, but in a moment he +had much ado to keep from laughing outright. For she spoke never a word. +She merely <i>looked</i>; taking each eager admirer in turn, and by some +mysterious manipulation of eyelash, sweeping a different expression into +those profound obedient orbs every time. As she saw Hastings she nodded +carelessly, and, when he presented Thorpe, spoke for the first time. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>She merely said “Good-evening,” but her voice, Spanish, low, +sweet—accompanied by a look—made the stranger feel what a blessed +thing hospitality was.</p> + +<p>“So that is your Miss Hathaway,” he said, as Hastings once more led him +onward. “What a pity that such a beautiful girl should be so poor. But +she’ll probably marry any one of these incipient millionaires she +wants.”</p> + +<p>“Poor?” cried Hastings. “Oh, her get-up. She affects to despise +dress—or does. God forbid that I should presume to understand what goes +on behind those blue masks. Her father is a wealthy and distinguished +citizen. Her mother inherited a hundred thousand acres from one of the +old grandees. What do you think of her?”</p> + +<p>“Her methods are original and entertaining, to say the least. Does she +never—converse?”</p> + +<p>“When she has something to say; she’s a remarkable woman. That must be +Miss Randolph. Her crowd is always the densest.”</p> + +<p>As Thorpe was presented to Nina Randolph he forgot that he was a student +of heredity. He had never seen so radiant and triumphant <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>a being. She +seemed to him, in that first moment, to symbolize the hope and joy and +individualism of the New World. Small, like her father, she was +perfectly modelled, from her round pulsing throat to the tips of her +tiny feet: ignoring the fashion, her yellow gown fitted her figure +instead of a hoop-skirt. Her black hair was coiled low on her head, but, +although unconfined in a net, did not, like Miss Hathaway’s “waterfall,” +suggest having been arranged in the dark. Her black eyes, well set and +wide apart, sparkled with mirth. The head was thrown back, the chin +uplifted, the large sweet human mouth, parted, showed small even teeth. +The eyebrows were heavy, the nose straight and tilted, the complexion +ivory-white, luminous, and sufficiently coloured.</p> + +<p>As she saw Hastings, she rose at once and motioned her group aside.</p> + +<p>“Whatever made you so late?” she exclaimed. “And this is Mr. Thorpe? I +am so relieved that you have not been garotted, or blown into the bay. +Captain Hastings is always the first to arrive and the last to leave—I +was sure something had happened.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p><p>“You look remarkably worried,” murmured Hastings.</p> + +<p>“I cannot depress my other guests. They also have their rights.” She +gave Thorpe a gracious smile. “I have saved the fifth dance from this +for you, and you are also to take me in to supper. Now I must go. <i>Hasta +luego!</i> Captain Hastings, as it’s all your fault, I shall not give you a +dance till after supper.”</p> + +<p>She spun down the room in the clasp of an army officer little taller +than herself. Thorpe’s eyes followed the fluent pair darting through the +mob of dancers with the skill and energy of that time. Miss Randolph’s +eyes glittered, her little feet twinkled. She looked the integer of +happy youth; and Thorpe turned away with a sigh, feeling old for the +moment under the pressure of his large experience of the great world +beyond California. He became aware that Hastings was introducing him to +several men, and a moment later was guided to the library to have a +drink. When he returned, it was time to claim Miss Randolph.</p> + +<p>“Do you care to dance?” he asked as he plied her fan awkwardly. “I am +rather rusty. To tell the truth, it’s eight years since I last <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>danced, +and I never was very keen on it. I should say that I’ve been travelling +a lot, and when I’m home I go in for sport rather more than for the +social taxes.”</p> + +<p>“What a relief to find a man who doesn’t dance! Let us go into the +conservatory. Have you been much in America? How is it that you and +Captain Hastings are such great friends?”</p> + +<p>“He came over when a lad to visit some English relatives whose place +adjoins ours, and we hit it off. Since then I have visited him in +Louisiana, and we have travelled in Europe together.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose he amuses you—you are certainly unlike enough.”</p> + +<p>“Not in the least—he’s the prince of good fellows. What a jolly place!”</p> + +<p>They had passed through the library and entered the conservatory: a +small forest of palms, great ferns, and young orange-trees; brought, +Miss Randolph explained, from Southern California. Chinese lanterns +swung overhead. Rustic chairs and sofas, covered with the skins of +panthers, wild cats, and coyotes, were grouped with much discretion.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p><p>Miss Randolph threw herself into a chair and let her head drop against +the yellow skin on the back. Thorpe drew his chair close in front of +her. In a moment he discovered that her lids were inclined to droop, and +that there were lines about her mouth.</p> + +<p>“You are tired,” he said abruptly. “Shall I fetch you a glass of +champagne?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no; it wouldn’t do me a bit of good. Hot rooms and dancing always +tire me. I’m glad when the season is over. In another month or so we +shall be going to Redwoods, our country home—about thirty miles south +of San Francisco. You must come down with us; we have good +shooting,—deer and quail in the mountains, and snipe and duck in the +marshes.”</p> + +<p>“You are very kind,” he said, and his reply was as mechanical as her +invitation. He knew that all but the edge of her mind was turned from +him, and was sufficiently interested to wish to get down into her +thought. He went on gropingly: “I will confide to you that army life +bores me a good deal, and as I intend to spend six months in California, +I shall travel about somewhat.” Then he added abruptly: <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>“You are +utterly unlike an English girl.”</p> + +<p>“I am a Californian. Blood does not go for much in this climate. You’ll +understand why, if you stay here long enough.”</p> + +<p>“In what way is it so unlike other places? I feel the difference, but +cannot define it.”</p> + +<p>“It’s the wickedest place on earth! I suppose there are wicked people +everywhere, but California is a sort of headquarters. It seems to be a +magnet for that element in human nature. I wish I had been born and +brought up in England.”</p> + +<p>“Why?” he asked, smiling but puzzled, and recalling Hastings’ +imaginings. “I never saw any one look less wicked than yourself. Are you +wicked?” he added, audaciously.</p> + +<p>She flirted her fan at him, and her eyes danced so coquettishly that he +no longer saw the drooping lids. “<i>Our</i> wickedness takes the form of +flirtation,—heartless and unprincipled. Ask Captain Hastings. We are +all refusing him in turn. Talk to me about England, while I study you +and determine which line to take. I haven’t typed you yet—I never make +the fatal mistake of generalising.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p><p>As he answered the questions she put to him in rapid succession, his own +impressions changed several times. He was charmed by her intelligence, +occasionally by a flash of something deeper. Again, he saw only the +thrilling beauty of her figure, and once something vibrated across his +brain so fleeting that he barely realised it was an echo of the +repulsion her mother had inspired.</p> + +<p>“Well? What are your conclusions?” she demanded suddenly.</p> + +<p>“I—what?”</p> + +<p>“You have been sizing me up. I want to know the result.”</p> + +<p>“You shall not,” he said stubbornly. “I—I beg pardon; I have lost the +knack of polite fencing.”</p> + +<p>“I had read that Englishmen were blunt and truthful beings—either +through conscious superiority or lack of complexity, I forget which. My +father and the few others out here are almost denationalised.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I did beg pardon. And when a man is talking and receiving +impressions at the same time, the impressions are not very well +defined.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p><p>“But you think quickly and jump at conclusions. And minds of that sort +sometimes make mistakes.”</p> + +<p>“I frequently make mistakes. Among the few things I have learned is not +to judge people at sight—nor in a lifetime, for that matter. I +certainly don’t pretend to size up women, particularly women like +yourself.”</p> + +<p>“That was very neat. Why myself? I am a very transparent young person.” +She flirted her lashes at him, but he fancied he saw a gleam of defiance +shoot between them.</p> + +<p>“You are not transparent. If you are kind enough to let me see a good +deal of you, I fancy I shall know something of twenty Miss Randolphs by +the time I leave California.”</p> + +<p>“Some you will like, and some you will not,” she replied, with calm +disregard of her previous assertion. “Well, I shall know what you think +of me before long—don’t make any mistake about that. Shall we flirt, by +the way, or shall we merely be friends?”</p> + +<p>“The last condition would give greater range to your inherent +wickedness.”</p> + +<p>She laughed, apparently with much amusement. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>“I have a good many +friends, nevertheless,—real friends. I have made it my particular art, +and have rules and regulations. When they transgress, I fine them.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose we begin that way. I’d like to know the rules.”</p> + +<p>“N-o, I don’t think I want to. You see, the rule I most strictly +enforce is that when the party of the other part transgresses, I never +sit with him in a conservatory again.”</p> + +<p>“Let us cut the rules by all means. I feel a poor helpless male, quite +at your mercy: I haven’t been in a conservatory for years. Although I’ve +made a point of seeing something of the society of every capital I’ve +visited, I’ve forgotten the very formula of flirtation. I might take a +few lessons of Hastings—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t! What a combination that would be! I will teach you all that +it is necessary for you to know.”</p> + +<p>“Heaven help me. I shall be wise and sad when I leave California. +However, I face my fate like a man; whatever happens, I shall not run. +Just now it is my duty to wait on you. Shall I bring your supper here?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p><p>“Yes—do. You will find a table behind that palm. Draw it up. There. Now +bring what you like for yourself, but only a few oysters for me.”</p> + +<p>He returned in a few moments followed by a man, who spread the table +with delicate fare.</p> + +<p>Miss Randolph nibbled her oysters prettily. Thorpe was about to fill her +glass with champagne, when she shook her head.</p> + +<p>“I cannot,” she said. “It goes to my head—one drop.”</p> + +<p>“Then don’t, by all means. I hope you like it, and are resisting a +temptation.”</p> + +<p>“I detest it, as it happens. If you want to see me in the high heroic +rôle, which I infer you admire, you must devise a temptation of another +sort.”</p> + +<p>“I think your dear little sex should be protected from all temptation. I +rather like the Oriental way of doing things.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you flatter yourself that a wall fifteen feet high, and covered +with broken glass, would protect a woman from temptations, if she wanted +them. A man, to keep a woman inside that wall, must embody all the +temptations himself.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p><p>Thorpe looked at her, and drew his brows together.</p> + +<p>“That was a curious remark for a girl to make,” he said, coldly.</p> + +<p>“You mean it would be if I were English. But I am not only American, but +Californian, born and brought up in a city where they are trying to be +civilised and succeeding indifferently well. Do you suppose I can help +seeing what life is? I should be next door to an idiot if I could.”</p> + +<p>“I hardly know whether you would be more interesting if you had been +brought up in England. No,” he added, reflectively, after a moment, “I +don’t think you would be.”</p> + +<p>“What you really think is, that I should not be half so interesting, but +much more ideal.”</p> + +<p>“If I thought anything of the sort, it was by a purely mechanical +process,” he said, reddening. “I have lived out of England too much to +be insular in all my notions.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe an Englishman ever changes on certain points, of which +woman is one; heredity is too strong. If you sat down and thought it all +over, you’d find that although you could generalise on a more liberal +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>scale than some of your countrymen, your own personal ideals were much +the same as theirs.”</p> + +<p>“Possibly, but as I don’t intend to marry till I’m forty,—when I intend +to stand for Parliament,—I’m not bothering about ideals at present.”</p> + +<p>“That was a more insular remark than you evidently imagine. +However—speaking of ideals, I should say that California generated them +more liberally than any other country—through sheer force of contrast. +I have grown rather morbid on the subject of good people, myself. I grow +more exacting every month of my life; and the first thing I look for in +a new man’s face is to see, first, whether he has a mind, and then, +whether it controls all the rest of him. I’ve seen too much of practical +life to have indulged much in dreams and heroes; but I’ve let my +imagination go somewhat, and I picture a man with all the virtues that +you don’t see in combination out here, and living with him in some old +European city where there are narrow crooked streets, and beautiful +architecture, and the most exquisite music in the cathedrals.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p><p>Her voice had rattled on lightly, and she smiled more than once during +her long speech. But her eyes did not smile; they had a curious, almost +hard, intentness which forced Thorpe to believe that her brain was +casting up something more than the froth of a passing mood.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid you won’t meet your hero of all the virtues,” he said, +“even in a picturesque old continental town. But I think I understand +your feeling. It is the principle of good in you demanding its proper +companionship and setting.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that is it,” she said, softly. “That is it. I am no worse than +other girls; but I flirt and waste my time abominably. It would be all +right if I did no more thinking than they do; but I do so much that, if +I were inclined to be religious, I believe I’d run, one of these days, +into a convent. However, I can always look forward to the old European +town.”</p> + +<p>“Alone?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose when your left eyebrow goes up like that you’re trying to +flirt. I don’t know that I’d mind being alone, particularly. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>It would +be several thousand times better than the society of some of the people +I’ve been forced to associate with. I love art,—particularly +architecture and music,—and I’m sure I could weave a romance round +myself. Yes, I’m sure I should love it as much as I hate this country,” +she added with such vehemence that Thorpe set down his fork abruptly.</p> + +<p>“You are very pale,” he said; “I think you had better take a little +champagne. Indeed, you must be utterly worn out. I can imagine what a +lot you have had to do and think of to-day.”</p> + +<p>He filled her glass, and she drank the champagne quickly.</p> + +<p>“I have a shocking head,” she said; “but I <i>need</i> this. I have been out +eight nights in succession, and have been on the go all day besides. +Mother never attends to anything; and father, of course, is too busy to +bother with parties. Cochrane and I have to do everything.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me some more of your ideals,” said Thorpe. He was not sure that he +liked her, but she piqued his curiosity.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p><p>“Ideals? Who ever had an ideal after a glass of champagne—except to be +in the wildest spirits for the rest of one’s life? There will be no +champagne in Bruges—that’s the city I’ve settled on; but I can’t even +think of Bruges. Champagne suggests Paris, and they tell me Paris is +even more wicked than San Francisco. Is it?”</p> + +<p>Her eyes were sparkling with merriment; but although she refilled her +glass, there was no suggestion as yet of the bacchante about her. The +colour had come back to her face, and she looked very charming. +Nevertheless Thorpe frowned and shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I should prefer to talk about Bruges,” he said. “I’ve been there, and +can tell you all you’d like to know. When I go back, I’ll send you some +photographs.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks—but I have a whole portfolio full. I want to hear about Paris. +I’m afraid you’re a bit of a prig.”</p> + +<p>“No man could be less of a prig. I hope you are above the silly idea +that, because we English have a slightly higher standard than other +nations, it follows that we are prigs. You were entirely delightful a +few moments <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>ago; but I don’t like to see a woman drink when it affects +her as it does you.”</p> + +<p>The colour flew from her cheeks to her hair, and her eyes flashed +angrily. “You <i>are</i> a prig, and you are extremely impertinent,” she +said.</p> + +<p>Thorpe sprang to his feet, plunging his hands into his pockets.</p> + +<p>“Oh—don’t—don’t—” he exclaimed. “I’m afraid I was rude. I assure you, +I did not intend to criticise you. Please say you forgive me.”</p> + +<p>She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “You look so really penitent,” +she said gaily. “Sit down and fill my glass, and drink to +our—friendship.”</p> + +<p>He was about to remonstrate; but reflecting that it would be a bore to +apologise twice in succession, and also that what she did was none of +his affair, he filled her glass. She touched it to his, and threw +herself back against the skins, sipping the wine slowly and chattering +nonsense. He refilled her glass absently the fourth time; but when she +pushed it across the table again, he said, with some decision:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p><p>“Be careful. This champagne is very heady. I feel it myself.”</p> + +<p>She drained the glass. For a moment they stared hard at each other in +silence, Thorpe wondering at the sudden maturity in the face before him. +All the triumphant young womanhood had gone out of it; the diabolical +spirit of some ancestor entombed in the depths of her brain might have +possessed her for the moment, smothering her own groping soul. The +distant music filled the conservatory with a low humming sound, such as +one hears in a tropical forest at noon. Suddenly Thorpe realised that +the evil which is in all human souls was having its moment of absolute +liberty, and that the two dissevered particles, his and hers, recognised +each other. He had knocked his senseless many times in his life, but he +felt no inclination to do so to-night; for so much more than what little +was evil in this girl attracted and magnetised him. His brain was not +clear, and it was reckless with its abrupt possession by the idea that +this woman was his mate, and that, for good or for evil, there was no +escaping her. He sprang to his feet, pushed the table violently <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>aside, +took her in his arms and kissed her. For a moment she was quiescent; +then she slipped from his embrace and ran down the conservatory, +thrusting the ferns aside. One fell, its jar crashing on the stone +floor. He saw no more of her that night.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + +<p>Two days later Thorpe was strolling up and down the beach before the +Presidio. The plaza was deserted; here and there, on the verandahs of +the low adobe houses surrounding it, officers lay at full length in +hammocks, smoking or reading, occasionally flirting with some one in +white.</p> + +<p>Every trace of the storm had fled. The warmth and fragrance and +restlessness of spring were in the air. The bay, as calm as a mountain +lake, reflected a deep blue sky with no wandering white to give it +motion. Outside the Golden Gate, the spray leaped high, and the ocean +gave forth its patient roar. The white sails on the bay hung limply. +Opposite was a line of steep cliffs, bare and green; beyond <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>was a +stupendous peak, dense and dark with redwoods. Farther down, facing the +young city, hills jutted, romantic with sweeping willows. Between was +the solitary rock, Alcatraz, with its ugly fort of many eyes. Far to the +east was a line of pink mountains dabbled with blue, tiny villages +clinging to their knees.</p> + +<p>Thorpe’s keen eye took in every detail. It pleased him more than +anything he had seen for some time. After a long rainy day in quarters, +trying to talk nonsense to the Presidio women in their cramped parlours, +and giving his opinion of California some thirty times, he felt that he +could hail the prospect of a week of fresh air and solitude with the +enthusiasm of a schoolboy. He kept the tail of his eye on the square, +ready to hasten his steps and disappear round the sand dunes, did any +one threaten to intrude upon his musings.</p> + +<p>He saw a man ride into the plaza, dismount at the barracks, and a moment +later head for the beach. Thorpe’s first impulse was to flee. But he +stopped short; he had recognised Mr. Randolph’s butler.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p><p>The man touched his hat as he approached.</p> + +<p>“A note from Miss Randolph, sir.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe opened the note. It read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">My dear Mr. Thorpe</span>,—I should like to see you this afternoon, if +you are disengaged. If not, at your earliest convenience. I hope +you will understand that this is not an idle request, but that I +particularly wish to see you.</p> + +<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 6em;">Sincerely,</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Nina Randolph.</span></p></div> + +<p>“Tell Miss Randolph that I will call at three,” said Thorpe, promptly.</p> + +<p>He had no wish to avoid the interview; he was quite willing that she +should turn the scorpions of her wrath upon him. He deserved it. He did +not pretend to understand Nina Randolph, deeply as he had puzzled over +her since their memorable interview; but that he had helped her to +violate her own self-respect, there could be little doubt, and he longed +to give her what satisfaction he could. He had lived his inner life very +fully, and knew all that the sacrifice of an ideal meant to the higher +parts of the mind. Whether Miss Randolph had ever <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>kissed a man before +or not, he would not pretend to guess; but he would have been willing to +swear that she had never kissed another in the same circumstances; and +he burned to think that he had been the man to cast her at the foot of +her girlish pedestal. Whatever possibilities for evil there might be in +her, instinct prompted him to believe that they were undeveloped. Her +strong sudden magnetism for him had passed with her presence, and, +looking back, he attributed it entirely to the momentary passion of +which he was ashamed; but he felt something of the curious tie which +binds thinking people who have helped each other a step down the moral +ladder.</p> + +<p>After luncheon, he informed Hastings that he was going to the city, and +asked for a horse.</p> + +<p>“I’ll go with you—”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want you,” said Thorpe, bluntly. “I have a particular reason +for wishing to go alone.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, very well,” said Hastings, amiably. “The savage loves his solitude, +I know.”</p> + +<p>The road between the army posts and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>San Francisco was well beaten. +Thorpe could not have lost his way, even if the horse had not known +every inch of it.</p> + +<p>He reached the city within an hour. It was less picturesque by day than +by night. The board sidewalks were broken and uneven, the streets muddy. +The tall frame buildings of the business section looked as if they had +been pieced together in intervals between gambling and lynching. +Dwelling-houses with gardens about them were scattered on the heights.</p> + +<p>Two miles south of the swarming, hurrying, swearing brain of the city +was the aristocratic quarter,—South Park and Rincon Hill. The square +wooden houses, painted a dark brown, had a solid and substantial air, +and looked as if they might endure through several generations.</p> + +<p>The man, Cochrane, admitted Thorpe, and conducted him to the library. +The room was unoccupied, and, as the door closed behind the butler, +Thorpe for the first time experienced a flutter. He was about to have a +serious interview with a girl of whose type he knew nothing. Would she +expect him to apologise? <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>He had always held that the man who kissed and +apologised was an ass. But he had done Miss Randolph something more than +a minor wrong.</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders and took his stand before the fireplace. She +had sent for him; let her take the initiative. He knew woman well enough +to follow her cues, be the type new or old. Then he looked about him +with approval. One would know it was an Englishman’s library, he +thought. Book-shelves, closely furnished, lined two sides of the large +and lofty room. One end opened into the conservatory—where palms did +shelter and the lights were dim. The rugs and curtains were red, the +furniture very comfortable. On a long table were the periodicals of the +world.</p> + +<p>Miss Randolph kept him waiting but a few moments. She opened the door +abruptly and entered. Her face was pale, and her eyes were shadowed; but +she held her head very high. Her carriage and her long dark gown made +her appear almost tall. As she advanced down the room, she looked at +Thorpe steadily, without access of colour, her lips pressed together. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>He met her half way. His first impression was that her figure was the +most beautiful he had ever seen, his next the keenest impulse of pity he +had felt for any woman.</p> + +<p>She extended her hand mechanically, and he took it and held it.</p> + +<p>“Is it true that I kissed you the other night?” she asked, peremptorily.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, ungracefully.</p> + +<p>“And I had drunk too much champagne?”</p> + +<p>“It was my fault,” he said, eagerly. “You told me that you had a bad +head. I had no business to press it on you.”</p> + +<p>“You must think I am a poor weak creature indeed, if my friends are +obliged to take care of me,” she said drily. “I was a fool to touch +it—that is the long and the short of it. I have given you a charming +impression of the girls of San Francisco—sit down: we look idiotic +standing in the middle of the room holding each other’s hand—I can +assure you that there was not another girl in the house who would have +done what I did, or whom you would have dared to kiss. In a new country, +you know, the social lines are <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>drawn very tight, and the best people +are particular to prudery. It is necessary: there are so many dreadful +women out here. I am positive that in the set to which Captain Hastings +has introduced you, you will meet a larger number of well-conducted +people than you have ever met in any one place before.”</p> + +<p>“It is very good of you to put on armour for your city,” he said, +smiling. “I shall always think of it as your city, by the way. But I +thought you did not like California.”</p> + +<p>“It is my country. I feel great pride in it. You will find that it is a +country with a peculiar influence. Some few natures it leaves +untouched—but they are precious few. In the others, it quickens all the +good and evil they were born with.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe looked at her with a profound interest. He was eager to hear all +that she had to say.</p> + +<p>“I have never before had occasion to speak like this to any man,” she +went on. “If I had had, I should not have done so. I should have carried +it off with a high hand, ignored it, assumed that I was above criticism. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>I only speak to you so frankly because you are an Englishman. People of +the same blood are clannish when away from their own land. I say this +without coquetry: I care more for your good opinion than for that of any +of the others—I am so tired of them!”</p> + +<p>“Thank you—even if you did rather spoil it. You have it, if it really +matters to you. Surely, you don’t think I misunderstand. I insist upon +assuming all the blame—and—upon apologising.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I am glad you apologised. Although you were not the most to +blame, just for the moment it made me feel that you were. I have already +forgiven you.” She dropped her eyes for a moment, then looked at him +again with her square, almost defiant regard. “There is something I have +been trying to lead up to. It is this—it is not very easy to say—I +want you to make a promise. There is a skeleton in this house. Some +people know. I don’t want you to ask them about it. My father will ask +you here constantly. I shall want you to come, too. I ask you to promise +to keep your eyes shut. Will you?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p><p>“I shall see nothing. Thanks, thanks.” He got up and moved nervously +about. “We will be friends, the best of friends, promise me that. No +flirtation. No nonsense. There may be something I can do to help you +while I am here. I hope there will be.”</p> + +<p>“There will not, but I like you better for saying that—I know you are +not demonstrative.” She threw herself back in her chair and smiled +charmingly. “As to the other part—yes, we shall be the best of friends. +It was hard to speak, but I am glad that I did. I knew it was either +that or a nodding acquaintance, and I had made up my mind that it should +be something quite different. When we are alone and serious, we will not +flirt; but I have moods, irrepressible ones. If, when we meet in +society, I happen to be in a highly flirtatious humour, you are to flirt +with me. Do you understand?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, certainly, I agree—to keep you from flirting with other +men.”</p> + +<p>“Now fetch that portfolio over there,—it has Bruges in it,—and tell me +something about every stone.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p><p>They talked for two hours, and of much beside Bruges. Haphazardly as she +had been educated in this new land, her natural intelligence had found +nutrition in her father’s mind and library. Thorpe noted that when +talking on subjects which appealed to the intellect alone, her face +changed strikingly: the heavy lids lifted, the eyes sparkled coldly, the +mouth lost its full curves. Even her voice, so warm and soft, became, +more than once, harsh and sharp.</p> + +<p>“There are several women in her,” he thought. “She certainly is very +interesting. I should like to meet her again ten years hence.”</p> + +<p>He did.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you travel?” he asked. “It would mean so much more to you +than to most women. Even if Mr. Randolph cannot leave this fair young +city he is building up, and your mother won’t leave him, you could go +with some one else—”</p> + +<p>“I never expect to leave California,” she said shortly. Then, as she met +his look of surprise, she added: “I told you a fib when I said that I +did not dream, or only a little. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>I get out of my own life for hours at +a time by imagining myself in Europe, cultivating my mind, my taste for +art, to their utmost limit, living a sort of impersonal life—Of course +there are times when I imagine myself with some one who would care for +it all as much as I, and know more—and all that. But I try to keep to +the other. I have suffered enough to know that in the impersonal life is +the surest content. And as for the other—it could not be, even if I +ever met such a man. But dreams help one enormously, and I am the richer +for all I have indulged in.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe stood up again. Under a rather impassive exterior, he was a +restless man, and his acquaintance with Nina Randolph had tried his +nerves.</p> + +<p>“I wish you had not given me half confidences, or that you would refrain +from rousing my curiosity—my interest, as you do. It is hardly fair. I +don’t wish to know what the family skeleton is, but I do want to know +<i>you</i> better. If you want the truth, I have never been so <i>intrigué</i> by +a woman in my life. And I have never so wanted to help one. I have been +so drawn to you that I have had a sense <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>of having done you a personal +wrong ever since the other night. A man does not usually feel that way +when he kisses a girl. I see it is no use to ask your confidence now; +but, mind, I don’t say I sha’n’t demand it later on.”</p> + +<p>At this moment the butler entered with the lamps. He was followed +immediately by Mr. Randolph, who exclaimed delightedly:</p> + +<p>“Is it really you, Mr. Thorpe? I have just sent you a note asking you to +dine with us on Sunday. And you’ll stay to dinner to-night—no, I won’t +listen to any excuses. If you knew what a pleasure it is to meet an +Englishman once more!”</p> + +<p>“Hastings will think I am lost—”</p> + +<p>“I’ll send him a note, and ask him to come in for the evening, and I’ll +get in a dozen of our neighbours. We’ll have some music and fun.”</p> + +<p>“Very well—I am rather keen on staying, to tell you the truth. Many +thanks.”</p> + +<p>“Sit down. You must see something of sport here. It is very interesting +in this wild country.”</p> + +<p>“I should like it above all things.” Thorpe sat forward eagerly, +forgetting Miss Randolph. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>“What have you that’s new? I’ve killed pretty +nearly everything.”</p> + +<p>“We will have an elk hunt.”</p> + +<p>“I want to go, too,” said Nina, authoritatively.</p> + +<p>Thorpe turned, and smiled, as he saw the hasty retreat of an angry +sparkle.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid you would be a disturbing influence,” he said gallantly.</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t disturb you,” she said, with the pertness of a spoilt +child. “I am a good shot myself. I can go—can’t I, papa?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Randolph smiled indulgently. “You can do anything you like, my +darling,” he said. “I wonder you condescend to ask.”</p> + +<p>Nina ran over and kissed him, then propped her chin on top of his head +and looked defiantly at Thorpe.</p> + +<p>“If you don’t take me,” she remarked, drily, “there will be no hunt.”</p> + +<p>“On the whole, I think my mind would concentrate better if you were not +absent,” he said.</p> + +<p>She blew him a kiss. “You <i>are</i> improving. <i>Hasta luego!</i> I must go and +smooth my feathers.” And she ran out of the room.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p><p>The two men talked of the threatened civil upheaval in the United States +until dinner was announced, a half hour later.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Randolph did not appear until the soup had been removed. She +entered the dining-room hurriedly, muttering an apology. Her toilette +had evidently been made in haste: her brooch was awry; and her hair, +banded down the face after the fashion of the time, hung an inch below +one ear and exposed the lobe of the other, dealing detrimentally with +her dignity, despite her fine physique.</p> + +<p>She took no part in the conversation for some time. It was very lively. +Mr. Randolph was full of anecdote and information, and enjoyed +scintillating. He frequently referred to Nina, as if proud of her +cleverness and anxious to exhibit it; but the guest noticed that he +never addressed a word—nor a glance—to his wife.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Thorpe’s eyes rested on a small dark painting in oils, the head +of an old man.</p> + +<p>“That is rather good,” he said, “and a very interesting face.”</p> + +<p>“You have probably never heard of the artist, unless you have read the +life of his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>sister. I was so fond of the man that I resent his rescue +from oblivion by the fame of a woman. His name was Branwell Brontë, and +that is a portrait of my grandfather.”</p> + +<p>“If Branwell ’ad a-conducted hisself,” said a heavy voice opposite, +“’ee’d a-been the wonder of the family. Mony a time a ’ve seen ’im coom +into tha Lord Rodney Inn, ’is sharp little face as red as tha scoollery +maid’s ’ands, and rockin’ from one side of tha ’all to tha hother, and +sit doon at tha table, and make a carica<i>chure</i> of ivvery mon thot coom +in. And once when ’ee was station-master at Luddondon Foote a ’ve ’eard +as ’ow a mon coom runnin’ oop just as tha train went oot, and said as +’ow ’ee was horful anxious to know if a certain mon went hoff. ’Ee tried +describin’ ’im, and couldn’t, so Branwell drew pictures of all the +persons as ’ad left, and ’ee recog<i>nised</i> the one as ’ee wanted.”</p> + +<p>There was a moment’s silence, so painful that Thorpe felt his nerves +jumping and the colour rising to his face. He recalled his promise, and +looked meditatively at the strange concoction which had been placed +before him as Mrs. Randolph finished. But his thought <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>was arbitrary. An +ignorant woman of the people, possibly an ex-servant, who could only +play the gentlewoman through a half-dozen rehearsed sentences, and +forget the rôle completely at times! He had not expected to find the +skeleton so soon.</p> + +<p>“That is <i>carne con agi</i>, a Chile dish,” said Mr. Randolph, suavely. +“I’m very fond of Spanish cooking, myself, and you had better begin your +education in it at once: you will get a good deal out here.”</p> + +<p>“I am jolly glad to hear it. I’m rather keen on new dishes.” He glanced +up. Mr. Randolph was yellow. The lines in his face had deepened. Thorpe +dared not look at Nina.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> + +<p>Some eight or ten people, including Hastings, came in after dinner. Mrs. +Randolph had gone upstairs from the dining-room, and did not appear +again. Her dampening influence removed, Mr. Randolph and Nina recovered +their high light spirits; and there was much music and more +conversation. Miss Randolph <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>had a soprano voice of piercing sweetness, +which flirted effectively with Captain Hastings’ tenor. Thorpe thought +Hastings an ass for rolling his eyes out of his head, and finally turned +his back on the piano to meet the large amused glance of Miss Hathaway. +He sat down beside her, and, being undisturbed for ten minutes, found +her willing to converse, or rather to express a number of decided +opinions. She told him whom he was to know, what parts of California he +was to visit, how long he was to stay, and after what interval he was to +return. Thorpe listened with much entertainment, for her voice was not +tuned to friendly advice, but to command. Her great eyes were as cold as +icicles under a blue light; but there was a certain cordiality in their +invitation to flirt. Thorpe did not respond. If he had known her first, +he reflected, he should doubtless have made an attempt to dispossess her +court; but the warm magnetic influence of Nina Randolph held him, +strengthened by her demand upon his sympathy. Still he felt that Miss +Hathaway was a person to like, and remained at her side until he was +dismissed in favour of Hastings; when he talked for a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>time to the +intellectual Miss McDermott, the sweet and slangy Miss McAllister, who +looked like an angel and talked like a gamin, to Don Roberto Yorba, a +handsome and exquisitely attired little grandee who was trying to look +as much like an American as his friend Hiram Polk, with his lantern jaws +and angular figure. It was the first city Thorpe had visited where there +was no type: everybody suggested being the father or mother of one, and +was of an individuality so pronounced that the stranger marvelled they +were not all at one another’s throats. But he had never seen people more +amiable and fraternal.</p> + +<p>He did not see Nina alone again until a few moments before he left. He +drew her out into the hall while Hastings was saying good-night to Mr. +Randolph.</p> + +<p>“May I come often?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“<i>Will</i> you?”</p> + +<p>“I certainly shall.”</p> + +<p>“Will you talk to me about things that men scarcely ever talk to girls +about,—books and art—and—what one thinks about more than what one +does.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll talk about anything under heaven that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>you want to talk +about—particularly yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to talk about myself.”</p> + +<p>Her face was sparkling with coquetry, but it flushed under the intensity +of his gaze. His brown skin was paler than when he had entered the +house, his hard features were softened by the shaded lamp of the hall, +and his grey eyes had kindled as he took her hand. She looked very +lovely in a white gown touched up with red velvet bows.</p> + +<p>“I believe you’ll be a tremendous flirt by the time you leave here,” she +said, trying to draw her hand away. “And don’t tell me this is your +first experience in eight years.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve known a good many women,” he said, bluntly. “At present I am only +following your cues—and there are a bewildering lot of them. When you +are serious, I shall be serious. When you are not—I shall endeavour to +be frivolous. To be honest, however, I have no intention of flirting +with you, fascinating and provocative as you are. I’d like awfully to be +your intimate friend, but nothing more. Good-night.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<p>South Park in the Fifties and Sixties was the gayest quarter of +respectable San Francisco, with not a hint of the gloom which now +presses about it like a pall. The two concave rows of houses were the +proudest achievements of Western masonry, and had a somewhat haughty +air, as if conscious of the importance they sheltered. The inner park +was green and flowered; the flag of the United States floated proudly +above. The whole precinct had that atmosphere of happy informality +peculiar to the brief honeymoon of a great city. People ran, hatless, in +and out of each other’s houses, and sat on the doorsteps when the +weather was fine. The present aristocracy of San Francisco, the landed +gentry of California whose coat-of-arms should be a cocktail, a side of +mutton, or a dishonest contract, would give not a few of their dollars +for personal memories of that crumbling enclosure at the foot of the +hill: memories that would be welcome even with the skeleton which, +rambling through these defaced abandoned <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>houses, they might expect to +see grinning in dark spidery corners or in rat-claimed cupboards. Poor +old houses! They have kept silent and faithful guard over the dark tales +and tragic secrets of their youth; curiosity has been forced to satisfy +itself with little more than vague and ugly rumour. The memories that +throng them tell little to any but the dead.</p> + +<p>There lived, in those days, the Randolphs, the Hathaways, the Dom Pedro +Earles, the Hunt McLanes, the three families to which the famous “Macs” +belonged, and others that have no place in this story. Before his second +week in California was finished, Thorpe knew them all, and was petted +and made much of; for San Francisco, then as now, dearly loved the +aristocratic stranger. He rode into the city every day, either alone or +with Hastings, and rarely returned without spending several moments or +hours with Nina Randolph. Sometimes she was alone, sometimes companioned +by her intimate friend, Molly Shropshire,—a large masculine girl of +combative temper and imbued with disapproval of man. She made no +exception in favour of Thorpe, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>when he did not find her in the way, +he rather enjoyed quarrelling with her. Mrs. Randolph made no more +abrupt incursions into the table talk and spent most of her time in her +room. Occasionally Thorpe met in the hall a coarse-looking woman whom he +knew to be a Mrs. Reinhardt and the favoured friend of Mrs. Randolph. +Mr. Randolph was often in brilliant spirits; at other times he looked +harassed and sad; but he always made Thorpe feel the welcome guest.</p> + +<p>Thorpe, during the first fortnight of their acquaintance, snubbed his +maiden attempt to understand Nina Randolph; it was so evident that she +did not wish to be understood that he could but respect her reserve. +Besides, she was the most charming woman in the place, and that was +enough to satisfy any visitor. Just after that he began to see her alone +every day; Miss Shropshire had retired to the obscurity of her chamber +with a cold, and socialities rarely began before night. They took long +walks together in the wild environs of the city, once or twice as far as +the sea. Both had a high fine taste in literature, and she was eager for +the books of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>travel he had lived. He sounded her, to discover if she +had ambition, for she was an imperious little queen in society; but she +convinced him that, when alone or with him, she rose high above the +petty strata of life. With a talent, she could have been one of the most +rapt and impersonal slaves of Art the world had ever known; and, as it +was, her perception for beauty was extraordinary. Thorpe wished that she +could carry out her imaginings and live a life of study in Europe; it +seemed a great pity that she should marry and settle down into a mere +leader of society.</p> + +<p>Toward the end of the second fortnight, he began to wonder whether he +should care to marry her, were he ready for domesticity, and were there +no disquieting mystery about her. He concluded that he should not, as he +should doubtless be insanely in love with her if he loved her at all, +and she was too various of mood for a man’s peace of mind. But in the +wake of these reflections came the impulse to analyse her, and he made +no further attempt to snub it.</p> + +<p>He went one evening to the house of Mrs. Hunt McLane, a beautiful young +Creole who <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>held the reins of the infant city’s society in her small +determined hands. Born into the aristocracy of Louisiana, she had grown +up in the salon. Her husband had arrived in San Francisco at the period +when a class of rowdies known as “The Hounds” were terrorising the city, +and, when they were finally arrested and brought to trial, conducted the +prosecution. The brilliant legal talent he displayed, the tremendous +personal force which carried every jury he addressed, established his +position at the head of the bar at once. His wife, with her wide +knowledge of the world, her tact, magnetism, and ambition, found no one +to dispute her social leadership.</p> + +<p>As Thorpe entered, she was standing at the head of the long parlour; and +with her high-piled hair, <i>poudré</i>, her gown of dark-red velvet, and her +haughty carriage, she looked as if she had just stepped from an old +French canvas.</p> + +<p>She smiled brilliantly as Thorpe approached her, and he was made to feel +himself the guest of the evening,—a sensation he shared with every one +in the room.</p> + +<p>“I have not seen you for three days and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>seven hours,” she said. “How +are all your flirtations getting on?”</p> + +<p>“All my what?”</p> + +<p>“Dominga Earle is making frantic eyes at you,” indicating, with a rapid +motion of her pupils, a tall slender Mexican who undulated like a snake +and whose large black fan and eyes were never idle. “’Lupie Hathaway is +looking coldly expectant; and Nina Randolph, who was wholly animated a +moment ago, is now quite listless. Not that you are to feel particularly +flattered; you are merely something new. Turn over the pages,—Dominga +is going to sing,—and I am convinced that she will surpass herself.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Earle was swaying on the piano stool. Her black eyes flashed a +welcome to Thorpe, as he moved obediently to her side. Then she threw +back her head, raised her eyebrows, dilated her nostrils, and in a +ringing contralto sang a Spanish love-song. Thorpe could not understand +a word of it, but inferred that it was passionate from the accompaniment +of glance which played between himself and a tall blonde man leaning +over the piano.</p> + +<p>When the song and its encore finished, she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>was immediately surrounded, +and Thorpe slipped away. Miss Randolph was barricaded. He went over to +Miss Hathaway, who sat between Hastings and another officer, <i>looking</i> +impartially at each. They were dismissed in a manner which made them +feel the honour of her caprice.</p> + +<p>“That was good of you,” said Thorpe, sinking into a chair opposite her. +“It is rarely that one can get a word with you, merely a glance over +three feet of shoulder.”</p> + +<p>Miss Hathaway made no reply. It was one of her idiosyncrasies never to +take the slightest notice of a compliment. She was looking very +handsome, although her attire, as ever, suggested a cold disregard of +the looking-glass. Thorpe, who was beginning to understand her, did not +feel snubbed, but fell to wondering what sort of a time Hastings would +have of it when he proposed.</p> + +<p>She regarded him meditatively for a moment, then remarked; “You are +absent-minded to-night, and that makes you look rather stupid.”</p> + +<p>Again Thorpe was not disconcerted. Speeches of this sort from Miss +Hathaway <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>were to be hailed as signs of favour. If she did not like a +man, she did not talk to him at all. He might sit opposite her +throughout the night, and she would not part her lips.</p> + +<p>“I am stupid,” he replied. “I have been all day.”</p> + +<p>“What is the matter?” Her voice did not soften as another woman’s might +have done, but it betrayed interest. “Are you puzzling?”</p> + +<p>He coloured, nettled at her insight; but he answered, coldly:—</p> + +<p>“Yes; I am puzzling.”</p> + +<p>“Do not,” said Miss Hathaway, significantly. “Puzzle about any one else +in California, but not about Nina Randolph.”</p> + +<p>“What is this mystery?” he exclaimed impatiently, then added hastily, +“oh, bother! I am too much of a wanderer to puzzle over any one.”</p> + +<p>Miss Hathaway fixed her large cold blue regard upon him. “Do you love +Nina Randolph?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid I love all women too much to trust to my own selection of +one.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p><p>“Now you are stupid. Go and talk to Nina.” She turned her back upon him, +and smiled indulgently to a new-comer.</p> + +<p>He crossed the room; a group of men parted with indifferent grace, and +he leaned over Nina’s chair.</p> + +<p>She was looking gay and free of care, and her eyes flashed a frank +welcome to Thorpe. “I thought you were not coming to talk to me,” she +said, with a little pout.</p> + +<p>“Duty first,” he murmured. “Come over into the little reception-room and +talk to me.”</p> + +<p>“What am I to do with all these men?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing.”</p> + +<p>“You are very exacting—for a friend.”</p> + +<p>“If you are a good friend, you will come. I am tired and bored.”</p> + +<p>She rose, shook out her pretty pink skirts, nodded to her admirers, and +walked off with Thorpe.</p> + +<p>He laughed. “Perhaps they will console themselves with the reflection +that as they have spoiled you, they should stand the consequences.”</p> + +<p>They took possession of a little sofa in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>reception-room. Another +couple was in the window curve, and yet another opposite.</p> + +<p>“We have not had our hunt,” said Nina; “the country has been a mud-hole. +But we are to have it on Monday, if all goes well.”</p> + +<p>“Who else is to be of the party?”</p> + +<p>“Molly, Guadalupe, and Captain Hastings. Don’t speak of it to any one +else. I don’t want a crowd.”</p> + +<p>She lay back, her skirts sweeping his feet. A pink ribbon was twisted in +her hair. The colour in her cheeks was pink. The pose of her head, as +she absently regarded the stupid frescoes on the ceiling, strained her +beautiful throat, making it look as hard as ivory, accentuating the +softer loveliness of the neck. Thorpe looked at her steadily. He rarely +touched her hand.</p> + +<p>“I have something else in store for you,” she said, after a moment. +“Just beyond the army posts are great beds of wild strawberries. It was +a custom in the Spanish days to get up large parties every spring and +camp there, gather strawberries, wander on the beach and over the hills, +and picnic generally. We have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>kept it up; and if this weather lasts, if +spring is really here, a crowd of us are going in a couple of weeks—you +included. You have no idea what fun it is!”</p> + +<p>“I shall not try to imagine it.” He spoke absently. He was staring at a +curling lock that had strayed over her temple. He wanted to blow it.</p> + +<p>“I am tired,” she said. “Talk to me. I have been gabbling for an hour.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not in the mood for talking,” he said, shortly. “But keep quiet, if +you want to. I suppose we know each other well enough for that.”</p> + +<p>The other people left the room. Nina arranged herself more comfortably, +and closed her eyes. Her mouth relaxed slightly, and Thorpe saw the +lines about it. She looked older when the animation was out of her face, +but none the less attractive. His eyes fell on her neck. He moved +closer. She opened her eyes, and he raised his. The colour left her +face, and she rose.</p> + +<p>“Take me to papa,” she said; “I am going home.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> + +<p>The party for the elk-hunt assembled at Mr. Randolph’s door at four +o’clock on Monday morning. Miss Hathaway’s large Spanish eyes were heavy +with the languor of her race. Miss Shropshire looked cross. Even the men +were not wholly animate. Nina alone was as widely awake as the +retreating stars. She rode ahead with Thorpe.</p> + +<p>They made for the open country beyond the city. What is now a large and +populous suburb, was then a succession of sand dunes, in whose valleys +were thickets of scrub oak, chaparral, and willows. A large flat lying +between Rincon Hill and Mission Bay was the favourite resort of elk, +deer, antelope, and the less aristocratic coyote and wild cat. It was to +this flat that Mr. Randolph’s party took their way, accompanied by +vaqueros leading horses upon which to bring back the spoils of the +morning.</p> + +<p>The hour was grey and cold. The landscape looked inexpressibly bleak. A +blustering wind travelled between the sea and the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>bay. From the crests +of the hills they had an occasional glimpse of water and of the +delapidated Mission, solitary on its cheerless plain. In the little +valleys, the thickets were so dense they were obliged to bend their +heads. The morning was intensely still, but for the soft pounding of the +horses’ hoofs on the yielding earth, the long despairing cry of the +coyote, the sudden flight of a startled wild cat.</p> + +<p>“We are all so modern, we seem out of place in this wilderness,” said +Thorpe. “I can hardly accept the prophecy of your father and other +prominent men here, that San Francisco will one day be the great +financial and commercial centre of Western America. It seems to me as +hopeless as making cake out of bran.”</p> + +<p>“Just you wait,” said Nina, tossing her head. “It will come in our time, +in my father’s time. You haven’t got the feel of the place yet, haven’t +got it into your bones. And you don’t know what we Californians can do, +when we put our minds to it.”</p> + +<p>“I hope I shall see it,” he replied, smiling; “I hope to see California +at many stages of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>her growth. I am a nomad, you know, and I shall make +it the objective point of my travels hereafter. The changes—I don’t +doubt if they come at all they will ride the lightning—will interest me +deeply. May there be none in you,” he added, gallantly. “I cannot +imagine any.”</p> + +<p>Her eyes drooped, and her underlids pressed upward,—a repellant trick +that had made Thorpe uncomfortable more than once. “That is where you +will find the changes upon which the city will not pride itself,” she +said. “Fortunately, there won’t be many of them.”</p> + +<p>“You are unfair,” he said, angrily. “You told me to ask you no +questions, and this is not the first time you have deliberately pricked +my curiosity—that is not the word, either. The first night I dined at +your house—” he stopped, biting his lip. He had said more than he +intended.</p> + +<p>“I know. You thought you had discovered the secret—I know exactly what +you thought. But you have come to the conclusion since that there is +more behind. Well, you are right.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p><p>“What is your secret? I have had opportunities to discover. I hope I +need not tell you that I have shut my ears; but I wish you would tell +me. I don’t like mystery. It is sensational and old-fashioned. Between +such friends as ourselves, it is entirely without excuse. It is more +than possible that, girl-like, you have exaggerated its importance, and +you are in danger of becoming morbid. But, whether it is real or +imaginary, let me help you. Every woman needs a man’s help, and you can +have all of mine that you want. Only don’t keep prodding my imagination, +and telling me not to think. I am close upon thinking of nothing else.”</p> + +<p>“Well, just fancy that that is my way of making myself interesting; that +I cannot help flirting a little, even with friends.” She laughed +lightly; but her face, which was not always under her control, had +changed: it looked dull and heavy.</p> + +<p>“That is pure nonsense,” he said, shortly. “Do you suppose you make +yourself more interesting by hinting that your city will one day be +ashamed of you?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, perhaps <i>that</i> was an exaggeration.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p><p>“I should hope so.”</p> + +<p>“I meant one’s city need not know everything.”</p> + +<p>“You are unpleasantly perverse this morning. I choose to take what you +said as an exaggeration; but there is something behind, and I feel +strongly impelled to say that if you don’t tell me I shall leave.”</p> + +<p>“If I did, you would take the next steamer.”</p> + +<p>“I am the one to decide that. At least give me the opportunity to reduce +your mountain to a mole-hill.”</p> + +<p>“Even you could not. And look—I see no reason why friends should wish +to get at one another’s inner life. The companionship of friends is +mental only. I have given you my mind freely. You have no right to ask +for my soul. You are not my lover, and you don’t wish to be, although I +don’t doubt that at times you imagine you do.”</p> + +<p>“I am free to confess that I have imagined it more than once. I will set +the example by being perfectly frank with you. If I could understand +you, if I were not tormented by all sorts of dreadful possibilities, I +should have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>let myself go long before this. Does that sound +cold-blooded? I can only say in explanation that I was born with a good +deal of self-control, and that I have strengthened my will by exercise. +It would be either one extreme or the other with me. At first I thought +I should not want to marry you in any case. I am now sufficiently in +love with you to long to be wholly so.”</p> + +<p>Nina stole a glance at him with a woman’s uncontrollable curiosity, even +in great moments. But he had turned his head from her, and was hitting +savagely at his boot.</p> + +<p>“I will be frank to this extent, by way of return: The barrier between +us is insurmountable, and you would be the first to admit it. I will +tell you the whole truth the day before you leave; that must content +you. And, meanwhile, nip in the bud what is merely a compound of +sympathy and passion. I know the influence I exert perfectly. I have +seen more than one man go off his head. It humiliates me beyond +expression.”</p> + +<p>“It need not—although it is extremely distasteful to me that you should +have seen men go off their heads, as you express it. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>But passion is the +mightiest factor in love; there is no love without it, and it is bound +to predominate until it is satisfied. Then the affections claim their +part; and a dozen other factors, mental companionship for one, enter in. +But, for Heaven’s sake, don’t add to your morbidity by despising +yourself because you inspire passion in men. The women who do not are +not worth considering.”</p> + +<p>“Is that true? Well, I am glad you have suggested another way of looking +at it. I don’t think I am morbid. At all events no one in this world +ever made a harder fight not to be.”</p> + +<p>They were riding through a thicket, and he turned and brought his face +so close to hers that she had only a flashing glimpse of its pallor and +of the flame in his eyes.</p> + +<p>“It is your constant fight that wrings my heart,” he said. “Whatever it +is against, I will make it with you, if you will let me. I am strong +enough for both. And who am I that I should judge you? I have not lived +the life of a saint. We all have our ideals. Mine has been never to give +way except when I chose, never to let my senses control my <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>mind for an +instant. I believe, therefore, that I am strong enough to help and +protect you against everything. And, whatever it is, you shall never be +judged by me.”</p> + +<p>They left the thicket at the moment, and she pushed her horse aside, +that she might no longer feel Thorpe’s touch, his breath on her neck. +“You are the most generous of men,” she said; “and you can have the +satisfaction of knowing that you have made me think better of myself and +of human nature than I have ever thought before. But I cannot marry you. +Not only is the barrier insurmountable, but I don’t love you. Here we +are.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> + +<p>Thorpe at this time spent few hours in his own company. There was +abundant distraction: either a social entertainment every day or +evening, or a lark in the city. The wild life about the plaza, the +gambling houses, the saloons, the fatal encounters in the dark +contiguous streets, the absolute recklessness of the men and women, +interested him profoundly. As he spent money freely, and never passed a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>gaming table without tossing down a handful of coin as ardently as any +adventurer, he was popular, and free to come and go as he liked.</p> + +<p>The scene which he most frequented, which rose most vividly when he was +living his later life in England, was El Dorado. It had three great +windows on the plaza and six in its length,—something over a hundred +and twenty feet. The brilliant and extraordinary scene within was +visible to those who shunned it but stood with a fascinated stare; for +its curtains were never drawn, its polished windows were close upon the +sidewalk. On one side, down its entire length, was a bar set with +expensive crystal, over which passed every variety of drink known to the +appetite of man. Behind the bar were mirrors from floor to ceiling, +reflecting the room, doubling the six crystal blazing chandeliers, the +forty or fifty tables piled high with gold and silver, the hard intent +faces of the gamblers, the dense throng that ever sauntered in the +narrow aisles. At the lower end was a platform on which musicians played +droning tunes on hurdy-gurdies, and Mexican girls, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>who looked like +devils, danced. In the middle of the platform, awaiting the counters of +the patrons of the bar, one woman sat always. She was French, and dark, +and handsome, and weighed three hundred pounds. Dressing such a person +was expensive in those days of incredible prices, and that room was very +warm; she wore but a yard or two of silk somewhere about the belt.</p> + +<p>Thorpe often sat and watched the faces of the gamblers: the larger +number were gently born, and more than one told him that he had been a +schoolmaster, a college professor, a clergyman, a lawyer, a doctor—all +had failed, or had been ambitious for quicker betterment, and drifted to +the golden land, there to feel the full weight of their own +incompetence. They came there night after night, and when they had no +money to gamble with they sauntered with the throng, or leaned heavily +against the noble pillars which supported the ceiling. Thorpe afterward +often wondered what had become of them. It is doubtful if there is a +living soul who knows.</p> + +<p>Occasionally Thorpe picked up a heap of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>woman in the street, put it in +a carriage, and saw it safely to a night’s lodging. Sometimes the woman +mumbled feeble gratitude, as often cursed him because he would not give +her drink. One night, when rambling about alone, he knocked down a man +who was beating a pretty young Mexican woman, then collared and carried +him off to the calaboose. The girl died, and a few days later he went to +the court-house to testify. The small room was packed; the jurors were +huddled in a corner, where they not only listened to the testimony, but +were obliged to talk out their verdict, there being no other +accommodation.</p> + +<p>The trial was raced through in San Francisco style, but lasted several +hours. Thorpe sat it out. There was no testimony but his and that of the +coroner; but the lawyer and the district-attorney tilted with animus and +vehemence. When they had concluded, the judge rose, stretched himself, +and turned to the jury.</p> + +<p>“You’ve heard the whole case,” he remarked. “So you do your level best +while I go out for a drink. He killed her or he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>didn’t. It’s swing or +quit.” And, expectorating impatiently among the audience, he sauntered +out.</p> + +<p>The jury returned a verdict of “not guilty,” and the man was lynched in +the quiet and orderly manner of that time.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> + +<p>A week later forty or fifty people were camped beside the strawberry +fields on the hills beyond the army posts and sloping to the ocean. Mr. +Randolph and Nina, the McLanes, Miss Hathaway, Miss Shropshire, the +“three Macs,” the Earles, and a half-dozen young men were domiciled in a +small village of tents on the eminence nearest the city. The encampments +were a mile apart; and in the last of them a number of the Californian +grandees who had made the land Arcadia under Mexican rule enjoyed the +hospitality of Don Tiburcio Castro, a great rancher who was making an +attempt to adapt himself to the new city and its enterprising promoters.</p> + +<p>Thorpe and Hastings walked over from <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>the Presidio. They found the +entire party assembled before the largest tent, which flew the American +flag. As the young men approached, all of the ladies formed quickly into +line, two and two, and walked forward to meet them. The men, much +mystified, paused, raised their caps, and stood expectant. Mrs. McLane +stepped from the ranks, and, with much ceremony, unrolled several yards +of tissue paper, then shook forth the silken folds of the English flag, +and presented it to Thorpe.</p> + +<p>“It is made from our sashes, and we all sewed on it,” she announced. +“You will sleep better if the Union Jack is flying over your tent.”</p> + +<p>“How awfully jolly—what a stunning compliment,” stammered Thorpe, +embarrassed and pleased. “It shall decorate some part of my surroundings +as long as I live.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Randolph himself fixed the flag, and Thorpe exclaimed impulsively to +Mrs. McLane, with whom he stood apart: “Upon my word, I believe I am +coming under the spell. I wonder if I shall ever want to leave +California?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p><p>“Why not stay? Unless you have ambitions, and want to run for Parliament +or be a diplomat or something, or are wedded to the English on their +native heath, I don’t see why you shouldn’t remain here. It is rather +slow for us women: we are obliged to be twice as proper as the women of +older civilisations; but a man, I should think, especially a man of +resource like you, ought to find twenty different ways of amusing +himself. You not only can have all that is exciting in San Francisco, +watching a city trying to kick out of its long clothes, but you can +saunter about the country and see the grandees in their towns and on +their ranchos, to say nothing of the scenery, which is said to be +magnificent.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t a bad idea. My past is not oppressing me, but I believe I +should enjoy the sensation of beginning life over again. It would be +that—certainly. But then I am an Englishman, you know, and English +roots strike deep. Still, I have a half mind to buy a ranch here and +come back every year or so. And I have a favourite brother who is rather +delicate; it would be a good life for him.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p><p>“Do think of it,” said Mrs. McLane, in the final tone with which she +dismissed a subject that could claim her interest so long and no longer. +She had liked Thorpe more in Paris, where he was not in love with +another woman. She moved away with her husband, a big burly man with a +face curiously like Sir Walter Scott’s, and Thorpe plunged his hands in +his pockets and strolled over the hill. The slopes were covered with +strawberry vines down to the broad white beach. The large calm waves of +the Pacific rolled ponderously in and fell down. Cityward was the Golden +Gate with its white bar. Beyond it were steep cliffs, gorgeous with +colour.</p> + +<p>“Does England really exist?” he thought. “One could do anything reckless +in this country.”</p> + +<p>He had been the only man to miss his elk at the hunt, and he had spent +the rest of the day in hard riding. When the fever wore off, his reason +was thankful that Nina Randolph had refused him, and he made up his mind +to leave California by the next steamer. He had heard of the wonders +worked by Time, and none knew better than <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>he how to make life varied +and interesting. He persuaded himself that he was profoundly relieved +that she did not love him. Once or twice he had been nearly sure that +she did. He had not seen her alone since the morning of the hunt, and, +when they had met, her manner had been as frank and friendly as ever.</p> + +<p>He joined Mrs. Earle, who had draped a reboso about her head, and was +fluttering an immense fan. For the first time since his arrival in San +Francisco, he plunged into a deliberate flirtation. Mrs. Earle was one +of those women who flirt from the crown of her head to the sole of her +foot, and she was so thin that Thorpe fancied he could see the springs +which kept her skeleton in such violent motion. Her eyebrows were +marvels of muscular ingenuity, and all the passions were in a pair of +great black eyes which masked a brain too shrewd to try the indulgence +of old Dom Pedro Earle, a doughty Scot, too far.</p> + +<p>Once, as they repassed a tent, Thorpe saw a vibration of the door, and a +half moment later heard a loud crash. Mrs. Earle’s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>eyebrows went up to +her hair, but she only said:</p> + +<p>“Your eyes are as grey and cold as that sea, señor; but they will get +into a fine blaze some day, and then they will burn a hole in some poor +woman’s heart. And your jaw! <i>Dios de mi alma!</i> What a tyrant you must +be—over yourself most of all! I flirt with you no more. You are the +sort of man that husbands are so jealous of, because you do not know how +to trifle. <i>Adios, señor, adios!</i>”</p> + +<p>She swayed over to her husband; and at the same moment Nina ran out of +the tent which had attracted Thorpe’s attention. She wore a short white +frock and a large white hat, which made her look very young. In her hand +she carried a small tin horn, upon which she immediately gave a shrill +blast.</p> + +<p>“That means work,” she cried. “Get down to the patch.”</p> + +<p>The servants spread a long table on a level spot, and fetched water from +a spring, carrying the jugs on their shoulders. The cook, in a tent +apart, worked leisurely at a savory supper. The guests scattered among +the strawberry-beds, and plucked the large red fruit. Each <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>had a small +Mexican basket, and culled as rapidly as possible; the positions they +were forced to assume were not comfortable. All were very gay, and now +and then fought desperately for a well-favoured vine.</p> + +<p>Nina, who had been ousted by Mrs. Earle’s long arms, which flashed round +a glowing patch like two serpents, sprang up and ran down to the foot of +the hill, where the vines were more straggling and less popular. Thorpe +followed, laughing. Her hat had been lost in the fray; her hair was down +and blown about in the evening wind, and her cheeks were crimson.</p> + +<p>“I hate long-legged long-armed giantesses,” she exclaimed, attacking a +vine spitefully. “And Spanish people are treacherous, anyhow. That patch +was mine.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe laughed heartily. Her temper was genuine. His spirits suddenly +felt lighter; she looked like a spoilt child, not like a girl with a +tragic secret.</p> + +<p>“She upset my basket, too,” continued Nina, viciously. “But she upset +half her own at the same time, and I trod on them, on purpose.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p><p>“Here, let me fill your basket while you make a mud pie.” He plucked his +portion and hers, while she dug her fingers into the sand, and recovered +her temper. As Thorpe dropped the replenished basket into her lap, she +tossed her hair out of her eyes, and smiled up at him.</p> + +<p>“Sit down and rest,” she said, graciously. “Supper won’t be ready for a +half hour yet, and that hill is something to climb.”</p> + +<p>The others had finished their task, and disappeared over the brow of the +hill. The west was golden; even the sea was yellow for the moment.</p> + +<p>“We know how to enjoy ourselves out here,” said Nina, contentedly, +sinking her elbow into the sand. “I should think it a good place to +pitch your tent.”</p> + +<p>She flirted her eyelashes at him, and looked so incapable of being +serious that he answered, promptly,—</p> + +<p>“I shall, if I can find some one to make it comfortable.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t need to go begging. You’re quite the belle. Several that are +more or less <i>éprises</i> are splendid housekeepers.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p><p>“I am not looking for a housekeeper.”</p> + +<p>“What are you looking for?” she asked, audaciously. Her chin was in her +hand; her unbound hair clung about her; her tiny feet moved beneath the +hem of her frock.</p> + +<p>He also was lying on his elbow, his face close to hers. He had always +followed her cues, and if she wished to flirt at this late date he was +quite willing to respond. He made up his mind abruptly to dismiss all +plans and drift with the tide.</p> + +<p>“You,” he said, softly.</p> + +<p>“Are you proposing to me?”</p> + +<p>He noted that she ignored his actual proposal, and commended her tact.</p> + +<p>“I am not so sure that I am; I am surer that I want to.”</p> + +<p>“You are a cautious calculating Englishman.”</p> + +<p>“I believe I am—up to a certain point.”</p> + +<p>“Your face looks so hard and brown in that shadow. I’ve had men propose +the third time they met me.”</p> + +<p>“Probably.”</p> + +<p>“You can propose, if it will ease your mind. I shall never marry.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p><p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>“I think it would be heavenly to be an old maid, and make patchwork +quilts for missionaries.”</p> + +<p>“I shall take pleasure in imagining you in the rôle when I am digging +away at Blue Books and Reports.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, never, never more!” she chanted, lightly.</p> + +<p>He paled slightly, then lifted a strand of her hair and drew it across +his lips. It was the first caress he had given her in their six weeks of +friendly intimacy, and her colour deepened. He shook the hair over her +face. Her eyes peered out elfishly.</p> + +<p>“I suspect we are going to flirt this week,” she said, drily.</p> + +<p>“If you choose to call it that.” Her hair was clinging about his +fingers.</p> + +<p>“Suppose we make a compact—to regard nothing seriously that may occur +this week.”</p> + +<p>“Why are you so afraid of compromising yourself?”</p> + +<p>“That belongs to the final explanation. But it is a recognised canon of +strawberry-week ethics that everybody flirts furiously. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>Friendship is +entirely too serious. Of course I shall flirt with you,—I shall let +Dominga Earle see that at once,—as I am tired of all the others. Will +you make the compact?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>The sun had dropped below the ocean; only a bar of paling green lay on +the horizon. Voices came faintly over the hill, and the shadows were +rapidly gathering.</p> + +<p>Thorpe’s face moved suddenly to hers. He flung her hair aside and kissed +her. She did not respond, nor move. But when he kissed her again and +again, she did not repulse him.</p> + +<p>“I want you to understand this,” he said, and his voice had softened, a +rare variation, nor was it steady. “I have not let myself go because you +proposed that compact. I am quite willing to forget it.”</p> + +<p>“But I am not. I expect you to remember it.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, we can settle that later. Meanwhile, for this week, we will +be happy. Have you ever let any man kiss you before?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t know? What a thing to say!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p><p>“Some one may have found me napping, you know.”</p> + +<p>“You are very fond of being enigmatical. Why can’t you give a straight +answer to a straight question?”</p> + +<p>“Well—what I meant was that you should not ask impertinent questions. +But, if you insist,—as far as I know, only two men have kissed me,—you +and my father.”</p> + +<p>He drew a quick breath. The ugliest fear that had haunted him took +flight. He believed her to be truthful.</p> + +<p>He stood up suddenly, and drawing her with him, held her closely until +he felt her self-control giving way. When he kissed her again, she put +up her arms and clung to him, and kissed him for the first time. He knew +then, whatever her reason for suggesting such a compact, or her ultimate +purpose, that she loved him.</p> + +<p>The mighty blast of a horn echoed among the hills and cliffs. Nina +sprang from Thorpe’s arms.</p> + +<p>“That is one of papa’s jokes,” she said. “It isn’t the horn of the +hunter, but of the farmer. Come, supper is ready. Oh, dear!” She +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>clapped her hands to her head. “I can’t go up with my hair looking like +this. I can just see the polaric disgust of the Hathaway orbs; it goes +through one like blue needles. And then the malicious snap of Mrs. +Earle’s, and the faint amusement of Mrs. McLane’s. And I’ve lost my +hairpins! And I never—never—can get to my tent unseen. I’m living with +’Lupie and Molly, and they’re sure to be late—on purpose; I hate +women—Here! Braid it. Don’t tell me you can’t! You must!”</p> + +<p>She presented her back to Thorpe, who was clumsily endeavouring to adapt +himself to her mood. The discipline of the last six weeks stood him in +good stead.</p> + +<p>“Upon my word!” he exclaimed, in dismay, “I never braided a woman’s hair +in my life.”</p> + +<p>“Quick! Divide it in three strands—even—then one over the other—Oh, +an idiot could braid hair! Tighter. Ow! Oh, you <i>are</i> so clumsy.”</p> + +<p>“I know it,” humbly. “But it clings to my fingers. I believe you have it +charged with electricity. It doesn’t look very even.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p><p>“I don’t imagine it does. But it feels as if it would do. Half way down +will be enough—”</p> + +<p>“Hallo!” came Hastings’s voice from the top of the hill. “Are you two +lost in a quicksand?”</p> + +<p>“Coming!” cried Nina. She sprang lightly up the hill, chattering as +merrily as if she and the silent man beside her had spent the last +half-hour flinging pebbles into the ocean.</p> + +<p>They separated on the crest of the hill, and went to their respective +tents. A few moments later Nina appeared at the supper-table with her +disordered locks concealed by a network of sweet-brier. The effect was +novel and bizarre, the delicate pink and green very becoming.</p> + +<p>“Heaven knows when I’ll ever get it off,” she whispered to Thorpe, as +she took the chair at his side. “It has three thousand thorns.”</p> + +<p>The girls were in their highest spirit at the supper-table. Mr. McLane +and Mr. Randolph were in their best vein, and Hastings and Molly +Shropshire talked incessantly. Thorpe heard little that was said; he was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>consumed with the desire to be alone with Nina Randolph again.</p> + +<p>But she would have no more of him that night. After supper, a huge +bonfire was built on the edge of a jutting cliff, and the entire party +sat about it and told yarns. The women stole away one by one. Nina was +almost the first to leave.</p> + +<p>The men remained until a late hour, and received calls from hilarious +neighbours whose bonfires were also blazing. Don Tiburcio Castro dashed +up at one o’clock, and invited Mr. Randolph to bring his party to a +grand <i>merienda</i> on the last day but one of their week, and to a ball at +the Mission Dolores on the evening following.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> + +<p>When the party broke up for the night Thorpe walked a half mile over the +dunes, until, for any evidence of civilisation, he was alone in the +wilderness, then lay down on the warm sand and took counsel with +himself.</p> + +<p>He had taken the plunge, and he had no regrets. He recalled his doubts, +his certainty <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>that the Randolph skeleton was not the figment of a +girl’s morbid imagination, his analysis of a temperament which he was +only beginning to understand, and wherein lay gloomy foreshadowings, the +fact that her first appeal had been to his animalism and that the appeal +had been direct and powerful. Until the morning of the elk-hunt, he had +not admitted that he loved her; but in a flash he had realised her +tragic and desolate position, little as he guessed the cause, and +coincidently his greater love for her had taken form so definitely that +he had not hesitated a moment to ask her to marry him. Later, he had +persuaded himself that he was well out of it; but between that time and +this he had allowed himself hardly a moment for meditation.</p> + +<p>To-night he had not a regret. The certainty that she loved him put his +last scruple to flight, and changed his attitude to her irrevocably. He +had never loved before, nor had she. She seemed indivisibly and +eternally a part of him, and he recalled the sense of ownership he had +experienced the night he had met her, when the evil alone in her claimed +him. To-night the sense was stronger still, and he no <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>longer believed +that there was a spark of evil in her; the moment he became a lover, he +became an idealist. He exaggerated every better quality into a +perfection; and all other women seemed marionnettes beside the one who +could make him shiver with hopes and fears, affect his appetite, and +control his dreams, who made him wild to surrender his liberty before he +was thirty, and accept a woman of the people as a mother-in-law.</p> + +<p>The full knowledge suddenly poured into his brain that he was in love, +he,—Dudley Thorpe, who had crammed his life so full of other interests +that he had rarely thought of love, believing serenely that it would +arrive when he was forty, and ready for it. He lay along the sands and +surrendered himself to the experience, the most marvellous and delicious +he had ever known. Once he caught himself up and laughed, then felt that +he had committed a sacrilege. He knew that as he felt then, as he might +continue to feel during his engagement, was an isolated experience in a +man’s life. He felt like clutching at even the tremours and fears that +assailed him, and cutting them deep in his brain, that he might have +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>their memory sharp and vivid when he was long married and serenely +content. He was happier in those moments, lying alone on the dry warm +sand under the crowding stars which had outlived so many passions, than +when he had held her in his arms. He felt that something had escaped him +when they had been together, some thought had strayed; and he determined +to concentrate his faculties more fully and to become a master in love. +He did nothing by halves, and he would be completely happy.</p> + +<p>Then his thoughts became practical once more. Her admission that she +loved him had given him a right to control her life, to protect her, to +think for both. He was a very high-handed man, and, having made up his +mind to marry Nina Randolph, he regarded her opposition as non-existent. +He would argue it out with her, when she was ready to speak, knowing +that the mental tide of woman, when undammed, must have its way; but he +alone would decide the issue.</p> + +<p>He should no longer torment himself with imaginings, rehearsing every +ill that could befall a woman, whether the act of her own <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>folly or the +cruel hatching of Circumstance. It mattered nothing; he should marry +her. His want of her was maddening. The desire to pluck her from her +present life, to make her happy, possessed him.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> + +<p>The next morning all were up at eight and picking strawberries for +breakfast. The prolonged and vociferous music of the horn had precluded +all hope of laziness, and the late seekers after sleep were obliged to +turn out with the best grace possible. A plunge in the sea had animated +the men for the day, and the women were very fresh and amiable.</p> + +<p>After breakfast they scattered about the hills and beach. It was a +cloudless dark-blue day. The air was warm and dry. The bleak sand dunes +were reclaimed for a brief season by the vivid green of willow and oak, +the fields of purple lupin and yellow poppy; the trade winds were +elsewhere, and the vegetation of San Francisco enjoyed its brief span of +life. A ship with all her sails spread drifted, sleepily, over the bar.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p><p>Thorpe and Nina climbed an eminence from which they could see the +Mission Dolores, far on the right, the smoke curling languidly from its +great chimneys; the square Presidio of romantic memories and prosaic +present; the distant city, whose loud feverish pulse they fancied they +could hear.</p> + +<p>They sat down under a tree. Nina took off her hat, and threw back her +head. “I think I am the re-embodiment of some pagan ancestor,” she said. +“On days like this, I care nothing for a single responsibility in life, +nor for what to-morrow will bring, nor for a religion nor a creed, nor +for the least nor greatest that civilisation has accomplished. I don’t +even long for Europe and the higher intellectual life. It is enough that +I am alive, that my eyes see only beauty, and my skin feels warmth. I +worship the sun and the sky and the flowers and the trees and the sea, +above all the warm quick atmosphere. They seem to me the only things +worth loving.”</p> + +<p>“They are not the only things you love, however.”</p> + +<p>“No, I love you and my father. I hate my mother. But I always manage to +forget <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>her existence when I am off like this, and she is out of my +sight—”</p> + +<p>“Why do you hate your mother?”</p> + +<p>“That is one of the things you are not to know yet. This week you are to +hear nothing that is not pleasant. I wish you to feel like a pagan, +too.”</p> + +<p>“I do. Some of your mandates are very easy to observe. We are reasonably +sympathetic on more points than one.”</p> + +<p>“We will imagine that all life is to be like this week—only no allusion +is to be made during this week to the future, and no allusion in the +future to this week.”</p> + +<p>“I will do all I can to respect your wishes as to the first. The second +is too ridiculous to notice. We will settle all that when the time +comes.”</p> + +<p>To this she vouchsafed no reply, but peered up into the boughs. Her +expression changed after a moment; it became impersonal, and her eyes +hardened as they always did when her mind alone was at work.</p> + +<p>“So far, California has evolved no literature,” she said. “When it does, +I don’t doubt it will be a literature of light and charm and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>comedy—and pleasurable pathos. Writers will continue to go to the +dreary moorlands, the dun-coloured skies of England for tragedy +settings, and for the atmosphere of tradition and history. It will be +hard for any writer who has travelled over the wonderful mountains and +valleys of California—you have only seen the worst of it so far—to +imagine tragedy in a land of such exultant beauty, under a sun that +shines in a blue sky for eight months of the year. Fancy Emily Brontë +writing ‘Wuthering Heights’ in California! The setting is all wrong for +anything deeper than the picturesque crimes of desperadoes. But it is +the very contrast, this very accompaniment of unreality, that makes our +tragedies the harder to bear. I have thought sometimes that if I could +come out here on a furious day in winter, and wander about the sand +hills by myself, I’d feel as if I had a better right to be miserable—”</p> + +<p>“I thought we were to have no more such hints this week. I am tired of +innuendoes. As I have remarked before, you take an unfair advantage. Let +down your hair. It <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>looks full of gold and red in this light, and I want +to see it spread out in the sun.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, put my hairpins in your pocket. Take it down yourself, and +don’t pull, on your life.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> + +<p>The week passed very gaily; the mornings in long rambles, the early +afternoon in siesta, its later hours in visits to neighbouring camps, +followed by strawberry picking and long evenings about the fire or +walking on the beach.</p> + +<p>Thorpe and Nina were comparatively alone most of the time; and her high +spirits, her lavish charm, her sudden moments of seriousness, and her +outbursts of passionate affection completed his enthralment. Several +times Thorpe caught Mr. Randolph’s eyes following him with an expression +of peculiar anxiety, and it chafed him not to be able to declare his +purpose plainly; but for the week he was bound.</p> + +<p>On the whole, it was a happy week. As it neared its end, Thorpe knew +that his mind was possessing hers, that her will was weakening, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>and +love flooding reason. Once or twice she gave him a glance of timid +appeal; but she would not discuss the position. His mastery was the more +nearly complete as he kept his promise and ignored the future.</p> + +<p>On the last day but one the party went down the coast to attend Don +Tiburcio’s <i>merienda</i>. It was to be given in a valley about a half-mile +inland, which the guests must approach through a narrow cañon fronting +the sea.</p> + +<p>The walk along the beach and inland trail was easy and pleasant, but the +cañon was sown with rocks and sweet-brier; and the way was picked with +some discomfort.</p> + +<p>“If I stub my toe, you can carry me,” said Nina.</p> + +<p>“I will,” said Thorpe, gallantly. He was feeling particularly light of +heart. The week was almost over. Delightful in many ways as it had been, +he was eager to take the reins into his own hands.</p> + +<p>“Look! look!” exclaimed Nina, and the party paused simultaneously.</p> + +<p>Don Tiburcio Castro had suddenly appeared at the head of the cañon. He +was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>mounted on a large horse of a breed peculiar to the Californias, +golden bronze in colour with silver mane and tail. The trappings of the +horse were of embossed leather, heavily mounted with silver. His own +attire was magnificent. He wore the costume of the grandees of his +time,—a time which had fallen helplessly into the past during the +fourteen years of American possession; indeed, Don Tiburcio, who, like +many of his brethren, had for every day use adopted the garb of modern +civilisation, had the effect, as he sat motionless on his burnished +steed at the head of the cañon, of a symbolic figure at the end of a +perspective.</p> + +<p>He wore short clothes of red silk, the jacket open over a lace shirt +clasped with jewels. His long botas of yellow leather were wound about +with red and blue ribbons; his broad sombrero was heavy with silver +eagles.</p> + +<p>“I begin to feel the unreality of California,” said Thorpe. “It is like +a scene out of a picture-book.”</p> + +<p>“After all, it is but one phase,” replied Nina.</p> + +<p>Don Tiburcio lifted his sombrero and rode <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>down the cañon, the horse +stepping daintily over the rocks. The women waved their handkerchiefs, +the men their caps. Then the end of the perspective was closed once +more, this time by a group of women. And they wore full flowered gowns +with pointed bodice, rebosos draped about their dark graceful heads. Two +tinkled the guitar. The others wielded large black fans.</p> + +<p>“Ay!” exclaimed Mrs. Earle. “Why did I not bring my reboso? ’Lupie, we +shall be forgotten.”</p> + +<p>“There are men,” replied Miss Hathaway, as several dark beribboned heads +appeared above the rebosos. “They, too, may want a change. You can +desert me, Captain Hastings. I shall amuse myself.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t doubt it,” said Hastings, gloomily. “I don’t flatter myself +that I could make you jealous.”</p> + +<p>“I welcome you,” said Don Tiburcio, choosing his English very slowly, +and reining in. “The day ees yours, my friends. I am your slave. I have +prepare a little entertainment, but if it no is to your taste, but say +the word, and all shall be change.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Randolph made a terse and suitable reply. Don Tiburcio stood aside +that all might pass him, bowing repeatedly; and the party made its way +as quickly as possible to the entrance.</p> + +<p>Doña Eustaquia Carillo de Brotherton, one of the most famous women of +the old régime, stood there, the girls making way for her, and for Doña +Jacoba Duncan, Mrs. Polk,—she who was beautiful Magdaléna Yorba,—and +Doña Prudencia Iturbi y Moncada. The first was happy with her American +husband; the second was not; Doña Jacoba’s lines were as stern as when +she had beaten her beloved children with a green hide reata, her smile +as brilliant; and Doña Prudencia, who still (presumably) lamented the +late Reinaldo, had found mitigation in her great social importance, and +in her maternal devotion to the heir of her father-in-law’s vast +estates.</p> + +<p>The women all kissed each other, and those that could talk Spanish made +a soft pretty babel of sound that suggested perpetuity. The men were +presented, and those of the Randolph party taken prompt possession of by +the coquettish Californian girls. The men <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>of the South were inclined to +be haughty at first, but shortly succumbed to the novel charm of the +American women.</p> + +<p>“One can hardly realise the life they suggest,” said Mr. Randolph to +Thorpe. “Not fifty miles from San Francisco, they are still living in +much of their primitive simplicity and state. In the south they are +still farther removed from all that we have done. Doña Prudencia lives +the life of a dowager empress.”</p> + +<p>They were in an open valley, shaded here and there with large oaks, +carpeted with flowers. The women seated themselves on the warm dry +ground, the caballeros,—as resplendent as Don Tiburcio,—and the more +modest Americans lying at their feet, smoking the cigarito. The +Californian girls tinkled their guitars and sang, with accompaniment of +lash and brow. The older women smoked daintily, and talked of the gay +old times. Thorpe, who was in no mood to parry coquetry,—and Nina was +receiving the court of no less than three caballeros,—bestowed himself +between Doña Eustaquia and Doña Prudencia, and charmed them with his +unfeigned interest.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p><p>In the middle of the valley was a deep excavation. From stout poles hung +two bullocks. In the course of an hour, the high beds of coals beneath +the beasts were ignited, and the smell of roast meat mingled with the +drowsy scent of the poppy and the salt of the sea.</p> + +<p>When the bullocks were cooked, and the repast was spread some yards +away, the guests found on the table every delicacy known to the old +time. It was a very lively and a very picturesque feast, and no one felt +the exhilaration of it more than Thorpe. He could not see Nina. She was +on his side of the table, and eight or ten people were between; but it +was enough to know that she was there, and that before the day was over +they should find an hour together.</p> + +<p>The wines until after the dessert were American; but as luncheon was +concluding a servant brought a great tray covered with small glasses +containing a colourless liquid.</p> + +<p>“You must all dreenk with me to the glory and prosperity of California +in my native wine, the fierce mescal,” said Don Tiburcio, rising. “Every +one—ah, yes, ladies, it ees strong: <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>I would not advise you that you +take mooch; but one seep, just for the toast—ah, <i>muchas gracias</i>.”</p> + +<p>The company rose. The American women made a doubtful little peck at the +innocent-looking beverage, and shivered. The men consumed it heroically, +repressing their tears. Thorpe felt as if he were swallowing live +hornets; but, as he placed his glass on the table and bowed to the host, +his face was quite stolid.</p> + +<p>The company drove home, and retired at once to siesta. The strawberry +picking was belated, and Nina gathered hers with the help of Mr. McLane. +At dinner she sat between Mr. McLane and Hastings, and did not look at +Thorpe. He racked his brain to remember what he could have done to +offend her.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h2> + +<p>They did not walk on the beach that evening, but sat about the fire, +somewhat fatigued, but still in high spirits. Nina alone was quiet. +After a time she stole away, and went down to the water. Thorpe was +forced to infer that she wished to be alone, and did not follow her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>at +once. When at the end of a half-hour she had not returned, his +ill-carried impatience mastered him.</p> + +<p>His feet made no sound on the sandy slope, nor on the beach. It was a +night of perfect peace and calm and beauty. The ocean was quiet. The +stars were thick; a thin young moon rode past them. But Nina was not +within the flood of light about him. He turned the corner of a jutting +rock, and came upon her.</p> + +<p>She was sitting on a high stone, her hands pressed hard on her knees, +staring out to sea. Thorpe had seen her face bitter, tragic, passionate; +but he had never seen it look as it looked to-night. It might have been +the face of a woman cast up by the ocean, out of its depths, or a face +of stone for forty years. All the youth and life were out of it. It was +fixed, awful. Thorpe stood appalled. The sweet intercourse of the past +week seemed annihilated, the woman removed from him by a sudden breach +in time, or some tremendous crash in Circumstance. He dared not speak, +offer her sympathy. He felt that whether she had loved him or not in +this hour of abandonment <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>to her despair, he must be an insignificant +feature in her life.</p> + +<p>He stole away and sat down, dropping his face in his hands. His brain, +usually clear and precise, whirled disobediently. He felt helpless, his +manhood worthless. Nothing but a jut of rock stood between himself and +Nina Randolph, and it might have been the grave of one of them. Chaos +was in him, a troop of hideous imaginings. He wondered vaguely if the +mescal had affected him. It was cursed stuff, and the blood had been in +his head ever since he had drunk it.</p> + +<p>He knelt down, and dashed the cold sea-water over his face and head, not +once, but several times. When he stood up, his brain was cool and +steady.</p> + +<p>“I must either go to her,” he thought, “or despise myself. It is not an +intrusion; I certainly have my rights.”</p> + +<p>He went rapidly round the bend, and lifted her from the stone before she +was aware of his presence, then held her at arm’s length, a hand on each +shoulder.</p> + +<p>The fixity left the muscles of her face. They relaxed in terror.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p><p>“What is your secret?” he demanded, peremptorily. “Have you had a +lover—a child? Is that it?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“On your word of honour?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Are your parents unmarried?”</p> + +<p>“Not that I know of.”</p> + +<p>“Have you loved some man that is dead?”</p> + +<p>“I have never loved any man but you.”</p> + +<p>“Have you committed a crime? Are you in constant terror of discovery?”</p> + +<p>“I have never injured any one but myself.”</p> + +<p>“Is there insanity in the family, cancer, consumption?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Then, in God’s name, what is it? I have the right to know, and I demand +it; and the right to share your trouble and help you to bear it. I give +you my word of honour that, no matter what it is, it shall make no +difference to me.”</p> + +<p>She hung her head, and he felt her quiver from head to foot. Then she +fell to weeping silently, without passion, but shaking painfully. He +took her in his arms, and did what <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>he could to comfort her, and he +could be very tender when he chose. Later, he coaxed and implored and +threatened, but she would not speak. Once she made as if to cling to +him, then put her arms behind her and clasped her hands together. The +act was significant; but Thorpe took no notice of it. He knew now that +it was going to be more difficult to marry her than he had anticipated, +that infinite tact and patience would be necessary. After a time, he +dried her eyes and led her up the hill to the door of her tent. The +others were still about the fire, and she went in unseen.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h2> + +<p>Thorpe slept little that night. He wandered about the sand hills until +nearly dawn. It seemed to him that he had exhausted the category of +possible ills; he could think of nothing else. After all, it did not +matter. The woman alone mattered. He knew that when he had persuaded her +to marry him (he never used the word “if”), he could control her +imagination and make her happy; and no other man alive could do it. In +twenty different <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>ways he could make her forget everything but the fact +that she was his wife.</p> + +<p>The next day Nina did not appear until the party was gathered about the +table for luncheon. She explained that she had slept late in order to be +in good trim for the party that night, and had spent the rest of the +morning making an alteration in her evening frock.</p> + +<p>She nodded gaily to Thorpe, and took a seat some distance from him. She +looked very pretty. Her spirits, like her colour, were high, her eyes +brilliant. Nevertheless, there was a change in her, indefinable at +first; then Thorpe decided that she had acquired a shade of defiance, of +hardness.</p> + +<p>But he had no time for thought. Mrs. Earle’s flashing eyes were +challenging him on one side, Miss Hathaway’s fathomless orbs on the +other. Opposite, Miss Shropshire, for the first time, displayed an +almost feverish desire to engage his attention, and made herself +uncommonly agreeable.</p> + +<p>The afternoon was spent in packing and resting for the dance. The only +woman to be seen without the tents was Miss Shropshire, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>who took Thorpe +for a long walk and entertained him with many anecdotes of Nina’s +eccentricities.</p> + +<p>“She is very mutable,” said Thorpe, at length; “but I should not have +called her eccentric.”</p> + +<p>“Should not you?” demanded Miss Shropshire. “Now, I should. But then you +have seen so much of the world, so many varieties of women. Nina seems +very original to us out here. I often wonder, well as I know her, what +she will say and do next. Oh, Mr. Thorpe, does not that ship look +beautiful?”</p> + +<p>But Thorpe, who found a certain satisfaction in talking of the beloved +object, gently led her back to her former theme, and learned much of +Nina’s childhood and school-girl pranks. There was no hint of the +mystery, nor did he wish that there should be.</p> + +<p>Shortly after supper they started on horseback for the Mission, the +evening gear following in a wagon. Horses and conveyance had been sent +by Don Tiburcio.</p> + +<p>Nina rode between Mr. McLane and Captain Hastings, and kept them +laughing heartily. The day had passed and Thorpe had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>not had a word +with her. He rode last, with Miss Hathaway, glad of her society; for she +never expected a man to talk when he was not in the mood. Scarcely a +word passed between them; once or twice he had an uncomfortable +impression that her large cold inscrutable eyes were watching him +intently.</p> + +<p>They rode through the heavy dusk of a Californian night, perfume and the +odd abrupt sounds of the New World about them. The landscape took new +form in the shadows. The stunted brush seemed to crouch and quiver, +ready to spring. The owl hooted across the sandy waste; and coyotes +yapped dismally. Many of the party were silent; but Nina’s fresh +spontaneous laugh rang out every few moments, striking an incongruous +note. California itself was a mystery in that hour and did not consort +with the lighter mood of woman.</p> + +<p>Suddenly they looked down upon the Mission. The church was dark, but the +long wing beside it flared with light. They rode rapidly down the hill +and across the valley. As they approached, they saw Don Tiburcio +standing on the corridor before one of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>open doors. He wore black +silk short clothes and a lace shirt, his hair tied back with a ribbon. +Diamonds blazed among his ruffles and on his long white hands.</p> + +<p>As he was making one of his long and stately speeches, Miss Hathaway +laid her hand on Thorpe’s arm.</p> + +<p>“Take my advice,” she said, in her cool even tones. “Do not go near Nina +to-night. Let her alone. I think she wishes it.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe made no reply. Miss Hathaway might as well have asked him to hold +his breath until the entertainment was over.</p> + +<p>The ladies went at once to a large room set aside for their use and +donned their evening frocks. These frocks were very simple for the most +part, organdie or swiss, and they were adjusted casually before the +solitary mirror.</p> + +<p>Nina’s gown was of white nainsook ruffled to the waist with lace, and +very full. The low cut bodice was gathered into the belt like a child’s. +Sometime since a local goldsmith of much cunning had, out of a bar of +native gold, fashioned for her three flexible serpents. She wore one +through her hair, one on her left arm, and a heavier one about her +waist.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p><p>“<i>Dios de mi alma</i>, Nina,” exclaimed Mrs. Earle; “you look like an imp +to-night. What is the matter with you? Your eyes look—look—I hardly +know what you do look like.”</p> + +<p>“Are you well, Nina?” asked Miss Hathaway, turning and smiting the girl +with her polaric stare. “Have not you a headache? Why not lie down and +not bother with this ball?”</p> + +<p>For a moment Nina did not reply. She brought her small teeth together, +and looked into Miss Hathaway’s eyes with passionate resentment.</p> + +<p>“Just mind your own business, will you?” she said, pitching her voice +for the other woman’s ear alone. “And you’d oblige me by transfixing +some one else for the rest of the evening. I’ve had enough of your +attentions for one day.”</p> + +<p>Then she shook out her skirts as only an angry woman can, and left the +room.</p> + +<p>“Nina is in one of her unpleasant moods to-night,” said Mrs. McLane, +attempting a glimpse of herself over Miss McDermott’s shoulder, that she +might adjust a hairpin. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>“I have not seen her like this for some +time—seven weeks,” and she smiled.</p> + +<p>“She looks like a little devil,” said Mrs. Earle. “I have not been here +long enough to become intimate with her moods, and I must say I prefer +her without them. What are you scowling about, ’Lupie? Is your sash +crooked? Can I fix it? But I forgot: you are above such trifles—Holy +Mary! Guadalupe Hathaway! what on earth is the matter with your back?”</p> + +<p>“What?” asked Miss Hathaway, presenting her back squarely. There was a +simultaneous chorus of shrieks.</p> + +<p>“Guadalupe, for Heaven’s sake, what have you been doing?” cried Mrs. +McLane. “Your back is striped—dark brown and white.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, is that all?” asked Miss Hathaway, gathering up her fan and gloves. +“I suppose it got sunburned this morning at croquet. I had on a blouse +with alternate thick and thin stripes. <i>Hasta luego!</i>” and she moved +out, not with any marked grace, but with a certain dignity which saved +the stripes from absurdity.</p> + +<p>“<i>Bueno!</i>” exclaimed Mrs. Earle, “I’d like <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>to have as little vanity as +that. How peaceful, and how cheap!”</p> + +<p>“I suspect that it is her vanity to have no vanity,” said Mrs. McLane, +who was the wisest of women. “And if she did not happen to be a +remarkably handsome girl, I fancy her vanity would take another form. +But come, come, <i>mes enfants</i>, let us go. I feel half dressed; but as +this is a picnic I suppose it does not matter.”</p> + +<p>The guests were assembled in the large hall of the Mission: Mr. +Randolph’s party, Don Tiburcio’s, and several priests. The musicians +were on the corridor beyond the open window. Doña Eustaquia, Doña +Jacoba, Doña Prudencia, Mrs. Polk, and the priests sat on a dais at the +end of the room; behind them was draped a large Mexican flag. The rest +of the room was hung with the colours of the United States. The older +women of the late régime wore the heavy red and yellow satins of their +time, the younger flowered silks, their hair massed high and surmounted +by a comb. The caballeros were attired like their host.</p> + +<p>The guests were standing about in groups after the second waltz, when +Don Tiburcio <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>stepped to the middle of the room and raised his hand.</p> + +<p>“My friends,” he said, “my honoured compatriots, Don Hunt McLane and Don +Jaime Randolph have request that we do have the contradanza. Therefore, +if my honoured friends of America will but stand themselves against the +wall, we of California will make the favourite dance of our country.”</p> + +<p>The Americans clapped their hands politely. Don Tiburcio walked up to +Mrs. Earle, bowed low, and held out his hand. She rattled her fan in +token of triumph over her Northern sisters, and undulated to the middle +of the room, her hand in her host’s.</p> + +<p>The swaying, writhing, gliding dance—the dance in which the backbone of +men and women seems transformed into the flexible length of the +serpent—was half over, the American men were standing on tiptoe, +occasionally giving vent to their admiration, when Nina, her eyes +sparkling with jealously and excitement, moved along the wall behind a +group of people and stood beside Thorpe. He did not notice her approach. +His hands were thrust into his pockets, his eyes eagerly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>fixed on the +most graceful feminine convolutions he had ever seen.</p> + +<p>“Dudley!” whispered Nina. He turned with a jump, and forgot the dancers.</p> + +<p>“Well?” he whispered. “Nina! Nina!”</p> + +<p>She slipped her hand into his. He held it in a hard grip, his eyes +burning down into hers. “Why—why?—I must respect your moods if you +wish to avoid me at times—but—”</p> + +<p>“Do you admire that?”</p> + +<p>“I did—a moment ago.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me how much.”</p> + +<p>“More than any dancing I have ever seen, I think,” his eyes wandering +back to the swaying colorous groups of dancers. “It is the perfection of +grace—”</p> + +<p>“Would you like to see something far, <i>far</i> more beautiful?”</p> + +<p>“I fear I should go off my head—”</p> + +<p>“Answer my question.”</p> + +<p>“I should.”</p> + +<p>“You say you respect my moods. I don’t want—I particularly don’t want +to kiss you to-night. Will you promise not to kiss me if we should +happen to be alone?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p><p>Thorpe set his lips. He dropped her hand. “You are capricious—and +unfair,” he said; “I have not seen you alone for two days.”</p> + +<p>“It is not because I love you less,” she said, softly. “Promise me.”</p> + +<p>“Very well.”</p> + +<p>“It is now ten. We shall have supper at twelve. At one, go down the +corridor behind this line of rooms to the end. Wait there for me. Ask no +questions, or I won’t be there. This waltz is Captain Hastings’. I am +engaged for every dance. <i>Au revoir.</i>”</p> + +<p>Thorpe got through the intervening hours. He spent the greater part of +them with the four doñas of the dais, and was warmly invited to visit +them on their ranchos and in the old towns; and he accepted, although he +knew as much of the weather of the coming month as of his future +movements.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII</h2> + +<p>In the supper-room he sat far from Nina; but promptly at one he stole +forth to the tryst. The windows looking upon the back corridor were +closed. No one was moving among the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>mass of outbuildings. Not far away +he could see the rolling surface and stark outlines of the Mission +cemetery. A fine mist was flying before the stars; and a fierce wind, +the first of the trades, was screaming in from the ocean.</p> + +<p>Nina kept him waiting ten or fifteen minutes. Her white figure appeared +at the end of the corridor and advanced rapidly. Thorpe met her half +way, and she struck him lightly with her fan.</p> + +<p>“Remember your promise,” she said. “And also understand that you are not +to move from the place where I put you until I give you permission. Do +you take that in?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, sullenly; “but I am tired of farces and promises.”</p> + +<p>“Shh, don’t be cross. This has been a charming evening. I won’t have it +spoiled.”</p> + +<p>“Are you quite well? Your colour is so high, and your eyes are +unnaturally bright.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t suggest that I am getting anything,” she cried, in mock terror. +“Small-pox? How dreadful! That is our little recreation, you know. When +a San Franciscan has nothing else to do he goes off to the pest-house +and has small-pox. But come, come.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p><p>He followed her into the room at the end of the corridor, and she lit a +taper and conducted him up a steep flight of stairs which was little +more than a ladder. At the top was a narrow door. It yielded to the +knob, and Thorpe found himself in what was evidently the attic of the +Mission.</p> + +<p>“I was up here a month or two ago with the girls,” said Nina. Her voice +shook slightly. “I know there are candles somewhere—there were, at +least. Stand where you are until I look.”</p> + +<p>She flitted about with the taper, a ghostly figure in the black mass of +shadows; and in a few moments had thrust a half-dozen candles into the +necks of empty bottles. These she lit and ordered Thorpe to range at +intervals about the room. He saw that he was in a long low garret, at +one end of which was a pile of boxes, at the other a heap of carpeting.</p> + +<p>To the latter Nina pointed with her lighted taper. “Sit down there,” she +said, and disappeared behind the boxes.</p> + +<p>Thorpe did as he was bidden. His hands shook a little as he adjusted the +carpet to his comfort. The windows were closed. A tree <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>scraped against +the pane, jogged by the angry wind. The candles shed a fitful light, +their flames bending between several draughts. The floor was thick with +dust. Rafters yawned overhead, black and festooned with cobwebs. It was +an uncanny place, and the sudden apparition of a large and whiskered rat +scuttling across the floor in terrified anger at having his night’s rest +disturbed was not its most enlivening feature.</p> + +<p>“Dudley!” said Nina, sharply.</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“Was that a rat?”</p> + +<p>“It was.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear! dear! I never thought of rats. However,” firmly, “I’m going +to do it. I told you that you were not to move; but if you should happen +to see a rat making for me, you go for him just as quickly as you can.”</p> + +<p>“The rats are much more afraid of you. The only danger you need worry +about is pneumonia. I expect to sneeze throughout your entire +performance—whatever it is to be.”</p> + +<p>“You press your finger on the bridge of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>your nose: if you sneeze, it +will spoil the effect of—of—a poem. Now, keep quiet.”</p> + +<p>For a moment he heard no further sound. Then something appealed to his +ear which made him draw a quick breath. It was a low sweet vibrant +humming, and the air, though unfamiliar, indicated what he had to +expect. Sinking deeper into his dusty couch, he propped his chin on his +hand; and, simultaneously, a vision emerged and filled the middle +distance.</p> + +<p>For a moment it stood motionless, poised, then floated lightly toward +him, scarcely touching the floor, with a lazy rhythmic undulation which +was music in itself. The full soft gown with its ruffles of lace rose +and fell like billows of cloud, and in and out of a strip of crimson +silk she twined and twisted herself to the slow scarce-audible vibration +of her voice. She did not approach him closely, but danced in the middle +and lower part of the room, sometimes in the full light of the candles, +such as it was, at others retreating into the shadows beyond; where all +outline was lost, and she looked like a waving line <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>of mist, or a +wraith writhing in an unwilling embrace.</p> + +<p>And Thorpe? Outside, the storm howled about the corner of the Mission, +or whistled a discord like a devil’s chorus; but in the brain of the man +was a hot mist, and it clouded his vision and played him many a trick. +The dust of the floor, the grime of the walls, the unsightly rafters +were gone. He lay on a couch as imponderable as ether. Overhead were +strangely carven beams, barely visible in the dusk of the room’s great +arch. A gossamer veil of many tints, stirring faintly as if breathed +upon, hung before walls of unimaginable beauty. The floor trembled and +exhaled a delicious perfume. Flame sprang from opal bowls. But nothing +was definite but the floating undulating shape which had wrought this +enchantment. Its full voluptuous beauty, he recalled confusedly; dimmed +by the shadows which clung to it even in the light, it looked vaporous, +evanescent, the phantasm of a lorelei riding the sea-foam. Its swaying +arms gleamed on the dark; the gold-scaled sea-serpents glided and +twisted from elbow to wrist. Only the eyes were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>those of a woman, and +they burned with a languid fire; but they never met his for a moment.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, with abrupt transition, she changed the air, which had been +almost a chant, and began dancing fast and furiously. Flinging aside the +scarf, she clasped her hands under rigid arms, as if leaning on them the +full weight of her tiny body. She danced with a headlong whirl that +deprived her of her wraith-like appearance, but was no less graceful. +With a motion so swift and light that her feet seemed continually +twinkling in space, she sped up and down the garret like a mad thing; +then, unlocking her hands, she flung them outward and spun from one end +of the room to the other in a whirl so dizzy that she looked like a +cloud blown before the wind, streaming with a woman’s hair and cut with +yellow lightning.</p> + +<p>She flew directly up to where Thorpe lay, and paused abruptly before +him. For the first time their eyes met. He forgot his promise. He +stumbled to his feet, grasping at her gown even before he was risen. For +a second she stood irresolute; then her supple <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>body leaped backward, +and a moment later had flashed down the room and through the door. +Thorpe reached the door in three bounds. She was scrambling backward +down the stair, her white frightened excited face dropping through the +heavy dark. Thorpe got down as swiftly as he could; but she was far +ahead, and he could not chase her into the Mission. When he re-entered +the ball-room some time after, the guests were on the corridor waiting +for their char-à-bancs. He returned to the Presidio in the ambulance.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV</h2> + +<p>The next day Thorpe called at the Randolphs’. The man, Cochrane, who, +himself, looked yellow and haggard, informed him that the ladies were +indisposed with severe colds. Thorpe went home and wrote Nina a letter, +making no allusion to the performance at the Mission, but insisting that +she recognise his rights, and let him know when he could see her and +come to a definite understanding. A week passed without a reply. Then +Thorpe, tormented by every doubt and fear which can <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>assail a lover, +called again. The ladies were still indisposed. It was Sunday. Thorpe +demanded to see Mr. Randolph, and was shown into the library.</p> + +<p>Mr. Randolph entered in a few moments, and did not greet Thorpe with his +customary warmth. There were black circles about his eyes. His cheeks +looked thinner and his hand trembled.</p> + +<p>“Have you been ill, too?” asked Thorpe, wondering if South Park were a +healthy locality.</p> + +<p>“No; not ill. I have been much harassed—business.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing serious, I hope.”</p> + +<p>“It will right in time—but—in a new city—and with no telegraphic +communication with the rest of the world—nor quick postal +service—there is much to impede business and try the patience.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe was a man of quick intuitions. He knew that Mr. Randolph was +lying. However, that was not his business. He rose and stood before the +fire, nervously flicking his trousers with his riding-whip.</p> + +<p>“Has it occurred to you that I love your <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>daughter?” he asked, abruptly. +“Or—perhaps—she has told you?”</p> + +<p>“She has not spoken to me on the subject; but I inferred as much.”</p> + +<p>“I wish, of course, to marry her. You know little about me. My +bankers—and Hastings—will tell you that I am well able to take care of +your daughter. In fact, I am a fairly rich man. This sort of thing has +to be said, I suppose—”</p> + +<p>“I have not misunderstood your motives. I misjudge few men; I have lived +here too long.”</p> + +<p>“Oh—thanks. Then you have no objection to raise?”</p> + +<p>“No; I have none.”</p> + +<p>“Your daughter loves me.” Thorpe had detected a slight accent on the +pronoun.</p> + +<p>“I am sure of that.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean that Mrs. Randolph might object?”</p> + +<p>“She would not be consulted.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe shifted his position uneasily. The hardest part was to come.</p> + +<p>“Nina has intimated to me,” he said, haltingly, “that there is a—some +mysterious <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>reason which would prevent her marrying. I have utterly +disregarded that reason, and shall continue to do so. I purpose to marry +her, and I hope you will—will you?—help me.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Randolph leaned forward and twisted his nervous pale hands together. +It was at least three minutes before he spoke, and by that time Thorpe’s +ear-drums were pounding.</p> + +<p>“I must leave it to her,” he said, “utterly to her. That is a question +which only she can decide—and you. Of course she will tell you—she is +too honest not to; but I am afraid she will stave it off as long as +possible. I cannot tell you; it would not be just to her.”</p> + +<p>“But you will do nothing to dissuade her?”</p> + +<p>“No; she is old enough to judge for herself. And if she decides in your +favour, and you—are still of the same mind, I do not deny that I shall +be very glad. I should even be willing for you to take her to England, +to resign myself never to see her again—if I could think—if you +thought it was for the best.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p><p>“I wish I knew what this cursed secret was,” said Thorpe, passionately. +“I am half distracted with it.”</p> + +<p>“Have you no suspicion?”</p> + +<p>“It seems to me that I have thought of everything under heaven; and she +denied one question after the other. I am bound to take her word, and to +believe that the truth was the one thing I did not hit upon.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; if you had guessed, I think she would have told you, whether she +was ready or not. It is very strange. You are one of the sharpest men I +have ever met. Still, it is often the way.”</p> + +<p>“When can I see Nina?”</p> + +<p>“In a few days—a week, I should say. Her cold is very severe.”</p> + +<p>“I have written to her, and she has not answered. Is it possible that +her illness is serious? I have put it down to caprice or some new +qualm.”</p> + +<p>“There is no cause for alarm. But she has some fever, and pain in her +eyes, and is irritable. When she is well I will take it upon myself to +see that you have an interview.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p><p>“Thank you.” Mr. Randolph had not risen, but Thorpe felt himself +dismissed. He left the house in a worse humour than he had entered it. +He felt balked, repulsed, and disagreeably prescient. For the first time +in his life, he uneasily admitted that an iron will alone would not keep +a man on the straight line of march to his goal, that there was a chain +called Circumstance, and that it was forged of many metals.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV</h2> + +<p>Thorpe determined not to go to the house again until either Nina or Mr. +Randolph sent for him. He would not run after any woman, he told himself +angrily; and once or twice he was in a humour to snap the affair in two +where it was and leave the country. But, on the whole, the separation +whetted his passion. That airy fabric of sentiment, imagination, and +civilisation called spiritual affinity, occasionally dominated him, but +not for long. His last experience of her had gone to his head: it was +rarely that of all the Nina Randolphs he knew he could conjure any but +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>the one that had danced his promise out of memory. There were times +when he hated himself and hated her. Then he told himself that this +phase was inevitable, and that later on, when the better part of their +natures were free to assert themselves, they would find each other.</p> + +<p>A week after his interview with Mr. Randolph, he found himself in South +Park a little after eleven at night. He had dined on Rincon Hill, and +purposed spending the night at the Oriental Hotel; he rarely returned to +the Presidio after an evening’s entertainment.</p> + +<p>He had avoided the other men, and started to walk into town. Almost +mechanically he turned into South Park, and halted before the tall +silent house which seemed such a contemptible barrier between himself +and the woman he wanted. His eyes, travelling downward, noted that a +basement window had been carelessly left open. He could enter the house +without let—and the opportunity availed him nothing. He wished that he +were a savage, with the traditions and conventions of a savage, and that +the woman he loved dwelt in a tent on the plain.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p><p>Lights glimmered here and there in the houses of South Park, but the +Randolphs’ was blank; everybody, apparently, was at rest. To stand there +and gaze at her window was bootless; and he cursed himself for a +sentimental ass.</p> + +<p>He walked up the semi-circle and returned. This time he moved suddenly +forward, lifting his head. It seemed to him that a sound—an odd +sound—came from the bedroom above the parlour, a room he knew to be +Mrs. Randolph’s.</p> + +<p>At first the sound, owing to the superior masonry of the walls, was +muffled; but, gradually, Thorpe’s hearing, naturally acute, and +abnormally sensitive at the moment, distinguished the oral evidence of a +scuffle, then the half-stifled notes of angry and excited voices. He +listened a moment longer. The sounds increased in volume. There was a +sudden sharp note, quickly hushed. Thorpe hesitated no longer. If the +house of a man whose guest he had been were invaded by thieves, and +perhaps murderers, it was clearly his duty to render assistance, apart +from more personal reasons.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p><p>He took out his pistol, cocked it, then vaulted through the window, and +groping his way to a door opened it and found himself in the kitchen +entry. A taper burned in a cup of oil; and guided by the feeble light he +ran rapidly up the stair.</p> + +<p>He opened the door at the head, paused a a moment and listened intently. +The house teemed with muffled sounds; but they fell from above, and +through closed doors, and from one room. Suddenly the hand that held the +pistol fell to his side. The colour dropped from his face, and he drew +back. Was he close upon the Randolph skeleton? Had he not better steal +out as he had come, refusing to consider what the strange sounds +proceeding from the room of that strange woman might mean? There were no +signs of burglars anywhere. A taper burned in this hall, likewise, and +on the table beside it was a gold card-receiver. There had been a heavy +rainfall during the evening, but there was no trace of muddy boots on +the red velvet carpet.</p> + +<p>Then, as he hesitated, there rang out a shriek, so loud, so piercing, so +furious, that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>Thorpe, animated only by the instinct to give help where +help was wanted, dashed down the hall and up the stair three steps at a +time. Before he reached the top, there was another shriek, this time +abrupt, as if cut short by a man’s hand. He reached Mrs. Randolph’s room +and flung open the door. But he did not cross the threshold.</p> + +<p>The room flared with light. The bedding was torn into strips and +scattered about. Every fragile thing the room contained was in ruins and +littered the carpet. And in their midst, held down by Mr. Randolph and +his servant, Cochrane, was a struggling, gurgling, biting thing which +Thorpe guessed rather than knew was the mother of Nina Randolph. Her +weak evil face was swollen and purple, its brutality, so decently +cloaked in normal conditions, bulging from every muscle. Her ragged hair +hung in scant locks about her protruding eyes. Over her mouth was the +broad hand of the man, Cochrane. Mrs. Rinehardt, her face flushed and +her dress in disorder, stood by the mantel crying and wringing her +hands.</p> + +<p>Thorpe’s brain received the picture in one <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>enduring flash. He was dimly +conscious of a cry from unseen lips, and the vanishing train of a +woman’s gown. And then Mr. Randolph looked up. He relaxed his hold and +got to his feet. His face was ghastly, and covered with great globes of +sweat.</p> + +<p>“Thorpe!” he gasped. “You! Oh, go! go!”</p> + +<p>Thorpe closed the door, his fascinated gaze returning for a second to +the Thing on the floor. It no longer struggled. It had become suddenly +quiet, and was laughing and muttering to itself.</p> + +<p>He left the house, and walked out of the park and city, and toward the +Presidio. It was a long walk, over sand drifts and rocks, and through +thickets whose paths he had forgotten. The cold stars gave little light, +for the wind drove a wrack aslant them; and when the colder dawn came, +greying everything, the flowers that looked so brilliant in the +sunlight, the heavy drooping trees, the sky above, he found himself +climbing a high sand hill, with no apparent purpose but to get to the +top; a cut about its base would have shortened the journey. He reached +the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>summit, and saw the grey swinging ocean, the brown forts in their +last sleep.</p> + +<p>He sat down, and traced figures on the sand with his stick. Chaos had +been in him; but the tide had fallen, and his thoughts were shaping +themselves coherently. Nina Randolph was the daughter of a madwoman, and +the seeds were in her. Her strange moods, her tragic despair, her hints +of an approaching fate, her attitude to himself, were legible at last. +And Miss Hathaway knew, and had tried to warn him. Doubtless others +knew, but the secret had been well kept.</p> + +<p>He was filled with bitterness and dull disgust, and his heart and brain +were leaden. The mad are loathsome things; and the vision of Nina, +foaming and hideous and shrieking, rose again and again.</p> + +<p>That passed; but he saw her without illusion, without idealisation. She +had been the one woman whose faults were entrancing, whose genuine +temperament would have atoned for as many more. She seemed now a very +ordinary, bright, moody, erratic, seductive young person who was making +the most of life before she disappeared into a padded <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>cell. He wondered +why he had not preferred Miss Hathaway, or Mrs. Earle, or Miss +McDermott. He had not, and concluded that her first influence had been +her only one, and that his imagination had done the rest.</p> + +<p>The sunrise gun boomed from the Presidio. The colours of dawn were on +horizon and water. He rose and walked rapidly over the hills and levels; +and when he reached his room, he went to bed and slept.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI</h2> + +<p>At two o’clock, just after Thorpe had breakfasted, Mr. Randolph’s card +was brought to him, and he went at once into the general sitting-room. +No one but Mr. Randolph occupied it at the moment. He was sitting +listlessly on the edge of a chair, staring out of the window. Commonly +the triggest of men, his face to-day was unshaven, and he looked as if +he had not been out of his clothes for forty-eight hours. And he looked +as if he had been picked up in the arms of Time, and flung across the +unseen gulf into the greyness and feebleness of age.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p><p>As he rose mechanically, Thorpe took his hand in a strong clasp, +forgetting himself for the moment.</p> + +<p>Mr. Randolph did not return the pressure. He withdrew his hand +hurriedly, and sat down.</p> + +<p>“An explanation is due you,” he said, and even his voice was changed. +“You have stumbled upon an unhappy family secret.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe explained how he had come to enter the house.</p> + +<p>“I supposed that it was something of the sort, or rather Cochrane did; +he found the window and lower door open. It was a kind and friendly act. +I appreciate the motive.” He paused a moment, then went on, “As I said +just now, an explanation is due you, if explanation is necessary. As you +know, I had recognised that as Nina’s right—to speak when she saw fit. +That is the reason I did not explain the other day—I usually manage to +have her in the country at such times,” he added, irrelevantly.</p> + +<p>“Such attacks are always more or less unexpected, I suppose.” Thorpe +hardly knew what to say.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Randolph fumbled at his hat, “More or less.”</p> + +<p>“Were any other members of her family—similarly afflicted?”</p> + +<p>“Her father and mother were well-conducted people. I know nothing of any +further antecedents.”</p> + +<p>“It sometimes skips a generation,” said Thorpe, musingly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Randolph brought his hand close above his eyes, and pressed his lips +together. He opened his mouth twice, as if to speak, before he +articulated, “Sometimes, not always.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe rose abruptly and walked to the window, then returned, and stood +before Mr. Randolph.</p> + +<p>“And Nina?” he demanded, peremptorily. “What of her?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Randolph pressed his hand convulsively against his face.</p> + +<p>Thorpe turned white; his knees shook. He went out and returned with some +brandy. “Here,” he said. “Let us drink this and brace up and have it +out. We are not children.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Randolph drank the brandy. Then he replied, “She is on the way. In a +few years she will be as you saw her mother last night; no power on +earth can save her. I would give my wretched failure of a life, I would +burn at the stake—but I can do nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I can. I intend to marry her.”</p> + +<p>“No! No! She, who is stronger than I, would never have permitted it. She +told me that this morning. For the matter of that I am her ambassador +to-day. She charged me to make it clear to you that she expected you to +stand by your part of the compact. She is immovable; I know her.”</p> + +<p>“Tell her that I will take no messages at second hand, not even from +you. Unless she sees and comes to an understanding with me, I shall +consider myself engaged to her, and shall announce it.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to say that you would marry her, knowing what you do?”</p> + +<p>“I would rather I had known it when I first came. I should have avoided +her, or left the place. But I gave her my word, voluntarily, that +nothing, no matter what, should <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>interfere with my determination to +marry her, and nothing shall.”</p> + +<p>“You <i>are</i> an Englishman!” said Mr. Randolph, bitterly. “I wish I were +as good a one; but I am not. My record is clean enough, I suppose; but I +am a weak man in some respects, and I started out all wrong. I wish to +God that everything were straight, Thorpe; I would rather you married +her than any man I have ever known.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. Will you arrange an interview for me?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Randolph fidgeted, “I tell you what I think, Thorpe; you had better +wait a little. She is in no mood to listen to reason, nor for +love-making—take my word for that. I have never seen her in so black a +mood. But women are naturally buoyant, and she particularly so. Go and +take your trip through the State. Let it last—say two months, and then +appear unexpectedly at Redwoods. I do not give you any +encouragement,—in all conscience you ought not to want any; but I think +that under the circumstances I suggest your final interview will at +least not be an unpleasant one. Nina lives an out of door <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>life there +and is with the other girls most of the time.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. I don’t know but that I prefer it that way. Meanwhile, will +you tell her all that I have said?—except that I would rather I had +known it sooner.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Randolph rose and gathered up his hat and gloves. “I will tell her,” +he said. “Good-bye. You are badly broken up, but you may be thankful +that you are in your shoes, not mine.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>XVII</h2> + +<p>Doña Prudencia had sent Thorpe a pressing invitation to be a guest at +Casa Grande during the festivities celebrating the nineteenth birthday +of her son. The day after his interview with Mr. Randolph, in company +with Don Tiburcio Castro, Captain Brotherton and his wife, Doña +Eustaquia, Mrs. Polk, and a half-dozen other native Californians, he +took passage on a steamboat bound for Santa Barbara. The journey lasted +four days, and was very uncomfortable; but the happy careless <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>Spanish +people were always entertaining, and the girls demanded the constant +attentions of the Englishman. Thorpe had little time for thought and +wished for none. When not playing squire to the women, he listened to +Don Tiburcio’s anecdotes of Old California, or discussed the future of +the territory with Captain Brotherton, who was living a life of peace +and plenty on a rancho, but nevertheless took an unfailing interest in +the country his gallantry had helped to capture and hold.</p> + +<p>The ship rode to anchor in the Santa Barbara channel before an animated +scene. The adobe walls of Casa Grande had a new coat of white, the tiles +a new coat of red; so had the great towers and arches and roof of the +Mission, jutting before the green of its hills, a mile beyond. The +houses about the fort looked fresh and gay. Many horses, richly +caparisoned, pranced in the open court of Casa Grande, or pawed the +ground by neighbouring trees. Caballeros, in their rich native costumes, +were sauntering about, smoking cigaritos. On the corridors of the great +and lesser houses were the women, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>brilliantly dressed, their heads +draped with the reboso or mantilla, manipulating the inevitable fan.</p> + +<p>Indians in bright calico garments stood on the beach, awaiting the +luggage of the guests. Between them and the houses was a large booth, +defiantly flaunting the colours of Mexico. Far to the left was a rude +street, flanked on either side by a row of cheap wooden houses, the ugly +beginning of an American town.</p> + +<p>“It is all like a scene out of a picture-book,” said Thorpe. “Can San +Francisco—awful San Francisco!—be in the same territory? It looks like +Arcadia.”</p> + +<p>“Si, is pretty,” said Mrs. Polk, with a pensive sigh. “But no all the +same like before, señor. Not the same spirit, for all know that their +country is gone for ever, and that by and by the Americanos live in all +the towns, so that the Spanish towns will be no more—and in a few +years. But they like to meet and try to think is the same, and forget.”</p> + +<p>The passengers were landed in boats. The young heir, a tall lad with a +handsome indolent <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>face, and a half-dozen of his guests, came down to +the shore to welcome the newcomers.</p> + +<p>“Very good look, that boy,” said Doña Eustaquia. “I not have seen him +for some years, so uncomfortable this treep. But he have the face weak, +like the father. Never I like Reinaldo Iturbi y Moncada; but I wish he +not have been kill by Diego Estenega. Then, how different is +California!”</p> + +<p>As the boat touched the sands young Reinaldo came forward with a +charming grace to help the ladies to land, and was kissed by each, with +effusion. Indeed, there was so much kissing, and such an immediate high +shrill chattering, such a profusion of “<i>queridas</i>,” and “<i>mijitas</i>,” +and “<i>mi amigas</i>,” that Thorpe, after exchanging a few words with his +host, made haste to the house.</p> + +<p>Doña Prudencia, clad in the richest of black satins, with a train a yard +long and a comb six inches high, came forward to the edge of the +corridor to greet him. She looked very pretty and plump and +consequential.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p><p>“So good you are to come, Señor Torp,” she said softly, giving him her +little hand with a gesture which drew down his lips at once.</p> + +<p>“I shall never forget how good you have been to ask me,” he said, +enthusiastically. “This picture alone was worth coming to California +for.”</p> + +<p>“Ay! You shall see more than theese, Señor Torp. It ees an honour to +receive you in the <i>casa</i> of the Iturbi y Moncadas. It ees yours, señor, +burn it if you will. Command my servants like they are your own.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe, by this time, knew something of the peculiar phrasing of native +Californian hospitality, and merely bowed and murmured acknowledgments.</p> + +<p>The other guests came up at the moment, and there was another Spanish +chorus, an agitated wave along the three-sided corridor. Thorpe glanced +curiously about him. The black-eyed women were undulating and coquetting +for the benefit of the new men, while throwing kisses and rapturous +exclamations to Doña Eustaquia and the girls in her charge. Thorpe +looked over more than one <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>big fan. Suddenly his attention was attracted +by a woman on the opposite corridor. She had risen, and was looking +intently at Doña Eustaquia, who as yet had not glanced across the court. +She was a very beautiful woman, the most beautiful woman Thorpe had seen +in California, and her face was vaguely familiar. She looked very +Spanish, but her hair was gold and her eyes were as green as the spring +foliage. Then there was a sharp feminine shriek behind him; he was +thrust aside, and Doña Eustaquia ran past him, crying, “Chonita! +Chonita!” The beautiful stranger met her half way, and they embraced and +kissed each other on either cheek some fifteen times.</p> + +<p>“Que! Que! Que!” the women of his party were exclaiming, and then +followed a deluge of words of which he could separate only “Chonita +Estenega.” They, in turn, ran forward, and were received with a manner +so polished that it was almost cold. Thorpe had recognised her. He had +met her at a court ball in Austria, where, as the wife of the Mexican +minister, she had been the most admired woman in the palace.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p><p>“Is Don Diego Estenega here?” he asked Prudencia. “I met him a number of +times in Vienna, and should like to meet him again.”</p> + +<p>Prudencia drew up her small important person with an expression of +conscious virtue that did not confine itself to her face, but made her +very gown swell and rustle.</p> + +<p>“Si!” she said. “He ees here—for the firs’ time in mos’ twenty years, +señor. You never hear? He killing my husban’. But I forgive him because +ees in the fight and no can help. Reinaldo attack, and Diego mus’ +defend, of course. Still, he <i>kill</i> him, and I am the wife. But bime by +I forgive, for that ees my religion. And I love Chonita. So she come to +the old house, the firs’ time in so many years, for the birfday de my +son. Diego is horseback now, but come back soon. You no like go to your +room? So dirt that treep, no? Reinaldo!” Her son came forward at once. +“Show the Señor Torp to his room, no? and the other gentlemens.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe followed young Iturbi y Moncada down the corridor and into a +small <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>room. The floor was bare, the furniture prison-like; but he had +heard of the simplicity of the adobe mansions of Californian grandees.</p> + +<p>Reinaldo jerked open the upper drawer of the bureau, disclosing several +rows of large goldpieces.</p> + +<p>“At your service, señor,” he said with a bow. “I beg that you will use +it all.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe reddened to his hair. He hardly knew whether to be angry or not. +Did these haughty grandees take him for a pauper? However, he merely +bowed and thanked the youth somewhat drily, and at the same moment +Captain Brotherton entered the room.</p> + +<p>“The hospitality of the Californian!” he cried, taking in the situation +at a glance. “Reinaldo, I see the new generation has forgotten nothing, +despite the Americans.”</p> + +<p>“No, señor,” said the young man, proudly. “What ours is, is our guests. +That is right always, no? But perhaps the gentleman no like, perhaps he +no have the custom in his country.”</p> + +<p>“We have not, I regret to say, Don <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>Reinaldo. We are a tight-fisted +practical race. But I can the more deeply appreciate your hospitality; +and, believe me, I do appreciate it.”</p> + +<p>“And you will use it—all, señor?”</p> + +<p>Thorpe hesitated the fraction of a moment, then replied with some +difficulty, “Certainly, señor. I will use it with the greatest +pleasure.”</p> + +<p>“Many thanks, señor. <i>Hasta luego!</i>” And he left the room.</p> + +<p>“What an extraordinary custom!” exclaimed Thorpe. “I can’t use that +man’s money.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you must! He’d be terribly cut up if you did not—think you flouted +him.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll gamble with him, and let him win it back. I suppose he +gambles.”</p> + +<p>“Rather. Before he is forty the Americans will have had his last acre, +and he inherits four hundred thousand. They have not even the soil in +which to plant a business instinct, these Californians. I am glad you +have come in time. They are worth seeing, and their like will never be +seen again.”</p> + +<p>“I should think they were worth seeing. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>What did Doña Prudencia mean by +saying that Diego Estenega killed her husband?”</p> + +<p>“There was a fight to the death between them, and it was one or the +other. Chonita, to the surprise of everybody, and to the horror of +some—including the clergy—married Estenega at once, and went with him +to Mexico. The old gentleman was in a towering rage, but forgave them +later and visited them several times. He had large sums of money +invested in Mexico which he left to Chonita. His Californian estates he +left to young Reinaldo, whom he idolised. Estenega had had great hopes +and plans in connection with this country which were dashed by Iturbi y +Moncada’s death. However, it was as well, for he is now one of the +wealthiest and most powerful men in the Mexican government, and has been +ambassador or minister abroad several times. But my wife will tell you +the whole story when you come to visit us. Perhaps she will read it to +you, for she has made a novel out of it, which may or may not be +published after the death of all concerned. Here is your trunk. I’ll +leave you to clean up.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>XVIII</h2> + +<p>Thorpe dressed for dinner, pocketed a roll of the gold with a wry face, +and went to the <i>sala</i>, a long room opening on the middle corridor. +Prudencia, in a red-satin gown, so thick that it stood out about her as +if hooped, and flashing jewels on a great deal of white skin, her hair +piled high and surmounted with a diamond comb, sat in the middle of the +room talking volubly to her sister-in-law, who stood by the mantel +looking sadly about her. Chonita had lost little of her beauty. She had +had but two children; and vanity had kept the lines of her figure, the +gliding grace of her walk, unchanged. She had known, during the twenty +years of her married life, the great joys and the great disappointments, +the exaltation and the terrified recognition of mortal weakness and +limitations, inseparable to two such natures. But, on the whole, she was +happy, and she and her husband were very nearly one.</p> + +<p>“No, no, my Chonita!” Prudencia was exclaiming in her own tongue. “Why +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>shouldst thou be sad? It is nearly twenty years; one cannot remember so +long. Thou hast thine own house, far more elegant than this, I am told: +why shouldst thou feel sad to come back? Thou art wealthy, and hast a +devoted husband,—<i>ay de mi</i>, my Reinaldo! (but I could have had +others),—and art as beautiful as ever, although I do not agree with +some that thou hast not grown a day older. Thou hast the expression of +years, if not its lines and grey hairs. I need not have grown stout; but +I have no vanity, and walking is such trouble, and I love <i>dulces</i>. +Besides, we do not carry our flesh into the next world; so Reinaldo, who +hated fat women—Ay, Señor Torp, pardon me, no? I not did see you. I +wish mooch to present you to my sister-in-law—Doña Chonita Iturbi y +Moncada de Estenega, Señor Torp of Eengland, <i>mijita</i>.”</p> + +<p>Chonita came forward and held out her hand, smiling. “I remember meeting +you in Austria,” she said. “It was so warm that night in the palace, I +remember, it made me talk of California to you. My husband is very glad +to think that he shall meet you again.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p><p>“I am glad you come to cheer her up, Señor Torp,” said Prudencia. “She +feel blue because coming to the old house once more.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe looked at Chonita with the quick sympathy of the Englishman for +terra ego, and Chonita flashed her acknowledgment. “Yes, I am a little +sad,” she said; “not only because it is the first time in so many years, +but because it is probably for the last time in my life. My husband does +not care for California. Here he is.”</p> + +<p>Estenega entered with several other men, and, recognising Thorpe at +once, greeted him with a warmth that was more cosmopolitan than +Californian, but none the less sincere. He showed the wear and tear of +years. Ambitions, scheming, hard work had left their furrows, and the +grey was in his hair. But his nervous vitality was undiminished, and his +air of command even more pronounced than in the old days. He carried +Thorpe off to discuss the growing complications between the North and +South; and the conversation was resumed after dinner, despite the +attractions of the <i>sala</i>; for news of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>great world came +infrequently to California, and the stranger who had recently lived in +the midst of affairs was a welcome acquisition. Thorpe spent the greater +part of the night in the billiard-room with Reinaldo, and got rid of his +gold.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>XIX</h2> + +<p>At sunrise he was awakened by the booming of cannon and the ringing of +bells. He sprang out of bed, thinking that the United States was firing +on the Mexican flag, then remembered that it was the birthday of the +young heir, and turned in again.</p> + +<p>Two hours later, he was shaken out of his morning nap by Estenega.</p> + +<p>“How would you like a dip before breakfast? They are all up at mass, and +Brotherton and I are going down to a very good cove I know of.”</p> + +<p>“Get out, and I’ll be with you in ten minutes.”</p> + +<p>Santa Barbara looked like a necropolis when he emerged. Every soul in +the town, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>with the exception of himself, Estenega, Brotherton, and the +servants preparing the birthday breakfast, was on his knees in the +Mission mumbling aves for young Reinaldo. The three men walked down to +the bright-blue channel motionless under a bright-blue sky. The air was +warm; the waves were warm; the fruit was ripening on the walls. The +poppies were opening their deep yellow lips, breathing forth the languor +of the land. The palms were tall and green. The spiked cactus had burst +into blood-red flower.</p> + +<p>“This is not America,” said Thorpe. “It is Italy or Spain or Greece. It +is another atmosphere, physical as well as mental. One could lie on the +sands all day and think of nothing.”</p> + +<p>“California has a physical quality which the Americans and all the other +races that will eventually pour into her can never change,” said +Estenega. “She will never cease to protest that she was made for love +and wine and to enfold with content in the mere fact of existence, to +delight the eye, the soul, and the body, to inspire poetry and romance, +and that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>the introduction of the commercial element is an indignity. I +used to think differently when California and my own ambitions seemed +identical; but San Francisco gave me a nightmare.”</p> + +<p>“On the ranches it is much the same as ever,” said Captain Brotherton, +“and will remain so long beyond our time. You will return with us, Mr. +Thorpe? Estenega and Chonita go too.”</p> + +<p>And Thorpe gratefully accepted.</p> + +<p>As they returned, they saw the great company streaming down from the +Mission, a mass of colour. Few were on foot. No Californian walked a +mile, if he had a horse to ride.</p> + +<p>Thorpe hastened to his room to make his morning toilet. When he left it, +the court and corridors were crowded with the brilliantly plumaged men +and women. Reinaldo, in blue silk, was strutting about among the girls, +as proud and happy as a girl dressed for her first party. There was no +question in his mind who was the most important young man in California +that morning. He was the head and front of California’s wealthiest and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>haughtiest family, the scion of the only aristocracy that great +territory would ever know. The Americans he regarded as a mere +incident,—a brusque unpolished breed whose existence he rarely +recalled. The Jews, up in the town, he considered with more favour; his +fond mamma was inclined to be close-fisted with growing sons.</p> + +<p>The tables had been set about the three corridors, as not only the +neighbours were bidden to the breakfast, but many from distant ranchos. +The poor were fed in the open beyond, on pigs roasted whole, and many +dulces. The Presidio band played the patriotic and sentimental airs of +Mexico.</p> + +<p>Thorpe sat between Prudencia (who appeared to have marked him for her +own) and Doña Eustaquia. Chonita was opposite, between two of her old +admirers.</p> + +<p>“It is the same, yet not the same—like the old time,” said Doña +Eustaquia, with a sigh.</p> + +<p>“It is not the same at all,” said Chonita. “It is a theatre, and we are +performing—for Mr. Thorpe’s benefit.”</p> + +<p>“No is theatre at all,” said Prudencia, disapprovingly. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>“All is +exactamente the same. Few years older, no more; but no one detail +differente. And next year the same, and every year,—one, two, three +hundred years what coming.”</p> + +<p>Chonita shrugged her shoulders, and did not condescend to answer, +although every Californian within earshot, except Doña Eustaquia, +assured her that Prudencia was right.</p> + +<p>To Thorpe, who had no fond reminiscences, it all seemed natural and +surpassingly picturesque. The highly seasoned dishes held hot +controversy with his English stomach; and he found it hard to catch the +meaning of the pretty broken-English wafted to him from prettier lips; +but he was deeply thankful that for the moment his personal life could +have no voice in so incongruous a setting.</p> + +<p>After breakfast, the party went at once to a large arena near the +pleasure-grounds of Casa Grande, and sat upon the raised seats about the +ring, while Reinaldo and other young caballeros exhibited their skill +and prowess against the pugnacious bull.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p><p>After siesta the people danced their national jigs in the court of Casa +Grande, while the men and women of the aristocracy lounged over the +railing of the corridors and encouraged them with handfuls of silver +coins.</p> + +<p>Thorpe, Estenega, and Captain Brotherton, in the ugly garb of a wider +civilisation, stood apart.</p> + +<p>“They are an anachronism,” said the Englishman, “and will never be able +to hold their own, namely, their vast possessions, against the +sharp-witted American.”</p> + +<p>“Not ten years,” said Estenega. “The sharpers are crouching like +buzzards on the edge of every town. Up there in the village they have +wares to tempt the Californians,—fashions and ornaments that cannot be +bought otherwise without a trip to San Francisco. As there is little +ready money, the Californians—who make their purchases by the +wholesale, and would disdain to buy less than a ‘piece’ of silk or +satin—mortgage small ranchos at an incredible rate of interest, against +the next hide yield. Then the squatters have come, imperturbable and +patient, knowing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>that when their case is tried, it will be before an +American judge. When my father-in-law asked me whether I would prefer at +his death his Mexican investments or half of his Californian leagues, I +chose the former unhesitatingly: although he reckoned his landed estates +at twice the value of the other. But I had no wish to come back here to +live, and could trust no one else to look after my interests. Eustaquia +is all right, for she has Brotherton. I notice the Californian women are +marrying Americans wherever they can.”</p> + +<p>“And the matches are rather successful,” said Brotherton, laughing. +“Unfortunately, the American girls won’t marry Californians, or the +problem would be easily solved.”</p> + +<p>The day finished with a dance in the sala; and later, in Reinaldo’s +room, Thorpe lost the last of his host’s gold and a roll of his own. The +game was monté, and the young Californians grew so excited that Thorpe +momentarily expected to see the flash of knives. They shouted and swore; +and Reinaldo even wept with rage, and vowed that Thorpe was his only +friend on earth. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>However, the night ended peacefully. When the young +men had become so laden with mescal that they could no longer see their +cards, they embraced affectionately and went to bed.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="XX" id="XX"></a>XX</h2> + +<p>The next day there were races, and in the evening another dance, on the +day following a <i>rodeo</i> and <i>merienda</i>.</p> + +<p>“How long do they keep this thing up without breaking down?” asked +Thorpe, on the evening of the sixth day, and after another race where +the women had screamed themselves hoarse, and one man had stabbed +another. All were now fraternal and enthusiastic in a <i>cascarone</i> +frolic.</p> + +<p>“They are made of elastic, as far as pleasure is concerned,” replied +Estenega. “If they had to work six hours out of twenty-four, they would +be haggard, and weak in the knees.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe entered the sala. The furniture, with the exception of the +tables, had been <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>removed; and men and women, with the abandon of +children, were breaking eggshells, filled with cologne, tinsel, and +flour, on the back of each other’s heads. Black hair was flowing to the +floor; white teeth were set behind arch tense lips; black eyes were +snapping; nostrils were dilating. Even Doña Eustaquia and Chonita had +joined in the romp. Prudencia, alone, ever mindful of her dignity, stood +in a corner, the back of her head protected by the wall. She raised her +fan to Thorpe, and he made his way to her under a shower of +<i>cascarones</i>. The cologne ran down his neck, and made a paste of flour +and tinsel on his head.</p> + +<p>“Ay, señor!” exclaimed the châtelaine of Casa Grande, as he bowed before +her. “No is unbecome at all. How you like the way we make the fun?”</p> + +<p>Thorpe assured her that life was unmitigated amusement for the first +time.</p> + +<p>“No? You no laughing at us, señor?”</p> + +<p>“It has been my good fortune to laugh with you for six days.”</p> + +<p>“Si: I theenk you like. I watching you.” Prudencia gave her head a +coquettish toss. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>She was still a very pretty woman, despite her flesh.</p> + +<p>“Oh, now you flatter me awfully. Why should you watch your most +insignificant guest?”</p> + +<p>“You no are the more—how you call him?—eens—<i>bueno! no importa</i>. You +are the more honour guest I have. Si you like California, Señor Torp, +why you no living here?”</p> + +<p>“Oh—I—” He had heard that question before, in different circumstances. +He was standing with his back to the wall. The brilliant picture before +him became the mise-en-scène of an opera, the babble of voices its +chorus. To his reversed vision, it crowded backward and cohered. And +upon its shifting front, upon the wall of light and laughter and beauty, +was projected the tragic figure of Nina Randolph.</p> + +<p>Thorpe felt that his dark face was visibly paling. A small angry fist +seemed to strike his heart, and all his being ached with sudden pity and +longing.</p> + +<p>A soft hand brushed his. He turned with a start and looked down into the +coquettish <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>eyes of his hostess. He noted mechanically that she had a +very determined mouth, and that her colour was higher than usual.</p> + +<p>“I beg pardon?” he stammered.</p> + +<p>“Why you no stay here?” whispered Prudencia.</p> + +<p>“Well, I may, you know; my plans are very unsettled.”</p> + +<p>“You ever been marry, señor?”</p> + +<p>“No, señora.”</p> + +<p>“I have; and I love the husband, before; but so many years that ees now. +You think ees possiblee keep on love when the other have been dead +twenty years?”</p> + +<p>“I think so.”</p> + +<p>“Ay! So I theenk once. But no was intend, I theenk, to live ’lone +alway.”</p> + +<p>“Then why have you never married again, dear señora!” Thorpe found the +conversation very tiresome.</p> + +<p>“Ay! The men here—all are alike the one to the other. Never I marry +another Californian.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!”</p> + +<p>“No!”</p> + +<p>His restless eyes suddenly encountered <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>hers. He felt the blood climb to +his hair, his breath come short. His hands desperately sought his +pockets.</p> + +<p>“I am sure, if you went to San Francisco, you would be overwhelmed with +offers—from Americans. This room is frightfully warm, don’t you think +so, señora? Shall I open the door? Ah, what a nuisance! here comes Don +Adan Menendez to talk to you, and two other admirers are in his wake. I +must release you for the moment. <i>Hasta luego</i>, dear señora!”</p> + +<p>He made his way rapidly down the room, and out of the house.</p> + +<p>“Great heaven!” he thought. “It is well the week is over. Good God, what +a travesty!” and he laughed aloud.</p> + +<p>He passed through the screaming crowd, which also had its <i>cascarones</i>, +and walked rapidly and aimlessly up the valley until the white placid +walls of the Mission were so close that he could count its arches. He +sat down on a rock, and pressed his hands against his head.</p> + +<p>He resented the quiet and beauty of the night, the repose of the +Mission, the dark-blue <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>spangled sky, the soft sobbing of the ocean. If +Queen Mab and her train had come down to dance on the brink of hell, the +antithesis could not have jarred more hatefully than the night upon his +thoughts. He felt a desire to strike something, and hit the rock with +his fist. He dug his heel into the ground, then thought of the flour and +tinsel on his hair, and laughed aloud. After a time he put his face into +his hands and wept. The sobs convulsed him, straining his muscles; the +tears seemed wrung from some inner frozen fountain.</p> + +<p>The storm passed. Calmer, he sat and thought. His love for Nina +Randolph, during this interval of quiescence, had lost nothing of its +iron. Idealised, she came back to him. Or, rather, he told himself he +looked through the husk that the hideous circumstances of her life had +bundled into shape, to the soul which spoke to his own. He worshipped +her courage. He forgot himself and suffered with her. He hated himself +for not having guessed the truth at once, and borne her burden. True, +she had lied to him; but the lie was pardonable, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>and he attached no +significance to it. If she had loved him less, she would have confessed +the truth, indifferently. Others knew.</p> + +<p>Her moods passed in review, with keen allurement. He wondered that he +had ever wished her a woman of even and tangible temperament. The +thought of her variety intoxicated him. The very equilibrium of the +world might be disturbed, but he would have her.</p> + +<p>The horror of her impending fate jibbered at him. He set his teeth, and +compelled his mind to practical deduction. Her mother was only insane at +intervals; there was no reason why the daughter should be affected in a +dissimilar manner. Why, indeed, should not her attacks be far less +frequent, if she were happy and her life were alternately peaceful and +diversified? He would have the best advice in Europe, and guard her +unremittingly.</p> + +<p>His impulse was to return to her at once. He cogitated until dawn, then +concluded to take her father’s advice in part; he would remain away a +month, then come down upon <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>her unexpectedly. But he went to his room +and wrote her a letter, begging for a word in return.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><h2>XXI</h2> + +<p>Early in the forenoon he started northward with the Brothertons and +Estenegas. Reinaldo kissed him on both cheeks, much to his +embarrassment; but Prudencia accepted his farewells with chilling +dignity, and did not invite him to return.</p> + +<p>The Rancho de los Pinos was some ten miles from Monterey. Behind the +house was a pine forest whose outposts were scattered along the edge of +the Pacific; facing it were some eight thousand acres of rolling land, +cut with willowed creeks, studded with groves of oaks, dazzling, at this +season, with the gold of June. Thousands of cattle wandered about in +languid content; the air lay soft and heavy on unquiet pulses.</p> + +<p>The Brothertons and their guests “horse-backed” in the morning, but +spent the greater part of the day in the hammocks swung across <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>the long +cool corridors. After supper, they rambled through the woods, sometimes +as far as the ocean, where they sat on the rocks until midnight. The +conversation rarely wandered from politics; for it was the summer of +1860, and the approaching national earthquake rumbled loudly. +Nevertheless, life on the Rancho de los Pinos was less in touch with the +world than any part of the strange new land which Thorpe had visited; +and he hardly felt an impulse to speed the lagging moments. Doña +Eustaquia, who had been one of the very pulses of the old régime, still +beat with loud and undiminished vigour; but Chonita was very restful, +and the country enfolded one with a large sleepy content. He received +nothing from Nina Randolph, but her father wrote once or twice saying +that she was well, but taking little interest in the summer gaieties.</p> + +<p>On the first of July, he took the boat from Monterey to San José. There +he was the guest of Don Tiburcio Castro for a few days, and attended a +bull fight, a race at which the men bet the very clothes off their +backs, a religious festival, and three balls; then took <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>the stage which +passed Redwoods on its way to San Francisco. It was a ride of thirty +miles under a blistering sun, through dust twelve inches deep which the +heavy hoofs of the horses and the wheels of the lumbering coach tossed +ten feet in the air, half smothering the inside passengers, and coating +those on top within and without. Thorpe had secured the seat by the +driver, thinking to forget the physical discomforts in the scenery. But +the tame prettiness of the valley was obliterated by the shifting wall +of dust about the stage; and Thorpe closed his eyes, and resigned +himself to misery. Even the driver would not talk, beyond observing that +it was “the goldarndest hottest day he’d ever knowed, and that was +saying a darned sight, <i>you</i> bet!” It was late in the afternoon when the +stage pulled up at the “hotel” of a little village.</p> + +<p>“That there’s Redwoods,” said the driver, pointing with his whip toward +a mass of trees on rising ground. “Evenin’. I wish I wuz you.”</p> + +<p>The hotel seemed principally saloon; but the proprietor, who was chewing +vigorously, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>told Thorpe he guessed he could accommodate him, and led +him to a small room whose very walls were crackling with the heat. +Thorpe distinctly saw the fleas jumping on the bare boards, and +shuddered.</p> + +<p>“Can I have a bath?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“A what?”</p> + +<p>“A bath.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!—we don’t pronounce it that way in these parts. And bath-tubs is a +luxury you’ll have to go to ’Frisco for, I guess.”</p> + +<p>“Hav’n’t you any sort of a tub you could bring me? I have a call to pay, +and I must clean up.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps the ole woman’d let you have one of her wash-tubs. I’ll ask +her.”</p> + +<p>“Do. And I should like supper as soon after as possible.”</p> + +<p>The old woman contributed the tub. It leaked, and it was redolent of +coarse soap and the indigo that escapes from overalls. Thorpe got rid of +his dust; but the smells, and the hot room, and the cloud of dust that +sprang back from his clothes as he shook them out of the window, +improved neither his aching <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>head nor his temper. To make matters worse, +the steak for his supper was fried, the potatoes were swimming in +grease, the butter was rancid, and the piecrust hung down with its own +weight. He ate what little of this typical repast he could in a close +low room, crowded with men in their shirt-sleeves, who expectorated +freely, mopped their faces and necks with their napkins, and smelt. The +flies swarmed, a million strong, and invaded the very plates; a previous +battalion lay, gasping or dead, on the tables, some overcome by the +heat, others by the sharp assaults of angry napkins. When Thorpe left +the room, he had half made up his mind not to call on Nina Randolph that +evening; he felt in anything but a loverlike mood. Moreover, such an +introduction to a reunion was grotesque; but after he had smoked his +cigar in the open air, he felt better, concluded not to be a romantic +ass, and started for the house.</p> + +<p>He climbed the dusty road toward the two tall redwoods (the only ones in +the valley) that gave her home its name, then turned into a long cool +avenue. Beside it ran a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>creek, dry already, its sides thick with +fragrant shrubs. So closely planted was the avenue that he did not catch +a glimpse of the house until he came suddenly upon it; then he paused a +moment, regarding it with pleasure. It looked like a fairy castle, so +light and delicate and mediæval of structure was it. The yellow plaster +of its walls, the vivid bloom of the terrace on which it stood, were +plainly visible in the moonlight. The dark mountains, covered with their +redwood forests, seemed almost directly behind, although they were +twenty miles away. Thorpe was glad he had come. The hideous afternoon +and evening slipped out of his thought.</p> + +<p>The front doors were open. Cochrane was walking up and down the hall, +his hands clasped behind him, his head bent. He looked like a man who +was listlessly awaiting a summons.</p> + +<p>Light streamed from open windows to the verandah on the right of the +house. Thorpe, conceiving that Nina was there, determined to look upon +her for a moment unobserved. He skirted the house, and heard Nina’s +voice. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>To command a view of the interior, he must reach the verandah. +He mounted the steps softly, but other sounds rose high above his +footfalls as he walked toward the window. A peal of coarse laughter +burst forth. The light swept obliquely across the verandah; he stood in +the shadows just beyond it, and looked into the room.</p> + +<p>Nina sat in a corner, her elbows on her knees, her eyes fixed on the +floor. Her black dress was destitute of any feminine device. Mrs. +Randolph and Mrs. Reinhardt sat on opposite sides of a table. Between +them was a steaming bowl of punch. There were two unopened +brandy-bottles on the table. The faces of both women were flushed, and +their hair was disordered.</p> + +<p>“Tha’t a fool, Nina,” remarked Mrs. Randolph, in a remarkably steady +tone. “Coom and ’ave a glass. My word! it’s good.”</p> + +<p>Nina made no reply.</p> + +<p>“Such nonsense,” wheedlingly. “It’s the best a iver made, and the Lord +knows a’ve made mony. Coom and try just one glass.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p><p>“I am sitting here to test my strength. I shall not touch it.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Randolph laughed, coarsely and loudly. “Tha’t a fool. Tha doon’t +knoo what tha’t talking aboot. It strikes me a ’ve ’eard thot before. +Coom. Tha mought as well give in, fust as last.”</p> + +<p>Nina made no reply.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Randolph’s evil eyes sparkled. She filled an empty glass with the +punch, and walked steadily over to where her daughter sat. Nina sprang +from her chair, overturning it, thrusting out her hands in a gesture +eloquent with terror, and attempted to reach the door. Mrs. Randolph was +too quick for her; with a dexterous swoop, she possessed herself of the +girl’s small hands and pressed the goblet to her nostrils. Nina gave a +quick gasp, and, throwing back her head, staggered slightly, the glass +still against her face. Outside Thorpe reeled for a moment as if he too +were drunk. The blood pounded in his ears; his fingers drew inward, +rigid, in their desire to get about the throat of some one, he did not +much care whom.</p> + +<p>Nina wrenched one hand free, snatched <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>the goblet and held it with +crooked elbow, staring at her mother. Mrs. Randolph laughed. Mrs. +Reinhardt held her breath in drunken awe at the tragedy in the girl’s +face. Nina brought the goblet half way to her lips, her eyes moving to +its warm brown surface with devouring greed. Then she flung it at her +mother’s breast, and sank once more to her chair, covering her face with +her hands.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Randolph, cursing, returned to the table and consoled herself with +a brimming glass. Outside, the man’s imagination played him an ugly +trick. A picture flashed upon it, vivid as one snatched from the dark by +the blaze of lightning. A struggling distorted foaming thing was on the +floor, held down by the strong arms of two men, and the face of the +thing was not the face of Mrs. Randolph. She stood apart, looking down +upon her perfected work with a low continuous ripple of contented +laughter. The vision passed. Thorpe leaped from the verandah and +wandered aimlessly about the grounds. He cursed audibly and repeatedly, +not caring whether he might be overheard or not. He <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>felt as if every +nerve in his body were a separate devil. He hated the thought of the +next day’s sunlight, and wondered if it would shine on a murderer or a +suicide; he felt capable of crime of the blackest variety.</p> + +<p>Fascinated, he returned to the verandah. Mrs. Randolph had fallen +forward on the table. The man Cochrane entered and took her by the +shoulders. She flung out her arm and struck him.</p> + +<p>“Give oop! Give oop!” she muttered. But he jerked her backward, and half +dragged, half carried her from the room. Mrs. Reinhardt staggered after, +slamming the door behind her. Then Nina rose and came forward, and +leaned her finger-tips heavily on the table.</p> + +<p>“Come in,” she said; and Thorpe entered.</p> + +<p>They faced each other in silence. For a moment Thorpe was conscious only +of the change in her. Her cheeks were sunken and without colour; her +eyes patched about with black. The features were so controlled that they +were almost expressionless.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p><p>“Sit down,” she said. “I will tell you the story.”</p> + +<p>He took the chair Mrs. Reinhardt had occupied, Nina her mother’s. She +pressed her knuckles against her cheeks, and began speaking rapidly, but +without excitement.</p> + +<p>“My father’s home in Yorkshire was near the town of Keighley, which is a +few miles from Haworth, the village where the Brontës lived. He and +Branwell Brontë were great friends, and used to meet at the Lord Rodney +Inn in Keighley, as Haworth is an almost inaccessible place. They were +both very brilliant young men; and many other young men used to drop in +on Saturday evenings to hear them talk politics. Of course the night +ended in a bout, which usually lasted over Sunday. My mother was +bar-maid at that inn. She made up her mind to marry my father. It is +said that at that time she was handsome. She had an insatiable thirst +for liquor, but was clever enough to keep my father from suspecting it. +Once my father—who cared little for drink, beyond the conviviality of +it—and Brontë went on a prolonged <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>spree, the result of a bet. When he +came to himself, he found that he had married her before the registrar. +He belonged to one of the oldest families in the county. He had married +a woman who could neither read nor write, and who talked at all times as +she does now when she is drunk. Nevertheless, he determined to stand by +her, because he thought he deserved his fate, and because he thought she +loved him. But he left the country. To introduce her to his people and +friends was more than he was equal to. To bury himself with her on his +estate, denying himself all society but hers, was equally unthinkable, +to say nothing of the fact that he was ashamed to introduce her to the +servants. He wished to go away and be forgotten, begin life over in a +new land where social conditions were as the builders made them. He came +to California. She was furious. She had married him for the position she +had fancied such a marriage would give her: she wanted to be a lady. Her +mind was somewhat diverted by travel, and she kept her peace until she +reached San Francisco—Yerba <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>Buena, it was called then. It was a tiny +place: a few adobe houses about the plaza, and a warehouse or two at the +docks. Then there was a frightful scene between the two. My father +learned why she had married him, and that she had instigated the wager +which led to the spree which enabled her to accomplish her purpose. She +ordered him to take her back to England at once, threatening to punish +him if he did not. He refused, and she went on a prolonged drinking +bout. This was shortly before my birth. They were the guests of Mr. +Leese, a German who had married a native Californian and settled in the +country. These people were very kind; but it was horribly mortifying for +my father. He built her a house as quickly as possible, in order to hide +her in it. I forgot to say that he had brought over Cochrane, who took +charge of his household affairs. At the end of a year there was another +scene, in which my father made her understand that he would never return +to England; and that, were it not for me, he would turn her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>out of the +house and let her go to the devil as fast as she liked. It was the +mistake of his life that he did not, both for himself and for me. He +should have taken or sent me back to England, and left her with a +subsistence in the new country. But he is a very proud man. He feared +that she would follow him home, and publish the story. There is no +getting away from a woman like that.</p> + +<p>“She was forced to accept the position; but she hated him mortally, and +no less than he hated her. She had threatened again to make him rue his +refusal to return to England, but refused to explain her meaning. This +is what she did. He idolised me. She put whisky in my baby food until I +would not drink or eat anything that was not flavoured with it. She was +very cunning: she habituated my system to it gradually, so that it never +upset me. She also gave it to me for every ailment. My father suspected +nothing. There were depths of depravity that neither his imagination nor +his observation plumbed. When I was about thirteen, he left us in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>charge of Cochrane—who had more influence over my mother than any +one—and went off to the Crimean war, rejoining his old regiment. The +necessity to get away from her for a time overrode his paternal +instinct—everything. Moreover, he wanted to fight somebody. He +distinguished himself. Just after his return, he discovered what my +mother had made of me. His rage was awful; he beat her like a navvy. For +once she was cowed. I went off my head altogether. When I came to, he +was crouching in a corner as if some one had flung him there, sobbing +and gasping. It was awful—awful! Then he sent me to the Hathaways to +study with the girls. They knew, and promised to keep me away from her, +and to see that I had nothing to drink. My mother sent me a bottle of +whisky every week in my clean clothes. I did not tell him, for I wanted +it. He found that out, too, and then debated whether he had not better +send me away from the country. But he knew that the cry was in my blood, +and that if I went to his people in England the chances were I would +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>disgrace him. Then he made his second mistake: he did not throw her +out. He ordered her to go, and she laughed in his face and asked him how +he would like to read every morning in the <i>Golden Era</i> that James +Randolph’s wife had spent the night in the calaboose. Now, only two or +three people besides the Hathaways and Shropshires even suspected it, so +carefully had Cochrane watched her.</p> + +<p>“He sent me to boarding-school. She kept me in money, and I got what I +wanted, although my father’s pride was in me, and I never took enough to +betray my secret. It was not until I had finished school that I really +gave way to the appetite. My father, closely as he watched me, did not +suspect for a long time. He was very busy,—he threw himself heart and +soul into the development of the city,—and when the appetite mastered +me, I either feigned illness or went to the country. At last he found it +out. There have been many bitter hours in my life, but that was +incomparably the bitterest. I had always loved him devotedly. When he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>went down on his knees and begged me to stop, of course I swore that I +would. I kept my promise for six months, she doing all she could to +entice me the while. Then I yielded. After that, after another interview +with my father, I restrained the intolerable craving for another six +months. Then it went on irregularly. I don’t know that I began to think +much, to look into the future, until about a year ago—it was when I +first saw her as you saw her that night. Then I aged suddenly. My moral +sense awakened, my sense of personal responsibility. I loathed myself. I +looked upon what I had become with horror. I struggled fiercely,—but +with indifferent success,—although, I must add, there were weeks at a +time when I never thought of it; for I have the <i>joie de vivre</i>, and +there are many distractions in society. Then you came. For a time I was +happy and excited, and the thing was in abeyance. I touched nothing: +that was my only chance. I fought it under,—after that first +night,—and the desire did not come again until I drank the mescal at +Don Tiburcio’s <i>merienda</i>. But I had known that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>it would come back +sooner or later, and was determined not to marry you, nor to let myself +fall seriously in love with you. But after that first night out on the +strawberry patches I knew that I loved you, and, as I am not a +light-minded person, irrevocably. But I made up my mind to enjoy that +week, and look no farther. You know the rest. What I have suffered since +perhaps you can divine, if you love me. If you don’t, it doesn’t +matter.” Her monotonous calm left her suddenly. She brought her fist +down on the table. “This room is full of the smell of it!” she cried. +“And I want it! I want it!”</p> + +<p>She pushed back her chair. “Come,” she said, “let us go outside.”</p> + +<p>She ran out to the verandah. He followed, and she grasped his arm. “Let +us go for a ride,” she said. “I shall go off my head, if I keep still +another moment. I want motion. Are you tired?”</p> + +<p>“No, I am not tired.”</p> + +<p>She led the way to the stables. The men in charge had gone to bed. She +and Thorpe <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>saddled two strong mustangs, rode rapidly down the avenue +and out into the high road. For some time they followed the stage-route, +then struck into a side road leading to the mountains. Nina did not +speak, nor did Thorpe. He was thankful for the respite. Once he touched +his cheek mechanically, wondering if it had fallen into wrinkles.</p> + +<p>They rode at a break-neck pace. The night had become very dark: a great +ocean of fog had swept in from the Pacific, blotting out mountains and +stars. The mustangs moderated their pace as they began to ascend the +foot-hills. The long rush through the valley had quickened Thorpe’s +blood without calming his brain. He did not speak. There seemed to be a +thousand words struggling in his brain, but they would not combine +properly. He could have cursed them free, but although he was too bitter +and excited to have tenderness or pity for the woman beside him, he +considered her in a half blind way; she was the one woman on earth who +had ever sent him utterly beside himself. They ascended, two black spots +of shifting outline <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>in the fog, for an hour or more. Neither below nor +above could an object be seen, not a sound came to them. It was unreal, +and ghostly, and portentous. Then, almost abruptly, they emerged, the +mustangs trotting on to the flat summit of a hill. Nina sprang to the +ground.</p> + +<p>“Tie the horses,” she said; and Thorpe led them to a tree some yards +away.</p> + +<p>Nina stood with her back to him, her hands hanging listlessly at her +sides, looking downward. Thorpe, after he had tethered the horses, +paused also.</p> + +<p>The world below was gone. In its place was a vast ocean of frothy +milk-white fog. On each side, melting into the horizon in front, until +it washed the slopes of the Contra Costa range, lay this illimitable +ocean pillowed lightly on sleeping millions. Now calm and peaceful, now +distorted in frozen wrath, it was so shadowy, so unreal, that a puff of +wind might have blown it to the stars. Out of it rose the hill-tops, +bare weather-beaten islands. Against them the sea had hurled itself, +then clung, powerless to retreat. Upon some it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>had cast its spray half +way to the crest, over others it rushed in mighty motionless torrents; +here and there it but half concealed the jagged points of ugly rocks. +Beating against solitary reefs were huge, still, angry breakers, +sounding no roar. A terrible death-arrested storm was there in +mid-ocean,—a storm which appalled by its very silent wrath. On one of +the highest and barest of the crags an old building looked, in that +sunless light, like a castle in ruin. Above, the cold blue sky was +thickly set with shivering stars. The grinning moon hung low.</p> + +<p>There was not a sound; not a living creature was awake but themselves. +They might have been in the shadowy hereafter, with all space about +them; in the twilight of eternity. Where they rested, the air was clear +as a polar noon; not a stray wreath of that idle froth floated about +them.</p> + +<p>“I came here,” said Nina, turning to Thorpe, “because I knew it would be +like this. It will be easier to hear what you think of me, than it would +have been down there.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p><p>He brought his hands down on her shoulders, gripping them as if +possessed of the instinct to hurt.</p> + +<p>“Once or twice I could have killed you as you spoke,” he said. “I shall +marry you and cure you, or go to hell with you. As I feel now, it does +not matter much which.”</p> + +<p>And then he caught her in his arms and kissed her, with the desire which +was consuming him.</p> + +<p>“But even you cannot conquer me,” she said to him an hour later. “I +shall not marry you until I have conquered myself. I believe now that I +can. I got your letter. I very nearly knew that you would say what you +have done, after I told you the truth. I won’t marry you, knowing that, +in spite of your love, which I do not doubt, at the bottom of your +intelligence, you despise me. I have always felt that if I could make a +year’s successful fight, I should never fall again. There may be no +reason for this belief; but we are more or less controlled by +imagination. There is no doubt <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>in my mind on this point. If I win +alone, you will respect me again, and love me better.”</p> + +<p>“I do not despise you. I hardly know what I felt for you five weeks ago. +But I have only sympathy for you now—and love! You must let me do the +fighting. It will knit us the more closely—”</p> + +<p>“It would wear me out, kill me, knowing that you were watching my +struggles, no matter how lovingly. Besides, I know myself; my moods are +unbearable at such times. I cannot control my temper. Before the year +was over, we should have bickered our love into ruins. We could not +begin over again. If you will do as I wish, I believe we can be happy. +It is not long to wait—we are both young. Cannot you see that I am +right?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to leave you, not for a day again!”</p> + +<p>“And I don’t want you to go! But I know that it is our only chance. If +you marry me now, you will hate me before the year is over; and, what is +worse, I shall hate <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>you. The steamer sails to-morrow. Will you go?”</p> + +<p>He hesitated, and argued, a long while; but finally he said: “I will +go.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t go all the way back to England. I should like to think you were +in America; that would help me.”</p> + +<p>“I will stay in New Orleans, and write by every steamer.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, do, do! And if I do not write as regularly, you will understand. +There will be times when I simply cannot write. But promise that, no +matter what you hear, you will not lose faith in me.”</p> + +<p>“I promise.” Involuntarily his mouth curled into a grin. The ghosts of a +respectable company of extorted promises capered across his brain, as +small irreverent ghosts have a habit of doing in great moments. But his +mouth was close upon hers, and she did not see it.</p> + +<p>An hour later she pointed outward. Far away, above the Eastern +mountains, was a line of flame. The sun rose slowly. It smiled down upon +the phantom ocean and flung <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>bubbles of a thousand hues to the very feet +of the mortals on the heights.</p> + +<p>Then slowly, softly, the ocean moved. It quivered as if a mighty hand +struck it from its foundations, swayed, rose, fled back to the sea that +had given it birth.</p> + +<p>A moment more and the world was visible again, awake, and awaiting them.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 200-3]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="BOOK_II" id="BOOK_II"></a>BOOK II</h2> + +<h2><a name="Book2_I" id="Book2_I"></a>I</h2> + +<p>Mr. Randolph owned a large ranch in Lake County which was managed by an +agent. A mile distant from the farm-house in which the agent lived with +the “hands” was a cottage, built several years since at Nina’s request. +As Lake County was then difficult of access, Mr. Randolph seldom visited +his ranch, his wife never; but once a year Nina took a party of girl +friends to the cottage, usually in mid-summer. This year she went alone. +Immediately after Thorpe’s departure she told her father of the +conditional engagement into which she had entered.</p> + +<p>“And I wish to spend this year alone,” she added. “Not only because I +want to get away from my mother, but because I believe that nothing will +help me more than entire <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>change of associations. And solitude has no +terrors for me. I simply cannot go on in the old routine. I am bored to +death with the meaninglessness of it. That has come suddenly: probably +because I have come to want so much more.”</p> + +<p>“But wouldn’t you rather travel, Nina?” Mr. Randolph was deeply anxious; +he hardly knew whether to approve her plan or not. A year’s solitude +would drive him to madness.</p> + +<p>“No, I want to live with myself. If I rushed from one distraction to +another I should not feel sure of myself at the end. I have thought and +thought; and, besides, I want to see and live Europe with Dudley Thorpe +alone. I feel positive that my plan is the right one. Only keep my +mother away.”</p> + +<p>“I will tell her plainly that if she follows you, I’ll shut her up in +the Home of the Inebriates; and this time I’ll keep my word. What excuse +shall you give people?”</p> + +<p>“You can tell them of my engagement, and say that as we have agreed it +shall last a year, I have my own reasons for spending <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>the interval by +myself. Their comments mean nothing to me.”</p> + +<p>“Shall you see no one?”</p> + +<p>“Molly will come occasionally, and you,—no one else. I shall fish and +hunt and sail and ride and read and study music. Perhaps you will send +me a little piano?”</p> + +<p>“Of course I will.”</p> + +<p>“I shall live out of doors mostly. I love that sort of life better than +any; I like trees better than most people.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. If you change your mind, you have only to return. I will +send to New York for all the new books and music. Cochrane will go ahead +and put things in order. I will also send Atkins to look after the +horses; and he and his wife will sleep in the house and look after you +generally. I hope to God the experiment will prove a success. I think +you are wise not to marry until the fight is over.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Book2_II" id="Book2_II"></a>II</h2> + +<p>The cottage was on the side of a hill over-looking one of the larger +lakes. Beyond were other lakes, behind and in front the pine-covered +mountains. The place was very wild; it was doubtful if civilisation +would ever make it much less so. The cottage was dainty and comfortable. +Nina sailed a little cat-boat during the cooler hours of the day; and +she was a good shot. She wrote a few lines or pages every night to +Thorpe; but it was several days before she opened a book. She roamed +through the dark forests while it was hot, and in the evenings. She had +for California that curious compound of hatred and adoration which it +inspires in all highly strung people who know it well. It filled her +with vague angry longings, inspired her at times with a fierce desire to +flee from it, and finally; but it satisfied her soul. At times, a vast +brooding peace seemed lying low over all the land. At others, she +fancied she could hear mocking laughter. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>More than once she hung out of +the window half the night, expecting that California would lift up her +voice and speak, so tremendous is the personality of that strange land. +She longed passionately for Thorpe.</p> + +<p>The weeks passed, and, to her astonishment, the poison in her blood made +no sign. Three months, and there had not been so much as a skirmish with +the enemy. She felt singularly well; so happy at times that she wondered +at herself, for the year seemed very long. Thorpe wrote by every +steamer, such letters as she had hoped and expected to get. Some of his +vital personality seemed to emanate from them; and she chose to believe +that it stood guard and warned off the enemy.</p> + +<p>She was swinging in her hammock on the verandah one hot afternoon, when +a wagon lumbered to the foot of the hill, and her father and Molly +Shropshire emerged from the cloud of dust that surrounded it. She +tumbled out of the hammock, and ran down to meet them, her loose hair +flying.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p><p>“She looks about ten,” thought Mr. Randolph, as she rushed into his +arms; “and beautiful for the first time in her life.”</p> + +<p>“We thought that you had had as much solitude as was good for you at one +time,” said Miss Shropshire, in her hard metallic voice, which, however, +rang very true. “I am going to stay a month, whether I am wanted or +not.”</p> + +<p>“We have an addition to our family,” said Mr. Randolph, as he sat +fanning himself on the piazza. “Your cousin has arrived.”</p> + +<p>“My what? What cousin?”</p> + +<p>“Your mother, it seems, has a brother. If I ever knew of his existence, +I had forgotten it. But it seems that I have had the honour of educating +his son and of transforming him into a sort of pseudo-gentleman.”</p> + +<p>“He is not half bad, indeed,” said Miss Shropshire.</p> + +<p>“He is the sort of man who inspires me with a desire to lift my boot +every time he opens his mouth. But I must confess that his appearance is +fairly creditable. The obsolete term ‘genteel’ describes him better than +any other. He has got Yorkshire off his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>back, has studied hard,—he is +a doctor with highly creditable certificates and diplomas,—and dresses +very well. His manners are suave, entirely too suave: I felt disposed to +warn the bank; and his hands are so soft that they give me a ‘turn’ as +the old women say. He has reddish hair, a pale grey shifty eye, a snub +nose, and a hollow laugh. There you have your cousin—Dr. Richard +Clough, aged twenty-eight or thereabouts. In my days, he probably wore +clogs. At present his natty little feet are irreproachably shod, and he +makes no more noise than a cat. I feel an irrepressible desire for a +caricature of him.”</p> + +<p>Nina laughed heartily. “Poor papa! And you thought you had had the last +of the Cloughs. I hope he is not quartered on you.”</p> + +<p>“He is, but is looking about for an opening. To do him justice, I don’t +think he is a sponge. He seems to have saved something. He wanted to +come up here and pay his <i>devoirs</i> to you, but I evaded the honour. I +have a personal suspicion which may, of course, be wide of the mark, +that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>the object of his visit to California is more matrimonial than +professional; if that is the case, he might cause you a great deal of +annoyance: there is a very ugly look about his mouth.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Randolph remained several days; they were very happy days for him. +It was impossible to see Nina as she was at that period, to catch the +overflow of her spirits, without sharing her belief in the sure +happiness of the future.</p> + +<p>Miss Shropshire fell in easily with all of Nina’s pursuits. There was +much of Nina Randolph that she could never understand; but she was as +faithful as a dog in her few friendships and, with her vigorous sensible +mind, she was a companion who never bored. She was several years older +than Nina. Their fathers had been acquaintances in the island which had +the honour of incubating the United States.</p> + +<p>“I approve of your engagement,” said Miss Shropshire, in her downright +way. “I know if I don’t you will hate me, so I have brought myself to +the proper frame of mind. He is selfish; but he certainly grows on one, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>and no one could help respecting a man with that jaw.”</p> + +<p>But Nina would not discuss Thorpe even with Molly Shropshire. When she +felt obliged to unburden her mind, she went up and talked to the pines.</p> + +<p>The girls returned home one morning from a stiff sail on the lake to be +greeted by the sight of a boot projecting beyond the edge of one of the +hammocks, and the perfume of excellent tobacco.</p> + +<p>“What on earth!” exclaimed Miss Shropshire. “Have we a visitor? a man?”</p> + +<p>Nina frowned. “I suspect that it is my cousin. Papa wrote the other day +that Richard had heard of a practice for sale in Napa, and had come up +to look into it. I suppose it was to be expected that he would come +here, whether he was invited or not.”</p> + +<p>As the girls ascended the hill, the occupant of the hammock rose and +flung away his cigar. He was a dapper little man, and walked down the +steep path with a jaunty ease which so strikingly escaped vulgarity as +to suggest the danger.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p><p>“Dear Cousin Nina!” he exclaimed. “Miss Shropshire, you will tell her +that I am Richard? Will you pardon me for taking two great +liberties,—first, coming here, and then, taking possession of your +hammock and smoking? The first I <i>couldn’t</i> help. The last—well, I have +been waiting two hours.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad you have made yourself at home,” said Nina, perfunctorily; +she had conceived a violent dislike for him. “Your trip must have been +very tiresome.”</p> + +<p>“It was, indeed. This California is all very well to look at, but for +travelling comforts—my word! However, I am not regretting. I cannot +tell you how much I have wanted—”</p> + +<p>“You must be very hungry. There is the first dinner-bell. Are you dusty? +Would you like to clean up? Go to papa’s room—that one.</p> + +<p>“Detestable man!” she said, as he disappeared. “I don’t believe +particularly in presentiments, but I felt as if my evil genius were +bearing down upon me. And such a smirk! He looks like a little +shop-keeper.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p><p>“I think he cultivates that grin to conceal the natural expression of +his mouth—which is by no means unlike a wolf’s. But he is a harmless +little man enough, I have no doubt. I’ve been hasty and mistaken too +often; only it’s a bore, having to entertain him.”</p> + +<p>But Dr. Clough assumed the burdens of entertaining. He talked so +agreeably during dinner, told Nina so much of London that she wished to +know, betrayed such an exemplary knowledge of current literature, that +her aversion was routed for the hour, and she impulsively invited him to +remain a day or two. He accepted promptly, played a nimble game of +croquet after supper, then took them for a sail on the lake. He had a +thin well-trained tenor voice which blended fairly well with Miss +Shropshire’s metallic soprano; and the two excited the envy of the frogs +and the night-birds. He was evidently a man quick to take a hint, for he +treated Nina exactly as he treated Molly: he was merely a traveller in a +strange land, delighted to find himself in the company of two charming +women.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p><p>“Upon my word,” said Molly, that night, “I rather like the little man. +He’s not half bad.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said Nina. “I’m sorry I asked him to stay. I’ll be glad +to see him go.”</p> + +<p>The next day he organised a picnic, and made them sit at their ease +while he cooked and did all the work. They spent the day in a grove of +laurels, and sailed home in the dusk. It was on the following day that +Nina twice caught him looking at her in a peculiarly searching manner. +Each time she experienced a slight chill and faintness, for which she +was at a loss to account. She reddened with anger and terror, and he +shifted his eyes quickly. When he left, the next morning, she drew a +long sigh of relief, then, without warning, began to sob hysterically.</p> + +<p>“There is something about that man!” she announced to the alarmed Miss +Shropshire. “What is it? Do you suppose he is a mesmerist? He gave me +the most dreadful feeling at times. Oh, I wish Dudley were here!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p><p>“Why don’t you send for him?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know! I don’t know! I wish the year were over!”</p> + +<p>“It is your own will that makes it a year. I don’t see any sense in it, +myself. I believe this climate, and being away from everything, has set +you up. Why not send for him, and live here for some months longer? He +is your natural protector, anyhow. What’s a man good for?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I feel as if I must! Wait till to-morrow. That man has made me +nervous; I may feel quite placid to-morrow, and I ought to wait. It is +only right to wait.”</p> + +<p>And the next day she was herself again, and dismissed the evil spell of +Dr. Clough with a contemptuous shrug. Nor would she send for Thorpe.</p> + +<p>“I may cut it down to eight months,” she said. “But I must wait that +long.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Book2_III" id="Book2_III"></a>III</h2> + +<p>A week later Miss Shropshire returned to San Francisco. Nina was not +sorry to be alone again. She drifted back into her communion with the +inanimate things about her, into the exaltation of spirit, impossible in +human companionship, and lived for Thorpe’s letters.</p> + +<p>One day she received a letter from Dr. Clough.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Cousin Nina</span>,” it ran. “I am to have the practice in Napa, but +not for two or three months, unfortunately, for I look forward to +meeting you again. Those few days with you and Miss Molly were +delightful to the lonely wanderer, who has never known a home.” +(“Not since he wore clogs,” thought Nina.) “Perhaps some day I +shall make substantial acknowledgment of my gratitude. This is a +world of vicissitudes, as we all know. Remember this—will you, +Nina?—when you need me <i>I am there.</i> There are crises in life when +a true friend, a relative whose interests merge with one’s own, is +not to be despised. Don’t destroy this letter. Put it by. It is +sincere.</p> + +<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 5em;">“Your faithful and obd’t servant,</span><br /> +“<span class="smcap">Richard Clough</span>.”</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p><p>Nina tossed the letter impatiently on the table, then caught it up again +and re-read the last pages.</p> + +<p>“That sounds as if it were written <i>avec intention</i>,” she thought. “Can +papa be embarrassed? But what good could this scrubby little man do me, +if he were? Most likely it is the first gun of the siege. Thank Heaven +the guns must be fired through the post for a while.”</p> + +<p>December was come, but it was still very warm. The lake was hard and +still and blue. The glare was merciless.</p> + +<p>Nina, followed by a servant bearing cushions, climbed wearily up the +hill to the forest. Once or twice she paused and caught at a tree for +support.</p> + +<p>“If I ever get into the forest, I believe I’ll stay there until this +weather is over,” she thought. “It has completely demoralised me.”</p> + +<p>The servant arranged the cushions in a hammock between two pines whose +arms locked high above,—a green fragrant roof the sun could not +penetrate. Nina made herself comfortable, and re-read Thorpe’s last +letter, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>received the day before. It was a very impatient letter. He +wanted her, and life in the South was a bore after the novelty had worn +off.</p> + +<p>She lay thinking of him, and listening to the drowsy murmur of forest +life about her. Squirrels were chattering softly, somewhere in the +arbours above those slender grey pillars. A confused hum rose from the +ground; from far came the roar of a torrent. She could see the blue lake +with its ring of white sand, the bluer sky above, and turned her back: +the sight brought heat into those cool depths. Above her rose the dim +green aisles, the countless columns of the forest. She was very tired +and languid. She placed Thorpe’s letter under her cheek and slept; and +in her sleep she dreamed.</p> + +<p>She was still in the forest: every lineament of it was familiar. For a +time there were none of the changes of dreams. Then from the base of +every pine something lifted slowly and coiled about the tree,—something +long and green and horridly beautiful. It lifted itself to the very +branches, then detached itself a little and waved a foot of its upper +length to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>and fro, its glittering eyes regarding her with sleepy +malice. The squirrels had hidden in their caves; not a sound came from +the earth; the waters had hushed their voice. Nothing moved in that +awful silence but the languid heads of the snakes.</p> + +<p>Then came a sudden brisk step; her cousin entered. He did not notice the +sleeper, but went to each constrictor in turn and stroked it lovingly. +Once he caught a coil close to his breast and laughed. The small +malignant eyes above moved to his, their expression changing to +friendliness, albeit shot with contempt. To Nina’s agonised sense the +scene lasted for hours, during which Clough fondled the reptiles with +increasing ardour.</p> + +<p>But at last the scene changed, and abruptly. She was on the mountain +above the fog-ocean, close to the stars. Thorpe’s arms were strong about +her. It had seemed to her in the past five months that she had never +really ceased to feel the strength of his embrace, to hear the loud +beating of his heart on her own. This time he withdrew one arm and, +thrusting his fingers among her heartstrings, pulled <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>them gently. +Something vibrated throughout her. She had been happy before, but that +soft vibration filled her with a new and inexplicable gladness. She +asked him what it meant. He murmured something she could not understand, +and smote the chords again. Her being seemed filled with music.</p> + +<p>She awoke. The woods were dark. She tried to recall the ugly prelude to +her dream, but it had passed. She put her hands against her shoulders, +fancying she must encounter the arms that had held her, for their +pressure lingered. Then she drew her brows together, and craned her neck +with an expression of wonder. But several moments passed before she +understood. She was very ignorant of many things, and her experience up +to the present had been exceptional.</p> + +<p>But she was a woman, and in time she understood.</p> + +<p>Her first mental response was a wild unreasoning terror, that of the +woman who is in sore straits, far from the man who should protect her +and evoke the hasty sanction of the law. But the mood passed. She was +sure of Thorpe, and she had all the arrogance <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>of wealth. He would +hasten at her summons, and they would live in this solitude for a year +or more; no one beyond the necessary confidants need ever know.</p> + +<p>The maternal instinct had awakened in her dream. She folded herself +suddenly in her own arms. Her imagination flew to the future. Every +imaginative woman who loves the man that becomes her husband must have +one enduring regret: that in a third or more of his life she had no +part; he grew to manhood knowing nothing of her little share in the +scheme of things, met her when two at least of his personalities were +coffined in the yesterday that is the most vivid of all the memories. +And if his child be a boy, she may fancy it the incarnation of her +husband’s lost boyhood and youth, and thus complete the circle of her +manifold desire.</p> + +<p>And then Nina knew what had scotched the monster of heredity; she could +see the tiny hands at its throat. She lay and marvelled until the +servants, alarmed, came to look for her. The world took on a new and +wonderful aspect; she was the most wonderful thing in it.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Book2_IV" id="Book2_IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<p>After supper she went into the sitting-room and wrote to Thorpe. As she +finished and left the desk, her eye fell on Richard Clough’s letter, +which lay, open, on the table. The same chill horror caught her as when +she had encountered his searching eyes on the last day of his visit, and +she understood its meaning. He knew; there was the key to his verbiage.</p> + +<p>She dropped upon a chair, feeling faint and ill. Like many women, she +had firm trust in her intuitions. If they had seemed baseless before, +they rested on a firm enough foundation now. She was in this man’s +power; and the man was an adventurer and a Clough. Would he tell her +father? Or worse—her mother! She pictured her father’s grief; his rage +against Thorpe. It would be more than she could endure. When Thorpe +came, it would not matter so much. And if her father were not told, it +was doubtful if he would ever suspect: he was very busy, and hated the +trip <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>from San Francisco to Lake County. After Thorpe’s arrival, it was +hardly likely that he would visit her.</p> + +<p>A few moments’ reflection convinced her that Clough would keep her +secret. His was the mind of subtle methods. He would make use of his +power over her in ways beyond her imagining.</p> + +<p>Terror possessed her, and she called loudly upon Thorpe. With the sound +of his name, her confidence returned. He would be with her in something +under three months. Meanwhile, she could defy Clough. Later, he would +meet more than his match.</p> + +<p>The next day she wrote to Molly Shropshire, telling her the truth and +giving her many commissions. Miss Shropshire’s reply was characteristic:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I have bought everything, and start for the cottage on Tuesday. It is +fortunate that I have two married sisters; I can be of much assistance +to you. I have helped on several wardrobes of this sort, and acquired +much lore of which you appear to be painfully ignorant. I am coming with +my large trunk; for I shall not leave you again.”</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p><p>The momentous subject was not broached for some hours after her arrival. +Then—they were seated before the fire in the sitting-room, and the +first rain of winter was pelting the roof—Miss Shropshire opened her +mouth and spoke with vicious emphasis.</p> + +<p>“I hate men. There is not one I’d lift my finger to do a service for. My +sisters are supposed to have good husbands. One—Fred Lester—is a +grown-up baby, full of whims and petty vanities and blatant selfishness, +who has to be ‘managed.’ Tom Manning is as surly as a bear with a sore +head when his dinner disappoints him; and when things go wrong in the +office there is no living in the house with him. My brother’s life is +notorious, and his wife, what with patience and tears, looks like a pan +of skim-milk. Catch me ever marrying! Not if Adonis came down and staked +a claim about a mountain of gold quartz. As for Dudley Thorpe!” her +voice rose to the pitch of fury. “What is a man’s love good for, if it +can’t think of the woman first? Aren’t they our natural protectors? +Aren’t they supposed to think for us,—take all the responsibilities of +life off <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>our shoulders? This sort of thing is in keeping with the +character, isn’t it? Why don’t you hate him? You ought to. <i>I’d</i> murder +him—”</p> + +<p>Nina plunged across the rug, and pressed both hands against Miss +Shropshire’s mouth, her eyes blazing with passion.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you dare speak of him like that again! If you do, it will be the +last time you will ever speak to me. I understand him—as well as if he +were literally a part of myself. I’ll never explain to you nor to any +one, but <i>I know</i>. And there is nothing in me that does not respond to +him. Now, do you understand? Will you say another word?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, very well. Don’t stifle me!” Miss Shropshire released herself. +“Have it that way, if it suits you best. I didn’t come here to quarrel +with you.”</p> + +<p>Nina resumed her seat. After a few moments she said: “There is another +thing: Richard Clough knows.” And she told Miss Shropshire of his +letter.</p> + +<p>“Um, well, I don’t know but that that will be as good an arrangement as +any. Some one must attend you, and a relative—”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p><p>“What! Do you think I’d have that reptile near me?”</p> + +<p>“Now, Nina, look at the matter like a sensible woman. We shall have to +get a doctor from Napa. If it storms, he may be days getting here. If he +has a wife, she’ll want to know where he has been, and will worm it out +of him. If he hasn’t, he’ll let it out some night when he has his feet +on the table in his favourite saloon, and is outside his eighth glass of +punch. It will be to Richard’s interest to keep the matter quiet—you +can make it his interest: I don’t fancy he’s above pocketing a couple of +thousands. And he’ll not dare annoy you after Dudley Thorpe is here. +I’ll do Dudley Thorpe this much justice: he could whip most men, and he +wouldn’t stop to think about it, either. Don’t let us discuss the matter +any further now. Just turn it over in your mind. I am sure you will come +to the conclusion that I am right. If you ignore Richard, there’s no +knowing what he may do.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Book2_V" id="Book2_V"></a>V</h2> + +<p>The next day Miss Shropshire cut out many small garments, Nina watching +her with ecstatic eyes. Both were expert needlewomen,—most Californian +girls were in those days of the infrequent and inferior dressmaker,—and +in the weeks that came they fashioned many dainty and elegant garments. +Nina no longer went to the forest, rarely on the lake. Miss Shropshire +could hardly persuade her to go out once a day for a walk, so enthralled +was she by that bewildering mass of fine linen and lace. She was prouder +of her tucks than she had ever been of a semi-circle of admirers, four +deep; and when she had finished her first yoke she wept with delight.</p> + +<p>Miss Shropshire often watched her curiously, half-comprehending. She +abominated babies. Her home was with one of her married sisters, and a +new baby meant the splitting of ear-drums, the foolish prattle and +attenuated vocabulary of the female parent, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>and the systematic +irritations of the inefficient nurse-maid. Why a woman should look as if +heaven had opened its gates because she was going to have a baby, passed +her comprehension, particularly in the embarrassing circumstances.</p> + +<p>Nina was alone when Thorpe’s next letter arrived.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I am starting for Cuba,” it began. “My brother Harold has joined me; +and as his chest is in a bad way, he thinks of settling in a hot +country. I have suggested California; but he is infatuated with the idea +of Cuba. You will forgive me for leaving the United States for a short +period, will you not, dearest? I can do you no particular good by +remaining here, and I am bored to extinction. If you would but give me +the word, I should start for California on the next steamer; but as you +hold me to the original compact, perhaps you will give me a little +latitude. The talk here is war, war, war,—never a variation by any +possible chance. My sympathies are with the South, and if they fight I +hope they’ll win; but as I have no personal interest in the matter I +feel like a man condemned to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>a long course of one highly seasoned dish, +with no prospect of variety. Address as usual; your letters will be +forwarded, unless I return in a few weeks, as I think I shall.”</p></div> + +<p>Then followed several closely written pages which advised her of the +unalterable state of his affections.</p> + +<p>Nina put the letter down, and stared before her with a wide +introspective gaze. When Miss Shropshire entered, she handed her the +first two pages. The older girl shut her lips.</p> + +<p>“I don’t like it,” she said. “It means delay, and every week is +precious. It looks—” She paused.</p> + +<p>“Unlucky; I have been wondering. I have a queer helpless feeling, as if +I were tangled in a net, and even Dudley, with all his love and will, +could not get me out. I suppose there is something in fate. I feel very +insignificant.”</p> + +<p>“Come, come, you are not to get morbid. Nobody’s life is a straight +line. You must expect hard knots, and rough by-ways, and malaria, and +all the rest of it. Don’t borrow trouble. You are sure of him, anyhow.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p><p>“Sometimes I hate California. One might as well be on Mars. It’s +thousands of miles from New Orleans, and New Orleans is hundreds of +miles from Cuba. And now that everything is getting so upset, who knows +if he’ll ever get my letters? I wish I’d started straight for New +Orleans the moment I knew. I am utterly at the mercy of circumstances.”</p> + +<p>“Well, thank Heaven you’re rich,” said Miss Shropshire, bluntly. “Just +fancy if you were some poor little wretch deserted by the man, and with +no prospect but the county hospital; then you might be blue.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I suppose it might be worse!” replied Nina.</p> + +<p>The next day her buoyant spirits were risen again, and she resolved to +accept the immediate arrangement of her destiny with philosophy; peace +and happiness would be hers eventually. She could not violate the most +jealous of social laws and expect all the good fairies to attend the +birth of her child. But she longed by day for the luxury of the night, +when she could cry, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>and beg Thorpe under her breath to come to her.</p> + +<p>When the next steamer arrived it brought her no letter from Thorpe. But +this was to be expected. Another steamer arrived; it brought nothing. +She turned very grey.</p> + +<p>“Make a close calculation,” she said to Miss Shropshire. “You know how +long it takes to go to Cuba and back. Has there been time?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, there has been time.”</p> + +<p>It was the middle of February, the end of a mild and beautiful winter. +Little rain had fallen. Nature seemed to Nina more caressing than ever. +The sun rarely veiled his face with a passing cloud. She worked with +feverish persistence, keeping up her spirits as best she could. There +was a bare chance that the next steamer would bring Thorpe.</p> + +<p>Her father had paid her another visit, and gone away unsuspicious. He +had, in fact, talked of nothing but the approaching rebellion of the +Southern States, and the possible effect on the progress of the country. +It was not likely that he would come again, for he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>had embarked on two +new business enterprises, and he allowed himself to believe that Nina +had passed the danger point.</p> + +<p>The third steamer arrived. It brought neither Thorpe nor a letter. Then +Nina gave way. For twenty-four hours she wept and sobbed, paying no +attention to expostulations and threats. Miss Shropshire was seriously +alarmed; for the first time she fully realised the proportions of the +responsibility she had assumed. She longed for advice. She even +contemplated sending for Mr. Randolph; for with all her dogged strength +of character she was but a woman, and an unmarried one. Finally she +wrote to Clough, who had arrived in Napa a fortnight before. She could +not bring herself to betray Nina’s confidence; but Clough already knew. +Then she went to her room, and cursed Thorpe roundly and aloud. After +that she felt calmer, and returned to Nina.</p> + +<p>“I can’t think he is dead,” said Nina, abruptly, speaking coherently for +the first time. “If he were, I should know it. I should <i>see</i> him.” Miss +Shropshire shivered, and cast an apprehensive glance into the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>dark +corners of the room. “But he is ill; that is the only explanation. You +don’t doubt him?” turning fiercely to her friend.</p> + +<p>“No; I can’t say that I do. No—” with some reluctance, “decidedly not. +He’s not that sort. Like most men, he will probably cool off in time; +but he’s no weathercock, and one could hardly help believing in his +honesty.”</p> + +<p>Nina kissed her with passionate gratitude. “I couldn’t stand having you +doubt him,” she said. “I never have, not for a moment; but—oh—what +does it matter what is the reason? He hasn’t come, and I haven’t heard +from him. That is enough!”</p> + +<p>“There will be one more steamer. There is just time.”</p> + +<p>“He won’t come. I <i>feel</i> that everything is going wrong. One way and +another, my life is going to ruin—”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, you are merely overwrought and despondent—”</p> + +<p>“That is not all. And I know myself. Listen—if my baby dies, and he +does not come, I shall go down lower than I have ever <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>been, and I shall +stay there. I’d never rise again, nor want to—”</p> + +<p>“Then, for Heaven’s sake, don’t do your best to kill it! Brace up. I +believe that a good deal of what you say is true. Some people are strong +for the pleasure of giving other people a chance to add to the +platitudes of the world; but you are not that sort. So take care of +yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Very well; put me to bed. I will do what I can.”</p> + +<p>She did not rise the next day, and, when Clough came, consented, +listlessly, to see him. In this interview he made no impression on her +whatever; he might have been an automaton. Her brain realised no man but +the one for whom her weary heart ached.</p> + +<p>She made an effort on the following day, and embroidered, and listened +while Miss Shropshire read aloud to her. The effort was renewed daily; +and every hour she fought with her instinct to succumb to despair. +Physically, she was very tired. She longed for the care and tenderness +which would have been hers in happier circumstances.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Book2_VI" id="Book2_VI"></a>VI</h2> + +<p>Miss Shropshire took the precaution to ask Clough to come to the cottage +a day or two before the next steamer was due, and to be prepared to +remain. The steamer arrived, and with it nothing of interest to Nina +Randolph.</p> + +<p>She was very ill. Even Clough, who was inimitable in a sick room, looked +grey and anxious. But it passed; and the time came when the housekeeper, +who had had many babies in her time, placed a little girl in Nina’s +arms.</p> + +<p>Nina, who had been lying with closed eyes, exhausted and wretched, +turned her face toward the unfamiliar weight, and looked wonderingly +into the face of the child. For a moment she hardly realised its +significance, vivid as had been her imaginings. The baby’s colour was +fair and agreeable, and its large blue eyes moved slowly about with an +expression of sober inquiry.</p> + +<p>Nina glanced hastily outward. She was alone for the moment. Miss +Shropshire had gone <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>to her well-earned rest, and Dr. Clough was in the +dining-room, attended by Mrs. Atkins. Nina drew the baby closer, and +kissed it. For the moment she held Dudley Thorpe in her arms,—for she +could not grasp their separateness,—and peace returned. Thorpe was ill, +of course; but he was hardy and young, and would recover. The rapture of +young motherhood possessed her. She kissed the baby many times, softly, +fearing that it might break, then drew back and gazed at it with rapt +adoration. Once she met its wise solemn eyes, and the first soul of +Dudley Thorpe looked from their depths. She moved it with trembling +care, and laid its head on her breast.</p> + +<p>She gave no thought to the time when the world must know; the world no +longer existed for her. Dudley Thorpe was her husband, and his child was +in her arms,—an actual tangible beautiful certainty; all the rest that +went to make up life was nebulæ.</p> + +<p>It was a very good baby, and gave little trouble; consequently Nina was +permitted to hold it most of the time. She felt no desire <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>to rise from +the bed, to take an active part in life again. She would have liked to +remain there until Thorpe came and sat beside her. She spoke little, +excepting to the child, and perhaps those hours, despite the great want, +were the happiest of her life.</p> + +<p>“What are some women made of?” demanded Miss Shropshire of Dr. Clough. +“What is she going to do with that baby? That’s what I want to know. It +may be months before Dudley Thorpe gets here, and it certainly won’t be +long before Mr. Randolph comes up again. I don’t believe she has given a +thought to the consequences—and I have always thought her an unusually +bright and level-headed woman.”</p> + +<p>“I see nothing to do but let matters take their course.” He hesitated a +moment, then gave Miss Shropshire a swift tentative glance, shifting his +eyes hastily. “Would you—you believe in my disinterestedness, do you +not, Miss Molly?”</p> + +<p>“I do, indeed. You have been a real friend. I’m sure I don’t know what I +should have done without you.”</p> + +<p>“Then—if Mr. Thorpe does not return, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>when she has become convinced +that he does not mean to return, will you help me to make her understand +that I am only too willing to marry her and adopt her child?”</p> + +<p>Miss Shropshire stared, then shook her head. “You don’t know Nina. It +would be years before she got over her infatuation for Dudley Thorpe, if +ever; and by that time everybody would know. Besides, I don’t share your +distrust of Thorpe. He is selfish, and is probably travelling beyond the +reach of mails; but he is the soul of honour: no one could doubt that.”</p> + +<p>“He may be dead.”</p> + +<p>“We should have heard by this time; and it would not help you if he +were. Most likely it would kill her.”</p> + +<p>“We don’t die so easily.”</p> + +<p>“The thing to consider now is that baby. It’s a dear little thing, and +looks less like putty than most babies; I can actually see a resemblance +to Thorpe. But, all the same, its presence is decidedly embarrassing.”</p> + +<p>The baby solved the problem. It died when it was ten days old. Even Miss +Shropshire, who scorned the emotions, shuddered <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>and burst into tears at +the awful agony in Nina’s eyes. Nina did not cry, nor did she speak. +When the child was dressed for its coffin, the housekeeper brought it to +the bedside. Nina raised herself on her elbow, and gave it a long +devouring glance. It looked like marble rather than wax, and its +likeness to Dudley Thorpe was startling. The contours of infancy had +disappeared in its brief severe illness, and the strong bold outlines of +the man who had called it into being were reproduced in little. The dark +hair fell over its forehead in the same way, the mouth had the same +arch.</p> + +<p>Miss Shropshire entered the room, and Nina spoke for the first time +since the baby had given its sharp cry of warning.</p> + +<p>“Take it up into the forest, and bury it between the two pines where my +hammock was.” And then she turned her back and stared at the wall.</p> + +<p>Shortly after, Mr. Randolph was informed that Nina had had a brief but +severe attack of rheumatic fever, and he paid her a hurried visit. He +wondered at the change in her, but did not suspect the truth.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p><p>“She is pining for Thorpe, I suppose,” he said to Miss Shropshire. “I +cannot understand his silence; and now God knows when we’ll hear from +him, unless he managed to get North before April 19th. Something has +happened, I am afraid. Poor child, she was not born under a lucky star! +Is she all right otherwise?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it looks as if she were cured. But when she goes to San Francisco, +she had better stay with me for a time. I don’t think her mother’s +society would be the best thing for her while she is so despondent.”</p> + +<p>“By all means. And that detestable Clough?”</p> + +<p>“He is really a first-rate doctor, and has been devotion itself.”</p> + +<p>“Very well: I shall send him a handsome cheque. But if he has any +matrimonial designs, let him look out. Don’t imagine I am blind. A man +does not neglect a fresh practice for cousinly affection. I cannot +suppose for a moment that she would tolerate him, but when a woman is +listless and despondent, and thinks that all her prospects of happiness +are over, there’s no telling what she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>will do; particularly if the +besieger has the tenacity of a bull dog. I’d rather see her in her +coffin than married to Richard Clough.”</p> + +<p>Miss Shropshire was very anxious to return to San Francisco. She loved +Nina Randolph; but she had immured herself in the cause of friendship +long enough, and thought that her afflicted friend would be quite as +well off where distractions were more abundant. When she suggested +return, Nina acquiesced indifferently, and Mrs. Atkins packed the trunks +with a hearty good-will. Dr. Clough brought a hack, at great expense, +from Napa, and packed her into it as if she were a baby. As it drove +off, she looked through the window up to the forest where her baby lay. +She had not been strong enough to climb to the grave. She knew that she +should never see it.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 242-5]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="BOOK_III" id="BOOK_III"></a>BOOK III</h2> + +<h2><a name="Book3_I" id="Book3_I"></a>I</h2> + +<p>When Thorpe left New Orleans his plan was to return on the next steamer +but one, then to go North to New York or Boston,—he had friends in both +cities,—and amuse himself in new fields until he was permitted to +return to California. He sought distraction, for although he was +reasonably sure of Nina’s power to conquer herself, and intended to +marry her whether she did or not, separation and time deepened his +passion for her, and he only found peace of mind in filling his hours to +the brim. It is doubtful if he would have consented to remain the year +out were it not that he wished to admire her as much as she longed to +have him. Her pride and confidence in herself would invigorate the +happiness of both.</p> + +<p>He left orders in New Orleans to have his mail held over until his +return. Harold was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>very ill on the voyage. Almost immediately upon +landing in Havana his health began to mend, and he declared himself +ready to kiss the soil, as he could not bestow a similar mark of favour +on the climate. He announced his intention of sending for his affianced +and spending the rest of his life in the West Indies. Thorpe did not +take him too seriously, but seeing that there was no prospect of getting +away for some time, and believing that Cuba would offer himself +entertainment for several months, he sent to New Orleans for his mail, +and wrote to Nina announcing his present plans. Whether the letters +never left the Havana post-office, or whether the mail sack was lost +overboard later, or ignored in the excitement at New Orleans, no one +will ever know. Nor does it matter; they were never received, and that +is all that concerns this tale. Thorpe and Harold started inland +immediately, and finally determined to go to Jamaica and San Domingo +before returning to Havana. He knew it was worse than folly to trust +letters to the wretched inland post-offices, and he had told Nina in his +letter of explanation not to expect <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>another for some time. He should be +in New Orleans on the first of May, and, meanwhile, he kept a diary for +her future entertainment.</p> + +<p>While exploring the mountain forests in the central part of Hayti, their +guide was murdered, and they were two months finding their way to San +Domingo. They were months of excitement, adventure, and more than one +hair-breadth escape. Thorpe would have been in his element had it been +possible to communicate with Nina, and could he have been sure of +getting out of the West Indies before the rainy season began. They came +unexpectedly upon San Domingo; and he learned that war had broken out in +the United States during April. They made what haste they could to +Havana, Harold as eager to return to civilisation as his brother; for +vermin and land-crabs had tempered his enthusiasm, and he had acquired a +violent dislike for the negro. At Havana, Thorpe found no letters +awaiting him. He also learned from an American resident that postal +communication had ceased between the North and South on May 31st. He +wondered blankly at his stupidity <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>in not going North while there was +yet time, but like many others, he had heard so much talk of war that he +had ceased to believe in its certainty. He could only hope that his +letter had reached Nina, but knew that it was more than doubtful. The +Southern ports were in a state of blockade. He and his brother ran it in +a little boat rowed by themselves. In New Orleans he read the packet of +letters from Nina, that awaited him.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="Book3_II" id="Book3_II"></a>II</h2> + +<p>The great change in Nina Randolph’s appearance and manner induced no +small amount of gossip in San Francisco. Women are quick to scent the +sin that society loves best to discuss, and there were many that +suspected the truth: her long retirement had prepared them for an +interesting sequel. Nina guessed that she was dividing with the war the +honours of attention in a small but law-making circle, but was quite +indifferent. She rarely went down to the parlour when people called, but +sat in her bedroom staring out at <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>the bay; the Lester house was on the +summit of Clay Street hill.</p> + +<p>Her father was deeply anxious, full of gloomy forebodings. He believed +Thorpe to be dead, and shook with horror when he thought of what the +consequences might be.</p> + +<p>“Wouldn’t you like a change?” he asked her one day. “How would you like +go to New York? Molly and Mrs. Lester could go with you.”</p> + +<p>Nina shook her head, colouring faintly.</p> + +<p>“I see. You are afraid of missing Thorpe. I wish there were some way of +finding out—”</p> + +<p>She turned to him with eager eyes. “Would you go, papa,—to New Orleans? +I haven’t dared to ask it. Go and see what is the matter.”</p> + +<p>“My child, I could not get there. The ports are blockaded; if I +attempted the folly of getting to New Orleans by land, I should probably +be shot as a spy. It is for those reasons that he will have great +difficulty in getting here, as he did not have the forethought to leave +the South in time.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p><p>To this Nina made no reply, and as she would not talk to him, he left +her.</p> + +<p>That evening Miss Shropshire came into Nina’s room, and spoke twice +before she was answered. The room was dark.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Nina!” she said peremptorily. “You’ve got to brace up. +People are talking. I know it!”</p> + +<p>“Are they? What does it matter? I have no more use for them. I may as +well tell you I have come to the conclusion that Dudley Thorpe ceased to +care for me, and that is the reason of his silence. He has gone back to +England.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe it. You’re growing morbid. Women frequently do after +that sort of experience. I remember Beatrix sat in one position for +nearly a month, staring at the floor: wouldn’t even brush her teeth. You +have too much brains for that sort of thing.”</p> + +<p>“I believe it. I have made up my mind. He is in England. He wrote me +once that if it were not that I had asked him not to leave the country, +he would run over, he was so tired of America. He went, and stayed.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p><p>“Well, then, go out in the world and flirt as you used to. Don’t let any +man bowl you over like this; and, for Heaven’s sake, don’t mope any +more!”</p> + +<p>“I hate the thought of every man in San Francisco. When I knew them, I +was an entirely different woman. I couldn’t adapt myself to them if I +wanted to—which I don’t.”</p> + +<p>“But there are always new ones—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t! Haven’t you imagination enough to guess what this last year +has made of me? If I got as far as a ball-room I’d stand up in the +middle of the floor and shriek out that since I was there last my heart +had lived and been broken, that I had lost a husband and buried a +baby—”</p> + +<p>“Then, for Heaven’s sake, stay at home! But I think,” with deep meaning, +“that you had better try a change of some sort, Nina. If you don’t want +to risk going East, why not visit some of the Spanish people in Southern +California?”</p> + +<p>“I shall stay here.”</p> + +<p>It was during the next night that Nina left her bed suddenly, flung +herself into a chair, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>and pressed her elbows hard upon her knees. She +had barely slept for three nights. Her nerves were in a highly irritable +state. If any one had entered she would not have been able to control +her temper. Black depression possessed her; the irritability of her +nerves alternated with the sensation of dropping through space; and her +relaxed body cried for stimulant.</p> + +<p>She twisted her hands together, her face convulsed. “Why should I +fight?” she argued aloud. “In that, at least, I should find temporary +oblivion. And what else have I left? Down deep, ever since I got his +last letter, I have known that I should never see him again. It is my +destiny: that is the beginning and the end of it. This is the second +time I have wanted it since the baby died. I <i>beat</i> it out of me the +first time. I hoped—hoped—and if he were here I should win. If I could +be happy, and go away with him, it would not come again: I know—<i>I +know</i>. He could have got me some word by this. He is not dead. There is +only one other explanation. Men are all alike, they say. Why should I +struggle? For what? What <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>have I to live for? I am the most wretched +woman on earth.”</p> + +<p>But she did struggle. The dawn found her sitting there still, her +muscles almost rigid. Her love for Thorpe had undergone no change; it +took the fight into its own hands. And it seemed to her that she could +hear her soul beg for its rights; its voice rose above the persistent +clamour of her body.</p> + +<p>She went to bed and slept for a few hours; but when she awoke the desire +in her nerves was madder than ever. Every part of her cried out for +stimulant. She had no love for the taste of liquor; the demand came from +her nerve-centres. But still she fought on, materialising the monster, +fancying that she held it by the throat, that she cut its limbs off, its +heart out; but it shook itself together with magnificent vitality, and +laughed in her face.</p> + +<p>Days passed. The clamour in her body strove to raise itself above the +despairing cry in her soul. But still, mechanically, without hope, she +lifted her ear to the higher cry, knowing that if she fell now she +should <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>never rise again in her earthly life, nor speak with Dudley +Thorpe, should he, perhaps, return.</p> + +<p>She invoked the image of her baby, the glory of the few days she had +known it. But a bitter tide of resentment overwhelmed the memory of that +brief exaltation. If she was to be saved, why had not the baby been +spared? Those who shared her secret had attempted to console her by +assuring her that its death was a mercy for all concerned. She had not +answered them; but her grief was cut with contempt for their lack of +vision. The baby might have cost her her social position, but it would +have stood between her soul and perdition. It had been taken—by One who +was supposed to know the needs of all His creatures. Therefore it was +only reasonable to assume that He wished her to be destroyed.</p> + +<p>She thought of nothing else, but cunningly pretended to be absorbed in +her books.</p> + +<p>There came a night when her nerves shrieked until her brain surged with +the din of them, and her hands clutched at the air, her eyes hardened +and expanded with greed, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>her lips were forced apart by her panting +breath. She jerked the stopper out of a bottle of cologne and swallowed +a quarter of the contents, then flung her wraps about her, stole +downstairs and out of the house, found a carriage, and was driven to +South Park.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="Book3_III" id="Book3_III"></a>III</h2> + +<p>Two weeks later she sat huddled over the fire in the library. Her face +was yellow; her eyes were sunken and dull; her hands trembled. She +looked thirty-five.</p> + +<p>In her lap lay a letter from Dudley Thorpe. He and his brother, at the +risk of their lives, had got through the lines and reached New York. The +excitement, fatigue, and exposure had nearly killed Harold, who was in a +hospital in a precarious condition. Thorpe could not leave him. He +implored her to come on to New York at once; and he had never written a +more tender and passionate letter.</p> + +<p>Cochrane opened the door, and announced that Dr. Clough had called.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p><p>“Tell him to come here,” she said.</p> + +<p>Dr. Clough wore his usual jaunty air, and he made no comment on her +appearance; he had come straight from Miss Shropshire.</p> + +<p>“Sit down,” said Nina, curtly, interrupting his demonstrations. “You +come at the right moment. I was about to send for you.”</p> + +<p>“My dear cousin Nina! I hope there is no—”</p> + +<p>“Let me talk, please. Do you wish to marry me?”</p> + +<p>Clough caught his breath. He flushed, despite his nerve. “Of course I +do,” he stammered. “What a question! Certainly there never was a woman +so original. It is like you to settle matters in your own way.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t delude yourself for a moment that I even like you. Of all the men +I have ever known, the sort of person I take you to be has my most +unmitigated contempt. It is for that reason I marry you. I must marry +some one at once to keep myself from ruining the life of Dudley Thorpe. +I choose you, because, in the first place, I am so vile a thing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>that no +punishment is severe enough for me; and, in the second, Fate has +acquitted herself so brilliantly in regard to my humble self that I feel +a certain satisfaction in giving her all she wants.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Nina, you are morbid.” He spoke pleasantly, but he turned away +his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Possibly; it would be somewhat remarkable if I were not. Do you still +wish to marry me?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. I do not take your rather uncomplimentary utterances +seriously. In your present frame of <span style="white-space: nowrap;">mind—”</span></p> + +<p>“It is the only frame of mind I shall ever be in. You will have an +unpleasant domestic life; but you will have all the money you want. +Don’t flatter yourself for a moment that you will either control or cure +me. You will be no more in my house than a well-paid butler—after my +father has been induced to accept you, which will not be in a hurry. +Meanwhile, you will probably beat me: you are quite capable of it; but +you may save yourself the exertion.”</p> + +<p>“I shall not beat you, Nina, dear.” He <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>spoke softly, with an assumption +of masculine indulgence; but his small pointed teeth moved suddenly +apart.</p> + +<p>“You will understand, of course, that this engagement must not get to my +father’s ears. He would lock me up before he would permit me to marry +you. He has all the contempt of the gentleman for the cad, of the real +man for the bundle of petty imitations: and you are his pet aversion. On +the tenth, he is obliged to go to San José to attend an important +law-suit. He will be detained not less than three days. We shall marry +on the eleventh—at Mrs. Lester’s. I shall not tell my mother, for I +will not give her the pleasure of conspiring against my father. I +suppose that I shall break my father’s heart; but I don’t know that I +care. He might have saved me, if he had been stronger, and I am no +longer capable of loving any one—”</p> + +<p>“Suppose Mr. Thorpe should come out here after you, anyhow, married or +not.”</p> + +<p>“He will do nothing of the sort. One reason you would be incapable of +understanding, should I attempt to explain; the other is, that he will +no longer want me after <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>I have been the wife of a person of your sort.”</p> + +<p>“My word, Nina, you are rather rough on a fellow; but give me a kiss, +and I’ll overlook it.”</p> + +<p>She lifted her face, and let him kiss her, then struck him so violent a +blow that the little man staggered.</p> + +<p>“Now go,” she said, “and don’t let me see you again until the eleventh. +If you have anything to say, you can write it to Molly Shropshire.”</p> + +<p>When he had gone, she drew her hand across her lips, then looked closely +at it as if expecting to see a stain. Then she shuddered, and huddled +closer to the fire, and in a few moments threw Dudley Thorpe’s letter on +the coals.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="Book3_IV" id="Book3_IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<p>“Well, some women <i>are</i> remarkable!” exclaimed Miss Shropshire to her +sister, Mrs. Lester. “The idea of her having a wedding dress,—white +satin, train, and all. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>She even fussed over at least twenty pairs of +slippers, and I was almost afraid to bring home that bridal veil for +fear it wouldn’t suit her.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose she thinks that weddings, white satin ones, at least, only +come once in a lifetime.” Mrs. Lester was a tired little woman, quite +subservient to her strong-minded sister. The wedding was to take place +in her back parlour at an hour when Mr. Lester, occupied and +unsuspecting, would be away from home. She did not approve of the plot; +but her opinion, much less her consent, had not been asked.</p> + +<p>“I’d like to thoroughly understand Nina Randolph, just for once,” said +Miss Shropshire, meditatively. “It would be interesting, to say the +least.”</p> + +<p>The night before the wedding she went into Nina’s room, and found her +standing before the mirror arrayed in her bridal finery,—veil, gloves, +slippers, all. She had regained her natural hues; but her eyes were +still sunken, her face pinched and hard. She was almost plain.</p> + +<p>“Nina! Why on earth have you put on <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>those things? Don’t you know it’s +bad luck?”</p> + +<p>Nina laughed.</p> + +<p>Miss Shropshire exclaimed, “<i>Umburufen!</i>” and rapped loudly three times +on the top of a chair. “There! I hope that will do some good. I know +what you are thinking—you are so unlucky, anyhow. But why tempt fate?” +She hesitated a moment. “It is not too late. Put it off for six months, +and then see how you feel about it. You are morbid now. You don’t know +what changes time might—”</p> + +<p>“No earthly power can prevent me from marrying Richard Clough +to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, I shall stand by you, of course. That goes without saying. +But I believe you are making a terrible mistake. I would rather you +married almost any one else. There are several gentlemen that would be +ready and willing.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t wish to marry a gentleman.”</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>The next afternoon Nina, Mrs. Lester, and Miss Shropshire were in the +back parlour awaiting the arrival of Clough, his best man, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>and the +clergyman, when there was a sudden furious pull at the bell of the front +door. Nina sprang to her feet. For the first time in many weeks +animation sprang to her eyes.</p> + +<p>“It is my father!” she said. “Close the folding-doors. Molly, I rely on +you! Do you understand? Send him away, and as quickly as possible. Tell +a servant to watch outside, and take the others round the back way.”</p> + +<p>Before she had finished speaking, Mr. Randolph’s voice was heard in the +hall, demanding his daughter. The servants had been given orders to deny +the fact of Miss Randolph’s presence in the house to any one but Dr. +Clough. Nevertheless, Mr. Randolph brushed past the woman that opened +the door, and entered the front parlour. Miss Shropshire joined him at +once. Every word of the duologue that followed could be heard on the +other side of the folding-doors.</p> + +<p>“Why, Mr. Randolph!” exclaimed Miss Shropshire, easily. “Why this +unexpected honour? I thought you were in San José.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p><p>“Is my daughter here?” He was evidently much excited, and endeavouring +to control himself.</p> + +<p>“Nina? No. Why? Is she not at Redwoods? She was to go down yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“She is not at Redwoods. I have received private and reliable +information that she is to marry Richard Clough this afternoon, and I +have reason to think that she is in this house.”</p> + +<p>“What? Nina going to marry that horrid little man? I don’t believe it!” +Miss Shropshire was a woman of thorough and uncompromising methods.</p> + +<p>“Is Nina in this house or not?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Randolph! Of course she is not. I would have nothing to do with +such an affair.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Randolph swallowed a curse, and strode up and down the room several +times. Then he paused and confronted her once more.</p> + +<p>“Molly,” he said, “I appeal to you as a woman. If you have any +friendship for Nina, give her up to me and save her from ruin, or <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>tell +me where she is. It is not yet too late. I will risk everything and take +her abroad. She is ruining her own life and Thorpe’s and mine by a +mistaken sense of duty to him, and contempt for herself: I know her so +well that I feel sure that is the reason for this act she contemplates +to-day. I will take her to Thorpe. He could reclaim her. Clough—you can +perhaps imagine how Clough will treat her! Picture the life she must +lead with that man, and give her up to me. And, if you have any heart, +keep my own from breaking. She is all that I have. You know what my home +is; I have lived in hell for twenty-four years for this girl’s sake. I +have kept a monster in my house that Nina should have no family scandal +to reproach me with. And all to what purpose if she marries a cad and a +brute? I would have endured the torments of the past twenty-five years, +multiplied tenfold, to have secured her happiness. If she marries +Richard Clough, it will kill me.”</p> + +<p>“She is not here,” replied Miss Shropshire.</p> + +<p>Mr. Randolph trembled from head to foot. “My God!” he cried, “have you +women <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>no heart? Are all women, I wonder, like those I have known? My +wife, a demon who nursed her baby on brandy! My daughter, repaying the +devotion of years with blackest ingratitude! And you—” He fell, rather +than dropped to his knees, and caught her dress in his hands.</p> + +<p>“Molly,” he prayed, “give her to me. Save her from becoming one of the +outcast of the earth. For that is what this marriage will mean to her.”</p> + +<p>Miss Shropshire set her teeth. “Nina is not here,” she said.</p> + +<p>Mr. Randolph stumbled to his feet, and rushed from the house. He walked +rapidly down the hill toward Old Trinity in Pine Street, the church Nina +attended, his dislocated mind endeavouring to suggest that he wait for +her there. His agitation was so marked that several people turned and +looked after him in surprise. He reached the church. A carriage +approached, passed. Its occupants were Richard Clough, a well-known +gambler named Bell, and a man who carried the unmistakable cut of a +parson.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Randolph rushed to the middle of the street, ordering the driver to +stop. The window of the carriage was open. He caught Clough by the +shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Are you on your way to marry my daughter?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“My dear Uncle James,” replied the young man, airily, “you are all +wrong. I am on my way to marry—it is true; but the unfortunate lady is +Miss McCullum.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Randolph turned to the gambler, and implored him, as a man of +honour, to tell him the truth.</p> + +<p>Bell replied: “As a man of honour, I dare not.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Randolph appealed to the clergyman, but met only a solemn scowl, and +mechanically dropped back, with the sensation of having lost the +good-will of all men. A moment later the carriage was rattling up the +street at double speed, and he cursed his stupidity in not forcing an +entrance, or hanging on behind. There was no other carriage in sight.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Book3_V" id="Book3_V"></a>V</h2> + +<p>The days were very long to Dudley Thorpe. The invalid recovered slowly, +and demanded much of his time. Before an answer to his letter could be +expected, Harold was sufficiently mended to be removed to the house of a +friend on Long Island. He declared his intention of sailing for +California as soon as he could obtain the doctor’s permission to travel. +The lady to whom he was betrothed came over from England and married +him; and Thorpe had little to do but to think.</p> + +<p>He bitterly reproached himself that he had asked Nina to come to New +York, instead of trusting to his brother’s recuperative powers, and +starting at once for California. He dared not go now, lest he pass her. +But he was beset by doubts, and some of them were nightmares. She would +come if her child had lived, and she had weathered her year. If she had +not! He knew what she had suffered during that year, would have guessed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>without the aid of the few letters she had written after letters from +him had ceased to reach California. Exposure and shame might have come +to her since. If he could have been sure that she believed in him, he +would have feared little; but it was not to be expected that she had +received a letter he had sent her from the West Indies. The telegraph +has averted many a tragedy, but there was none across the United States. +With all his will and health and wealth and love, he had been as +powerless to help her in the time of her great trouble, was as powerless +to help her now, as if he were in the bottom of a Haytian swamp. All +that was fine in him, and there was much, was thoroughly roused. He not +only longed for her and for his child, but he vowed to devote the rest +of his life to her happiness. It seemed to him incredible that he could +have committed such a series of mistakes; that no man who loved a woman +with the passion of his life had ever so consistently done the wrong +thing. But mistakes are not isolated acts, to be plucked out of life and +viewed as an art student views his first model, in which he finds only a +few <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>bald lines; even when the pressure of many details is not +overwhelming it often clouds the mental vision. Years after, Thorpe +accepted the fact that the great links in that year’s chain of events +were connected by hundreds of tiny links as true of form; but not then.</p> + +<p>One day a budget of mail got through the lines, and in it was a letter +for him. It was from Nina, and was dated shortly after the last he had +found awaiting him when he arrived from Cuba.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I don’t know where you are, if you will ever get this; but I must +write to you. The baby is dead. It was a little girl. It is buried +in the forest.</p> + +<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Nina.</span></span></p></div> + +<p>The steamer by which he expected her arrived a few days later. It +brought him the following letter:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I was married yesterday. My name is Mrs. Richard Clough. My husband +is the son of a Haworth cobbler. I received your letter.</p> + +<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Nina Randolph Clough.</span></span></p></div> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Book3_VI" id="Book3_VI"></a>VI</h2> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Harold Thorpe sailed on the next steamer for California. +Dudley Thorpe worked his way South, offered his services to the +Confederacy, fought bitterly and brilliantly, when he was not in +hospital with a bullet in him, rose to the rank of colonel, and made a +name for himself which travelled to California and to England. At the +close of the war, he returned home and entered Parliament. He became +known as a hard worker, a member of almost bitter honesty, and a +forcible and magnetic speaker. Socially he was, first, a lion, +afterward, a steady favourite. Altogether he was regarded as a success +by his fellow-men.</p> + +<p>It was some years before he heard from his brother. Harold was delighted +with the infinite variety of California; his health was remarkably good; +and he had settled for life. Only his first letter contained a reference +to Nina Randolph. She had lived in Napa for a time, then gone to +Redwoods. She never <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>came to San Francisco; therefore he had been unable +to call, had never even seen her. All Thorpe’s other friends had been +very kind to himself and his wife.</p> + +<p>Thorpe long before this had understood. The rage and disgust of the +first months had worn themselves out, given place to his intimate +knowledge of her. Had he returned to California it would have been too +late to do her any good, and would have destroyed the dear memory of her +he now possessed. He still loved her. For many months the pain of it had +been unbearable. It was unbearable no longer, but he doubted if he +should ever love another woman. The very soul of him had gone out to +her, and if it had returned he was not conscious of it. As the years +passed, there were long stretches when she did not enter his thought, +when memory folded itself thickly about her and slept. Time deals kindly +with the wounds of men. And he was a man of active life, keenly +interested in the welfare of his country. But he married no other woman.</p> + +<p>It was something under ten years since he had left California, when he +received a letter <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>from his sister-in-law stating that his brother was +dead, and begging him to come out and settle her affairs, and take her +home. She had neither father nor brother; and he went at once, although +he had no desire to see California again.</p> + +<p>There were rails between New York and San Francisco by this time, and he +found the latter a large flourishing and hideous city. The changes were +so great, the few acquaintances he met during the first days of his +visit looked so much older, that his experience of ten years before +became suddenly blurred of outline. He was not quite forty; but he felt +like an old man groping in his memory for an episode of early youth. The +eidolon of Nina Randolph haunted him, but with ever-evading lineaments. +He did not know whether to feel thankful or disappointed.</p> + +<p>He devoted himself to his sister-in-law’s affairs for a week, then, +finding a Sunday afternoon on his hands, started, almost reluctantly, to +call on Mrs. McLane.</p> + +<p>South Park was unchanged.</p> + +<p>He stood for a moment, catching his breath. The city had grown around +and away from <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>it; streets had multiplied, bristling with the ugliest +varieties of modern architecture; but South Park, stately, dark, solemn, +had not changed by so much as a lighter coat of paint. His eyes moved +swiftly to the Randolph house. Its shutters were closed. The dust of +summer was thick upon them. He stood for fully five minutes staring at +it, regardless of curious eyes. Something awoke and hungered within him.</p> + +<p>“My vanished youth, I suppose,” he thought sadly. “I certainly have no +wish to see her, poor thing! But she was very sweet.”</p> + +<p>He walked slowly round the crescent on the left, and rang the bell at +Mrs. McLane’s door. As the butler admitted him he noted with relief that +the house had been refurnished. A buzz of voices came from the parlour. +The man lifted a portière, and Mrs. McLane, with an exclamation of +delight, came forward, with both hands outstretched. Her face was +unchanged, but she would powder her hair no more. It was white.</p> + +<p>“Thorpe!” she exclaimed. “It is not possible? How long have you been +here? <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>A week! Mon Dieu! And you come only now! But I suppose I am +fortunate to be remembered at all.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe assured her that she had been in his thoughts since the hour of +his arrival, but that he wished to be free of the ugly worries of +business before venturing into her distracting presence.</p> + +<p>“I don’t forgive you, although I give you a dinner on Thursday. Will +that suit you? Poor little Mrs. Harold! We have all been attention +itself to her for your sake. Come here and sit by me; but you may speak +to your other old friends.”</p> + +<p>Two of the “Macs” were there; the other was dead, he was told later. +Both were married, and one was dressed with the splendours of Paris. +Mrs. Earle was as little changed as Mrs. McLane, and her still flashing +eyes challenged him at once. Guadalupe Hathaway was unmarried and had +grown stout; but she was as handsome as of old.</p> + +<p>They all received him with flattering warmth, “treated him much better +than he deserved,” Mrs. McLane remarked, “considering he had never +written one of them <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>a line;” and he felt the past growing sharp of +outline. There were several very smart young ladies present, two of whom +he remembered as awkward little girls. The very names of the others were +unknown to him. They knew of him, however, and one of them affected to +disapprove of him sharply because he had “fought against the flag.” Mrs. +McLane took up the cudgels for her South, and party feeling ran high.</p> + +<p>Nina Randolph’s name was not mentioned. He wondered if she were dead. +Not so much as a glance was directed toward the most momentous episode +of his life. Doubtless they had forgotten that he had once been somewhat +attentive to her. But his memory was breaking in the middle and +marshalling its forces at the farther end; the events of the intervening +ten years were now a confused mass of shadows. Mrs. Earle sang a Mexican +love-song, and he turned the leaves for her. When he told Guadalupe +Hathaway that he was glad to find her unchanged, she replied:—</p> + +<p>“I am fat, and you know it. And as I don’t mind in the least, you need +not fib <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>about it. You have a few grey hairs and lines; but you’ve worn +better than our men, who are burnt out with trade winds and money +grubbing.”</p> + +<p>He remained an hour. When he left the house, he walked rapidly out of +the Park, casting but one hasty glance to the right, crossed the city +and went straight to the house of Molly Shropshire’s sister. It also was +unchanged, a square ugly brown house on a corner over-looking the blue +bay and the wild bright hills beyond. The houses that had sprung up +about it were cheap and fresh, and bulging with bow-windows.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” the maid told him, “Miss Shropshire still lived there, and was at +home.” The room into which she showed him was dark, and had the musty +smell of the unpopular front parlour. A white marble slab on the centre +table gleamed with funereal significance. Thorpe drew up the blinds, and +let in the sun. He was unable to decide if the room had been refurnished +since the one occasion upon which he had entered it before; but it had +an old-fashioned and dingy appearance.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p><p>He heard a woman’s gown rustle down the stair, and his nerves shook. +When Miss Shropshire entered, she did not detect his effort at +composure. She had accepted the flesh of time, and her hair was +beginning to turn; but she shook hands in her old hearty decided +fashion.</p> + +<p>“I heard yesterday that you were here,” she said. “Take that armchair. I +rather hoped you’d come. We used to quarrel; but, after all, you are an +Englishman, and I can never forget that I was born over there, although +I don’t remember so much as the climate.”</p> + +<p>“Will you tell me the whole story? I did not intend to come to see you, +to mention her name. But it has come back, and I must know all that +there is to know—from the very date of my leaving up to now. Of course, +she wrote me that you were in her confidence.”</p> + +<p>She told the story of a year which had been as big with import for one +woman as for a nation. “Mr. Randolph died six months after the wedding,” +she concluded, wondering if some men were made of stone. “It killed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>him. He did not see her again until he was on his death-bed. Then he +forgave her. Any one would, poor thing. He left his money in trust, so +that she has a large income, and is in no danger of losing it. She lives +with her mother at Redwoods. Clough died some years ago—of drink. It +was in his blood, I suppose, for almost from the day he set foot in +Redwoods he was a sot.”</p> + +<p>“And Nina?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t try to see her,” said Miss Shropshire, bluntly. “You would only +be horrified,—you wouldn’t recognise her if you met her on the street. +She is breaking, fortunately. I saw her the other day, for the first +time in two years, and she told me she was very ill.”</p> + +<p>“Have you deserted her?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t put it that way! I shall always love Nina Randolph, and I am +often sick with pity. But she never comes here, and one <i>cannot</i> go to +Redwoods. It is said that the orgies there beggar description. Even the +Hathaways, who are their nearest neighbours, never enter the gates. It +is terrible! And if <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>your letter had come six days earlier, it would all +have been different. But she was born to bad luck.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe rose. “Thank you,” he said. “Are your sisters well? I shall be +here only a few days longer, but I shall try to call again.”</p> + +<p>She laid her hand on his arm. She had a sudden access of vision. “Don’t +try to see Nina,” she said, impressively.</p> + +<p>“God forbid!” he said.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="Book3_VII" id="Book3_VII"></a>VII</h2> + +<p>He slept not at all that night. He had thought that his days of poignant +emotion were over, that he had worn out the last of it on the +blood-soaked fields of Virginia, on nights between days when Death rose +with the sun; but up from their long sleep misery and love rose with the +vigour of their youth, and claimed him. And the love was for a woman who +no longer existed, whose sodden brain doubtless held no memory of him, +or remembered only to curse him. He strove <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>to imagine her as she must +be. She rose before him in successive images of what she had been: from +the night he had met her to the morning of their last interview on the +mountain,—a series of images sometimes painful, always beautiful. Then +his imagination created her as she must have been during the months of +her solitude in the midst of a wild and beautiful country, when in her +letters she had sent him so generous and so exquisite a measure of +herself; then the last months, when he would have been half mad with +love and pity if he had known. Nor was that all: it seemed to him in the +torments of that night that he realised for the first time what he had +lost, what poignant, enduring, and varied happiness might have been his +during the past ten years. Instead, he had had excitement, honours, and +mental activity; he had not been happy for an hour. And the possibility +of such happiness, of union with the one woman whom he was capable of +passionately loving with soul and mind and body, was as dead as his +youth, buried with the soul of a woman whose face he would not +recognise. She was above ground, this woman, and a different <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>being! He +repeated the fact aloud; but it was the one fact his imagination would +not grasp and present to his mental vision. It realised her suffering, +her morbid despair, her attitude to herself, to the world, and to him, +when she had decided to marry Clough; but the hideous metamorphosis of +body and spirit was outside its limitations.</p> + +<p>In the morning he asked his sister-in-law if she would leave California +at the end of the week. She was a methodical and slow-moving little +person, and demurred for a time, but finally consented to make ready. +Her business affairs—which consisted of several unsold ranches—could +be left in the hands of an agent; there was little more that her +brother-in-law could do.</p> + +<p>Harold’s remains had been temporarily placed in the receiving vault on +Lone Mountain. Thorpe went out to the cemetery in the afternoon to make +the final arrangements for removing them to England.</p> + +<p>Lone Mountain can be seen from any part of San Francisco; scarcely a +house but has a window from which one may receive his daily hint that +even Californians are mortal. Here <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>is none of the illusion of the +cemetery of the flat, with its thickly planted trees and shrubbery, +where the children are taken to walk when they are good, and to wonder +at the glimpses of pretty little white houses and big white slates with +black letters. The shining tombs and vaults and monuments, tier above +tier, towering at the end of the city, flaunt in one’s face the +remorselessness and the greed of death. In winter, the paths are running +brooks; one imagines that the very dead are soaked. In summer, the dusty +trees and shrubs accentuate the marble pride of dead and living men. +Behind, higher still, rises a bare brown mountain with a cross on its +summit,—Calvary it is called; and on stormy nights, or on days when the +fog is writhing in from the ocean, blurring even that high sharp peak, +one fancies the trembling outlines of a figure on the cross.</p> + +<p>To-day the tombs were scarcely visible within the fine white mist which +had been creeping in from the Pacific since morning and had made a +beautiful ghost-land of the entire city. The cross on Calvary looked +huge and misshapen, the marbles like the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>phantoms of those below. The +mist dripped heavily from the trees, the walks were wet. It is doubtful +if there is so gloomy, so disturbing, so fascinating a burying-ground on +earth as the Lone Mountain of San Francisco.</p> + +<p>The sexton’s house was near the gates. Thorpe completed his business, +and started for the carriage which had brought him. He paused for a +moment in the middle of the broad road and looked up. In the gently +moving mist the shafts seemed to leave their dead, and crawl through the +groves, as if to some ghoulish tryst. Thorpe thought that it would be a +good place for a man, if lost, to go mad in. But, like all the curious +phases of California, it interested him, and in a moment he sauntered +slowly upward. His own mood was not hilarious, and although he had no +wish to join the cold hearts about him, he liked their company for the +moment.</p> + +<p>Some one approached him from above. It was a woman, and she picked her +way carefully down the steep hill-side. She loomed oddly through the +mist, her outlines shifting. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>As she passed Thorpe, he gave her the +cursory glance of man to unbeautiful woman. She was short and stout; her +face was dark and large, her hair grizzled about the temples, her +expression sullen and dejected, her attire rich. She lifted her eyes, +and stopped short.</p> + +<p>“Dudley!” she said; and Thorpe recognised her voice.</p> + +<p>He made no attempt to answer her. He was hardly conscious of anything +but the wish that he had left California that morning.</p> + +<p>“You did not recognise me?” she said, with a laugh he did not remember.</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>He stared at her, trying to conjure up the woman who had haunted him +during the night. She had gone. There was a dim flash in the eyes, a +broken echo in the voice of this woman, which gave him the impression of +looking upon the faded daguerreotype of one long dead, or upon a bundle +of old letters.</p> + +<p>Her face dropped under his gaze. “I had hoped never to see you again,” +she muttered. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>“But I don’t know that I care much. It is long since I +have thought of you. I care for one thing only,—nothing else matters. +Still, I have a flicker of pride left: I would rather you should not +have seen me an ugly old sot. I believe I was very pretty once; but I +have forgotten.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe strove to speak, to say something to comfort the poor creature in +her mortification; but he could only stare dumbly at her, while +something strove to reach out of himself into that hideous tomb and +clasp the stupefied soul which was no less his than in the brief day +when they had been happy together. As long as that body lived on, it +carried his other part. And after? He wondered if he could feel more +alone then than now, did it take incalculable years for his soul to find +hers.</p> + +<p>She looked up and regarded him sullenly. “You are unchanged,” she said. +“Life has prospered with you, I suppose. I haven’t read the papers nor +heard your name mentioned for years; but I read all I could find about +you during the war; and you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>look as if you had had few cares. Are you +married?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“You have been true to me, I suppose.” And again she laughed.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I suppose that is the reason. At least I have cared to marry no +other woman.”</p> + +<p>“Hm!” she said. “Well, the best thing you can do is to forget me. I’m +sorry if I hurt your pride, but I don’t feel even flattered by your +constancy. I have neither heart nor vanity left; I am nothing but an +appetite,—an appetite that means a long sight more to me than you ever +did. To-morrow, I shall have forgotten your existence again. Once or +twice a year, when I am sober,—comparatively,—I come here to visit my +father’s tomb. Why, I can hardly say, unless it is that I find a certain +satisfaction in contemplating my own niche. I am an unconscionable time +dying.”</p> + +<p>“Are you dying?”</p> + +<p>“I’m gone to pieces in every part of me. My mother threw me downstairs +the other day, and that didn’t mend matters.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p><p>“Come,” he said. “I have no desire to prolong this interview. There is a +private carriage at the gate. Is it yours? Then, if you will permit me, +I will see you to it.”</p> + +<p>She walked beside him without speaking again. He helped her into her +carriage, lifted his hat without raising his eyes, then dismissed his +carriage, and walked the miles between the burying-ground and his hotel.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="Book3_VIII" id="Book3_VIII"></a>VIII</h2> + +<p>Four days later he received a note from Miss Hathaway:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Nina Randolph is dying; I have just seen her doctor, who is also +ours. I do not know if this will interest you. She is at Redwoods.”</p></div> + +<p>An hour later Thorpe was in the train. He had not stopped to deliberate. +Nothing could alter the fact that Nina Randolph was his, and eternally. +He responded to the summons as instinctively as if she had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>been his +wife for the past ten years. Nor did he shrink from the death-bed scene; +hell itself could not be worse than the condition of his mind had been +during the past four days.</p> + +<p>There was no trap for hire at the station; he walked the mile to the +house. It was a pale-blue blazing day. The May sun shone with the +intolerable Californian glare. The roads were already dusty. But when he +reached the avenue at Redwoods, the temperature changed at once. The +trees grew close together, and the creek, full to the top, cooled the +air; it was racing merrily along, several fine salmon on its surface. He +experienced a momentary desire to spear them. Suddenly he returned to +the gates; he had carried into the avenue a sense of something changed. +He looked down the road sharply,—the road up which he had come the last +time he had visited Redwoods, choking on a lumbering stage. Then he +looked up the wooded valley, and back again. It was some moments before +he realised wherein lay the change that had disturbed his introspective +vision; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>one of the great redwoods that had stood by the bridge where +the creek curved just beyond the entrance to the grounds, was gone. He +wondered what had happened to it, and retraced his steps.</p> + +<p>The house, the pretty little toy castle with its yellow-plastered +brown-trimmed walls, looked the same; he had but an indistinct memory of +it. Involuntarily, his gaze travelled to the mountains; they were a mass +of blurred redwoods in a dark-blue mist. But they were serene and +beautiful; so was all nature about him.</p> + +<p>He rang the bell. Cochrane opened the door. The man had aged; but his +face was as stolid as ever.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Thorpe, sir?” he said.</p> + +<p>“Yes; I wish to see Miss—Mrs. Clough.”</p> + +<p>“She won’t live the day out, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Show me up to her room. I shall stay here. Is any one else with her?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir; Mrs. Randolph has been no good these two days, and the maid +that has been looking out for Miss Nina is asleep. I’ve been giving her +her medicine. We <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>don’t like strange nurses here. Times are changed, and +everybody knows now; but we keep to ourselves as much as possible. +There’ve been times when we’ve had company—too much; but I made up my +mind they should die alone. You can go up, though.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks. You can go to sleep, if you wish.”</p> + +<p>Cochrane led him down the hall with its beautiful inlaid floor, +scratched and dull, up the wide stair with its faded velvet carpet, and +opened the door of a large front room.</p> + +<p>“The drops on the table are to be given every hour, sir; the next at +twenty minutes to two.” He closed the door and went away.</p> + +<p>The curtains of the room were wide apart. The sun flaunted itself upon +the old carpet, the handsome old-fashioned furniture. Thorpe went +straight to the windows, and drew the curtains together, then walked +slowly to the bed.</p> + +<p>Nina lay with her eyes open, watching him intently. Her face was pallid +and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>sunken; but she looked less unlike her old self. She took his hand +and pressed it feebly.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry I spoke so roughly the other day,” she said. “But I was not +quite myself. I have touched nothing since; I couldn’t, after seeing +you. It is that that is killing me; but don’t let it worry you. I am +very glad.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe sat down beside her and chafed her hands gently. They were cold.</p> + +<p>“It was a beautiful little baby,” she said, abruptly. “And it looked so +much like you that it was almost ridiculous.”</p> + +<p>“I was a brute to have left you, whether you wished it or not. It is no +excuse to say that the consequences never entered my head, I was half +mad that morning; and after what you had told me, I think I was glad to +get away for a time.”</p> + +<p>“We both did what we believed to be best, and ruined—well, my life, and +your best chance of happiness, perhaps. It is often so, I notice. Too +much happiness is not a good thing for the world, I suppose. It is only +the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>people of moderate desires and capacities that seem to get what +they want. But it was a great pity; we could have been very happy. Did +you care much?”</p> + +<p>He showed her his own soul then, naked and tormented,—as it had been +from the hour he had received her letters upon his return from the West +Indies until Time had done its work upon him,—and as it was now and +must be for long months to come. Of the intervening years he gave no +account; he had forgotten them. She listened with her head eagerly +lifted, her vision piercing his. He made the story short. When he had +finished, her head fell back. She gave a long sigh. Was it of content? +She made no other comment. She was past conventions; her emotions were +already dead. And she was at last in that stage of development wherein +one accepts the facts of life with little or no personal application.</p> + +<p>“It didn’t surprise me when you came in,” she said, after a moment. “I +felt that you would come—My life has been terrible, terrible! Do you +realise that! Have they <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>told you? No woman has ever fallen lower than I +have done. I am sorry, for your sake; I can’t repent in the ordinary +way. I have an account to square with God, if I ever meet Him and He +presumes to judge me. If you will forgive me, that is all that I care +about.”</p> + +<p>“I forgive you! Good God, I wonder you don’t hate me!”</p> + +<p>“I did for a time, not because I blamed you, but because I hated +everybody and everything. There were intervals of terrible retrospect +and regret; but I made them as infrequent as I could, and finally I +stifled them altogether. I grew out of touch with every memory of a life +when I was comparatively innocent and happy. I strove to make myself so +evil that I could not distinguish an echo if one tried to make itself +heard; and I succeeded. Now, all that has fallen from me,—in the last +few hours, since I have had relief from physical torments,—for I could +not drink after I saw you, and I had to pay the penalty. It is not odd, +I suppose, that I should suddenly revert: my <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span>impulses originally were +all toward good, my mental impulses; the appetite was always a purely +physical thing; and when Death approaches, he stretches out a long hand +and brushes aside the rubbish of life, letting the soul’s flower see the +light again for a few moments. Give me the drops. Now that you are here, +I want to live as long as I can.”</p> + +<p>He lifted her head, and gave her the medicine. She lay back suddenly, +pinioning his arm.</p> + +<p>“Let it stay there,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Are you sure, Nina, that your case is so bad?” he asked. “Couldn’t you +make an effort, and let me take you to England?”</p> + +<p>She shook her head with a cynical smile. “My machinery is like a +dilapidated old engine that has been eaten up with rust, and battered by +stones for twenty years. There isn’t a bit of me that isn’t in pieces.”</p> + +<p>She closed her eyes, and slept for a half hour. He put both arms about +her and his head beside hers.</p> + +<p>“Dudley,” she said, finally.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p><p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“I had not thought of the baby for God knows how many years. It was no +memory for me. But since the other day I have been haunted by that poor +little grave in the big forest—”</p> + +<p>“Would you like to have it brought down to Lone Mountain?”</p> + +<p>She hesitated a moment, then shook her head.</p> + +<p>“No,” she said. “In the vault with my mother and—and—<i>him</i>? Oh, no! +no!”</p> + +<p>“If I build a little vault for you and her will you sign a paper giving +me—certain rights?”</p> + +<p>Her face illuminated for the first time. “Oh, yes!” she said. “Oh, yes! +Then I think I could sleep in peace.”</p> + +<p>Thorpe rang for Cochrane and the gardener, wrote the paper, and had it +duly witnessed. It took but a few moments, and they were alone again.</p> + +<p>“I wonder if I shall see <i>her</i>—and you again, or if my unlucky star +sets in this world to rise in the next? Well, I shall know soon.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span></p><p>“I am going, I think,” she said a few moments later. “Would you mind +kissing me? Death has already taken the sin out of my body, and down +deep is something that never was wholly blackened. That is yours. Take +it.”</p> + +<p>It was an hour before she died, and during that hour he kissed her many +times.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_FRAGMENT" id="A_FRAGMENT"></a>A FRAGMENT</h2> + +<p>It was some twelve years later that Thorpe received a copy of a San +Francisco newspaper, in which the following article was heavily +marked:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="center"><span class="largerfont">WHAT AM I BID?</span></p> + +<p class="center">AN AUCTION SALE OF FUNERAL AND WEDDING<br /> +TRAPPINGS</p> + +<p>“What am I offered?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t sell that!” said one or two bidders.</p> + +<p>The auctioneer held up a large walnut case. It contained a funeral +wreath of preserved flowers.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ve sold coffins at auction in my time, so I guess I can +stand this,” replied the auctioneer. “What am I offered?”</p> + +<p>He disposed of it, with three other funeral mementos, very cheap, +for the bidding was dispirited. It was at the sale yesterday, in a +Montgomery Street auction-room, of the personal effects, jewelry, +silverware, and household bric-a-brac of a once very wealthy San +Francisco family. The head of the family was a pioneer, a citizen +of wealth and high <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>social and commercial standing. It was he who, +in early days, projected South Park. There was no family in the +city whose society was more sought after, or which entertained +better, than that of James Randolph.</p> + +<p>“What am I offered for this lot?”</p> + +<p>He referred to the lot catalogued as “No. 107,” and described as +“Wedding-dress, shoes, etc.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t sell <i>that</i>!” The very old-clo’ man remonstrated this time.</p> + +<p>It seemed worse than the sale of the funeral wreath. The dress was +heavy white satin—had been, that is; it was yellowed with time. +The tiny shoes had evidently been worn but once.</p> + +<p>“What am I offered? Make a bid, gentlemen. I offer the lot. What am +I offered?”</p> + +<p>“One dollar.”</p> + +<p>“One dollar I am offered for the lot—wedding-dress, shoes, etc. +One dollar for the lot. Come gentlemen, bid up.”</p> + +<p>Not an old-clo’ man in the room bid, and the outsider who bid the +dollar had the happiness to see it knocked down to him.</p> + +<p>“What am I bid for this photograph album? Bid up, gentlemen. Here’s +a chance to get a fine collection of photographs of distinguished +citizens, their wives, and daughters.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p><p>A gentleman standing on the edge of the crowd quietly bid in the +album. When it was handed to him, he opened it, took out his own +and the photographs of several ladies, dressed in the fashion of +twenty years ago, and tossed the album, with the other photographs, +in the stove, remarking: “Well, <i>they</i> won’t go to the junk-shop.”</p> + +<p>“What am I offered, gentlemen, for this? There is just seventeen +dollars’ worth of gold in it. Bid up.”</p> + +<p>The auctioneer held up an engraved gold medal. It was a Crimean war +medal which its owner was once proud to wear. There was a time in +his life when no money could have purchased it. He had risked his +life for the honour of wearing it; and after his death it was +offered for old gold.</p> + +<p>“Twenty dollars.”</p> + +<p>“Twenty dollars; twenty, twenty, twenty! Mind your bid, gentlemen. +Seventeen dollars for the gold, and three for the honour. Twenty, +tw-en-ty, and going, going, gone! Seventeen dollars for the gold, +and three for the honour.”</p> + +<p>In this way an ebony writing-desk, with the dead citizen’s private +letters, was sold to a hand-me-down shop-keeper. A tin box with +private papers went to a junk-dealer; and different lots of +classical music, some worn, some marked with the givers’ names, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>some with verses written on the pages, were sold to second-hand +dealers. “What am I bid?” The sale went rapidly on. Sometimes an +old family friend would bid in an article as a souvenir. But the +junk-dealers, second-hand men, and hand-me-down shop-keepers took +in most of the goods.</p> + +<p>The above articles were the contents of a chest, and were the +personal effects of Mrs. Richard Clough, the late daughter of the +late James Randolph, of San Francisco. She had evidently carefully +packed them away at some time before her death; and the chest had +been mislaid or overlooked, until it made its way, intact, and +twelve years after, into the hands of the public.</p></div> + +<p>And that was the last that Dudley Thorpe heard of Nina Randolph in this +world.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<p> </p> +<h3><a name="Transcribers_Notes" id="Transcribers_Notes"></a><span class="smcap">Transcriber’s Note:</span></h3> + +<p>1. Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters’ errors; otherwise, +every effort has been made to remain true to the author’s words and +intent.</p> + +<p>2. 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